#and only now am i realizing the reason those drums are probably a Big Deal is bc her tribe JUST got done fighting a war with another tribe

[elvisqueso]

"...What is it?" "The drums...they mean trouble. I shouldn't be here—" "I want to see you again—" "I can't—" "Please don' t leave—" "—I'm sorry." "..." "...I have to go now."

—Pocahontas (1995)

[five-rivers]

Danger First

Chapter 10

.

@pocketramblr :)

.

One day - and not even a whole day, because of travel time and Inko wanted Izuku home for dinner- simply wasn't enough time to master a quirk. Although he could turn Float on and off, now. So, they made plans to come back next week, and the next, up until the sports festival. Which. Wow. Really was only two weeks away.

Izuku had never realized how close to the beginning of the school year it was.

He was going to die.

"You're not going to die," said Mr. Yagi. "I'm not going to say the sports festival isn't important, because it is, it's one of the best ways to make professional connections for students, but not doing well isn't the end of the world, especially not in your first year. No one expects you to be perfectly polished."

"But," said Izuku, "I'm supposed to be the next you! I've got to stand out, right?"

Mr. Yagi looked very guilty. "I... may have given you that impression when we were first training, yes. But, since then, with all my research into the past holders... few of them were popular, flashy heroes. If you want to walk the same path as me, that's great. But you don't have to. Even I didn't really start that chapter of my life until after college."

Izuku looked down at his hands, letting silence fill the space between them as he contemplated Mr. Yagi's words. "This isn't about me manifesting One for All differently, is it?"

"What? No, no of course not, my boy. I mean, it certainly helped me come to this conclusion, I wouldn't have done so much research without it! But I certainly hope I would have come to the same conclusion eventually, even so."

"Okay..." said Izuku, still dubious.

"I mean it," protested Mr. Yagi. "Most of my work is essentially underground, you know. There's a reason the battle trial was what it was."

"H-huh? You? Underground? But you're so recognizable!"

"Am I? I firmly believe in bringing all my resources to bear in the fight against evil! Ha ha!"

His laugh devolved into a cough, and he fumbled for a handkerchief. But he recovered quickly enough.

"I guess that makes sense," said Izuku, cautiously, once he thought Mr. Yagi wasn't going to start coughing again.

"You didn't think I stayed number one by popularity alone, did you?"

"I- the formulas the Hero Commission uses to determine rankings are secret, and it only includes spotlight heroes, so when I extrapolated the hero billboard rankings, yes, I assigned a high weight to popularity. There were always some discrepancies between my predictions and the end results, but I figured I missed some events, or the commission assigned them different values…"

"That's quite impressive, my boy. But, though popularity is a factor, the HPSC does take unpublicized fights and rescues into account. Assuming you report them…"

That was the second time Mr. Yagi had mentioned not telling the commission something.

"Do you, um, do you do that a lot? Not tell the commission things, I mean."

"Eh? No, no, I try to stay up on my paperwork. I get a lot of help from Naomasa, though. Some heroes, especially independent ones, without an agency, do have trouble keeping up, sometimes."

"It's just… the other day you said something about not telling the commission about All for One."

"Ah," said Mr. Yagi. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "You're quite right. How should I put this… The HPSC knows All for One exists, and I have made them generally aware of his modern exploits. I haven't told them about his ability to give quirks, though they may know through other avenues, there are certain battles I've had with him that I haven't told them about, and they do not know about One for All."

“Why not?”

“Villains aren’t the only ones who seek power,” said Mr. Yagi. “The HPSC provides a vital service, and I think what one does matters more than why one does it, but… it is my observation that many of the people there are more concerned with personal power than doing the right thing. And positions of power and authority tend to draw in those who would abuse those things."

"Even heroics?"

"Especially heroics. The HPSC Ethics Review Board is supposed to stop that, but no system is perfect." He shook himself. "But look at me! I was trying to give you a pep talk, not saddle you with doubts about the government!"

Izuku laughed, nervously. "I mean, you've definitely distracted me from the sports festival…"

“Yes. The sports festival. Don’t worry about making a big spotlight combat debut. If you want to focus on rescue, or investigation, or the underground, I’ll support you all the way.” He paused. “You do need combat, though, because, because of-”

“All for One?”

“Yes, exactly. All for One.”

.

“Way to kill the mood, guys,” said Banjo.

“I think the mood was thoroughly dead already,” said Yoichi.

“Unlike your brother,” said En. “Ninth’s father.”

“Come on, it was just a little omission of information. It wasn’t even a lie!”

“It was definitely a lie. You’re so lucky that my relief about you not being a pedophile eclipsed my righteous fury regarding your mendacity.”

“You know, the fact that you’re delivering that completely deadpan gives me doubts about the fury part.”

“I’m mad at you.”

“You love me.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be mad at you.”

“Hey, hey, wait a minute,” said Nana, making a ‘T’ shape with her hands. “Time out. Ninth’s father is All for One.”

“Yes,” said Yoichi, hanging his head, “I thought that had been established.”

“So, are we… What Toshinori is saying is completely valid, by the way… but, are we expecting this kid to fight his father? Is that a thing we’re doing?”

“Uh,” said Yoichi, “in our defense, we did think he was dead.”

“Maybe Eighth will get ‘im before Ninth has to deal with it,” suggested Banjo. “He’s got to have a better chance of that, now what with Fa Jin and all.” He paused. “But, you know what would give Ninth an even better chance, if he does have to fight his deadbeat dad-”

“He’s not a deadbeat,” interrupted Hikage.

“What?”

“Calling him a deadbeat would imply that he is neither supporting the Midoriyas financially nor regularly in contact with them. He is on both counts.”

“What?” squealed Bango.

“Did you miss his phone call with his father immediately following his return home after the USJ attack?”

“Oh,” said Yoichi, “no, I was very aware of my brother’s evil, evil voice. It’s just that these guys were too focused on scolding me to listen to anything I had to say. I still can’t believe he sent someone like that to attack his own son’s class.”

“Didn’t he, like, kill you?” asked En.

“No, my death was largely unrelated. You’ve got to remember, I was a chronically ill fugitive from the law with no money. Who told you that he killed me?”

Everyone looked at their immediate predecessor. Yoichi tracked the path back to Third, who had gone very stiff.

“What the heck, Third? You were there when I died. Why would you tell Hikage that?”

Third did not answer.

“Actually, what did he tell you, Hikage?

“Oh, it was very moving and heroic. It happened while you were saving a busload of metahuman orphans. You sacrificed yourself to let them get away from All for One. I even cried a little.”

“Is it weird that I’m now disappointed in myself for not dying like that?”

“Very,” said Nana.

“What were we talking about before this?” asked En.

“I have no idea,” said Banjo.

.

Izuku delayed going to class, nervous about everyone's reactions to his quirk. It wasn't that he thought they'd reject him, but more that he had no answers for the inevitable questions.

But he also didn't want to be late.

"Todoroki was so cool!" Hagakure exclaimed as he opened the classroom door. "He was all like, blam, bam, swish! And- and he checked whether or not I was there first, before attacking, which was super cool of him."

Todoroki's expression was halfway between 'statue' and 'help, I've been hit by a truck.' "Cool?"

"Very cool."

"You've grown since the first day, kero."

"Ah! Midoriya!"

All heads turned towards him. In the next second, he was hugged by several people, which was more friendly skin contact than he'd had since… ever, probably.

"Eep," he said.

