#this coupled with that one that was copy and pasting asks today using the term 'wokeness' just confirms what ive assumed

[gwyns]

e/riels are singlehandedly the most misogynistic group within this fandom and god does it make my blood boil

[tvchi]

The Challenge: About Loss

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: 18+, SMUT, Minors DNI- Nudity, Sexual Intercourse, Spitting, Gagging, Profanity.

Pairing: Jalen Hurts x black female Word Count: 2010

A/N: I wrote this because my book club is LIT (waaay better than yours) and we write our own short stories and present it to the group to read and rate. I thought I would just upload it on here for everyone to read. It's more romance than smut but I hope that yall like it! Your feedback is greatly appreciated because I'm really trying to get better. So Like, Comment, and Reblog as the spirit moves you. ❤️❤️🥰!

Summary: You're in class and are forced to do a group assignment. The absolute worse thing happens, you are paired with the most popular jock in the university. You can't risk failing this assignment. Will things heat up in the classroom? Stay tuned.

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

“Good Afternoon, class! Today we are going to talk about loss!” she exclaimed as she slapped two large textbooks onto her desk. 

       Only Professor Martinez could be chipper about an otherwise dismal topic. This meant that a possible term paper was coming in the very near future. As her words still lingered in the air and the rest of the class began settling down, I went back to doodling on my page. I peered periodically through my curtain bangs at the board to see if she had written anything down, but the board remained blank. Some kids were texting and scrolling on social media, while others took this time to find the comfiest position for the best fifty-minute nap they were about to take today. The thing about Introduction to Medical Anthropology is it is kind of a bore. I mean, we are all required to take a “General Education” course at the College of Liberal Arts. My first choice was the class where they listened to vinyls all day and debated which was the greatest musical genre of all time, but I overslept on registration day, and it filled up. So, for the past couple of months, I’ve been here prying my eyes open through the medical corporate structure and its inner workings. I thought anthropology courses were supposed to be about the people, how they work, and all the stuff that tugged at heartstrings. You know, mushy shit. Instead, I’ve learned the quickest way to make a lot of money. It was giving “Who wants to be a Millionaire,” not Cumbaya. 

       I peered up once more at the board, and the word “loss” was written up in large capital letters. The room was now completely silent as if it held its finger up to its lips. I turned to get another pen and, as if right on cue, there he was. Eyes closed and head slowly falling forward, James Evans was never awake long enough for him to use any of those pens he was always borrowing from any one of the four girls he was always sitting next to. The college’s star athlete made sure he got his fifty-minute nap in, not wasting a minute. It must be nice not having people expect much of you academically. It must be nice having people offer you grades in exchange for physical labor. Or maybe not. I quickly grabbed my other pen, pushing thoughts of student-athletes aside, and started to take a couple of notes. Sometimes, I wrote notes not to remember key facts but because writing things down helped me stay awake. 

      “What’s the most gut-wrenching thing about suffering a loss?” Professor Martinez asked a now-settled down class.

      “I was wondering when we were gonna talk about Palliative care! Ok, when my aunt chose to be placed in hospice after getting chemo for 2 years, it was really hard for us. It was like she was giving up on herself. I was so confused, “ Kelly Gardner, the resident overachiever, replied. 

       I rolled my eyes. I mean, no offense to her aunt, but her niece is really annoying. Once she starts on one of her personal anecdotes, she never lets up. The class turns into this historical account of the Gardner family and all the shit Kelly doesn’t like. I mean with what I know about her family tree and her dog, she should invite me over for Christmas dinner. 

       “Thank you for sharing, Kelly. That must have been really hard. However, my line of questioning was more of a general question about loss, not hospice care. What about loss hurts the most?” said Professor Martinez. This time, her eyes scanned the room as if looking for someone whose face would betray them into sharing their familiarity with the subject. The room was quiet for what felt like ages. 

       “I think it’s the part where you remember something. Something really funny and you go to call them up. Then you remember that they aren't here anymore,” volunteered a small voice.

      I turned to face where the sound was coming from. A tiny girl that I never noticed before emerged from the sea of faces. She had a baby face that was smooth and had flush skin. Her hair was straight and jet black, arranged in two low,​​ neat buns. Her clothes were dark colored but neatly pressed. She wore a broach and other pendants around the breast pockets of her sweater. On her feet were leather combat boots with silver buckles, which I noticed because they almost swallowed her tiny legs that dangled in her chair, hovering over the floor. 

     “Nah, I think it's when you see pictures of them up, and everyone starts talking about them like they ain't here,” said another voice.

      “It’s the crying. Sometimes, you see or hear something, and you just start crying out of nowhere,” yet another voice said.

      “Holidays and birthdays”

      “Seeing the date of the last thing they posted on IG. Every time you go back to it, you start seeing how much time has passed. Like their last digital footprint”

      “How tight you get when you see the world going about its business like nothing ever happened. You start to do the same, and you find that you can’t move—not like everyone else,” said a deep, rich voice vibrating across the room. 

      I recognized that voice, but I couldn’t be sure. I turned my head to see who Loss had wrung a confession out of this time, and the voice came from James. He was looking intently at his hands, visibly frustrated. A silence spread across the room after that, each person presumably contemplating their own brush with Loss. 

    “Good!” Professor Martinez said, “Very Good! This week’s assignment will be to write about a time when you suffered a great loss. You will write about how you reacted, how everyone around you reacted, and whether or not any of those reactions coincided with any of the stages of grief listed in Kaufman & Morgan’s ‘The Anthropology of the Beginnings and Ends of Life’. You know, the required reading for this class.

      Groans were heard throughout the classroom. My attention turned from James to the front of the class, confused.

     “Yes, yes, yes, but what would life be without a graded assignment?” Professor Martinez sarcastically retorted. “What’s even better is that you don’t have to go through this alone. I will be assigning you all a partner! Please listen for your name and who you will be working with,” she finished as more groans were heard throughout the classroom. 

      And there it was. The dreaded group project. Something I’ve been avoiding all semester. Apart from the fact that I don’t like democracy, where my grades are involved, I’m not particularly fond of the talent in this classroom. 

     “Sarah and Sam,” Professor Martinez called.

     God, what do I have to do? I already call my grandmother four times a year and pretend to care about her prayer meeting gossip.

     “Celeste and Patrick”

      Fine, God! I’ll raise you another hour on the phone and pretend to care about the hymns for the Christmas choir selections.

     “Hunter and Malachi”

      Please, God, just don’t let her place me with someone dumb or worse…. Can’t read!

     “Adaobi and Jasper!”

      I stopped praying long enough to catch Jasper’s eye. We nodded at each other. Jasper wasn’t bad. I peer-reviewed a prose piece he wrote in another class, and it wasn’t that bad, actually. I can work with this. Thank you, God! 

    “Oh, I’m sorry. It was my mistake. I misread the names on the page for a minute. It’s been a long day. I meant to say Adaobi and James,” said Professor Martinez.

     My heart slowed to a halt. I peered over at James and then back down to my sheet of paper. This is when I started to question whether or not God actually loved me. I steadied my breathing and tried not to think about the cards I had been dealt. Instead, I would focus on how to make lemonade. I needed to get him comfortable with the idea that he had no input on this assignment and it would be a good idea for him to let me handle everything. Then, I would catch him up to speed when it’s done. I took a minute to draft and rehearse a speech, keeping in mind what I was going to say and when I would start working on the project. I pulled out my planner to look at upcoming deadlines.

    “Hi. I’m James. I guess we’re paired up,” he said, offering his hand and a quick smile.

     I quickly understood. What is it I understood? I understood how all people drooled and hung onto his every word. His waist, directly in my seated line of sight, was slim and fitted under his gray sweatpants. He stood tall, easily over 6 feet. He had a solid build, the kind all of the guys wanted and avid sports players had. Broad shoulders that looked like they could a pair of legs up and down stairs with ease. His Nike tracksuit remained open, revealing a white beater that hung onto his sculpted pecs and chiseled abs. His skin was a rich, dark chocolate hue and burnished. I’d never been this close to him before, and a part of me didn’t think it was safe to.

      “Hi,” I said. 

      “So, how did you want to do this?” he asked.

      “I don’t, but we have to. So this is how it’s going to go: I’ll write the paper and turn it in with both of our names on it. I’ll send it to you before I turn it in so you can read it and at least know what it’s about. Just try reading a page or two out of the required reading if she asks any questions. Outside of that, you can do whatever it is you do, “ I said matter of factly as I gathered my things to leave the classroom. 

     “Nah. I kinda fuck with this assignment. I wanna write on it too,” he said. I glared at him. 

     “Interesting, especially since I haven’t heard you offer up an original thought about any assignment in this class all semester. But how could you? You’re never awake. Look, some of us have to think about our GPAs for our future.” I retorted.

     “So you’ve been watching me?” he asked, looking intently at me with the corners of his mouth threatening to curl upwards. 

     “No one has to watch you. You do this thing called snoring, and it interrupts the conversations happening in the class. The class we paid to have.” I spat, avoiding eye contact, hoping he couldn’t tell that I may have over-exaggerated some details to prove a point. There was a pause for a moment.

     “Look, yeah, I sleep in class, but Professor Martinez could put a TV to sleep, and you know it!” he said.

      “I know that everyone around you hypes you and lets you do whatever you want because you’re supposed to save University sports and finally lead the football team to their first Sugarbowl ever,” I started. “But you can’t fall asleep in every class, not read anything, and expect to write a world-class paper just because you have a ‘dead homie.’”

      He glared at me. His eyes were fiery with rage enough to singe my face. His eyebrows furrowed, creating canyons of skin on his forehead. He gritted his teeth, tightening his jawline. I stared back, trying not to betray my pounding heart or sweaty palms. After an eternity, he dropped his gaze and headed for the door. I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. Turned back to my desk to gather the rest of my things.

       “I’ll be at the tech center at 6 pm for the next two weeks if you wanna work on this together. If not, I guess Professor Martinez will be getting two separate papers”, I heard. Then the door closed shut. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Click here for Part 2 Click here for Part 3

Tags:

@thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm @hotgrlcece @planetblaque @blackgurlnhermoods @sweettea-and-honeybutter @andriaharris @kumkaniudaku @theblacklewinsky @nun0ir @iloveorangesworld @cocogoddess0g

[butch-gamedev]

Hi! I’m trying to get my bearings on the post about bimisogyny, and I want to know more on why/how it’s appropriating (copying?) the theoretical underpinnings of transmisogyny. Can you explain it more, or direct me to where I can learn about it? Feel free to say no, I just wanted to ask directly 👍🏼

(feel free to answer publicly or privately, either is fine)

So part of what's upsetting to me about the whole situation is that there's a significant corpus of *theory* surrounding transmisogyny, a great deal of analysis, and these attempts to equate things like "transandrophobia" and "bimisogyny" to it completely elide frameworks in what is very blatantly a game of equalization or minimization. Transandrophobia is a bit more blatant at this - attempting to set up an intersection of transphobia (real) and misandry (not, tragically), and with its proponents essentially openly using it as a point-scoring method against trans women (a fairly prominent proponent was outed as a serial abuser today, another recently instigated a fairly large outcry by feeling the need to draw over stats on violence against transgender people to suggest that it was undercounted against trans men but overcointed against trans women). I think most transfemimists rightly recognize that people who uphold "transandrophobia" as a legitimate axis of oppression are largely just reactionaries - it's true that trans men and trans women experience transphobia differently, but the idea that trans men have it worse is... unsubstantiated is a generous term. The sole function of the word seems to be as a method for transmascs to signal to each other their own transmisogyny.

"Bimisogyny" as a term I think is coming from a better place - bisexual women do, in fact, experience particularly heightened level of misogynistic violence. But... at the same time it's fairly clear that the coining of the word comes from a desire for equalization rather than the emergence of a real framework of understanding. The only substantive writing on the subject essentially gathers a bunch of statistics on the misogynistic violence bisexual women face, lists a couple patterns of fetishization and control from men, and throws its hands up. No motives or mechanisms are considered. This, combined with the author having a history of questionable analysis of politics surrounding sexual orientation in the past, kind of give the game away to me. If an actual understanding of bimisogyny had been set up or was being worked towards, the piece (and the general discourse surrounding it) would be centered on developing an understanding of why conditions are so dismal for bisexual women - who benefits from it, who enacts it, and how. This isn't to say that such a framework isn't needed, it's just to say that... as people use the word right now, it kind of explains nothing while trying to carry the same gravitas as transmisogyny. This is part of why people responding to me with "oh so bi women aren't allowed to talk about their oppression?" is grating because that's obviously not the function of using the term as things are now. I must also admit that the originating piece lingering overlong on anti-bisexual sentiment among lesbians and referring to "bi-exclusionary lesbians"... does not give much confidence either.

And one thing that's been glazed over is that understandings of transmisogyny aren't just "shit sucks for trans women, ergo we get a word", and even if I frankly have a lot of disagreements with the originating text, there is a great deal of insight on the cultural factors informing transmisogyny. Serano theorizes transmisogyny as the intersection of oppositional sexism (the belief that there are essentially two types of human being, split by reproductive capacity into two non-overlapping and distinct categories) and misogyny (the assertion of men's power through the negation of women). I don't even really agree with this reading - I tend to follow Wittig's stance that the establishment of sex categorization is itself necessary to facilitate misogyny and that sex is not in fact prior to misogyny but is constructed. I think Serano is a bit of a liberal, and naturalizes some things which are socially constructed as innate or predetermined. But the understanding that transmisogyny is rooted in the maintenance of sex as a system does hold water, and contemporary materialist feminists do consistently have apt analyses of transmisogyny through this lens (often centered around the positionality of transgender women as degendered women - women who are subjected to misogyny and misogynistic violence without the already flimsy defenses afforded to others through gender recognition). The narrative that transgender women are sexually threatening or gain benefits from supposed intrinsic maleness is itself used as justification to abuse us in a traditionally misogynistic manner. One thing that has been of particular interest to me is the tendency of non-female transgender people (generally trans men and trans-mascs) to leverage a female self-gendering willingly and temporarily for the sole purpose of gendering transgender women as male as a justification for dismissal, violence, or resentment. I think that this necessarily points to transmisogyny being useful as a tool not only for the construction of hegemonic male and female identity but also multiple transgender identities, but I don't want to get any further into the weeds right now.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Gaming While Disabled

Pretty sure Goblin gave me her cold. Also still in exceptional pain from two consecutive days’ commute. Cold-achy plus fibromyalgia-achy is ... not fun at all and I didn’t sleep overly well because I kept having stabs and spasms.

On one hand, I kind of want to give Code Vein a proper try. Bestie got it for me as a part of a replacement birthday present when the Trinket slippers didn’t work out.

(Note to prospective buyers of the Trinket slippers on the Critical Role store - CHECK THE SIZES. They say One Size Fits Most, and there is zero wiggle room in their size range because my big-ass feet are a half-size or so larger than the upper limit on the slippers and they just will not fit on my feet. Also I kind of feel bad for any guys that want the Trinket slippers because my feet are large for ‘women’s sizes’ but about average in ‘men’s sizes’ so ... yeah.)

(Further note: the Trinket slippers are getting a good home with my friend in France as soon as I can figure out how best to seal and label an appropriate box, and I have Code Vein, and also a pre-ordered copy of B Dylan Hollis’ Baking Yesteryear, so nobody loses out on this; Bestie gets to make two people happy, friend in France gets slippers, I get cookbook and ARG. Speaking of; back to ARG talk.)

I mean, seriously, I do want to try this game. I’ve basically discovered that my predominant issue with ARGs is keybinds. As in, it feels like they’re usually designed for console and expect someone to be able to plug a controller in and appropriately use it. Fuck that; I could barely hold up my phone last night, and my phone’s way lighter than today’s controllers. Thing is, people more comfortable with a keyboard can apparently eat shit because people dealing with the keyboard controls appear to have gone about assigning keybinds the way I used to play Pin The Tail On The Donkey as a kid. I’m pretty sure the “git gud” crowd would probably say I’m overreacting about this and I just need to figure it out ... except for one thing.

To paraphrase Keanu Reeves as Neo: “I know Google-Fu”.

It’s easy to believe that whatever condition or problem you’re having, you’re the only one having it. Especially when the loudest and most annoying voices involved are the people who belittle and bitch at you about not being able to do exactly what they can, and how you should either cope with how it is or accept that it’s not “for you” and howl like they’re having their human rights violated when you ask politely for accessibility options that they don’t even have to use. I think the best lesson I ever learned - from therapy, from my friends, from Tumblr, which feels like a stupid place to learn a valuable life lesson but Tumblr Be Like That - is that there is always someone who has been where you are, who has gone through what you’re experiencing, and who might be able to help make it easier for you to go through it. All you have to do most of the time is find the right search terms, and advice will be there.

So I Googled “Code Vein Keybinds”. And what do you know? A whole, if short, Reddit thread where people are basically going, “The keybinds on Code Vein are dogshit; any advice for how to set them better?” The only reason the thread is so short is that a couple of people had what appears from the reactions to be an ideal set-up that I’m actually entirely keen to try.

The problem is the OW. Lotta OW. So much OW. I’m not sure I could manage that amount of frenetic activity in the state I’m currently in. I need something that’ll let me hyperfocus past the pain, yes, but adding a learning curve is probably not it. I suppose the thing to do is to go through the character creation thing (because seriously, it has the most fun character creation menu I’ve ever seen; almost makes up for the fact that there’s an awful lot of Big-Tittied Anime Girl With Minimal Clothing right in your face as soon as you get out of the tutorial), see if the new keybinds get me through the tutorial section any easier, get through the opening cutscene, and then stop there and do something a little less ... intensive. Not that my current thing isn’t kind of intensive in its way - I’m trying to finish my Meep!Herald’s run through Inquisition and am in the middle of Jaws of Hakkon, and still noticing that its response to the complaints of “too much running around through too much empty scenery” was “throw in respawning monsters too high level to simply blow through easily”, which is not the point but never mind. Just the controls are somewhat simpler; just a lot of pressing R interspersed with number keys. That’s a lot easier to manage than “parry”, “block”, “dodge”, “drain attack”, “variety of Gift keys”, etc.

I’m probably never going to be good at ARGs, but I dislike there being a whole kind of video game I can’t play because disability. I already have the whole thing where I can’t play most first person perspective games because I get migraines; if the ARG route is also blocked to me ... well. There are fewer and fewer games that don’t fall into those two categories, and I’m starting to feel shut out of the entire hobby. I mean, there are the indies - thank the gods for the indies - but still.

[sol-arium126]

Heartbeats

Just posting here to have it saved

————————————————————————

Expect the unexpected. Oscar Wilde once said doing this, shows a throughly modern intellect. 

Josh certainly doesn’t feel modernly intellectual right now. 

Does it ever get easier?

Losing a patient, especially one with so much ahead of her in life, is hard. It was supposed to be a simple procedure to remove a tumor in the brain. It wasn’t even cancer, yet she still died. 

Not even from the tumor itself, which made Josh feel even more guilt-ridden. 

She had a cardiac arrest on the table and they were not able to resuscitate her. 

Sure, occasionally there would be a patient with too much bleeding, too much cancer, too much damage, and there wasn’t much to do other than ease the pain as they passed. 

But was there something he could have done, today, now?

He couldn’t have known, it’s just one of those things there was no way of knowing. There was no indication in her file, or her history when he’d asked her at her previous appointment. 

If Oliver were here, he’d tell him that there was nothing that could have been done. What happened, happened. It wasn’t his fault, and all sorts of things to make him feel better. 

But it still hurts.

No matter how long he’s been a doctor for, it still hurts. 

And Oliver’s not here. 

A part of him wants to wallow, alone, in his apartment, but he’s learned that sometimes you need someone to lean on. 

And thus now he’s here, sitting on his couch, waiting for Oliver to come over after his shift had gone long. 

He’d ordered dinner for them, Chinese, not unsimiliar to that day in Oliver’s office. 

He smiles thinking about that memory, it was technically their first “date”.  The day after Oliver had came up to him in the street and kissed him, without a care in the world about the people around them. It was just them in that moment, a moment he would cherish for the rest of his life. 

Josh thinks their relationship is going surprisingly well. He was scared at first, after Oliver’s mom caught them kissing in the elevator. They had found each other later, funnily enough, in the elevator. She told him not to hurt her son, of course understandable, but that conversation planted something in him. 

A little inkling of fear. Fear that he was going to ruin whatever it is they had and hurt Oliver, bad. 

That fear grew all day, until he couldn’t take it anymore and broke it off with him. He wanted Oliver to fight for them when he came to his office, but leave it the only time they agree on anything to be when it’s about breaking up. 

It was awful, but he understood. He would do everything in his power to not hurt Oliver. 

He cared about him too much.

And now, he’s come to know that he loves him too much to ever do anything to hurt him. 

It’s a feeling he didn’t think he’d experience anything similar to ever again after his military days. It was more casual back then. He didn’t have to worry about long-term plans, like if they would move in together, get married one day, kids, and more. He’s older now, he can have those things if he wants. And it’s not like he didn’t want them before, it just didn’t look in the cards for him back then. 

To live life the way he wants to. Without the fear of judgement or disdain.��

His late night musings on his life are interrupted by the soft click of his front door opening. There’s only a couple people who have a copy of his key, so it’s not hard to know who’s entering his home this late. 

It’s Oliver, all cheery and bright-eyed. Probably finally diagnosed and helped the patient he’s been working on for the past week. 

Josh can’t help his mood slightly improving seeing Oliver smile. It’s cute, makes his heart all fluttery and light. 

Oliver, after placing his bag and coat on the rack, comes and sits on the couch next to Josh.

Josh pulls him in for a kiss hello. 

Pulling back, Oliver excitedly begins to detail his day. 

“You won’t believe what Mr. Leonard had. He came to us with a stroke, he’s been recovering on track, but what the weird thing was, he said he couldn’t see out of his left eye. Considering that was the side the stroke affected, his doctors assumed that it was hemianopia. But tests revealed there was nothing wrong with his eye, no lesions, not an eye stroke, so what was wrong with his eye? It was Hemispatial Neglect. Except it only affected his eye. He was aware of his entire left side, except his eye. Which is why he couldn’t “see” out of it. By all means of the word he can see, his brain just can’t perceive it.”

That is genuinely interesting, Josh thinks. He’s had stroke patients who completely ignore anything and everything in their affected field of vision. Sometimes they won’t even eat the other half of their plate because their brain just can’t perceive it. He knows treatment includes a good Occupational Therapist and adaptations to life. It’s not easy, but people get through it. 

“So what’s next for Mr. Leonard?” Josh asks.

“Well, the interns set him up with a great Occupational Therapist and had some students from the program make him a special set of glasses to combat the neglect.  He’s going to be okay, but he has a long road of recovery ahead of him. How about you, how was your day? We didn’t see much of each other today, didn’t we?” 

Josh doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t want to be a downer on Oliver’s happy mood, but he told himself he’d be more open on how he’s feeling, especially if he’s struggling through something. He knows Oliver will be here with him to help in any way he can, that’s his nature. But a part of him wants to hide in a corner and lick his wounds by himself. 

“It was tough, I lost a patient today. She arrested on the table and she died.” Josh stays silent after that, looking down at his hands, hands that failed to do the simple task of keeping someone alive. 

He’s a weird mix of anger and guilt. Maybe sad too? He doesn’t know, it’s complicated. He can’t get too attached, he’s counted on to be completely clear in the head to save lives.

God, he’s becoming like Oliver.

Too empathetic and determined for his own good. But what he makes up for is that he is successful in his feats.

Josh is not. 

He’s suddenly enveloped in hug, tucked into Oliver’s chest. Warm arms around him, cradling his body, like that would shield it from his own emotions. 

Josh lets himself relax into the hug. It’s comforting, to be wrapped so tightly by another person, especially one he loves so much . 

“It wasn’t your fault, you know. You couldn’t have known. Do you want to talk about it?” Oliver is trying to help, offering an olive branch. 

Ultimately, it’s up to Josh to decide whether he will accept it. He does, he decides. It’s better to not keep it in, though he might want to.

So he talks, goes through all the case details with him. Talks through each step of surgery until she arrested on the table. He recounts the resuscitation as best he could, mentally making note if any discrepancies arise, none do.

Oliver listens, he had held his hands through the whole thing, only letting go when Josh needed to express a certain detail more acutely. 

Josh pauses at the end of his speech. After reworking through the case, he realizes there really wasn’t anything to be guilty over. He could do anything, modern medicine simply wasn’t enough to help. 

But he still feels it. 

Another failure added to his long list. 

He could have been the best neurosurgeon in the world, yet she still would have died. It’s just something he’s going to have to accept. 

But he won’t have to face it alone. 

He has Oliver to thank for that. 

“Thank you.” Josh says, his voice lighter. 

“Don’t thank me, I’m here for you, always. You know I love you, right? Say the word and I’m here in a heartbeat.” 

That sentence makes Josh’s heart soar in his chest. How did he get so lucky to be with someone so wonderful, so compassionate and caring?

Josh places a hand on the nape of Oliver’s neck and leans in for a kiss. Oliver meets him in the middle. 

It’s short, but expresses all that needs to be here in this moment. 

Josh smiles at Oliver when they break apart. 

He takes the moment to place a small kiss on Oliver’s forehead, a thanks for his comfort and care. 

“Yes, I know.” Josh replies. 

He’s never loved someone as much as he loves Oliver right now. This feeling is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before.

He wants to shout it from the rooftops that he’s in love with the greatest man in the world. 

He’s finally living life the way he wants to. He doesn’t care anymore about judgement or regret. 

He’s here now, with Oliver, and there is no place he’d rather be. 

[noteatingfortwo]

Mental Load

I used to be a person. I used to be fun.

Now I'm just a mum. My identity consumed by the crushing mental load of having to look after and out for two little ones whilst managing a household and also wondering why I don't have more time in the day to look out for myself and indeed enjoy maternity 'leave' given I'm not in full time paid employment.

I recently discovered the term 'mental load', words that finally seem to do justice to the invisible work load.

There’s cognitive labour – which is thinking about all the practical elements of household responsibilities, including organising playdates, shopping and planning activities. Then there’s emotional labour, which is maintaining the family’s emotions; calming things down if the kids are acting up or worrying about how they are managing at school. Third, the mental load is the intersection of the two: preparing, organising and anticipating everything, emotional and practical, that needs to get done to make life flow. This hidden work is hard to measure, because it’s invisible and performed internally, making it difficult to know where it starts and ends.

When you have kids, the mental load increases tenfold. The thinking is all consuming, leaving exhaustion and a struggle to remember who you were, are and can be in the wake.

From the moment of consciousness in the day, the brain is a whirr of thoughts, 99% of which aren't about looking out for No.1.

What shall I cook for lunch? What do I cook for dinner? Must defrost the meat or maybe just have prawns. Must make sure Laelynn eats her vegetables, she was a little constipated. Need to remember to order some tomato paste from Ocado next time. Must remember to give Laelynn her vitamin. Need to apply emollient on Caitlin. Oh and remember those Vitamin D drops. Maybe we can do some baking today or arts and crafts. But she hasn't done her workbook in days. No wonder she can't write the alphabet properly, what if she is behind in class. Need to wash Caitlin's clothes today. And put away the other load. And order a present for Jacob. And Sofia. And other Sophia. And help Laelynn to finish the card. And think of something to bring to Van's. Maybe a housewarming present. Ugh is Laelynn eating too much sugar? House is an absolute mess, but what are the chances we bump into her friend outside our house. F*** it, just invite them in, we did bake cookies this morning. F*** now it is even more of a mess. Plus I have to cook dinner. And hold Caitlin. Why doesn't she sleep in her cot. Is it me? Did I condition her to become like this?? Laelynn refusing to tidy up again, is it me? Did I make lazy kids, she definitely needs more discipline. I want her in bed by 7pm too. Refusing to eat the dinner I made, sounds about right. A nutritious balanced meal just left there on the plate. Here I am again, eating dinner I cooked on my own. Why do I bother. F*** now I'm turning into my mum, naggy and anal about everyone eating dinner whilst it's hot at the table.

Sometimes I feel so alone in this. Do homosexual couples have the same imbalances? It seems optional for the other party. Asking for help from my 4 year old is like inviting tantrums and hearing her irritating responses which are a carbon copy of me (even more to my annoyance), just sometimes for her co operation in dressing her, brushing her teeth, tidying up her toys. Asking my 11 week old to just help me out a little by sleeping a nap or bedtime in her cot is just met with screaming and crying as if I am torturing her.

Who can I turn to?

[gukyi]

the art of the rom-com | jjk

summary: FILM395, the art of the rom-com, was supposed to be an easy a with one of your favorite professors, but it’s not. it’s actually a sisyphean torture that comes in the form of fellow film student jeon jungkook, who has no problem responding to every one of your discussion posts about the consumerist ideals underlying every romance movie with his own paragraphs on the beauty of love like the hopeless romantic he is. and when the two of you find yourselves partnered up for your final project, which is to create a short film on rom-coms, jungkook decides to take it upon himself to show you what love is really like.

{enemies to lovers!au, college!au}

pairing: film major!jungkook x film major!reader (female) genre: fluff, comedy, slight angst, this is literally a rom-com in fic form word count: 33k warnings: college alcohol consumption, discussion board posts, emotionally constipated characters, film major shenanigans, blonde jungkook who’s also in a hip hop dance troupe, miscommunication, if you hate rom-coms do not read this fic

a/n: i am so so so excited to share this monster of a jungkook fic (tho let’s be real, 30k is pretty standard for me now ;-;) with you all! this is basically rom-com trash, but it’s my rom-com trash, and i hope you all enjoy!

on a sadder, less exciting note: after this fic i will be taking an extended writing hiatus until at least the beginning of may. my semester is picking up and i unfortunately just don’t currently have any upcoming fics planned for you guys. i hope you understand!! maybe i’ll do a couple of ask games here and there to see if anything piques my interest, but other than that please do not expect major works of writing for a while. love you all!

500 Days of Summer is a movie you all have probably seen before. That being said, I encourage you to respond to this discussion board from a film perspective as opposed to a viewer’s perspective. How did 500 Days of Summer alter the classic narrative of boy-meets-girl? Do you think it was a smart move, on the parts of Webb, Neustadter, and Weber, to do so? Why or why not?

Jeon Jungkook on February 12th at 9:53PM

I thought that the change in the boy-meets-girl narrative that had been popularized by rom-coms of the 1990s definitely contributed to his popularity and its attractiveness towards viewers in general. The film makes it clear that the story does not have a so-called happy ending, but despite that, it still brings into discussion the idea of love and soulmates and true connection. And that’s important, because despite the film’s not-so-happy ending, it makes it a point to emphasize that those things are real. That love is real. I thought it was an excellent move on the parts of the writers and director, because they both broke standards in terms of happy endings in rom-coms and they stayed true to the message at hand. 

Y/N Y/L/N on February 12th at 10:29PM

I have to disagree with Jungkook. It’s obvious the movie is not going to have a happy ending because Tom is so obsessed with the version of Summer he has created in his head that he doesn’t even see who the real girl is anymore. It doesn’t have a happy ending not because they weren’t soulmates, or because their love wasn’t right. They break up because what Tom wants and what Summer wants are fundamentally different, and Tom just can’t accept the fact that Summer doesn’t love him the way he wants her to. In a desperate quest to keep her, though, he manifests this version of her and replaces the actual Summer with it, ultimately destroying their relationship. How could viewers ever have faith that Tom would eventually get his happy ending if the only proof of his commitment to relationships they have is him manufacturing a different girl to fall in love with?

When you walk into class, Jeon Jungkook is already there. 

He sits in the front row, the seat closest to the door in your puny little classroom, much too small for twenty-students to fit comfortably, let alone watch movies on the pull-down projector screen above the chalkboard. You’re convinced he’s chosen that seat just so he can grin at you whenever you walk in the room, always later than him because apparently, he has nothing better to do with his time than show up to class early and smirk at you when you arrive. 

As you shuffle past his seat towards your own—second row, middle of the room, centered with the lecturer’s podium—with your usual scowl drawn neatly across your face, Jungkook says, overly bright and cheery, “Good morning, Y/N.”

The sound of his voice alone is enough to make your nose scrunch up in further disgust. “Shut up,” you grumble back, stuffing yourself into your chair and pulling out your laptop. One row in front of you and five seats to the right, you see Jungkook chuckle. 

Glowering, you open up your Notes document for the class and try to avoid staring at Jungkook’s side profile, the way he’s slouching lazily in his seat, and what looks to be a lengthy paragraph on his computer screen, a task that proves to be particularly difficult because he happens to sit in the exact spot you have to look in order to see your professor enter the room. What the hell is he even writing, anyway?

He straightens up the moment she does, cheerful as always as she smiles at everyone. “Good morning, everyone.”

The lot of you respond with halfhearted smiles and waves. 

“I can just feel the enthusiasm radiating throughout the room,” she jokes, clenching her fists together in success. At least that gets a couple of you to laugh. “Which is great, because before we get to anything today, we’re gonna talk about the final project.”

You smile to yourself, immediately pulling up the copy of the syllabus you had downloaded to your desktop, scrolling right down to where she had outlined information about the final project in big, bolded letters. There are a lot of reasons you’ve taken this class, not the least of which is the fact that you have had Professor Pollack three times prior to this and she’s loved you in every class, but the final project was definitely one of the major selling points. 

Pollack pulls up a more detailed final project document on the projector as she steps out from behind the podium. “As you guys know, your final project is a thirty-to-forty minute short film involving rom-coms. You guys have a lot of freedom, it can be a rom-com, it could be a documentary about rom-coms, anything. It just needs to involve the topic of rom-coms somehow. I know a lot of you have actor friends who would be more than happy to have a star-crossed lovers fling or whatever. Go wild. Just keep it PG-13, because I can’t in good faith have nude bodies of your fellow college students on my screen.”

You snort to yourself. Makes you wonder how many times Pollack has seen sex scenes of college students on her screen before. Too many, probably. 

Unintentionally, your eyes drift over to Jungkook. He seems to be working on that hefty paragraph of his, typing something you assume is completely unrelated to the topic at hand and is further proof that Jungkook just doesn’t give a shit about anything involving this class. Whatever. You turn back to Pollack. 

“Good projects not only capture the essence of what a rom-com is, but also put their own twist on the story and bring into question the topics we discuss in class, like truthfulness, realistic portrayals of love, and viewer interpretation,” she continues, and with every word you feel heart beat faster in excitement. “I know you’re all excellent filmmakers. That’s why you’ve taken this class. But what I want you to do is get into the nitty-gritty of the makeup of a rom-com and distill it as much as possible. We’ll be watching them all in class during the last week. Yes, Celia?”

You all turn to look at Celia, who sits in the third row, second seat from the left. “This is a partner project, right?” 

Well. That’s the one downside. As much as you know that cooperation is an important life skill, you would much rather prefer to produce the entire movie yourself. But you love Pollack and you already know you’re on track to get a good grade in this class, so whatever. You’ll deal. 

As long as you can pick your teammate. 

“Yes,” Pollack affirms, “and with that excellent segue, I will now announce your partners.”

Shit. 

Pollack pulls out a folded piece of paper from her back pocket, like she had just come up with the arrangements on the morning train ride to campus, and begins reading. Slowly, as she ticks off names one by one, everyone begins to turn around, locking eyes with their partners and exchanging guess-it’s-us-two-huh? smiles. Everyone except—

“And lastly, Jungkook and Y/N.”

You freeze in place. You look up at your professor, eyes wide and shocked, because nobody knows better than her how much the two of you have been butting heads this entire semester. But when you meet her eyes and she smiles knowingly, shrugging her shoulders, you know you’re doomed. Hesitantly, almost like you’re scared to find out what happens when you do, you shift your gaze towards where Jungkook sits in the front right corner of the room. Only he’s not just sitting. He’s turned a full one hundred-and-eighty degrees just so he can smirk at you from across the room, a glint in his eye. 

Jungkook laughs at your cold-stone, shellshocked reaction. Like he knows how much you’ll hate this, and you know how much he’ll enjoy it. 

From here, you actually have a pretty good view of his laptop screen, brightness turned all the way up because he apparently doesn’t care who reads his screen. Or maybe he just likes showing off how much he writes so he can establish dominance over everyone else. Except you, of course. But when you look a little closer, you notice he’s got the class discussion board for the week up on his Chrome window, two paragraphs typed into the text box. 

Right above is your response to his comment. 

Is that what he was working on? His reply to your reply? Right now? He has the audacity to draft it right here, in front of you, where he knows you can see? He doesn’t even care that you’re blatantly staring at it. In fact, he actually seems to be relishing in it.

You’re so caught off guard by the contents of his computer screen that when you look back up at him on instinct, you catch a wink in your direction. 

Your fists tighten by your side. 

Class is rather uneventful after the whole partner fiasco, as Pollack transitions into your usual dose of a short lecture on the film and then a class discussion that goes absolutely nowhere because everyone is too concerned with the final project to care. Whatever you talk about, you will be hard pressed to know, because you spend the entire rest of the period scowling at the blank page of your Notes document as you try to formulate a way to convince Pollack to change your partner. Would she accept a dozen doughnuts as a bribe? A box is only ten dollars from Dunkin’.

