#we can work on all the nitty gritty pieces of course but at the end of the day they don’t really matter

[vessels-two-front-teeth]

You don't like IV anymore? 😔

Oh boy…how do I answer this?

I’m going to put the majority of my answer to this under the cut, as it will likely be a longer post. There’s a lot of moving pieces to this, and it all has to do with mental health. I know not everyone is interested in seeing things about my personal life, so this will make it so that those people can skip past this easier.

To make a long story short, I have no negative feelings towards any members of ST. If anything, the opposite is my problem.

To now get into the nitty gritty…

As a whole, I have a lot of unhealed trauma and unchecked coping mechanisms. This combination results in essentially me being addicted to the idealized versions of people, usually celebrities. In my mind, the person that this is focused on is always treated like actual drugs. And this time around it was IV.

All of last year (from January to August), I was living in a near constant state of high high stress. I was facing a countdown clock until the inevitable day that I would become homeless. Starting in August, I began to switch my old blank blog to what it is now and started doing my portrait series of watercolour paintings of ST. At the end of August, my partner and I had to move in with our only friend and began living in a camper on his property. We had a roof over our head, and somewhere to sleep, but we were essentially homeless with some glitter thrown on it. In September, I began writing a fanfiction about IV, and this is where things start to fall apart.

I have always had “a habit” of maladaptive daydreaming (it’s a cornerstone trait of ADHD, as is addiction), and this time around, it snowballed out of control very very quickly. Through writing the story, I began trying to put myself into the story to try and write it more believably, but it just became me fantasizing about IV. It got to a level where I was constantly living in those fantasies, to the point where I was willing to throw away my actual relationship for said fantasy about someone who doesn’t know that I exist. It reached a point where I was emotionally cheating on my partner with IV, turning to these fantasies in search of things that I should be getting from my partner. Furthermore, I began trying to find labels that would allow me to make excuses for what I was doing. That label was polyamory. (Nuance time: I have nothing against the label or identity, this instance for me was purely delusion being fed by trauma and coping mechanisms.)

(I cannot make it any more clear, my partner and my relationship with him has never been the cause of any of the stress that I was going through. He has only ever been the best thing to ever happen to me. That has still not changed, nor will it ever.)

This came to a head about two weeks ago. I had finally worked up the courage to come out to my partner as poly, since that’s what I thought needed to happen. And over the course of the next few days the blinders were rapidly removed from my eyes and I became uncomfortably aware of the way that I had been behaving here for the previous 5 or so months. That way can only be described as predatory and entirely unhinged. If a man was caught making the same kind of comments about a female celebrity as I was about IV, that man would be put on a list and be labeled a stalker. The fact that was me, makes it no different.

With this new realization, I began the process of going through my blog and massively altering my tags and in general the type of posts that I make here. From an outside perspective, I know it looks like I suddenly started hating IV, or something like that, hence you sending this ask. That’s not the case. I’m making the conscious decision to distance myself until I can reach a healthy level of indifference.

A major contributing factor to this is the fact that I will eventually be a published author and having a digital footprint that looked the way it did for those few months, would immediately get me cancelled and my career would be over before it even began.

Being a fan of ST is not the problem, the obsessive romanticizing and **sexualising that I was doing is.

I also want to emphasize the fact that nowhere in this post am I calling out anyone. else’s. behaviour. I am only talking about myself and the ways that I have chosen to behave.

**correcting a typo

[ravenrook]

botanical resources for the green witch

A good piece of advice I hear often is that you should complement your magical learning with some practical learning. From a spirit work perspective, I figure a plant spirit is much more likely to work with you when you’ve shown the good faith to learn something about it. My background in ecology has given me a good handle on working with plants, and it’s definitely improved my craft as well. I thought I’d share a few books and websites that I use extensively.

Foraging and plant identification

Botany in a Day by Thomas J. Elpel: gives a crash course to botany, focusing on getting you familiar with key botanical features. Highly recommend to anyone, especially beginners

Wildflowers of Tennessee, the Ohio Valley, and the Southern Appalachians by David Duhl: obviously fairly specific to these areas but it's been recommended by every botanist I know. Even if you’re outside of this region, find yourself a reputable field guide for your habitat.

Mushrooms Demystified by David Arora: oh mushrooms. We all need to know more about mushrooms. This book may be more suitable for people who are already familiar with things like dichotomous keys, but it explains itself very well if you’re wanting to jump off the deep end.

Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center: this website has absolutely beautiful pictures. You can put in your location and they’ll give you a list of what kind of wildflowers you can find

Gardening and landscape plants

Manual of Woody Landscape Plants by Michael Dirr: pretty much all the information you’d ever need to know about trees and shrubs including what climate they prefer and what varieties you should look out for.

Herbaceous Perennial Plants by Allen Armitage: another book with an insane amount of information. More focused on things like flowers.

North Carolina Extension Gardener Plant Toolbox: this website has saved my ass on so many assignments lol... Describes the plants in detail, including toxicity to humans and animals! 

Herbalism

Herbalista: an organization bringing herbal community care to Atlanta. They have a free intro course that I’m currently working through, plus recipes on their website

Principles and Practices of Phytotherapy by Kerry Bone & Simon Mills: if you want to get into the real nitty-gritty of herbalism, this is the book. Research based encyclopedia of plant-based remedies

[youvebeenlivingfictionalnbcyoa]

You Definitely Are

Starting Choose Your Own Adventure Post

Warnings: Fluff; cursing

Yes, you’re tired. Yes, your knee hurts. But you didn’t come all this way to stay in your room and not get any face-time with Bateman. If that had been the plan, you never would’ve shown at all. 

“Yeah,” You nod. “Yeah, I’ll be there. But, um—” You try not to get sidetracked by the way Nathan’s eyes seem to brighten with intrigue, “If I’m gonna be there, I should probably, you know. Shower and stuff.”

“Of course. C’mon.” 

Nathan waves you after him, leading the way out of the room. You trail him back to the elevator, pass still in hand. It’s just another floor down before Nathan is nodding you toward a keypad in the hall. You raise your pass to it almost hesitantly, as if you expect him to lead you don't think it’ll work—as if you expect him to lead you wrong. Maybe you do, a little. You don’t exactly trust his instincts; he did invite you all up on a seemingly tipsy whim. 

Nonetheless, the keypad changes color; you hear the lock click. You pull the door open and step inside, looking around. The room is large, and furnished more nicely than you’d expected. You shrug your bag off, dropping it at the end of the bed and drifting deeper inside. You lightly trail your fingers over the end of the bed, looking at the screen, then down at the small glowing fridge. 

“Like it?” Bateman asks. 

“It’s nice,” You nod, glancing back at him. 

“Nicer than you thought?” 

“Way nicer than I thought,” You nod. “I figured you’d be one of those like, weirdly stingy rich guys. I was expecting an air mattress.”

“I can get you an air mattress.” 

“I said I was expecting it, not that I want it.”

“What else were you expecting?” 

“Well,” You sigh, planting your hands on your hips, “I was hoping you’d actually turn up to the field in, like, a Jeep from the set of Jurassic Park.” 

“Maybe get Will to do the, uh—The sunglasses pull off when I pull up to the facility.” 

“He’d do it.” 

“So you would be the Ellie Satler in that scenario?” 

“Eesh, I don’t know. I think if he gripped and turned my head, I’d sock him in the stomach.” 

Nathan chuckles, turning from you. “I’ll see you at dinner.” 

“What are we having?” 

“Fun.” 

“What are we eating,” You clarify. 

“You’ll see.” 

Nathan gives you one more smile before he leaves, shutting the door behind himself. You find yourself biting your lip as he goes, your hand rising to scrub over your warming neck. Okay. So maybe you shouldn't be all that worried about the next few days.

--  

You try not to find the fact that William and Dan are still in their hiking clothes too funny. Dan at least looks pretty cute. He's always been a handsome man—towering over the rest of you at 6'4, he has dark skin and an athletic build. Frankly, he looks pretty good in his hiking clothes. But William looks like he went to hell and back and didn’t even get a t-shirt while he was down there. He looks miserable. It almost makes helping him with his bags worth it. You look away from him, eyeing your plate and poking at the few remaining pieces of pasta.

“So,” Nathan shifts in the seat beside you, taking hold of his wine and taking it up. “Obviously we’ll have a few days to get down to the real nitty-gritty, you know, the harsh stuff, but let’s just do a friendly little thought experiment.” 

You raise your brows, glancing between the guys and Nathan as he goes on—

“In your opinion, given the knowledge of the market and your previous work experience, am I taking the company in the right direction?” 

The question plunges you all into tense silence. It’s as if you’re all afraid to look around, afraid to breathe—as if Nathan’s just passed awful gas and not asked a simple question. But it’s not a simple question, is it, or a friendly little thought experiment, as he said.

It’s a test. 

You never did like tests.

“Absolutely—” 

“I couldn’t think of a better direction—”

Dan and William practically trip over themselves to answer, and you can hardly stop your eye roll. It’s done with such force that it tips your head to the side. Within seconds, you feel the weight of their gazes. 

“...I’ve got two answers,” Nathan pipes up. “Am I gonna get a third?” 

“You want more of the same?” You ask. 

“I want honesty.” 

“You really think that what you just got from them was honest?” 

It flies out of your mouth, and it’s a mistake. This dinner is supposed to be nice and light, something easy to set the tone for the next few days. Now, not only are you the only dissenting opinion, but you just technically threw your fellow Chief Officers under the bus in front of the company’s founder and CEO. 

“...You don’t think it was?” Nathan presses. 

Shit. You clear your throat, running your finger along the stem of your wine glass. 

“I don’t think…That Dan and William spoke outta their ass, but I think they were kissing yours a little when they did,” You admit before glancing doggedly at the two men across the table. “No offense, guys.”

“None taken,” Dan raises his glass in a cheers. William says nothing, just grunts and slides down in his seat a little. 

“So?” Nathan presses. “What’s your answer, honest or otherwise?” 

You scoff a scornful laugh, unable to help it. “What can I say without you busting my balls or thinking I’m jumping on the band wagon here?” 

“You must think I’m heading in the right direction if you’re worried about that.” His smile is smug as he says so. You push a sigh out through your nose, directing your gaze toward the ceiling as you consider. 

“I think the way you’re headed, yeah, it suits the market. But we’re lagging behind in certain areas and that makes me nervous.” 

“Which areas?—Don’t say chat AI—” 

“Look, like it or not, Microsoft got out of the gate first and Google’s jumping to catch up,” You speak up. “You have the resources, you have the data, and…I don’t know what the fuck you’re waiting for to enact it, but,” You wave your hand. “We’ve been market leaders and now it’s going to seem like we’re falling behind because Microsoft wanted to show everyone how big their dick is. And like it or not, it's looking pretty big.” 

The room is a different kind of quiet. It’s testy, and nerve wracking. 

“...Shots!” Dan pipes up. “Y’all want shots? Will, let’s go, uh—” He shoves his chair back, “C’mon, I think I saw a bottle of tequila earlier.” 

William moves slowly, and you’re not sure if he’s trying to catch in on any conversation, if he’s tired, or if he’s still stinging from the comment that you made. You look after them as they go before you redirect your gaze to Nathan. He’s shifted in his seat, gaze lingering heavily on your face. 

“...Should I go update my resume?” You ask after a moment. 

Nathan doesn’t answer before he pushes himself up from the table. Oh, what the hell—

“Come with me.”

You frown at the order, brows raising. Double what the hell—?

“Come on,” Nathan insists. 

“What about—” 

“Fuck them, get up,” He waves you toward him. “Let’s go.”

You hesitate before you groan, pushing yourself out of your seat and following him to the doorway. Is he going to lead you out into the woods and leave you to die or something? 

“Where are we going?” You ask, quickening your pace to keep up as he leads you around the corner. Nathan doesn’t answer. He just raises his pass to a keypad and opens the door. 

“Are you just gonna be all stony silent and…” You trail off, stepping in behind him. “And…” Your gaze sweeps across the row of monitors, the computer towers, the wall practically papered in post-its. 

“And what?” Nathan pushes into your silence.

“And…Weird—What is this?” You take the document held out to you. 

“Sign it,” He orders. 

“Dude, let me read it first, I don’t sign shit all willy-nilly.” Your eyes scan the test, brow furrowing as you take it all in—

The signee agrees to regular data audit with unlimited access, to confirm that no disclosure of information has taken place, in public or private forums, using any means of communication, including but not limited to that which is disclosed orally or in written or electronic form… 

“This is a fucking NDA,” You say. 

“Loving that reading comprehension.” 

You glance up as he holds a pen out, his brows raised in expectation. 

“...What is this for?” You press.

“Sign it, and I will show you where all that fucking data is going. You want your answers, I’ve got them. But you’ve got to sign this, and you cannot tell anyone, including the guys.” 

You frown, gaze sweeping over his face. You’re not sure if you trust him or not…But goddamn, you’re curious. You pluck the pen out of his hand, striding over to the table and setting the page down, scribbling your signature across it and dating the page. 

“Leave it there,” Nathan orders. “And follow me.” 

“Have you always been this bossy?” You grouse, hurrying to keep up again as he leaves the room. 

--  

The rows of lighted cases initially leave you with more questions than answers. You look around, frowning as you peer inside, and turning to look at Nathan as he reaches into a case. He’s holding an orb, a smooth, translucent surface with flickering lights and tendrils shifting beneath the surface. 

“...What the hell is this?” You ask, leaning against the case and peering down into his hands.

“Wetware.” 

“Which is…?” 

“The basis of BlueBook’s next step.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, hesitant as he passes it over to you. It’s a little lighter than you expected, far more squishy than you thought it would be. 

“Is this a gel?” You ask, fighting the urge to squeeze it. 

“Had to get away from circuitry. I needed something more malleable.” Nathan dips his head to catch and hold your eye. “This,” He points to the unit in your hand. “Is going to be more fucking significant than any of those chatbots. This is where we’re going.” 

“...Why are you telling me this?” You shake your head. “You could’ve left me with my questions.” 

“Because people like you are going to move this company forward.” 

It sends a bolt of shock through you. You don’t expect it; you don’t expect him to be like this with you. And then he adds, “And me, obviously. Primarily,” And he’s the Nathan that you’ve gotten to know in limited situations all over again. Your surprise melts to fond amusement. You pass him the unit back, trying to ignore the slight tingling in your belly as your fingers brush. You fold your arms, watching as he tenderly sets the unit back down. 

“So what does this go…In?” You ask after a moment, gaze flickering back to his. 

“That is in process.” 

“Am I gonna get kept in the loop, or is it all going to be one big surprise?” 

Nathan considers you for a moment before he simply straightens, nodding toward the door. 

“Let’s go find the guys,” He urges. “I was promised shots. Besides, you can’t keep throwing the guys under the bus if they’re not here.” 

“That’s not true,” You scoff. “Don’t limit me.” 

-- 

Nathan’s revelation is on your mind for the rest of the evening. You can’t knock it away, no matter how much you try—no matter how much enjoyment you get from knocking back drinks from the guys, and seeing Nathan try to teach William to dance. You find yourself leaning back against the couch, fingers tapping on your beer bottle as you remember the weight and feeling of the wetware in your hands. Your gaze flits to Nathan just in time to find him watching you. You expect him to look away, but instead, he smiles. You swipe your tongue over your lip before looking down at your drink again. 

It’s just a moment before the music is turned down. You vaguely note the sound of William and Dan leaving the room, and the thud of Nathan plopping down on the coffee table in front of you. 

“Where are they going?” You ask. 

“More drinks.” 

“They run dry already?” 

“Mhm. What’s going on with you?” 

“Nothing’s going on.” 

“You have been dead silent for two hours.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“You’ve been too quiet.” 

“I have…So many fucking questions,” You shake your head. Nathan is quiet for a moment before he reaches out, patting your knee.

“Tell you what,” He says, “I will throw time on the calendar tomorrow. You can ask whatever the fuck you want—Within reason.” 

You raise your brows, looking up at him. 

“Which topics are off-limits?” You ask. 

“I’ll send them in the meeting notes.” 

You smile, shaking your head and looking back down at your drink. 

“You’re so fucking…You’re freaky, dude,” You mutter, scrubbing your hand over your face. 

“Why’s that?” 

“Your brain is terrifying. And I mean that in the best way, but sometimes you come out with something or you do stuff where I’m just like…How the fuck? Like, does he sleep?” 

“I’ve been known to, yeah.” 

“Every day?”

“That would be excessive.” 

“Okay,” You scoff, setting your beer down. He doesn’t seem to even think or hesitate as he reaches out, taking your bottle up and taking a sip.

“Tell you what,” He adds. “Fuck the meeting tomorrow. Why don’t you stay on a few more days, we’ll go over the roadmap.” 

“Within reason?” 

“Within reason.” 

You consider for a moment, pursing your lips. 

“I’m gonna run out of clothes,” You point out.

“I’m sure I’ve got something you borrow. Barring that, and I realize this may shock you, but I do have a washing machine.”

“Oh, really? Thought you’d take your stuff to the river and pound it with a rock to get all of the stains out. You won’t run out of food, what with your whole one-man-in-the-middle-of-nowhere thing you got going? Am I gonna have to go out and hunt…Whatever the fuck wildlife is around here?” 

“I won’t make you hunt-hunt, but if it’s more fulfilling for you, I can make it a scavenger hunt. You liked the hike, right?” 

“I fucking hated the hike.” 

“What!” 

“Worst, like, hour and a half of my life.” 

“Why the hell did it take you an hour and a half?” 

“William spotted me and asked me to help him carry his shit.”

“You should’ve said no.“

“Well. I know that now.”  

“Three more days. I’ll take you through all of it.” 

“...Okay,” You agree after a moment. “Three more days.” 

“Good.” Nathan takes another sip from your bottle before he passes the bottle back to you. “I’d uh…I’d cheers, but I’m empty, so we’re just gonna share.” 

“Oh, we are? Thank you,” You reach out, taking the beer back from him. You raise your hand, saying, “Clink,” before you take a sip of your beer. Nathan chuckles, repeating, “Clink,” In a murmur. 

[elminx]

Energy Update: July 2023

July is a “5” Universal Month [7 (July) + 7 (2023) = 14 = 1 + 4 =5]. 5 is a very dynamic number that tends to represent a big change of course or point of conflict. This is represented in the astrology in the month as well as we experience multiple planetary shifts and our lunar nodes also shift signs during the month. There are a lot of moving pieces and it may be hard to find solid ground as we slip and slide our way into the beginning of summer.