"We were so worried about you," said Uraraka. "We made a group chat, after, but since you were unconscious…"

"Hm," said Monoma, "your quirk still is definitely a stockpile…"

"Monoma!" shouted Iida. "Did you join this hug just to copy quirks?"

"And what of it?"

"But speaking of quirks," said Jiro, "you can fly now? We kind of went along with it at the time, but that's kind of different from a sensory quirk."

"I know," said Izuku, "and I have no explanation."

"Maybe your quirk stockpiles danger," said Monoma, contemplatively. He rubbed his chin with one finger. "That could be why you can sense danger- you're stockpiling it. Then, when the danger gets over a certain threshold, you can release it as flight… why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Oh, nothing," drawled Kaminari. "Just that you're more thoughtful than you look, pretty boy."

"I don't want to hear that from you."

"Th-thank you, Monoma! I'll have to mention it when I go to quirk counseling next."

Which may or may not be this afternoon, depending on how Mr. Aizawa felt and- His head snapped to the door. "Mr. Aizawa's coming!"

They all rushed to their seats. The door creaked open.

"Oh my gosh, he's a mummy."

.

"Iida?"

"What is it, Midoriya?"

They were having a bit of a break during English while Present Mic cycled them through for short sessions with Hound Dog.

"I didn't have a chance to ask you earlier, but how's your brother?"

“He’s alright! It’s the first really major injury of his career, so he’s going to take it easy for the rest of the month, to make sure his engines heal properly. He’d prefer not to of course, but, ah, there is a silver lining.”

“That’s good,” said Izuku, encouragingly.

“I really shouldn’t be happy about it,” said Iida, rubbing the back of his neck, “but he’ll be able to come see me during the sports festival, and he probably would have been too busy if he were active.”

“I think it’s okay to be happy about good things, even if they happen because of bad things,” said Izuku. “It isn’t like we can go back and make the bad things not happen, after all…”

“That’s very true, Midoriya! What a mature way of thinking about things.”

Izuku didn’t know about that, but he was willing to take the compliment.

.

“Midoriya,” said Shouta, who was absolutely and unquestionably recovered enough to teach. Even if he had zoned out in the corner of the room in his sleeping bag all morning rather than trekking back to the teacher’s lounge… or teaching any of his other classes… shut up. “What are you doing at the window?”

“O-oh. Mr. Aizawa. I didn’t know you were awake?”

It was, maybe, a little unfair to single Midoriya out like that, since the entire class was standing by the window, and the way Uraraka, Sero, and Midoriya were closest to it, with Monoma a close fourth, was concerning, but Midoriya was the first one Shouta saw, and the one most likely to to cave and tell him what was going on.

“Midoriya.”

“R-right. Well, going out the door seems a little unpleasant today, so we thought we’d switch it up?”

What did that even mean?

“We were going to bring you with us, of course,” continued Midoriya.

What did that even mean?

“Out the window.”

“Um. Yes.”

“What kind of unpleasant are we talking about?”

“Battle trial unpleasant?”

Shouta groaned and hauled himself up, walking over to the door. He looked out the window and made note of all the students from other classes standing out there, circling like sharks. Great. Maybe they needed to have an assembly about respecting boundaries or whatever, especially if the people whose boundaries were being crossed were potentially traumatized.

Something to bring up at the next staff meeting he attended. Which… would probably not be soon.

Anyway.

He opened the door.

(“A mummy,” whispered someone.)

(First his kids, then these kids… he wasn’t that wrapped up.)

(Was he?)

“What are you all doing here?” he asked, voice rasping rather more than he wanted it to.

The students didn’t seem inclined to answer. Someone did mutter something about the sports festival, but it was far from the complete answer that Aizawa wanted.

“Right. Whatever. Scoping out the competition is one thing, but you are aware that class 1-A is recovering from a traumatic experience. And you’re blocking traffic. Clear off.”

The crowd slowly dispersed. Shouta sighed. He knew this would only be the first of many such incidents. He made a note to talk to Nemuri about whether or not she’d be willing to donate some of her class time to talk about public relations.

.

“You know,” said Nemuri, “if you actually rested, Recovery Girl would be able to heal you.”

“I know nothing of the sort,” said Shouta, glaring at his desk in the staff room. “I’m forgetting something.”

All Might walked in. “Er, young Aizawa,” he said. He paused for a painfully long, awkward moment. “Are you still meeting with young Midoriya today?”

“Crap.”

.

Did Izuku expect Mr. Aizawa to come to their meeting? No. The man had casts on all of his limbs. But, he hadn’t cancelled it either. So, better safe than sorry, right?

But it had been a while, now. Izuku could probably safely assume he wasn't coming after a half hour. He got up, packed his bags, and reached out for the door handle-

Only to freeze as Mr. Aizawa yanked it open and pulled Mr. Yagi into the classroom after him.

Izuku scurried back to his seat.

"Nothing physical today," croaked Mr. Aizawa. "We're going to figure out your quirk."

“O-okay,” said Izuku.

Aizawa collapsed into the seat behind the teacher's desk. “To be short, this quirk, One for All or whatever, is complete nonsense.”

“Uh,” said Mr. Yagi. “Sorry?”

“Sorry,” whispered Izuku.

“You should be. Not you, Midoriya. You’re fine.”

“Okay?”

“Right. So. You’ve got two quirks right now. Danger Sense and Float. Unless something else showed up over the weekend?”

“No, it’s, um, it is just those two right now.”

“And you’ll most likely get Smokescreen, Blackwhip, and that strength enhancement eventually. Plus two mystery quirks.”

“That is what I’ve been able to find out,” said Mr. Yagi.

“So, we have to figure out some way to get all those under a coherent umbrella that can account for the mystery quirks, and before the sports festival, so the evil immortal supervillain doesn’t notice that you have quirks just like a bunch of people he had personal beef with.”

Mr. Yagi cursed in English. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Yeah, I wonder what else you haven’t thought about. Maybe this year I can get Nezu to take my suggestion about doing hero names before the sports festival seriously. You know we’ve had people stalk students before because for some godforsaken reason we use their real names? I need a drink.”

“Ah, water?”

“No.”

“Young Aizawa, you’re a teacher…”

“A career choice I question daily. Midoriya, do you have any thoughts about how to make your quirk make sense in a way that won’t get you killed or abducted by the HPSC?”

“I- Does that happen?” despite his conversation with Mr. Yagi over the weekend, he still had generally positive thoughts about the hero commission.

“I have no idea. Wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Well, um, I was talking to Monoma earlier, and he said something about stockpiling danger, and how it might let out the stockpile as the energy necessary to levitate- which, really, would be a fascinating quirk if it did work that way- but I thought it might also work for Smokescreen and the strength enhancement? I mean, general responses to danger are fight, flight, or hide, so the strength enhancement is fight, Float is flight, and Smokescreen would be hide…”

“That might work. What about Blackwhip.”

“Yeah, that one has kind of stumped me.”

“Blackwhip sure is a problem,” agreed Mr. Aizawa.

.

The ghosts started laughing. “You’re a problem, Banjo,” chortled Nana.

“Come on, guys, that isn’t funny!”

"It is! It's hilarious!"

"They were just talking about All for One tracking the kid down and killing him!"

The mood sobered quickly.

"Considering that he is Ninth's father," said Hikage, "I suspect it's far too late for that."

"Yeah," said Yoichi. "But, just to be safe, and in case there are other weirdos out there, new rule: no giving him new quirks in public. Not that we can do anything about when he eventually manifests the stockpile…"

"What if he's going to die?" asked Hikage, raising his hand.