When Pollack finally shuts her laptop screen and begins her weekly goodbye spiel, you are the first one out of the room. Hastily, you stuff your laptop into your bag, zip it up as best as you can (which means that the tops of your water bottle and umbrella are sticking out, but who cares), and shuffle out the room right as Pollack is bidding you all farewell, just so you don’t have to look at Jungkook’s stupid, smug little grin on the way out. 

Faintly, you remember Pollack saying something about getting your partner’s contact information so you can start working, but fuck that. Jungkook knows your name. He can find you. If you must spend the entire semester communicating through Instagram DMs, then so be it. You’ve communicated with men in worse ways. Like through LinkedIn.

There’s a small seating area half a flight down from where your puny little classroom is, a few tables and a bench that wraps around the wall, posters splayed out on the corkboard to the right, staples littering both the board and the floor it rests above. Nobody ever seems to use this, despite the innumerable posters advertising everything from dance troupe shows to financial literacy talks, which makes it the perfect place for you to brood and gather your thoughts. It’s also in the direct opposite direction of the exit. So that’s good.

Taking your anger out on your personal belongings (as opposed to that bitchass smirk on Jungkook’s face), you begin to shove your umbrella and water bottle into the pocket of your backpack, fighting to nestle them amongst your other worldly possessions, like your pencil case and what looks to be a small nest of receipts at the bottom of the back. No wonder it’s so clogged up down there. 

If anything gives you a sense of control, it’s cleaning. One by one, you pluck out the receipts from your bag, nose scrunching up as you try to remember every purchase you’ve made in the past three months. Plus, one of these receipts is from when you bought some dryer sheets from CVS, so that means the five inches of actual information are also accompanied by three feet of coupons that expired two weeks ago. Ugh, what a waste. 

“Don’t look so angry, you’ll have to get used to seeing this face a lot.”

You look up from where you’ve been inspecting an old receipt from a midnight McDonald’s trip to find Jungkook standing in front of you, backpack hanging loosely on his bomber jacket-clad shoulder and that same stupid grin written all over his same stupid face. 

“Can I help you?” You drawl. Great. Now Jungkook can add “saw all her receipts” to the list of embarrassing things he’s caught you doing. 

“Can I help you?” Jungkook fires back with a scoff, blonde hair bouncing as he jerks his head flippantly. “Looks like someone needs to take an Accounting class or something.”

“I’m just doing some spring cleaning,” you sneer. It’s February. “What do you want?”

“What, no ‘Hello, partner’? ‘So excited to be working with you this semester’? I’m hurt,” Jungkook says, placing a hand to his heart as he shakes his head disapprovingly. “I thought we had something good, Y/N. Isn’t that why Pollack paired us up?”

You’re pretty sure she just likes watching the world burn. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you chide, knowing that Jungkook already must get enough of a kick out of just seeing the annoyed look on your face. 

“Please, like I even need to. You think I don’t notice the way you stare at me during class? I know you must like what you see,” Jungkook flirts, just to be extra irritating. 

While he’s stroking his own ego, you tear off a piece of that CVS receipt, one of the expired coupons for Three Dollars Off Any Shampoo or Conditioner, and scribble your number on the back. The rest of the receipts you scoop up and dump in the trash can to your right before you zip up your backpack and hike it over your shoulder. 

“Here,” you say gruffly, shoving the paper against his chest as you head towards the stairwell. 

“How forward of you, Y/N, you know you could have just asked—”

Pausing right before you turn the corner and head out the door, you turn back to look at Jungkook, already exhausted from having to interact with him for five minutes. “And when you’re done jerking yourself off,” you say pointedly, “text me.”

You storm out the door.

[February 13th, 1:24PM]

Unknown Number: guess who ;)

You: Wow I have NO idea You: Keanu Reeves?

Unknown Number: haha very funny Unknown Number: it’s jungkook

You: Damn shame You: You done jerking off yet

Maybe: Jungkook: what makes you think i’m not doing that right now ;)))

You: You don’t have the coordination to text me and masturbate at the same time You: What do you want

Jungkook: ouch, harsh Jungkook: can’t i just want to talk to my final project partner? :D

[February 13th, 2:17PM]

Jungkook: alright fine Jungkook: just wanna see when you wanna meet up

You: Guess I don’t have a choice do I

Jungkook: unless you wanna facetime

You: Is that an option?

Jungkook: how about friday at 3 Jungkook: in one of the greene gsrs

You: You think you can manage to reserve one of those?

Jungkook: watch me

[February 13th, 2:21PM]

Jungkook: [screenshot sent] Jungkook: done

You: Do you want a gold star for all that hard work you just did? All that manual labor? You: Fine. See you then.

Jungkook: miss you already <3

Y/N Y/L/N on February 12th at 10:29PM

I have to disagree with Jungkook. It’s obvious the movie is not going to have a happy ending because Tom is so obsessed with the version of Summer he has created in his head that he doesn’t even see who the real girl is anymore. It doesn’t have a happy ending not because they weren’t soulmates, or because their love wasn’t right. They break up because what Tom wants and what Summer wants are fundamentally different, and Tom just can’t accept the fact that Summer doesn’t love him the way he wants her to. In a desperate quest to keep her, though, he manifests this version of her and replaces the actual Summer with it, ultimately destroying their relationship. How could viewers ever have faith that Tom would eventually get his happy ending if the only proof of his commitment to relationships they have is him manufacturing a different girl to fall in love with?

Jeon Jungkook on February 13th at 7:35PM.

You make a good point, Y/N, but I think you missed the whole point of the movie. It’s not about their breakup or the not-so-happy ending or even Tom’s problems. It’s about the journey they go on and what Tom learns in the process. If you watch the trailer then you’d go into the movie knowing they weren’t gonna last. The results of whatever Tom and Summer do to contribute to their eventual breakup should not come as a surprise to the viewer. The whole point of the movie is that they spent five hundred days together and Tom is now recounting those days to anyone who will watch. And you know who’s watching? People who want to hear a story. About love. And loss. And everything in between. Isn’t that the whole reason we watch romance movies anyway?

Sometimes, you wonder if the garishness of Professor Pollack’s shoebox-sized office is the reason not very many students attend her office hours. The walls are lined with movie posters taken from a theater going out of business, the shelves stuffed to the brim with Disney World trinkets and old film memorabilia. She’s installed these thick red velvet curtains along her single window, making the whole room look like some sort of 1950s movie lair. 

In a way, you suppose it kind of is. 

You hear the taps of her Converse shoes as they come down the hallway and round the corner into the office.

“You know, Y/N, I was surprised to see you signed up for my office hours when I logged in this morning,” Pollack says as she enters the room, handing you the coffee in her right hand as she takes a sip out of the one from her left. Last year, the film department bought a Breville coffee maker with the leftover funds from a movie showing fundraiser and it is, in your humble opinion, the best investment the department has ever made.

“Why? I see you all the time,” you ask, eyebrows raised. You and Professor Pollack are not lacking in social connection. She’s written you a letter of recommendation and she knows your coffee order. 

“The very first time we ever spoke outside of class, you sat down at my Starbucks table while I was eating lunch just so you could introduce yourself and ask me about my opinion on the Mamma Mia remake,” she deadpans. “We don’t exactly speak through official forums.”

Well, she’s got you there. 

“I know…” you begin, trailing off awkwardly as you take a sip of your coffee. It’s burning hot and scalds your tongue a little, but it’s nice. It’s been cold recently. “But I just thought we could talk… privately.”

Pollack rolls her eyes as she reclines in her chair, back hitting the padding of the chair with a thud. “Goodness, I wonder what you’re here to talk to me about.”

“Okay, please pardon my French, but what the freak, Professor?” You say, because the words have been sitting hot on your tongue ever since you walked into your office and you didn’t think sending an email that looked like:

To: tpollack@university.edu From: y/n@university.edu Subject: what the freak

Dear Professor Pollack,

What the freak?????????

Cheers, Y/N

would be very professional on your part. 

Pollack lets out this honk of a laugh, loud and sudden, shaking her head fondly. “Come on, Y/N. You must have known I would have partnered the two of you up.”

“I was hoping you’d let us choose?” You emphasize. 

“And miss out on what very well may be one of the best final projects of the class, produced by my two best students of the semester? Absolutely not,” she says, smiling knowingly at you. 

Even her sudden reveal that you happen to be one her best students this semester isn’t enough to soothe your worries and calm your anger. You’re honored, but you have bigger problems. Problems that start with ‘Jeon’ and end with ‘Jungkook’. 

Pollack looks at your beaten-down expression and leans forward, placing her coffee cup on the wooden desk in front of her. “Listen, Y/N. You’re an excellent student and one of the most talented filmmakers I’ve seen in a long time. Your discussion posts are detailed, well-written, and thought-provoking. I know that the two of you will make a great project.”

You scoff. “We can’t agree on a single thing.”

“Sometimes that happens in life, and you just have to deal with it,” Pollack says sagely. 

“So I can’t change partners?”

“Not unless you’d like to fail the final,” Pollack comments, shrugging. How rude of her to say such a thing, not taking the option to change partners off the table entirely but making it so that if you do, you’ll pretty much be shooting yourself in the foot. Or worse. 

You narrow your eyes at her. “That’s low.”

“That’s life,” she corrects. 

“Ugh.” You get up out of your seat, taking angry sips of your coffee as you desperately try to think of another way to get out of it. Are doughnuts still an option?

“I have full faith that the both of you will come up with an excellent project,” Pollack says like it’s some sort of consolation as she walks you to the door to her office. Yeah, right. You and Jungkook spend your free time making snide responses to each other’s discussion posts like it’s nobody’s business. You’re probably the only two people at your entire university that care enough to make replies to each other’s replies. Like Tinder from hell. “You shouldn’t be worried, Y/N.”

“I’m not worried,” you say, completely worried. “I just—I don’t know how Jungkook and I will get along.”

Pollack grins to herself. Does she know something you don’t? Is she up to something? She looks at you as you linger in the doorway, feeling utterly helpless after a meeting that accomplished absolutely nothing, and she smiles. 

“You’ll find a way.” 

Reserving a group study room in the Greene Library and Collection should not be some gymnastics act that involves a warm-up, practice, a routine, and song and dance. In theory, all you have to do is log onto the library’s homepage, navigate to the reservations tab, enter your name and ID number, pick a date and time, and profit. 

Of course, the demand for the study rooms does tend to outweigh the supply. There are over ten thousand students at your university. And only twenty rooms. 

And still, you have the unfortunate luck of being stuck in one of them for an hour and a half with none other than Jeon Jungkook. 

You see him coming into the library at 3PM sharp through the opposite entrance, a little surprised he didn’t show up ten minutes early like he does in class, just so he would have an excuse to complain about having to wait for you. Feeling a little threatened, you pick up the pace so that you can meet his lengthy stride, keeping an eye on his direction so you know which room he’s aiming for.

You arrive at Greene GSR #18 at the exact same time.

“So nice to see you,” Jungkook says, too cheerful, as you reach out to open the door. 

“Mmm,” you mumble in response as you enter the room, flinging your backpack onto the floor by your chair with a thud as you take a seat. The faster you start, the faster you can get this over with.

Jungkook, not at all outwardly discouraged by your clear disdain for him, rallies on happily. “So, what were you thinking for the project?” But he doesn’t even let you open your mouth to answer before he says, “Oh, wait, let me guess: a social commentary on the consumerist ideals that underline every modern movie and encourage the pursuit of an empty dream by abandoning concrete career and personal goals in favor of romantic fulfillment.”

You scowl at him, even though that’s exactly what you were thinking of doing. You’re almost positive Pollack’s had enough of seeing college students try to engineer the craziest fake dating scenarios they can imagine just for a class project. Why not do something outside of the box? 

“Well, then what do you want to do?” You challenge, already bristling. Like Jungkook has a better idea. 

“Maybe something that doesn’t scream ‘killjoy’ as much as you do,” Jungkook retorts easily. He opens his mouth to spit out something else but then rolls his eyes and shrugs, shaking his head. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have even asked.”

“Don’t pin this on me,” you immediately rebuke, pointing at him. “You’re the one who wants to make some sort of generic rom-com for our final project. Besides, I’m pretty sure every idea you even think of will have been done already.”

“Just because something is cliche doesn’t make it bad,” Jungkook says. “I swear, I don’t think you understand what the word cliche even means. A cliche thing, by default, is something that lots of people like. Therefore, it is largely well-received by the general public.”

“Oh, then that must mean that all rom-coms are deserving of a People’s Choice Award then, right?”

Jungkook frowns, getting exasperated. You aren’t much farther off. “I don’t know why you’re being so—so resistant! You know that romantic comedies are supposed to be fun, right?” 

“They’re not that fun to me,” you comment snidely. 

“That’s because you’re a stick in the mud who takes everything way too seriously,” Jungkook replies like it’s some sort of known fact. “Have you ever even been in a relationship?”

“That’s none of your business,” you tell him firmly. Who does he think he is, going around asking that sort of thing? Especially to you! Like you could care any less about what Jungkook thinks of your love life. Intrusive, much? “Besides, you asking that is exactly my point. Not everything has to be about finding love and searching for your soulmate or whatever bullshit like that. Some people don’t really care that much.”

“You act like wanting to find love and wanting to be successful are mutually exclusive,” Jungkook points out. “You don’t have to abandon all of your life goals just to find love, you know. It doesn’t have to be the most important thing in your life for you to even care about it a little. It’s natural for people to want love.”

“Then I guess I’m just a robot.”

“You sure are acting like one,” Jungkook comments easily. “What, are you about to ask me to pick out all of the pictures with traffic lights?”

“I’m allowed to have my own views on love, just like you,” you say. Isn’t that the whole point of your discussion boards? A forum where you can discuss these sorts of things through an academic lens? A barrier that keeps the two of you from going at each other’s throats when you’re engaging in the class material? It doesn’t take a genius, or even half of one, to know that you and Jungkook can’t seem to agree on anything in your FILM395 class. 

Jungkook scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘your own views on love’? As far as I’m aware, your view on love is that you don’t have one! What do you even think love really is?”

You frown at him. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says like it’s obvious. “This project is about filming a short romantic comedy, about people falling in love with each other. How do you expect me to do that if we don’t reach a mutual agreement on what love is?”

You scoff. “There is no way in hell I am going to agree with you on anything concerning love.” Jeon Jungkook still thinks love is all rainbows and sunshine. Cries at the end of Love, Actually even though he’s seen it five times already. Believes in soulmates. Believes there are people out there that were built for each other. He flutters from one person to the next like a butterfly, even though he’s more like a moth drawn to any open flame within a five-mile radius. He’s convinced he’ll find his true love here, in college, just like his parents found each other. 

Yeah, right.

“Then what are we supposed to do, huh?” He says with an eyebrow raised. “We have a month to make a movie that’s fifty percent of our grade.”

“The social commentary is still on the table,” you point out. Sure, it’s not at all a romantic comedy, but it’s about them, which Pollack said was totally fine. Besides, she has been teaching you the entire semester, hasn’t she? She should know by now not to expect some cushy lovey-dovey story about two people who were destined to be with each other and can overcome all obstacles with their love. 

Deep down, a part of you wonders if that’s why she paired you up with Jungkook. If she’s had enough of the sappy love stories that Jungkook probably wanted to do, didn’t want to see another cynical commentary on capitalism in Hollywood.

“Wow, what a thrilling idea,” Jungkook deadpans. “Please, tell me more.” His voice is lifeless. 

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like your idea would be any better. Who would we even get to star in a rom-com we filmed? It’s not like the two of us could do it.”

You regret the words the instant they come out of your mouth. In horror, you watch as they sink into Jungkook’s brain, etching themselves into his mind as a lightbulb turns on, a bright idea popping into his thoughts. 

He opens his mouth, but you get there first. “No. Whatever you’re thinking, absolutely not. I am not starring in a rom-com with you.”

That is something you can say with one-hundred percent confidence. Something that you know will never change. 

“Just hear me out,” Jungkook pleads, looking a little desperate as he wrings his hands together, aching to spill the bubbling plan that’s been stewing in his head. 

You narrow your eyes in suspicion but lean back into your chair, a silent signal for him to continue. It’s not as if you have any better idea.s 

“Okay. It’s not a rom-com. It’s a mockumentary,” he says, something that (and you can’t believe you’re saying this) actually piques your interest. Moreso than anything else he’s ever said to you. “You think love is totally manufactured, right? That Hollywood creates the illusion of it to sell to people paying twenty dollars for a movie ticket?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s do that. Let’s prove it’s manufactured.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” It’s not like you can walk into a factory and ask them to make the “love” emotion for you. 

“We’ll be the stars.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like it’s your best idea by a long shot, the home run of all home runs, your golden ticket to an A.

You scrunch up your nose, hesitant. “Wait, I don’t know—”

“It’s perfect!” Jungkook exclaims, eyes wide with excitement. “Think about it. It’ll be a mockumentary of a stereotypical rom-com. Except it won’t be this big Hollywood production, it’ll be real life. And it won’t be between two paid actors with years of experience under their belt, it’ll be us.” His eyes are practically bulging out of his head, big brown eyes glinting with excitement.

“So what are we gonna do? Act out our own rom-com in an attempt to see if either one of us will fall in love with the other?” You say, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Not necessarily. It’s a mockumentary, right? So it’s grounded in real life even if it is based upon the stereotypical boy-meets-girl rom-com. It won’t be super scripted or anything. Think of it more like… a chronicle.”

You scoff. “Of what?”

“Of us,” Jungkook says easily. “Of the time we have to spend together to film this damn project anyway. I say that rom-coms are emblematic of the natural human desire for love, and that deep down love is the thing that makes us happy. You say that rom-coms are consumerist propaganda, or whatever it is you think they are—”

“They are, and you can’t change my mind about that,” you interrupt, just for clarity. Can’t have Jungkook thinking he’s going to somehow convince you otherwise.

“—so, with this project, let’s see which one of us is right. If the time we have to spend together, making this mockumentary rom-com, will really change how we feel about each other, or if it won’t.”

How you feel about each other? You almost laugh when Jungkook says it out loud. There’s no room for questioning in your mind when it comes to how you two feel about each other. Two desperate-to-please students with opposite views on the entire structure of a class and three years of experience arguing your points in essays under your belts. 

Jungkook believes in destiny, right? Then he must know that the two of you are destined to never get along.

“You should be a car salesman,” you joke. Jungkook’s certainly excellent at pitches.

“So, you in?”

You narrow your eyes, still a little wary of whatever it is Jungkook’s putting down. But it’s not like you have any better ideas. And the sooner you agree on something, the sooner you can get this goddamn project over with and never have to sit in class with Jeon Jungkook ever again. 

“Only because this’ll finally prove to you that not everything can be solved by finding love,” you say. It’s about as good of a ‘yes’ as he’s going to get out of you. 

Jungkook grins, mischievous as always. There’s certainly something else he’s plotting, you just aren’t sure what. Maybe he’s in cahoots with Pollack. “Or,” he begins, lips curling upwards, “you’ll just fall in love with me.”

You scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“Well, then I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” He holds out his hand, palm facing up as he waits for your response, that devilish glint that you hate twinkling in his eyes. 

As if you’re going to fall in love with Jungkook. For this stupid project? No way. Just because it’s a filmmaking project doesn’t make it any more bearable than your other assignments. It’s a partner project. They are, by their very nature, excruciating. You’ll be surprised if you end this project and you aren’t even more irritated with Jungkook. Does he really think you’ll actually develop some sort of affection for him?

You take his hand on your own, palm pressed against his, and you eye him carefully. Just because Jungkook’s got something up his sleeve doesn’t mean you don’t. Finally, finally, Jungkook will see why love is stupid and manufactured and fake. Why it doesn’t bring people together but instead tears them apart. 

Maybe then he’ll leave you and your discussion posts in peace.

You smile up at him. 

“I guess we will.”

When Ruby Rhodes is not six feet deep in The Princeton Review’s MCAT test prep book, she can usually be found at the small bakery five blocks west and two blocks north of your little campus, a family-owned place passed down through three generations. It’s her favorite place, and yours, too, because the coffee is delicious and the pastries are even better. 

Plus, hardly anyone from your school ever comes here, which means the wifi speed is eons better than the Starbucks inside the main food court. 

She’s halfway through a tiramisu and a rerun of The Bachelor from two seasons ago when you sit down across from her. 

“Any good?” You ask, pulling out your laptop and squeezing it onto the tiny marble table in between the two of you. 

“The food or the show?” Ruby asks over a mouthful of cake. 

“Either.” 

Ruby swallows down the piece sitting on her tongue before responding. “The tiramisu is delicious, and The Bachelor is eh. I’ve seen this episode three times already.”

“Then why are you watching it again?” You ask, laughing. Does Ruby think something different is going to happen?

“Because we’re in between weeks right now and honestly, The Bachelor is kind of dry this season,” Ruby says with a frown. 

“You’ve got some tiramisu on your cheek,” you tell her, pointing to the left side of her face where the bright mascarpone cream sticks out like a sore thumb against her dark skin. 

“It’s just so yummy, I can’t help but stick my whole face in it,” Ruby jokes as she wipes her face with the napkin on her lap. The Bachelor rerun plays on in the background, and you can hear the gasps of the women through Ruby’s discarded headphones. 

You roll your eyes. “Why do you even watch that show still? You know it’s all crap.”

“Just because you think it’s crap doesn’t mean I do,” Ruby insists, playing out an argument the two of you have had plenty of times over the course of your friendship. “Watching it makes me happy. So I do it.”

“But it’s all fake,” you say, frowning in disapproval. “The couples don��t even stay together in the end anyway.”

“It’s a totally pre-constructed show, but it’s not fake in the moment. And I don’t expect the final couple to stay together.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Believe me, I’ve seen enough Bachelor seasons to know those odds. I just like watching the ride. It’s cute.”

“You say that about everything.”

“That’s because everything is cute,” Ruby says pointedly. “I like seeing the good in people.”

Ruby’s always been the exact opposite of you in terms of worldviews. The embodiment of a real-life fairy. She puts butterfly clips in her hair and buys herself bouquets of daisies and lilies. She sits in cafes with her headphones in and sketches the people she sees outside the window. She’s studying to be a doctor so she can spend the rest of her life helping others. 

And you? 

Well, the Oscars have always been a bit of a long shot. 

The curiosity eating at you, you pose a question to her. “Hypothetically, if there were to exist a mockumentary on rom-coms and love, would you watch it?”

Ruby pauses for a second as she furrows her brows. Then she shrugs and says, “Only if the two leads fell in love at the end. Why?”

“No reason,” you say, looking away. 

There’s no fooling Ruby and her eagle eyes. 

“What is it?” She asks, a grin playing at her lips as she looks at you. “Come on, you don’t just ask me shit like that without a reason.”

“It’s for a final project,” you explain succinctly. No need to go into details. 

“You’re making a rom-com for a final project?” Ruby sounds about as skeptical as you did when you spoke to Jungkook. 

“It’s a mockumentary about rom-coms.”

“But… it’s a rom-com, right? Like, you’re going to be making a rom-com? Where people fall in love?”

Hopefully not. 

“Sort of?”

Ruby squints her eyes, trying to process all the information. You’re not surprised that she has to take a moment to think—you are certainly the last person on earth to ever admit to filming a rom-com. But, as you’ve stated, it’s not a rom-com. It’s a mockumentary about them. That distinction is vital.

“Wait, is this for that class with Pollack?” Ruby asks. “I remember you telling me you were taking it. You said this was a partner project, though, right? So who are you working with?”

Curse Ruby and her knack for remembering things. She’ll make a great doctor, that’s for sure, but right now you wish she would just forget things like everybody else. 

You sigh. “Jungkook.”

Ruby doesn’t need to think twice about who that is. “Wait, seriously? You’re working with him? Isn’t he the guy that responds to all your discussion posts?”

“Yes,” you say, rubbing your temples with your fingertips. You don’t even like thinking about him, let alone saying his name. The fact that he has to occupy any part of your brain at all gives you a headache.

“Damn, that sucks,” Ruby says, not feeling very sorry for you at all. “So you’re filming a rom-com with him?”

“It’s a mockumentary,” you specify, feeling yourself getting irritated. “It is fake.”

“Just like my shows, huh?” Ruby muses to herself, too analytical for her own good. 

“Listen, you don’t need to fall in love to make a mockumentary about it,” you say, refusing to consider any sort of alternative. 

“Don’t you?”

You sneer. “Just shut up and eat your tiramisu.”

Ruby lets out a laugh at that, this wonderful mix between a wheeze and a honk that makes you smile every time you hear it, even if it’s at your own expense. Ruby decides she’s had enough of mentally torturing you with the thought of feeling anything but extreme distaste towards Jungkook and goes back to her show, letting you brood in peace. 

You don’t need to fall in love to make a film about it. Just like you don’t need to be a masterchef to film Gordon Ramsey screaming at someone who undercooked chicken. You’re a filmmaker. You can make a film out of anything. Including love. Even if it is with someone like Jungkook. 

Can’t you?

Jeon Jungkook may be a disillusioned college student in love with the idea of love itself, but at least he’s not too shabby of a filmmaker. 

Funnily enough, it actually sort of surprises you that you’ve never encountered each other before. Especially considering you’re in the same major program at your school, a program that only accepts about fifty students per year at most. You suppose that in whatever general program classes you had to take in freshman and sophomore year you just never crossed paths. Plus, he’s a filmmaking concentration and you’re doing screenwriting, so it’s very possible that you would have just never spoken had the two of you not registered for the same semester of FILM395.

Huh. Imagine that. A life without him. 

Sort of makes you wish you had put this class off for one more semester. 

As the two of you kickstart your project, you both immediately agree that you need a third person’s help. You and Jungkook can do plenty, but you are only two people. And there’s nothing in the final project guidelines that says you can’t enlist other people to partake in the production. But you don’t need help with the filming and editing. You need help with the interviews. 

“Is this bedsheet good enough?” Kim Taehyung, a senior in the film program, asks as he’s Command-stripping a queen-sized black bedsheet to an empty wall in the living room of his tiny one-bedroom apartment. 

“As long as it fits into the frame,” Jungkook responds from where he’s standing behind the camera, set up on a tripod to capture a specific angle. “You’re not going to be in the shot anyway. You’ll just be asking the questions.”

“Good, because I look really ugly right now,” Taehyung says with a grin. You roll your eyes. Taehyung must know he always looks good. Even you can’t deny him of that. 

“This is ridiculous,” you say, seated on the singular couch in his apartment. You’re leaning on your elbow as you watch Taehyung fiddle with the bedsheet and Jungkook futz with the camera, the two of them repositioning themselves over and over again until everything’s perfect. “What are you even gonna ask us?”

“I came up with some… preliminary questions,” Taehyung says suggestively. “But I haven’t told either of you what they are so that your reactions can be more genuine.”

“Great,” you deadpan. 

“Wow, someone’s excited,” Jungkook comments snidely. 

“I know we agreed on periodic interviews for the sake of the mockumentary but I don’t know why we have to be so… so serious about them,” you say with a frown. 

“We have to promise to be honest with what we say, alright? Like, actually honest. This sets a guideline for the rest of our relationship,” Jungkook says like it’s no big deal. Like the foundation of your relationship isn’t the fact that the two of you have been engaged in discussion-board war ever since the semester began. 

“Our ‘relationship’?” You say with a scoff. 

“Do you promise?” Jungkook says. 

You roll your eyes. “Yes, I promise.” Whatever. “What do you even think is going to happen between us in the next few weeks?”

Jungkook smirks. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

You don’t like the sound of that. 

Over the next ten minutes, Taehyung gets the sheet attached to his wall and pulls over two stools from his kitchen counters, old-timey wooden ones he got from a thrift store for five dollars a pop, one for him and one for the poor soul who has to be interviewed. You’ve agreed to do them separately but Taehyung’s apartment is only so big and you are only three people, which means that whoever isn’t being interviewed still has to be behind the camera, listening to the other person. 

Makes you sort of nervous about whatever’s stewing up inside Jungkook’s mind. Wonder what the hell it is he’s plotting up there. 

Once everything is settled, Taehyung looks at the two of you as he asks who’s going first. 

You turn to Jungkook, who’s already grinning. “Ladies first.”

For someone who has spent their whole life watching and making movies, being in front of the camera feels weirdly uncomfortable to you. You’re so used to being behind it instead, directing others as they move around the frame, telling them how to feel and how to act and what to say, that having the spotlight shone on you is like picking through your thoughts with a fine-toothed comb. 

You adjust awkwardly in the bar stool seat as Jungkook stands behind the camera, twisting the lens until he gives you the thumbs-up. Quite frankly, it doesn’t make you feel any better. 

“You ready?” Taehyung asks as he takes a seat opposite you, just out of frame. 

“Well, we’ve gotta start somewhere, right?”

“That’s the spirit. Alright, Jungkook, start whenever you’re good.”

“Okay,” Jungkook chirps up. “Three, two, one—” He points to the both of you. 

“So, Y/N,” Taehyung begins, his voice suddenly much clearer. He sounds sort of like a news anchor. It’s oddly fitting. “Are you excited to begin the filming for this?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” You muse. 

“That didn’t answer my question,” Taehyung points out. Good thing the camera can’t see the way his eyebrows raise. 

“I suppose that there are worse things I could be doing,” you reason, which is about as good of an answer as Taehyung’s going to get. What was he expecting you to say? That you were thrilled to be filming this not-a-rom-com with your class nemesis? That you couldn’t wait to see what would happen?

“Loving the enthusiasm,” Taehyung jokes. You wonder what your classmates will think when they watch this back, hearing this unidentified deep male voice ask you and Jungkook questions about your relationship. “Let me ask you this: what’s your current relationship with Jungkook?”

“Uh…” you begin, nervous. Behind the camera, Jungkook has that same stupid, shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. You sneer. “It’s… it’s professional.”

“Can you explain what you mean by that?” 

“I mean we’re classmates. That’s the relationship.”

“That’s it?” You can hear the skepticism in Taehyung’s voice, almost like he’s egging you on to say something more. 

“We’ve had some personal disagreements on topics discussed in class. But yes, we’re just classmates,” you elaborate slightly. It’s not as if anyone needs reminding of that, anyway. They all see your discussion board posts. 

“And how do you expect that relationship to change over the course of this project?”

“I don’t think it’ll change at all.” It’s the easiest answer so far. Requires no energy nor brain power for you to think about it. 

Taehyung nods his head in intrigue. “And why’s that?”

“Because this is a project for a class, not a life lesson.”

“Who says it can’t be both?”

You frown. “Whose side are you on?”

Five feet away, Jungkook laughs. 

Taehyung chuckles. “Alright, moving on. What do you expect from Jungkook over the next few weeks as you start working on building your relationship?”

“I hope he becomes less unbearable,” you say, though you suppose that’s more of a general life goal than one that’s project-specific. But it would be nice if he became a little more… palatable. Just so you don’t have to feel the urge to sock him in the face every time you speak to each other. 

“‘Less unbearable’, excellent,” Taehyung repeats. “Anything else?”

“Well,” you say with a shrug, not sure what else to say. What do you want from Jungkook? Obviously the two of you are about to embark on your own rom-com adventure, no doubt most of it his doing, but it’s hard to imagine that he himself (or you, for that matter) will change. If anything, the rom-com setting will just exacerbate the worst parts of both your personalities. Like some sort of curse. “I guess I just hope that the project goes smoothly.”

“I hope that it does, too,” Taehyung says with a smile. “Okay, last question.” Thank God. This interview couldn’t have been more than five minutes, but it feels like an eternity to you. “Do you think you and Jungkook will fall in love at the end of this?”

“No.” You don’t leave any room for hesitation. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re very different people with very different interests,” you explain succinctly. You’re sure Taehyung will grasp that once Jungkook has his turn and answers all the same questions. “He can try his hardest, but some things are just meant to stay the way they are.”

“Okay, thank you, Y/N, that’s all. I hope you found our conversation illuminating,” Taehyung says, his cue for the camera to stop rolling. You and Taehyung both turn to Jungkook, waiting for his signal, letting out a sigh when Jungkook gives you a thumbs-up. 

“Thank fuck,” you say, hopping off of the barstool happily. You head towards the camera, ready to kick Jungkook off of it, because it’s your turn to stand behind it with an annoying look on your face as you react to every stupid thing Jungkook says. You find that you’re actually sort of looking forward to it. Being behind the camera is where you feel most at home. Making faces at Jungkook is just a bonus. 

Jungkook’s still grinning that same goddamn grin when you approach him, making you narrow your eyes. 

“‘He can try his hardest’?” Jungkook teases, voice all high-pitched to mimic yours. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Ah yes, my mission in life,” you retort easily. Maybe goading him on isn’t the best course of action, but you’re so confident that you won’t change your mind you find yourself actually anticipating his efforts. “Think you have what it takes?”

“Believe me, I do,” Jungkook says with a devilish glint in his eyes. 

You roll your eyes and kick him off the camera with a shove, pushing him towards Taehyung as he waits diligently on that chair of his. 

“So, Jungkook, same questions,” Taehyung says as Jungkook gets ready in his seat, fixing the blonde strands of hair that curl around the side of his face, framing his cheeks. 

“What? That’s no fair, he got to think about all his answers,” you exclaim, positively indignant. 

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Jungkook says, voice sickly smooth, honey falling off his lips. “I’ve actually been thinking about the two of us for a long time.”

You pretend to throw up on Taehyung’s hardwood floor. 

As Taehyung promised, he asks Jungkook the same questions. And, as predicted, his answers about as far away from yours as the sun is from Pluto:

“Are you excited to begin the filming for this?”

Jungkook grins. “Yes, definitely. I actually took this class after hearing from a friend that the final project was a lot of fun.”

Taehyung beams. That friend was him. No wonder he was so happy to sign onto helping the two of you. 

“And how would you describe your current relationship with Y/N?”

“We’re soon-to-be-lovers.” 

“How forward of you.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

You have to stop yourself from bursting out into laughter behind the camera and ruining the interview. At least he’s not hiding anything. You’ll give him that. 

“So I suppose you expect the two of you to fall in love over the course of the project?”

“Yes, that’s going to happen.”

“And you seem pretty confident when you say that.”

Jungkook smirks as he turns to the camera. Or, more accurately, you. “Confidence is attractive.” 

You shake your head back at him. 

The rest of the interview falls pretty much into the same vein as the first few questions. Jungkook is so brazenly determined and hopeful and optimistic it actually pains you in a way, watching him make all of these promises both to you and himself that this project is going to turn out the way he hopes it does. His answers remind you of his discussion board posts, always looking on the bright side of every movie you watch, always finding the silver lining, the light at the end of the tunnel. A movie could be total Hollywood crap, filled with cheating scandals and misunderstandings and betrayals, and Jungkook could still find beauty in it. 

It’s strange. 

For the sake of you not actually throwing up in Taehyung’s lovely apartment, you tune out the majority of the middle of the conversation, having zero desire to listen to Jungkook wax poetic about your non-existent relationship like he’s saying his wedding vows. Only when Taehyung finally remarks that they’re on the last question do you finally come to again, ready to turn the camera off as soon as Jungkook finishes his answer. 

“Jungkook, do you think you and Y/N will fall in love at the end of this?”

“I do.” Wow, what a shocker. “I do, because I hope that by the end of this Y/N will have opened her eyes to the beauty of love, and will find joy in the feeling as something that makes her feel happy and warm. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure the things we do together are meaningful. And even if we don’t last, I hope that her memories of us together will be ones she can look back upon fondly and be grateful for.”

You purse your lips together. If only it were that easy. 

“Alright, cut,” you say, voice distant as Jungkook thanks Taehyung for his time and hops off the bar stool. “Thanks, Tae.”

“Anytime, you guys,” Taehyung says with a grin. 

Jungkook comes over to where you’re standing, possibly to grab his camera and tripod but most definitely to rub his obnoxious personality all up in your face. 

“You really think you’re gonna get me to fall in love with you, huh?” You muse, an eyebrow raised as you look up at him. “Just so you can prove a point?”

“Believe it or not, Y/N, but I actually think that all people deserve the chance to experience love and that happens to include you, as well,” Jungkook responds easily. 

The words put a sour taste in your mouth. “You think I deserve it, huh?”

Jungkook nods, face solemn as he looks at you, gazing into your eyes with those big brown ones of his own. It makes you feel something unfamiliar. Like he’s reading right through your chest, into your heart. You don’t like it. “Everyone deserves love.”

“You guys are coming back, right? So I can leave the sheet up?” Taehyung interrupts after he’s moved both of his bar stools back to his kitchen counter. 

“Yeah, we’ll be back,” Jungkook answers quickly. “Thanks for setting everything up, by the way.”

“Of course. Plus, this is a good background for my nudes,” Taehyung says casually, like he’s mentioning what he’s having for dinner. “Looking forward to seeing you guys again.”