The Set Up

We begin the month with the Sun and Mercury in Cancer, Venus and Mars in Leo, Jupiter Uranus and the North Node in Taurus, retrograde Saturn and Neptune in Pisces, and retrograde Pluto in Capricorn. By the end of July the Sun will have entered Leo, Mercury and Mars will have entered Virgo, and the lunar nodes will have entered Aries and Libra respectively. Additionally, Venus will retrograde in Leo.

For a month with relatively few aspects (number-wise), July is going to pack a punch. We will never be the same. This is, from the perspective of linear time, always true but in a month full of shifts and heavy hitters, some people may find their lives unrecognizable come August.

The Nitty Gritty

All eyes are on our lunar nodes and the number of strong aspects that they will make with the Sun, Mercury, and Mars over the course of the month ahead. When the lunar nodes (which always move retrograde – or backward – through the horoscope) switch signs, it is one of the big cosmic gong crashes that demarcate time. The lunar nodes represent the mathematical points in the sky with which the Sun, the Moon, and the Earth can come together to create eclipses. Our eclipse cycles ruled by Taurus and Scorpio are ending and we are entering the territory of Aries and Libra. The dichotomy of the individual “Me” versus the collective “We” will be at the forefront as we transverse this change during July. Expect these energies to reemerge later in the year as we enter eclipse season.

But first, we begin the month with Mercury cazimi as the Sun meets up with Mercury at 09° Cancer. The first will be a very inspired day as the Sun and Mercury also make a sweet sextile with Jupiter in Taurus. If you need to do some positive manifestation – particularly if it has to do with wealth or accumulation of things – this will be your day. This is a great day for intention setting or goal orienting of all kinds – remember to think big!

The weekend leading up to our full moon at 11° Capricorn on Monday is going to feel like a lot if you’re not ready for it. It might feel like a lot even if you are. Capricorn has been under a lot of pressure since the beginning of 2020 and is now dealing with Saturn, their planetary ruler, in retrograde and the recent ingress of Pluto backward into Capricorn from Aquarius. Sometimes we need to pay the piper. The sooner that we get up and do what needs doing, the easier this all will be. Saturn may be out to lunch but that doesn’t mean that you can skimp on the work – don’t say that I didn’t warn you. Venus in Leo will be square to Uranus in Taurus during this energy – this is the first pass of this aspect during Venus’ pre-retrograde shadow period. There may be some money troubles or overspending that needs accounting for. Paying the piper might be quite literal in this instance. Know that Venus will return square off with Uranus twice more: a second time while she moves backward during her retrograde cycle in August and a third time when she moves forward again come September. What is coming up now may be a portent of what’s to come. The week of 7/4 may be on the quiet side as we will only experience two Mercury aspects: a square with Chiron in Aries on 7/4 and a sextile with Uranus on 7/7. Use this downtime to integrate the energies of the weekend. Ground and center if you can. With Uranus involved, the energy is likely to be electric and some may find themselves unable to sleep or slow down. Heads up to those prone to mania or insomnia, this astrological weather is highly indicative or exasperating those types of problems.

On 7/10, we get our first big hit of the month on our lunar nodal energy as Mars enters Virgo and immediately forms a trine to our North Node in Taurus and a sextile to our South Node in Scorpio. Mars in Virgo can be fairly nitpicky and critical so some people may find their feelings hurt under this energy – especially, I suspect, if they are hiding from some part of themselves or their journey. Mercury enters Leo the very next day on Tuesday and squares off with the nodes as well which shows that things are going to get a bit testy. Be careful not to say something that you cannot take back as Mercury in Leo can be a bit tactless. The Sun in Cancer is also square to Chiron (exact on Wednesday), so old wounds are close to the surface.

The secret here is, as always, to use this energy to fix problems but when there is more than one person involved, there are no guarantees. Remember you cannot fix something with somebody who doesn’t think that a situation needs fixing, or somebody who isn’t willing to meet you halfway. Focus on healing yourself instead of trying to change others during this time, if you can. By the end of the week, the Sun in Cancer will be sextile to Uranus in Taurus – any Sun-Uranus aspect is a Red Flag Day; its worth remembering that Uranus is in Taurus and what bulls do with red flags.

Lie low for sure on Friday and maybe all week if you can. Unless all persons involved are willing to sit down and be honest and objective (Mars in Virgo), nothing will get done. Any important conversation that can wait probably should. And stay away from explosives of all kinds. Maybe especially explosive people. You know the ones.

This is all leading into a new moon at 24° Cancer on Monday 7/17 which is also the day that our lunar nodes switch from Taurus/Scorpio to Aries/Libra. Aries is sign #1 and hopelessly self-involved (by design, this is not a criticism) – we will all need to rectify how individuality impacts our own lives. The combination of new-ness of the day (new moon plus new lunar nodes) is a positive double-whammy for starting projects or just wiping the slate clean. Also note the cardinality of the day (Cancer, Aries, and Libra being three of the four cardinal signs) – go for it. Take active steps towards what you want to bring forth into this world.

Again, we get some downtime to process these shifts but things will heat up as we enter the weekend. The Sun in Cancer opposes retrograde Pluto in Capricorn on Friday along with Mercury in Leo meeting up in trine with Chiron in Aries. This is a revisitng of sorts – one which has some pain associated with it. Work your way through the pain rather than running from it – Mars in Virgo is opposed to retrograde Saturn in Pisces, this is your sign to stop avoiding that problem.

The Sun in Cancer squares off with the lunar nodes on Saturday the 22nd before entering Leo which shows that our egos might be getting in the way. Where can we think more big picture? Immature Leo energy can be very narcissistic and small-minded but we always get a choice. Try leaning into the Universal Heart energy of mature Leo and take a walk in somebody else’s shoes for an afternoon. I’m not saying that you have to try to empathize with that TERF next door, start with your partner, perhaps. Or somebody else that you care about. Where are you only thinking about yourself? Where are they only thinking about themselves?

Venus retrogrades at 28° Leo on Sunday 7/23 which is the other big event of the month. I wrote an entire post about this already but I will summarize by pointing out that Venus will make two squares to planets in Taurus (Jupiter and Uranus) and trines with Chiron in Aries. This is the time to do less – as in, don’t overdo it. The way that this will show up in personal lives will be different for everyone but some examples are: don’t jump too fast into new relationships (big R or little r), don’t overspend, don’t overeat or overdrink or insert your indulgence of choice here. You can read more about this Venus retrograde cycle here.

The last week of July will be quieter. Mercury will meet up with retrograde Venus on Thursday 7/27 – Mercury and Venus have been interacting in retrograde with each other since January of 2022. We need to learn to think and feel simultaneously – so many of us can only live in our hearts OR in our brains – we are being challenged to do both. Mercury makes an exact trine with our North Node in Aries on Friday but Venus never quite makes it – that’s telling. Thought is still winning. Where can you balance this by being more in your heart?

Mercury enters Virgo on Friday. Virgo is one of the two home signs of Mercury and is also home to our planet of action, Mars, during this time. This should give us some energy to do the work ahead of us for August and our Venus retrograde that is to come.

7/1 – Sun conjunct Mercury 09° Cancer, Sun in Cancer sextile Jupiter in Taurus, Mercury in Cancer sextile Jupiter in Taurus 7/2 – Venus in Leo square Uranus in Taurus 7/3 – Full moon 11° Capricorn 7/4 – Mercury in Cancer square Chiron in Aries 7/7 – Mercury in Cancer sextile Uranus in Taurus 7/10 – Mercury in Cancer opposed retrograde Pluto in Capricorn, Mars enters Virgo, Mars in Virgo trine North Node in Taurus, Mars in Virgo sextile South Node in Scorpio 7/11 – Mercury enters Leo, Mercury in Leo square North Node in Taurus and South node in Scorpio (fixed t-square) 7/12 – Sun in Cancer square Chiron in Aries 7/14 – Sun in Cancer sextile Uranus in Taurus 7/17 – New moon 24° Cancer, Mercury in Leo square Jupiter in Taurus, lunar nodes enter Aries/Libra 7/20 – Sun in Cancer trine Neptune in Pisces, Mars in Virgo opposed retrograde Saturn in Pisces 7/21 – Sun in Cancer opposed retrograde Pluto in Capricorn, Mercury in Leo trine Chiron in Aries 7/22 – Sun in Cancer square North Node in Aries and South Node in Libra (cardinal grand cross), Sun enters Leo 7/23 – Mercury in Leo square Uranus in Taurus, Venus retrogrades 28° Leo 7/27 – Mercury conjunct retrograde Venus 28° Leo 7/28 – Mercury in Leo trine North Node in Aries and sextile South Node in Libra, Mercury enters Virgo

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[fragile-strength-is-gone]

My poor attempt at a Criminal Minds crossover fanfic with FantasticLand (seriously if you haven’t read fantasticland please do it!)

Interview: Kathrine Danvers

Original Pirate turned unaffiliated

Before you get into the nitty gritty agents can I ask you something? What the fuck happened? I signed up for three days. Three. Ride out the storm and then wait inside for forty-eight to seventy-two hours, then someone will come and get us. That is what I signed up for. No of course you don’t have the answers, why would you?

Fine. Where do you want me to start? I meant more, well, which beginning? Because in my mind the tunnels and the park were two different events with two very different sets of kids. Okay, well the morning of the storm was weird, everyone was super tense and rumors that Operation Rapture was gonna go into effect was circling. A bunch of people that signed up said fuck it and said they’d leave if it came to it. But we were sent to our shifts that morning, one of the lead managers of the park was going around Fresnoville screaming that the hurricane was never gonna reach us, to watch the storm but it should get worse than a mild-shutdown. Which is just when we stop the rides, shows and games and whatever are still open. 

So I went to work, I was probably halfway through my first wardrobe, around nine am, when they made the announcement that the park was shutting down and we needed to get guests out. By ten it was full blown chaos, there was way more idiots with their kids in that storm than there should of been, like, yes we were still open but why would you want to go in that down pour! So by then I’m in a floor length gown with these heavy ass metal and silk wings on my back trying to guide people to the exit where I guess they had a bunch of cars and buses getting everyone out. 

Kids were freaking out and crying, parents were fighting with each other for a spot on the cars, and no matter how much Mr.Mueller screamed that there was enough room for everyone no one settled down. I didn’t really stay that long though, I made sure my friends made it on the bus- 

What? Oh, yeah no, they signed up for O.R. but Jezebel just found out she’s pregnant so her and her boyfriend bailed on the bus. I didn’t, no, I chose to stay. I wasn’t in a rush to end my summer plus I was going to make so much money. That and my daddy is a real piece of work, the longer I got away from him the better. Sorry, that was a little off topic, anyway, I made it to the Dream Pop Star Amphitheater. That was the meetup point, we get there get our instructions and then go into the shelter, but honestly by the time we got people out of the park things were looking bad. 

Anyway, Mr. Mueller gives his speech, warns us we have forty-five minuets before the storm becomes a true shit-storm, but if we made it we would be fine. No, Mr. Muller did not stay, I’m not sure who made the call to put Gasleak, sorry, Garleik in charge. Whoever made that call is a dipshit in my book. Either way we all made it down there fine, and honestly it wasn’t that bad even after we were shut in. There were generators that kept the shelter lit, and the zombie center kept us up to date on the storm and the park. So, we just settled. 

Some people, the ones that were more visibly nervous or uncomfortable, stayed close to the command room watching the storm on the radars. Others just settled in, people kinda grouped off with their friends and played games, or read, or just talked. For the first half of the day I stuck around the command room, I liked knowing what was going on. And then somewhere along the way Sam-fucking-Garleik decided it would be better if everyone had to get the news from him. He would come out like every half and hour and get all smug and announce what was happening with the storm and then shut the damn door again. 

A few of us got really frustrated, and I remember Francis Flynn, she worked in the shops on the Golden Road I think, tried to talking to him but when they parted she looked really upset. Ugh that guy walk a walking power trip. But I gave up, eventually a friend of mine Bryce noticed I was feeling ansty and asked me to come listen to his iPod with him wherever he and his brother had set up. 

Bryce Hockney and I have been friends since I started working in the park three years ago. Yeah I’m sure you’ll hear a ton about his fucking brother, I’m not talking about Brock I’m talking about Bryce. Bryce, was kind and sweet. He was nice to everyone and hated seeing anyone excluded, he was my best friend and he did not deserve to die like that. No one will talk about him, his legacy will forever overshadowed by Brock’s bullshit. But if you want to really understand what happened in FantasticLand you have to understand, it all started with Bryce Hockney, and the darkness that came from that power outage.

_______________________________________________________________________

One look in the mirror was enough to tell Kat that she needed more sleep, her dark eyes were encased with darker circles. No amount of sleep fixed those anymore, they hadn’t in years. To be fair, they were always like that but in the two years since the park they’d only managed to get worse, making her (even on her best day) look halfway dead. Which, again, to be fair was true; life stopped coming for her years ago and her existence could be summed up as dead-walking-through-the-motions. 

She sighed, trying desperately to ignore the ache in her arms. It was a phantom ache at this point, her body desperately trying to make her think she needed the toxins she’d given up months ago at this point. She gave them up for this very reason, her body stopped being hers, belonging only to the call of escapism. And escapism stopped being fun when the escape just lead to more vivid and violent memories. 

“Kat? You almost done?” A small but demanding voice sounded from the other side of the door, it was Lily the freshman girl I’d taken under she’d taken under her wing. She was solely responsible for keeping Kat in line, the only reason this project was running as smoothly as it was, was well Lily. 

“I’m good Lils,” Kat forced her mind to clear itself as she pulled the door open, “Are we all set to run those tests today?” Lilly was a length girl, a good two feet taller than her five foot three. Her narrow and sleek eyes made her much more intimidating than her meek personality let on, and her smooth black hair spilled far down her back, Kat liked watching it swish when they walked. It’s the little things, she’d tell her friend when she caught her doing it. 

“Well, technically yes. I filled out all the paper works, got the approvals, and even checked the test files we were sent by the FBI yesterday…” Like always Lily trailed off hoping she wouldn’t ask for the inevitable bad news that followed a sentence that started with ‘technically, yes..’. 

“But…?” Kat prompted gently, knowing it would make Lily feel less guilty. Though the guilt never made sense, it was literally never her fault when things went awry. Shit, it was mostly Kat’s. Her antics had always threw them wildly off course, and mostly it worked. Like with this project that started a simple crime enthusiast app. 

“Uhm, they wouldn’t tell me why but there are some FBI agents in your office…” Her eyes were wide as she turned to face her friend outside said office. Her hand gripped the handle to the door far more tightly than necessary. It wasn’t that big of a shock, you made note of the two men before she even spoke, Lily seemingly forgetting that your private study office was almost entirely glass. 

The men examining the nicknacks on your desk didn’t seem to notice the two girls yet. One was older, wider and saggier than the other. Proof of a life lived, his stern and unwavering expression did not give any hope that it was a happy one. His partner however was his antithesis, tall and scrawny his light brown curls were loose over his forehead. He had an almost bowl cut and Kat couldn’t help but snicker at it, though not with malice, the kid was obviously a confident and happy one. He chatted away next to his partner pointing at different frames and chochkies as he spoke. His smile was wide and it took over his face forcing his bright eyes to shrink and crinkle. 

“I’m sure I can guess why at least one of them is here.” I announced a little to loudly when Lily pulled the door open. Both men jumped, trying to quickly right themselves. “See anything interesting there Agent Gideon?” 

The older mans face softened, his eyes returning to the desk this time with more focus. He took them all in slowly, before finally picking one up and turning it to me. It was a younger Kat, though not by much the girl couldn’t have helped but feel like it was an entirely different her all together. Her arms draped lazily around the broad shoulders of a boy in a pirate hat. The boys dark brown hair was cropped at the side but styled and thick on the top, his smile was wide and it was clear he was laughing. Their faces were pressed together, the happiest moment lost to time immortalized and on her desk. That was the most interesting thing about her, at least to the agent before her. 

“Bryce. Why that one?” She challenged the man, he twisted it back in hand looking it over a final time before returning it to its spot. 

“You shut out every aspect of your life before the park except for this one. And this one has deep ties to it, with proof of not only its existence but of Pirate Cove. All the other pictures here are recent, within the last year at the most. The one thing I don’t understand is of all the pictures why that one?” The man cocked a challenging brow, his partner didn’t speak. He and Lily too confused and awestruck and the familiarity between the two, they only darted their eyes watching the exchange happen. 

“To completely deny the pirates is to deny Bryce of his history. He loved being a pirate, and I loved him. But that man right there is the only pirate I care about. What can I do for you?” Finally Kat moved, closing the distance and offering a hand. The older mans shake was firm and quick, pulling away before Kat could really process it. She extended to the younger of the pair but he shook his head, almost guilty. Kat only shrugged and moved on, as usual unfazed. 

“I hear this is your final year in your doctorate.” Gideon offered, still obviously dancing around whatever it was he wanted to say. 

“Yes sir, is this about the files I asked for? We already got approval from Agent Hotchner he is the one who signed off sending them.” 

“Files?” The younger one finally perked up. She was surprised to hear his voice was soft. Unmenacing, which shouldn’t be her first thought and she immediately kicked herself for even letting it. 

“Yeah I’m working on a program that can be used for smaller police stations that don’t have the means or the money to send their detectives for the training the BAU offers. It would profile for them in real time using previous cases and profiles.” Kat beamed proudly. It was originally going to be a forum for families of victims to reach out to true crime enthuseists to help them solve cases that police either couldn’t or didn’t solve. But at the behest of her independent study teacher she dropped it. Her teacher was right there were ethical complications in inviting strangers to solve cold cases. Crime makes people whacky, she knew that way to well. 

“Really? It would pull old profiles that match cases their working on, but couldn’t that lead to mismanaged profiles? No two unsubs can be the same like that unless it’s a copycat.” The young mans voice was full of honest curiosity, like he almost couldn’t stop himself from speaking. 