"He already got your quirk, why do you care?"

"We'd like to hear it," said Banjo, somewhat forcefully.

"Well, if he looks like he's going to die, do whatever you can to stop that from happening, I guess. But chucking a quirk he doesn't know how to use isn't always going to be the beat answer."

"Wait," said Nana. "Hold up a second. A few days ago we were talking about the potential for multiple quirk brain damage, weren't we?"

"Oh, good catch," said Yoichi. "I guess I forgot to mention it, which means Nana is the only one I'd trust babysitting my nephew in the event a quirk rewound him to elementary school age-"

"That is a suspiciously specific scenario," said En.

"-and all the rest of you are fired. You didn't even question giving him more quirks? Really?"

Hikage raised his hand. "I assumed you had discovered that Ninth had a constitution capable of handling multiple quirks, similar to yourself and your brother."

"That is true. Okay, Hikage would be another exception, but he's disqualified from babysitting for other reasons."

"That's fair."

.

"So we need something that can do all that, and has tentacles," said Izuku, squeezing his bottom lip in thought.

"Yeah," said Mr. Aizawa. "Honestly, even really dumb ideas would be welcome right now."

"Why are you looking at me?" asked Mr. Yagi.

"You know why."

There was only one creature Izuku could think of that could do all the things Izuku one day might be able to while maintaining room for the two mystery quirks. "Cthulhu."

Mr. Yagi looked mildly scandalized at the suggestion.

"Nah, it'd have to be something like eldritch. Cthulhu's trademarked in Japan, and that can give you aboveground types trouble."

"What is it a trademark for?" asked Mr. Yagi.

"Ask Midnight. I don't want to talk about it."

"Ah," said Mr. Yagi.

"The problem with that is that you currently have no justification to call it that. Now if you already had Smokescreen…"

The adults looked at him.

"... I don't think it's going to just show up like that," said Izuku.

.

"Why not?" asked Banjo, staring at En. "They practically asked you for it."

"Well, first off, I live for drama, so jot that down."

"Huh? What about me?" asked Yoichi.

"Nothing, it was just an idiom. Second…"

.

"...Right," said Aizawa. “For now, then, we’ll have to give it a temporary name, because it’s starting to get to the point in time where it’ll actually be illegal for you to not register it.” He shuffled his casts. “Yagi, start filling out those forms with what he can do currently. Midoriya, make sure you check him when he’s done. For now, we’ve got to come up with a name.”

“Um,” said Izuku. “Float’s the only one that’s really visible, so I could just call it Float?”

“Vetoed. You aren’t picking a name that the immortal supervillain knows.”

“He did seem to only refer to people by quirks unless he really hated them,” said Mr. Yagi. “Except his brother, who he always called ‘my foolish brother.’”

“Focus on the paperwork.”

“And he called himself by his quirk name as well,” mused Izuku. “Do you think it was a side effect? Quirks have document impact on people’s personalities-”

“Focus.”

“R-right. Um. Feather Fall? No, that’s part of a game. Flight Reflex?”

“Good enough for now,” said Aizawa. “Flight Reflex it is.”

[kuiinncedes]

just the keys to paradise

jatp au - prologue - part 1/15? - 1834 words

relationships: blaine & sam & tina & artie

okkkk we're doing it 🤪 idk how regularly i will update this (omg ongoing fic??? who is she) but i do have like technically a ~few~ chapters i guess done,,, and i am working on the next so . we're gonna try this lol

anyway if it wasn't clear this is an au based on the most amazing tv show ever with only 9 episodes pls watch or rewatch it on netflix the emmy-award winning julie and the phantoms !!! 🤪

that being said if you haven't watched it what are you doing jk i think you can still read this and hopefully it makes sense 😂 feel free to ask me if there's anything that doesn't make sense lol :)

also fyi in case it influences your decision to read: this will be more focused on platonic relationships for a while but will almost certainly have main endgames klaine, quinntina, and samcedes 😋

prologue title and lyrics in this part from "now or never" from the jatp soundtrack

plot and some dialogue from julie and the phantoms so like credit to all those creators and writers 🤪

warnings for this part: car accident, major character deaths (both of these are not actually in writing/"on screen" just implied at the end (especially within the context of this being a jatp au) and nothing really described -- if you want/need more details feel free to ask me)

read on ao3 or under the cut :D

--

1995

“Dudes, we fucking killed that !” Sam cheers when the smoke has cleared, going around and giving each of them something that could be called a high-five, just not to their hands. Tina laughs and cheers too as Sam excitedly taps her feet after she gets out from behind her kit, still elevated on the drum stage. Some of the workers applaud them from the audience space.

“Too bad we wasted that on the soundcheck,” Artie jokes, putting his guitar down and grabbing his water bottle. “That was the tightest we’ve ever played, yo!”

Tina grins and hops down from the drum platform. Sam slings an arm around her shoulders and she grabs his wrist. They’re both sweaty and too warm but she doesn’t mind having Sam’s heat pressed against her right side.

God, she thinks… that really was something else, even though it was just the soundcheck. She looks around at her bandmates’ faces -- shiny with sweat, red with exhilaration and exertion, bright with elation, eyes wide with excitement and --

Wow. They’re playing the Orpheum.

Blaine pats Artie on the back, jostling him enough to spill the water he’s trying to drink down the front of his shirt, but Artie just laughs -- he’s soaked with sweat anyway. They have spare clothes backstage just for this reason.

“Just wait until tonight, guys, when this place is packed with record execs,” Blaine says, looking out wonderingly into the empty (for now) audience. His grin widens almost imperceptibly, which is impressive considering how huge it already is.

“We’re gonna be legends!” the other three of them chorus, before Blaine can, and they laugh when he turns to them, affronted. “That’s my line!”

“It’s what you get for saying it ten times a day for the last month!” Tina teases. Blaine pushes her shoulder playfully, putting his hand within reach for Sam to grab. It’s a strange position considering Sam’s arm is still around Tina’s shoulders, but Tina adds her hand to their hold as Sam beckons Artie over from his side of the stage, barking out his name with joking anger.

Artie puts his water down and walks over to complete the group, placing his hand on top of Tina’s. “Tina, you were smokin’,” he says.

She rolls her eyes a little and grins back. “Pretty sure you’re just talking about the pyro. You guys were the ones on fire,” she says, pointing her drumsticks around at them.

“T, can you just own your awesomeness for once?” Blaine exclaims.

“Queen T!” Sam calls, pulling her closer into his side. She stumbles into him, laughing as the guys all start cheering it after Sam.

“Okay, okay! Thanks, guys, I got it!” she squeals, trying to get them to quiet down although -- they are in the Orpheum, where they’re playing later, it’s not like they have to be quiet -- while Sam leans his weight on her, causing them to stagger into the drum riser. Tina catches herself on it and Sam finally detaches from her and they’re still being loud and raucous and probably somewhat annoying to the staff, but she’s just laughing too hard to care.

“We’ve got an hour ‘til the show; I say we go celebrate before we become legends!” Blaine proclaims, jumping off the stage. The other three follow.

Tina starts, “Celebrate our last night of being -- ”

“Losers?” Artie interjects.

They’ve caught the attention of one of the Orpheum workers -- a woman with brown hair who’s wiping down the tables, smiling at them as Tina catches her eye. “There’s some nice restaurants around here,” she says with a wink. “You guys really killed it, by the way. But it seems like you know that.”

Blaine laughs, a little sheepishly. “Thanks. Uh, I’m Blaine,” he says. “This is -- ”

“Sam, hi!”