“Us, too,” Jungkook says. “Ready to go?”

“Only because it means I don’t have to see you anymore,” you retort pointedly, grabbing your backpack from where it sits on his couch as you head towards the door. 

“Just you wait, Y/N,” Jungkook says as you leave Taehyung’s building, one of those old-timey Victorian houses that was converted into a whole bunch of apartments. “You’re gonna see that I’m right.”

“Really? About what?”

“About us,” Jungkook says. You come to the stoplight, where Jungkook keeps going straight and you turn right. 

“Us?”

Jungkook grins as you turn in the direction of your own apartment. And, just as the light turns green, he says, “Just you wait. We’re gonna fall in love, you and me.”

If he says so. 

“Hey! Y/N!”

You whip your head around at the sound of your name just as you’re opening the door to your local Starbucks, wondering who the hell is calling out to you at nine-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday. 

As it turns out, you don’t have to wonder too much, because the moment your eyes adjust to the blinding sunlight coming from the east side of campus you see Jungkook hurtling towards you, heavy black boots stomping down on the pavement as he rushes to catch up with you. 

“Can I help you?” You ask, thoroughly unimpressed, as you pull open the door, looking at Jungkook heaving beside you as he holds the door open for himself. 

“Just glad I caught you,” Jungkook gasps out between breaths. “Figured this might make a good scene for the movie.”

“It’s a mockumentary,” you remind him easily, getting in the line. 

“Whatever,” Jungkook says. “What do you normally get here? I don’t really go to Starbucks often.”

“Whatever will give me the most caffeine for the least amount of money,” you retort. 

“How efficient,” Jungkook comments. 

“You know that’s how I like to be,” you tell him with a pointed look. 

Jungkook mumbles his acknowledgement as he fumbles around in his backpack, fishing through the large pocket until he whips out his Canon, holding it out in front of him like he’s a dad about to film an embarrassing shot of his child. You look down at the camera just as he pans up to you, a confused frown written across your features. Jungkook laughs. 

“Do you really need to do that here?”

“I’m not even filming,” Jungkook says with a smile, like he just pulled his camera out so he could look at your unimpressed face through a different lens. “Look, you’re up.”

You turn around to find that the woman ahead of you in line has just moved towards the pick-up side of the counter, so you shimmy over towards the barista, ready to get this over with so you can dart out of the Starbucks as soon as possible. 

“Just a grande Americano, please,” you request simply, fingers grasping for the wallet inside your coat pocket. 

“Me too,” Jungkook chirps up from behind you. The closeness of his voice makes you jump, and suddenly you become keenly cognizant of how he’s practically pressed up next to you as he leans over towards the counter. You catch a glimpse of the debit card in his hand. “Here.”

“You don’t have to pay for me, it’s fine,” you quickly say, holding out your own card to the barista. 

“No, it’s okay, I want to. Here.” Jungkook pushes your hand away as he tries to stuff his card into the reader. 

“No, I won’t let you. I’m a big girl, I can pay for my own coffee,” you rebuke, feeling yourself growing oddly defensive. 

Jungkook sighs from behind you. “Oh, come on, you can’t let me do one nice thing for you?”

“Will one of you please pay, you’re holding up the line,” the barista asks in a desperate tone, clearly too overworked and too underpaid to be dealing with two bratty college students like yourselves. 

Jungkook manages to shove his card into the reader before you get the chance to do it yourself, pushing you to the side as he verifies all of his information and takes his receipt. Next to him, you seethe to yourself, feeling a personal loss even though you just got your coffee paid for. It’s not about the money. It’s about your pride. Never in your life have you wanted to so badly pay for an overpriced Starbucks coffee. 

You and Jungkook mosey over to the other side of the counter, waiting for your identical drinks to be made as you try and calculate how much longer you have to stand in the same room and breathe the same air as Jungkook. Seeing him in class, on your discussion board posts, and for your arranged final project meetings apparently isn’t enough, so now he has to invade your personal life, too. 

“What are you doing?” You huff out angrily, turning to Jungkook even as he holds his camera out in front of him, filming the Starbucks. 

“Recording our first meeting, obviously,” Jungkook says like it’s some kind of no-brainer. Like you were in on that from the moment he called your name out on the street. 

“What do you mean, ‘our first meeting’?” You scrunch up your nose in confusion. “We’ve known each other since the semester started.”

“I know, but…” Jungkook trails off unhelpfully, but you pick up what he’s putting down regardless. Right. This is supposed to be a mockumentary rom-com. And rom-coms always start with an introduction. 

The barista behind the counter calls out Jungkook’s name as he places two same-sized cups down at the pick-up station. The cup is burning hot, even with the little cardboard holder wrapped around it like a leg warmer, so you immediately move over to the station up against the wall with all of the sugar packets and napkins and little green splash sticks. Jungkook joins you without question, whether it be due to the fact that he doesn’t come here very often or because he just wants to keep invading your space, you couldn’t say. Grabbing one of the wooden sticks, you tug the plastic lid off of the cup and give the coffee a swirl. Watching you, Jungkook takes the lid off of his as well. 

“Are you just going to copy everything I do?” You deadpan. 

“Not everything…” Jungkook trails off suspiciously, looking down into his coffee like the two of them are conspiring something. 

“What are you talki—”

Without warning, Jungkook slams half of his body into you, and without a lid or one of those little green sticks, the coffee sploshes over the side of his cup and drenches the front of your exposed hoodie, hot liquid burning through the fabric of the hoodie and the t-shirt you have on underneath. You watch in horror as Jungkook plays it off like an accident, feet fumbling around on the hardwood floor like he had just tripped. But he didn’t just trip. He dumped half of his Americano onto the both of your fronts. 

“Jungkook!” You say instantly, resisting the urge to scream because you’re in a public place but feeling your skin go as hot as the coffee against your torso as you look up at him, fuming. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I’m such a klutz,” Jungkook says, somehow able to regain his balance, hold his coffee cup, and film the whole adventure all at the same time. “That was totally my fault, let me help you with that.” 

The camera is from his perspective, which you suppose is about as real as it gets for something grounded in reality like a mockumentary, but in this position he’s able to make conversation with his eyes, big brown ones wide as he tries to signify what exactly he means when he purposely spills coffee all over the two of you. 

You get it. You’ve seen enough rom-coms to know why he just did what he did, but you still find your mouth agape as you stare up at him, smoldering and angry and a little shocked he would dare be so bold, especially in the middle of a Starbucks coffee shop. 

“For God’s sake,” you say with an exhausted sigh despite it not even being ten in the morning yet. Unable to form any other comprehensible words, you settle for just pulling out napkins from the dispenser and dabbing the front of your hoodie as Jungkook looks at you apologetically. You can’t even tell if he’s truly sorry or just putting on another one of his shows. 

“I feel so bad,” Jungkook says, and you calm yourself down enough to nod. At least he isn’t blatantly laughing. “Can I pay for dry cleaning?”

“You’re really gonna offer to pay for my dry cleaning?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

“It was my fault,” Jungkook admits. Now that you can agree on. 

You shake your head. “It’s okay. It’s just an old hoodie, it’s no big deal.”

“I’m still sorry,” Jungkook insists, and the more he says it the more you actually find yourself starting to believe him. Even if he did just spill coffee all over you. “Here, let me give you my jacket—”

“That’s not necessary,” you say as he shrugs off his backpack and begins to remove the bulky denim jacket he’s wearing, fabric worn and soft from years of use. “Seriously, it’s okay, it’s just a hoodie.”

“Yeah, but now you have coffee all over your clothes and you probably have class soon, right?” He says, an apologetic smile lacing his lips. He tugs off his jacket and holds it out towards you. 

“Jungkook, I’m fine, alright? I appreciate your concern, though,” you assure him. You throw away the last of the coffee-stained napkins in your hands and reach down for your backpack, which you had taken off your shoulders somewhere in the chaos. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, almost as if he was expecting resistance, and leans over you anyway. His arms extend outwards as he wraps his enormous denim jacket over your shoulders, the fabric draping loosely over your body. The damn thing was big on him, so on you it practically eats you up. You stand there, silent, as Jungkook adjusts the jacket on your torso, pulling underneath the hood of your sweatshirt as he makes sure it’s snug across your figure. 

“There,” Jungkook says. 

“Thanks,” you say, a half grin playing on your lips. The gesture makes you wonder if Jungkook really was planning on giving up his jacket this early in the morning for the sake of your movie. “That’s nice of you.”

“I hope it makes up for the fact that you smell like coffee now,” Jungkook says, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. 

“I appreciate it,” you say. 

“I have class, too, so I have to go,” Jungkook says, hoisting his backpack on his shoulders as he tucks his camera away. “I’m sorry again! See you around?”

Like you even have a choice. 

“Yeah, see you around,” you say as Jungkook darts off just as quickly as he arrived, rushing out the door before you have the chance to change your mind and give him his jacket back. 

When he leaves you, you find yourself at a loss for words. You stand there, lips pursed, coffee cold, as the weight of his jacket rests heavy on your shoulders. 

It smells like him. 

You should have known he would do something like this. Spill coffee all over the two of you, offer you his jacket, dash off like Cinderella at midnight. Like the opening of the world’s worst rom-com. The start of what is no doubt going to be the most unbearable final project you have ever done.

Plus, the other thing it’s ensured is a second meeting. How else is he going to get his jacket back?

And you know what the worst part is?

This is only the beginning.

This time after FILM395 ends lecture for the day, it’s your turn to catch Jungkook lounging around after class. 

He’s lingering around the outside of the building, scrolling through his phone, a heavy leather jacket resting over a flannel that goes down to his knees and a baseball cap sitting firmly on his tuft of blonde hair. He’s obviously not paying attention to any of his surroundings whatsoever, because he doesn’t even notice you exiting out of the door he’s standing by until you say his name. 

“Jungkook,” you say, arriving in front of him. 

“Wha—oh, hi,” Jungkook says, jumping at the suddenness of it all. 

“Here,” you say, holding out his oversized denim jacket in between the two of you. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were going to give it back so soon,” Jungkook says, looking a little surprised and… is he touched? 

“I was going to give it to you a couple days ago but I thought I should give it a wash first,” you admit to him. 

Instinctively, Jungkook brings the jacket up to his nose to sniff it. “Smells like lavender.”

“Yeah, it’s my detergent. Hope you don’t mind. It’s a little wrinkled—I let it air dry since I was worried it might shrink in the dryer.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook says, a genuine smile lacing itself across his features. It’s not one you see too often, and definitely not the kind of smile he usually flashes in your direction. Those are all so obnoxious, so full of himself. This one’s different. It’s appreciative. Kinder. Softer. In a lot of ways. “I was thinking, if you don’t have class now, do you wanna grab some coffee?”

You narrow your eyes. “Only if you promise not to spill it on me this time.”

Jungkook laughs, throwing his head back. “Okay, I got it. I won’t spill it on you.”

“Promise?” You prompt. 

“Promise.”

The walk to Starbucks this time is in relative silence, but neither of you seems to mind it very much. You aren’t dashing to catch up with each other and heaving snarky comments as you catch your breath. Jungkook even notices you shiver in the cool March breeze and wraps his jacket around you again anyway, although this time you make a mental note to make sure he doesn’t leave without it. Even though a lavender scent wafts off of the denim, it still smells a little bit like him. That boyish sort of aroma. You don’t think any detergent would ever be able to get rid of that. 

You and Jungkook both get americanos again because you’re predictable and creatures of habit, and Jungkook actually seems to quite like them. He pays and you don’t spend two minutes standing in front of the barista fighting over it. Jungkook seems so determined to pay the extra four dollars for your drink that you aren’t sure if it’s really worth arguing over it for the sake of pride anymore. What you and Jungkook put into making this project a success is what you’re going to get out of it. 

He picks one of the longer tables in the back of the study space, empty because it’s just after the lunchtime rush and most people have classes now, sets up the camera at one end, and you sit down at the other. 

“So,” you begin, not sure where to start because your coffee is too hot to take a sip from it. 

“So,” Jungkook echoes. 

Silence. 

You purse your lips in that awkward, I-don’t-know-what-to-say kind of way. “What do you want to do?”

Jungkook grins. “This is the part where we get to know each other.” 

“We already know each other.” You frown.

“Do we?” Jungkook poses, an eyebrow raised. “I mean, yeah, I guess we aren’t strangers, but I don’t know anything about you. Other than you’re a film major in a rom-com class who hates rom-coms.”

“I don’t hate rom-coms,” you object. “I just think it’s important to look at them from a critical lens.”

“Okay, whatever,” Jungkook says, shrugging you off. “The point is that we don’t know anything else about each other. Like, what’s your favorite color, for example?”

“Purple.” It’s an easy answer. You wore purple princess dresses when you were five, painted your bedroom lilac when you were ten, and still make sure to keep a purple highlighter in your pencil case now. “What’s yours?”

“Red,” Jungkook responds. 

“Cool,” you say, effectively ending the rest of the conversation.

Jungkook, sensing that same awkward silence, suggests something. “How about you ask me something now? We can go back and forth.”

You shrug. It’s not like you have anything better to do. “Alright.” You think for a moment, but then you have the perfect question. “Why film?”

Jungkook was clearly not expecting something so loaded, because his brows furrow, knitting themselves together as he begins to figure out a good enough answer. “Hmm,” he says, lost deep in thought. “I suppose the standard answer would be that I’ve always been interested in it, but I think I chose film because I want to be able to have the gift to tell other people’s stories. Being a filmmaker doesn’t just mean you stand behind a camera. It means you immerse yourself in the lives of other people to create something new. And… I don’t know. I guess I really like doing that.” 

You nod. 

For once, you understand him. Understand why he chose to major in film, why he chose to be in this tiny little program. Because there is so much out there, so much that you will never know, people you will never meet and things you will never see. And it’s a filmmaker’s job to make them turn into things you will see, people you will meet. Who knows the world better than the people who study it? The people who have devoted their lives to learning all its secrets?

“What about you?”

“Same as you,” you tell him. “Film is an art but it’s more than that to me. It’s a new way to look at the world. It’s several new ways to look at the world, depending on what kind of film you want to create and what kind of story you want to tell. I think it’s important to show people that all of the things they see in the media every day are not always reality. And that real people deserve to have their stories told, too. I don’t know. That’s what I think.”

Jungkook grins, a twinkle in his eyes. “Real people like us?”

“This project is different,” you insist. 

“I don’t think it is,” Jungkook says. “You said it yourself, we’re making this because it’s important to show people that the Hollywood entertainment they consume is not reality. This is. This is reality.”

You frown, kicking yourself in the shin because what was supposed to be a harmless conversation has now turned into an opportunity for Jungkook to try and convince you that you will, in fact, fall in love with him. You’ve dug your own grave and Jungkook was the one who handed you the shovel. 

“You’re not giving up, are you?” You say, shaking your head, flabbergasted. “Reality is the fact that this project is not going to make me fall in love with you. Nothing is.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Jungkook warns. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“You mean like spilling burning hot coffee all over me?” You ask, an eyebrow raised, a grudge still held. 

“We had to start somewhere,” Jungkook defends. “And you seemed to understand what I was doing pretty quickly.”

“It’s not the worst thing someone’s done to me,” you concede, only slightly. “Besides, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but throwing hot coffee all over me is not really a good way to start off your plan to get me to fall in love with you.”

Jungkook smiles. “All in due time, Y/N. All in due time.”

“I can’t believe Pollack actually paired us up together,” you say with a sigh. “You know she did it on purpose.”

“Of course she did.” It’s not really a surprise to either of you. 

“I met with her right after she announced our partners,” you tell him, “she said it was because she wanted to see what kind of project we would come up with. How we would address our… differing views on love.” That’s one way of putting it. A rather nice way, if you do say so yourself.

“Speaking of which,” Jungkook says, something suddenly flashing through his mind, “what do you really think about love? You know, other than it’s unrealistic and ruins people’s lives.”

“You make me sound like Ebeneezer Scrooge.” You frown at him. 

“I’m serious,” insists Jungkook. “Why are you so pessimistic about it? Have you ever been in love? Have you had bad experiences? You couldn’t have just developed this worldview over time.”

You scowl, feeling yourself getting defensive. “Well, maybe I did. Maybe that’s just what I think. Why do you care?”

“Because people don’t just hate love for no reason,” Jungkook exclaims. “Come on, there must be something.”

Your body stiffens. Who is he to be asking you this sort of shit? Why does he care so much? It’s not like it will have any effect on the outcome of your project. Not like you explaining yourself will change the way either of you look at the world. 

“What’s it to you?” You challenge. “Why do you love love so much? Have you ever fallen in love? Do you think it’s suddenly going to solve all of your problems?”

“I love it because I think it brings people real joy,” Jungkook answers simply. “It makes people happy and it’s beautiful. I love love and I’m not ashamed to say that out loud. I believe in it. I believe in love, and in destiny, and in soulmates. I want that. I think everyone deserves it.”

 You scoff to yourself. “You believe in soulmates?”

“I think we all have our people out there.” Jungkook nods. “Don’t you?”

You roll your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. This conversation has gone nowhere, and Jungkook looks as equally dissatisfied as you do. 

“I think love can make us do stupid things,” you tell him succinctly, if a little jaded. No need to say anything else. Your explanation is right there. “We’re just different, I guess. You and I.”

Jungkook blinks at you, eyes wide and a little desperate. Your conversation has remained stagnant and there’s almost nothing left to say. 

Almost. 

“Don’t you ever want to fall in love?” He asks, like it’s a last-ditch effort to get you to believe. 

You freeze. Let the words sink in for a moment. Before you push them out the door and toss them into the garbage. Just thinking about it gives you a headache. Puts a sour taste in your mouth. 

Quickly, you push yourself out of your chair and stand up, grabbing your coffee with one hand and your backpack with the other. “I have to go, sorry. I just remembered I’m meeting up with a friend to help her with a photography shoot,” you fumble out quickly, the legs of the chair screeching as you scoot them across the hardwood floor. “Oh, here’s your jacket, too. Thanks for giving it to me again. I’ll see you in class.”

You whip around and head towards the exit, and only when you’re outside of the Starbucks and passing by the window do you dare look back. Do you dare let your gaze drift back to Jungkook, who is sitting there like he still doesn’t understand you. Still can’t. 

You and Jungkook are final project partners and maybe, if you’re pushing it, acquaintances-slash-friends. But there are just some things better kept to yourself. 

We’re reaching the halfway point in this semester and, as you all know, I don’t do midterms. That said, I still want you to reflect on what you’ve learned, discovered, and thought about thus far in this class. What portrayal of love did you find the most realistic? The least? How have they changed the way you think about love, both from a personal and a film perspective?

Y/N Y/N on March 3rd at 6:08PM

Purely from a film perspective, I really did enjoy watching Juno. It was funny and raunchy and just the right amount of vulnerable. It certainly felt the most real. So far, no film in this class has topped it for me. 500 Days of Summer, on the other hand, was in my opinion extremely unsatisfying and left no positive impression. The ending was a bore and Tom had absolutely no spine. It was a shame, because the direction and production was actually quite good. 

I guess I’m starting to realize how real love is not pretty. It can make people just as sad as it can make them happy. Why don’t we show the sad sides of love, too? The sides where your room is covered with a pile of clothes because you can’t bring yourself to do the laundry? Where you cannot cook a meal because it reminds you of a breakup? Rom-coms are, obviously, not the most realistic. But why are there not more films that do cover what’s real? How can we love love if all we know is a lie?

Jeon Jungkook on March 3rd at 11:13PM

Of course, I thought The Big Sick did an excellent job of their portrayal of love, adult life, and the problems that plague us all in the twenty-first century. It was also just as emotional and touched on concepts of race, illness, and being in your twenties and having no idea what direction your life is going in. The Princess Bride, on the other hand, as much as I love it, I do think created a more circumstantial kind of love. Westley and Buttercup mostly fall in love because of their situations. But it remains a classic nonetheless. 

I’m satisfied with the way the film industry has produced rom-coms and handles love. The beauty of it is that love is different for every person who goes through it. It can bring the greatest joy and the most painful sorrow. We do not just figure out what love is by what we see on film. We see it in our real lives, in our parents, in our friends, in couples in coffee shops and cars and on sidewalks. We can love love because we want that joy for ourselves. Because we know that true love will be worth any heartbreak we endure. Is it not impossible for the portrayals of love in these rom-coms to not be real? The way everyone experiences it is different. The only way you can know what real love is, and what it is not, is if you fall in love yourself. 

Early on in your project development, you and Jungkook exchanged class schedules to optimize your productivity and skip over that stupid, terrible part of partner projects where you’re just going back and forth trying to pick a time that works for the both of you until you eventually settle on something ridiculous like eleven o’clock at night outside of the McDonald’s two blocks off of campus. 

It’s been working very well. Neither of you have adventurous-enough friends to invite you out on spontaneous picnics and restaurant dates that fuck with your pre-scheduled meeting times, and Jungkook already seems to have mastered the art of screaming your name when he catches you on the sidewalk so that you can film something. 

In fact, you’re actually beginning to wonder why you haven’t done this with all of your long-term partner projects. Send each other your schedules so that you can settle on a time in advance. No muss, no fuss. 

You and Jungkook are supposed to meet up again tonight, after the two of you are finished with all of your classes, to discuss what scenes you should be filming next. Edited down, you’ve already got about ten minutes worth of footage, but it’s mid-March and the project is due at the end of April. So you need to get this show on the road. 

The door slams shut behind you as you exit the business building, your film industry class having just ended a minute ago. You’ve got an hour to kill before your next class, just enough time to dash to the food court in the center of campus and grab something from the Japanese place in the back corner. You might even have time to browse the shelves in the bookstore if you’re fast enough. 

You round the corner to the main pathway through campus when a voice stops you in your tracks. 

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

It’s not Jungkook. Instead, in the middle of the walkway are the Eighth Notes, one of the fifteen-thousand (you don’t know for sure, but if you had to estimate) acapella groups on campus. They’ve got mic stands and a table set up and everything. Maybe they’re promoting an upcoming show…? 

You almost breeze right by when one of them, the one in the middle of the group, points right at you, a lopsided grin lacing his features. You aren’t one to normally stop in the middle of a crowded footpath, but when, one after another, all six of the boys start pointing at you, you have no choice. 

“You’d be like Heaven to touch…”

“I wanna hold you so much…” 

“At long last, love has arrived…”

“And I thank God I’m alive…”

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

Their voices are smooth like honey, warm and deep, romancing you through their mics as each one of them suddenly manifests a rose from behind them. Around you, people are starting to stare, gawking at you as they walk by. There’s even a small crowd starting to gather, and you swear you can see some people filming on their phones. The fact that this is happening in the busiest ten minutes of the day, as half the student body is walking from one class to another, isn’t helping. At all. 

The rest of them singing in the background, each one steps out from behind the set of microphones to hand you the rose, smiling their classic, old-timey smiles like those old jazz singers from the 1960s, until you’ve got half a dozen in your hands as they continue to sing. 

“But if you feel like I feel…”

“Please let me know that it’s real…”

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

And then, suddenly, all of them are shutting their traps and turning to the left, looking down the pathway as the song begins again, but from one-hundred feet away. 

“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night…”

Your mouth drops. At the other end of the walkway is Jungkook, one of those wireless microphones in his hand, grinning as he saunters down the path like a prince at a ball, voice sweet and thick as the words dance off of his lips. 

“I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…”

Your eyes lock from opposite ends of the path, Jungkook stepping closer with every beat the Eighth Notes gives him. It sort of feels like your impending doom and a wedding proposal, all at once. By now a rather substantial audience has gathered, lining the walkway with their phones out, filming Jungkook as he waltzes past them, occasionally turning to capture your gobsmacked expression. 

Every step that Jungkook takes makes your heart race something fierce, cheeks warming in embarrassment, trapped in your least favorite thing in the entire world: a public serenade. You can’t really do anything except look at him in shock, feeling his steady gaze resting firmly on your figure, looking right at you. Into you. 

“Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, I pray…”

Oh, pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay…”

Jungkook, on the other hand, is clearly relishing in this. In the spotlight. In the music. Or maybe just in the fact that you’re on the receiving end of his over-the-top advances. His grin is wide as he takes those last few steps, microphone gripped neatly in his hand, the lyrics warm and weighty as they tumble from his lips. 

“And let me love you, baby…”

One final step and he’s right in front of you, staring into your eyes, letting himself bask in the look on your face. He produces a rose himself—cherry red, like his favorite color—and holds it out in between the two of you. In the background, the Eighth Notes go quiet, leaving Jungkook on his own for the final line. 

“Let me love you…”

The words drift above your heads, disappearing into the sky as he lingers on them, on that last note, beaming down at you. He looks at you, so hopeful, so happy, so endeared, and what else can you do? What else, besides taking the rose from his hand and smiling back up at him? Who are you to deny him of that?

The crowd around you cheers when you do, applauding both Jungkook and the Eighth Notes, with whom he is apparently in cahoots, before they all decide that they ought to get on with their day and head to class. No doubt you’ll be on several dozen Instagram stories by nightfall. 

Only after everyone has dispersed do you notice Taehyung, who must have been here since the beginning, because he’s just turning off the camera dangling from his neck. Of course Jungkook got him to film. Other than your project, what else would this be for?

“Is that the best you can do, Jungkook?” You smirk up at him, only saying this because you can’t have him knowing that you actually kind of enjoyed it. 

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” Jungkook responds easily. “Thought I would do something spontaneous.”

“And now you’ve taken up ten minutes of my lunch,” you say, shaking your head to yourself. “How spontaneous, indeed.”

“How was that, Jungkook?”

Behind the two of you, the Eighth Notes are packing up, clearly more than happy to have aided Jungkook on his quest for so-called love and getting to promote their group in the process. 

“Great, thank you so much, Jimin,” Jungkook says to the one in the middle, the very first one to sing when you walked out of the door. 

“Anytime, dude. Glad we could help,” Jimin responds. He waves hi to Taehyung, too, as they store their microphones and go on their way. 

Jungkook bids them goodbye as they head down the path, smiling at all of them before he turns back to you, notices the distant, faraway look in your eyes as you twirl the rose between your fingers, press it to your nose to pick up its scent. 

“You gotta admit, I’m a pretty good singer, eh?” Jungkook says with a nudge to your shoulder. 

“You’re alright.”

Jungkook laughs to himself. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get a big head,” you warn. 

“Think I’ll have to sing for you more, now, hmm? Since you liked it so much?” He suggests, eyebrows wiggling. 

You roll your eyes. “Only if you can get Jimin and the Eighth Notes to back you up, again. Then maybe I’ll allow it.”

Jungkook grins. He’s far past the point of being deterred by your deadpan comments. If anything, they only encourage him more. But you, for obvious reasons, cannot give in. At least, not yet, anyway. 

“Okay, go eat your lunch,” he says, nodding as you begin to part ways. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

You smile. “Okay. See you.”

“See you, too.”

The moment you get back to your apartment you put all seven roses in an old vase filled with water. They brighten up your bedroom instantly, soft scent freshening up the air. And when you go to bed that night, it is to Jungkook’s sweet, delicate voice, like walking on clouds, like satin and silk, that you fall asleep.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Jungkook greets like always, smiling at you as you walk in the door for FILM395. 

“Good morning, Jungkook,” you say in response. 

Then, you take a seat right next to him. 

It’s an act that clearly catches everyone off guard, if the bewildered looks of your fellow classmates and Jungkook’s confused expression are anything to go by. Even Pollack, when she walks through the door, gets a bit of a shock, eyes widening when she sees the two of you seated next to each other. 

You suppose all the fuss is understandable. After all, you both sort of hate each other. 

Other than the sudden change in seating arrangement, however, the rest of the class goes off without much issue. Pollack lectures for an hour before you move into discussion, at which point it becomes a class participation free-for-all, with you and Jungkook almost definitely in the lead. Just because you’re now sitting next to each other doesn’t mean either of you are suddenly going to stop raising your hands to rebuke each other’s points. Some things never change. 

Sitting next to Jungkook is not as bad as you thought it would be. For one, he is, for the most part, a rather diligent student. Other than his occasional flicks to his email, an essay he’s working on, or your discussion board, he mostly sits and takes notes and doesn’t do anything else. That, you can at least give him credit for. And even though your elbows almost always nearly crash into each other’s when you’re raising your hands to respond to a point Pollack’s made, discussion isn’t so bad either. 

One of the perks of sitting directly beside each other is that whenever he says something stupid, or saccharine, or just overly unrealistic, you don’t have to just roll your eyes from the back of the classroom while you wait to be called on. You also get to kick his foot with your own, nudge your elbow into his side. And he does the same to you. You and Jungkook are like those neighbors in sitcoms that spend all their free time shouting at each other from opposite windows. Just because your seats have gotten closer doesn’t mean your viewpoints have. 

A notification pops up on your laptop.

[March 17th, 11:05AM]

Jungkook: wanna meet at the tables outside after class?

You look over at Jungkook with a frown.

You: Why are you texting me? We’re sitting right next to each other

Jungkook: because we’re in class obvs Jungkook: dont wanna be disruptive

You: Since when has that ever stopped you before?

Jungkook: haha very funny Jungkook: tables sound good?

You: Only since you asked so nicely :)

Jungkook: thoughtful as always i see

After class, you and Jungkook both hang around, waiting for each other to pack up your belongings so you can walk to the tables together. Everyone else seems to sense this weird, uncomfortable tension in the room, because they all book it out of the door much faster than either of you do. You’re almost convinced Jungkook purposely takes extra time to zip his backpack, just because. 

The tables are, as per usual, empty. But you don’t have a pile of receipts to spread out, this time. You and Jungkook take a seat at one of them as you pull out your laptops, ready to outline the rest of the project. 

“We should probably meet with Taehyung a couple more times, too,” you suggest as you begin to brainstorm. 

“Sounds good,” Jungkook agrees. “But we can’t meet at night on weekdays anymore. My dance group’s show is coming up and we have practice then.”

You stop typing and turn to him. “I didn’t know you were in a dance group.”

Jungkook shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I don’t really talk about it that much.”

“You should.”

He looks up at you at that, eyes wide as he faces you. 

“I don’t know, it seems like something you should be passionate about,” you say. In the same way that you promote the Film Club to every freshman you know, force all your friends to mark that they’re Interested in your event pages on Facebook. Jungkook should want to tell everyone about his dance group. Doesn’t he love it? Isn’t he proud to be in it?

Jungkook doesn’t look like he knows what to say to that. So he doesn’t say anything at all. 

“We can meet on weekends too,” you say, adjusting to his new change of schedule easily. “This project isn’t as all-consuming as I thought it would be.”

“You mean I’m not as all-consuming as you thought I would be,” Jungkook corrects. 

You shake your head. “No, you are.” He laughs. “But yeah, on weekends is fine. You know my schedule. What else should we do, besides talk to Taehyung?”

It’s like a lightbulb goes off above Jungkook’s head. “Let’s go on a date.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No.”

“What do you mean, “no”? It’s the natural progression of our relationship! It’s the next step in the rom-com! We have to,” Jungkook insists. 

“First of all, it’s a mockumentary, not a rom-com,” you say with a sigh, finding yourself having to correct him rather frequently. “Secondly, we are not in a relationship. I am not dating you and you are not dating me.”

“Okay, but at this point in rom-coms the two leads would definitely go on a date,” Jungkook says, punctuating every word for emphasis. “What’s the harm? It’s not like you’re committing yourself to a future with me.”

“Thank God,” you mutter. 

“Oh, shut up. You probably haven’t been on a date in years, anyway. Why not spend a night out?”

You frown at that. “Who cares if I have or have not been on a date?” Why does Jungkook care so much about the history of your love life? He’s always saying stuff like this, always telling you things as if you’ve never been in a relationship at all, don’t know left from right, black from white. Who is he to be making those assumptions?

“Please, Y/N,” Jungkook begs, looking desperate. “Just one evening. And then if it really goes terribly and you end up hating me again, then we don’t have to do another one.”

You sigh, shoulders slumping. Well, what else are you going to do? You don’t have any other ideas. And you’ve already spent so much time with Jungkook this semester, what’s another evening? Just something else to cross off of your list of things to film. Maybe you can get him to take a cute photo of you to post on social media. 

“Fine,” you concede. “One date. And I still hate you, by the way.”

Jungkook clearly does not believe you. “Really? You still hate me? I’m sure you do.”

“Okay, I don’t hate you. But still,” you relent again. Perhaps you’re just being oddly soft today. Too lenient for your own good. 

Jungkook grins, cheeks little round circles as his lips curve up. “I know you like me. You just can’t admit it to yourself, can you? Can’t take that blow to your dignity.”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself,” you chide. 

“Who knows?” Jungkook tacks on, just to be extra annoying. “Maybe you’re actually starting to fall in love with me.”

You scoff. “You wish.”

“Well, are you?”

Jungkook doesn’t ask the question the same way he’s asked all of the other ones. Doesn’t say it with a shit-eating grin on his face or that glint in his eyes. He’s asking because he’s curious. Curious if what he’s been doing has been working. Curious if this project is really accomplishing anything at all. 

Funnily enough, you find yourself wondering the exact same thing.

Silent, you pausing for a moment to think, chewing on the inside of your lip. Jungkook’s looking back at you, lips curled upwards as he waits for a response. Ugh, you’ll just have to give it up. What else can you say? “I guess…” you begin, hesitating. 

You aren’t sure why you’re so scared to respond. Maybe you’re just worried that things will change if you say something. If you tell him the truth. 

But it’s just Jungkook. He’s sitting in front of you patiently, waiting for your answer. What could happen?

You confess. “I guess you’re not so bad after all.”

Even though this is not the first time you’ve ever been out on a “date” (you’re using that word tentatively), picking out what to wear isn’t any easier than the last time. 

“Is black too, you know, sexy?”

Ruby shrugs on the other end of the video call. Her phone is propped up on her desk as she works on something on her laptop, glancing over every now and then whenever you prompt her to respond. “Well, that depends. Do you wanna fuck?”

“No.”

“Then it might be too sexy,” Ruby says easily. “What are you even doing? I thought you didn’t go out on dates.”

“It’s not a date,” you insist, although you’re not exactly sure which of the two of you you’re trying to convince. 

“You’re asking me what kind of sexy dress to wear for a night out with a guy. It’s a date,” Ruby reminds you, economical as always. “Who are you even going out with, anyway? You just called and asked me to pick between two dresses I have literally never seen you wear before.”

“That’s because I don’t go out on dates, which this is not,” you tell her, even expending the energy to stare into the camera to hammer your point home. “And it’s with Jungkook.”

Ruby shuts her laptop at that. You can hear the sound of her keyboard clacking as the lid hits them. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do I need to remind you that this is not a date and therefore, you don’t need to be acting like I just told you I’m getting married.” You frown at her. “It’s just for our movie. Jungkook wants me to dress nicely, though.”

“Wear that nice summer dress you have,” Ruby instructs instead, shooing away the two much sexier options you’re currently holding in your hands. “Just put tights on underneath if you’re cold.”

“This one?” You ask, shuffling through your closet until you produce the gingham dress, plaid a pale yellow that matches gold jewelry rather well. 

“Yes, that one. I like that one,” Ruby says with a nod. “You look good in it.”

“I don’t know, I feel like it’s not appropriate.” You hesitate. It’s a cute dress, sure, but it seems too… casual. Too everyday. Jungkook’s taking you out to dinner, and no doubt he’s got something else planned for the rest of the evening. 

“I mean, you did say you had no plans on fucking him tonight,” Ruby reminds you coarsely. 

“I have no plans on fucking him at all,” you reiterate. “This is not a date. It is for our movie.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ruby brushes you off with a wave of her hand. “Wear whatever you want, but I like your yellow dress the most. It looks really nice on you. And if it’s not a date, then neither you nor Jungkook should care.”

“Ruby—”

“I gotta go. Enjoy your not-date!”

She hangs up. 

You end up wearing the yellow dress. Jungkook knocks on your apartment door just as you’re closing the clasp to your necklace, a gold choker your mother had gifted you for a birthday a couple of years ago. It’s nothing much. You grab a jacket on your way to answer the door, wrapping it around your figure as you twist the knob. 

On the other side is Jungkook, all decked out in black jeans and a clean-cut leather jacket, the black ensemble striking against his warm-toned skin and bleached, blonde hair. You hate to admit it, but he actually does look rather good. For Jeon Jungkook. 

“Hi—whoa,” Jungkook says, doing a little whistle when he sees you, eyes bulging out of their sockets. 

You chuckle. “‘Whoa’ yourself.”

“You, uh…” Jungkook stammers slightly, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. The movement lifts his arm up just enough for you to see the line of his waist, the seamlessness of his body. He’s always been rather fit. “You look nice.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” you chide, stepping outside and pulling the door shut behind you. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

“Cleaned up just for you.” He grins. 

You press a hand to your heart dramatically. “I’m touched.” You begin walking down the hallway of your small apartment building, feeling your hands brushing by your sides due to how skinny the corridor is. At least, that’s what you assume. 