“Yes and no, what we want it to do is take in information about the current case. So vicimonalogy, signature, witness statements, the works. You put it in, it runs it through an algorithm built around the database of profiles and it creates a totally accurate and new profile!”  Kat opened her laptop and threw in some random details letting the program do the rest. Curlyhair watched excitedly as it loaded but deflated as it spit out a nonsensical profile in which the subject could be anywhere from four to three hundred years old. Kat stifled her giggle at his disappointment. “Sorry, I just got the files yesterday so it has nothing to pull from, but that’s how it will work. Hopefully.”

“You’re going to run us out of a job, kid.” The old man spoke with an air of pride, a firm pat  on her back confirming the notion. 

“That is the plan old man. So seriously why are you here? Please tell me this isn’t about that stupid park.” The edge was hard to miss in her voice. 

“It’s not, thankfully. Though I was sorry to hear they couldn’t bag a single conviction on anyone involved.” It started as a question but his tone flattened before it ever really got there. 

“I wasn’t surprised. Two hundred people and for every one you put on the stand to say they for sure saw that guy stab another guy there are five waiting to say it didn’t happen. The entire tragedy had reasonable doubt built into it.” 

“Oh, that’s right! That’s how we know her!” the tall one straightened finally taking in the girl curled into herself in an oversized office chair. He took in her long dark hair, it broken up with strips of a deep green color. Her tired eyes, and way to thin frame that was hard to miss through her oversized hoodie. Honestly the only reason he could take in the frame was because her barely there shorts showed off her boney legs. 

“Wow, Dr. Reid, you save a girls life and you don’t even remember.” Kat feigned hurt making sure to stretch her face in disappointment. 

“Didn’t she shoot at you?” Gideon offered incrediosuly to his partner, protege?

“You did!” He laughed, and this was met with real horror from Kat. 

“Dude, you are bizarre. I still don’t understand why you’re here.” 

“We’d like you’re help on a case. You’re understanding of human behavior is a valuable asset and I would like you to look over a case for me.” Gideon said his tone finally hitting his usual deeply responsible. He was, like Kat, two people in one body. An older grandfatherly man who could make you smile with a cheesy joke. And an all work no nonsense FBI agent that could get you to confess your deepest sins with a look that made you wanna shudder. The latter was finally present and she relaxed, happy to not talk about it anymore. 

“Why me?” She offered though it was just stalling the inevitable. 

“You’re parlor trick.” Finally, it made sense. And Kat met the mens hopeful gaze with a mischievous smile.

[diamondcutcreative]

Reflecting on Reputation Management Strategies Course

Going into Reflecting on Reputation Management Strategies in Week 1, I was excited because I wanted to dive into the nitty gritty of how to handle a PR crisis. I have witnessed so many PR crises in the media and on local businesses’ social media pages and I wanted to know the best route of how to keep a company out of hot water (or at least recover from being in hot water). In all transparency, I thought this class was going to be grueling since I have been struggling a lot throughout the duration of my masters program. While it wasn’t “grueling”, it was still definitely challenging. One of my biggest struggles I face to this day is when to cut for credit something and when I don’t have to. Citing references and citing them properly has been a consistent, ongoing error of mine but I feel that I have improved from the beginning of my masters program.

The first helpful thing I took away from this course came from a video that we watched on Gerard Brady’s YouTube channel. In this video, Brady discusses some of the worst terms and phrases he has heard in the PR field and the one that stuck with me was to NOT say “x, y, and z are our biggest priorities”. I thought that was a very good phrase but what Braud states is that it leaves room for criticism from the public. If my client sells puppy wearing hoodies and a dogs foot loses circulation from my product and needs amputation and I say “pets safety is our number one priority”… the public can pick that apart and argue that it obviously WASNT if this incident happens. But if I say “pets safety is our number one goal” it leaves room for the client to be honest and apologetic and say “while it is our goal, we are not perfect and we want to apologize for this misstep on our end. Here’s how we will fix it”.

The second helpful piece of knowledge that I gained from this course was having a crisis communication plan. Of course most companies can anticipate that a PR crisis may happen at some point but not all companies will formulate a plan with specific steps on how these crises should be handled WHEN they happen. I currently hold the position of PR and Marketing Coordinator at a company and I now am beginning to come up potential crises we might face and how we will handle it.

The third piece of information that stuck with me from this course was another piece of information from Gerard Braud’s videos - particularly his video about Papa John’s PR crisis. Braud discusses how Papa John’s moved forward with announcing the departure of their CEO who made unfavorable statements and in the same press release that discussed his departure, they used his photo on their logo. This came of as tone-deaf and showed they didn’t entirely grasp the severity of the CEO’s actions in relation to the company. Braud pointed out how if a PR crisis stems from someone that is the face of that company - desperate the company form them and get rid of their presence from all platforms!

Moving forward from this class, I will be constantly looking for ways I can avoid PR crises and how to make build up our company in the eyes of the public. I want to sit down and talk with the owners of the company I work at and ask if they currently have a PR crisis commutations plan and if they don’t, I would recommend we formulate one.

References:

The worst phrases you’ve ever heard in a crisis communications statement. YouTube. (2017, October 12). https://youtu.be/64647pQ7vsA?si=5vLWefM-p_9-Kx-U 

YouTube. (2018, July 12). Papa John’s crisis communications case study: Public relations & marketing failures. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/live/_XK299uBUhA?si=RPhW32_SUb8W-VFL 

[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!

[aliwritesfic]

The Night Shift part 11 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

WC: 3.3k

AN: Yall I'm so sorry this took ages to be updated, my laptop screen broke and the repair place had to wait over a week for a new one, I hope the end of this part makes up for it <3 Parts will also be slower to come out as I'm starting my next semester of uni on Monday and that's going to take up a large chunk of my time, but I'm still going to try and put out a new part at least once a week

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Part 1 Part 12 (coming soon) Masterlist

Friday arrived far too quickly for Frankie’s liking. So quickly he had gotten himself into a routine of being with you, and it felt like it was being ripped away from him. Of course, he knew that it would happen, he hadn’t deluded himself into thinking it wouldn’t, but still . . . still he had grown so used to your presence that when it was finally time to “get your shit from that ugly ass motherfucker” (Will’s words, not his), he felt almost depressed.

You were perched on his couch when he woke up late Friday morning, a cup of steaming coffee clutched in your hand, your gaze fixed absently on a point on the wall. He called your name gently, not wanting to scare you. You blinked a couple times, as if coming out of a trance. He knew the look well.

“Didn’t sleep?” he poured himself a cup and sat down next to you. You shook your head.

“Not great. I think an hour, maybe. But like, really shitty sleep.”

“Not fully asleep but not fully awake?” Frankie suggested, having become very accustomed to the feeling during his military time. You nodded, giving him a tired smile. He understood your exhaustion. You had spent every waking moment stressed about the move, online shopping to replace the things that you were leaving at Kurt’s, and then stressing some more. You had picked up the keys on Wednesday and Frankie had gone with you to check the place out.

It was a bright, airy place, seven floors up with huge windows and a tiny balcony off the living area. Frankie had noticed your eyes shining as you took it all in, almost like you couldn’t believe it was yours. You had wiped away a tear, taking in the view of the lake by the apartment complex.

Frankie had come with his measuring tape and notebook from his mechanic days. He measured each room, each alcove where a piece of furniture would sit, and wrote them down diligently with a messy scrawl on a page labelled with your name.

When you had gotten back to his place, you set to work writing down a list of what was yours and what you needed to replace. At the top of that list was a bed, heavily underlined and circled.

“The bed’s mine, technically,” you explained as you clicked on a display photo of a wrought iron bed frame, “but he can keep it. I want a fresh start, and I think I need a new bed to do that.”

“Makes sense,” Frankie said sitting down beside you, “is that the one you’re going with?”

You had nodded, clicking add to cart. The store had next day delivery, and for a small fee would even build the bed for you. You opted for this, despite Frankie’s protests.

“Please, you’re doing so much already, and putting my whole bed together for me . . . it feels like a very unfair trade,” you told him firmly. Once again, your stubbornness had won over. Frankie, rather grudgingly, had to admit to himself that the delivery people were much quicker than he would’ve been at assembling the bed frame, especially after he had taken a quick look at the instructions.

He wasn’t about to tell you that though.

It was almost midday when a knock sounded on his door, followed by the three men he called brothers piling into his kitchen. You emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed and a shy smile on your face. It struck Frankie that this was the first time you were meeting these guys, truly meeting them without the inclusion of alcohol.

“You’re all really excellent for helping me with this,” you said fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt. You had opted for long sleeves throughout the whole week. “Sorry you have to give up your Friday for this.”

Benny was the first one to make a move. He strode forward and enveloped you in a tight hug. Frankie could see the initial shock on your face before it was replaced by a hesitant kind of happiness.

“You like Taylor Swift?” he asked, and you nodded. Benny craned his neck to look at Frankie. “She’s riding with me, if that’s okay?” he turned back to you and you nodded again. Benny grinned and whispered something in your ear, causing you to snort out a laugh.

Santi stood beside Frankie and pressed an envelope into his hands.

“The photo,” he explained. “Again, remember I have several copies, so if you plan on destroying this one, imagine it like a hydra.” Frankie rolled his eyes and put the envelope in his back pocket. You were too busy chatting with Benny and Will to notice, and he was glad. He wanted to surprise you with the photo when you needed it.

Benny and Will had taken a particular soft spot for you since Frankie gave them the bare-bones rundown of how Kurt had treated you. Frankie noticed it now, in how Will stood like your own personal bodyguard, in how Benny had slung his arm around your shoulders, like you were old friends. Frankie felt the briefest flash of jealousy before he stamped it down. Just because he couldn’t – wouldn’t – touch you, didn’t mean no one else could.

“Quit staring Fish, you look like one of those cartoon characters whose eyes turn to hearts,” Santi muttered, elbowing Frankie in the ribs. Frankie elbowed him back, annoyed.

“Alright, gang! Let’s get this show on the road!” Will clapped his hands together. Benny raised an incredulous brow at his brother.

“What are you, fifty?” He turned to you, linking his arm through yours. “Don’t worry, Fish, I’ll drive extra carefully.”

Frankie felt envious of Benny then, even though he had basically had a week straight with you. But knowing it was coming to an end, that tonight you’d be sleeping at your own place, instead of just down the hall. Well, it made him almost sad. He pushed that aside though and forced himself to be happy for you.

As he drove to your old apartment, everyone else following behind, he focused a little too hard on the radio, just to give his mind something to do. A newsreader was talking about how a quick-thinking pilot had landed a plane in a field after something went horrifically wrong with the engines. Zero casualties, minor injuries. People were already calling for the pilot to be given a medal.

Maybe I should renew my licence, Frankie thought. He didn’t want to be a commercial pilot, or a hero of any kind, although the uniforms were nice. But it couldn’t hurt to have it.

He pulled up outside the building, gripping the steering wheel tightly. This was it.

Will and Santi parked behind him, but Benny’s ridiculously lifted pickup was nowhere to be seen. Frankie squinted towards the end of the street, knowing he couldn’t have gotten lost. He had you with him.

Ten minutes passed with no sign of you. “Where the fuck are they?” Frankie grumbled, now worried that you and Benny had gotten into a car accident. He trusted him, but Benny was the worst driver of all of them. He pulled out his phone to text you but was interrupted.

“That’s his truck,” Will said, pointing to the end of the street, where Benny’s truck had just pulled in. The sound of heavy bass reached them before the truck did. As Benny pulled up outside the apartment, Frankie recognised the song as Gimme More by Britney Spears.

“Sorry we’re late,” you called, clambering out of the truck, a tall plastic cup in your hand. “We stopped for frappes.” Benny sipped innocently at his, giving Frankie a look that said he needed to speak with him.

“Where’s my fuckin’ frappe,” Santi grumbled, looking envious. Benny grinned and handed his over to Santi for a sip.

You stood, looking up at the building, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Guess we better go up. I sent him a text telling him I was doing this today, but he didn’t reply, so I don’t know if he’ll be here.”

“Want us to jump him if he is?” Benny offered, but you shook your head.

“Not right away,” you said, “but if he starts up maybe slap him around a little.” Frankie knew you were joking, but the look in your eyes was one of fear. He took your hand gently and lowered his head to talk to you.

“You can wait out here if you want,” he murmured, “we’ve got the list of what we need to get.” You squeezed his hand and shook your head. Yours was cold and slightly clammy in his own, but he didn’t mind.

“No, I need to do this.” You said. Frankie nodded, understanding. You didn’t need to explain the nitty gritty of your reasoning, all he needed was for you to know that you had him, in whatever way you needed.

You kept a firm grip on his hand as you lead the way upstairs to your old apartment, only letting go when you stood outside the front door, fumbling in your bag for your keys.

At first, the apartment seemed empty of life. All the lights were off, the curtains closed, and the place was eerily silent. You stepped over the threshold, followed by the rest of the boys, who immediately got to work.

As it turned out, Kurt wasn’t there. He remained gone for a good half hour while the boys carried your heavier shit down to their trucks. You set to work stuffing the rest of your clothes into plastic trash bags you had picked up from the grocery store.

Benny joined Frankie in carrying a loveseat downstairs.

“Fish, I need to tell ya,” Benny started, grunting as they made a turn. “She’s as into you as you are her.” Frankie shook his head.

“Don’t do this, man.”

“I’m being serious. I talked to her in the truck. She didn’t say it outright, but you should’a seen the look on her face when I talked about you.” Benny waggled his eyebrows. “And her friend Sara agrees, she’s ‘smitten’ with you. Whatever the fuck smitten means. If you want my advice-”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“-Go for it. Tonight, once we’re all gone. Shoot your shot my guy. Don’t waste anymore fucking time. Sara said she wasn’t even sad about the breakup, like she’s been checked out mentally for months now.”

“Wait, did Sara tell you about me punching Kurt?”

“All I’m saying is, she likes you a lot, you like her a lot, don’t waste this.” Frankie mulled over what Benny was saying. There had been more than a few moments that week when he had spied you looking at him and wondered . . . but each time he had pushed the thought out his head. Old insecurities, respect for you, held him back.

Historically, Frankie had never been very good at telling when someone was into him. He could be literally balls deep and he’d still be questioning it. Even sometimes with Portia, he’d wonder if she really felt the same way he did. Santi, who knew Frankie as a kid, chalked it up to Frankie having a rough go of puberty, not growing into his features until almost the end of high school. By then, whenever someone had showed even a slight bit of interest, Frankie had dismissed it as a cruel joke. Unfortunately, those insecurities had followed him deep into adulthood.

The mood in the apartment had become relaxed, all the heavier stuff, like your couch, TV, furniture, and fridge had been taken care of, and now all that was left was to gather all the small shit. Frankie found you in the bathroom, unscrewing the shower head. You tossed it into a box filled with other bathroom items, the loud clang making him grimace. He opened his mouth to speak to you when yelling from the front room interrupted him.

Your face fell instantly, going from focused to almost afraid. Your eyes met Frankie’s own, and he reached out to touch your arm. It’s okay the touch said, he can’t do anything to you. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and walked out with Frankie to the commotion.

Kurt was being held back with a single hand on his chest by a bored looking Will, screaming a string of expletives and struggling to land any kind of hit on Will, Santi stood behind Kurt, ready to jump in if needed. Benny was hunched over, clutching his sides in laughter. Kurt finally caught sight of you, standing a little in front of Frankie.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” His tone made you wince slightly, but Frankie was proud of the way you didn’t shrink away.

“I told you this was happening today, Kurtis, it was your choice to come back while we were here,” you said calmly.

“You’re taking all my shit!”

“I paid for every single thing I’m taking,” you said. “It’s not my fault you never put anything of monetary value into this place.” You stepped forward, so you were facing Kurt head on, but still behind Will. “You need to calm down, you’re acting like a fucking child.”

“I’M ACTING LIKE A CHILD?”

“Yes. You are. You’ve acted like one almost our entire relationship. So you can either calm down, leave and come back later, or my friends will force you to calm down.”

“Are you threatening me?” Kurt spat.

“Yes. You’ve already been smacked down before, any one of these guys would love to be the one to do it again.”

“I’d like to see them fucking try!” Kurt pivoted and lunged at Benny. Big mistake. With a simple, yet effective, punch to the head, Kurt was out cold on the floor. Benny looked up, almost apologetic. You grinned at him, silent laughter shaking your shoulders.

“I didn’t mean to hit that hard,” Benny said, flexing his fist. “But I also did.”

Santi dragged Kurt’s unconscious body to the now empty living room, carefully posing him so he was curled in the foetal position, sucking on his thumb.

“He actually arrived at the perfect time,” you said to Frankie, standing back beside him. “Cause we’re done here.”

“We’ve got everything?” Santi called, overhearing you. You nodded.

“We’re finally done here.”

~*~

Frankie was glad you had decided to ride with him back to your new place. You were buzzing with a new energy, unable to keep a nervous grin off your face. You didn’t speak on the drive to your new place, but Frankie hoped he wasn’t reading into how much closer you sat, your thighs almost brushing his. Benny had gotten into his head, he knew, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation.

You were the most beautiful person he had met, both inside and out, and the very idea that you could like him the way he liked you . . . well fuck, it didn’t seem feasible. But then he thought back to the previous week spent with you, and maybe it wasn’t such a ludicrous idea after all.

He pulled up at your new building, parking in the spot designated for you. You turned to him, unlatching your seatbelt as you did.

“Frankie . . .” you started, then leant over and pulled him into a tight hug. Frankie felt like everything you wanted to say was in that hug. You pulled back slightly, so your faces were almost touching. He could’ve done it then, he fucking should have done it. Crossed that miniscule amount of space between you. But then the moment passed, and you pulled away entirely.

You climbed out of the truck, moving to the back to grab some of the garbage bags that held the smaller stuff. Frankie’s phone buzzed in the cupholder, a message from Will in the group chat.

Ironhead: Pussy

Frankie turned and saw Will staring at him. Fuck offhe mouthed. Will flipped him off with a grin. The effort of getting all your stuff up to your new place was considerably easier than it had been the first time around. For one, your new place had an elevator. So even though they had to take turns using it, it was worlds above struggling up seven flights of stairs. The mood was also improved by the fact Will had knocked Kurt out cold. Frankie had begun to wonder if that had become the main highlight of your day.

It was well into the night by the time everything was in its new place. Benny and Will flopped down onto your loveseat, drinking beers that you had kept in an ice chest you had brought in yesterday just for this. You sat on the floor, drinking a fruity vodka thing that Frankie thought looked and smelt like a melted popsicle. The balcony door was open, a breeze that held the promise of summer drifted through.