“Tina, how’s it going -- ”

“Artie, hey.”

Tina raises her eyebrows and stifles a laugh at Artie as he leans his sweaty arms onto the table that the woman just cleaned.

“We’re Sunset Curve!” Blaine says to complete their introduction.

“Tell your friends!” Sam calls, raising his voice and drawing the other workers’ attention to them. Tina elbows him lightly in the side.

“Nice to meet you,” the stranger says. “I’m Elle. So… what were you guys thinking for this -- what was it -- ‘celebration of your last night as losers’?”

“Well, we really can’t afford any nice places -- ” Sam starts.

“Oh, you know what? We should just go to Tip Top!” Blaine says, clapping his hands together. The others are quick to agree -- it’s the small, cheap diner where they spent the evening after their first “real” gig, and they’ve spent countless hours there since, annoying the staff and depleting their supply of plastic silverware. The employees there have learned to let them take what they legally can (and sometimes what they couldn’t), and the band is friendly with most of them. They haven’t been there in too long, having been working hard to get the Orpheum gig, and then writing and rehearsing like crazy once they got it.

Elle smiles as they excitedly and loudly recount stories of Tip Top to each other -- sentimental memories and the ridiculousness they got up to -- talking over each other and having multiple conversations at once.

“I guess you don’t need my recommendations?” she says lightly.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry, we’re good, thanks so much for offering,” Blaine answers, polite as ever.

“Have fun! Looking forward to seeing you guys perform again tonight.”

“Thank you!” the four of them exclaim as they make their way back to the exit. Tina yanks on the back of Artie’s shirt as he lingers at the table, a dumb look on his face that tells her he’s trying to flirt, or at least, his version of it.

“Tina!” Artie yelps and she laughs at the annoyed look on his face.

“You are not exempt from this last night of loser-dom celebration. You’re telling me you’d rather flirt with a girl than this?”

“Yes,” Artie grumbles. There’s no heat behind it, and Tina playfully pushes him sideways.

“Plus, we need you to drive.”

“You can drive!”

“Technically we all can drive!” Tina laughs at Artie’s horrified expression, probably at the prospect -- and memory -- of the one time Blaine drove them to a gig. “Just not your car!” she calls, jogging to catch up with Blaine and Sam, Artie running after her. “Your car is the fucking worst.”

“Don’t talk about her like that!”

“Blaine and Sam agree!”

That gets their attention and the two guys turn, Blaine asking, “What are we agreeing with?”

“I agree with Tina,” Sam says immediately. Tina nods gratefully at him.

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about!” Artie complains.

They’re at his beat-up car now and they pile in, Tina in the passenger seat laughing as Sam all but tackles Blaine into the backseat when he starts for the driver’s side, jostling her and Artie in the front. They continue shuffling around while Artie attempts to start the car, to many concerning -- but normal for his car -- noises.

“This thing is gonna go down and take us with it, Artie,” Tina mumbles teasingly, absentmindedly twirling a drumstick in her right hand. (She realizes too late that she probably should’ve left them at the Orpheum, but it’s not a big deal -- they’re not her favorite pair which are safe in their studio and she has extras backstage in case something happens to this pair while they’re out.)

The car finally starts with a rumble and Artie lets out a cheer. “We’re fine, T. Let’s go, y’all!”

“Floor it, Artie!” Sam calls from the back. The car accelerates comically slowly even as Artie presumably “floors it,” but they’re going somewhere.

After a few minutes, Tina finds herself unconsciously humming her solo in the bridge of “Now or Never,” only noticing when Sam interjects suddenly with his “Tomorrow!” leaning between the front seats and slightly startling her. She laughs and continues with the words, “‘Cause we got all we need today! ”

“Today!” Artie echoes, miming his guitar playing with one hand on the steering wheel.

“Living on a feeling that’s been running through our veins!” Blaine sings loudly, joining Sam in crowding into the front of the car.

“We’re the revolution that’s been singing in the rain!” It’s Sam’s line, but they all belt it at the top of their lungs together.

“That’s my line!” Sam exclaims at the same time that Blaine cheers, “My favorite line!” Tina continues to clap the beat for the next part of the song, Artie hitting the steering wheel in rhythm with her. Her face hurts from smiling.

“Artie, dude, where’d you go?” Blaine asks suddenly. Tina looks around at their slowly darkening surroundings that are completely unfamiliar. Slight panic rises in her stomach but she swallows it down; she’s with her boys, they’re safe, just a little lost.

Sam bursts out in uproarious laughter as Artie complains, “You guys distracted me!”

“Told you I should’ve driven!” Blaine says. He leans forward again and Sam follows. Tina stays quiet, pressing herself against the door a little to make room; her boys aren’t that much better but she’s always been completely hopeless with navigation and directions.

“You would’ve gotten even more distracted from singing and veered us right into a fucking building,” Artie grumbles, but he obeys as Blaine directs him to turn left and chooses to ignore his comment.

“Safe driving, am I right, dudes?” Sam cackles as he returns to the backseat, and Tina can’t help but laugh with him. “We’re gonna miss our gig, that’s how we’ll be legends!”

“‘Sunset Curve Skips Orpheum Showcase For No Reason’?” Tina suggests, turning around in her seat to face Sam.

He points at her. “Exactly. Or, 'Sunset Curve Skips Orpheum Showcase Because They Don't Know How To Drive.' The end of a promising career,” he jokes somberly. “No one would ever book them again.”

They fall silent and only the mutters of Blaine and Artie fill the car, along with the loud engine.

“Still haven’t figured it out yet?” Sam groans loudly, laying on his back across the backseats as Blaine is leaning awkwardly out of his seat to help Artie navigate.

“Not like you’re helping!” Artie says.

“That’s the street!” Blaine exclaims, pointing ahead. “The next intersection.”

“Give it up for Mr. Blaine Anderson, everyone,” Artie drawls, speeding up the car a little bit. “Perhaps not able to drive, but navigator extraordinaire.”

“You chose the wrong career path, dude,” Sam says, propping himself up on one elbow to clap Blaine’s shoulder. “Like, songwriting?”

Blaine looks down at him, raising an eyebrow. “Songwriting?” He gestures for Sam to continue.

Sam shrugs, sitting up finally. “Just, you know, songwriting, bro…" His gaze suddenly shifts and fixes at a point beyond Tina. "What th-- that car Artie!”

Tina snaps her gaze away from Sam just in time to see him yank Blaine down into his seat and the set of blinding headlights through the car windows in her periphery.

---

as a final note, i'm not sure if it can be seen this way but i'm not trying to erase artie's disability or anything and i believe i'm not doing that; as you might be able to guess, the car accident at the end of this is what paralyzes him, like in glee canon but just several years later (in his life not in actual time). please let me know if any aspect of this is disrespectful or anything <3

[cal-puddies]

is it warm enough for you inside me? || calum hood

this is 100% a joint effort with @kindahoping4forever​. So if you are lucky enough to live in the midwest of the US, then you know we had a random one day snow storm the other and I was talking to crystal about it. mind you i was drinking so i launched into the tropiest idea i could and this is what came out. Make sure you give her extra love too because she doesn’t realize how fucking good she is at writing.

Cal had been your best friend for a while, you couldn’t exactly remember when you met, but you’d run into him and Ashton and he quite literally ran into you, knocking you on your ass and it’s all history from there. 

The two of you had decided a get away was in order, work stress for you and him being home from tour for too long, you both needed a break. 