“Where are we going?” You ask as Jungkook opens the door to the passenger side of his car for you. 

He winks, that same gleam in his eye. He grins something wicked. “Don’t you remember?” He asks. “It’s a secret.”

The secret turns out to be a small Italian restaurant on an off-road in the center of town, a family joint with those plaid red tablecloths and dark wooden chairs. You’d never heard of the place before tonight, but Jungkook insists that it’s delicious and says it has a four-and-a-half star rating on Yelp, which is obviously gospel when it comes to restaurants. It’s so empty that he even has room to prop up the camera a couple of tables away to get that wide-angle shot of the both of you, two souls in a tiny little restaurant, enjoying a night out on the town. You’re sure that by the time production and post-production rolls around you’ll edit out most of your dialogue, but you like the idea of keeping in snippets of the audio, overlaying the scene with a soft instrumental. 

From a director’s point of view, of course. No other reason to romanticize your night with him. 

It’s nice. Objectively, it’s definitely one of the more exciting things you’ve done in a while, even if it’s just a dinner out in town, away from campus. It’s new. Adventurous. Jungkook convinces you to try his vodka shrimp linguine and you offer up some of your truffle-flavored gnocchi, which he devours happily. One thing you do learn is that no matter how much time passes, no matter how much food is on his plate, Jungkook eats and eats and eats. He never seems to fill up. This is one of those restaurants that pile your bowls high with pasta, give you at least three servings, send you home with to-go packages that will last you for days, and he still somehow manages to eat every last bite. He even has some of your leftovers. 

Jungkook pays because he insists and says that you shouldn’t fight on camera, which you have no choice but to agree to. However, you do look him up on Venmo and send him twenty dollars to cover your half of the bill, because the idea of him paying for you doesn’t sit right with you. It was fine with the coffee, a small token of repayment after spilling it all over you, but dinner just feels like too much. Like he’s carrying most of the weight and you aren’t shouldering enough. Like he’s putting in all of the effort and you are just bandwagoning off of him. 

And partnerships aren’t supposed to be like that. Jungkook isn’t supposed to do all of the work. You aren’t supposed to do nothing. You and Jungkook may not agree on much but you both know that you are equals. That what you put in is what you get out. 

It’s a lesson you think you learned too late, but you won’t make those mistakes again. You’ll get it right this time. 

“That was nice,” Jungkook says after the dinner. You’re walking through the park just across the street now, the sun having set and the streetlamps illuminating your path. The city has strung up lights along the trees, draped them over the branches like stars, like snowflakes. It’s picturesque. 

“Yeah.” You nod. “Thanks for taking me.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“How did you discover that place?” You ask, just out of curiosity. It’s not exactly the kind of restaurant that would be front and center on Google. 

“I went out on a date in freshman year there,” Jungkook admits, lips pursed awkwardly. “Yeah.”

“Did it at least go well?” You ask, trying to be hopeful. 

“If it did, do you think I’d still be here doing this with you?” Jungkook poses, an eyebrow raised. 

You chuckle to yourself. “You don’t mean that. I’m sure you’ll find your person.”

“You actually believe in that stuff now?” Jungkook asks you, skeptical. 

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “You do. I don’t wanna ruin it for you. Your person’s out there somewhere.”

“How do you know I haven’t already found my person?”

You stop in the middle of the path, feet coming to a halt on the pavement. Jungkook looks at you and you look back at him, letting his question sink into your skin, etch itself into your thoughts. He’s asking you because he wants to know. He looks so genuine, so patient, like he’s trying to find an answer somewhere in your eyes but you can’t give him one. 

“Wouldn’t you be able to tell when you did?”

Jungkook sighs. “I don’t know if it always works like that.”

You smile, soft and small. Musing, you say, “well, when you figure it out, let me know.”

“Do you think you’ve found your person?” Jungkook asks you. 

“You know I don’t think about love like that,” you remind him. 

“Well, how do you think about it?”

You gaze up at him once more, that same soft smile playing on your lips. Who is he to be asking you these questions, you wonder to yourself. What would the point be in answering him? It’s better if you just both moved on. Especially since stuff like this has no relevance to your project. 

“I don’t really think about love at all,” you say curtly. 

“I wish you did,” admits Jungkook. 

The look in your eyes is distant. “Yeah.” You wish you did, too.

“How about we do a couple of quick shots, right here?” Jungkook suggests, pulling out the camera. “Just here, the lighting’s nice.” He jogs back a couple of feet, lining himself up with where you stand, kneeling on the pavement with the camera held up to his eye. 

“What do you want me to do?” You call to him, feeling like a fish out of water in front of the lens, thumbs twiddling. 

“Just smile,” Jungkook requests simply. “Say hi to me.”

Sounds easy enough. Under the twinkling lights of the trees, in the haze of their warm yellow glow, you wave to Jungkook, smiling happily. You aren’t exactly sure what the purpose of these shots are, but you suppose you could always use some artistic frames in your movie. Grinning, you keep your eyes trained on him, on the way you can see him smiling back at you even from behind the camera. His eyes are covered, you can’t see those, but you hope they’re smiling too. 

“Okay, my turn,” you say when a little too much time has passed, when it’s just past the point of filming for the sake of a movie and more for the sake of something else. “Get over here.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you idiot.” You scurry over to Jungkook, taking the camera from his hands and pushing in in the general direction of where you were just standing. Situating yourself, you kneel right where Jungkook was, bringing the camera to your eyes. 

Through the lens, you can see the entire width of the pathway, the grass that borders it, the lights decorating the branches of the trees, and Jungkook, front and center. He looks like he has no idea what he’s doing there, waiting awkwardly as he gazes around, eyes drifting everywhere but exactly where you need them: you. He looks good like this, looks much taller, much more romantic. Like a real movie star. Like a model. His clothes make him blend in with the darkness of the night but his eyes are still shimmering, golden flecks twinkling, even from all the way over here. 

You have to admit it. He’s beautiful.

“Smile,” you say, pressing film. 

Jungkook grins your way. 

Afterwards, you give him his camera back and continue walking, turning the corner as you reach the edge of the park, ready to circle around the perimeter.

“How about we hold hands, too?”

“Excuse you?” You say, an eyebrow raised. 

“Come on, just for a second,” Jungkook pleads. “For the artistry. I’ll film us holding hands like all those Los Angeles boys do in YouTube vlogs.”

You look at him suspiciously. Is he sure it’s just for the artistry? “What a great example.”

“Please? Promise I always put hand cream on,” Jungkook asks, bottom lip turned outwards. 

It’s getting harder and harder to say no to him. 

“Fine,” you cave rather easily this time around. “Just for a minute.”

“Excellent.”

Jungkook lifts the camera up to his eye with his right hand as he holds out his left, palm facing the sky as he waits for you to rest your own in his. You narrow your eyes to the camera before your gaze drifts downwards to his open hand, almost like you’re afraid it’s going to jump out and bite at you if you get any closer. But it won’t, because it’s a hand. And it won’t, because it’s just Jungkook. 

The first thing you realize when your fingers intertwine with his is how big his hands are. They are massive. His left one dwarfs your own, wrapping around it securely, enveloping it like a king-sized comforter. The second thing you realize is how soft they are (he must not have been lying about the hand cream). The third thing you realize is the way they send sparks up and down your body, send tingles through your skin, shocks through your veins. You seize up a little bit at the feeling before your body finds it in itself to relax, letting the sensation wash over you like a wave from the ocean. 

It’s new. 

It’s strange. 

You haven’t felt that way in a long time. Felt those sparks, those jolts of energy. Like lightning has struck. 

Jungkook moves so that your hands are held out in front of you, making sure to adjust the lens just so he can get the exact right angle, but all you can focus on is the way your fingers interlock, the way your hand settles into his. 

You wonder what that means. 

The moment Jungkook lowers the camera you pull your hand away, overwhelmed and scared and shocked all at once. Like you’re afraid that if you reach out to him again, your whole body will freeze in place, shake like the wind. 

Jungkook looks at you, concern lacing his features. “You alright?” He asks, genuine and worried. 

You shake your head, willing those thoughts away. “I’m fine, I’m fine. You get the shot?”

“Yeah, I did,” Jungkook says. 

“And how do they look?” You ask because you can’t help yourself. Because you just have to know. 

Jungkook pauses, not sure how to respond. He chews on his lips like he’s running through all the possible answers, trying to figure out which one is right. You almost think he’s not going to reply at all, but then he smiles, and he says this: 

“Magical.”

It feels weird for you to be arriving at Kim Taehyung’s door without Jungkook by your side. Doesn’t sit right in your stomach. 

Of course, Taehyung is as hospitable as always, welcoming you inside with his signature warm grin as he sets up the bar stools by the bedsheet, which you assume he will just not take down until your project’s over. Hopefully he’s getting use out of it otherwise, shooting nudes or whatever it is he said he would do. 

“Thanks for having me,” you say, resting your backpack against the foot of his couch as you set up the tripod, arranging it in just the right spot. It’s not Jungkook’s fancy camera that you’ve got with you, just your own from a couple years ago, but it’ll get the job done. You couldn’t ask Jungkook to borrow his, anyway. You’d pass away before he found out you did this. 

“We might not use this footage,” you warn in advance. “I just figured it’s safer to film everything just in case.”

“Why wouldn’t you use it?” Taehyung asks, genuinely curious. 

“Because I don’t know if this conversation will really have a point,” you say nervously, fingers fidgeting with the settings until everything’s just right. 

“I’m sure it’ll be important,” Taehyung assures you. You’re not so confident. “Ready to get started?”

“Yes, everything’s all set up,” you say, concentrating on your breathing as you make your way to the stool. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Why are you so worried?

“So, Y/N, how are you feeling right now?” Taehyung begins. 

You sigh. “Confused.”

“And why is that?”

“I… I don’t really know what direction I’m going in anymore for this project,” you say, letting yourself be candid and honest because it’s just Taehyung, and because you may not even use this footage, and because Jungkook’s not here. He doesn’t know you’ve asked Taehyung to do this for you. He doesn’t need to. 

“And is this because of Jungkook?”

“Yes.” Another easy answer. 

“How are you feeling about him?”

“I’m…” you don’t know where to begin. “I’m not sure. I just know that something’s changed.”

“Your feelings have changed?” Taehyung isn’t reacting, just asking questions in response to your answers and pretending that everything is normal, that this is just another interview. 

“I guess they have,” you admit. Even just saying that feels like a weight off your chest. A small one, five pounds out of a thousand. But it’s a difference. “I… don’t really know how I feel about him anymore.”

“In a good or bad way?”

Taehyung told you he would ask tough questions, but you don’t know if you can answer these anymore. 

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling yourself growing desperate with impatience. “I don’t feel the same things about him that I used to. He’s different to me now.”

“Do you think he’s changed?”

“Something has.”

“Have you considered the possibility that maybe you’ve changed, too?”

You frown, caught off-guard by his question. No, you haven’t. You haven’t thought about that at all. Why would you? Your stance is the same. Your opinions on love haven’t changed. And neither have your convictions about this project, about the way it will end. 

“No,” you say, nose scrunched up. 

“Well, I’m no expert, but I think there might be something between the two of you that wasn’t there before,” Taehyung says, nodding. “I think that the ways the two of you have changed have brought you together.”

“I don’t know about that…” You trail off. You can feel yourself growing hesitant again, pulling back from saying too much because you’ve never been a very good speaker. Because you’ve always preferred being behind the camera to being in front of it. 

“Don’t you think you should tell him how you feel?”

You scoff. At least that’s got an easy answer. A no-brainer. “No,” you say matter-of-factly, obvious because it is, stern because telling him was never an option anyway. Why else does Taehyung think you’re here without him? “Jungkook said he would get me to fall in love with him and I told him I would never. How could I ever let him think he was actually winning?”

Taehyung sighs.

You haven’t seen Jungkook since your class on Wednesday. Granted, it’s only Saturday, but it feels like it’s been a weirdly long time. Like you’re so used to him barging into your life on the daily that there’s something off about even going three days without seeing him. Maybe it’s just because you’re nearing the beginning of April and your project is finally picking up steam. Between the two of you, you almost definitely have more than two hour’s worth of footage, but the hard part will be paring it down and turning it into a forty-five minute documentary. No doubt you and Jungkook will be spending a lot of time together the week before it’s due. 

Just out of curiosity, you text him. Because you have no idea what he’s been getting up to. 

[March 28th, 1:05PM]

You: Hey, do you think we need to get together sometime this weekend?

Jungkook: i don’t think i can Jungkook: it’s my dance group’s show this weekend

You: Really? You: You didn’t tell me

Jungkook: been too busy

You: What time is your show tonight?

Jungkook: 7pm

You: Sounds good, I’ll be there

Jungkook: oh Jungkook: you don’t have to

You: I want to You: I’ll see you there!

That night, you drop by the grocery store beforehand to pick up a bouquet of flowers. You haven’t been a performing arts show for years now, especially not one where you actually know the people performing, but flowers are customary. Or so you’ve heard. 

You don’t know a single soul who has plans on seeing Jungkook’s dance group either, but the theater is a ten-minute walk away from campus and you’re happy to make the trek alone, especially because you know you’ll find someone you know soon enough. Sometimes it’s nice to walk by yourself, letting the streetlamps above your head illuminate your path, a faceless figure passing by others. It brings peace. And it gives you time to sift through your thoughts, organize them into neat little piles and brush away all of the dust. 

Admittedly, you are not much of a connoisseur of the performing arts. You aren’t even much of a consumer. In another universe, under different circumstances, you wouldn’t blink twice if you heard that one of the dance groups on campus was having their show. But this is not another universe, and these are not different circumstances. 

Jungkook will be there. He is taking something he’s worked tirelessly on and presenting it to the world. Now that you think about it, it’s actually a lot like film. And if Jungkook has devoted so much time, put so much energy into this performance, what kind of person would you be if you didn’t go and watch his creation?

You pick a seat in the far back corner, the venue so cozy that even despite being the furthest away you’ve still got an excellent view, sit down, and wait for it to begin. 

[March 28th, 6:58PM]

Jungkook: hey are you here?

You: I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?

Jungkook: always such a tease

You roll your eyes at that, turning your phone off and stowing it away in your pocket. Two minutes later, the lights dim. 

The moment Jungkook steps out onto the stage, you recognize him instantly. He’s wearing all black again, but it’s not the same skinny jeans and leather jacket he had on when he took you out to dinner. It’s a loose long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants that hang low on his hips, highlighting the blondeness of his hair, the red in his lips. He’s one of at least a dozen people on stage but he’s the only one you focus on, the only one who your eyes follow. Booming throughout the theater is a Drake song, the beat thick and low, but it’s background noise when compared to the way he moves, the way he twists and turns his body on stage, angles sharp and crisp. 

The whole song goes by so quickly that by the time you find it in yourself to blink the stage is already darkening as they move onto the next song, switching out the performers and changing the spotlight colors to a sultry red. Jungkook disappears for this one, vanishing behind the curtains and forcing you to pay attention to the performance as a whole instead of just him. But you have to hand it to his group: they’re excellent. You’ve been missing out. 

Jungkook returns with the next song, having had just enough time to change into an all-white ensemble. He’s easy to spot even with that ridiculous bucket hat on, blonde hair bouncing with every step he takes, every jerk of his body. You can see it all the way from where you sit, see the way he loses himself in the music, lets the rhythm radiate through his blood, lets his heart match the beat that booms through the speakers. This, all of it, the music, the dancing, the energy—it’s all his. It belongs to him. Jungkook may love film but he is passionate about this. It is something that must bring him all the joy in the world. 

The next hour and a half goes by quickly, the songs jumping from one to another to another, Jungkook dashing on and off stage, each time returning in a different getup than the one prior. Makes you wonder just how many clothes he has. But before you know it the final song is playing and every one, every single member is on stage, jumping and cheering and celebrating a job well done. And they should, because they deserve to. 

When the lights in the theater come on, nobody leaves. Instead, everyone rushes towards the stage to say hello to everybody, congratulate them on their performance and take pictures with their friends. That’s why everyone else is here, isn’t it? Because the people they care about performed tonight. 

Isn’t that why you’re here, too?

Jungkook has plenty of other friends already wrapping their arms around him, giving him high-fives and pats on the back, but you’ve got a bouquet of assorted flowers in your hands and you have no plans on bringing them home. So you squeeze your way through the crowd, push yourself in between bodies, and you shout, 

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook looks up instantly at the call of his name, the round shape of his lips curving upwards into a smile when he sees you. 

“Hey, you made it!” He exclaims happily. He’s so pumped on the adrenaline that he pulls you into a hug without either of you even realizing it, wrapping his arms around your torso and squeezing you tight for a few moments before the two of you remember just exactly who you both are. Quickly, you pull away, chuckling awkwardly. Jungkook scratches at the back of his head. “Thanks for, uh—thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” you say happily. “You were amazing.”

“What can I say, I’m a man of many talents,” Jungkook schmoozes, annoying as always. 

You scoff slightly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Here, I brought this for you. It’s traditional, right?” You hold out the bouquet in front of you, pink plastic wrapping crunched up from where your fingers gripped the stems. 

“Wow, thank you,” Jungkook says, in awe as he takes the flowers from you, pressing his face into the petals instinctively. “No one’s ever gotten me flowers before.”

“Really?” You say, genuinely surprised at his admission. He’s never been given flowers before? Not even for a performance? You didn’t know that, either. “Then I’m glad to be the first.”

“You know you didn’t have to do that,” Jungkook says, though he looks grateful nonetheless. 

You shrug, acting casual. “Aren’t we supposed to be falling in love, or something?”

He grins. 

“Did you guys film this? Maybe we could incorporate it into the movie,” you suggest, thinking it might be interesting to add in glimpses into your normal lives, into the things you do when you aren’t trying to one-up each other. 

Jungkook shakes his head. “We did, but I don’t think we need to add it in.”

“Why not?” It seems like a perfect addition. 

Jungkook pulls out a single flower from the bouquet, a pale yellow daisy, and hands it to you. You smile your thanks, twirling the stem in between your fingers. 

“I don’t know,” he says, looking oddly soft, cheeks turning cherry red. He looks at you and it makes your heart flutter, quickens the drum of your chest. “I just think I’d like to keep this moment to ourselves.”

You suppose he’s got a point. You don’t think you’ll forget this night, either. 

The bouquet you gave him sits on Jeon Jungkook’s bedroom windowsill, bathing in the afternoon sun. Taehyung gave him some plant food the morning after you came to his performance, a little bottle that he can spritz into the water whenever the flowers look a little droopy. Jungkook adds some every day, determined to keep them alive for as long as possible. He also makes sure he’s got a rather heavy book or two, something he can use to press one of them when they’ve all shriveled up. 

It was really nice of you to come to his show, he thinks to himself. Jungkook can’t remember the last time someone outside of his group of close friends went to see him perform, not any of his past dates or even that one girl he was seeing semi-seriously for a couple months last year until she told him she wasn’t interested in him anymore. You’re the first one who’s made the effort, who’s told him that you would come and kept that promise. The flowers are just a happy reminder. 

As a celebration for completing their last show, Jungkook and some of the other juniors in his dance crew decide to go out the following weekend, determined to waste away their Saturday nights at a bar just off of campus where they can take as many shots of as many different types of alcohols as they want. The place even has soju, which makes Jungkook’s heart happy. 

Despite the temptation to drink until his brain is empty, however, Jungkook holds off. He’s got a lot of work tomorrow, most of it consisting of editing the footage you have for the project, and doesn’t really feel like staring at a computer for eight hours straight with a headache. So he limits himself. For the most part. 

“Who was that girl that came to the show?” One of his friends, Andrew, asks as he downs another shot of what is undoubtedly vodka, if the smell is anything to go by. “With the flowers?”

“Is she your girlfriend?” Jesse pipes up, red in the face from the alcohol in his system. He’s always been one to turn into a tomato after drinking. 

Jungkook chuckles awkwardly, shaking his head when the bartender offers him another shot glass full of soju. “No,” he says, forcing a laugh. “Just a friend.”

“I don’t know, you guys looked pretty close to me,” Andrew points out, like it wasn’t already obvious enough that Jungkook is head over heels for you. 

“She and I are working on a film project together,” Jungkook explains, though that does absolutely nothing to convince his friends of your completely platonic relationship. 

“Sounds fun,” Jesse says, swallowing another shot and wincing. “It was nice of her to bring you flowers. My girlfriend didn’t do that.”

“Shut up, your girlfriend is studying abroad in Paris right now,” Andrew says, giving Jesse a good-natured shove. “I’m gonna tell her you said that.”

“What, please don’t—”

“She’s not my girlfriend, guys,” Jungkook repeats himself, feeling his cheeks heat up the longer the conversation drags on. He chalks it up to the soju in his system and the fact that it feels like a sauna in here. “Seriously, we’re just friends. People can be friends and bring each other flowers.”

Jesse pumps his fist in the air. “Yeah!” He rounds on Andrew. “Where are my flowers, hey Andrew?”

The two of them start bickering as Jungkook laughs, shaking his head fondly. At least he’s not drunk, so he can remember nights like these, ones where he’s drinking with his stupid idiot friends, celebrating a show well done. 

Jungkook stays at the bar until eleven that night before he makes the executive decision to go home and sleep, because as much as he would like to party until three in the morning, he’s got a pile of work that’s telling him to be a real adult. So he bids his friends goodbye and begins to make the trek back to his apartment, passing by the row of frat houses on his way. 

Even though he’s out on the sidewalk, Jungkook can feel the ground rumble from the music, every frat on the block joining together to make some booming, bass monster. From here he can see the flashing blue and purple lights in the windows, see the brothers standing on the steps of each house and turning away whoever they deem unfit to enter. 

In a weird way, it makes Jungkook nostalgic. Reminiscent of when he was a freshman, when he would group up with all of the people in his hall and parade around the frat row on Saturday nights like they owned the place, getting drunk on shitty tequila and jumping until they sweat out their body fluids. He remembers those nights in flashes, bits and pieces that make up his memory of freshman year as a whole. Remembers kissing other girls, other girls kissing him. Remembers the way he would lock lips with them for a second and then forget about it by the next day. 

Jungkook wonders why he ever thought he would meet his soulmate at a frat party. 

He’s just passing the last frat house now, nodding to the guy on the step when they accidentally meet eyes, when he hears you call his name. 

“Jungkook!”

He whips around to see you on the other side of the road, waving at him excitedly while your friends all laugh, sending smiles Jungkook’s way. 

Jungkook isn’t exactly sure what the protocol is for a scenario like this, so he does what he thinks is right and waves back. 

“Come over here!” You shout at him, loosely gesturing for him to join your group. Jungkook is hesitant, not sure if that’s necessarily the best course of action because even from here he can tell that you’re drunk, leaning over to one side and giggling at nothing. But even if he isn’t sure what will happen he can’t help but fall into the way you’re beaming at him, waving excitedly because you saw him on the street and you wanted to say hello.

He’s never been able to resist you. 

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” He says as he jogs over, greeting the rest of your friends with a patient smile. 

“Went out with my friends,” you say. Jungkook can smell the alcohol on your lips. “And then I saw you, which made me happy!”

You stumble over nothing, shoes skipping as they drag along the pavement, and before any of your friends can react Jungkook is reaching his arms out, catching you before you fall flat on your face. Your hands press against his torso as he lifts you back to your feet, and all Jungkook can do is pray that you can’t hear the way his heart races, beat drumming in his ears. You giggle in his hold, disoriented but not at all uneasy, looking up at him as your eyes sparkle in the glow of the streetlamps. 

“Thanks,” you manage to cough out. 

“Sure,” Jungkook says, breathless. He stands you up and tries to let you go, but you keep your hands tight around his wrists. “I think we need to get you home.”

“Can you come with me?” You ask innocently, eyes wide. 

“Y/N…” One of your friends says, voice hesitant. She places a hand on your shoulder, looking concerned. Jungkook doesn’t take any offense to it, he doesn’t know your friends well and imagines that they would much prefer being the ones to drop you back at your place. 

You shrug her off. “No, it’s okay, Ruby,” you assure your friend, hand inching down Jungkook’s wrist until it rests firmly within his palm. “I’ll go with him.”

Ruby eyes Jungkook suspiciously and her gaze is so intense that it actually makes him doubt his ability to walk you home for a moment. But you seem intent on walking with him, and the sooner you go home the better, so Ruby relents and lifts her hand from your shoulder. “Alright, if you want to.” She keeps her eyes trained on Jungkook. “Text me when you’re back.”

“I will, I will,” you say, brushing her off and waving her away. “Let’s go, Jungkook. I’m sleepy.”

“Okay, come on,” he says. You smile happily at your friends as you say goodbye, cheerful and drunk and tired, all at once, and you begin to walk towards your apartment. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” you tell him, positively filter-less. 

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” Jungkook assures you. “What did you have to drink tonight?”

“Not sure,” you admit happily. “Just a lot.”

“I can tell.” Jungkook nods. “Were you at a frat party?”

“Several,” you correct him. “They weren’t that fun but at least the drinks were free.”

“Why were you at a frat party if you don’t like them?” Jungkook asks you, nose scrunched up. You certainly aren’t the kind of person to hide your distaste for things. That is something that Jungkook is intimately familiar with. 

You shrug. “It’s the cheapest place to get drunk.”

“Why did you want to get drunk?” This is seeming more and more out-of-character for you. Going to a place you despise, taking shots until you can’t walk straight, meandering around campus with Jungkook. All of these are things Jungkook could never in a million years picture you doing out of free will. 

Well, all of them except maybe the last one. You did come to his dance show, after all. 

You sigh. It’s thick and heavy and Jungkook has a feeling you won’t want to divulge any more. “I just wanted to forget.”

But the curiosity is eating at him. 

“Forget what?”

Your grip on his hand tightens. Jungkook fully expects you to dodge the question like you’ve dodged all of the ones prior, say something else to change the topic so you can sweep this discussion under the rug like all of the other ones you’ve had. But you don’t. 

Instead, you say, “You wanna know why I don’t love love the way you do?”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jungkook quickly assures you. 

“I had better options than this place,” you say, voice hollow and empty. “There were better universities that accepted me. Ones with higher-ranked film programs and bigger scholarships. I could have gone to any one of them and been just as happy. Maybe more.”

“But you didn’t,” Jungkook clarifies. 

“My ex-boyfriend goes to school ten minutes away from here,” you say, words that are most certainly news to Jungkook. You had a boyfriend? “He and I dated all throughout high school. I thought I was gonna marry him.”

The words sound so sad. It sounds like they don’t even belong to you. Like you’re recalling the memories of a different person, someone you’ve killed and buried, someone you were certain you would never have to face again. Yourself. Your past self. 

“And then he broke up with me at the beginning of last year and it was too late to transfer out.” Your words are slurred and garbled, like all you want is to get over with saying them in the first place. It’s not a dramatic revelation. It’s not something you’re crying about, sobbing into Jungkook’s chest as you remember, miserable, a time where you were once happy. You just sound lifeless. 

Jungkook blinks at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. It doesn’t feel right for him to speak up. Not when you’ve just revealed to him something so personal, so drunk that you probably won’t even remember saying anything when you wake up tomorrow morning. 

What is he supposed to do with this knowledge? What is he supposed to say? To do? It’s not like Jungkook can change your past. It’s not even as if he can change the near future. Your project is almost finished—the semester is almost over. And then you will return to the time where you never even knew each other. 

“You can say something,” you tell him.

“What do you want me to say?” Jungkook says. 

“Something to make me feel better, because now I’m sad,” you request simply. “Seeing you made me happy.”

“Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and smile, then,” he muses to himself. 

“No, please keep talking,” you plead, leaning into his body with your bottom lip puffed out, eyes big and round and desperate. “Listening to you gets me to stop thinking about this stuff.”

Hearing that, Jungkook says the first thing that comes to mind. And that is, “You don’t have to think about that stuff anymore at all.”

“Hmm?” You murmur into his chest. Jungkook sees your apartment building up ahead. Just another block or so. 

“Well, that was your old love story,” he begins tentatively. Jungkook’s almost fully sober by now but he feels like he won’t ever get another opportunity to say this, and maybe whatever soju is left in his system is enough to get him through this conversation. Enough for him to muster up the confidence to tell you what he’s been wanting to tell you for a while now. 

Even if you forget it by tomorrow. He knows this is his only chance. 

“And it didn’t have a happy ending, but that’s okay. Because ours will.” 

You’re just coming up to your apartment complex, the rusted gold doors of the entrance sticking out against the beige of the building and the sidewalk, shimmering in the light of the streetlamps. You pause right outside, taking cover underneath the red awning above your heads. Looking up at him, you blink expectantly. 

“How do I know you mean that?” You ask. 

He almost does it. 

Jungkook doesn’t really know what washes over him in that moment, what takes his heart and mind prisoner for a split second, grip tight and unforgiving. But he’s staring straight into your watery eyes, glossy and glimmery and glowing, lost in the way you press your lips together, the way you gaze up at him and wait for him to tell you what he’s always wanted to say, and he almost does it. His hands press at your sides, holding you close, like he’s afraid that if he lets you go you’ll vanish without another trace and this night will all have been for naught. 

But he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t for a lot of reasons. You’re drunk. When you wake up tomorrow, you will not remember this conversation. But Jungkook will. And if he does it, if he kisses you, if he presses his lips to yours it will be burned into his thoughts, carved into his heart, and you will be none the wiser. Jungkook can’t do that to himself. And he can’t do that to you, either. He will never take advantage of your company. He never has.

“Because,” Jungkook says instead, having hesitated for far too long. “I promise you.”

It’s good enough for him. 

He tucks you into bed at 12:17AM that night, feet padding along your hardwood floor so he doesn’t wake up your neighbors, guiding you to your bedroom and reminding you to text Ruby that you made it home safely. Jungkook’s never gotten a very good look at your place, and even now it’s hard to make out most things without the main ceiling lights on, but he doesn’t really want to snoop. Even though you invited him in, he still feels like he’s intruding. You’ve always been so private. There were a lot of things said tonight that Jungkook is going to have to reckon with. 

Once you’re curled up beneath your sheets, eyes drooping, Jungkooks turns off the light on your nightstand and nearly, just about nearly, presses his lips to your forehead. He manages to avoid doing that, too. 

Instead, he pulls up your duvet and heads towards the main room, making a beeline for your front door. But before he can leave the room, he hears you mumble out his name. 

“Jungkook?” You call, voice groggy. 

“Yeah?” He looks back at you from where he stands in your door frame, one hand on the knob, ready to pull it closed. 

You smile, eyes fluttering. “Thank you,” you say. 

Jungkook grins. 

The next morning you wake up with a pounding headache and three missed calls from Ruby, which undoubtedly means that something positively terrible happened last night. Unfortunately, you have no idea what happened at all last night, good or terrible, so whatever Ruby has to say will be news to you. 

Rubbing your eyes as you wrack your brain in the hopes of figuring out how you even ended up back at your apartment (when you swear you told Ruby you would stay at hers), you press on Ruby’s contact and call her. 

“Y/N? Hello? Are you there?” Ruby answers on the first ring. 

“I’m here,” you mumble out, words jumped and barely intelligible. You wince as your eyes adjust to the harsh blue light of your phone screen, squinting as you look at the time. 

Shit, it’s 11:43AM and you’re meeting Jungkook for coffee at noon. 

“Good, I called you three times last night after you texted,” Ruby wastes no time diving into her interrogation. 

“Why?” You ask, scrambling out of bed with your phone pressed between your shoulder and your ear. Your head throbs so you quickly take some Ibuprofen, splash your face with water, and start looking for something clean you can put on. 

“Because texting me ‘home’ is not enough!” Ruby exclaims. “Jungkook walked you home last night, I wanted to make sure you were tucked in bed and feeling alright.”

You frown. You don’t remember that. Granted, you don’t remember a lot of things, but you can’t recall Jungkook walking you back. You saw him last night? You didn’t even know. Scratching your head, a part of you vaguely pictures him standing in your apartment in the dark, resting against the door frame to your bedroom in the warm yellow light of the lamp on your nightstand. Can just barely see him tucking you into bed, placing the sheets over your figure and making you text Ruby that you’re home. You thought you were just imagining it at the time, but it must have happened anyway. 

“Jungkook walked me home?”

“Yeah, you insisted,” Ruby says. “You probably don’t remember, though.”

“No,” you say dumbly. 

“Well, I appreciate you texting me that you were home but I would have preferred something more explanatory,” scolds Ruby. “I thought maybe Jungkook was gonna do something.”

“Oh my goodness, no,” you immediately interject, pulling on your shoes and stuffing your laptop into your backpack. Just the thought of Jungkook doing something like that sends your stomach for a whirl. “He would never do that. I trust him.”

“I mean, I see that now,” Ruby points out. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” you promise. “Everything’s good.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Ruby says, still sounding a bit like an overprotective mother. You love her, though. You know she just wants the best for you. “Take it easy today, okay? You had a lot to drink last night.”

“I will,” you assure her. “I’m just on my way to meet up with Jungkook now. Getting coffee.”

“Make sure to eat, too,” Ruby reminds you. “And tell Jungkook that I said thanks for walking you home.”

“Anything else, Mom?”

You can practically see Ruby frowning on the other end. “Oh, shut up. I’ll see you, okay?”

She bids you goodbye just as you’re dashing out the door, your usual stride quickening so you make it to the cafe in time, not wanting to keep Jungkook waiting. You make it there in a record five minutes, pulling open the door frantically just as the clock strikes noon. 

Jungkook’s already there, of course, sitting by a little round table in the corner of the room with two americanos on the table. He waves when he sees you standing by the entrance, and the mere sight of him makes you smile, shoulders relaxing. 

“Hey,” you greet, a little out of breath as you settle into the chair across from him. 

“Hey,” Jungkook says back. “How are you feeling?”

“My head is killing me, but other than that I’m alright,” you admit, taking a sip of the drink. It’s piping hot but just the right amount of scalding, warming your insides after a night of filling them with pure poison. 

“Good.” He grins. “It’s nice to see your face.”

“Oh, yeah, speaking of which,” you say while still on the topic, “did you walk me home last night? I can’t remember.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, I bumped into you and your friends while I was on my way back from a bar.”

You wince. The fact that you don’t even remember that happening tells you enough. “I was super drunk, wasn’t I?”

Jungkook, nice as always, says, “I’ve seen worse.” It only makes you feel the slightest bit better. 

“Hope I didn’t say anything embarrassing,” you say, knowing you have a tendency to lose your filter almost entirely when you get wasted, letting any sort of mental reasoning fly out the door the moment you down another shot. And the thought of having told Jungkook something deeply humiliating or personal, or even him witnessing something stupid, makes you feel weirdly exposed. 

Jungkook freezes for a split second, almost like he’s buffering, like he’s about to say something but it’s just taking him an extra step to get the words out of his mouth. Then he takes a quick sip of his americano and shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. You were just very drunk. And clingy.”

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with that,” you apologize. You can’t imagine the hell you must have put Jungkook through last night. 

Jungkook laughs. “It’s okay. I’m glad we got you home safe.”

“Me, too.” You nod. You send a grateful smile his way. “Thanks for walking me, by the way. I really appreciate it. Ruby says thanks, too.”

“Anytime,” Jungkook says. It doesn’t sound like something that people say just to say it. The way that people say ‘anytime’ just so they can be friendly and amicable. He says it and he means it, says it genuinely and honestly, like it’s a real promise that he’s making. That he would be happy to walk you home again. No matter the hour. No matter how drunk you are. No matter what he’s doing. 

And that means a lot to you. 

“We should probably wrap up filming soon, huh?” You say, getting onto the topic at hand. Of course, the project is the whole reason you’re even talking to each other in the first place. “It’s due in three weeks.”

“Yeah, I was thinking of another outing? And maybe one more thing with Taehyung?” Jungkook suggests. 

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “‘Another outing’, Jungkook? What exactly do you have in mind?”

He grins. 

This time, Jungkook is the one with the flowers. 

When you open your front door they’re the first thing you see, an enormous bouquet of an assortment of spring flowers in a variety of colors—pinks and purples and oranges and yellows—gripped neatly in Jungkook’s hand. They stick out against his otherwise rather formal attire, a simple black dress shirt and jeans, nice shoes that compliment his figure. Black truly is the world’s most slimming color, and Jungkook is no exception. He looks good. 

“For you, m’lady,” Jungkook says dramatically as he holds out the bouquet in front of him.

“How thoughtful of you,” you muse to yourself, grinning. You take the flowers and press your whole face into them, breathing in the fresh scent. “The one I gave you wasn’t nearly this big.”

“Go big or go home,” Jungkook teases. “You look nice, by the way.”

“You always sound so surprised when you say that,” you comment snidely, shaking your head as you grab your bag from the shelf next to your door. “What are we doing tonight, Jeon? Gonna keep it a secret from me like last time?”

“That depends,” Jungkook says knowingly. “Do you like secrets?”

“You should know what I like by now,” you remark. 