“Where’s Santi?” You asked looking around.

“He had to get something from the truck,” Will said. As if on cue, which if Frankie knew these boys as well as he did, it was, Santi burst through the door, one arm stretched wide, the other behind his back.

“My dearest,” Santi began, and Frankie groaned inwardly, “over this past day, the gentlemen and I have grown quite fond of you.” What is this, regency England? Frankie rolled his eyes and took a sip of his beer. “And as such, we wanted to present you with a housewarming gift.” With that, he whipped his arm around and held out a vase of sunflowers. Your face softened, then broke into a grin.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you pushed yourself up and pulled Santi into a hug, motioning for Will and Benny to join. You hugged the three men as tight as you could, smiling at Frankie over the tops of their shoulders. Frankie smiled back, raising his beer in a silent toast.

You placed the flowers on the kitchen counter, facing them toward the window. It was just past ten when the three boys left, Benny carrying the ice chest along with the promise to bring it back as soon as he could. It seemed like it was only moments before only you and Frankie remained.

Frankie’s phone buzzed.

Benny: Don’t fuck this up.

Frankie saw you move outside onto the balcony, leaning against the railing, silhouetted by silver moonlight, your face turned towards the breeze that coasted off the lake. Everyone else was gone, and he wondered if he didn’t take this chance, would he ever?

He moved to stand next to you, standing so close your arms were touching. His heart felt like it was caught in his throat. He murmured your name.

“Frankie,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of his beating heart. Before he could stop himself, chicken out like he had before, he closed the distance between you. One hand cupping your warm cheek, the other encircling your waist, he tilted his head down until his lips met yours.

It was everything.

Your lips were soft against his, hesitant at first, but then you were wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. You tasted like candy and those sugary drinks you insisted on bringing. Your touch was like tiny jolts of electricity shooting down his spine.

Fuck.

His tongue darted against your bottom lip, and you let him in almost hungrily. Frankie deepened the kiss, wondering just why the everloving fuck he waited this long.

He whispered your name, the word like poetry on his lips. You were poetry, you were art, you were every beautiful thing wrapped up into one person. He was in love with you.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209 @quica-quica-quica @pintsizemama @phoenix-of-loki @procrastinationstationnation

[trashcatsnark]

NGL I love how much you have embraced the silverv stuff here - its so nice to read. I submit for consideration, Rogue notices the tattoo while on the disaster date and both Johnny and V play it off as a joke and holy shit poor rogue stuck in a room with two morons.

Also - V getting dressed for that date and realizing they just MIGHT be a little jealous with a side of some thoughts of "Oh God Johnny Would NEVER Feel That Way About Me Gotta Bury This Deep So He Doesn't Know"

Johnny notices the anxiety but is very dense about the cause.

Oh hell yeah, I have fully embraced it and this ship; I was writing SilverV porn before the game came out, like I knew what my ship for this game was gonna be from the second I saw gifs of

“You’re a dick, Johnny” 

“And you’re a cunt, so maybe we’ll fit together after all.” 

That banter sealed my fate and I’m fairly sure I had named and created my V then wrote porn of her with Johnny literally a week later. The devil works hard, but my brainrot works harder and faster. 

Spoilers! 

Okay, so I’ve thought a lot about that date in both a silverv context (and largely how it fits with my V, Aidan and her fic) I’ll try to stay general though. 

Firstly, I whole heartedly believe Rogue sees through their bullshit. Not only is she just good at that, but Johnny even states she has MRE’s (?) and can see through people, like her eyes can pick up on signs of lying. And usually, thats not an issue for when V talks to her, but when she asks about Johnny and their relationship with him. Its a mess. And when Rogue asks Johnny about it, its a mess. 

And when Rogue notices the tattoo it’s like Oh... I get it . And Johnny is of course like, “hahaha, yeah I thought that’d be so funny, the kid hates it.” But Rogue isn’t stupid, she knows a lovey dovey heart with their names, something that looks like someone doodled it on their third grade notebook about their crush, is not really typical of Johnny’s “joking” She knows that if Johnny is not really the kind of guy to hahahaha its so funny to make it look like we love each other; he’d be more likely to get a dick tattooed on V’s arm if it was just to mess with them. For gods sake, look how many people didn’t pick “the other one” because they were convinced it was gonna be a dick. That’s a Johnny just trying to fuck with someone move. So, she doesn’t buy it, but doesn’t push it...with him. 

She asks V about and of course they play it off as “Yeah, Johnny thought it’d be funny, what a fucking asshole, its so fucking dumb, I totally fuckin hate it.” 

“So, why not get it removed?” 

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh, well you see what had happened was, um, I, just uhhhh, never been enough time, I guess yeahhhhhh.” 

Cause lets face it, in cyberpunk universe, getting a tattoo removed should be easy. If you can get blades in your arms and can have a completely newly reconstructed body in like an afternoon; you can get a tattoo removed in like twenty minutes. So, V still keeping it, says volumes about how they really feel.

Now, V’s jealousy and the date. 

I do absolutely agree that any anxiety or ill feeling V might have up until the date; Johnny is gonna feel, but not realize where it’s coming from. I think if anything, he’s gonna chalk it up to V being anxious about giving him control again and he’s gonna be like worried that maybe V doesn’t trust him as much as they let on. 

And I do think a V who has feelings for Johnny, would not be able to help feeling some jealousy regarding Rogue and Johnny. Just because jealousy is natural thing to feel and while you can debate if they were ever a good or healthy couple, you can’t debate they shared very real feelings for one another. And I think a lot of V’s jealousy would come from just how much Johnny seems to first think of/go to Rogue. When he needed to save Alt, first person he turned to, Rogue. When he wanted to bomb Arasaka tower (going by his memory of it and ignoring that the event was probably actually planned by Morgan Blackhand), who’d he go to? Rogue. When he becomes determined to get Smasher, who is he determined to get him with, Rogue. When he first decides to atone for his past mistakes, who’s the first person he wants to make up with, Rogue. When at the rooftop, who does he want to go grab to help him save V, Rogue. 

If you got feelings for someone, that’d hurt, I think it’s impossible for that not to spark some jealousy. And V if anything is also mad at themselves for having those feelings, because they like Rogue, she’s a badass, a legend, they respect the hell out of her. And of course they have feelings for Johnny and they wanna help him make shit right and they wanna give him a chance to enjoy himself. But this stupid reptilian part of their brain is screaming but i want to be the first person he goes to, the first person he thinks about, which they know is also stupid cause for fucks sake the man literally lives in their brain, they’re as close as two people can be and literally when Johnny has the power to go to someone for something, he can’t go to V because they’re reduced to sleeping essentially until Johnny hands back the reigns. Yet, feelings aren’t aren’t always, rational, sadly. 

And to Johnny’s credit, he probably doesn’t even give it that much thought. Rogue is a badass, someone he cares for, someone he can depend on and someone he hurt really badly. The two people he can and always has been able to depend on the most (other than Alt prior to her death) have been Kerry and Rogue. And, bless his heart, the fuck is Kerry gonna do? Kerry ain’t a merc, Kerry isn’t gonna bust into Arasaka Tower or plant a bomb. Kerry doesn’t have the connection to Smasher. So, of course, Rogue is gonna be his go to. And in terms of making things up to people...he literally cannot really do much to make things up to V, not the way he can for Rogue or Kerry. Cause, when him and V are both conscious, he can’t do much beyond touch and talk to them. Hell, even with Rogue and Kerry, he relies mostly on V to help him do anything. Even with people he can interact with and do something for; V is doing all the nitty gritty work for him. V drives Rogue to the theater, V breaks into the theater, V gets the projector going. V breaks into Kerry’s house, V disables the security. V gets in contact with Nancy. V gets Nancy out of Totentanz in one piece. 

Which probably if V actually thought about it critically, does mean he’s going to them and relying on them more than Rogue, but they’d probably dismiss it out of it being for necessity and not because he cares about them and feels he an depend on them. 

Anyhow, Johnny would probably love to do some nice gesture to make up for his bender to V, hell they probably were the first person he wanted to make things up since they are his catalyst for changing. But what feasibly can he do for them? Anything he’d want to do with/for them, would just be asking V go do this thing and i’ll also be here. Anything that would put them in public interacting is out, unless they want MaxTac called on V for looking cyberpsychotic. He can’t even do an at home date, because he can’t cook (engram or not) and he can’t buy them anything nice he has no money and also doesn’t technically exist. He could try to do so sneakily while he’s in control...but he’d be using V’s money so they might as well just buy it for themselves. he can play music for them,,. but that doesn’t seem too special and more than a little egotistical to think it’ll make V feel better about what he did... So... all he can really do, is prove he’s worth trusting by being on his best behavior and more importantly do what he can to save V’s life. 

Then there’s the date. And as usual, I have some opinions and feelings about a thing.  Like, okay, I’ve seen some people (aka Gamer Bros on Twitter) being like, Rogue is Johnny’s girl. Wanting to date either of them is wrong because they like each other. (then you also get the BUT ALT crowd, but rants for another day.) And I can’t help but ask, did we play the same date? Their entire date is about how they’re both desperately clinging to the past. Rogue is trying to reclaim 2013-2023 Rogue and Johnny just wanting for a night to feel like the world and his place in it haven’t been completely rearranged. And it ends with Rogue telling him, she is not that girl anymore, she can’t pretend to be, and frankly she doesn’t want to anymore. She wishes she could be, wishes she was still that tall haired street punk who’d never dream of working with corps or being a fixer, but she’s not. Her and Johnny are no longer the same people who met back in to 2010’s. Doesn’t mean they don’t care about one another and doesn’t mean what feelings they had weren’t real or important; but they’re just not those people anymore. Rogue more so than Johnny since he’s freshly on the course of change.   

Something else in regards to the date, that I think is important to talk about and how it relates to silverv and its something I personally have very conflicting feelings about. The fact that Johnny can initiate some physical intimacy with Rogue. See, I have never chosen the option to kiss Rogue during the date and actually did not learn until relatively recently, that if that choice is made it goes a biiit further than a kiss. I have watched the scene now.

And god I have mixed feelingssss. Like, I get it, but I’m not sure I like it. And I know full well, my silverv bias impacts my feelings on the matter, it’s be disingenuous to say otherwise. But I don’t think the ship is purely my reason for having these feelings. But at the end of the day, its all opinions. So, I get from a character perspective that Johnny and Rogue are trying so hard to reclaim their past and what they use to have that they get caught up in trying do what they would do if this was the 2010’s. And Johnny’s relationships as we’ve seen are very physical, sexual chemistry and attraction are major factors in his relationships because he kept things very superficial most of the time. He even says part of the issue with his relationship with Rogue is at the time he didn’t realize he could let her see the true him and still hid behind walls, kept things at a distance. So, the idea that’d they fall back into the old habit of trying to just be physical and ignore their feelings, isn’t out of character. 

However, and Johnny even seems to acknowledge this issue when Rogue interrupts it, they’re doing this with V’s body. V...who did not consent to sexual contact. They consented to a date and while one could logic that this would mean everything a date could entail up to and including physical intimacy; I would argue that that is something that would need further conversation to have clear consent. And like again, this might come down to boundaries and personal feelings. Because I go back to the bender and what’s been interesting to me is too see different opinions on it; some people weren’t actually bothered at all by Johnny’s bender in V’s body, some people were bothered by the drugs and alcohol specifically cause their V is straight edge. Me, personally, it was the sexual content and the endangering of V’s life. Like, it was mostly funny and oh yeah, I expected that it’s bad but eh I’ll move on, to me, until he started getting sexual with people in V’s body. Like that to me is not just crossing the line, it’s catapulting over it. 

And like I said, Johnny even responds to Rogue’s “this isn’t fair” with “what, you mean it’s not fair to V?” which she says she meant it isn’t fair to Johnny. (Which viscerally upset because you nearly used V’s body for sexual gratification without their consent and you’re worried about Johnny, which tbf Rogue has no way of knowing what V has and hasn’t consented to, so its not on her but that was my knee jerk thought). So, he has some awareness that maybe that was a bad move. 

And yeah, it definitely to me and my V would be a very bad move (unless he explicitly talked to them beforehand and got consent). And in general, it made me feel like, dude, you just promised you’d be better and not break V’s trust but again not a day later you’re nearly using them to have sex. It felt like a backslide, which isn’t necessarily unrealistic, cause change and growth is not always linear, people can commit to changing themselves and still fuck up and not get it right; in fact it’s rare for them not to have any sort of backsliding or repeating of mistakes. 

Again, I will also give credit that he could have been assuming that given V consented to the date, they assumed or were cool with their being physical intimacy between him and Rogue. He also generally, might not have really planned for it to happen, because I don’t think Johnny plans a lot of anything. It very well might have just sort of happened. Also, V doesn’t clearly communicate if the sexual component was an issue in the bender. All V really seems to have an issue with in game is the very general thing of; he misled them and used them. So, he might have assumed that wasn’t ever an issue. And hell, if you wanna go full meta, the player is technically the one who makes that choice and V is largely an avatar for the player, so that alone could be seen as whether or not V would/does consent. 

But, from a story perspective, removing the player choice element. I think how that’s handled would have a huge impact on silverv and where it goes from there. 

Because if V and Johnny did talk about consent prior and V did consent while having feelings for Johnny, god I’d have to imagine they’d still feel pretty hurt, but feel it’s irrational to feel that way and have put their own feelings aside because clearly Johnny cares about and wants Rogue and they should ruin what could be his one chance to make things right. 

If there like in game was no talk of consent and Johnny ends up kissing and touching on Rogue and V finds out or has memories of it surface,that could be devastating for them. Not only from their own feelings for Johnny, but this since of betrayal and hurt. Was the oil field conversation just a lie? A manipulation? V might feel like they were used; that Johnny never gave a shit about them or how they feel. And Johnny would have to deal with the realization that intentionally or not; he earned back V’s trust just to destroy it again. He fucked up again, he ruined everything again, he got his second chance and destroyed it…. And he doesn’t know how, if he can, or if he should bother trying to ask for a third. In general, I do think, V would come out of the date assuming (naturally so) that Johnny really only has romantic feelings towards Rogue, that they’re just a friend at best, a host to be used at worse. I even in my own universe with my V have them after everything is better, everyones got a body, expects Johnny to start pursing Rogue and trying to swallow their own feelings and be a supportive friend, try to encourage and push him to do it and Johnny’s just like please stop, Rogue is this close to murdering us both.

I was gonna add more funny stuff to this and include a shitposty interaction he has with my V over them dressing up for the date and shit, BUT HOLY FUCK THIS GOT LONG AND SAD????? I’M SO SORRY.

[kiingocreative]

The Structure of Story is now available! Check it out on Amazon, via the link in our bio, or at https://kiingo.co/book

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Every author starting out will know how important reviews are. If you’re yet to be convinced, here are some fun facts about reviews*:

1. 88% of consumers trust reviews as much as personal recommendations.

2. 72% of consumers will take action after reading a positive review.

3. Positive reviews tell Amazon and Google you’re worth ranking and can boost search results for your book by feeding into SEO (reviews account for almost 10% of total search ranking factors).

So reviews aren’t just a nice to have — they’re critical to the success of a book.

Now, amongst the writers community, we talk a lot about receiving reviews, but less so about giving reviews. I enjoy writing book reviews immensely, because it makes me think about what I’m reading on a different level, and forces me to learn how to articulate that opinion. This is actually one of the main reasons why I got into professional BETA reading.

I was asked recently how I structure my book reviews (all of which can be found on my blog), so here you have it: all the secrets to how I go about writing book reviews, along with some concrete examples!

Start With Why.

The most important question to ask yourself before you even start writing a review is this:

Why do people read book reviews?

In essence, they want to know whether the book is good, what it’s about, and — more importantly — whether they should read it. They generally like some context and detail to back the review so that they feel it’s genuine and trustworthy.

If you can keep in mind what people generally want to get out of a book review, this will help you keep your review relevant and useful. It’ll help you figure out what’s worth including and what isn’t. If in doubt, ask yourself what you would want to read about in a review when you’re trying to decide whether or not to buy a book.

Some Key Questions.

Before you start writing, you also need to ponder a few things. It may not always feel natural to reflect on a book on this level of detail — it didn’t for me at first. I either liked a book, or I loved it, or I didn’t, but I rarely spent a lot of time critically thinking about why I did or didn’t like a read.

If you’re also finding this uncomfortable at first, I say stick with it. I found it extremely interesting to make myself think these things through. It’s made my writing so much better, because I’ve developed that objective evaluation muscle that activates even when I’m with my own work. It’s also made me much better at forming and formulating an opinion, which is something I didn’t use to be good at!

Here are some questions to start with before you start on your review:

• Did you like the book?

• What did you like about it?

• What didn’t you like about it?

• Are there any themes that were particularly well handled?

• Were there any characters you liked above others, and why?

• Would you recommend the book to a friend?

These few questions will start shaping your view of what you’ve read and provide the main elements of your review.

To take your critical reading to the next level, you may want to ponder the various elements of the story and the writing as a whole. Think about:

• The plot / storyline — is it strong? Consistent? Original? Enticing? Are there gaps?

• The characters and character arcs — are all characters well developed? Multi-layered? Do they make sense? Are they relatable?

• The key themes — what are some recurring topics through the story? Are they well handled?

• The pace and timeline — is the story progressing at a good pace? Where does it lag? Does the timeline make sense?

• The writing style — how was the writing style? Did it flow well? Did it feel unique or original?

• The dialogues — did they feel natural? Were they believable? Were they engaging? Did they add to the overall story?

• The editing — how was the editing? Were there any typos or formatting errors?

Example Review Outline

Once you’ve spent some time with those initial questions, you’ll find it gives you the best part of your review content. At first, you may want to note down your answers to each of these. With time, you may find you can process these in your mind faster than you did before, and you don’t need so many notes. Whichever way is right for you, once you have this, you’re ready to start structuring your review.

I tend to use the following outline (though, of course, this isn’t the one and only way to write a review!):

1. Star Rating:

It’s most common in this day and age to include a rating in your review. There are talks out there about not leaving a rating on a book, because these can be extremely subjective — someone’s three-star rating may mean they loved the book but for others it’s a negative rating, some people don’t leave five-star reviews out of principle etc.