And getting there was a disaster, Cal had mistaken AM flights for PM flights and booked because they were a good deal, and you didn’t actually see the tickets until last minute only to realize you needed to be up at 3 am and it had been midnight and you were tipsy and still not fully packed. 

Then the airline lost your bag. You had to wait in the airport for hours to get a rental because they were all out and you were 12 hours early.

To make matters worse, you still had to drive in a snowstorm over two hours to get to the cabin he’d rented. And you, of course, trip in the snow almost immediately. And it wasn’t light, fluffy snow, it was the super heavy, super wet stuff, and it of course soaked you through. 

So that brings you to now, tired and cold, with no extra clothes for the night except what Cal decides he can spare. It leaves you in his hoodie and your panties. The two of you sitting in front of the fire, making s’mores. 

He’s wearing the crotch hole jeans and telling  you about how he had to teach Luke about graham crackers. 

“You’re kind of being an asshole.” He mentions. 

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for a fun getaway. I haven’t slept in two days and I don’t know If I’m getting my bag back or I just have to wear the same clothes for the next four days.” You gripe. “And I’m fucking cold.” You groan. 

Cal nods in understanding. “I know I messed up the flights but you don’t have to take everything out on me.” He reminds you. 

You relax, because he’s right and you’d be equally as annoyed if he treated you like this. You head for the couch and throw a blanket over your lap. 

And not too long after that is when you propose the alcohol gets cracked open for the "scientific warmth", and when you cheers to your first drink, he calls a truce.

“Sorry for being a jerk, just everything that could, did go wrong” he murmurs, clinking glasses.

“Murphy’s law.” You mumble, agreeing. 

Downing your shot, you can't help but get one last jab in, "I can feel you getting likeable again already!" and then as it usually goes whenever one of you gets in a Mood, it's immediately as if nothing happened. 

You're laughing about the way you fell in the snow and doing impressions of the unhelpful airline employees who couldn't help with your bag situation.

And Cal notices you hogging the blanket on the couch, so he just climbs on next to you and helps himself, “you already got my hoodie so you gotta share.” 

“I’d share anything with you,” you mumble under your breath.

Which he doesn't hear because Cal is making a show of getting comfortable with you on the couch, “so cozy, so comfy,” and he pulls you against him for maximum comfort for you both.

And you lay there together for a while, talking about everything and nothing, his hands are slipping under the hoodie after the third drink because you are warm in his hoodie and his hands are cold.

You gasp at his touch but not entirely because of the temperature change. Calum hood could touch you 100000 times and you’d still never be ready for the full on butterfly feeling

He nonchalantly drums his fingers on your  bare skin because he's Cal and hasn't noticed how your breathing has changed, doesn’t notice you seem to hold your breath and you’re not laughing as much, because what if your stomach feels weird to him and he’s grossed out. 

You kind of panic and you know you need an out of this situation. So you end up exaggeratedly yawning, “think I’m gonna head to bed Cal, I’m exhausted.” You mumble. But you know you just need to put some space between you for even just a few minutes, you don't know how much longer you can pretend that your face is flushed from drinking. 

Cal agrees “yeah, we should get some rest so we can fight the airline for your fuckin bag,” so he’s behind you, rambling, and when you make it to the bedroom in your little cabin, you realize Calum must have booked one with only one bed. You stop short in the doorway.

He finally makes it to the door and bumps into you. He takes in the room and kind of laughs, “coulda sworn I asked for two.” He scratches the back of his neck. 

“It’s cool, I’ll sleep on the couch.” You shrug, turning to walk away, it’s too crowded in here now. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll freeze, we’ll share.” 

"Great" you sigh, and while he's gone back to the living room to make sure everything's locked up, you quickly rearrange the bedding to form a makeshift pillow wall down the middle of the bed,  so you have at least some hope of being able to rest. You rush to the bathroom to pull yourself together as you hear him coming back down the hall.

Cal thinks the pillow wall is ridiculous when and is rearranging the bed when you come back, he gives you this look like ‘what is wrong with you?’

“What?! My back hurts from tensing up and shivering; I just wanted some extra support.” 

“I can rub your back, and if you're still that cold, we should probably snuggle up skin to skin. You know, transfer body heat and all that.” He explains. 

You groan internally as he strips down, to his underwear and snuggles into the bed, “here I’ll get it warmed up for ya.” He smiles, and wow he’s looking so cute smiley and snugg in the bed, cheeks tinted pink from the alcohol. He makes a show of kicking his legs and rolling around to warm up the bed, and then looks at you, “c’mon! It’s warm, hoodie off.” 

“Calum.” You roll your eyes.

"Just tryna help, love," and next thing you know he's pouting with those plush lips and god, you really could not have made this a worse situation for yourself if you had tried. You fidget with the hem of the hoodie for a beat longer before you offer an exasperated "Fuck it" and tear it off and hurriedly slide under the covers.

“That’s my girl.” Calums grins, pulling you into him. He wraps his arm around you and starts absentmindedly rubbing your back, “isn’t this better? The bed is warm, we’re cuddled up together rather than having all those pillows to make sure we both stay cold?”

You roll your eyes to yourself at his ability to remain totally oblivious to the situation. It's so Calum. This isn't the first time your attraction to him has gotten the best of you but it's definitely the closest you've come to having to address it. Wrapped up in tattooed arms, bare chest pressed up against your back, this is the closest you've been to Calum, period. "You were right, 's great, Cal. Thanks" you say warmly but in a tone you hope makes it clear the conversation doesn't need to continue.

He stays quiet for a little bit, burying his face against the back of your neck. “Glad we decided to get away.” He murmurs, and you get goosebumps as his lips brush against the back of your neck. “Are you cold? Here, turn over, against me.” He says softly.

You can't think of a reason not to so you flip over as requested. He runs his hand vigorously up and down your arm, that he's decided entirely on his own needs warming. In a genuine but light tone, you ask, "How are you not tired? We got up so early and everything that went wrong... hell is literally freezing over right now. Why are you not sleeping?" 

Without even a beat of hesitation, he shrugs and answers simply, "Guess I'd rather talk to you."

You let out a little sigh. Cal was aloof. No idea what those words meant to you, no idea of the total effect he was having on you, and you’re not even sure he’d care if he did know and that was annoying enough.

You must still have a notable amount of liquid courage in you because you hear yourself press him, "Well. Let's talk then. Tell me something I don't know. And make it interesting, Hood."

And he decides to match your courage, “I think you’re pretty.” He murmurs, in case you don’t hear him and he can take it back.

You purse your lips in thought. Normally you're a big believer in the "go big or go home" mindset but the problem here is if this goes wrong, you can't go home because of the storm. His admission isn't much but coming from Cal, it's kind of a lot. Realizing you need to respond before either of you lose your nerve, you take a deep breath and move the slightest bit closer to him on the bed. "You got me drunk and naked during a blizzard just to tell me I'm pretty?"

Cal lets out a sigh of relief and grins at you, “best laid plans darlin... what did you wanna hear, about how I wanna kiss you, or suck your clit instead?” He decides to be brash right back.

You grin back at him while your mind is going a mile a minute. You search his eyes, trying to decide how much of this is him trying to get a reaction out of you, hoping this is for real and not just a game of chicken that flirty friends might play. You clear your throat and smirk, "Well. I guess I did say make it interesting, now didn't I?"