“Then prepare to be wowed.” He grins, taking your hand in his as he pulls you out the door. 

The restaurant you go to this time does not require a ten minute drive to the center of town. Instead, it’s a five minute walk from campus and actually happens to be a place you’ve been to before. It’s a busy little thing on a Friday night, waiters bustling about with trays in their hands, people laughing and smiling under the dim light of the chandeliers. You’ve only been here once, long ago, for a club dinner paid for by the finance chair, and for good reason. It’s not the kind of place cheap college students looking to get the most food for the least amount of money go to. 

“Isn’t this a bit out of budget for our rom-com?” You ask as the host seats you at your table, a little booth in the middle of the restaurant, lanterns resting on the corners of the seats. 

“I thought this was a mockumentary,” Jungkook jokes. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, resisting the smile that fights its way across your face. Trust you to make that sort of blunder in front of him. “I mean it, though. This place is expensive.”

“It’s manageable,” Jungkook promises. “I’ve been saving up. Plus, I thought you deserved a nice night out.”

“How generous of you.”

“Oh, come on, I know you’re excited,” he narrows his eyes at you. “You don’t have to act like a stone-cold robot anymore.”

“Well…” you suppose enough is enough. Jungkook can see right through you anyway, so there’s no point in keeping up this indifferent facade of yours. “Only because you’re treating me so nicely.”

“Just please don’t order the steak,” he requests simply. 

You laugh. “No problem. Maybe we could just share a couple of appetizers?”

Jungkook likes the sound of that. 

Luckily, this is not one of those restaurants where the appetizers cost an arm and a leg and are the size of your pinky finger. You and Jungkook split three different ones, happy to scoop out portions for each of you and indulge in them together. 

Dinner dates—of which this is only sort of one—are always awkward because you spend half of the time shoving food into your mouth, but you and Jungkook don’t seem to mind the silence at all. Only, Jungkook does look sort of like he’s holding back.

“Is this enough food for you?” You ask him halfway through, distantly remembering how he absolutely devoured a whole plate of pasta last time and still having enough room in his stomach to finish yours. 

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks over a mouthful of vegetables. 

“You ate so much at the Italian place, I just want to make sure you aren’t still hungry,” you point out. 

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses, swallowing down the bite in his mouth. “No, I’m okay. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you should say anything else. But what the hell, right? It’s Jungkook. It’s Jungkook and he walked you home when you were drunk, he gave you flowers, he let you borrow his jacket. And you feel as though you must return the favor. “Anytime.”

He smiles. 

Despite the pure ecstasy you both experience when eating delicious food, Jungkook makes sure not to waste this time and grabs a few frames of you eating with his camera. He always seems to have that with him whenever he’s with you, hanging around his neck or stuffed into his backpack or crammed into his pants pocket. Sort of makes you wonder just how much footage the two of you have of each other. 

He insists on paying but you send him some money anyway, just because letting him shoulder the burden of a place as expensive (for college students, at least) as this just doesn’t sit right with you. Whenever he receives the Venmo notification on his phone, Jungkook frowns and says that he’ll send that money back to you, but he never does and you can tell that he really does appreciate it. 

You don’t think you have any plans on stopping that for a while. 

The only downside of going to this restaurant is that there is no gorgeous, light-strung park in the vicinity the two of you can wander around. Just your campus, which you have no doubt walked a thousand times over, and the streets surrounding it, which you have memorized like the back of your hand. 

It almost makes you think that Jungkook is just going to drop you back off at your place and the night will end there, but you know better than to expect something like that from Jungkook. Instead, as you’re walking, you point out the cafe that you and Ruby always go to, see that it’s closing in half-an-hour, and Jungkook decides then and there that it’s your next destination. 

“You’ve never been here before?” You ask when you walk inside, eyes immediately drifting to the display of pastries beside the register. 

“I’m not normally on this side of campus,” Jungkook admits. “You’re the only reason I’m ever here.”

“Then hopefully after finding this place, you’ll have two reasons,” you say cheerfully. The baristas behind the counter know you on a first-name basis, are happy to help you out even though they’ve no doubt been working long hours and are ready to close up shop and go home. 

You split a tiramisu and sit at that same corner table you and Ruby always pick, empty now that it’s so late at night. Other than the employees, you and Jungkook are the only ones in here, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the restaurant, filled to the brim with people, the smell of cooked food wafting through the air. 

 The tiramisu isn't as fresh as it would be bright and early in the morning, but you suppose that that just means you and Jungkook will have to come back. Besides, Jungkook obviously does not seem to mind, scarfing it down ruthlessly. You’re in and out just as they close up shop, the employees bidding you goodbye like old friends, sending you on your way. There’s not really much else either of you have planned for tonight, and Jungkook isn’t coming up with any new ideas as he checks his phone. Instead, you just begin to head back to your apartment, all wrapped up in each other. You place your hand in his own and feel yourself relax when he squeezes, a silent little reminder that he’s still here, and that so are you.

Funnily enough, holding hands feels natural to you at this point. 

“Tonight was fun,” you comment, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah, glad we could do this,” Jungkook agrees. “Makes me kind of sad to know that this thing is almost over.”

“What, the project?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Yeah. And the class. And the semester. It’s kind of scary. We’ll be seniors next year.”

You chuckle. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I still have no idea what I’m going to do after we graduate.”

“You don’t have to know everything,” Jungkook reassures you. “As long as you’re happy with what you have now.”

“Are you?” You inquire, looking up to meet his eyes. 

Jungkook beams down at you. “I am.”

The walk from the cafe to your apartment is short, just under five minutes, but it feels like it takes you an hour, footsteps slow and languid, like neither of you want the night to end. You hit every red light, round every corner, drawing out the evening for as long as you can. Unfortunately, there is only so much you can do on a five-minute walk, and before you know it, you’re home.

“This is me,” you say, stopping outside the gold doors of your apartment complex. “Thanks again for tonight.”

“Anytime,” Jungkook says, a common thread in your conversations. 

“Really?” You ask, skeptical. “Our project’s almost over.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to stop doing this,” Jungkook says. 

You narrow your eyes. “What are you implying, huh, Jungkook?”

“This.”

Before you know it, he’s wrapping one hand around your waist and pulling you in close to him, your palms splayed out against his broad, toned chest, pressing his lips to yours. You gasp a little into the feeling, somewhat shocked he would dare be so bold even after all this time, but find yourself sinking into the touch. He tastes like coffee and cream, like peppermint from his chapstick, like the wine you shared tonight. You cave into the way he holds you, hands wrapped around your body, palms pressed firmly against your figure. He holds you like he’s afraid to let go, like he’s trying to remind himself that you’re real and here and that you are kissing him back, like he’ll forget once the moment ends. 

But he need not worry about that. 

When you part, you don’t even bother wiping off the stupid smile on your face, kiss-drunk and filled with glee. It’s been a long time since you felt this way. And Jungkook makes you feel things you don’t even think you can explain. 

“How bold of you,” you comment, noses touching, barely an inch away from each other. 

“I figured I’d shoot my shot,” Jungkook says. He shrugs, pretending to be casual, but you can see the way he’s grinning, beaming, down at you. 

“You scored,” you remind him.

“How observant of you,” teases Jungkook in return. You pout a little at his playful mockery, heart fond. “Think we can do it again?”

“Hmm, I would tone down the ego first,” you say, already leaning back in to press your lips against his. 

“Never.” He smiles wickedly. 

It’s a quicker kiss this time, a short peck against his cherry red mouth, but it still makes your heart beat something terribly fierce. 

“See you soon?” You ask when you finally pull away, knowing that as much as you’d like to, you can’t just stand out here kissing each other forever. 

Jungkook nods, cheeks pink and warm to the touch. He looks so sleek in his formal black outfit, crisp button-down and slacks, hair all styled, but the way he’s grinning at you makes him look so young, so sublimely happy. It’s nice. 

“Anytime.”

“There’s my favorite couple!” Taehyung greets excitedly when he swings open the door to his apartment to reveal you and Jungkook standing on the other side. 

“What’s it to you?” You comment snidely as he lets you inside, the black sheet still taped up along his wall. It looks a little more wrinkled than when you last saw it. 

“Oh, nothing,” Taehyung singsongs. He definitely knows a lot more than he cares to tell either you or Jungkook, but whatever. The project’s almost over and he’s almost finished with university entirely. “You guys are just cute together, that’s all.”

“Like you even know the half of it.” You tell him with a roll of your eyes. 

Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows. “Ooh, do tell.” He grins that greasy, comic-book-villain grin of his as he starts moving his bar stools back to where the sheet lines his cream-colored wall. 

“Isn’t that the whole point of this?” Jungkook poses, making you laugh from where you’re seated on the couch, watching Jungkook set up his tripod in exactly the place he wants it. You smile at him as you recline against Taehyung’s poor old leather couch, so worn-down from use that the back cushions fold in when you press against them, and Jungkook peers out from behind the camera to blow you a kiss. 

You send him one back without even needing to think. 

Taehyung misses the whole scene, but no doubt he’ll be putting two and two together pretty soon. You and Jungkook agreed that for the last interview you would be questioned together, long before Jungkook actually managed to romance you off your feet, and there’s not a doubt in your mind that the two of you being interviewed side-by-side will make things much more interesting. 

Nevertheless, Jungkook sets up the camera and sends a thumbs-up your way when he’s ready, Taehyung sitting on the bar stool just outside of the frame with a couple of index cards in his hand. 

“Let’s do this,” you say, hauling yourself onto the seat. Jungkook does the same shortly after, scooching onto the one next to you as you stare at Taehyung, waiting for him to start. 

“Looking forward to this one?” Taehyung asks knowingly. 

You shrug nonchalantly. “Just a little.”

“Excellent. Shall we begin?”

You and Jungkook nod. 

“Alright. Well, this is presumably the last thing the two of you will be filming for your project. How are you feeling about it?”

“It turned out better than I thought it would,” you admit. It will come as a shock to no one that you did not have very high hopes for this project when it was first assigned. 

“Of course it did, I’m your partner,” Jungkook teases, poking you in your side. “Would you ever doubt me?”

“Always,” you say.

Taehyung chuckles. “Sounds like it’s been good so far. Did you enjoy filming it?”

You nod. “Yeah, it was actually kind of fun. Except for when Jungkook spilled coffee all over me, that was not cool.” You turn to face Jungkook directly, and all he does when you say his name is wink and point at you. 

“It was for the rom-com, I don’t know what you expected,” Jungkook said. “I gave you my jacket, too.”

“How gentlemanly.”

Taehyung chuckles, warm and low. “I’m sure Jungkook learned his lesson,” he muses. “What was your favorite thing to film?”

Not when I randomly texted you five minutes before I showed up at your door to make you ask me questions about how I feel, you think to yourself. Jungkook still doesn’t know, but you think you’ll put it into the movie just for the hell of it, so he’ll find out then. Find out that you were grappling with your feelings for him long before you ever let on.

“The serenade was a blast, a special shoutout to the Eighth Notes for doing that for me,” Jungkook says immediately. Obviously that is at the top of his list. “Plus, I just like seeing Y/N all flustered.”

“Shut up, you’re so annoying,” you chide. “I guess the serenade was kind of cute. I liked going out together, though. On our not-date.”

Jungkook objects to that instantly. “It was a date, Y/N!”

You look back at him, equally as scandalized as he. “Whose turn is it to talk?”

“Mine, actually,” Taehyung interjects. “Did you like going out together?”

You sigh a little, wondering if you’re really about to turn into a softie in front of a camera for a movie to be shown to your twenty classmates and professor. “Yeah,” you say, real and true because that’s what you agreed on, you and Jungkook. To be candid. To be honest. To say how you felt. Really. “It was really nice. I hadn’t gone out with someone like that in a long time.”

“And were you happy because of the project, or because of Jungkook?”

“Well,” you begin, not exactly sure where to start. “I guess, it’s like… you know, I didn’t even know Jungkook before this project. I mean, I knew who he was, he would always respond to my discussion board posts and object to everything I said in class. But I didn’t know him as a person. But as we worked on this project together, planning and filming and editing, I started to. And we did so many things together. And I guess I just really enjoyed the time we did spend as a pair.”

“Would you say the same, Jungkook?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says easily. “That’s what I wanted. To get to know Y/N, to spend time with her. I was glad we had this project. Otherwise, we might never have done something like this.”

“You both seem very happy.”

“I think we are. This project was actually sort of a blessing in disguise. I know him a lot better, now,” you say. “I’m glad that I do. He makes me smile, and laugh, and I always feel happy when he’s around. I don’t know. He did it, somehow.”

“Jungkook?”

“It wasn’t just me. Y/N and I did this together. We made this. This project. Us. It wasn’t just her, or just me. It’s ours.” Jungkook grins.

“Are you glad you did this project?”

Of course. It was fun, and I liked filming it, and I feel like I got something really important out of it. I know it’s just a short rom-com mockumentary, but it really feels like there was a happy ending, you know? A happily ever after.”

“You seem really certain about that.”

“Well,” Jungkook says with a little scoff, “what else would you call it?”

“As you can see, obviously Y/N fell head over heels in love with me thanks to this wonderful project—”

“Why are you always so full of yourself—?”

“Hey, you’re ruining the voiceover! As I said, as you can see, Y/N fell head over heels in love with me, but that wasn’t just because of my dashing good looks and amazing singing skills.”

“The ends of your hair look like hay—”

“It was because we were honest with each other, and because we spent meaningful moments together, and because we kept our hearts open. And I guess that’s the truth of it all, isn’t it? Love, romance, relationships? If you close yourself off, you’ll never get to experience them. But if you take every opportunity with an open mind, then you never know what might happen. Like falling in love with your discussion board nemesis.”

“Who, me?”

“Just let me finish, come on. There’s like one paragraph left. I know this was a mockumentary, not a scripted rom-com with professional actors and screenwriters and a whole team of editors. But that was the whole point. To make it real. And to make it between two people who aren’t just characters on a screen. We’re real people, and this happened to us. And it makes us happy. And it can happen to you, too. I think we all learn something every time we watch a new movie. Whether it be about loss, or promises, or other people. This time, we learned about love. Real love. How it can be rocky and strange and come straight out of left field. But also how happy endings aren’t just for movies and fairytales. We all deserve them. And Y/N and I found our own.”

“Are you gonna say it?”

“And so… they lived happily ever after.”

You look up at the screen, expecting to see the credits roll, but instead it’s a shot of the two of you kissing outside of your apartment building, a shot of you wrapping your arms around him as you press your lips to his. It lasts for only a few seconds, but you find yourself entranced in the moment, shocked that Jungkook somehow managed to capture it on film. He didn’t even have his camera with him that night. 

Pollack turns on the lights in your classroom as your fellow classmates applaud, all of them looking genuinely pleased that your rom-com had such a wonderful ending. Pollack herself looks rather proud, nodding to herself as she smiles at the two of you. 

“You filmed us kissing?” You hiss to Jungkook as your classmates clap, hoping the sound of it will drown out your conversation. 

“I got Taehyung to,” Jungkook whispers back. “Why?”

“I just… I thought that night was just for us.”

“The rest of it is. But I thought the kiss would be a cute way to end it. You know, happy ending and everything.”

Alright, if Jungkook insists. You nod, tensing up slightly. You hadn’t even noticed Taehyung down the street, standing behind some utility pole with the camera raised to his eye. Had Jungkook texted him in secret? Asked him to meet you outside of your apartment? Was he planning on kissing you from the very beginning?

You shake your head, willing away the thoughts as Pollack commends the two of you for a job well done. Jungkook and you stand at the front of the room for a few more seconds, getting stared down by your fellow classmates while Pollack speaks. The period ends just as she finishes up, the minutes changing the moment she closes her mouth. Within a minute or so, the whole class has emptied out, some of them congratulating you and Jungkook on the way out. 

“I’ll meet you outside, okay?” Jungkook says, eyes bright and filled with that same wonder he’s always got. 

“Yeah,” you say distantly, nodding to him as he disappears out the door. 

“You did an excellent job, Y/N,” Pollack praises, and it goes right to your head, if you’re being honest. “It was brilliant.”

“Thanks,” you say, suddenly rather shy. “That means a lot.”

“Don’t tell anyone else this,” she says, voice quiet, “but I was secretly hoping the two of you would fall in love.”

“Pollack!”

She laughs. “What? I thought you’d make a cute couple. And you do, so clearly it all worked out anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s against the code of conduct,” you say, even though you know you can’t be too mad at her. After all, you wouldn’t have Jungkook if it weren’t for her. 

“Y/N, I’m tenured. I don’t care.”

“Wait…” you pause, eyes narrowing, “how many of your students have you set up with each other?”

Pollack grins. “I never reveal my secrets.”

Your mouth drops open. 

She chuckles, shooing you out the door. “Go on, go be with your boyfriend. You can tell him you both get A pluses for your project. It was excellent. One of the best I’ve seen in a very long time.”

“Thanks, Pollack,” you say, smiling gratefully. “You’re the best.”

She points at you proudly as you head out the door. “So are you.”

Jungkook is waiting by the tables where you always sit, half a flight down from your classroom. He’s leaning against the edge of them as he scrolls mindlessly through his phone, so engrossed in the Instagram explore page that he doesn’t see you walk up. 

“Guess what,” you say, getting all up in his face, just because you can. 

“What,” Jungkook says, an eyebrow raised. 

“We got an A plus on our project!” You exclaim happily, cheering. Jungkook laughs at your exuberant reaction, watches as you jump around, clapping loudly. 

“Hell yeah, we did that!” Jungkook holds his hand up for a high five, one you gladly take. Your palms smack together and the sound reverberates around the hallway. 

“You know, you and I—” you begin, placing your palms on his cheeks as you pull yourself in for a kiss, “we make a pretty good team.”

“Only because you’re so good at editing,” Jungkook says. You’re both not too bad, if you do say so yourself, but since Jungkook did so much of the filming you thought it would be better if you carried more of the weight when it came to post-production. 

“Says you,” you tease, pressing your lips to his button nose. “The happy ending thing was a nice touch, I liked it. Makes me feel like I’m in a fairy tale.”

“I’m glad,” Jungkook says with a chuckle, admiring the way you beam at him. “You know, I was really worried that you might think we didn’t have a happy ending after all, especially after everything.”

“What do you mean?” You look at him curiously. 

“Well, I just really wanted to make sure that we had a happy ending, because you’ve been through so much.”

You pause in place, eyebrows furrowing as you look up at him. Been through so much? Does Jungkook know something you don’t? Wait, no, did you… did you tell him—?

“You knew?” You ask, the realization piercing you like an arrow. “All this time, and you never said anything?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. 

“How long have you known?”

He winces. “Since I walked you home when you were drunk. You told me.”

You did?

Shit.

“And you didn’t think that maybe you should have told me that you knew? Especially when I asked you if I had said anything embarrassing?” You cry out, indignant. “What, were you just planning on never telling me?”

“I was going to, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to know that you had admitted all those things to me,” Jungkook admits, growing desperate. “They were really personal things, I thought you might react badly.”

“Oh, so you just decided to keep it a secret instead? Look how well that worked out.”

“What was I supposed to do, Y/N? I know you would have been upset.”

“Tell me!” You exclaim. “I asked you if I had said something embarrassing that night and you said I hadn’t. And I believed you. Better to have known then than now!”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t just tell me. Didn’t we say we would be honest with each other? But instead, you just let me assume that all of the nice things you did for me were because you actually cared, and not because you felt bad for me?”

“I don’t feel bad for you!” Jungkook shouts. “I mean, I do, but that’s not why I took you out on dates and gave you flowers and held your hand. I do care about you.”

“Oh, so filming us kissing was just because you actually cared, too, right?”

“I don’t know why you’re so hung up about that,” Jungkook points out. 

“Because I thought it was a private moment,” you remind him. “You hadn’t filmed anything the whole night. I thought we were just going out on a date like two people who cared about each other did. Us kissing was personal. But you texted Taehyung and told him to show up with his camera anyway, right? Because you were planning on kissing me from the very beginning. Because you knew, Jungkook. You knew and you had absolutely no intention of telling me.”

“Y/N, wait, I didn’t do those things just because I pitied you,” Jungkook says, reaching out for your hand. 

You pull away. “You didn’t? Then why did you film us kissing, then?”

“Because…” he flounders. You aren’t at all surprised. “Because—”

“Enough, Jungkook. I get it,” you stop him, shaking your head. “Everything we’ve done since that first date we had, when we went to the Italian place, everything since then—it was all played up. Because you felt bad for me. I had a shitty experience with love and you wanted to make me feel better. Whatever.”

“Y/N, it wasn’t like that,” Jungkook chases after you as you begin to walk down the stairs, towards the exit. “I didn’t pity you. I still don’t. I did those things because I care about you, and I wanted you to be happy.”

“Well, you got what you wanted,” you say, arms crossed over your shoulders as you push your way out the door. “I was so happy when I was with you.”

“Wait, Y/N—”

“Bye, Jungkook.”

The door slams shut behind you. 

“How many finals do you still have left? You finished your movie, right?”

Ruby is stirring herself a cup of earl grey tea as she sits down on the couch next to you, where you’re very obviously sulking as you scroll through the Feel Good Rom-Coms category on Netflix. 

“I just have a couple essays and a presentation,” you mumble out. “You?”

“Ugh, I still have all of my final exams to take,” Ruby tells you with a thick, heavy sigh. Clearly, she doesn't feel like talking about them now. Or at all. “The life of a biology major.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wants to be a doctor, not me,” you remind her crudely. “You better know your shit, or I’m never taking my kids to your practice.”

“Rude,” Ruby says. “There goes my family and friends discount offer.”

You laugh to yourself, a small smile inching its way across your lips. Ruby’s always known how to brighten your day, even when you feel like absolute shit. 

“What are we watching, hmm? I’m cool with anything.”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, flicking through all of the rom-com options and feeling very unhappy with all of them. “I feel like you’ve seen all of these.”

“Yeah,” Ruby says. “Whenever I’m not studying, I’m watching Netflix or The Bachelor.”

You nod. Maybe you’ll just settle on some old NCIS reruns and call it a night. 

“Oh!” Ruby exclaims suddenly, a lightbulb going off above her head. “How about we watch your movie? The rom-com you did with Jungkook! I haven’t seen it yet.”

“I don’t know…” You begin, the mere thought putting a bad taste in your mouth. For obvious reasons. 

“Come on, please? I really want to see it, you were so excited about it,” Ruby begs, getting all antsy as she climbs all over you, literally pulling your arm to get you to cave in. “It’s short, too, isn’t it? Like forty-five minutes long? We can watch whatever you want afterwards. Please.”

You huff out a breath. If it were up to you, you would move that film onto a flash drive and toss it into a dumpster on fire. But it’s not just up to you. Ruby has been asking you about it since the day you told her you were filming it, and now all she wants to do is see the final result. And it’s only forty-five minutes long. What’s that when compared to the rest of your life?

“Fine,” you relent, not wanting to fight about it any longer. “Let me get my computer.”

Ruby cheers. 

You bring your laptop over to your coffee table, turning off the ceiling lights as Ruby tucks herself underneath a blanket, hands warmed by her steaming cup of tea. You pull up the movie file and, taking a deep breath, press play. 

It opens with your first interview with Taehyung, a muted, royalty-free lo-fi hip-hop song playing in the background. You had edited it so that it would jump back and forth between your answer and Jungkook’s, highlighting the contrast between the two of you. It was mostly for comedic purposes, just because seeing you deadpan about how love doesn’t exist and then quickly switching to Jungkook wax poetic about it is amusing, but watching it now just makes you want to curl into yourself. 

You should have known that this would have never worked out. Should have kept that same jaded attitude. You let your guard down for one second and look at what’s happened to you.

The next scene that Jungkook shows is, of course, the moment he spills burning hot coffee all over you in the middle of the Starbucks, comedically panning up to your positively-flabbergasted face just to add to the shock factor. Next to you, Ruby laughs at the mishap, obviously amused by the fact that the two of you are now drenched in coffee and scrambling to clean up the mess. You try to focus your energy on how peeved you were at Jungkook after he did that, but get distracted the moment he films himself wrapping his denim jacket around you, placing it over your shoulders and making sure it’s just right. 

He didn’t have to do that, and the two of you both knew it. But still, he sent you off your class all bundled up in a jacket that smelled like him, smelled of that boyish aroma that you couldn’t get rid of, even when you put it in the wash with your lavender detergent. All of Jungkook’s clothes smelt like that no matter how much cologne he put on, always smelt woody and thick. It would consume you, that scent, a cloud surrounding your figure whenever you were near him. 

The movie keeps playing, and you keep thinking about how much of a fool you must look like in it now, all giggles and smiles as Jungkook sings Frankie Valli to you while he hands you a rose, that same sly little smile dotting his features. Hearing the song again makes you feel like you’re choking, like something’s smothering you, and you’re not sure what it is until you realize that it’s the sound of Jungkook’s voice. 

You haven’t heard him sing since he serenaded you. 

Then it’s your first date, the one Ruby told you to wear the yellow dress to (“Hey, I told you you looked amazing in it! Wow!” Ruby exclaims when she sees you). You remember when you edited this, putting the clips together of you eating at the restaurant, wandering around the park, posing underneath the trees, holding hands. You were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt while you were editing, grinning from ear to ear at all of the things the two of you did together. They were so picturesque, those scenes, so perfectly shot, so romantici—t did a fine job of convincing you that it was all real. 

You even put in the little clip of you and Taehyung talking. A mistake, now that you look back on it, of course. It was so vulnerable, so real, so candid and honest like you said you would be, and now it’s all blown up in your face. You must have looked like such an idiot to Jungkook when he saw this scene for the first time in class. You remember the wide-eyed look on his face when it popped up. Like he couldn’t even believe you had done this in the first place. 

Scoffing, you shake your head. You either. 

The rest of it you can hardly bear to watch. Just a wrap-up of your relationship, a compilation of all of the small moments you shared when you didn’t realize that Jungkook was filming, when you dared whip out your camera to shoot for a second or two. Little clips that jump from scene to scene, shots of you laughing and eating and skipping along campus as you held hands. It’s hard to reconcile the fact that it’s all over. 

You don’t even listen to the final interview, not bothering to pay attention to what you or Jungkook have to say when you were there, when you can recall every word he’s ever spoken to you at the drop of a hat. 

The truth is, you were always a goner for him. 

And look how well that played out. 

By the time the kissing scene comes up once more, you’re ready to set your whole laptop alight. 

The screen turns black as it ends, fading away into nothingness, the instrumental slowly disappearing alongside the image. You shut your laptop when it’s all over, a little too angry for your own good, but you wrestle the scowl off your face as you take a drink of water from the glass sitting on the table. 

“Wow,” Ruby says, speechless. She blinks at your closed laptop. 

“Did you like it?”

“I—I don’t even know what to say,” Ruby says, which is a first. “It was amazing, Y/N. Seriously. Gorgeous. Like, cinematographically? Stunning. The shit on Netflix isn’t even as good as that.”

Even if you did have to sit through your stupid movie one more time, the compliments make you feel a bit better. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

Ruby nods enthusiastically. “It was incredible. I’m just—I’m in awe. You and Jungkook have a gift, dude. It was seriously one of the best things I’ve watched in a really long time. And, like, not even in a cheesy, yucky rom-com kind of way. It was so… so genuine. So real. Wow.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“You’ll have to tell Jungkook, too,” Ruby says. “He did really well.”

“Yeah, he’s a great actor,” you say, a little too bitterly for your own good. 

“What do you mean?” Ruby raises an eyebrow your way. “I didn’t think he was acting at all. It looked pretty real to me.”

You frown. “It did?”

“I mean, yeah,” Ruby says with an honest nod. “I mean, you did tell me it was a mockumentary and not just a run-of-the-mill rom-com. So wasn’t everything supposed to be real, anyway?”

“Yes…” you trail off, unsure of the direction of this conversation.

“Well, if you ask me,” Ruby says, all matter-of-factly, “I’d say he definitely fell in love with you.”

Something rushes through you. Something warm and bright and full of energy. 

Hope. 

Even though you have finished one of your finals early, finals week is still just as much of a slog as it always is. Three essays and two presentations deep, you aren’t finished any of them and the due dates are slowly creeping up on you, ready to pounce the moment the clock strikes twelve. 

Eh, it could be worse. You could be Ruby and have six timed, proctored final exams on biology, anatomy, and chemistry. So you suppose you can’t complain too much. 

Finals week sees you all holed up in your apartment like always, but more so this semester than any previous ones because you don’t feel like going to the library and risking seeing Jungkook there. Or anywhere, really. Since you presented on the last day of classes, you haven’t spoken since, and hopefully you can keep that streak going forever. You had made it until this semester without ever crossing paths despite being in the same major, so hopefully that luck will follow you. 

It’s almost midnight when you finally decide to call it quits for the night, having at least gotten mostly through two of your essays (just have to edit and proofread!) and worked on about half of your two presentations. Sighing, you get up from your couch and stretch, feeling your bones crack from sitting in the same place for hours on end. 

You lean over to the floor lamp by the edge of the couch, ready to flick it off and head to bed, when you hear something outside. 

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

You freeze.

The voice is soft and mellow, a little muted because it’s making its way through your wooden door before it reaches your ears, but it is unrecognizable. Even without the acoustics of the Eighth Notes, you know who’s on the other side. 

“You’d be like Heaven to touch…”

“I wanna hold you so much…”

“At long last, love has arrived…”

“And I thank God I’m alive…”

Unable to resist, you wander to your front door, basking in the sound of him, in the way the notes float through the air as if on clouds, dancing along the walls as they sink into your brain. He sounds so sweet, voice warm like tea on a cold night, just singing his song on this empty, lonely night. But it’s not just his song, is it? 

It’s yours, too.

You pull open the door. 

“You’re just too good to be true,” Jungkook sings, a honeyed melody that calms the waves of your stormy heart, “can’t take my eyes off of you…”

But just because he’s here, serenading you once more, doesn’t mean he’s going to get it any easier from you. You fight to keep the smile off your face, pressing your lips together as you narrow your eyes at him. 

“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night…”

“I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…”

He meets your eyes with his own, and they aren’t glinting in the way they normally do, the way that they do when he knows he’s doing something to grind your gears, when he’s got a trick up his sleep. They gleam like pearls as the dim glow of your apartment lights up his figure, warm yellow mixing with the caramel in his irises.

“Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, I pray…”

Oh, pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay…”

“And let me love you, baby…”

From behind him, Jungkook brings out a single red rose, twirling it between his fingers as he holds it out to you. 

“Let me love you…” He trails off there, voice delicate as vanishes into the chilly night air, disappearing between the two of you. 

You can’t help but take the flower from his hand. What else are you supposed to do?

“So?” Jungkook asks, hopeful. 

“Don’t think you can just show up at my apartment and woo me back by singing to me,” you chide, even though he definitely can. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says simply, because there really is nothing else to say. “I should have told you.”

“I watched our rom-com again,” you tell him. “I should have believed you when you said you cared about me.”

“I always did,” Jungkook says. “I just wanted you to know that love was real, and that it was there for you.”

“I should have known,” you agree. You look up at Jungkook through lidded eyes, musing to yourself. “You know what I learned?”

Jungkook tilts his head in curiosity. “What?”

“That love isn’t a feeling. It’s a person,” you explain, sighing pleasantly. “Love comes to us through the things we share with other people. That’s what it is.” Your thumbs twiddle in front of you, the pads of your fingers rubbing at the stem of the rose.

He takes a single step forward, reaching out to take your hand in his own. “And are you pleased with who you’ve found?”

You roll your eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me already, you idiot.”

Jungkook obliges without a second thought. 

There is no one to film you this time, no project to work on. There is only you, and there is only him. And there is only a lifetime that the two of you share, a story that you have told together, piece by piece, frame by frame. Your movie didn’t end once you finished editing. Nor did it end the moment the screen went black in Pollack’s class. It wasn’t even over when you watched it a second time with Ruby. 

No, it continues on. Forever and ever, so long as you are with him. There will always be something new to capture, to burn into a disk so you’ll have it for eternity.

He pulls you in for a kiss and it’s not the end of the film. It’s the beginning of a brand new part, a new installment in the series that is your life with him. That is the relationship you have created together. His lips aren’t the fireworks as the credits roll. They are the scene where the two characters meet for the very first time and know that they were meant to be. The scene that sets all of the other ones in motion. That is who Jungkook is. That is what you are sharing, right now. 

A brand new frame. 

When you part, you press your forehead against his, soft blonde locks framing his face as they tickle your face, dancing along the skin of your cheeks.

“You called it a rom-com,” Jungkook points out randomly, just remembering now. 

“Well, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know…” Jungkook says, pretending to think about it as he rocks on the back of his feet. “Did it have a happy ending?”

You bring your lips to his once more, arms wrapped around his neck as you clasp the rose between your fingers. You make a mental note to press it later. Something else to remember him by. Something other than your movie. 

Jungkook pulls you into him once more, hands resting firmly on your waist, letting his body press against yours as you stand there in the muted light of your apartment’s living room, letting the cool spring breeze wash over you. You smile against his lips, feeling your heart race when he grins back. 

“Yes,” you declare proudly. 

And so, they lived happily ever after. 

↳ thanks for reading! don’t forget to let me know if you enjoyed it!

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Quid Pro Quo (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer is entranced by the law student in his class. Request: professor!spence is absolutely whipped for a law student taking his course, maybe with an elle woods type personality? all very fluffy & soft! Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader (Check CWs) Category: Fluff Content Warning: Professor/Student romance, kissing, *use of the phrase "dolled up," and Reader wears pink Word Count: 2.6k

MASTERLIST

There is a strange, powerful, and mystical quality to libraries. Something about the smell of old parchment and dried tears from undergraduates who’d bitten off more than they could chew.

But even more so, it was the knowledge that you were surrounded by thousands of hours of hard labor by strangers. The amalgamation of years of study, experiences, and editing. Each book represented a life unlike every other. In that moment, lost in a sea of carefully curated language and dewy decimal labels, I was looking for one in particular.

And, although I was certain that he probably had his charms about him, it was hard to feel anything but hate about just how compelling the tale of David Rossi could apparently be.

“Shit! How is it gone already?!” I said in what I thought was a hushed tone. I suppose even that would have been too loud for the silent floor of the library, but I couldn’t help it. Not when the empty spot on the bookshelf was taunting me with its pristine, shiny coat of polish.

“Son of a bi—“

“Can I help you find something?”

“Ah!” I shrieked, definitely not in a hushed manner whatsoever.

The man behind me seemed completely unfazed, which was surprising considering how jumpy Dr. Reid could be. I figured from the goofy grin on his face that he’d expected no less from me.

“Hello Professor,” I laughed in lieu of an apology that I gave, anyway. “Sorry, did I disturb you?”

“No, you haven’t caused any problems at all. But is everything alright? You seem…”

His eyes scanned over my normally dolled up appearance to find it particularly lacking it’s usual flair. But it would be hard to describe the look in his eyes to be anything close to disappointment. It was more of a hesitant, bemused interest when he settled on the term, “Frazzled.”

“Well, I’m looking for this book, and the website said it was returned today but now I’m here and...” For flair and good measure, I gestured to the offending bookshelf as I stated matter-of-factly, “No book.”

He laughed but listened intently for the words that were sure to follow my exasperated sigh.

“I heard it was popular but I didn’t think it was that popular.”

Then, like an angel or some other academic equivalent of a divine being, he asked, “Are you looking for David Rossi’s book, by chance?”

“Yes!” I yelled, quick to cover my mouth when I remembered that we were, in fact, still in a library.

As if to play on the joke, Spencer cupped his hand over his mouth before leaning forward to whisper, “I have a copy of it in my office, if you need to borrow it.”

“Oh my god, really?!” I shouted once more. I didn’t bother hiding my enthusiasm anymore, but he thankfully seemed to find it charming rather than grinding. Of course, it’d be hard to complain when the yelling was nothing but the most blatant praise of, “That would be the best! You’re my hero, Professor!”

To save myself from any potential embarrassment from his reaction, I darted straight past him towards his office. With a skip in my step and the sound of his laughter and heavy but careful footfall behind me, I arrived to find the office I’d only been in a few times before.

My anxiety spiked the second I’d cornered myself in the room, surrounded by books that were just like the rest, but felt different somehow. I knew it was because they belonged to him, but I didn’t care. I’d let my naive, lovesick mind differentiate him a million times over.

Because there was something different about him. Something comforting and peaceful about his presence. The first day I’d met him, he’d made note of my appearance in a way that I’d always loathed. He pointed out the plethora of pink, and my mind ran through every possible insult that could follow.

But then he smiled, a simple, heartwarming curvature as he explained, ‘Your wardrobe reminds me of an old friend.’

Although I couldn’t tell if he’d meant it in a literal or figurative sense, it hadn’t mattered to me in the slightest. All I’d heard was that he looked at me and felt at home, exactly as I had with him.

So then why was it so terrifying when he approached me, with a book in his hand and that calming aura in his eyes?