If you’re reviewing the book on Amazon and Goodreads however, you don’t have a choice but to pick a rating out of five stars. Have a think about how that rating system relates to you. For instance: would you leave five star ratings? What rating do you use for a book you liked versus a book you absolutely loved? What kind of book would warrant a low-rating? etc.

2. Opening:

Start with a short overview of what you thought of the book. This should give the reader a concise view of what you thought of the book, in two or three sentences. The idea is that, if they read only this opening part of the review, they should know your view on the matter.

Here’s an example opening paragraph I wrote for Heart of a Runaway Girl by Trevor Wiltzen:

‘Heart of a Runaway Girl is a breath of fresh air. As far as crime and murder investigation novels go, I only ever read Agatha Christie, so my standard is high. But this book did not disappoint.’

3. Synopsis:

The next section of the review is a short summary of the book, which should give the main elements of the plot. I tend to keep that part really short because I find that, if anyone wants to know the specifics, the book blurb the author so diligently wrote for the back cover is a much better place to learn more about that. Yes, you need to give a sense of what the book’s about, but it shouldn’t be the bulk of the review.

I think this is a matter of personal preference, I’ve seen reviews out there with a much longer synopsis section, but I always find myself skipping those bits to get to the nitty gritty of the review, which is what the person thought. There again, go back to the why — people who read reviews do so to find out whether or not they want to buy a book, so the more valuable pieces to help with that (in my view) are your opinions, more than an in-depth summary which they can find elsewhere.

For instance, when I reviewed Counter Ops by Jessica Scurlock, the second opus in the Pretty Lies series, I kept the synopsis paragraph to:

‘In Counter Ops, we meet a familiar duo, Ivy and Nixon, as they face the aftermath of the Elite Auction, and each endure its painful consequences. We follow their journey as they try to escape their fate and attempt to come to each other’s rescue — in more ways than one.’

4. Highlights:

The next part is what I call the ‘highlights’. This is where you talk about what you liked most about the book, or what you thought the strongest parts of the book were. This can focus on one element of the book (a character, a part of the plot, a theme etc.) or cover multiple elements.

See, for example, the highlights I picked for my review of Age of the Almek by Tara Lake:

‘I loved the author's ability to give every character their own voice and a distinct perspective on the world around them. I loved how involved I became with every character's fate and woes. I loved the precision with which the Almek world has been created, with such minuteness you can picture it down to the finest details.

My favourite part is the portrayal of the many facets of human nature, be it through the reactions of the masses to the barbaric ways of their rulers or the individual views of the protagonists. In every Almek citizen is a piece of the great puzzle that is humanity at large, and the author has a gift for writing it as raw and real as it gets.’

5. Mitigate your view:

Right after the highlights is where you’d add anything that mitigates your view. That’s anything that wasn’t quite as strong as you’d want it to be, or anything you weren’t a fan of.

You can skip this part if there’s nothing you didn’t like about the book — you don’t have to go nitpicking if nothing comes to mind. And it doesn’t have to be a bashing of the author and their work either. Keep it constructive and explain why you felt that way. There’s never a need for insults or expletives, and these wouldn’t enhance the quality of your review anyways. Formulating constructive criticism takes practice, and requires tact and subtlety. It’s a valuable skill to have if you’re willing to invest time in honing it.

Here’s how I phrased that part of the review for Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan:

‘But - and there's a but - my qualm with this book is that, for a story that revolves entirely around Nick and Rachel... There's actually very little Nick and Rachel in it!

Yes it's all 'about' them and it talks 'of' them loads, and we're told theyare happy together and want to be together... But it's all 'tell' and no 'show'. Their intimacy is sorely lacking, so I was left missing that added colour to convince me that they, in fact, do love each other. And I'm not talking saucy passages — I 'm talking about basic things suchas them actually talking to each other and spending time together.’

6. Conclusion:

The final part of the review is a short paragraph with closing remarks, such as a short summary of your view on the book, whether or not you recommend it or some indication of what readers the book may be for (e.g. ‘if you liked… you may like this book’).

When I reviewed Collision by Kristen Granata, I ended the review with:

‘Readers used to intricate, far-fetched romance plots may find this book too straightforward for their liking. In my mind, this is what makes the book's key strength: it's real and honest, it takes the reader through difficult situations and complex emotions beautifully, and that makes it all the more relatable.

A great read overall - and the moment I finished the last page, I was on Amazon ordering the next book in the series!’

How long should a review be?

I don’t think there should be a minimum or maximum word count to a review, though I find that mine end up being around 300 to 500 words. I feel this is a good length because as a reviewer this forces me to be concise and clear in expressing my opinions, and as a reader it’s long enough to give people a sense of the book, but not too long that they’ll drop off before the end.

Final Thoughts: To spoil or not to spoil?

My view on adding spoilers in your review is simple: DON’T.

Try as I might, I can’t fathom what could be gained from adding spoilers to a review. Once again: back to the why. Someone reads a review to find out if they want to read the book themselves. If you ruin the plot for them in that review, what’s the incentive to pick up the book?

It just hurts the author’s chances of making a book sale, and it robs a fellow reader of the joyful rollercoaster of finding out those plot twists at their own pace. Don’t do it, it’s just rude.

*Sources:

www.bookmarketingtools.com

www.searchenginewatch.com

www.dealeron.com

[sourbat]

hmm maybe magmel and first time making the other laugh?

hello. this is over 4k words, because of course it is

Rating: T for swearing and suggestive conversations

Read it on Ao3, or keep reading below

A general meeting occurred exactly at twelve. The subject: team building.

Melmord couldn’t tell if the presentation was a punishment aimed at him, Magnus, both, or something Offdensen deemed necessary for the betterment of the company. Admittedly, their first few days partnered together could have worked better. Melmord ended up writing a few complaints regarding the threats of violence during the first two days, a meeting with human resources after a suggestive comment about deserving a busted lip on the fourth, and practically begging Offdensen to “have a word” with Magnus regarding his short temper close to the end of their first week as workmates. He assumed Charles wouldn’t bother, and either tell Melmord to make it work, or accept that Magnus was, to some extent, equal parts partner and penitence.

But was the powerpoint necessary?

“Here’s, ah, a slide I think many of us here can relate to,” Charles’ voice broke through the stuffy air and uncomfortable silence hanging in the meeting room. “Behavioral Management in the Workplace.”

Across from Melmord, and sitting close to where Charles stood, was Magnus. Arms crossed and legs kicked up on the table’s edge, he was high on alert, defensive and incredibly unapproachable. There sat the first musician Melmord was charged with since meeting Dethklok. The first real talent Melmord was assigned, and when Melmord tried greeting him the first time, had a ball of phlegm hacked and unloaded right between his feet. The first prisoner Melmord had the pleasure of meeting, speaking with, and discovering a shared hatred of Offdensen, though to what extent Magnus refused to share. There were a lot of things Magnus Hammersmith declined to provide Melmord, including the reason behind his imprisonment, his prior relationship with Charles, and why the hell he was “worthy” enough to come back. The file Offdensen handed him hours before his assignment only contained the basic information, the kind of trivia any committed Dethklok fan would already know. The whole “stabbing Nathan Explosion” thing was new and certainly worth discussing drinks over one night, but aside from that? He inquired to know more about Magnus, of course, but according to Offdensen, had to “earn it” on his own time.

Melmord shrugged at the backdrop of words playing around him, setting his interest on the exposed, pink scar resting dead center between an older, paler set of scars already adorning Hammersmith’s chest. Technically speaking, Melmord didn’t know what killed Magnus Hammersmith. The pink, healed scar suggested something involving the chest: a heart attack perhaps? Heart failure? But if that was the case, what made Dethklok’s infamous rhythm guitarist worth the trip to hell and back?

“Fjordslorn?”

Melmord returned to the darkened meeting room, to Offdensen’s reflective glare cutting at his throat. Next to him, Magnus remained positively disengaged. At the center of the table was a hat filled with shreds of paper.

Melmord raised a brow at the two. “Come again?”

Melmord watched Charles bring his eyes to a close, then raise his hand and signal a klokateer to hit the lights. With a restrained sigh, he asked, “Can you manage several unsupervised minutes conversing with your client without upsetting him?”

Carefully, Melmord made a quick glance to the projector, images blurred from the additional light now blaring in the room. The title of the slide read something along the lines of exercises, and beneath it a list of team activities. He saw an image of a small, happy-go-lucky group of hoods huddled together, pulling cards from a bowl.

A team building activity? Really?

Melmord returned to Charles. “Sure, as long as you’re back before we perform the trust falls.”

Offdensen’s eyes narrowed, frown thinning to an almost white line glowing with disapproval. It’s a slap on the wrist compared to what he was used to from Charles. With a sigh, he shut off the power point, then turned to Magnus.   

“Magnus.” He placed a hand on Magnus’ shoulder, steady against the jolt that arose at the contact. It was like Magnus had been struck by lightning. He looked ready to leave his seat. Tear at his jacket and toss it to the floor. Melmord almost flinched in reaction, watching silently as Magnus’ eye lit up, not with fear, but pure indignation.

He turned, disgusted, entirely repulsed by the hand that remained, but with a swallow, made it all disappear. An exhale, and his shoulders sank. His wild hair deflated. He withdrew. “Charles,” Magnus returned, voice not carrying a shred of what Melmord was sure he’d seen just seconds before. It still wasn’t fear, but it was something. Another fine reminder that they shared a common enemy. 

Charles slipped off Magnus, then headed to the door. Behind him, two klokateers followed.

“Gentlemen,” Charles announced, then opened the double door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. If there’s any problem, these two will, ah, act as mediators, understand?”

He shut the doors behind him. The gears immediately stood in front of it, blocking Magnus and Melmord’s only exit. 

Melmord waited until he heard the footsteps disappear, then started to relax. Finally, the devil was gone. The lackeys were still hanging around, but there was a change in the air. Even Magnus, who’d been so rigid, finally let go of his arms in favor of having them drop and rest on his knees as he sat.

Glancing at the door, Melmord chuckled, “Can’t stand the man, but I got to give it to him: he makes a mean presentation.”

Magnus’ bad eye twitched. He sank into his chair, the heel of his boots now barely hanging from the table's edge.

“Damn, not even a snicker?” Melmord asked, shrugging at the less than stellar response.

“I’ll laugh when you finally say something warranting it.” 

Was there ever a day in which Magnus didn’t have a stick lodged deep in his ass? Well, so much for the presentation doing its job, not that Melmord could give it any credence to begin with. Hopefully Offdensen wouldn’t test them on the subject later.  Melmord could handle a difficult client, but failing a test?

“Well, I appreciate the honesty,” Melmord said, coming to a rise. 

He left his chair, kicking back his seat with the sole of his shoe. He glanced at the hat filled with colored pieces of folded post-it notes and rolled his eyes. Did Charles really assign someone the task of writing conversation starters and then folding them into some worn hat? For what purpose, other than to waste their precious time? Melmord could go on, but left the thought to hang at the edge of that foreboding cliff. After death, time was literally the only thing Melmord had, which meant Charles wouldn’t return until whatever sick lesson he wanted to teach had finally resonated. That, or in increments of five minutes, like the slide suggested.

With a sigh, Melmord reached for a folded sheet of paper. “How about–”

“You do realize this is a waste?” Magnus loudly interrupted. “Charles has us together for the sole purpose of watching us bicker.” 

“And you’re fine with proving his point?”

Magnus sneered at him. “Excuse me?”

The paper crumbled in Melmord’s hand. “Contrary to what he’s told you, I’m not a complete fool.”

Magnus remained unimpressed by the declaration, and merely shrugged in response.  A nasty jab at the pride, but Melmord knew that was the point. This wasn’t supposed to be easy. Some clients will be difficult.

“Offdensen wants us miserable,” Melmord continued, reopening his palm to find the crumbled shred of paper. “Guy’s been busy. Too busy to fuck with us as much as he’d like.” 

That had to be it. Why else would Offdensen award him with the challenge and opportunity to train and work alongside a musician? Magnus was well known in the music industry as someone difficult to work with, to the point that once his name was on a project to help boost sales he was cut and kicked from further creative output. But was that punishment enough for someone as bored and desperate as Melmord? It wasn’t like Offdensen was offering him freedom or the chance to promote from his position to an official member of the dethstaff for kissing up to Hammersmith. Just the order to work with him and do everything in his power to get some new, original creative content from Hammersmith. That was all, and Melmord hungrily took the job knowing the rumors shadowing the man. He’d been that eager to take on the project. They both had, so whatever hesitations and challenges they posed were merely products of their own undoing. This presentation, cringe inducing as it was, held no contest. This was a test posed by Charles, and right now they were playing into his hands.

“He’s relying on us to do the job for him.” Melmord snickered as Magnus’ attention suddenly came alive. “You said it yourself, right? So, you going to prove to him we can’t get along, or can we get this cheesy team building crap done and over with?”

He held his ground, patiently awaiting Magnus’ response. There was a long, drawn out silence that followed. Still, Melmord waited. He knew he couldn’t delve into the nitty gritty with Hammersmith. The man wasn’t prone to easy persuasion. But Melmord hung to that hunch that they were both desperate to chat with anyone aside from their malevolent overlord, and leaned against the table until Magnus finally snorted a hot burst of air through his nostrils. 

“Fine,” Magnus replied stiffly. “I’ll placate you and Charles if it means making it back to my room sooner rather than later.”

“A fine goal,” Melmord responded, keeping his tone as neutral to avoid offending the older man. He had Magnus working with him for now, and that was a start. If he could get through a few questions and make it out without upsetting Magnus any further, then maybe Charles would put an end to this silly game. Hell, maybe Charles would congratulate him on a job well done.  

He snorted at the thought as he unfolded the paper. The post-it read:

Are you making the most of your second chance at lie? Why, or why not? 

Melmord stared blankly at the wrinkled sheet. He read it over one more time, his jaw clenching and teeth grinding as it played out in his head. Was that correct? Lie, or did the klokateer charged with writing out the questions make a mistake? Were they capable of such?  Did Charles write this? Was this part of the game? Was this for him?

“Well?” Magnus asked, still disinterested. He rubbed his sole into the table’s edge. “What does it say?”

Melmord put on a smile. “Your… favorite mixed drink?” 

Magnus tugged the base of his beard, eyes cast upwards as he thought a moment. “Whiskey sour. No egg white. Fresh cherry.”

Short, quick and to the point. But it was a response, and it was something Melmord could most definitely use in the future. It had always been a habit of his to take his new clients out for a drink, and to continue inviting those who were easily swayed into making poor decisions under the influence. Though he doubted he could take Magnus out any time soon, he could at least make a note of his preferred poison and give him a good time soon, should Magnus allow it. A hard liquor man, too. Non-conventional, either. Not afraid to go against a recipe for his own comfort, not that Melmord needed the drink to figure that one out.

“Nice, a whiskey man,” Melmord replied coolly, then selected the most nonthreatening drink he could still compare with Magnus’ choice. Equally unconventional, but recognizable. Nothing too fancy. “I’m a tad less refined. Cuba Libre, heavy on the white rum.”

“Defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” 

“I like to have a good time,” Melmord replied. He rolled the sheet into a tight little ball, then tossed it over his shoulder. “To add on, I like it with two lime wedges and sativa. Huh, guess we have something in common.” 

“Which is?”

“We both like our vitamin C.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “You’re not funny.”

The statement arrived less harsh than the previous comments. Another good sign. Melmord shrugged. “I got plenty more where that came from.”

Magnus shook his head at the thought, then turned inward to the hat filled with conversation starters. “Guess it’s my turn,” he said, dropping his long legs from the table. They landed hard with a thud that rattled Melmord.

He froze as Magnus reached for a shred of paper. “Oh, you–”

Magnus picked up a sheet from the messy pile. Anxious, Melmord pressed more of his weight against the table, dug his nails into the fine wood. His eyes locked on fingers unfolding a small pink slip of paper. Magnus raised the sheet up and quietly read the line. Silence returned, and Melmord swallowed thickly at the sight of Magnus’ pupils shrinking to a dot at whatever was scribbled on the sheet. Melmord had no idea what sort of questions had been laid out for them, and whether the previous one he read was written with him in mind. If any were written with him in mind. God, if only he knew what sins Magnus committed beforehand, what foolish dance he engaged with Charles to be trapped in this predicament. 

A clock ticked. Melmord shrank into his chair. “Well?

Magnus finally lowered the slip. “How many years have you been working in the music industry?”

Relief.

Melmord fell into his seat, lighter and mind temporarily cleared of doubt. With a hand, he fixed his hair behind his ear. “Seven together,” he answered smoothly, replying to Magnus’ recovering stare with a honey sweet smile.

An interview question? Well, a tad conventional, but he appreciated Magnus’ effort for trying to hide the truth and keep with the peace. And an interview question, while lackluster, was something Melmord could manage without effort. 

“I’ll be real, music’s been an on and off relationship for me,” he explained with a strong command of his words. “I take my business where it’s booming, and music? That girl’s volatile. I’ve had my hits, but I’ve also experienced my losses, and although my manner of style suggests I like a good time, I prefer my career like my relationships: easy and stable. You dig?”

There was a little bit of everything there. Plenty of options for Magnus to pick and comb through, select and build off from. Vague enough for anyone listening to not make any sense of, and be forced to interpret on Offdensen’s order at a later point. 

And to his surprise, Magnus smiled at the question. “Indeed,” he replied, bringing his arms back up. But when he crossed them, Magnus didn’t keep his appendages close to his chest, but instead let them rest upon his stomach. “Well, by this point… I’ve been living it for about half my life? Let’s see, I didn’t get discovered until I was about twenty-three…” 

Melmord lifted from the scarred chest, to the thick array of dark brown and graying curled laced throughout his many waves. Melmord quickly performed the math, and like clock, devised a compliment. “You’re lookin’ pretty damn for someone…” he stopped once he saw Magnus start to regrow his frown. “I’ll be quiet.” 

Magnus’ fingers tightly wrapped around his thin, frail waist. Melmord tried not to notice, but quietly cursed himself for his impatience. Why did he go and inject humor the second things were just starting to let up?

Magnus huffed, clearly offended by Melmord’s attempt. “…to make a long story short, I’ve been on and off projects. Much like yourself, I chase after success. If something stops sounding like a good idea, I cut my ties and move on.” 

Short, vague and to the point. Great. 