“Right, right.” He nods... “so you definitely wanted to hear about how I’d kiss down your body, paying attention to your neck and nipples because I know you like that. Maybe a couple hickies? Then your thighs would just be covered in marks...” he watches you shift, “should I go on?” He smirks

You love that smirk and you hate that smirk. That smirk that lets him get away with anything but also let's on that he knows he can get away with anything. You wish your breathing hadn't become so shallow as you lean in and say in a much lower voice than anticipated, "You know... I'm realizing I've never been a big fan of stories." You lightly drag your finger down his chest, stopping to trace over his many tattoos. "Always preferred 'show' over 'tell', you know?"

“I think I know that about you.” He pushes your hair off your shoulder and pulls you closer, pressing his lips to your neck, he feels your body tense for a moment as he presses another to your cheek. “This ok?” He checks.

You exhale loudly, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. You smile faintly at him, the flirty confidence you'd been hiding behind finally slipping. "Yes..." You answer, running your hand down his sweetly concerned face, enjoying the roughness of his stubbly cheeks. "More than ok. I've just... I've been wanting this." You hook your fingers under his chin and bring his face to yours, fitting your lips against his before he can respond to your confession.

Cal grins into the kiss; happy to have the permission. The kiss is needy, he’s nipping at your bottom lip, sucking it, and then he’s moving his lips back to your neck, pulling you against him, grabbing your ass to pull you closer. He pushes you over onto your back as he starts to kiss down your body.

Your fingers instantly thread thru his hair as you watch him move down the bed, pressing his lips to your skin any and everywhere he sees fit. You gasp as he palms over your right breast, loudly sucking a mark just below it. "You don't waste any time, do you, Cal?" You comment shakily, closing your eyes.

“Well... I’ve been wanting it, too.” He smirks at you. “So pretty.” His tongue pokes out, teasing your nipple. “Wondering how you taste, how you sound.”

You inadvertently let out a yelp when the chilly air of the room hits your skin dampened by his kisses at the exact moment he says the word "sound." You both chuckle warmly at the coincidence and for a second, you forget that this is not normal, that this is uncharted territory. You remember that it's just Cal. His mouth closing in on your other nipple yanks you out of your thoughts and you relax into the feeling, murmuring "That's nice, Cal" because you know he likes encouragement.

Cal kisses back up your body, pushing himself flush against you so you can feel that you’re getting him hard. He presses a couple sweet kisses to your cheeks before moving back down leaving open mouth kisses against your thighs, marks and nips decorating your skin

Cal hooks his fingers in your panties and gently pulls them off. He notices your breath catches as you feel him between your legs and he looks up at you, eyes meeting yours to check in once more. You bite your lip and nod. Satisfied with this exchange, he wraps his arms around your thighs, bringing you closer to him and his tongue darts out to lick a stripe down your center.

Cal hums against you as he slowly licks over your clit, “so worked up.” He grins at you. “Can you turn the lamp on? Wanna see you.”

You snort at his request but oblige him, making a big show out of extending your body up and over to reach the bedside table. "Not exactly the type of stretch I've been hoping for tonight, Hood," you tease.

He cocks an eyebrow, licking into you, staring you down. He presses his thumb to your clit, “you want stretch, darlin? I’m sure I can make that happen for you.”

He circles your clit with his thumb a few times before attaching his lips to it. He continues to eat you at a torturously slow pace and you groan, bucking your hips against his face, resulting in him murmuring an unintelligible protest against your pussy and reaching out to steady your wild hips.

“Acting like no ones touched you in months.” He teases. “Fuck, youre delicious.” He rests his head against your thigh and flicks his tongue over and over your clit, moaning. He flicks his eyes up to you to see your face

He sees your lips are moving but no words are coming out. He smiles to himself as he asks a question he feels he probably already knows the answer to, "You ready to cum for me, darlin?"

Your fingers tangle in his hair and he buries his face back against your core, licking, sucking, nipping on the super sensitive flesh, listening to your moans and rambling

He hears you find your voice just enough to get out a strained "Jesus, Cal" and then feels your body finally tense and relax beneath him. He laps at you a few more times before you're pushing him away. He presses a kiss to each of your inner thighs and then raises himself over you, to kiss you, tongue moving against yours with grace, offering you a taste of your arousal, taking away the breath you had barely just caught after your orgasm.

“Was it everything you’ve wanted?” He teases, against your mouth. He drops his hips against yours, needing you to feel him. You pull out the kiss and Cal immediately goes back to kissing your neck, “it was more than I thought, you sound better than I could have imagined. Better than I’ve thought about when jerking off.” He admits.

You press a small kiss to his shoulder and decide you can't get him close enough so you run your hands down his back, drawing him near, "Can't say I was disappointed." You roll your hips against his, eliciting the type of sharp groan you were hoping you'd receive. "But tell me, what else have you thought about?" You reach between you and find his hard cock between your bodies and give it a light squeeze thru his boxers.

“What haven’t I thought about?” He chuckles, gripping you and flipping you so you’re on top, “this has crossed my mind a lot. Bet you look so pretty when you’re riding cock.” He hums, “think about your lips wrapped around me.”

You lean over him and trail short wet kisses all over his chest, "Oh yeah? Reckon I'd look pretty good with your cock in my mouth?" You tease

“I’d be willing to bet on it.” He winks. “Should we find out? Or are you wanting more.”

You both grin at each other like fools as you work together to get his underwear off. You figure you've both waited long enough for this and waste no time licking up the sides of his cock before taking as much of it as you can into your mouth

“No what the fuck.” He breathes

You pull off of him as quickly as you took him in and chuckle, "Thought you said you thought about this a lot, is this not what you expected?" You smile at him playfully while you give his cock a few gentle strokes. You lean down to roll your tongue briskly over the head before wrapping your lips around it and gently begin to suck.

“No, this is perfect, baby, thank you.” He groans, wrapping his hand in your hair. He moans as you work his cock up and down, flicking your tongue over the tip before licking down his shaft to suck on his balls, drawing out a low groan. “Baby, want you on my cock, please.”

You react audibly to his words and lazily drag your lips across his cock and chest as you make your way back up his body. You lay next to him and he wraps a hand around your neck, pulling you to his lips, murmuring nonsense against them. You pull back and kiss along his jaw because you've always wanted to do that and now you can, "How do you want me?"

“Be a good girl and ride me for a little, yeah?” He asks. “Just wanna see you on top of me for a bit, and then maybe I can get it from behind.” He murmurs, holding your neck tight.

Just the thought of Cal bending you over like you've always imagined has you feeling weak and your eyes fluttering shut, "That... sounds like a fantastic plan." You peck at his lips a few times more and sit up, "So tell me, does a stud like you keep condoms with you at all times or are we going with the honor system here? I'm on the pill and like, I know you so I'm fine either way..."

He hmmms... “I didn’t assume to bring any... like don’t get me wrong, I would have thought too if I thought this was possible. But I can be a responsible adult and wait, as much as I don’t really want to…”

Of all of the unexpected events of the day, hands down the most surprising for Cal has to be seeing the wide smile that spreads across your face. Before he can ask you about it, you're capturing his lips in yours again, "Good boy," you beam and then bound off the bed into the living room. He's confused until he sees you rushing back into the bedroom, digging thru your purse. "You know, I've always wondered what your move would be in this situation, although I appreciate you not assuming anything," you triumphantly toss a shiny packet at him on the bed. He raises an eyebrow at you as you toss your bag aside and climb back on the bed. "Don't flatter yourself, Cal, it's not specifically for you, I just like to be prepared," you tease.

“Oh yeah? Just gonna fuck a random mountain man then?” He quips with a soft smile to let you know he’s joking.