“Thanks,” I muttered, hoping he’d write it off as typical power dynamic awkwardness rather than entitlement.

Per usual, though, he seemed nothing but charmed and charming.

“What do you need it for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Cite and source,” I grumbled without considering that I’d might need to explain. But the knowing nod he gave assured me that I hadn’t. I did, anyway. It felt nice to complain to someone who could at least empathize. “It’s up to me to make sure that he actually said what they said he said, the way that they said he said it.”

Spencer’s lips curled into his mouth, and I recognized the attempt not to laugh at the way I stumbled over my words despite his best efforts.

Deciding that I hadn’t minded the way it sounded when he laughed, I continued in an even more dramatic fashion, “After all, and I don’t know if you knew this, Dr. Reid, but you academics have a tendency to get a bit slapdash with facts and figures.”

“Do we now?” he hummed, turning to eye the door he’d left cracked open before he took another step towards me. “Since we’re trading insults, I’ll have you know that you’re starting to sound like a real legal scholar with anachronistic language like that.”

Even I was surprised by the giggles that started to flow from my lips. Once he’d heard them, however, I found no reason to hide them.

“Mmm, nothing better than exchanging pretentious, archaic legalese in a stuffy library on a beautiful Friday afternoon,” I sighed happily.

After a quiet, contemplative moment, where the two of us obviously struggled to figure out where we were meant to go from here, Spencer cleared his throat and announced with a wavering voice, “You know… you don’t actually need the book to check the citations.”

I had not known what he’d meant, but I’d had an inkling, and I didn’t want to sound like a fool if I’d been wrong about something so bold.

“What do you mean?”

“I can just… tell you if the page numbers are right,” he said simply.

I waited for the catch. It didn’t come.

“Really?” I snorted when I’d realized I’d been right all along.

“Give me any quote, and I’ll tell you if it’s verbatim, as well as the page, paragraph, and line number. You can even check, and if I’m wrong, you get all the gloating privileges in the world.”

A tempting offer.

“But if I’m right, then I get to help you. Then you’ll be free to… do whatever it is normal grad students do on a Friday afternoon.”

A less tempting offer.

The prospect of leaving him sooner was quite plainly the opposite of what I’d wanted, but I also knew that if I didn’t accept his challenge, then I would have to leave immediately, and that seemed like a worse fate.

I waited. I watched him hold his breath and wiggle his fingers anxiously from within his pocket before I met his nervous, narrowed glance with my own.

“You’re on.”

And off we went. Still cozied up in the confines of his office, the two of us dove straight into the hundreds of citations like there was something to be excited about. In a way, I suppose there was. I knew that I had certainly enjoyed each time that Spencer spotted another book he was familiar with. His lips would pucker, every so often catching between his teeth as he struggled to remember something he’d read years before.

While he was happy about the ever-evolving pursuit of knowledge, I’d just been happy to be able to witness his brilliance up so close and personal. Literally — the two of us had been crammed on a loveseat in his office that really seemed made for one. At first, he’d kept his distance, but eventually his enthusiasm got the best of him.

I hadn’t minded. In fact, I quite liked the way his thigh pressed against mine, warm and pliant all the same. The smell of his cologne was subtle but pleasant because it had smelled like him. And each time he would lose his composure and gesticulate, his hand would brush against mine. Goosebumps followed every time.

But as the night went on, both of us became less animated. It wasn’t an exhaustion like what I was used to; it was a sleepy sort of calm. That serenity that comes with your favorite blanket wrapped around you, or a stuffed animal tucked under your arm.

I turned to the man to my left, unabashedly ogling the visage that seemed chiseled from marble or some other precious stone. I felt hearts fill my eyes, knew that I was being reckless in my appreciation, but I continued, nonetheless.

When he’d caught me, however, I knew that I had to say something. The only thing I could think to say, though, was hardly as eloquent as I’d wished I could be.

“I’ve gotta say, this is the best time I’ve ever had doing this.”

“I’ve never actually done one, but I’m inclined to agree,” he quickly agreed despite the simplicity to the thought. “And thank you, for letting me memorize your Bluebook.”

“It was my pleasure,” I laughed.

I tried to think of any reason to stay. I tried to contrive some scheme to leave something behind so I could run back in moments later, after I’d taken a minute to work up the nerve to say something more compelling than what came next.

“I guess I should… head out, huh?” I whispered. I immediately wished I hadn’t.

“Oh, yes. Don’t stay on my account,” he muttered in a dejected tone. When he saw how sad that made me, however, he forced another smile for me. “I should probably head out, too. Before the maintenance crew comes to yell at me again.”

“Do you want me to stay and defend you?” I offered.

“No. I couldn’t possibly subject you to that,” he politely declined.

“Shoot. Here I was hoping for an excuse to stay.”

Shit! Did I just say that out loud?!

The silence that followed was palpable. The tension even more so. My professor, who had managed to maintain his composure for the entirety of the several hours of close contact, just stared at me like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Sorry—" I started, just as he’d begun, “You don’t…”

We both paused once more, our mouths floundering with unintelligible sounds that absolutely no one would call English.

Spencer was the one who collected himself first, and I would forever be haunted by that embarrassing fact.

“Sorry. I was just going to say that… you don’t have to leave… If you don’t want to.”

I considered the carefully chosen language and forced myself to reframe the question in a way I’d desperately wanted answered.

“… You want me to stay?”

And to my surprise, Spencer’s voice didn’t break when he answered, “Yes. I do.”

It was the clarity with which he spoke that demystified the moment. That strange, anxious undercurrent began to fade, ebbing into the abyss of the unknown ocean in a way that felt like returning home. We both found ourselves stuck staring into the vastness of each other’s irises that slowly narrowed to make way for eyelids and dilated pupils.

I was the one to move forward first, but he certainly hadn’t hesitated to return the motion in kind. We began to drift together with the pulsing tides until we were close enough to one another that I could feel his breath tickling my nose. I listened for his heartbeat in my own but found the noises too similar to tell.

Before our lips ever touched, though, I laughed — a quiet, shy little sound that had certainly been fit for the silent floor of the library.

And I couldn’t help myself. He was just too cute.

“What’re you doing, Professor?”

Spencer must’ve jumped a full inch off the couch in his shock. Just as I’d done when he originally found me cursing at a bookshelf, my professor yelped in surprise at his own impropriety before he broke into a string of nonsensical half-uttered apologies.

“Oh— my god, oh, god. I don’t—I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t—”

Again, without being able to stop myself, I gave into my heart’s calling.

With both hands clapping over his cheeks, I pulled him back towards me until our lips met. It took a few seconds, a few clumsy movements before they were able to actually close together. There was a lot of nervous laughter and hands going wild until Spencer finally recognized my touch as nothing close to anger.

Slowly, muscle by muscle, I felt him relax. His lungs, once pumping shallow and thready breaths, filled with enough oxygen to calm raging anxieties. The oxygen filled his blood once more, which all promptly flooded to the cheeks still pressed against my hands.

Once the kiss was over, I let them stick around a few seconds longer. I squished his cheeks that tried to break into a lovesick grin, and I laughed at the silliness I saw.

“Just kidding,” I said. “I wanted you to kiss me.”

Then, as if he’d taken the comment as a challenge, Spencer kissed me again. It wasn’t until I’d immediately started to climb into his lap that he realized the position he was in. His hands that had been stuck in the middle of his desire and his fast-disappearing professionalism, wrapped around my waist and tried to hold me just far enough away that my lips couldn’t reach his.

Not far enough away, however, that I was forced to abandon him entirely.

“Wait!” he squeaked in the most endearing fashion, “No, but… you’re right! W-We shouldn’t… you’re my student. It’s not right to take advantage of that.”

I tilted my head to the side hoping he’d understand the question.

He did. His answer was a bit lacking, though.

“You know… power dynamics…” he mumbled absently, with his eyes drifting back to my lips every few seconds, “and… quid pro quo…”

When I chuckled at his hopelessness, it woke him from his reverie long enough for me to explain, “Quid pro quo requires some kind of perceived benefit in exchange. Considering I already have the top score in your class, the only benefit I’m expecting is a chance to kiss you.”

Without skipping a beat, Spencer answered with more conviction than I’d ever heard from him, “My god, you’re attractive.”

“Thanks!” I chirped, only to be cut off seconds later by his lips on mine.

It was a welcome end to the conversation. A perfect way to spend a beautiful Friday evening. Although we’d stopped swapping pretentious language, the feelings that filled the few atoms that remained were certainly of ancient origin. The kind of thing that people would write stories of for many millennia to follow until we were no more.

“Again, please,” I whispered against his lips when he stopped to take a breath. And when he did, I decided that I still hadn’t had enough.

“Again,” I said, hoping I never would.

(Tell me what you thought of this fic here!)

[canceltheact]

Cancel The Act: The Definitive Theory of Lunky, Lixian, and Actor Mark

Hello there theorists! This is the big one - the (hopefully) final draft of CancelTheAct. 

For those of you that have been following this tale of truth, perserverance, and chromatic aberration,you may find that a few section of this are exactly the same. It basically is the same theory, but with a few things tightened up (see post from two days ago) and some updated information. This is the big one we’re hoping on spreading, so be sure to reblog this one like you’ve done before. We really appreciate all the support you’ve given this assertion.

 And for those who are seeing this for the first time...welcome! This is a theory exploring what's been going on the past few months on Markiplier's channel, and the side story that connects the odd goings-on. If you support this theory, spread the word on Twitter and reblog, not just like, on Tumblr with the hashtags and this very site.

 Thank you for all the support, folks! Now...let's talk about the truth. We'll see you on the other side.

So, if you are a Markiplier fan on the interwebs, you have no doubt seen the newest Cloak ad that was in the Cooking Simulator video from about a month ago and noticed something...off. Something... suspicious. And if you follow Mark lore, you know that this was NOT ordinary Mark. This was Actor. The robe underneath the Cloak merchandise he was wearing, the spotlights and cracking of his body reminiscent of the Darkiplier ending from AHWM, and of course, what he says in a haughty tone of voice, seeming to be the opposite of his opening stair spiel in WKM: "It's not about you...it's about me." Heading over to instagram, we get more interesting stuff, with a description of the ad clearly reflecting the events of WKM from Actor's skewed and self-righteous perspective.

Was this just a ploy for marketing purposes, you ask? How could it be important to something? Well, Cloak's response to said post says it all: "oh". Meaning they had NO CLUE this was coming.

Even in that Cooking Simulator video, there were signs that this wasn't just pertaining to an ad. In the kitchen of the game, he comments "Modern is stupid; I’ve always said this; I want the classics," quite a different opinion from the man we knew that owned FIVE OVENS, but would seem quite on brand for someone who lived in a old-style manor - even the Youtube description seems a bit suspicious saying that "this time, I'm gonna show everyone what I'm all about." No doubt, Actor Mark has made quite a return, for seemingly NO REASON, right? Right? Well....not exactly. We’re here to tell you that Actor's been here for quite a longer time than you might expect.

For those who have been paying attention to Markiplier for the past couple months, you may have noticed some strange, yet fleeting events.

The stick figure monstrosity known as Lunky invading Mark’s channel for one day. The strange revelation that Markiplier isn’t real, yet 6 days later denied by the very man who confirmed it. The erratic behavior of the editor known as Lixian.

Such strange goings on, isn’t it? But I have reason to believe that these incidents are part of a greater step in the lore of Markiplier. That these very events are tied to each other, and something much bigger than the sum of their parts. Many people have had their thoughts on what this all means. It’s time we threw our hat full of overthinking and crazed observation into the ring. Hopefully, this theory will help uncover a bigger story. A story of control, reality… and CHROMATIC ABERRATION.

First of all, let’s answer the question: is Markiplier real? Answer: No, he’s not. Even with the “Markiplier isn’t Real” videos not being canon, it doesn’t mean that Markiplier is “real” after all. Because he is, and always has been in terms of CANON, Actor. (Now this doesn’t mean that every video Mark has done has been in character, just the ones that have correlation with the Lunky arc, Lunxian affair, and the Mark isn’t real stuff, as this relates to bigger story beats that are happening.) Think about it. After the events of WKM, Actor (who already was a Youtuber as seen as one of the points on the Detective’s theory board reads “What is a Let’s Play?” implying to Mark’s original ticket to Youtube) used Damien’s body as a replacement for his own and going on with his life, rising to even more Youtube fame. This makes him not who he seems, and definitely not real as the person his fans and editors in canon thought him to be. But what does this have to do with Lixian? With Lunky? What about those confessions? Well, for that, we have to start at the beginning.

Lixian and the Lunxian Affair

Though the MarkiplierIsntReal videos aren’t meant to be canon, as told to the member mixers by Mark himself, we have seen behavior from Lixian that is still similar to the entire week-long event - that Lixian has found something out about Mark. We can gauge this through not only the behavior of Mark, but of Lixian as well. Most notably, in 3 Scary Games #46, we see the description of the video of what reads like Mark’s pleas to us, calling Lixian “a monster” and that “the old methods aren't working anymore.” Actor is trying to control Lixian, and even sow the seeds of fear into his audience. Lixian, in that same video, pulls a knife on Mark and, in general, acts more antagonistic towards him. From 3 Scary Games #46, we can gather that Actor isn't happy about any information Lixian may have leaked or let loose at this point.

There are 2 big points that support this:

1. Lixian's animation sprite during the episode mainly shows up as a shadow, otherwise known as "Shadow Lixian". Lixian's animation sprite typically assumes this shadow form as a visual way to let the viewers know that he's sneaking around and doing something that Actor wouldn't approve of.

2. Actor develops the idea of a "controlled Lixian" (which is later to become known as "Lunxian") to where Actor can use his arcane powers to have Lixian do/say whatever he wishes.

But of course Actor can only come up with the idea of a perfect editor at the time, and has no real way to actually manipulate Lixian at this point. It's not until Lixian leaves for vacation that Actor puts a plan into motion.

In an attempt to try and get rid of Lixian, Actor created Lunky to try and make a replacement Lixian. This obviously didn't work, as Lunky is barely like Lixian and was seen for a time by Actor as a poor carbon copy. And as we can see in the Minecraft video where Lunky is introduced, Mark dislikes Lunky immensely, pushing him off to the side and not wanting to even edit him in. Mark doesn’t even say that he made Lunky - he just says that he’s here so that he’s not talking to himself.

Despite this separation, though, there are clues right off the bat here that Lunky and Mark are connected. Where, may you ask? Well, in the outro of this very video (Lixian Is gone, Lunky Is Here), there were some awfully interesting shrieking sounds. Almost sounded….backwards. And wouldn’t you know it, after we reversed the audio, we could hear a voice. And with a few more tweaks to the speed and to isolate all of the echoing sounds that were added to the audio (which is actually a tad important), we made out “Thanks for watching - don’t forget to like” before it dribbles off. (Hear audio here: https://canceltheact.tumblr.com/post/645011603474038784/backwards-lunky-audio-for-reference-in-todays Also, if there are any audio expert theorists out there who are more skilled than us that can get a better result, write us and tell us what you find!) However...this echoing that comes off the audio seems familiar. What other type of person has a voice that echoes? Oh right! ACTOR when using arcane powers!

This CONFIRMS, through the echos and that would be what Mark would say, that Lunky was created by Actor through the arcane power stuff and Lunky, at the moment, though trying to be a poor carbon copy of Lixian, is at most being a channel for Actor's things he would typically do on the channel, as that encapsulates the story dimension and his power as a whole. And not only does the presence of this backwards audio reveal more about this seemingly joke character, it also reveals that this is something that Mark has put time into and planned for this to be something bigger than a one-off.

But then Actor realized that he could use Lunky to do the next best thing - be an extension of his own power and subdue Lixian enough so that he would be kept quiet. So Actor bided his time with Lunky and ‘allowed’ Lixian to trap Lunky in a cage. 

This backfires on Actor though, as Lunky manages to harness some of that Actor power and attempts to complete his original intent...to destroy Lixian. Lunky goes on a rampage, overtaking both Lixian’s channel and Markiplier’s channel until Lixian kills him - Or so it seems.

Actor realizes what has happened and decides to do a combination of his two previous plans: have Lunky possess Lixian, making Lunxian (a name we have come up with for this phenomena), in order to keep Lixian completely under control. We see this through two things:

1. Lunky's rainbow glitch, or chromatic aberration, around him is transferred to Lixian AFTER Lunky gets killed - and we see Lixian acting VERY differently towards the editors, saying that he’s watching them, being present in several videos outside of 3 Scary Games and being generally creepier than usual when judging from the scope in general.

2. Lixian screams "I'm the Editor" after ‘defeating’ Lunky. Interesting, isn't it? Lixian has said a few times before that he doesn’t like being called editor. But Lunky, in control of Lixian now, has a different want. Lunky was meant to be the editor for Actor, hence why Lunky would want to be called editor.

#CancelTheAct Reasoning

But now, to let you know exactly WHY we're pushing "CancelTheAct". So, Actor has used the story dimension in order to keep those he has trapped in the manor in playing out his stories, such as Dark as the villain and Abe as the detective archetypes, right? I realized: the story dimension IS the channel. And what does the channel drive on? Fans. So, Actor derives his power from being able to be the hero, the lead of the stories, and his channel in canon gauges his influence and power right? Well... Lixian is trying to EXPOSE ACTOR from what he’s found and we see that as not just exposing... but “cancel” him in the eyes of the people who GIVE HIM POWER... his fans in canon. Thereby making Actor powerless. The fans in canon will see him as a fraud, not support him, and take away his strength of his ego. Jabbing a slight bit at the now-popular cancel culture, we are siding with that fight with a clever little hashtag that can be made alongside #MarkiplierIsntReal. Though MIR was never actually a canon intention by Mark, it’s still a hashtag that people are familiar with - and as it relates to the fact that Actor has been putting on a facade, we can use it in order to rally our cause.

Rainbow Chromatic Aberration Breakdown

Why would this rainbow aberration be cause for identification of something being off? Of Actor?

Well... back in the WMW breakdown video, Mark talks about this one point in the mini movie where there’s this aberration, when Wilford and Abe go from the detective’s office to back at the dance club. Paraphrasing here, he says that this is not Darkiplier and that he just wanted to replicate the effect of a VCR rewinding to establish to take things “from the top” with Wilf and Abe’s meeting. Remember the VCR thing though, that’ll be important later. (Time stamp: 2:07:50 https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=rsi_L1b1RwE&lc=Ugwo26EalTI5QP15ooF4AaABAg) This thereby establishing Warfstache’s use of gelling and framing this weird reality by manipulating time and space. We see this AGAIN in AHWM, as when the box is used in the Bob/Wade endings and we go through time, we see the SAME COLORS OF ABERRATION. Warfstache does the same VCR type thing in the interview as well. Ok, so we’ve established that the rainbow aberration implies when one (besides Dark) manipulates their time and space.

Now, these colors look familiar... where have I seen them before OH RIGHT. LUNKY. Lunky has appeared with this aberration through that video with his song (you know the one) and in the 3 scary games videos. Since we’ve seen that Lunky is connected as an extension of and creation from Actor’s power, it makes sense that Lunky would have a similar chromatic aberration. We see this fabrication from time and space (Lunky) use this manipulation power, and then, as Lixian is possessed and subdued by Lunky to become Lunxian, this aberration is also adopted. (for image examples, see Lunxian picture in the first part of this theory)

However, we have seen some slight resistance throughout these Lunxian appearances, showing signs of Lixian trying to break free, as we see in the Forest video “Escaping the Sinkhole” where he says “You think you can replace me?” But instead of the typical rainbow aberration, the colors are inverted to a purple and bluish green.

An aberration we’ve seen a couple times before: in the “DEAD” post that Lixian posted on his Twitter when he was thought to be killed, and in the flashback sequences in Lixian’s Confession which, while doesn’t give us any information for the story, still gives us context for what colors show Lixian in control.

However, despite the control of Lunky over Lixian, the past few weeks has shown the emergence of Actor, despite how he tries to keep it under wraps.

Events Post First Lunxian Emergence - Post MarkiplierIsntReal

In the past few weeks, we have seen through the types of video uploads that Mark has put out, along with Lixian’s behavior, that despite Actor’s attempts to keep his identity under wraps, there have been increasing signs in the in-canon Actor channel and Mark’s real life channel stuff that tips us off otherwise.

First off, in the first week after Markiplier Isn’t Real, there were only compilations and old footage from streams, which wasn’t exactly too important, except for a few hints through the editing that Lixian gave us - first, the fact that a lot of the text and effects were surrounded in that Lunky/Actor rainbow aberration - implying that Lixian isn’t really acting of his own free will...not controlled, per say, but not allowed to talk about the secrets of Actor.

In this same compilation, we even get a hint that something is amiss from Lixian - in a moment from the end of 3 Scary Games #38 where Mark is wholesomely preeshing Lixian, suddenly, the moment glitches in a similar fashion to how it was done at the end of Lixian’s Confession - then cuts to the scene where Lixian “kills” Lunky. This type of unusual transition into such an event lets the audience know that this event is important and something to pay attention to.

Secondly, in the 3 scary games compilation, we have an interesting change in edit that Lixian made - instead of the normal jumpscare from 3 scary games #57 with Mark with no eyes, Lunky is plastered over Mark’s face, implying Actor and Lunky’s connection.

The interesting thing that has popped up from these videos isn’t just the type of game that has been done, but, specifically, the behavior of Lixian. And it mainly started with the editor collabs that Lixian has been doing with Marcus (aka Nerd Fiction) and Rachel, the two new editors for Markiplier’s channel- not only a tool to help them learn the ropes to the type of editing Lixian does, but also leaving room for an interesting plot device.

In the first simulator collab episode, “Cooking Simulator”, Lixian seemed to be able to be in control by Actor, doing his VCR chromatically aberrated bidding, but being a bit more acting of his own free will, being a bit more resentful of the job instead of compliant.

However, in the second simulator collab video, “Car Accident Simulator”, Lixian seems a LOT LESS compliant and even rebellious. Yet Mark seems to be ok with joshing Lixian’s chain around, even mockingly calling him editor. Even more interesting…the fact that Lixian says “I’ve got all your dirt!”, implying his knowledge and slight ability to share the truth.

So, why is this? Well we think that Mark still thinks Lixian can’t escape, but Lixian is simply biding his time to get free from Lunky and Actor’s grasp... still playing along with Actor’s game, but planning to get stronger and plan an attack.

Unfortunately, this state of the upper hand does not last long. In the Forest 3 Peens stream before this, we get another Lunky appearance, with Mark seeing. Combined with the rebellious behavior he sees Lixian have and Lunky now being separate from Lixian, Actor sees that Lixian is not under control again, and realizes he has to take further action.

Breaking the Facade

This leads us to the latest 3 Scary Games: #64 and #65. In these two, some of the last regular appearances of Lixian, we see jumpscares like usual, but these monsters are...different. The spider monster in #64 is much more detailed than any monster we’ve seen before, and in #65, the fake Mark stand-in speaks in a newer type of audio voice effect. And in both of these video outros, Lixian is shown defeating them both with an axe, fighting them off. (not showing images due to arachnophobia that spider is dang scary) This tips us off that these monsters are different than just the typical jumpscares we see in 3 Scary Games - Lixian is deliberately against these monsters. And in BOTH VIDEOS, Lixian is in the same position, asking where Mark is.

This is why we haven’t seen Lixian in videos since this - because he is trapped in an area either by Lunky or Actor, fighting off these monsters and unable to escape while Actor keeps up his facade.

However, despite this, through real life and in canon, Actor’s facade has been breaking to us little by little.

The Reddit banner changing from a Heist promo to a picture of Date Mark a week after MIR.

In the “Teardown” video, Mark is shown with some interesting edits when he goes to shoot a tree - seems normal, but with that font being Lunky’s font and his background being red, this definitely seems like Actor - even the things he says,” You wronged me and it’s only right for me to come to pay back what is due” - seems like he’s projecting anger from the people in his past onto this tree.

Then, even the day after the infamous Cloak promo, we see even MORE allusion through referencing Actor scenarios THREE TIMES in the “Stormwatch” video: once referring to WKM, once referring to the END music and filter from WKM, and a reference to the Warfstache Markiplier interview, which points to Actor from THIS CONVERSATION: “You heard it here first ladies and gentlemen Markiplier has admitted to NEVER KILLING ANYBODY.” “Well I never said that”.

Looking back at the cloak promo for the self love story line, Mark himself has said that the promo featuring him wearing Actor’s robe was a last-minute choice by him, as he was largely involved with the release of this line. Even so, there are certain details that simply can't be ignored. Enter: At Dead of Night Part 1. During the video, Mark just decides that he has to leave the room, glitches out of the room, and after an uncomfortable amount of silence, he jumpscares us after some spooky red light engulfs the room. In this period of time, there are TWO things that separate it from the normal type of jumpscare that would be found when Mark plays a scary game (despite it NOT being 3 scary games video)

1. We see a quick flash of what appears to be Shadow Lix...until we look at the eyes.

This aberration definitely shows signs of Lunky - looking like Lunxian has returned.

2. Mark returns...with the same Cloak shirt that Actor was wearing in the promo over his robe. Probably just promoting the brand, right? Well this video was five days after the promo was released, quite an arbitrary number for just doing an empty reference to the promo, especially since the day of its premiere, February 16, was around the day the Self Love Story line was dying down and not needed to be promoted. And all the while Mark plays, the Actor robe is on the dresser in the background - the first time we've seen it since the promo in the first place.

Even considering the fact that the promo was a last minute choice, WHY would Mark bring it back up again? WHY would he nudge us with the hints to connect the promo to something bigger - unless he WAS planning something a bit bigger.

Other strange occurrences have been happening in bits and pieces throughout other videos. A Lunxian appearance in the Barn Finders episode.

And curiously enough, a jumpscare in a Forest video from a previously used 3 Scary Games video - #62, to be exact, and the only one who has eyes that are similar to Lunky’s.

Combine that with the fact that despite Lixian editing a lot of this video, he doesn’t show up at ALL to being called editor - this is showing that Lixian isn’t in charge of editing the videos - Lunky is in control. And the monsters coming out of the closet is a clear sign of another one of Lunky’s monsters that might have bled through the area between where Lixian is trapped and where Mark is - the 3 Scary Games dimension, if you will.

The Next Plot Step

The next 3 Scary Games videos since this time have clearly been very, very telling of this banishment and kidnapping of Lixian. Let’s go over some of the most important details, namely from #66, #67, and #69.

In #66, we see the latest monster in the line of the three we’ve seen before, such as the spider and the fake Mark; the squid monster fake Mark. This monster says the same things as the last monster: “Your end is near. Your end is here”, with the same font we’ve come to know of Lunky and Lunxian. (first pic #65, second #66)

But this time…Lixian’s axe doesn’t work. Why? Well, as we can see, there’s some kind of…force field.

Of…dark red. HMM…. looks awfully familiar. Even though we’ve never seen it before. Like RED, ARCANE ENERGY. There’s no doubt about it. Lunky, and by proxy Actor, are making the monsters stronger. So Lixian can’t escape.

And as we see in #67...this has seemed to work. As towards the end of that episode…

Lixian is…not doing good. At all. As we see him in an area, a rock or something, coated in red. Lixian is in trouble. It seems the monsters have finally banished him to a place where he cannot fight back, where he cannot tell the truth he knows. The red lighting looks similar to the prison in where Lunky was kept, possibly entrapping him in a prison of his own making.

Interestingly enough, before this, we see Mark’s “monster” thing: his eyes, moving aLLLL around. And the aberration on him is a tad rainbow-y. Could this be an allusion to Lunky, whose power is all about his eyes?

But...the most INTERESTING video was of course, #69...where quite a few things were confirmed. Let’s tackle them in this breakdown linked here, shall we? https://canceltheact.tumblr.com/post/649094311147978752/3-scary-games-69-the-eldritch-resurgence 

We should have you caught up with all of our important findings for now. As you can see, Actor has been playing his games for quite some time. But he’s gotten bold - far too bold, to reveal himself to us like this. And this is where you, dear reader, come into play. It’s not too late to end this game Actor has us in. We, the viewers, give these alternative egos power, and if we refuse to play Actor’s games any further and cancel his acts, we can begin to weaken  and perhaps even eliminate Actor’s grip on the channel. We believe that the time is now. Spread this post if you support it - reblog it, hashtag it on Twitter or Tumblr, use the hashtags #CancelTheAct and #MarkiplierIsntReal. This may be our only avenue to have our voices heard, and to truly unearth what the Actor has been threading together all along.

Chromatic Aberration Appendix (Yay!)

Hey there folks! I’ve decided to do a companion writing on my theory, that explains exactly WHAT chromatic aberration is and why it’s important to the current Mark lore.

Chromatic aberration is the glitchy effect of various colors surrounding words, objects, or people. There are quite a few different types of this aberration, and as they are an important part of this theory, this section is to denote the different types of aberration and what they mean.

“Rainbow” Aberration - This aberration has been used multiple times as a representation for the manipulation of time and reality in order to control someone - we see this used in AHWM as we surge through time using the artifact, and as Warfstache brings us to our proper interview location in time/space. This effect has also been associated with the effects or rewinding of a VCR, as Mark says in his WMW breakdown video when discussing said effect when Warfstache takes Abe back to the disco club to “have a little fun”. And as we have seen in this part of the lore, Actor has used this type of power as well in order to control people’s reality. This aberration, therefore, denotes for those OUTSIDE Actor’s planned story - which is why Warfstache has it (since he has no role), why Lunky has it (because he was created as something to exist outside the story dimension and to fill a role that wasn’t a set role in Actor’s story in the first place) and was used initially, yet unsuccessfully by Actor to control Lixian (because he was working outside his story onto someone who didn’t necessarily have a role)

Heavy Presence of Red Aberration - this aberration, though more of an aura than anything else, indicates the control and presence of Actor, as seen in “Damien” - though this isn’t used too often, it is often used with Lunky’s rise of power, such as in “He escaped...” and at the end of various 3SGs.

Lixian’s Aberration - this combination of dark purple, teal, and greenish blue aberration is present in Lixian’s confession and is a marker of when Lixian is in control - as seen in Lixian’s confession and the “DEAD” picture post on his Twitter.

[worldsover]

Judgement to the Desiccated ft. Karina

length ✦ 5573

genres ✧ sm type future; asphyxiation; blackmail; virtual_servant!Karina;

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Air did a poor job of not being polluted so Lee Soo Man flooded the world instead. The man himself certainly must be long gone and could not have been in charge of that decision but the legacy of his company far exceeds the legacy of any other human collective in history. Once on this planet, gas was the fluid of choice for respiration and breathing was an unconscious reflex. Now there’s Aether by SM. How very on-brand of them to have the liquid air you breathe follow perfume naming conventions.

Open your eyes and exit the sleeping chamber. Aether has you work for each inhalation, it desaturates the color of the bedroom—maybe there’s a subtle but uncomfortable tinge of yellow—and it makes your nose itch. Your muscles wield much less force than they used to because of the lack of resistance the fluid provides. Moreover, it smells like hairspray as though the ozone layer is taking sardonic revenge.

Screens impersonating windows track your eyes to ensure realistic parallax, playing the scene of divine blue heavens that could not exist. An azure sky is a reward for those planets that have an atmosphere and a sun for light to scatter. Your walls are either chrome or drywall white and your whole bedroom is plainly decorated just like the day you moved in.

“Etymology of bedroom,” you think out loud, though it falls on no ears.

“Bedroom is a compound noun consisting of bed and room. Bed goes back to Old English bedd ‘sleeping place, plot of ground prepared for plants,’ which goes back to the Germanic-”

Plants and sleep are both strong words to use nowadays. The former doesn’t exist in nature and it seems you’re the only one who bothers with the latter. Faint buzzing distracts you from the AI’s response and signals you to the nano drones that swim throughout the liquid to process carbon dioxide from your lungs. This whole ordeal could’ve been much worse if you didn’t have brain interfaces doing the hard part of controlling your diaphragm. The most you need is a purposeful thought. Still, it gets tiring having to think the same thought every three seconds. In. Out.

Was the metaphorical Soo Man teaching a lesson in perseverance? You love K-pop and imagine it’s how trainees used to practice dancing, singing, being charismatic. Being an idol had to be as natural as breathing air. Inhale and exhale. Right now with any antiquated programming language you clung on to, you could write a single for loop that did the same job. For every three seconds: breathe in, breathe out.

“What’s for breakfast today?” Not loud enough. “What’s for breakfast?” you think it louder.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready for service.” It’s quite a kindness for SM to blur the bland dystopia you live in by augmenting reality through your neural device. A bosomy woman in a gold-lined but otherwise modest maid outfit appears from the corner of your eye and she bows. Ae-Karina is bewitching and almost becoming of her basis as its graphics have gradually upgraded over the rotations but you wouldn’t misconstrue the avatar as human.

“I said, what’s for breakfast!” It feels impolite to scream in your head, there’s other residents there, but finally the fridge lights up.

“Of course master. May I remind you eating is unnecessary?”

In. Out. Every day, she does remind you, yes. How kind of the company to put all your nutritional requirements in the new air. Aether goes in then Aether goes out. You wish the thoughts of breathing could fade into the background but they’re just like your cravings for food. Always hungry but never starving, whole though not once satisfied. Your eyes pause at her gorgeous face and she tells you there’s bacon. Take it from your fridge. Bacon goes in. Well, the drones take care of the out.

Your assigned living space is the entire 207th floor of a tower. Two hundred and seven floors below the surface. The neighbor a few floors upstairs says that he thinks living deeper is a sign of status. What a luxury. That guy should check the status of his facial muscles, maybe improve his code that lets him tell lies while he’s at it. A couple hundred flights of stairs to swim up is a useless skeuomorphism of skyscrapers in the days of the sun. In fact they were more than useless, you would've preferred a single vertical hallway as it would have let you propel upwards unimpeded. Each floor is the exact same, a glass door that affords no privacy for its residence, a false tree on each side. At the upper levels, malls, convenience stores and other gaudy retail, but it’s the gyms that mock you that you mock in return. They’re always empty.

Finally reaching the top is no true break even if it is a change in scenery. Inhale. Aether tastes a little different up here. Exhale. Can’t say you like it.

Countless satellites form a parody of the star from which the planet flew away, the false image refracted by the upper boundary of Aether. They can’t take away your memories of this star. Looking up at the sky once blinded you with ultraviolet radiation, burning your cornea. It was beautiful. Now everyone’s decided that if they’re playing the part of corporate dystopia, they might as well fit the aesthetic. In a way, it’s self-fulfilling. They wouldn’t have chosen a neon pink sun to compliment the blue and metallic gloom of the cityscape if it weren’t so ingrained in popular media already.

Still, you would’ve expected Google or Walmart to become the megacorp responsible for the state of the world, not a Korean entertainment company. Must’ve been quite the red paperclip scenario. Instead of material design or utilitarian architecture, tacky artistic structures line the streets. The same advertisements for albums that they’ve been selling for the past however long. It's all so obvious, the city could've been designed from scratch to accommodate new forms of travel and goddamn liquid air but instead they went with futuristic Tokyo.

Dubstep permeates your inner ear implants. A notification informs your thoughts that it’s “Hip-hop EDM dance pop with a strong jungle house groove and urban influences.” It’s dubstep. Liquid carries barely any sound so SM affords the option for implants if you're nostalgic for one of the senses. Even though it’s a slower form of communication than direct neural transfer, the noise comforts you. Of course the company would choose dubstep as their background music, but maybe they make money off refunds somehow. It switches to Ice Cream Cake. Much better.

You walk the not so busy roads towards a short brick warehouse in the distance and heavy rain soaks your clothes. No such thing as weather without the sun and water but it’s all simulated anyway.

A warm Seulgi adlib and you know it’s Psycho that starts playing. No, none of your senses are real. The most you could trust is your vision but even that’s being lied to. You could be living in a vat and fed all these thoughts, but then why make it so mediocre? Not paradise, nor torture but a lukewarm in-between. Guess that's what happens when SM Entertainment manages the post-apocalypse. Good on them for trying. The alternative would be a frozen hellscape without solar radiation. Can’t deny their work with geothermal and nuclear energy to keep the Aether warm so that you didn’t have to live underground for the rest of human history. It’s quite great PR to save humanity.

“Hey now, we’ll be okay,” repeats a few more times than you remember.

The Idea Factory Alpha White Delta Green says the neon tubes lighting the front of the brick and mortar building. Your ID card bears a name but it’s not yours, not until they approve your name change. Those usually get processed faster with how often people liked changing their names.

Sit at a desk with a sterile white keyboard and slick new monitor. Type and empty words appear on the screen: “Think for the many, not for the one. We need to think ahead.” A thumbs up. The company appreciates the input. That’s probably enough work for one day. Some SNSD live stages help the time pass, SM certainly appreciated the streaming numbers and it would net you some social points.

It’s hard to say what comes to mind when they ask you to envision a world without the sun and air, especially since it’s what you’ve known for... Two hundred years? There’s no frame of reference, that much you can tell from when you counted seconds to see how often the satellites completed their orbit. SM really took time to have them propel at random speeds, they love withholding sensitive information like that from citizens. To be fair, time is sensitive. Guess the meaning of that phrase changes like all parts of language.