Still smiling, Melmord clasped his hands together and hoped there was more to come. He had Magnus relaxing a second ago, surely he hadn’t fucked up so monumentally that he was back to square one. That couldn’t possibly be all, could it?

Melmord playfully shook his head at the silence. “That can’t be all though? Given your history–”

“What about my history?” Magnus inquired stiffly. With his thumb and forefinger, he raveled the pink post-it sheet into a compressed  ball, then brought it down on the table, crushing it with his fist. The smack echoed in the small, stuffy room, and old rumors about Hammersmith’s unpredictable behavior arose to smother any remaining familiarity that sparked between them.

“Nothing.” Melmord pointed to the hat situated on the table. “My turn.” 

Magnus’ heated stare never left his hand. Melmord scooped folded sheets of green, blue and yellow post-its, letting several fall from between his spreading fingers until only one remained resting on top of his open palm. Hesitantly, Melmord picked it up. He unfolded the sheet and carefully read the sentence to himself: 

How did you die?

Melmord’s throat dried at the final word. Somewhere, he heard his screams getting lost in the winds, the distant howl and pleas of his animal spirit calling to the heavens for another shot, a second chance at life.

“What does it say?” 

Magnus’ voice disappeared under the growing nausea, the darkness numbing Melmord’s senses and drowning out his thoughts, his ability to push words out from his constricting throat. This question. Was this question just for him? 

“Well, Fjordslorn?”

Melmord lowered the yellow sheet. “Uhm, what’s your favorite…”

Wind spiraling. Falling. Magnus watching from afar, growing smaller, fading.

“My favorite what?” 

“…Brittney Spears song?”

“What?”

“You know?” Melmord blinked, surprised by how soft he’d gone. He cracked a nervous, strained grin. He fought the deafening rumble of an incoming train threatening to crush and end him, and scrambled for a chorus line, a melody or title that he resonated with. Anything, but what was daring to crush him a second time. “The artist?” he added with forced gusto. “I, uh, really have a thing for “Femme Fatale”. Yeah, that one. Some real bangers in that CD, let me tell you.” 

Magnus was incredulous. “Are you serious?”

“I know,” Melmord said, rolling the paper between his sweaty palm and the table underneath it, “It’s recent, and there aren’t many big hits in that one, but here me out: I’m pretty sure “How I Roll” was written specifically for my Friday night benders. Like, it’s a “party and get fucked” song, but it’s confident and in control. Just the right amount of chaos before crashing into bed with a stranger. My kind of anthem if you ask me.”

Melmord heard the words coming out from him, and wanted to scream. Of all the impromptu questions for him to come up with, this was arguably one of his more cringe-worthy ones. Pop subjects were best regulated to other pop artists, preferably the budding kind lacking any sense of identity. To bring up another artist in front of someone already so seasoned, and of an entirely different genre. And fucking Brittney Spears, too. If Melmord wanted to come off non-threatening, that artist and song certainly did the trick. Magnus was busy staring at him, mouth agape and being supported with the help of a hand. Eyes glazed in a layer of perplexing aura, a haze from which the hard rocker was trying to discern from a joke. This had to be a joke, right? But it wasn’t and Melmord, panicked, went on about the song’s upbeat rhythm, the positive notes surrounding female sexuality, and how up until recently, resonated with the whole “nine lives” bit.

“Like, doesn’t even have to be for Friday night’s either,” Melmord went on, to the point where the men guarding the door were now invested in his argument. “There’s a lot of workout potential in that release. It’s a fun song. She’s having fun and living her life.” 

“Melmord,” Magnus interrupted as Melmord mentally scrambled for something palpable. Lost in the moment, and caught red-handed by Magnus, he stuttered himself into muteness. He was a man proudly poised in his seat, but behind the visage, he was shaking, sick and at a complete loss for words. Across, Magnus leaned close. He pointed at the flattened, yellow thing resting on the table. “What did the paper actually have written down?”

Without moving, Melmord brought his eyes to the stained paper. Did he have it in him to confess what he had read to himself, and why it affected him so? Could he effectively call Magnus’ bluff and return the very same question towards him without risking a black eye or tossed chairs? He wanted to stay on Magnus’ good side. Magnus looked concerned. That was a good sign, right? Did it matter? Did being honest matter if it meant facing the deadlights charging at him at over 100mph?

Melmord carefully resituated himself into place, brushing his coat down and fixing any slight wrinkles starting to form. He reclined into his seat, resting his hands behind his head. “We’re doing trust exercises, and I just poured out my heart and soul to you,” Melmord stated as best he could without faltering. “Now you’re telling me you don’t trust me? I’m hurt, Hammersmith.” 

It was so quiet Melmord was sure he could hear the maggots in the walls squirming from the line he uttered. A chair groaned. A klokateer coughed.

Magnus was beside himself. He stared at Melmord, dumbfounded that he’d have the gall to use humor to deflect, and after so many warnings about how unamusing he’d already proven himself. His jaw sank, as did his hands. And then he snickered. He shut his lips and fell into a low, short chuckle that was further muffled by him slowly covering his mouth. 

“Alright, Fjordslorn,” Magnus replied. He fell into his seat, hair flowing over it as he drew a fine smile for Melmord. “I’ll let you have that.”

If it were possible, Melmord would have slipped in his chair. He slipped a sigh through his barely parted lips, letting the fear that collected spill out while Magnus regained better control of himself. When he was feeling a little better, he asked, “How about a song title, while we’re at it?” 

Magnus snorted. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Alright,” Melmord conceded. “I'll take the laugh, though. Save it for a rainy day, if you don’t mind?”

And just like that, the topic was dropped. Easier than Melmord could have hoped, and over a terrible joke, a sad attempt to deflect from the conversation. It wasn’t very funny, but Hammersmith laughed, and Melmord hardly had a chance to process the significance behind the act when Charles returned a few minutes later. It was hard to say whether he was pleased or upset at the peaceful scene he had entered. Magnus smiling, and Melmord so relieved. Charles merely looked over the table, the few tossed pieces of conversation starters, and gave a short nod.

Two new klokateers followed after him, one wheeling a cart carrying something that was covered in a sheet. The second klokateer picked up the hat. Both Melmord and Magnus watched from their seats. Neither had bothered removing any more shreds of folded post-its from the hat. While they never commented on it beyond what was already hinted by Magnus, both harbored their own suspicions regarding the remaining questions posed. While it was pointless to make accusations, both agreed to keep their mouths shut about it and agree that Charles carried some ulterior motive. Whether that motive was to unsettle or unify would remain unspoken, as neither were willing to take a risk and openly discuss Charles when his men were within earshot.

“Offdensen,” Melmord greeted dryly.

“Charles,” Magnus murmured, eyes avoiding said man as he took to the front of the table. 

“Gentlemen,” Charles greeted with his usual, contained tone. “Glad to see the two of you chatting. Are we, ah, ready to begin the next set of exercises?” 

“Yes, but only if you let me catch you first,” Melmord sarcastically jested and, to his delight, heard another snicker from Magnus.

“Now is not the time for jokes,” Charles stated firmly, earning the shuddered grimace of several cornered gears. Such a reaction would normally crumble Melmord’s resolve and make him regret his decision, but in angering Charles, Melmord only humored Magnus more, and as Charles’ eyes narrowed in annoyance, Magnus broke into a fit of airy laughter, enjoying every second of his flushed face, many lines and trembling bottom lip. How could Melmord possibly regret speaking when Magnus’ antagonistic laughter carried the schedule off course, and jabbed at the once unmovable figure that haunted their every waking moment. 

Best of all: this time, it sounded real.

[calpalirwin]

Detention

Summary: You and Michael end up in detention together. (Clever title and summary, I know.)

Word Count: 1.4k

And away, and away we go!

__

Aside from the rustle of papers and the scratching of pencils, the classroom was silent. Your own test had already been turned in, so your nose was buried deep in the newest book you’d been reading. “Psst,” the boy in front of you whispered over his shoulder at you.

“Oh, sorry,” you apologized, pulling your feet off the rungs of his seat, thinking you were jostling him again like you had last week.

“What did you get for 18?”

“Which one was that?” you whispered back, eyes on the teacher who was thankfully talking with another student.

“This one.” He pushed his test as far down his desk towards you without drawing attention.

“Oh, um…” you leaned forward ever so slightly, squinting at the various diagrams. “It’s C.”

“Thanks.”

You started to tell him that it was no problem, but all you got out was “No,” before there was an authoritative clearing of the throat beside you. Both you and the boy, lifted your gazes upwards to find your teaching staring back down at you.

“Michael,” they stated, holding out their hand expectantly.

Michael handed over his test with a mumbled apology.

“I’ll see you both after class.”

You both nodded as the teacher strode back to their desk. Michael flashed you an apologetic smile while you sat there in a frozen panic, feeling your chest tighten. God damn it! How could you be so stupid?!

When the bell rang, everyone scrambled for the door. Everyone except you and Michael who stayed put in your seats. Once the class was empty, Michael made his way over to the teacher’s desk, you following behind at a much slower pace. By the time you reached the desk, Michael was already playing hero. “It wasn’t Y/N’s fault. They were telling me to leave them alone.”

You stilled in confusion. Why was Michael coming to your defense? Sure, you shared a few classes with him, and while you were friendly with each other, you wouldn’t say that you were buddies. So why was he potentially making his own punishment worse by coming to your rescue when you were just as much to blame?

The teacher’s tongue clicked. “Be that as it may, you’re still both receiving zeros on the test and have 2 weeks of detention starting tomorrow. Understood?”

“Yes,” you both answered, before gathering your bags and leaving the classroom.

“Look, I’m rea-” Michael started at the same time you went “Why?”

His light green eyes blinked. “Why? Why what?”

“Why did you take all the blame? I told you the answer. It was my fault, too.”

He shrugged. “Because you help everybody all the time. Let us bug you for the answers without telling us to piss off. You don’t deserve to get in trouble for helping us underachievers. Plus you looked like you were gonna cry. You’re not, are you?”

You sniffed hurriedly. “What? No…”

“Good… cuz that would be very punk rock of you.”

“I’m not punk rock…”

“Everyone’s punk rock. Some of us are just more… in your face about it. Your parents gonna be mad at you?”

You scoffed. “Honestly, no. That would require them to pay attention.”

Michael winced in sympathy. “Sounds rough. And very punk rock.”

You scoffed again. “Super punk rock. I’m living every teenager’s dream, didn’t you know?”

He chuckled lightheartedly. “Actually it kinda sounds a little like a nightmare. But hey, what do I know? I can barely pass biology. See ya tomorrow, Y/N.”

You gave a small wave. “Bye, Mike.”

~~~

You glanced around the nearly empty classroom that served as after school detention, wondering how Michael wasn’t here yet when you had the same last class. Sighing, you took a seat in the back, ignoring the looks from the frequent flyers. You were about to turn the page in your book when you saw a flash of bright red hair, before the person occupied the seat next to you. “Psst,” the voice whispered. “You have Mr. K for history, yeah?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Can you help me with the assignment? Not copy it obviously. But like actual help?”

You shot Michael a soft smile before putting your book away and pulling out your history worksheet. “So it’s pretty basic,” you started to explain. “You just answer the questions.”

“But why do the answers have spaces? Is that like for each letter of the answer? And what do the numbers underneath mean? How come they’re only under some spaces?”

“Because at the bottom,” you pointed to where there was a final question with numbers under every blank space, “you’re gonna use your answers to figure out the code.”

“This is supposed to make history fun? Deciphering codes?”

You giggled quietly into your hand. “It’s not that hard. All the answers are in our notes. But you don’t really need them. Or, I didn’t anyway.”

“Yeah, that’s cuz you’re like super frickin’ smart.” Michael smirked at the way his dropped compliment made your cheeks flush as he turned his attention to the assignment. “Oh, you weren’t joking. This is super easy. Blank and Japan made up the Axis Powers. Germany.” He drawled his last word out slowly as he wrote in his answer.

The next ten or so minutes lapsed in silence as you both worked on answering the questions, sharing the occasional smile when he’d know the right answer without having to look at his notes first. “Wait…” Michael muttered when he got to the end of the page. “Who’s Goebbels? I thought Himmler was Hitler’s main guy. Or that other guy… Rommel?”

“Goebbels was in charge of propaganda,” you explained. “So yeah, while Himmler and Rommel were each an important piece of Hitler’s inner circle, Goebbels did a lot too. And since he was a politician, that’s sort of what sets him apart from Himmler and Rommel who essentially were just commanders doing Hitler and Goebbels bidding.”

“Oh… I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. Everyone focuses on Himmler and Rommel cuz they’re more fun to focus on. Actually doing the nitty gritty. The political aspect is bland to most people.”

“Yeah the fighting is way cooler. Hey, thanks for this,” he said, gesturing at his paper.

“For what? You did it all yourself.”

“Yeah, but like… I dunno. You explain things really well. Or at least in a way I can understand.”

You shrugged, your cheeks flushing slightly. “Thanks. But it’s probably just because I think like you do. Like I don’t think adults realize that we don’t understand things the way they do. Like Mr. K has been teaching this stuff forever. We’re just learning it for the first time.”

“Huh. Never thought about it like that before… Well, I still think you make a pretty good tutor.”

Your cheeks flushed darker. “Thanks. I can tutor you in other stuff if you want. Since how we’ll be here for a while.”

His green eyes lit up with excitement. “Wait, for real? You’ll help me?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

~~~

For the next two weeks, you tutored Michael in detention. Which was really just doing your assignments alongside him because you basically had all the same teachers just at different times of the day. It was easy for you to figure out when Michael got tripped up on something by the way he’d look up and to the side like he was hoping the answer was up on the wall somewhere. It was also kinda cute the way he’d scrunch up his nose when he was really concentrating, and the way he’d rest his chin in his palm when he listened to you explain things to clear up his confusion.

“You know, I used to think I was just stupid,” Michael commented as you both left your last detention.

“Needing things explained differently doesn’t make you stupid, Mike.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll be getting straight A’s like you any time soon. Maybe a high C though. Low B even.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “You can be an A student if you wanted. You just gotta put in the work. And if you ever need a homework buddy…”

“Yeah? You’ll still help me?”

“Yeah. This has been kinda fun, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah it has,” Michael admitted, a hand going to rub at the back of his neck. “But maybe we don’t always have to do homework?”

“Oh? You mean like hanging out as friends?”

“Or not friends? Movies? Tomorrow?”

In a brief moment of boldness, you reached up on tiptoe to kiss the boy’s cheek. “It’s a date.”

__

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[warriorsredux]

RE: Feedback for the Redux.

(I wanted to give you really in-depth feedback. Unfortunately, it ended up being way longer than I anticipated. I figured it would be easier to send this as a submission rather than breaking it up into a million smaller asks. I hope that’s all right!)

Note: I put this under a readmore to save space, but I have read it all and thoroughly agree with it. Thank you so much for the feedback, man!

Before I get into the nitty-gritty, I want to briefly talk about my personal relationship with Warriors - not because I want to talk about myself necessarily, but because I want to provide some relevant context. You see, I was first introduced to these books in 2004, about when I was nine years old. You could argue, in some ways, that these books defined a large part of my childhood, and were extremely influential into my teenage years and early adulthood. When I wasn’t fantasizing about colonies of talking feral cats, I was gleefully writing fanfics and roleplaying online. Those were my first tentative forays into writing, and would ultimately set me on the path to refine and hone those skills in the years to come. I was obsessed with the mythology and lore of this world, with the sprawling cast of characters, with the steady publication of new entries into the series.

Now, kids tend to not have the best critical thinking skills. Which is why it took until my late teenage years to realize that my cherished books were really, really not that great. The mythology and lore that I’d praised were starved of any creativity, steeped in the cliches of the fantasy genre, and prone to collapsing under their own weight when subjected to even the smallest amount of scrutiny. The characters that I adored? They were blighted with similar cliches, lacking in any sort of growth or development or depth; sustained only by archetypes and whatever retcons the authors thought would sell the most books, either through hype, drama, or fanservice. Exacerbating all of this was the publisher’s insistence on milking the franchise for whatever profit nostalgia could still yield. They weren’t writing more books because they had new, interesting ideas they wanted to explore - they did it because this series was (and still is) fucking lucrative. As I thought about these things more critically, and became more informed on social issues, it became impossible to unsee the uglier aspects of the franchise - the ableism, the queerbaiting and lack of representation, the depiction of minors and adults (Dustpelt and Ferncloud, Thistleclaw and Spottedleaf) having romantic or sexual relationships, the blind nationalism and eugenics/persecution of minorities (non-Clanborn cats) and characters of mixed descent (half-Clan cats). People far more informed and far more eloquent than myself have discussed those issues in-depth elsewhere, but suffice to say, I was understandably upset by these things. No amount of nostalgia could blind me to those flaws.

And yet, for some reason, I never really stopped loving Warriors. Or put more accurately - I never stopped loving the potential of Warriors. That was the thing that I kept coming back to. The wasted potential of a series depicting the lives of feral cats, and their brutal struggle to survive in the wilderness, all the while deeply immersed in their own complex societies and cultures. It became painfully clear to me that the thing I loved about Warriors was the sandbox nature of the franchise, and all the ways fans were able to explore that untapped potential. With that realization now achieved, Warriors slipped into the back of my mind, accruing cobwebs as the years passed. Occasionally those dormant thoughts stirred whenever I saw a piece of fanart on my dashboard, or I passed a new release while browsing the local Barnes & Noble. Sometimes I even entertained the fleeting thought of writing AU fics again. But by and large, Warriors had been retired from my thoughts.

And then, in 2017, I found the Redux.

While writing this segment I had several false starts, in no small part because I didn’t know what to talk about first. It was like someone had gone through my thoughts with a steel-toothed comb, and took every disappointment, every what if, and turned it into a reality. Holy shit, look at this blog! Look at the meta commentary! Look at all of the worldbuilding! I could clearly see just how much passion and attention to detail was put into developing the plot and the characters. How many hundreds of hours went into correcting the broken genetics of the canon characters. Suddenly, the Clans had culture - real, living, breathing culture! There was a pantheon of deities and demigods. A deliberate intention behind the naming tradition beyond slapping two words together because they sounded pretty or made for a trite pun. This. This was the story Warriors should have been. This lone blog managed to conceive an original lore for the Clans, while further developing the canon plots beyond their base elements. What three authors failed to do, one person achieved on their own.