"I didn't take you for a role playing guy, but if that's what you're into, I'm down"

“No no, if we're gonna do this, we’re gonna do this as ourselves. I don’t wanna pretend I wouldn’t have you if you weren’t you.” He admits. 

“Another point for Hood.” You grin. “Now, are you gonna put that condom on or do you need a hand?”

"I'm never gonna say no to you putting your hands on me," he taps the bed next to him, indicating you should come closer. He rubs over the top of your thigh as you tear open the wrapper and give his cock a few firm tugs before you roll the condom onto him.

Cal grabs for your hips, sitting up for a kiss and to guide you over him. He grabs his cock in one hand and slicks it through your folds. “Think you’re ready?” He checks, “it feels like you’re ready.“ he murmurs

"You have no idea how ready," you groan and begin to sink yourself down onto him.

Cal groans from the sudden delicious change of your body on top of him and you wrapping around him “can’t believe we’re finally doing this, you feel amazing.” He admits, laying back. “Show me how you like it gorgeous.” 

And you can’t help but love all the affection and terms of endearment he’s showering you with.

You take his hands from off your hips and place them on your tits. He takes the hint and begins playing with them and then you're rolling your hips, trying to find a rhythm that satisfies you both. "Fill me even better than I thought you would," you tell him.

“Oh? So you’ve been thinking about my dick?” Cal gets cocky, and he grins. “You can take it slow, I wanna enjoy you on top of me, I can rail you in a bit.”

Calum lands a hard smack to your ass.

You roll your eyes, partly at his smug demeanor and partly at how much it turns you on. "You want slow, Cal?" You lean back, bracing your hands on his legs. You raise your hips until his cock is nearly all the way out of you and then slowly lower yourself to take him all in again. You repeat this slow dance again and again and the way Cal is gripping your hips along with the soft curses slipping from him tells you the sensation -not to mention the sight- is driving him wild. "This more what you had in mind?"

“Exactly.” He confirms, slowly moving his hands across your skin, up over your breasts, tweaking your nipples, lightly holding your neck, and down back over your thighs, he might be in you but he wants to make sure you feel him all over your body. He bites his lip watching you, “feels so good, pretty girl.” He praises. “You let me know when you’re ready to switch.” He lets his thumb linger over your clit, pressing soft circles over it.

"Ah... that's so good, keep doing that." You moan contentedly and lean into his touch, bouncing on his cock just a little more aggressively. "Love this but honestly just about ready for you to wreck me"

“Happy to.” He guides you off of him by your hips, “let’s get ass in the air.” He directs. He watches you turn over and settle on your hands and knees, wiggling your ass. He can’t help himself as he leans in to slick his tongue through your folds another time, listening to your breath hitch at his unexpected action. “So good,” he murmurs as he kisses the back of your thigh and up to your lower back. “Nothing’s gonna beat the view of you on top of me, but...” he lines up and sinks in, “fuck you feel good.” He makes quick work of upping the rhythm since you’re already so wet for him.

He moves his hips against you, hands alternating between grabbing at your ass and holding on to your hips for leverage. You can't believe how good he feels from this angle and you want to tell him but all that comes out is a series of whines. He seems to get the message, though, since he responds with "Feelin good, pretty girl?" and a loud slap to your ass as he drives himself in deeper.

Your arms give as you drop your face to the bed, chanting and whining his name. “Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” He teases, rubbing a hand over the newly smacked flesh, landing another one, he grins at your little yelp. “Taking it so well.” He groans. And then it’s just skin on skin and the moans filling the bedroom.

You can't help but move your hips back against him as you feel yourself nearing your end. "Fuck, gorgeous, get what you need," his encouragement sending you over the edge. He slows down, letting you ride out the orgasm at your own pace, groaning at your satisfied sounds and the feeling of you pulsing around him. Once he feels your body relax, he gently alters his rhythm once more, searching for his own release.

He grins, still watching you while chasing his orgasm, your body still moves for him, he’s watching the nothing fall out of your moving lips, your fingers curl into the sheets, it’s when you finally find your voice to say “cum for me cal” that he loses it, holding his hips tight against yours as he spills into the condom.

Cal stays buried in you for a few beats longer, hands absentmindedly rubbing over your ass as he catches his breath. He gives one last "Fuckin hell," under his breath as he eases himself out of you, you murmur in blissful agreement. You feel him affectionately run his hand down your spine and leave a small kiss on the back of your neck before the weight on the bed shifts as he gets up to dispose of the condom.

When he comes back, you exhaustedly cuddle against his chest. He kisses the top of your head and listens as you fall asleep. “Guess we’ll talk about us in the morning.” He whispers, kissing your head again. 

You’re both awoken by your ringing cell phone, cal is wrapped tightly around you, and you have to fight your way out of his arms to go answer it. 

His eyes are barely open as you climb back in bed with him, he scoops his arm around you and pulls you in. “My suitcase came in this morning, they are going to bring it here.” He grin. 

“That’s good, but I was liking you in my hoodie.” He murmurs, eyes closing again. 

“Know you wanna go back to sleep Cal, but, can we talk?” You ask and watch as he nods, “about last night… I want you to know that I hope it’s not just a one time thing.” 

“Could be a two time thing,” he murmurs, pushing his hand between your thighs and kissing your cheek, “are you thinking something else?” He checks, as you push against his chest. 

“I was thinking maybe like… we try… us.” You admit, “if you want to, no pressure.” You quickly sputter out. 

“Of course I want to.” He sighs. “Just wasn’t ever sure you wanted that.” 

“I do, I want that.” You kiss his nose, “so let’s try.”

Tag list: @cocktail-calum​ @1dthewantedlove​ @youngblood199456​ @lustingforwunder​ @calumsphile​ @neso-k​ @rosecoloredash​ @radmcqueen​ @justayoungandwisefangirl​ @itsnotmyblood​  @lietoash​ @pushthetide21​ @5sosfanficrec​ @therealmrshale​ @fallfrxmgrace​ @lukashemmos​ @justarandomgirlthatyoudontknow​ @5sos-microwave​ @madbomb​ @sweetheartmendes1000​ @literally-anythin​ @lfwallscouldtalk​ @clemmingstylins0n​ @ccnicole02​ @lustingfor5sos​ @buteverythingiscopacetic​ @rosesfromcth​ @bodaciousbonzi1996​ @ashtontotheirwin​ @captainam-erika-trash​ @xxgendurvikixx​ @jazzyangel242​ @bluebabycal​ @rhiannonmichellee​ @iovehemmings​ @glitterycalum1205​ @katcontreras​ @cashtonasfuck​ @ificanthaveu​ @kindahoping4forever​ @here-for-the-uproars​ @canterburyfiction​ @opheliaaurora​  @queer-5sos​ @banditocth​ @gigglyirwin​  @glitterycalum1205​ @rebelwith0utacause​  @inlovehoodx

gc tags: @sublimehood​  @5sosnsfw​ @angelbabylu​ @aspiringwildfire​ @irwinkitten​ @lashtoncurls​ @myloverboyash​ @singt0mecalum​

masterlist || ashton || calum || luke || michael

wanna be tagged? go here

[yikesharringrove]

drummer!billy fucks steve after robin drags him to billy’s band’s concert at the gay bar and he swears he hates the band until he sees billy... please :)

I’m so hot for drummers I became one. That’s TRUE.

This is some modern lovin’.

Also I have a friend in a vegan eco-punk folk band and they fucking suck.