Look around. Dozens of employees at identical workspaces all try to answer the same questions. Naturally, there’s no need for manual labor anymore but there will never be a replacement for human ingenuity. Nice slogan but you know you’re only here for data. Can’t see a need for customer retention though—what’s the alternative, skip Earth? See you on another planet?

“Hey bro, you come up with anything new?” Dave says. Two desks away, you see the enthusiastic, surprisingly spry man play around with a Newton’s cradle. The balls at each end bounce back and forth, not slowing down their rhythm any time soon.

“I think I got something,” you say, “Earth is not the answer. It can’t be, long term.”

“Ooh, I like that. Actually, I really like that.”

“What are you gonna do, copy me?”

“Of course not. You know how much SM hates plagiarism.” Click. Clack.

“Ha. As if there’s a single original thought left in the world.” Click. Clack. The imaginary sounds of metal spheres bouncing play in your mind. They got the volume wrong, no way it’d sound that loud from that distance. “You’d think with all their resources, they’d have figured out space travel by now.”

“I don’t think they want to leave, bro. Wouldn’t be great for profits.”

Your mouth opens to laugh and causes laugh8942.mp3 to play in Dave’s head. “I love it. SM probably hates that sass too,” you say.

“Oh no, they’re gonna arrest me for thoughtcrimes. Nah, they love creativity, just when it suits them. Also, if they actually did bust you for wrongthink like rumors say, I wouldn’t have this on me.” Dave twirls a finger and points at you and you thank his absurd flair for the histrionic that keeps you amused with such drab work.

“NewDrug.mp6. Would you like to play it?” the dry system voice notifies you.

“Woah woah there tiger, hold on.” Dave must’ve noticed your intrigued eyes and holds his hands up. “You might wanna experience that at home. But if you’re interested in more, ask for chicken parm at the vegan place. You know the one.”

Dave leaves his desk. He doesn’t return. You finish your work. Inspire. Expire. You’d rather not.

In contrast to your commute to work, the roads fill with others on your way home. You have to know. Take solace in the comfort of a bench where a huge McDonald’s arch bathes the surroundings and its people with a yellow glow. Really shouldn’t watch it now, especially if Dave says it’s a home type of watch but you have to know. A family of five watches you pass out. They, along with every other passerby, ignore your still body draped over the chrome outdoor seating as you look like yet another junkie. The title is correct after a fashion, the simulation is some sort of new drug. The details of the exploits that happen in the immersive replay wash over you but you don’t need them to know that it’s the sort of lewd that SM would not allow—at least not publicly and not without the right exorbitant payment.

Suit pants and underwear go straight to the laundry. That must’ve been an embarrassing sight but no one bothered to stop you, so it doesn’t matter. Look up where this vegan place was that Dave so presumptuously assumed you knew about and you find that it’s about four Avengers’ stores down from work. He must’ve eaten there before.

“Yo Dave, just wanna make sure, what’s the name of the vegan place called?”

“What are you talking about, man? You telling me there’s some secret underground farms that SM wouldn’t know about?”

You can’t tell when you got to work, a lack of standardized timing would help as well the haze of living in a monotonous dark. “Nah, I mean, for the-”

“I have no idea,” Dave emphasizes each word, “what you’re talking about.”

“I see.”

Work flies by, unusually.

“Hey, can I get a chicken-”

“Uh, this is Maron’s Veggies Only, it clearly says on the sign.”

Clear your throat. “Parm.”

The shifty part-time worker looks around and rubs his fingers gesturing for money. “No digital.”

Over the counter, you pass him a gold coin stamped with a holographic 1 and he hands you a USB stick and a laptop in return. How old-fashioned.

“It’ll sync with whoever you have set as your avatar experience aspect,” the worker says.

“Thanks.”

Ever vigilant as the patrol is, the alleys are the last place you want to go to hide with the obvious criminal element within them all but you head to one anyway. Dump the anachronistic technology in your storage pocket dimensions. Looking at its contents, you’d have to clean that mess up later, but the more you look like an average slob the better. The biggest problem with the inventories is all the people squatting in them. Inspectors wouldn’t care about the archaic ruins you left in yours.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready to service.”

“I’d like to go on a date. A special date.” You highlight the key word special and sit on your living room couch. No one’s going to look in your glass door and regardless, you wouldn’t be the pervert for glimpsing into someone’s home.

“Ah yes, master. Ae-Karina is ready to fully service,” she says with a provocative tint in her tone, her sclera disperses to black to match. A pole drops from the ceiling while parts of her maid outfit dissolve which reveals more of the silky skin of her thighs, her lissom arms and most importantly her overflowing breasts. Ae-Karina wraps her legs around the pole and spins around, teasing fingers trace curves on her body to harden you. Her dance is precise but sultry regardless. She pulls up her short skirt to flaunt more of her ass beneath white panties and then pulls down to flourish her cleavage, not trapped by a bra. “Are you enjoying your maid’s show?”

“Very much so, yes,” you say.

Half of a smile forms before a glitch occurs and she teleports next to you, fully nude. It doesn’t pull you out of the illusion however. You just stare and drink in the splendor of her created body.

“You’re not going to touch?” Ae-Karina says.

A feel of her tits and you find it softer than pillows you used to rest on. Soft isn’t much of a character that exists anymore when the whole world is engulfed in liquid. No one has beds, especially with the rarity of sleep. Therefore, her mounds are a consummate dedication to the texture as you squeeze and pinch at her cute nipples.

Her maid outfit rematerializes as she straddles you. It provides more friction to your pants as she begins her lap dance. The weight of her body dragging across your legs and clothed erection induces your carnal impulses further. If only you could fuck the virtual idol. You have to make do with the imprint of her pussy lips on your bulge sliding up and down. Breath in. Breath out.

Ae-Karina pulls down your boxers and spits on your erection. It's not real but her hands so slick on your cock and you let reality slip. Real is for the past, you have desires gratified in the present. There is no real person nibbling at your neck but your nerves activate in sexual desire without discernment for truth. No, she doesn't love you, but when the voracious mass of ones and zeroes says it loves its master, you say it back.

"I love you."

ILOVEYOU infected ten million computers in 2000. An explosion. Calibration engaging. It’s 1:21 PM, Sunday, July 18, 2286 and hypothetically the sun would be out in its full rage. At this latitude and longitude, you’re at what was once the epicenter of all—Seoul, where a fountain caused a chain reaction allowing the hopeful remnant of a world to exist. It lasted a surprisingly long time without the sun and without Aether but the dying planet would succumb inevitably to the ever-increasing contamination so SM of all corporations took charge. A different kind of chain reaction occurred when they acquired a restaurant chain that discovered the recipe for liquid air. The law is on its way and prepared to punish you to its full extent.

You reel while your ears ring. An even sexier version of the woman you already fantasized about appears from your peripheral vision in the crater of your floor. A skimpy cop outfit, striated with reflective material that seems to wane black at different angles, outlines Karina’s curves. She has a tool belt with absurd gadgets, such as a knife baton hybrid, a taser combined with a spray bottle and a Tamagotchi. None of this is necessary. They could just immediately arrest you, impose limitations on your devices. Sure, SM cloned people to deal with underpopulation, but why Karina would be the enforcer is a whole nother issue. Maybe the entertainment company loves their irony?

“Halt. You’re under arrest. Any resistance will be penalized according to the combined Terms of Service of all SM and SM associated products.”

Fucked anyway, you figure you might as well go for it. Escape into your inventory and only seconds later you’re forced out. You manage to get what you need regardless.

“Violation of access rights will be charged to your account.”

It’s so obvious but there’s a reason you kept so much gold in physical storage. As you swim away, the sides of your apartment start to bubble. Bubbles? Already, your limbs feel unsteady. Something’s wrong in the Aether.

“This is standard procedure for escaping suspects that are indoors. Again, this is all agreed to under the Terms of Service.”

“When the fuck did I ever click accept to that shit?”

“When you were born in this world and decided you want to stay in it,” Karina says out loud. You hear her say it. Your physical ears process the vibrations in the air that come from her mouth. Gravity thwarts your desperate escape as your limp body floats on the limit between liquid and air. The atrophy of your muscles becomes apparent within the gaseous atmosphere. She watches you sink down as the room drains of all the false air though her eyebrows crease when she inspects you closer. Your breaths are involuntary. Despite your muscles shorting out, the force of gravity and the pressure of the gas bearing down on you, you’re breathing and you don’t mean to. Her eyes wander farther down. On your pants, a concrete rod stamps the fabric.

“Oh, you like what you see?”

“Shut up, criminal. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Your pussy,” you say and she scoffs.

“Original.” Karina bites her lip as your erection continues to grow behind its prison. You use all effort to put your hands up.

“Please, miss Karina. I’ve been bad.”

“I could punish you even more for sexual assault.”

“Then do it.”

Heat radiates the room in a way you haven’t felt in a while and droplets of sweat form on each of your bodies, especially on the thighs that her revealing outfit parades. Her facial features contort in deliberation and the wait kills you. You bat your eyes at her before Karina takes off her tight shorts and drops herself into your anticipatory face. This makes no sense but none of this life made any sense so you decide to go with the tides.

Centuries of training your respiration has led to this moment, but when you finally have real air to breathe, you spit at the opportunity and choose to suffocate. Then you spit at her pussy and lap it up. Karina’s nectar transfixes your olfactory glands, for once a smell that isn’t the sterile Aether. Your eyes are mesmerized in parallel because of the perfect design of her pussy, a single crease that leads into her hole that your tongue emphatically explores. Karina spreads her thighs wide to reveal a small nub that craves attention. So give it. Suck and swirl and flick your tongue, and the woman provides you the tight clench of her legs as a gift. And the sounds, rediscovered glorious noise. Loud, almost too loud, and clear is how they assault your ears, even surrounded by the flesh of her thighs. Muffled by the weight of her legs, you hear Karina moan in approval but she’s still clearly in charge with how she chokes you with her legs. This is not about your pleasure but hers, and any satisfaction that you derive is not only incidental but probably punishable by SM copyright law.

Karina squirms her hips subtly on your mouth. Her eyes are sharp and she’s just about to stop your hands from moving but she notices them clasp together.

“I’ll do anything to make you cum, please.” you say sloppily as her pussy juices fill your cheeks and drip down your chin.

“God. I can’t.” She takes deep, contemplative breaths. ”That’s more time added on for inappropriate behavior.” Her groaning and brief squeals make her words sound incogent.

You give her a concluding lick and a kiss on her slit. “So what have you been doing right now then?”

Point to a corner of the room and a subtle red light indicates a recording camera. At once, she pulls out a hose from a pocket that could not fit it and the vacuum submerges the room with noise. Her expression shifts quickly to serious.

“We don’t play games here in SMTOWN unless it’s SuperStar so don’t fuck with me.”

“Look who's trying to be a comedian. How about you fuck with me any further and the video gets released.”

“That’s funny, you think you have any sort of power-”

“Yoo Jimin, I suggest you don’t push me more.”

“Where do you know that name from? Right now.” She weighs herself down on your neck.

“You think I don’t have contingencies for if I die too? Karina, we can make this a  win-win scenario. We both get to cum, we both get to walk away unscathed.”

“Fuck you.”

Your weak arms wander between her thighs. At any moment, a feeble punch towards your face or another ten seconds of asphyxiation and she could call your bluff. Even if you did have the ability to expose her perversions in any way, there would be no permanent recourse, not as long SM was in charge. So it surprises you when Karina takes off her shorts. 

“Goddammit. Your cock just looks too good. And your mouth, how are you so good with it?” Put up five fingers when she motions to remove her top as well, and instead she opts to take off your clothes, seizing your pants and throwing them to join the rubble in the room.

A finger slips in, then two and a third dares. Her flawlessly architected pussy lips clings to your digits and Karina shudders in reply. You explore her wetness and find it’s smooth to the point of having no faults, but her juice inside is gloppy and causes your fingers to stick more than the liquids she spills from her slit.

“Who said you’re allowed to have more?”

You lap up the nectar on your fingers. “Then why’d they make you taste so good?”

Your thumb teases her sweet tight asshole and puts just the slightest amount of pressure on it while you finger her with more intensity. The mass of her butt burdens your torso the closer she gets to orgasm. Her eyelids squeeze close and you see her body ripple in anxious pleasure. Karina shows off her pearly whites, teetering on the cliff of hysteria.

“Yes, yes! I’m so close,” she screams.

"Not yet."

“Fuck." Karina sobs, "God. Damn, fuck I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just fuck me.”

“My pleasure,” you say. There’s no need for you to grab her since she brings herself down to your groin, which you’re thankful for as your arms are as good as jelly now. Fortunately, your cock throbs as hard as ever while Karina’s slit rests on it.

“Say you’ll delete it all, all the evidence, promise me.”

“You’re gonna fuck me first or what?” Your breath hitches while she makes a strangled noise as her velvety walls swallow your cock whole to leave no room for comfort. Her tightness is stifling and you have to start counting just to breathe again.

“One two-”

“Be quiet.”

But there is no quiet when pleas for your cooperation intersperse her excessive profanities when she seats herself into your cock and ricochets up and down. Sweat emanates from her creamy skin while her legs widen to find a better angle for her supporting knees in her cowgirl position. Grapefruit and other citrus mingle with the scent of the sweat, fruits you haven’t seen except on billboards in music videos. As much as your mind crackles and your blood roars for every atmosphere of pressure Karina’s walls provide on each thrust in and out, you can’t help but reminisce on sweeter, more innocent times.

The white fluorescent lights in your apartment sputter. For all the advancements in technology, some among many things never change. Light refracts differently in air, less bright, but you can see the pure enjoyment on Karina’s face no matter the luminescence. Karina slows her ride to pull her hips down harder instead and she jolts when your cock finds the most tender spots inside her pussy and it interrupts her babbling.

Karina almost hyperventilates when she gets up to spit on your cock. She pulls out some kind of meter from her tool belt and sighs when there’s no beeping and you recognize it having to do with carbon dioxide. She gets back to dribbling saliva and the filament trailing down to your shaft mesmerizes you. This spit is real, not simulated, and it wettens your erection in a mix with her pussy juices to paralyze you further in your already listless state. Her bare thighs jiggle and you can’t exert much force with your hands but her buttcheeks are firm with just a bit of give.

“Thank you for this cock, thank you for being bad,” Karina says as you watch her ass sink deeper while her pussy holds your dick taut. She’s frenetic when bounces up and down to play an unadulterated orchestra of slick noises between your groins.

“You’re welcome,” you accomplish getting out the words between planned breaths. Your hands cup her buttcheeks but you fear they may break with how she strikes her ass into you.

Karina turns around once more to give you the spectacle of her facial expressions as she fucks herself into you. Knead her calves laying on your torso and they take no energy to spread them though she brings them back together, compressing your hard shaft within her pussy. A new game you play with her, a separate rhythm of loosening and tightening. Her feet press on your chest to help her bounce, but the way they bear down on your lungs against the timing of your breathing causes you to fumble. Your cock bends straight forward as she plunges herself into you and it sends prickles to your entire skin, making the new angle difficult but worth it. Karina takes your hand and starts sucking on your fingers.

“You want my promise that bad?” you say.

“Yes, as bad as I want your cum. I swear, I need it.”

She draws her knees up to her torso and hugs her legs to keep thighs as tight together as possible. Karina couldn’t keep her word, she was trying to kill your cock with constriction.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking tight. God, Karina, fuck. You’re so good.” Even if good isn’t the word you want to use to describe her.

“Do it, please, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. Karina can be a good girl, a good maid, a good cop, whatever you want. Just don’t get me in trouble, please.”

Karina’s mouth stops saying words though her lips writhe, drunk in increasing lust. Her cheeks flush, before the rest of her skin joins in redness while she grapples your chest and whatever spare limb she can find. You still struggle wresting control of your body but nature seems to take over when you drive yourself into her and match her needy cadence. The air in the room is replaced by a new air but it isn’t Aether. Passion, sweat, heat and all fluids that you both exude join squelching sounds, slaps and moans in harmonic bliss when her body tenses and she screams. As her body tightens, her pussy especially holds your cock for dear life and endeavours to wring out all your semen as her wetness throbs and spills. Karina starts counting to three repeatedly and you laugh though your amusement quickly subsides when you feel her juices become more viscous and she continues her ride, even in the dying pulses of her climax.

“Was I good?” Karina asks.

Just a moment goes by before you mentally send her a screenshot of all the recordings being deleted. Karina hasn’t stopped fucking you yet so at least it wasn’t a ploy.

“Thank you, thank you, I love you.” The flexion of her pliant legs brings them all the way back to rest on top of your legs. Karina lays prone above you and finally give you a kiss. The citrusy flavor may be closer to lime than grapefruit but it’s been so long that you can’t remember which scent is which. Lips crash and her tongue lashes out at yours trying to establish dominance. Keep still to let her investigate your mouth while her pussy does the same to your shaft.

You savor the way Karina’s top emphasizes the bouncing of her tits synchronous with the rebounding of her waist on your cock, but your mouth waters when she frees them. Take the shortest moment to relish in the sight before Karina smothers you with her plump globes. You wriggle your face to try to breathe. Inhale, up and exhale, down, but all you inhale is the scent of her orbs’ sweat. Her hips undulate with a pace at least double yours breathing and the echoes of slapping flesh resonate throughout the air-filled chamber. The loudness is unlike any you’ve experienced in a long time. It’s almost a flashbang every time her ass slams into your lap, especially as you start to see white when orgasm threatens to overload you with preludial pulses.

The last words you hear infected ten million computers in 2000. Fade to black. Cut. You’re slammed out of existence back into existence as a sun rebirths both within you, heating your core to a dangerous high, and from your eyes, dazzling you in an unforgiving white light. In the throes of unconsciousness relapsing to consciousness back to tenebrosity, your streaks of semen suspend in the Aether like a dead tree resting from the wind. What flashes your mind in its orgasmic state are two things only you would remember, plants and weather. Your hyperventilation is unconscious but not unwelcome, as it’s the first time in a while your breaths were reflexive even in the liquid air. However, basking in your newfound power, you start to choke. Right. You breathe in and out again. In and out. In. Out. In. Out. Back in.

“Replaying KarinaArrestsYou.mp6.” A hint of vexatious glee in the system’s otherwise dry voice. You don’t stop for it.

✦✧✦✧✦✧ 

AFF, AO3

It’s pretty silly but the idea danced around in my head ever since I saw the absolute Black Mirror concept that SM had for aespa and I concur that Karina is insanely hot.

As I’m writing this, this Kurzgesagt video on the idea of a rogue Earth comes out and now I have to rewrite stuff to make it at least a little consistent. I’m obviously already going nuts with all these ridiculous sci-fi concepts but this video almost feels too targeted to me writing this for me to ignore it.

[icequeenbae]

Dior Vernis | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Domestic au, husband!Baekhyun, pregnant!Reader, established relationship (obviously), slight angst, fluff, bits of humor (it’s Baek, y’all)

Rated: G

Warnings: husband!Baek’s so sweet you may need to visit your dentist after this

Word Count: ~1.5k finally

Summary: Baekhyun came home to find his pregnant wife crying. He’s ready to do what it takes to make her happy again. And it’s probably not what you think.

© Please do not copy/ post on other platforms without permission.

Author’s Note: This is just a cute little something while I work on bigger stories – those are taking forever to get edited… :( Feel free to DM me in case you want to help out with some of it (check out my beta reader post). I was trying something new in terms of structuring this, I hope it’s not too confusing. Anyways, please enjoy and let me know if you’d like more of these!! Thanks baekshoney for taking a quick look!

Baekhyun was incredibly focused.

The task at hand was not something he was used to undertaking, neither had he expected to be in this position tonight, crouched uncomfortably on the living room floor in front of you. He was pretty tired after work, and the stoop was making both his knee and his neck hurt. Not that he was going to say anything about the inconvenience anyway.

It was strangely quiet, seeing that this was your home, always boisterous. Loud with your laughter, your endless chattering, your purposefully bad singing, or even your arguments. But right now, the only sounds reverberating around the room were your residual sniffling and his concentrated breathing. You tried to take a closer look at his hands, quite unsuccessfully since your massive seven-months pregnant belly was in the way.

‘Don’t move,’ he asked, when you shifted slightly.

You nodded, effectively doing that again, so he shot you a dirty look and held you in place by the ankle, to which you muttered something apologetic.

‘Are you trying to make me mess up?’

‘Sorry,’ you mumbled, chewing on your lip to control your impatience.

You better let your husband do this – he definitely took his mission seriously. Of course, there was no way he’d mess up and make you cry the way you were when he came through the door. Simply no way.

Even if he had to crouch and do this for the next hour.

~

It couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes since he arrived home. At the time, Baekhyun expected you to be happy that he came early to spend some more time together, but instead found you sitting at the edge of the couch, bawling your eyes out.

At the sight of this he felt his heart skip a beat in fear. He very rarely got like this, usually the one to take a step back and look at any issue calmly and with a bit of humor. But now was a special time – you were getting ready to become parents for the very first time – which made him overly cautious and uncharacteristically fussy around you. Hence, while he stood frozen in the doorway, a million scary thoughts went through his panicked mind. His eyes searched your body frantically: there were no visible injuries, no blood, the bump was intact…

‘What’s going on? Y/N?’ He was trying so hard to cover up his terror that he instantly gave himself away by using your name like this. Too serious. ‘Are you hurt?’

He reached you in a second, kneeling in front of you and touching your wrists as you covered your face while crying.

‘Baby, tell me what’s wrong,’ he almost pleaded.

He wanted to help but had no idea what was happening. You looked fine from what he could tell and the TV was off, so it definitely wasn’t due to any tragic plot twist in your favorite series. Your shoulders shook with more sobs and he shifted his palms to rub them in calming motions. There was an unusual lump in his throat. He could barely stand seeing you, his partner and future mother of his child, like this. Sure, these past few months of your regular hormonal crying taught him some resolve, but that dreadful time was over weeks ago. He’d never even seen you this discomposed before, so the reasoning behind your state was to be determined as soon as possible.

‘Hey,’ he tried again, putting his gentle palm on your belly absentmindedly. ‘I need to know if you’re hurt, babe, so that I can help. Do you need me to call someone?’

You shook your head no, and he nodded to himself.

‘Okay. Why don’t you breathe with me for a second?’

With you getting upset during a good portion of your early pregnancy, Baekhyun had to train himself at the art of figuring out the reason and calming you down to talk about it. Breathing exercises seemed quite helpful whenever he could get through to you, and this was one of those cases. You must’ve been crying for a bit, since before he arrived even. That thought made his heart clench.

‘Breathe in with me, like this,’ he took a deep breath through his nose, ‘And exhale from your mouth.’

He guided you by example, and you subconsciously followed the suggested pattern.

A couple minutes later, your sobs were reduced to sniffling, and you lowered your palms enough for Baekhyun to see your red, watery eyes.

‘Aw sweetheart,’ he bemoaned, carefully investigating your blotched face.

He took his time wiping the tears off your cheeks while you sat there with your sweater paw pressed to your runny nose.

His touch was always so comforting in times like this. There was nothing like it. And everything about your husband gave you a sense of tranquility and security when he was near. Even Baekhyun’s breathing was doing its part in relaxing you.

He allowed you to bask in his affection, stroking your arm lingeringly and tracing the remaining wet trails on your cheeks with his fingertips. As your breathing slowly came back to normal, he could finally pay attention to the surroundings. There was a small colorful item on the floor that he’d noticed only now. Curious, he picked it up and read the label.

‘Dior Ver- vernis? Is this nail polish?’ He asked in confusion and received a feeble nod from you.

Baekhyun could barely place this item in ‘the big picture’, so he tried asking you again.

‘So… Can you tell me what happened?’

You looked away, avoiding his eyes. He examined your face and was mystified by the embarrassed look that appeared on it out of the blue.

‘Y/N?’

‘It’s- I think it’s hormones again,’ you croaked and looked away.

While this was an excellent excuse, he’d known you well enough to understand that it was one.

‘Tell me everything, honey. What got you upset?’

His palm went back to caressing your baby bump, and you instantly felt loved and cherished from the simple action. Your fidgety fingers lowered to play with his.

‘It’s- nothing serious,’ you confessed. ‘I just- my feet got hideously swollen today… And I had a pedicure appointment. Had to cancel.’

Baekhyun nodded, still unsure of what exactly caused this outburst. Your feet tended to get swollen often these days, this wasn’t news to either one of you, and it was fine, your doctor had said. It couldn’t have been some randomly cancelled appointment that got you in tears, right? Or could it?

‘I- tried doing it myself,’ you continued reluctantly, noticing his puzzlement. ‘But it’s impossible. I can’t even see anything because- because I’m so huge,’ you stifled a sob. ‘And swollen, and clumsy, and-’

‘And beautiful,’ Baekhyun interrupted your rant that was headed the wrong way already.

He could see it now. This was definitely hormone infused but there was also something else underneath. Your husband hummed, a playful expression creeping up his face.

‘Why would this upset you though? You’re only ‘huge’ because you’re carrying our healthy boy,’ Baekhyun’s tone was thick with fondness as he said that. ‘He’s going to be a big one. At this rate I’m willing to bet that he’s going to be taller than Chanyeol. All thanks to his miracle mother.’

You snorted a laugh at his non-scientific statement, finding his warm palm on your stomach. He just loved touching it at all times.

‘What if it’s a girl?’ You whispered, and your husband gasped, now pressing both hands to your belly protectively.

‘Why would you say that! She’d be a model then, and I don’t want my little girl to be one. She’s mine to look at and cherish,’ he pretend grumbled before adding a softer, ‘Just like you.’

Nudging his shoulder timidly, you giggled and bit your lip to contain your bashful smile.

‘Hm, you know what?’ He clicked his tongue, looking like he’d had a revelation. ‘I’m sure pedicure isn’t rocket science; I can do it.’

You barely reacted as he swiftly took the fluffy slipper off your right foot and rested it over his knee.

‘No!’ You tried to retract the limb but he held you by the ankle. In any case, you were way too lumpish to do it gracefully.

‘Oh, come on! You think this can scare me? Those are just feet, Y/N,’ he scolded and looked down, almost jumping. ‘Holy mother of-!’

You squirmed and hid your eyes in your sleeve as he proceeded to laugh at your reaction.

‘I’m kidding, I’m kidding!’ He said in an amicable tone before continuing, ‘I’m sure I can find your toenails in there, somewhere.’

You whined at this and shoved your mischievous husband in the side with the ball of your foot.

‘Alright, alright, calm down. I’m going to put this exquisite shade of pink onto them as neatly as I can. But you have to promise me that you won’t cry if I mess up!’

‘Don’t you dare mess up. Or else you’ll have to make it up to me with three hundred foot rubs,’ you groused, sniffing again to keep your nose from running.

‘Got it. Phew, glad you won’t be able to see it up close anyways,’ he smirked, expertly shaking the nail polish in preparation.

‘Baekhyun!’ You reproached for his shamelessness.

Your husband let out a cheeky laugh and announced:

‘My foot’s falling asleep, so let’s do this!’

He was fully concentrated on your pedicure after that.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I was blown away by the feedback I received for the Duality of Baekhyunie, so I wanted to keep you entertained while I’m working on the sequel and other stuff. I hope you weren’t disappointed ❤

P.S. Tell me in the comments how fast you realized that it’s all about nail polish 😂

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with MustangSally

MustangSally has 33 stories at Gossamer. Even if you haven’t read it, you’ve probably heard of at least one of them, Iolokus, since it’s an X-Files fanfic classic. All her fics hit big and are well worth your time. I’ve recced some of my favorites here before, including And Dance by the Light of the Moon, All the Children are Insane, and Iolokus. Big thanks to MustangSally for doing this interview.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I could tell you but then I would have to kill you.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Yes and no. Yes, because life has moved on since the early nineties and the characters and the fans are in vastly different places now. Our current tech would make the premise of the X-Files impossible. No, because of the longevity of some of the Star Trek TOS work (there’s an archive of hard copy fanzines at the University of Iowa). Top-drawer authors started out in TOS fandom.

I’m just greatly saddened that my physical body is showing wear and tear while the fic doesn’t. Fic gets to stay smooth-skinned and muscular, captured at the peak of perfection.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

At the risk of sounding atrociously trite, I think of the friends I made.  I met some very remarkable women that I’ve been able to stay friends with online for over twenty-five years.  We may have moved to Facebook and post entirely too much about our pets and which of our body parts has sagged this week, but we’re friends.  It’s a furiously funny, feminist, and well-educated group of women with jobs in the highest levels of academia, finance, communications, and media.  I’m amused by the fact that if I have a question about how a virus replicates, I can ask a PhD I’ve been drunk with in Las Vegas.

Back in the day, I had a job that sent me traveling around major cities in the US and UK. I could post on a message board and within ten minutes there were people I could go out for dinner and drinks with. We already knew we had something we could talk about for at least a couple of hours. Additionally, most of these people were women so there was an added level of security. Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Well, it was mostly atxc and the Yahoo! groups mailing lists that spiraled out into Geocities sites and, eventually, LiveJournal. The amusing thing is that getting in on the ground floor of social media and the Internet has helped me get jobs!  When I look at a new piece of software, I think, ‘this is hella easier than uploading to Geocities.’  We had to walk uphill both ways, in the snow, on dial-up, fighting off dinosaurs with our AOL CDs while writing HTML code. What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

DO NOT FEED THE TROLLS.

The past four years in politics have basically been the ugliest online kerfuffle the world has ever seen. I survived the Shipper Wars of ’96 and I thought those were brutal, but that was NOTHING. The only way to win an argument online is to not have the argument at all. Arguing with a troll is like mudwrestling a pig: You both get filthy and only the pig is happy.

Also, READ THE FUCKING TERMS OF SERVICE.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had the most terrible straight-girl crush on Scully. I wanted to be her best friend, I wanted to BE her.  I wanted to order Chinese food and paint each other’s nails and talk about bones.  Scully and Princess Leia and I could all just hang out poolside with hot and cold running waiters and poolboys, drink margaritas, and bitch about how unfair it all was – if the stupid men would just get OUT OF THE WAY AND LET US DO OUR JOBS, the world would be so much better. What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

This question is really about Iolokus, isn’t it?  You can’t fool me. [Lilydale note: I can neither confirm nor deny the motivation for this question, but I cannot complain about the answer.]

Simply put, I was enraged. The moment it was revealed that Scully’s ova had been used in experimentation, I lost my feminist mind. It was the most obscene defilement imaginable.  Scully wasn’t nearly as angry as I was.  What I thought needed to happen was for Scully to become a fiery force of vengeance against the MEN who had done this to her.  Clearly, I was not going to get that level of satisfaction from the show, as I was imagining Kali-like carnage on a global scale. I emailed RivkaT (whom I did not know well at that point) with a proposition that we work together. Strangely enough, we didn’t meet face to face until we were well into the project, but we did talk on the phone quite a bit. The rules were simple – everyone had to be punished in truly horrific ways, and at some point, we had to see if we could write a car chase (only because that seemed impossible).  Then it basically turned into a very twisted game of chicken to see who could be the most outrageous in terms of killing people off or writing really horrific things that fit within the structure of the narrative.  I did, in the end, write the car chase, but RivkaT one-upped me by throwing in a helicopter (a FOX News helicopter, at that).  

Really, RivkaT?  A helicopter? What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? I am terribly proud of what I wrote, pleased that it brought pain and pleasure in equal amount to people, and, again, thrilled by the people I became friends with. I admit that I stopped watching the show when Scully announced her pregnancy.  I could only see a long jump over a shark tank for the rest of the series. I haven’t watched the new episodes, either.  It is complete in my mind and doesn’t need to be continued.  I wouldn’t say no to having a reunion with some of my fic friends, although we’re still chatting online like everyone does.   Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Rivka and I wrote in the Buffy fandom for a few years, but then we moved on to real adult jobs that left absolutely no time for me to write. I’m in education, and I regularly sweat blood for fear that someone is going to find my old fic. The Buffy people were fun; there was a certain *shininess* to them that I really enjoyed. The X-men authors were just batshit and delightful, and some amazing stuff came out of Marvel fandom, particularly in the Thor/Loki and Steve/Bucky subgenres. I’ve learned to appreciate a good coffee shop AU and one famous Erik/Charles fic where all the main characters are crabs. Seriously, crabs—it’s hysterical. [Lilydale note: Other Crabs Cannot Be Trusted by groovyphilia currently has almost 2,500 kudos at AO3.]

Every few years, I’ll have a student try to explain to me what fandom is and I just smirk. Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? No. Not really. Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom? I fell into an X-Men hole a few years back and had a great old time wallowing in the Cherik muck, and there was a flirtation with BBC Sherlock as well. Strangely enough, I became interested in A/B/O fics only because of what they were saying about the role of women in our society. The limitations on the male omegas seem absurd and then you realize those are the same limitations put on women all. the. time.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

RivkaT very nicely formatted everything and put it up on AO3. What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I will always be stupidly proud of how shocked and horrified people were by Iolokus. The truth of the matter is that Iolokus has Greek drama at its core. Scully is Medea, and the entire story is lousy with “blood on the threshing floor” and Dionysian rites. The everyday is subverted into horror, and wives and daughters will tear men limb from limb like the Maenads. Since I was ultimately disappointed with what Chris Carter did with the entire show, that approach seemed appropriate.

At a certain level, all fic is corrective fic.  Like critic Anne Jamison said, “Irritated fans produce fanfic like irritated oysters produce pearls.”  And because fic has fallen so much into women’s sphere, a pure form of correction is not just the death of the author but the MURDER, a new creation springing up from the spilled blood like Cadmus sowing dragon’s teeth.

Okay, that’s a bit much. Maybe I should just take myself back to the isle of Goth Amazons or something. Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I had to write a self-evaluation and a reflection on pedagogy today. If that’s not fiction, I don’t know what the fuck is.

All my creativity is caught up in trying to pretend to be a normal middle-aged white woman so no one knows I am really a lizard.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Keep writing, keep reading, keep fighting the commercialization of narratives. As things grow more and more commodified, all our dreams and desires reduced to tchotchkes made in China, it’s a revolutionary act to separate your work from the marketplace. Be bold, take chances, turn the trope on its ear and kick it in the ass. Take everything the creators have done to make a work palatable to the unwashed masses and set it on fire.

Be subversive.

Be mean.

Have a great fucking time.

(Posted by Lilydale on March 2, 2021)

[godofplumsandthunder]

Twisted Fate

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Cancer, both Bucky and reader have cancer, Major Character death, brief hospital terms mainly reffering to cancer treatment. References to amputation.

A/N: This was written for the lovely @eurynome827​ 2k celebration. I got a lovely quote of lyrics from Hadestown, which I wanted to do something that was based off of the musical, but I couldn’t figure anything out. Then I had a big anniversary come up and this was came out instead. It’s very angsty, I cried a lot, and well I hope you like it.

The low, steady hum of the fan fills the awkward silence. The psychiatrist, newly assigned to the case, still doesn’t feel comfortable. “Case number 32557038” was widely known in the health care center. The whispers and rumors floated their way down the hall, past the copy machine, filling the office with this chilling tale. Some regarded it as a terrible series of bad luck, others thought it was an act of some benevolent God, pouring his rage on this poor couple. Dr. Breynord, after reading the notes on the file, Breynord knew that this case was perhaps the worst case of bad luck she ever saw in her career, and, maybe it was her stubbornness or naive belief in medicine, but Dr. Breynord was going to help this poor man get the peace he so desperately needs.

“James,” Dr. Breynord’s voice breaks the silence of the office, “I’ve read what my colleagues had to say about your case, but, I’d like you to tell me what has happened if you feel comfortable.”

Shifting in his seat, James sighs, with a small nod of the head, he starts at the beginning.

Bucky Barnes was used to change. Granted, it was other people’s change, but it was still change nonetheless. The poor folks that sat next to him each clinic visit changed, his caretakers changed, it seemed as if the whole world changed around him, while he was stuck in some perpetual hell. Every day dragged out in the same dull, and nauseating feeling, and at times, Bucky felt he was in an endless loop, forsaken by some deity he didn’t believe in. But, for however long Bucky has left in this fallen and cruel world, he’ll remember when you walked in, shattering the miserable purgatory he was banished to, he’ll always remember the day you changed his life.

It happened during his first transfusion session after his surgery. His arm, still wrapped in bandage, IV tubing leading straight to his heart, pumped his body full of liquids, as he waited for the toxic poison to enter his body. He always found it ironic, the “medicine” that was supposed to save his life, that was too dangerous for the nurses to touch with their bare hands, was willingly flushed into his body. Hair loss, mouth sores, and muscle aches were the better side effects. He can’t help but think about what is coming, especially as he sees his nurse, Thor, come over with the freshly made batch of poison [STRIKE THROUGH], chemotherapy as his doctor would want him to call it. Hanging the bag on his IV pole, Thor looks over at Bucky, giving him the “I’m going to go on a rant about something you should care about” look. 