You made forgettable characters interesting. And you made interesting characters unforgettable.

I lived for every scrap of content you created - the asks, the deconstructions, the amendment posts, the art, even the fucking shitposts (because they were just genuinely wholesome and funny). The Redux wasn’t just a source of entertainment, either - it introduced me to the idea of writing an AU that was sustained by meta-analysis, and grounded in critical reception of the series’ flaws (both technical and social). Your work eventually inspired me to create my own Redux-style worldbuilding/AU blog for a series that has similar issues to canon Warriors.

The Redux deserves all the praise it gets, and you should be extremely proud of what you’ve accomplished. Even if the Third Arc wasn’t finished or the Fourth started, it was still a helluva ride, one that I’m so glad I got to participate in.

But, of course, you asked for feedback, so I can’t spend the entirety of this post throwing roses at your feet. So, onto the constructive feedback.

I think a lot of my thoughts are going to echo what other people have previously said, but for me, the biggest setbacks in the Redux were the following:

[1] Pacing. This is going to sound weird, but this isn’t a criticism of the Redux’s length. Rather, it’s more about how that time was spent. While I really like how you adjusted aspects of the Redux’s plot in order to still tangentially align with the books’, it sometimes felt like the chapters were there just to connect points A and B. I knew this was a retelling of the original series, so I already had a vague idea of what the general storybeats would be. What appealed to me was how the story would get to those points. Let me give you an example: in Arc 1, we’re told in chapter 10 that Murkpelt is roaming the territories, and poses a threat to the Clans. Immediately in chapter 11 we’re taken to the scene where Firepaw finds her while escorting Spottedleaf. We’re told about ThunderClan’s efforts to track her prior, and about the looming tension in the wake of this invisible threat. But that’s the thing - we’re told that by the narration in just a paragraph or two. We’re not shown what that looks like. The setup is supposed to be everyone being on edge, but Bluestar’s lounging by the stump when the scene begins. It’s a little dissonant, and it has the unfortunate problem of contradicting the narration. It would’ve been so cool to see a chapter or two where Firepaw’s still trying to immerse himself into Clan life, and his questions are met with terse answers or impatience. Undercut his (and the reader’s) learning with other characters being brusque with him, or short-tempered, or something. And then that could lead into Greypaw or Ravenpaw consoling him and explaining why the situation is so serious. Then Firepaw could ask something like, “Have there ever been instances like this before with rogues?” Which could organically lead to a conversation where Greypaw or Ravenpaw bring up relevant lore/worldbuilding. It’s little stuff like that which would’ve helped with immersion and pacing. I think it would have balanced the two out, by providing pseudo-downtime where the audience experiences the world as the characters do. (If that makes sense.) Or, to provide another example: we never get to see Tres Idiots mentoring Snowpaw. In chapters 5 and 6 of Arc 3, we see Raventhroat struggling to develop a signing system he can use with his apprentice; and then, after a few chapters he’s perfectly narrating the Bright-Eyed Crow to Snowpaw. I think that showing us scenes where the two were actually working out the kinks would have done more to develop Raventhroat’s character arc. He went from being a meek, timid apprentice to an eloquent warrior, and him becoming a mentor is supposed to be a definite part of that journey. It would’ve have been so cool to have plot-relevant scenes broken up by smaller ones where we watch Raventhroat gain confidence through each small success he makes with his apprentice. I’m not sure if I’m conveying exactly what I want to say, but I guess the TL;DR would be something like - I would’ve gladly welcomed either more chapters, or longer ones, if it meant we got more scenes like this.

[2] Utilization of the worldbuilding. You mentioned this already in response to another ask, but if you could go back and change anything, it would be incorporating more lore/adhering the Redux to its lore more strongly. Your worldbuilding is perhaps the strongest part of the Redux by far. You gave us a conlang, traditions, folk stories, Clan stereotypes - so much fascinating material - but it feels like its integration was based solely on whether or not it was relevant to the plot at hand. Unless there was a reason why it was brought up, then we’d never get to see a ThunderClan cat freaking out near a ShadowClan seer and refusing to approach them at a Gathering. Or listen to Mistfoot share a poem with Greystripe and Fireheart (after being goaded into it by Silverstream). Or watch as Redtail politely interrupts the elders and asks for their opinion on an important matter. Or listen to the Clan getting together after a loved one dies and share stories about their life. Or watch as Sandpaw/Dustpaw use their age and seniority over Firepaw to terrorize him with stories of Yrrun and Terror. On one hand, I absolutely understand why a lot of lore was relegated exclusively to the Amendment section - it’s important to strike a balance between what’s interesting versus what’s relevant. You don’t wanna just throw worldbuilding trivia at the audience apropos of nothing. On the other hand, I really wish I’d seen a much larger integration of your worldbuilding into the story, because it’s so fascinating and so god damn good.

[3] Utilization of the characters. One of the things you tweaked, that I absolutely loved, was choosing to introduce Silverpaw in Arc 1 at a Gathering. Not only does it create a realistic basis for her friendship with Tres Idiots, but it fixes the canon’s issue of her saving Greystripe out of nowhere and then developing a relationship on that alone. That was fucking great! Same thing with Rainpath - it was so awesome for Fireheart to get a friend in another Clan (ShadowClan, of all Clans). It broke the mold, and their interactions were just delightful. But outside of those examples, sometimes it kinda felt like the side characters didn’t really exist? I remember an old piece of writing advice, but I can’t recall who it’s attributed to: “Treat your side characters like they think they’re the main characters.” Because they absolutely are. I might be some passing stranger in another person’s life, barely a blip on their radar, but I have my own vibrant story. Everyone does. In the Redux, it sometimes felt like minor or side characters weren’t living their own lives outside of their interactions with Fireheart and his friends. Mousefur’s the most fluent speaker of Fang in ThunderClan? Cool. How did she learn that skill? Who taught her? Does she have a friend in WindClan who’s been teaching her new words at Gatherings, or whenever they happen to cross paths while on border patrols near Four Trees? Not only is that character trivia interesting, but it could provide foreshadowing/become relevant later on. When the Clans meet to discuss how to deal with the dogs in Arc 3, perhaps someone suggests having their most fluent Fang speakers act as interpreters/diplomats, and try to broker some sort of peace/understanding with the dogs. Things like that. Basically, it would’ve been nice if Fireheart’s life intersected more with the goings-on of his Clanmates, or if his own goals/agenda were sometimes inconvenienced by the goals/agenda of others.

I think those are my major criticisms. More integration of lore, a slower/steadier pace that accommodates showing over telling, and finding ways to have the personal lives of minor characters interact with the story. Maybe adding in some additional subplots that are congruent with the main plots, and occur simultaneously, in order to keep chapters busy. That sort of thing. I hope what I provided wasn’t overwhelming in any way, and ends up being useful for either the Redux or any of your other writing projects.

As an aside, thank you. For creating this humble niche community within an even larger fandom. For asking for feedback from your readers. For being someone who makes mistakes, but eventually endeavors to learn from them, and ultimately, become a better person. I know this sounds kinda sappy, but I really do mean it. <3

(For the record I wrote this at like five in the morning, so if there are any grammatical errors I’ll be kicking myself in the ass for those.)

[nctzendreamz]

Little Things (3) :: Mark Lee

Mark love so many things about you, but he’ll never let the words slip out of his mouth.

Pt.1 / Pt.2 / Pt.3

Breathe Mark...breathe. His stomach is currently turning in a never ending hell of knots, and his breathing was so staggered. This was his constant party trick when he was embarrassed, and words could not describe how embarrassed he was right now.

He knew you would tell him to observe his surroundings.

Look at the floor, Mark. Focus on the color. Is it brown? White? Gray? Wooden? Think about how it feels on your feet. You can feel the cool breeze, can’t you? It’s giving you a chill, but with the heat outside, it feels really good.

Even though he was talking to himself, he was able to convince himself that you didn’t hate him. That it was you whispering into his ear and getting him out of his shake.

You were always so good at that. You were good at practically anything you put your mind to, but especially that. You could talk anybody out of doing any bad deed, or calm them down when they needed to be held.

Just as Mark goes to lean against the counter, almost ready to return back to the reality that was you and his members probably having the time of your lives, he hears the door swing open. He can’t even look.

“You okay, bro?” Johnny questions, and his tone is very light. “You kinda ran away back there.”

“Fine.” Mark mutters, a clear indication that he didn’t want to be bothered. He knows this isn’t Johnny’s fault. He knows that this is all him, but even so, he needs someone to blame. He doesn’t want to be the bad guy in any of your stories. He wants to be the one you run to.

“You know, whatever you’re thinking right now would probably calm down if you just said it.” Johnny’s beside him now, a hand on his lower back.

“It’s—

“Don’t even say that to me, Mark. Don’t say that it’s not that simple, because it is. The love of your life confessed their love for you, and you let them walk away thinking that you didn’t feel the same. Do you know how many guys would kill for that? Huh?”

There’s a stern tone in his older brother’s words, and Mark can tell how done he is with this whole ordeal. He was right, of course. He knows how lucky he is. He knows that men would kill to be in this position with the one they loved. Hell, men would kill him to be with you. Still, he’s silent. His eyes are darted straight forward and he’s just breathing.

“You don’t have to listen to me.” Johnny removes his hand. “We both know that actions speak louder than words anyway.”

What was that supposed to mean? Immediately, Mark shoots up feeling unsettled from those words. From the way Johnny walks out so quick, he knows he’s promoting him to follow.

“Doyoung!” You screech, your mouth agape and in desperate need of food. On the leather couch Doyoung is dangling a sole piece of skin from the chicken—your favorite taste, and making you chase his fingers. “Please.” You plead.

“I think I wanna hear you beg some more.” He chuckles, placing it in his mouth.

Mark wanted to hope this was an innocent induendo, but regardless, he was sick. It had only been a clean thirty minutes of him trying to calm down and Doyoung already had your attention. And that smile that was on your face—it was unreal. He hadn’t seen it in so long.

“Listen to me.” Is all Johnny speaks before he walks away, going to get more food.

Mark doesn’t want to move, but he also realizes that this isn’t the best decision. He needs to distract himself and try to move on, just like you were obviously trying to do. He forces his reindeer sock covered feet to move forward—of course a gift from you during the Christmas season, and he’s making way to go to the couch. They had managed to sit the only two couches he had in here across from eachother while the coffee table gave space for food and drinks. He sits on the couch you and Doyoung aren’t cannodling on. Jaehyun and Jungwoo are sitting on this couch.

“Did you fall asleep in there?” It’s Doyoung, and Mark doesn’t even crack a smile. They’re making eye contact, but you don’t notice it’s intensity as you’re scrolling through your phone now. Or maybe you’re texting Johnny again. He doesn’t know.

“Nope.” Is all Mark can manage, feeling his heart rate increase from the jealousy he felt. It was such a stupid, small detail—but he can’t help but notice how subtly your shoulder is touching Doyoung’s. He has to sit and watch as your head is slowly leaning on his broadened left, and before Doyoung puts another piece of chicken in his mouth, you take it out of his hand without even thinking. You two looked like a complete couple and he can’t believe this.

He knows exactly what his hyung is doing. He wants him to react. He wants to show him that this is exactly what he’ll have to go through if he doesn’t confess tonight. Even so, the balls still aren’t growing.

“Are you going to eat?” Jungwoo questions. “I’m positive you haven’t eaten all day.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?” Mark responds.

“You’re pale, you have shaky hands, I know you bro. Here.” Jungwoo has some kimchi in some chopsticks, and Mark just eats it to make him feel more at ease.

“I think I’m going to get a head start on painting, actually.” The younger boy rises, and he might’ve been crazy, but he sees the way your eyes peep him for a minute. He’s walking back into his room that seemed even more bland now that you weren’t in it.

The white walls were completely mocking him now, calling him all kinds of mean and harmful names. Every ugly blotch reminded him of kids back in middle school who never had anything nice to say. It’s shell skin tone should’ve been making him feel better even through its plain nature, but he wanted to punch a hole in it.

Mark wants to just lay down and sleep for the duration of this visit. Maybe even make the members paint the walls by themselves. He worked hard enough on music, right? He could be lazy today.

“Since Mark just can’t wait to start painting, let’s all wash our hands, eh?” He hears Jaehyun yell. Mark knows he’s doing this on purpose.

“It’ll probably only take an hour. I mean it’s not like we’re professionals.” It’s your voice, and it’s making his blood boil. The way you spoke so casually now. He was used to you behaving like this, always cool and collected infront of people who didn’t know you as well as they wished, but he was going to ignore his knowledge. He wanted the shy and soft spoken Y/N back.

“Then why did you call them?” The words are sharp off his tounge and he doesn’t even turn around to look at you. He knows you’re haulting now questioning your life choices. Or maybe not that far, but he knows you’re taken aback. Just like he was when he saw you and Doyoung flirting with eachother.

He really was being a jealous asshole wasn’t he? I mean, Mark had his moments, but his surface was always sweet and willing to bow down to anyone who he respected and loved. As he fumbles with the paint bucket—ironically the only you chose for the occasion, he realizes that wasn’t necessary. His words to you. Even so he can’t apologize.

“I figured you didn’t want to be around me.” You say to his surprise. You could’ve made up so many different lies. You could’ve said you didn’t think the two of you were capable of doing such a job on your own. You could’ve mentioned how you hate the smell of fresh paint and would rather the members be doing the nitty gritty. You also could’ve mentioned that you didn’t want to mess up your outfit for that fact as well. But no. You’re projecting instead.

“I didn’t want to be around you?” He chuckles, and the air is becoming very tense very fast. He hates this so much. This animosity that’s been growing between you two for the past couple of hours. “I think it’s the opposite.”

And he has you red handed because you don’t say another word. You huff out in some form of displeasure before you take the paint can out of his hand. You practically throw it on the ground—of course just light enough from bursting before you have Mark’s hand wrapped around your own and you’re storming the both of you out of his bedroom. The other members are looking on and they’re scared for their friend. You weren’t one to mess with and your eyes are raging as you walk past them. Mark doesn’t even have anything in his home to distract him as it was blank as hell.

The night air is semi-chilly, and Mark wants to grab a jacket for you, or at least warn you to bring one, but he knows there’s no point. The two of you are now in the abandoned hallway of his line and he’s standing infront of you.

“You’re an asshole.” Are the first words that come out of your pretty lips. They’re still glossy like earlier. His eyes are looking at his neighbor’s door in attempt to not have to deal with all of this ruckus, but your hands are quicker as they take his chin and direct his attention to where it needs to be. You, and your hurt heart. “All you do is blame me for everything.”

“What?” He mumbles.

“You’re going to talk to me whether you like it or not, Mark. This whole mumbling thing you’re doing is not going to make me shut up so start talking.”

He had never seen you so fiesty. You were like a firecracker burning into his flesh, but he was enjoying it. Maybe a little too much. He didn’t know how he was thinking positive and somewhat hilarious thoughts. You were very angry with him and that should’ve been driving him nuts. It was driving him nuts.

“How do I blame you for everything, Y/N?”

“With your eyes, and your stupid subtle responses to everything. I know you’ve been off since my whole drunken confession mistake.”

“I—

“And I know you probably found it extremely hilarious that I poured out my heart to you and all you did was pretend it didn’t happen, and yet I was still checking on you and loving you like you had the same feelings.”

“Y/—

“And that’s not to say you have to share my feelings, but at least say something, Mark. And then you sit here and kiss my hand and tell me that I’m beautiful like I’m some toy. Am I a toy to you?”

“No.” Is all he responds. His face is so dull, but his heart is about to burst into a thousand crystals. He’s sweating profoundly and he’s trying to find more words.

“Tell me how you feel, Mark. Say it to me right now. I’m a big girl and I can handle it. We both know that.”

“I love you.”

He doesn’t know which one of his ancestors possessed his spirit to spit it out so simply. It slipped off the tounge like saliva to the floor when you were thirsty but also couldn’t stop talking because there was nothing that he was more sure of. You could ask him was his name his actual name and he wouldn’t sound that confident.

“But?” you say, and you’re not quivering. Had he really broken your heart that many times? To where you became immune to his true feelings? That you believed there was a catch to this?

“There’s no but.”

He can see the way your body breaks down. He knows you’re blaming yourself. You’re probably thinking about how maybe you talking to much was the reason he couldn’t get it out. You’re probably imagining false scenarios in your head where you wouldn’t let him get a secret off his chest not knowing it was exactly what you had been dreaming about, and that’s why you never noticed.

“Don’t do that.” He whispers. His balls had finally dropped because he’s approaching you now. Chest to chest—rashing heartbeats just begging to wallow in eachother and finally get to touch through your gentle skin that looked so good beside eachother even through its clothed nature. “Don’t blame your perfection on me being unable to open my fucking mouth, Y/N.” His lips quickly kiss yours, and it feels so good. It was less than a second, but it felt like home. He had imagined so many different scenarios where your lips would touch for the first time and he would then proceed to drag you to the nearest wall and make love to you for the first time. Intense, right?

“I have loved you for so long that I can’t even remember what not loving you feels like. I can’t.” He trembles. “That night when you confessed to me, I felt like I didn’t deserve it. I also didn’t know if it was real. But then the next morning you turned into your beautiful and shy self and I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ruin us because I’d rather die everyday and still get to be your friend than lose you completely.”

“You were scared.” You finish for him. “But so was I, Mark. I was petrified. I had no idea whether you’d accept my feelings or be completely disgusted. Why do you think I waited until I was piss drunk to say anything?”

“I’m sorry.” He says, nuzzling his forehead into yours. “And I’m sorry for not being a man, because I am one. We’re not kids anymore that get to get away with this. I know I was so wrong. And I suck so bad. I—

But you’re kissing him again. And it’s his first kiss in such a manner. The way your lips are molding into his own with such perfection and the way he feels himself getting hot in unfamiliar places. The way you pull him over you on the door and he lifts your legs around his slim waist so he can get even closer to you. The way your delighted fingers are pulling at his current black strands of hair and he lets out a tiny sigh of agreement and pleasure.

“I love you.” You say, pulling away from him for just a quick second.

“I love you more.” He breathes out before he’s attacking your lips again and is making it known all over your body that he means everything. “You don’t love Doyoung more do you?”

Your laugh echoes into his thick neck as he’s still propping you on the door. “So you were jealous?”