“Now James, we’re getting a new patient today. It’s their first transfusion. They’re going to be sitting in the pod next to you. I swear to the gods, I best not hear another complaint about your attitude.”

“Me? An attitude? No, I think you got me confused with someone else. I’m the brightest little ball of sunshine here!” Bucky can’t help but chuckle. It’s not his fault he wasn’t a “warrior”, blasting “Fight Song” 24/7, as he sips on a kale smoothie with coffee suppositories shoved up his ass. T

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Barnes,” Thor shakes his head as he cleans up his station, “don’t think I won’t throw your bald ass out of here. That cancer sob story, won’t work on me.” 

Bucky goes back to his phone, already feeling the effects of the chemo. No matter how many anti-nausea meds they fed him, Cisplatin always makes him sick. So, he had the right to act like a grumpy old grandpa. While he scrolls through his social media feed, seeing all the accomplishments, brags, and just shit of his friends, Bucky hears your sniffles, as you make your way down to the end of the Oncology clinic, taking a seat next to Bucky. Even if Thor hadn’t given him the heads up, he would have known you were fresh meat. One infusion, his mom asked him how he could tell. It was easy for Bucky, it all had to do with the eyes. A cancer diagnosis shatters you. It kills all hope, light, and goodness that’s in you. You turn completely numb to the world, to the point where your own wailing and sobs feel muted. Bucky saw all of that in your eyes. Behind the puffy, redness, saw the shards of hope, the fear of the unknown. Before you could reach your seat, you stumble, spilling your possessions that you carried all over the floor. Bucky watches quietly as you quickly pick up your items, collapsing into the chair next to him. 

“Sorry I couldn’t give you a hand, only have the one,” he wiggles his stump, and he's met with silence. Talk about a rough crowd, he thinks, his nephews love his stumpy jokes. “So,” Bucky continues, “what are you in for? I’m a sarcoma, in the arm.” You sniffle as you turn your body to look at this new man.

“Leukemia,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper. It takes a real effort to say it out loud because then it makes all of this real.

“That’s good then,” the “sarcoma” man says to you, and Bucky can see the confusion, and pain on your face.

“How is that good? How is cancer good?”

Using his arm, Bucky points around the room, giving you a tour of the room.

“See him, that’s Riley, he has an inoperable brain tumor. That young kid, with the Switch? His name is Peter, his body is chemo resistant. So yeah, leukemia is good. If you haven’t learned it yet, not all cancers are made equal.”

“Oh,” you barely make out. What were you supposed to say to that? 

=====

Much to Bucky’s surprise, he actually enjoyed having your company. Your treatments lined up and so you both got to know each other well. Bucky enjoyed having someone close to his age that understood his problems. And it also didn’t hurt that you had such a great personality, you got Bucky’s dark humor (and it went without saying that you understood it was his way of coping), and you looked great. Not many people can rock a bald head. And Bucky has seen his fair share, and he can say with confidence, you rocked it. Not covering it up with caps, scarves, or wigs. Because why should you hide away? For the first time since his diagnosis, Bucky had a purpose. So, while his immune system allowed him to leave the house, he picked up a bouquet of fake flowers (neutropenia life, am I right?) and a box of chocolates to take with him to the next transfusion. When he got to the clinic, Bucky was a bit worried to see that you weren’t next to him. Instead, there sat Barb, 75 years old with breast cancer. 

“Oh sweetie, are those for me?” Barb looks at the flowers in Bucky’s hand. 

“No!” He snaps, as closes the curtain that surrounds his chair. He hears some huffs and complaints from Barb, but frankly, he doesn’t give a damn. Bucky only has one thing on his mind: you. 

“Are you alright? You’re not here at Club Med” Bucky texts as quickly as his one hand would let him. Dropping his phone, Bucky stares at it all while the nurses prep him. And because of damn, HIPAA, none of the nurses can tell him where you’re at. Minutes turn into hours, and by the time Bucky’s infusion ends, you still haven’t responded to him or shown up at the clinic. 

“Hope you’re okay. Call or text me. I'm worried” Bucky sighs, realizing how much you made his chemo treatments more bearable. How your laugh could make him forget of the poison he had to take, or how the light in your eyes could make him forget, even just for a bit, how much his arm stump was hurting. You were a drug, more potent than any he’s had before, and Bucky was becoming addicted. He’s picking at the hamburger he got for dinner, not having much of an appetite when his phone goes off. Seeing it’s from you, he rushes to answer. 

“Y/N! I… Where were you? I missed you today. I had to sit by Barb and…” The sounds of your cries cut Bucky off. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, Buck. I… Got some bad news today.” 

“Where are you?” He asks. He knows you’re alone, and speaking from experience, you never want to be alone when you get bad news. He knows from experience.

“Buck…” you sigh, “It’s fine. Really.” 

“Please, Y/N, I know what it’s like to be alone after getting this kind of news. Please, let me be there for you.” Breaking further down into tears, you cry at Bucky’s actions, actions of love. 

“I’ll send you my address,” Bucky gathers the flowers and chocolates as he rushes to your apartment, breaking a few traffic laws to get there faster. When he gets there, the image of you, opening the door, eyes swollen from crying breaks his heart. 

“Oh, Y/N,” Bucky sweeps you into his arm, as he closes the door behind, “tell me what’s going on hun.” 

You both sit on the couch, the bag with the flowers and chocolate lay at your feet, as you stay in Bucky’s embrace. 

“I’m… I’m dying Buck!” You manage to say in-between odds. “Dr. Fair... gave me three months to live. There’s nothing else they can do.” You break down in his arms, that last straw finally breaking, as you tell your newfound best friend, the person you were supposed to beat cancer with. Bucky tries his best to remain strong, to be the rock, the foundation you need, but you’re not the only one that is losing a friend. You sit in each other's embrace, as you mourn. You cry for all the missed opportunities, laughs, and memories that won’t be made. 

“What am I going to do,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. 

Kissing your head, Bucky pulls you in closer, “we, are going to make these three months, the best three months you’ve ever had.”

Bucky lives up to his promise, spending every hour he isn’t in the hospital with you. The time you spent together changed your relationship. Neither had to officially say the words to make your relationship official. It was just you, and Bucky. Holding each other close, as the tempest waged on, trying to beat you into submission. You go on walks in the park, picnics, and one night when you both had the energy, went skinny dipping. Your logic being, what are the cops going to do? Arrest two cancer patients, with one of them being terminal? You threw caution to the wind and simply lived. Lived, breathed, and loved. Things seemed to be perfect until reality hit.

Your body wasn’t keeping up. Your cancer was spreading faster than they predicted. The doctors couldn’t give you an explanation as to why the cancer was spreading so fast. It shouldn’t have been. Soon, home hospice came, to try to make you more comfortable. And like the good partner he was, Bucky spent every minute by your side. That’s why, when you felt the inevitable coming, you felt your body give in to the tiredness of fighting, you grab Bucky’s hand. 

“I love you, James Bucky Barnes,” you weakly say, giving him one last affirmation, as you went to sleep, for one last time. 

As Bucky wakes up from his nap, feeling your cold body, he tries to ruse you back awake. Once he realizes what has happened, the last bit of humanity inside of Bucky snapped. He lets out a blood-curdling scream, as tears stream down his face. He strikes your face, pleas escape his mouth. Pleas to you, to a God he has long stopped believing in. His body shakes, his tears wetting your hair, as he holds you for one last time. 

=====

“Oh James,” Dr. Breynord grabs herself a tissue before handing Bucky the box of tissues. “I truly am so sorry to hear that. I want you to know that I am here to help you get happy again, and to heal.”

Bucky sighs and turns away from the doctor as he wipes his eyes. “You’re just like the rest of them. You didn’t listen to me.” 

Breynord was surprised that this was Bucky’s complaint. The other doctors had warned her that Bucky could be sarcastic, standoff-ish, and even flat-out rude to them. Breynord thought she did a good job listening to his story, what did she miss.

“I… I don’t think I understand what you mean, James.”

Bucky lets out a heartless, empty laugh, “you want me to be happy again. I’m never going to be. Not only do I have to live with the guilt of surviving, when she died, in my arms, but I’ll also never find another soul like hers. We had a connection, you know. It felt like we met before. When I held her in my arm, and her arms would wrap around me, it felt like I had the whole world in my arms. I didn’t need anything else when I had Y/N.” 

“So tell me doc, what’s the point of carrying on?”

[gohyuck]

pairing: ceo!lee donghyuck (haechan) x cfo!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff, smut (that’s a first for this acc o.o)

word count: 3.6k

warnings: explicit heterosexual sex (slight dom!hyuck)... like, really, over 50% of this is just sex lol. not a warning but hyuck is implied to be bisexual in this, it’s hinted at once or twice

a/n: sm knew what they were doing, making the 127s play office in full business attire. also, i still think we should eat the rich. just saying. this is not meant to glorify billionaires. i just think hyuck is hot. also! cfo = chief finance officer. 

part of a series?: yes, 37.5% viewer ratings, my hyuck bday celebration

🎵 often - the weeknd

☀️ push and pull

“i already emailed you this month’s finance report and talked to the men from kim corp. - i think they’ll end up being major investors. my balance forecasts are done, and,” you pause in your report, your gaze meeting donghyuck’s across his desk before you continue speaking, one corner of your lip quirking up slightly. “and you have a hickey that’s a little too high for your collar to cover.”

“i - what?” the ceo of lee technologies, ltd. hisses out the last word, his brow furrowing as he processes what you’ve just said. you put a finger up, silently telling him to give you a moment, before you pull your purse off of the floor and onto your lap. it takes you less than a minute of rummaging to find what you’re looking for: a compact mirror. donghyuck all but snatched it out of your hand, and you see him visibly redden once he realizes that you aren’t pulling his leg.

“shit, (name), i have meetings all day today,” he groans, slumping backwards into his far-too-expensive office chair. donghyuck shuts your mirror and tosses it haphazardly onto your desk before running both his hands down his face in incredulity and embarrassment. his neck is bared as he does this, allowing you to survey the mark further: it’s a deep red and clear as day, likely having been brought into existence the night before. you wonder briefly who it’s from - the pretty secretary who always bats his eyes at the ceo, the diligent but meek girl who can’t keep her eyes off of donghyuck and works in hr on floor 14, the red-lipped and cat-eyed ceo of the company that operates out of the top floors of the highrise next to you? you doubt you’ll ever know. as your heart twinges slightly, you realize that you don’t want to know. 

donghyuck groans again, although it dissolves into a petulant whine this time. a chuckle falls from your lips without you wanting to let one out, and your boss glares at you because of this.

“don’t look at me like that,” you scoff, turning your attention back to your bag for a moment. hyuck watches as you triumphantly pull a band-aid from one of the smaller pockets. “here! it’s small enough to be covered by this.”

donghyuck narrows his eyes.

“is it professional for a company’s ceo to walk around with a highlighter yellow tweety bird band-aid on his neck?” he asks, quirking one eyebrow as he does. still, he leans forward, placing his forearms on his desk and clasping his hands together as he does.

“is it professional for a company’s ceo to walk around with evidence that he’s getting laid on his neck?” you throw back, and donghyuck stares at you for a moment before sighing, slumping his shoulders, and reaching his hand out. you drop the band-aid into your outstretched palm.

“it’ll be fine, hyuck,” you tell your boss and longtime friend as he picks your compact up again, using the mirror to place the band-aid properly. “it might even humanize you a little bit.”

“humanize me?” donghyuck asks, though the small lilt to his voice tells you that he’s just fishing for compliments. he knows what you mean. still, you have time today, so you humor him.

“your reputation is all ‘young god’, ‘untouchable billionaire’, ‘genius entrepreneur’, ‘national playboy’,” you point out, watching as donghyuck’s smirk grows, making him look a little bit like an overexcited frat boy. his expression directly contrasts his crisp gray tom ford suit and franck muller watch. “tweety bird might make you more... approachable.”

the young ceo thinks about your words for a moment before flipping his wrist towards himself to read the time. it’s 10:27 - he needs to get down to the main conference room. you stand as donghyuck does, letting him walk past you before you follow. the band-aid is even brighter underneath lights, you note, and you can’t help but smile to yourself at this. donghyuck places his hand on the door handle, though, right before he opens it, he turns back to you.

“you forgot sex icon.”

“what?” your eyes widen for a moment before you force your brows down, scowling at donghyuck’s statement.

“when you were naming off things that make me larger-than-life, you forgot to say sex icon.” he grins, his tone as matter-of-fact as its ever been.

“who says?” you throw back, determined not to let your friend’s ego inflate so easily. he grins before leaning towards you, closer and closer until his mouth is right against your ear. you do your best not to let your breath hitch at the proximity.

“cosmopolitan. they interviewed me for the cover last month, remember? came in the mail today. i’ll give you a signed copy of you want. courtesy of your favorite sex icon.” he tells you, and you swear his lips brush your earlobe before he pulls back, mirth dancing in his eyes. before you can say anything, donghyuck pulls his office door open, stepping aside as he does.

“after you.”

♕ ♕ ♕

the lee donghyuck that exists within his private office and the lee donghyuck that exists outside of it are two entirely different people. his posture is still easy, still open, still exceedingly confident, but the moment he steps out of his office his back straightens up, one hand going to adjust his tie and the other slipping into one of his dress pants’ pockets. he goes from hyuck to haechan, meaning fullsun, the name given to him by the media at some gala or the other a couple years ago. hyuck is your friend from college, a brilliant programmer and free entertainment for those close to him. haechan is a charismatic but cold leader, his eyes calculating as he surveys the empire he’s only just begun building.

he walks out after you, but immediately commands everyone’s gaze. donghyuck’s office is in the corner of the 18th floor - the highest floor of the skyscraper. all of the offices on this floor belong to executives - hell, your office is right next to his, your one wall with floor-to-ceiling windows adorned entirely with a row of potted plants both small and huge - but there’s always plenty of other people milling around on the floor: possible investors, lost interns, secretaries, and employees with questions. today is no exception: several pairs of eyes are directed to the ceo as you stroll out, him in tow. 

nobody says anything about the obvious band-aid on haechan’s neck. 

“i’ll see you after work,” donghyuck mutters discreetly into your ear, and you nod as imperceptibly as possible before giving your friend a parting smile. 

as you head back to your office, haechan’s secretary joins him in step, tablet in hand, to read him off his schedule. as you close your door behind you, ready to bask in the sunlight that’s filtering in, you can’t help but scrutinize the secretary’s slightly rosier-than-usual cheeks, nor the way haechan had straightened his shoulders while speaking to the other man. 

if you were one for betting, you’d put down money on the fact that you’ve probably just found the culprit responsible for donghyuck’s bright yellow band-aid. you shake your head sadly as you set your things down on your desk. 

the poor boy’s going to get his heartbroken soon. 

after all, if there’s one thing donghyuck and haechan have in common, it’s this: commitment is not in the cards. you know this better than anyone. 

♕ ♕ ♕

“hyuck, i-”

“shut the fuck up.” donghyuck hisses into your ear, tugging harshly at the front of your shirt as he backs you into the closed door of his office. the material rips away easily, buttons skittering onto his floor as he shoves his warm mouth against yours. your hands go up to snake around his shoulders immediately, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he draws whimpers from your lips. once you part for air, you watch as he studies you for a moment. his tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip, and his eyes are beautifully hooded. 

you’re already gasping for air. you’re already drowning in him. 

“this blouse was from saks, you asshole,” you manage to get out, though you sound more like a petulant child than the indignant business executive you are. he chuckles almost mockingly, simply raising an eyebrow at this before he starts shrugging his suitjacket off, placing it across the back of the chair in front of his desk. 

“it’s your fault for wearing a $300 shirt to work,” he throws at you, no bite in his voice. you can’t help but roll your eyes as you push yourself off the door, making to follow him as he settles down into his office chair. 

“you’re one to talk - your suit is, what, $4,000 at least? don’t get me started on the fact that you’re wearing a 5-digit watch.” you make your way so you’re standing directly in front of him, shirt torn open to expose your bra and part of your stomach and the top of your skirt hugging your waistline perfectly. donghyuck sticks his tongue into his cheek before leaning forward and tugging you onto his lap with ease, smirking as your skirt flies up momentarily. 

“touché.” 

his hands cup your ass, fingertips pressing into your skin as he forces them up past your safety shorts. you rise up slightly so you’re situated above hyuck, cupping his face as you look into his eyes. he grins up at you. 

“this,” he squeezes your left asscheek fondly before meeting your eyes with his own mischievous gaze. “this is why i instituted a casual dress policy.”

“one hell of a policy, considering the ceo himself doesn’t adhere to it.” 

“i don’t need to, baby,” your heart flutters at the term of endearment, and you will it to stop immediately. “after all, i’m the boss, remember?”

“you’re a pig.” you throw back, and he only chuckles before attaching his lips to the skin above your collarbone. donghyuck laves his tongue over the fresh bruises as he dots your clavicle with them, forcing you closer to him by forcefully pushing your hips down towards his. as his lips move southward, brushing over your open chest and spilling kisses onto the tops of your bra-clad breasts, you can���t help but keen loudly and grind down on him of your body’s own accord. 

“someone’s hasty to get marked up,” your friend points out, not waiting for a response as he reaches into the large hole in your shirt - a lee donghyuck creation - and around your back, popping your bra open. your mind is too hazy to respond at first, in part due to the way he slips your bra straps down your arms, chasing them with wet, open-mouthed kisses across your shoulders before pulling the article of clothing off of you entirely. you can’t help but buck slightly against him as your breasts meet the cool air, and he takes this opportunity to wrap his sinful lips against one of your nipples, one of his hands coming up to run his thumb over the other one. 

“you’re - ha - you’re one to talk. mark? really?”

“he’s a good secretary,” donghyuck pulls his mouth off of you momentarily to speak, eyes sparkling as if he knows he’s teasing you, and you can’t help but flick your own eyes upward in annoyance. suddenly, you feel the need to have his dick in you immediately, as if it’ll fill the growing hole in your heart. you adjust yourself, and donghyuck watches, his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you steady, as you pull your safety shorts off.

he immediately drops a hand to your leg, tracing a finger up the expanse of your inner thigh as his other hand reaches up to grab your chin, gently forcing you to face him so your eyes meet. your mouth goes dry just as he slips two fingers into your wet heat, and you can’t help yourself as you rut forwards, grinding on his hand. the whine you let out has donghyuck’s eyes becoming even more hooded, almost naturally smoky, and you can’t help but gasp at the sight. 

“he’s a good secretary,” donghyuck says again, and you realize he hadn’t finished his thought earlier. you hate that he’s speaking about another person when his fingers are knuckle deep inside your sopping heat, but it’s donghyuck - your hyuck, who’d held your hair back when you puked at frat parties and who let you crash on his dorm room floor whenever it was too late to walk to your own place - and you can’t say anything about it. “but if you wanted me to yourself, you could’ve just said so.” 

your heart stops, but not before he has the audacity to wink at you. 

“we need to fuck,” you choke out, finding it hard to breathe even though his hands are nowhere near your throat. “now.” 

the desperation in your voice, the way your pert nipples are right in his face, and the way you’re humping his hand like a bitch in heat all have donghyuck groaning and rolling his head back on his shoulders. he flicks his chin towards the top drawer of his desk right behind you, and you use one hand to brace yourself against his shoulder as you lean back to pull the drawer open. this unwittingly forces hyuck’s fingers to angle deeper inside you, hitting the bundle of nerves in the back of your cunt exactly in a way that has you moaning his name long and low. your grip slips off of the drawer handle without you meaning to, and you scramble, patting your hand haphazardly around in the drawer before you come across a condom. you pull it out, slamming the drawer shut triumphantly before turning back to hyuck. he pulls his fingers out of you before you come, much to your chagrin, but you realize that you’ll be coming around his cock in no time. 

“my blouse was actually about $600,” you say, your eyes meeting his as you tear open the wrapper. he lets out a chuckle before raising his fingers - covered in filmy strings of your arousal - to his mouth and wrapping his tongue around them like it’s the easier thing in the world. you feel yourself clench. he wraps one arm around you before shifting slightly, and you realize he’s unzipping his own pants.

“i’ll buy you another one.” is all donghyuck says before pulling out his thick length, and you swallow on impulse as his bulbous tip, oozing precum, comes into your view. you want it - need it, you decide as you recall his earlier statement about having him for yourself - and you need it now. you hand him the condom, and he rolls it on with a small grunt before both of his hands fly to your ass. just as you’re about to sit down properly on his cock, fill your voids the way they’re meant to be completed. donghyuck stops you with his hands on your hips. 

you look down at him, and your eyes meet his for what feels like the millionth time tonight. 

“are you sure?” he asks, and you fall deeper in love with him even though he’s doing the minimum. you’re sure, you realize, and you nod before remembering that he has to hear you say it. 

“yes, i’m sure.” your voice is uncharacteristically quiet, but donghyuck says nothing of it. he grips your thighs, spreading them as much as he can without pushing you off the chair - he’s grateful it has no handles - before pressing his tip to your entrance. you press both of your hands into your shoulders as you sink yourself onto his throbbing dick, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you do. it takes you a moment to adjust - usually the foreplay is much longer - but once you’re ready, you start bouncing on donghyuck’s cock, setting the pace for yourself. 

it doesn’t take long for you to get to the brink of orgasm - riding hyuck has always placed the head of his dick directly against the place inside you that makes you see white behind your eyes. for his part, he shoves you down onto himself when you start tiring out, tugging on a nipple in between his teeth or running his tongue down against your skin or slapping your ass and causing you to buck against him as he sees fit. 

you’ve been friends with benefits for almost a year, now, and the sex only gets better. 

you’ve been friends with benefits for almost a year, now, and everyday, every damn day, you curse your heart more and more. you curse your feelings when donghyuck whines as he nears his high, too, and you curse yourself for spending your ability to love deeply on the one person who won’t take it as he finally takes over, anchoring you against his body while his hips snap up into yours. he’s chasing your orgasm just as much as he’s chasing his, and when donghyuck pulls you down to smash his lips against yours, forcing you to taste the red wine he’d had with dinner on his tongue, while circling your clit with one finger like a madman, you can’t help but let go completely, clenching and spasming and shaking around his length and in his arms. this is all it takes to push him over the edge, too - he spills into the condom with a beautiful, keening whine against your shoulder.

it’s only when donghyuck looks up at you after catching his breath and his face falls that you realize you’re crying. 

“(name) - sweetheart, what’s wrong? did i hurt you?”

his recognition of your state has the dam breaking, and you shake your head frantically to soothe him as your tears start falling more heavily. he wraps his arms around you immediately, pulling you into his chest as he does. donghyuck waits patiently for you to speak.

“i - i can’t do this anymore,” you start off, and you feel his arms tense around you. before he can interject or argue, you forge ahead. “i cant! i can’t fuck you and stay your friend - just your friend. i can’t sleep with you knowing that you’re the only one for me when you’re out there hunting down anyone that looks at you, i just - i can’t. i can’t...” you trail off, breaking down into sobs again while burrowing your face into his shirt. it’s expensive, you know it is, and now it’s ruined with your tearstains. you try not to think about it. 

donghyuck is silent for one, two, three beats. for a long moment, all you can hear are the sounds of your own bawling, your own quiet sniffling and hiccuping. his hand runs a soothing trek down your back.

finally, he speaks.

“i haven’t fucked anyone else in 6 months.”

that is the one thing you’d never expected him to say. 

“but... mark? the hickey?”

“that’s all it was,” he says, forcing you back slightly to be able to look at you as he speaks. hyuck raises a hand, wiping your stray tears away gently with his thumb before continuing. “for 6 months, i’ve kissed people and made out with them, but only half-heartedly. every time it’s gotten close to getting heated, i’ve had to stop. do you know why?”

you shake your head, sniffling as you do. his heart cracks at how forlorn you look, how innocent and confused you seem. he’s suddenly well-aware of the fact that he’s still sheathed inside your dripping pussy. 

“because every time i was with someone - anyone - else, all i could think of was you. you’re the only one for me, baby. i think you always have been. i didn’t say anything because i didn’t think you’d want me.”

“not want you?” your voice is strong enough to sound properly incredulous now. “you know me better than anyone else. you’ve been there for me when i’ve needed you, and you’ve asked me to be there for you when you’ve needed me. we built all of this together. you’re everything, hyuck. you’re my everything.” 

he lowers his head almost bashfully, and you know that he’s processing what you’re saying. donghyuck’s never been good at registering compliments - it’s a side-effect of always moving, always pushing forward - but you can tell that he’s savoring your words. it makes him even more endearing in your eyes. eventually, he looks up at you again, soft smile gracing his features. 

“are we good?” he asks, and you can feel your heart sewing itself together again at the genuine honesty in his eyes. he really does love you back. you nod, before leaning in to capture his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. 

“we’re good.”

bonus: 

“this is great, and i’m going to ravish you when we get home, but right now i really, really need to get this condom off and you probably really need to piss,” donghyuck says, lifting his hips to force you off of him. you swing your legs over to stand, leaning against his desk for support as you watch him tie the condom up and toss it into the bin underneath his desk. 

“when we get home?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. donghyuck stuffs his cock back into his boxers and makes sure his slacks are on properly before standing up to situate himself in front of you. he takes both of your hands in his. 

“you think i’m letting you spend a night alone when you said i’m the only one for you? not fucking likely. now hit up the bathroom and then let’s go,” he says, fishing his car keys out of his pocket. “i brought the bugatti today.”

[idreamtofmanderleyagain]

Morality Focused Frameworks of Discussion as Acts of Control (Part 2)

Okay, so initially I decided not to make a part two instead to follow up with some conversations more directly, but there are some further thoughts I have that I want to get out that have a more general tone.

I want to talk about fandom discussions as a whole more, because I think we need to address something in terms I don’t think I’ve seen acknowledged much. Specifically, I want to talk about the How of “discourse,” and not the What.

Disrespect And Boundary Violation As The Socially Expected Norm:

I think that all too often, we focus on what a specific conversation is about at the expense of talking about how we are interacting with each other - and this is in turn often at the expense of personal boundaries, benefit of the doubt, and ethical, empathetic conduct.

I think this is a huge problem, because the combination of those elements is basically a recipe for harm, particularly for unaddressed and repeated patterns of harm that is often essentially consequence free, or even outright celebrated.

At the very least, these kinds of behaviors have been normalized to the point that questioning them is sometimes equated with tone policing or “crying victim.”

And yes, that is a problem, even if you think there is a “moral issue” with how someone engages with a piece of media.

Furthermore, it’s worth talking about the fact that social media today is structured to allow interactions with strangers that can and do often happen without your consent. The disregarding of social interaction consent has actually become extremely normalized.

Now, that’s a complex issue, I’m not arguing that trying to talk with strangers is an automatic heinous consent violation. But it is worth noting that the ability to maintain control over one’s own boundaries is much more limited in these spaces. Blocking is a site mechanic, it is not really a socially ingrained method of boundary establishment that everyone respects without being forced to do so. And even then, people will absolutely copy and paste your words for their own use, entirely without even consulting you or allowing you to have agency in the situation. This allows them to maintain their own framework around you and your words and interactions, with your consent being a non-factor. Again, disrespect is completely normalized.

With Disrespect As A Baseline For Engagement, Moralized Frameworks Establish A Struggle For Conversational Power:

When you come into a conversation without respect for your conversational partner, you are more likely to assume that their disagreement with your principles is an indicator of their inferiority, intellectually or ethically.

When you are seeking the means to dismiss the thoughts and feelings of someone who disagrees with you, you are more likely not to come into a conversation willing to be open and understanding to alternative perspectives. The assumption that another person’s perspectives automatically aren’t worthy of your time creates a mental feedback loop where it’s easy to reinforce binary rules around what thoughts and feelings are acceptable.

Furthermore, the intent to maintain one’s own perspective as an impermeable truth makes a person predisposed to rejecting complexity. But the reality is that people are inherently complex, and their reasons for what they enjoy or how they enjoy something will not always match the political strawman image you might have in your head.

All of this establishes a conversational environment where the baseline of the discussion relies upon a kind of moral power struggle. Instead of trying to understand and converse from a place of full understanding, we are trying to make the other person either adopt our viewpoint as the only acceptable framework, or make the other person feel ashamed for essentially disobeying the rules we value.

Using my first post as an example, people who discover that I like Hellraiser and ship a couple that includes Pinhead and a trauma victim might make some very unsavory assumptions about what exactly it is that I’m doing. Someone who assumes I have no moral character based upon my interests is unlikely to ask me about the complex nuances of how and why I engage with the material that I do. They would not understand that I’m an abuse victim engaging in art that deals with abuse in a way that I find introspective and healing and meaningful.

However, lets say that I actually told them so.

Marginalized and Traumatized People As “Exceptions To The Rule”:

A few people have spoken recently about the ways in which fandom discourse is essentially starting to pressure trauma victims to publicly disclose their trauma as a means of establishing the right to be respected in one’s own perspectives, and I think that point is extremely relevant to this conversation.

Furthermore, this inevitably forces people who are marginalized to openly disclose and discuss (sometimes to the point of it being grueling and stressful) the ways in which they are marginalized and how that interacts with the media they enjoy and the ways in which they engage.

It’s worth noting that these conversations are often about fictional interests, and how insidious it is that this kind of thing is happening in a space where people should be free to have safe, uncomplicated fun if they wish to.

Because we have established disrespect, boundary crossing, moralization, and power games as baselines for conversational engagement, we’ve essentially created a space where traumatized people feel this intense pressure to dredge up painful experiences as a means of establishing the right to their own power and boundaries in conversations.

Interestingly, when these conversations involve two traumatized people or two marginalized people on the opposite sides of an argument, this can sometimes result in a “more traumatized than thou” battle, where each party tries to establish which abuse experience or which axis of marginalization has more value in the establishment of conversational power, ultimately resulting in both parties getting hurt and/or silenced in some particular way.

Hypocrisy and Self-Respect:

The amount of cognitive dissonance and hypocrisy I’ve seen in these spaces is kind of astronomical. It’s hard to engage in a single conversation on this site without somebody pretending they are somehow superior in their engagement to others. Consider this the “Twilight Sucks” phenomenon. We will pick out groups we consider the lowest denominator and use them as leverage in conversations. “I’m a Tru Blood fangirl and I think X and Y, but thank GOD I’m not like those Twilight fangirls who think X and Y! *eyeroll*”  People who engage in exactly the things they condemn don’t seem to see the parallels in their own interests and behaviors. They will even bring these pet bully topics into conversations that have nothing to do with them in order to establish personal respectability value.

By always making this moral framework about the What, aka the media itself, and not the How, aka the myriad unique and individual ways in which people engage with that material, we establish an environment where not only is nuance completely lost, but entire fan groups are dehumanized and derided conversational leverage.

Furthermore, people seem to use this dynamic as a way of establishing their own self-respect. If they see any parallels between themselves and the dreaded X fangirls, those considerations must be dismissed and rationalized away in order to maintain a respectable self-image.

And continuing with Twilight as our example: there are major things to criticize about Twilight. But very often, those things would be secondary in the conversation to the condemnation and bullying of the teen girls who enjoyed it, or those things worthy of criticism would be used as justifications of the cruelty, disrespect, and total dismissal of those fangirls.

This is a problem, because it should be obvious that when media criticism revolves around a social power game, then the social power game becomes the emotional focus of all discussion, and no real ground is actually broken - at least not without casualties. A winner implies that there is also a loser.

The Re-establishment Of The Social Power Status-Quo:

All of this works to establish a kind of status-quo of acceptability, where instead of doing the hard work of uplifting each other’s complex, potentially very different or even opposing experiences and perspectives as valid aspects of fandom engagement and a reality of the human condition, we are constantly fighting for power over each other, more specifically for the right to be respected.

In other words, the right to be heard and allowed to exist and enjoy ourselves without harm or alienation.

I don’t feel like this toxicity necessarily even comes from a place of wanting to oppress others, although for many that seems very much part of it. More often, I think this comes from the desperation to be respected and heard that comes from the experience of marginalization. And sometimes, in our urge to do so, we can throw each other under the bus to get there.

Sometimes we can be cruel and disrespectful out of frustration, or paint people with a too-wide brush because we’re just done with how certain people have been acting, or because we’re expecting the worst out of people and unwilling to give the benefit of the doubt anymore. Sometimes I think we fall back on childish mean-girl tactics of engagement just because it makes us feel powerful when we’ve often felt powerless.

And to be honest, I completely understand. I think that in my time online, I myself have engaged in ways that I regret. I fought petty battles with the wrong people, or failed to offer the benefit of the doubt, because it felt like a righteous battle. It felt like I was fighting for justice. There were times when I failed to try and understand an “argumentative opponent.”

At the end of the day however, I believe that this form of “critical engagement” is not only highly uncritical of the self, it is an extraordinarily weak and destructive way of trying to create progress in fandom spaces that ultimately harms more people than it uplifts. It encourages abuse, gaslighting, and disingenuous, dishonest ways of social engagement. It encourages hiding, and lying, and toxic tactics. It encourages misreadings, willful misunderstandings, and silencing. And I think that identifying and naming power games when we see them might go a long way towards empowering people to have conversations of genuine substance, where respect is established and valued.

[dragonofthedepths]

9x9 Tag Game

Tagged by @seeesame, Thank you for the tag! (^‿^✿)(^‿^✿)(^‿^✿)

Ohhhhhhhh Boy. As I think I've been over before when asked to take a survey for one reason or another, I am wordy.

Favorite colours:

Blue*, green, purple, black, silver, and then past that you start getting into circumstantial stuff.

*partially because blue in the English language is completely broken. If you wanted me to pick an actual colour instead of the ultra-inclusive mess that is the English concept of blue, I'd say indigo; indigo as it was used when the ROY G BIV rainbow was being established -and therefore the colour being referred to when you say indigo in the context of the rainbow- something known today as royal blue/navy.

Because indigo is not supposed to be purple. The indigo of the rainbow is dark/navy/royal blue, and blue as it was used during the creation of the rainbow refers to what we would nowadays call cyan or sky blue.

If you have ever opened a colour wheel and been confused as to why blue gets two very distinct slices while purple just barely exists between blue and pink despite the rainbow listing one blue and two purples, this is why. Indigo has been corrupted as a term to refer to a purple instead of dark blue like it's supposed to.

(This is further confused by the fact that -while you cannot get pink by adding white to red!!!**- you can actually get something most people would class as purple by adding white to navy.))

**Unless you're working with food colouring, for some reason.

I have many Feelings on this as you can probably tell.

Currently reading:

Fanfiction. Not gonna get more specific than that because I don't like the show it's for and I don't want it on my dash.

Last song I listened to:

Changed a couple times while I was filling this out! List contains: Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now(Japanese version) from Cats Don't Dance* -which I have listened to so much it just sounds wrong in English,  Italian Resturant by Billy Joel, Everything is Not What it Seems by Selena Gomez, Surface Pressure from Encanto -which I would love to hate because it's from Disney, but unfortunately exsists in my head as a banger theme for gladiator AUs for kinda complicated reasons-, and Playing With the Big Boys Now(metal version) cover by Johnathan Young.

*A movie I have never watched and don't particularly plan to, I just listen to this song A Lot.

This list contains none of the songs I've been listening to often recently, which mostly consist of Man on the Internet's lyrical covers of instrumental game OSTs. I am kinda irked by that.

Last series I watched:

As we speak I am watching Therapist plays Omori by Counselor Plays on YouTube even though it is after dark which I know is a bad idea. If you like psychological horror games or JRPGs I suggest this one, and if you like watching LPs this is the one I recommend.

Last movie I watched:

Uhhhhhhhhhh... The Shining, I think.

Cravings:

 Ginger beer/rootbeer.

Currently working on: 

piaodgjsdfvagkjehfehfheheheheheheheheheheheeheheheeeeeheeeeeeeeeeeee

Optional extree questions courtesy of @seeesame!

Skimming until I get to the chapters that haven't been adapted: I don't ever do this, sorry?

Open in my tabs: Four different Perchance generators I'm working on, three- no, four- no, five instances of Tumblr*, five copies of YouTube, my YouTube channel blocker plugin settings, two pages of PokemonDatabase, two Ao3 fics, one ff.net, four reference image pages I could close,  three miscellaneous tabs, and five TvTropes pages -which as everyone knows, will probably multiply as soon as I tab over to them.

*I kept finding more as I scrolled through. One of them is technically a google doc, but it's for Bad Things Happen Bingo so I'm counting it as Tumblr.

What my friends want me to read:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I swear to you I'm starting it. I'm going to read it. I have it open. really: The Sandman (vol. 1) by Neil Gaiman.

Books abandoned on my desk: The Dead Zone by Stephan King. Probably a couple others but that's the only one that haunts me with it's unfished-ness.

And I’m tagging: uhhh... @ito-itonomen, @avvocato-avocat, @just-a-well-wisher... I really don't actually know a lot of people on Tumblr... @scribesynnox because they left all my favorite comments on my AUs