“Of course I was.” He smiles in embarrassment. “We can kick them out, can’t we?”

“We’re about to.”

And now you’re both laughing and hugging eachother tightly as you attempt to catch your breath.

You finally figured it out. You finally both knew what was going on, and you were happy. So so happy.

[amethystpath-writes]

A Gentle Blade Part 23

Part 22 here

@tears-and-lilies

******

The dinner went by today as it did last. The emissary attempted to persuade the queen that the assassin was a dangerous subject of hers and couldn't be trusted, just as the bounty hunter wasn't. This was counteractive to their plan of getting Kastion and Leera released, but hopefully the queen would realize that was part of their facade. If not, they were in more trouble than they originally thought.

"What will happen if she doesn't believe you're a prince?" Leera whispered to Kastion mid-dinner.

He shrugged. "I have the royal seal."

"You have Dogars'," she pressed. "If she finds out it was his, you're in this deeper than you can get yourself out of."

"It will be fine," he reassured her, or at least tried. Kastion could still see the worry on her face, the way her brows were drawn together, the way her features were softer, and yet somehow refined. She was trying not to be concerned, but she was failing.

"I think we should have planned more. There's too many flaws."

"Dogars being in our cell as long as he was was a flaw, Leera." His voice was soft, not reprimanding, but she still felt like she was being scolded. Maybe it was only because she knew that his words were true, and she knew them before he spoke them.

The two's conversation came to a pause as one of the kings asked Leera a question. She hardly answered, having known the voice, having known the face. Every piece of her shut down for moments before she spoke, and minutes and minutes afterward.

"Assassin, you left quite an impression in my lands. Tell me, do you remember who I am?"

The man who spoke hadn't been a king when Leera knew him. He was only a prince, then, and he was the reason Leera was so spiteful towards royalty. She could feel a pit developing in her stomach when she said quietly, "Yes."

"Yes?" he asked. "Yes what?"

Leera was shaking now and she felt a sting in her eyes. I won't cry, she told herself. Not here. Not now. "Yes, I remember who you are."

She looked away before she could see the king's smile. How hadn't she noticed him at yesterday's meal? "Good. Would you like to tell everyone else how you know me?"

Kastion whispered her name just barely, knowing something was wrong, knowing Leera was experiencing something she never allowed herself to before in front of him. Her breathing was uneven. There was no pattern or beat to it as there should have been. And her hands, he could spot the assassin's hands shaking, quivering like nothing else he knew beneath the table. How did she know this king?

"I-" Leera swallowed. "I can't."

"Sure you can. Just tell them what connection we have."

Connection. That word sounded so pleasant, so dainty and kind. To him, it was likely all lily petals and rose water.

"Go on- what is it? Leera? Tell them, Leera, how we met."

The prince considered saying something, telling the king to back down, but that would only upset Rennera, which would then likely result in him getting taken away. Ultimately, saying something, anything, to anyone other than Leera, meant he would no longer be able to be there for the assassin. And right now, she looked as though she needed someone.

"He had my father killed," Leera said softly, but because the room was so suddenly quiet at a new inquisition directed towards one of two prisoners, everyone heard.

"Oh, come on. Not just killed. Give them the nitty gritty details, would you?"

Leera looked to her queen, to the one who could put an end to this if she only held up a hand. But she wasn't. Rennera was only watching it all pan out.

"Tortured," she spat. "My father was a knight. He was captured, tortured, and killed."

"I should never hire you as a storyteller," the king said then began to explain in the fullest details what exactly happened to Leera's father. He even told what it sounded like to hear muscle tear when it was stretched beyond its capacity. He told of broken bones and screams that servants complained of hearing in the middle of the night from aisles and aisles away from the torture chambers.

A few from the company seemed to shut down as much as the assassin, looking away, and swallowing when hearing the most brutal descriptions. Only the general from Eliaph leaned in.

"The best part of it all was that little Leera was there to see it all. I wonder how often you remember my face," the king said to her, "despite my not being there. It is all I could ever dream of, to exist in your mind as all that I am without even having to try."

Leera said nothing, still stared at nothing as if she, herself, wished to be just that; nothing.

Kastion felt himself tearing up at it all. He imagined it was him at such a young age, watching either of his parents being put through all of which Leera's father had been. He couldn't see it without nearly crying. The thing was that he couldn't even imagine half of what the king on the other end of the table said because he never heard his mother or father scream in a tortured manner. Maybe his mother when she gave birth to his sisters, but beyond that, he couldn't see it or hear such harshness in his mind.

This wasn't all to say that he pitied Leera. Rather, he admired her for going through all of which she did and continuing to go through it. Leera wasn't out of the bushes yet, but she continued to live despite every trouble she faced. Even allowing herself to be manacled by Crooked wasn't giving up, Kastion realized.

Thankfully, for Leera, the queen didn't ask that she gain anymore information from Sir Guard. She had Dogars for that now since Crooked reported to her that the emissary was in the cell when he brought Leera back. He was asked now to explain what he learned from the bounty hunter now, after the king finished up his humiliation story.

And Dogars did tell, in full, what he, Kastion, and Leera came up with last night in the last two's cell. Rennera knew some of it, of course, having already used Leera as a spy. The part that she didn't know was how Sir Guard's parents supposedly disproved of his new occupation.

Leera still wondered how prolonging this act would affect the outcome of telling the truth when Dogars left. She wondered if they shouldn't tell it while everyone was still here. Wouldn't it be safer to say such an outrageous thing now in comparison to when there was no one to back it up? Leera considered the royal seal ring that Kastion now had possession of. The queen would question Dogars immediately if he had one of those rings. When he revealed he didn't, Rennera would want to punish Kastion for his lie, but then he could always tell them to check his trousers pockets. They would find the ring and he could explain that he took his emissary's ring to do all of this. They could explain everything and then- what?

And then what? She would just let them all go? Not likely. Leera remembered why they couldn't do this with Dogars here. If he were to return home, knowing that Queen Rennera was aware of holding his prince, he could declare a war. Rennera would never allow for that to happen. She knew where the emissary was from and if Kastion revealed he was from that very same kingdom, she would put Dogars under custody as well. Then none of them could do anything.

Everything was beginning to feel hopeless. No matter what they did, there were multiple consequences almost bound to become reality. It terrified Leera, not only that Kastion might not make it out of this palace, but that they wouldn't. The both of them might be trapped in this hell, never able to make it out together, to explore what they could be. She wanted that, to become something with him, more than anything in the world, but it was beginning to look like it would never happen.

"We can talk later if you need," Kastion offered. It was still obvious to him that she was worked up. He wanted to be there for her now, but he knew it wasn't the time. Like before, it would only cause more conflict.

Leera nodded, but didn't necessarily answer whether or not she would need to talk.

"If it helps any," the prince began again, "I have faith in our plan. I know that isn't the only thing you are thinking about, but it can at least be one less thing."

"You should eat," was all she said. Kastion was unbound for this whole dinner, yet he hadn't even tried to take a bite. He just sat, watching and listening.

The assassin was at least grateful that he didn't try to argue. He picked up a piece of chicken from his plate and slid it across some excess gravy before placing it on his tongue. After swallowing his first bite, he reached for another, saying, "You should, too."

"I don't feel hungry." She knew it was hypocritical, but it was also honest. Her appetite was lost after the prince- king brought up Leera's past.

"You should eat something before tomorrow."

"You have so much confidence," she said.

Kastion shook his head. "I have hope. There's a difference."

"Whatever it is, I wish I had half as much as you." Her voice never grew greater than a whisper, not because of the secrecy of their conversation; everyone spoke loudly enough in the room that she and Kastion could have spoken at a normal volume and not been heard, but she felt out of herself right now. She wasn't Leera enough that she could speak like her. Right now, she was only the assassin, the one that killed the bad guys, the one that couldn't kill the bad guys right now because she was caught by them. She was a subject. That's what she was. And subjects didn't have a voice.

"Leera, we will be okay, alright? I promise that we are going to get out of this."

"Don't," she snapped quietly at him. "Don't tell me something you can't guarantee." Subjects, she thought. "You are not a prince anymore, not here. You can't hand out false hope and expect it to be taken without question."

He had nothing to say to this, so he said nothing at all, only continued eating.

Later, when the dinner was over, the assassin and the bounty hunter were returned to their cell. Dogars didn't follow anytime soon and the two cellmates supposed he didn't want to draw anymore attention to suspicious interactions.

"I know you think there's no hope." Kastion wasn't really sure why he was talking at all. Perhaps it was to fill the silent room with some kind of noise.

Leera didn't seem to mind the silence, especially seeing as she didn't bother responding.

"Are you mad with me?" the prince asked.

"No. No, I'm not mad." She wasn't chained now as she had been the last couple of nights. Still, something stopped her from crawling over to Kastion and holding him, or allowing him to hold her. Maybe it was because she was afraid of becoming close with him. She would admit she had feelings for him, but she was still terrified of that feeling. It was so new to her to show interest in anyone. It might have been better if they had a chance to express things freely, without fear of being heard or seen. But an assassin prisoner wasn't allowed to fall in love with a queen's betrothed bounty hunter.

"You've shut down, Leera. Since that- that idiot at dinner, you haven't been the same."

"Did you expect me to be?"

"Of course not. I'm just concerned."

She hummed with a shrug. Leera felt tired, too tired to talk to her prince lover about how tired she was. Tired, tired, tired. It was the only word in existence right now.

"I want to help." Kastion slid over in skooches. He took her hand in his own next. One hand on bottom, one on top.

His hands are warm, she thought. It was freezing in the cell.

"Tell me how to help you, Leera."

After a pause, she responded. "This is good," she said, and her fingers twitched in either of Kastion's palms. "This helps."

"You're not one for verbal affirmations, are you?"

Leera shook her head slightly, peered into his eyes before letting her head fall to his shoulder. She could fall asleep on him in this very moment if she didn't wish to continue hearing his voice.

"What about the words 'I love you'?"

Kastion smiled as he felt Leera's lips curl up on his shoulder. "I like those words," she told him quietly. He could tell now how sleepy she was.

"Do you?" Kastion hummed so lowly that he felt it in his chest. He wondered if Leera felt it as well.

"I do, but only in that order." The assassin's chin lifted lightly so that she could look at his face. She'd been nervous being so close to Kastion like this, but now that he was here, now that he was holding her, it felt perfect. Her head fit on his shoulder. Her hand fit in his own. Everything fit like a pearl in a clam. They fit. The only opposition was that Leera was an assassin, and Kastion a prince.

Leera was afraid of being too forward when she asked this, but she did it anyways. "Would your people scorn you for bringing home an assassin?"

"They think you're a hero. They would be as happy as me."

"You have already considered taking me as your queen."

Kastion nodded, looking down at her on his shoulder. He moved one of his hands so that he could stroke the top of hers with his thumb. Her skin was dry, but it still managed to be softer. No, not softer. It was smoother. The blood running in her veins was calm, unlike his which ran so quickly at all times that it created random peaks and streams along his skin.

"But I know you are not fond of the idea. You could remain as you are, and I as a solo king." Kastion continued, "To make up for the lack of union, I could make Dogars assist me in his position of second in command."

"You've really thought this through." Leera snuggled her head into Kastion further and closed her eyes. "I don't think being a queen would be so bad as long as you were the king by my side."

Kastion began to tell her he wouldn't want another person by his side, but he heard the way Leera's breaths had changed, how calm and persistent they became. She was asleep, and this time, it wouldn't matter if the queen or Crooked found the assassin's head on his shoulder...because tomorrow, Kastion wouldn't be Rennera's pet bounty hunter. He would be a prince capable of bringing her kingdom down.

******

Part 24 here

[pass-the-bechdel]

The Good Place season one full review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

100% (thirteen of thirteen).

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines?

49.58%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Twelve of the thirteen; seven of those are 50%+, and two of those are over 60%

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Zero.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Twenty-four. Eight who appeared in more than one episode, four who appeared in at least half the episodes, and three who appeared in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Twenty-two. Eleven who appeared in more than one episode, three who appeared in at least half the episodes, and two who appeared in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Solid; the nature of the show is such that they really need to be making a concerted effort to reflect positive, progressive morality, and as such faults in the content would also almost certainly be considered faults in the show itself (average rating of 3).

General Season Quality:

Magnificent! It’s a wonderful ride, whether it’s your first time through or not. Just delightful.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

So, let’s talk about plot twists. In the current entertainment landscape, it seems like everyone is intent upon ‘subverting expectations’, and the good old-fashioned plot twist is very much swept up in that, since a subversion is almost always going to play as a ‘twist’ by definition. The unfortunate thing about this current landscape is that it’s rife with ‘subversive twists’ which are really just bad storytelling; they’re only there because of some pathological fear of predictability, or worse, because the creative minds just want to feel cleverer than their audiences by delivering content that no-one saw coming, serving their own egos at the expense of coherent narratives. If your ‘twist’ is about your own (supposed) intelligence, if you’re baiting the audience by playing into a common trope and then laughing at them for thinking you meant it, if you’re changing the story out of nowhere just for shock value without bothering to build toward the twist because you’re too afraid that someone might figure it out before the reveal...that’s not a real twist. It’s not even a real subversion, it’s just a bad-faith gimmick. It’s not there for the story at all, it’s there to make the writer feel special, because apparently feeling special for delivering quality storytelling isn’t good enough anymore. A proper, genuine plot twist should:

1. make sense in the context of the narrative (it should not be tonally dissonant or jump the tracks into a different genre)

2. make sense with the content of the narrative (it may recontextualise previous events or character choices, but it does not contradict or ignore them in order to function)

3. be foreshadowed (if it comes out of nowhere, that’s not a twist, it’s a random event. It’s a deus ex machina. There’s no story in it if it isn’t built into the fabric of the narrative)

4. ultimately further the storytelling (if it has no consequences for plot or character, it’s a shock-value gimmick, not a real twist).

The above points do not guarantee that a twist will be good storytelling and not just a subversive contrivance for the fuck of it, but they should at least ensure some logical cohesion and protect the integrity of the plot instead of sacrificing it in the name of empty surprise. That covered, it’s easy to see how – even (or perhaps, especially) in this twist-saturated tv landscape we currently inhabit – the big twist for season one of The Good Place still manages to be – in technical parlance – dope. The writing protects the twist not by being ‘too clever’; it simply offers a decoy issue to drive the plot. Eleanor is a Good Place fraud; that’s the first twist in the plot, and it compels the entire season forward. Other twists - Jason’s reveal, Eleanor’s confession, the introduction of the ‘real’ Eleanor - set the stage for this being A Show That Has Twists, but in a way that makes so much contextual sense that it doesn’t set us up to be looking for the next one (a common problem for those shows that rely on ‘cleverer than the audience’ twists - they’ve set themselves up as mysteries for the audience to unravel, and then they kill their own storytelling as they twist in knots trying to keep ahead of millions of intelligent viewers). The Good Place actually tells us outright that something is wrong with this supposed ‘happy afterlife’, it just fools us into thinking that we already know what’s wrong, so that we don’t see the signs of the truth for what they are. Crucially, however, it doesn’t matter if you figure it out before Eleanor does. You can have your suspicions (or have had the show spoiled for you in advance), and you can still appreciate and enjoy it as it unfolds, you can pick up the clues and have a good time with them, and that’s something that all of those gimmicky-subversion plots out there are missing. Their ‘twists’ are not proper functioning pieces of the narrative, and so the story doesn’t work if you already know the reveal; there’s no juicy build-up to enjoy, or worse, you expose your own illogical contrivances or outright plot holes that were created in the course of writing a crappy twist just to feel relevant. The Good Place works because - like any good story - it isn’t about the twist. It’s about the journey.

An important part of what makes the twist work also is that it interweaves the sins of Tahani and Chidi with the discissions of morality without drawing too much attention to them; if all four humans had simply been frauds, it would have been narratively empty, especially if the reveals were coming late in the piece. Jason’s works because it comes out early, and because the Jianyu cover is interesting and distinctly different both to Eleanor’s ploy and to the behaviour of the rest of the neighbourhood, but if the others had turned in the same way it would have been too contrived, too easy, and it would toss out the personalities we had gotten used to (which would violate Good Twist point #2). Since the show DOES pull that trick with Michael (which works because he’s the architect of the whole situation, not a pawn within it), it’s essential that they’re more subtle with Tahani and Chidi’s reasons for being where they are, and in playing it as they do they also reinforce the show’s central deliberations on morality. It’s an inspired framework for approaching what are traditionally considered ‘heady’ themes (and y’all know I’m into it), and every decision about how to approach and balance character behaviour is coming from a position of ethical consideration, weighing not only the acts themselves, but how they compare to the moral theory of various different and conflicting philosophies. It just goes to show that you don’t have to make something ponderous and inaccessible in order to have a cerebral conversation through television - you can do it just fine with afterlife comedy.

As I noted above the cut, the nature of the show automatically lends itself to careful consideration of any feminist and/or progressive content, and as such it should keep a pretty clean bill throughout, or risk cracking its own concept. I do wish they would come out stronger on the queer side of things (as I said in the episode posts, they really aren’t vague about the idea that Eleanor is attracted to women, but her saying words about hot women is still not delivering a lot on the representation front, especially when she is known to do more than say words when it comes to dudes, and the only other queer content we get is the fact that Gunnar and Antonio are soulmates, and that doesn’t technically mean they’re romantically or sexually involved (especially since they’re fakes anyway, but that’s a whole ‘nother thing)). In the mean time though, we have a female lead, 100% on the Bechdel and an essentially balanced number of male and female characters abounding, plus some really nice variety in racial backgrounds (and great names to go along with those - it’s a bit of a peeve of mine usually when show’s include multicultural characters but land everyone with Anglicised or ‘white-friendly’ names. Let the Bambadjans of the world keep their names). We’ve taken a clear stance on even ‘benign’ sexism (i.e. the stuff that’s just men saying inappropriate things - ‘just a suggestion! just a joke! just trying to get a reaction out of you, why are you so sensitive?’ - it’s all literal demon behaviour here), and I won’t pretend that I’m expecting them to get into the real nitty-gritty, but that’s ok. I’m happy to have something which is making a point of not being problematic, because such refuges have real value. So, maybe there won’t be a lot for me to tease apart as the show progresses, but that’s not a bad thing. At the moment, we have green lights across the board, and that’s a hard thing to find. I’m going with it, and we’ll see where we end up.