Pansy Division is a real queercore band they are AMAZING super recommend they have a song called Fem in a Black Leather Jacket that I can SO see Billy singing to femme!Steve to be teasing one day.

Queer Bar is the name of a REAL BAR my friends and I (used to, thanks Miss Corona) go to to watch drag performers and queer punk bands.

Ayoo3

Porn Porn.

Steve didn’t go to a lot of concerts.

He didn’t do great in sweaty crowds, and the loud music would leave his ears ringing for days. But Robin would still drag him out to see her friends’ shitty bands play at shitty dive bars.

“You have to come. It’ll be fun. They’re actually, like good.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“That’s what you said about the last two bands, Rob. And they fucking sucked.”She had dragged him to some house show for her friend in a vegan eco-punk folk band which is apparently a thing that exists in this world, and they sucked. It was like someone screaming about global warming over a Bon Iver song. It made Steve want to actively go out and litter.

“What’s the genre?”

“Queercore. You can listen to them! They have an album on Spotify that’s done pretty okay. They’re called Pansy Division.” Steve gave her a cold look as he pulled them up. He listen to their three most popular songs, That’s So Gay was a pissed off track about people using the word gay as a derogatory. Fem in a Black Leather Jacket was self explanatory, and Luv Luv Luv was a more chilled out song, but the lyrics were all about how love isn’t real and “we’re all just animals at the core”. Steve was sold.

“Where are they playing.” Robin grinned at him.

“Queer Bar.” Steve groaned. Queer Bar was small. A divey place that got hot and sticky. Steve didn’t like going as he always left covered in spilled drinks, and other people’s sweat, and had hooked up with three of the bartenders and just didn’t really wanna deal with all that.

“I don’t know, Robin. You know I don’t like Queer Bar.”

“You like it just fine. You’re just a slut. You do realize that if we could only go to bars where you haven’t fucked one of the employees, we would have like, five bars to choose from.”

“Don’t slut shame me. I am a young flower, who must dance on the wind and take a dip in every pond.” Robin stared at him.

“Steve that makes no fucking sense. Just admit you’re a sloppy whore and let’s move on.”

“Fine. I’m a sloppy whore. So when is this terrible night scheduled?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Robin!”

“Dingus!”

“You couldn’t’ve given me some notice?”

“You’re getting like, thirty hours of notice right now.” She rolled her eyes. Steve always told her one of these days they were gonna fall right outta her head.

“You are a nightmare and the bane of my existence and I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate you.” Steve deadpanned. She leaned over on the couch to smack a wet kiss to his cheek.

“And you should probably bring condoms. These guys are just your type.”

-

“So, that’s what you’re wearing?” Steve just glared at her.

“If you’re dragging me to this thing, I at least want to be comfortable.” He was wearing short denim cutoffs, ones she had cutoff for him. They were high-waisted, and he tucked a baggy Jane’s Addiction t-shirt he had stolen from his ex-boyfriend into them. He had just done a little eye shadow and smoked liner.

Robin was in a black body-con dress, her old brown leather jacket over her shoulder, but her arms were not in the sleeves. It was very fashiony of her. Steve tugged on a red bomber jacket.

They would be meeting Robin;s girlfriend, Heather, at the bar. Apparently she was friends with someone in the band.

“Let’s go, Dingus.” Robin was holding The front door to Steve’s apartment, swinging it between both hands. He pinched her side as he walked past.

They had to take a Lyft to Queer Bar, another reason it was the worst. It wasn’t in walking distance. Their driver was this quiet guy who wouldn’t stop staring at Robin, even when she loudly started talking about her girlfriend. Steve only gave him four stars, a serious deal for Steve, who would probably give five stars even if the driver fucking murdered him.

Steve had met Heather quite a few times, and he liked her. She was cute, and easy to talk to, and made Robin so happy, but she also kept talking about Billy and how he was going to come out with them later, and kept winking at Robin.

They traipsed into the bar, Steve ducking to avoid one of the bartenders he had slept with. The guy had been real clingy after and asked Steve to get breakfast while Steve was trying to get dressed and get outta there.

So, they’re in the club, and it’s about time for the band, well, it’s twenty minutes after time for the band, and Steve is tired and is nursing a vodka cranberry and has been hit on more than he wanted tonight.

But then the band is taking the stage, and Steve is ready to lose his mind at this perfect specimen taking his place behind the drums.

He had tattoos on nearly every inch of skin Steve could see, his arms, his legs, his neck. He was putting his long hair into a ponytail, a few curls escaping and settling around his face. He was laughing at something the bassist was saying to him, twirling his stick in one hand.

“Heather’s friends with the drummer. His name is Billy.” Robin was giving him a knowing look.

The band was pretty good. Played a lot of loud songs. People were slam dancing around the front, far from where Steve was standing, watching the drummer. He really fucking whacked the drums, broke about three sticks during the hour set. He was all sweaty. Would play with a big grin on his face, blue eyes crinkled, tongue between his face.

By the time they finished their set, Steve was sporting a half-chub in his shorts, was rearing to get fucked by this gorgeous drummer.

“What did you think!” Heather was beaming at him.

“Yeah, they’re okay.” Robin rolled her eyes.

“So, we’re just waiting for Billy, then we can get outta here.” Steve’s heart stopped. He had fucking forgotten they would be hanging out with this perfect Billy.

He came up behind Heather, picking her up from behind, laughing loud and beautiful.

“Stop, Billy! You smell like shit!” He rubbed his head onto her neck, making her slap at him. He released her, turning those eyes on Steve. He put out a hand.

“Billy Hargrove.” He took both of Steve’s hands in his, made him blush.

“Steve Harrington. I’m a friend of Robin’s.” Billy ran his tongue along his teeth, looking Steve up and down.

They ended up going to a club and getting hammered. Steve danced pressed against Billy, ended up laying on the bar while Billy led a few random guys in taking body shots off of Steve.  He ended up making out with Billy in a dark corner, hands roaming until

“My place is close by. You wanna get outta here?” Steve shivered as Billy rasped in his ear.

“Yeah, let’s go.” They found Robin, who slapped Steve on the ass as he left, tucked under Billy’s arm. They walked a few blocks to Billy’s place, a little apartment over a Thai restaurant. It was cozy, had posters all over the walls, and lots of plants. He had a fat little cat he introduced as my chonker, Diablo.

They made out on the couch for a while, but then Diablo started yowling at Billy, so Billy hefted Steve up, and tossed him on the bed, refilling the cat’s water. Steve wrestled out of his clothes as he could hear Billy cooing to his cat in the kitchen.

“Holy shit you’re hot.” Billy shut the door behind him, staring at Steve, spread out and naked on his bed. “Heather said you were just my type.” Billy came to the bed, crawled over Steve, settling his wight over him. Steve reached up, tugging his hair out of the ponytail.

Billy ducked to kiss him, nudging his thighs open. He leaned to dig through the night table, brought out a bottle of lube and a condom.

Tattooed fingers nudged at his hole, rubbed lube around the rim. Steve started tugging at his shirt, making Billy laugh while he had to tangle it off of himself.

“Relax, Pretty Boy.” Steve whined as Billy went back to circling his hole, so he pressed in. He pressed up to the knuckle, curling his finger. He fucked it in and out of him slowly for a while, pumping his finger in and out.

He pressed another in, curling and spreading his fingers, stretching Steve out.

Steve took hold of his wrist, angling his hand.

“Curl you fingers.” Billy smirked at him, curling his fingers. Steve jolted as they shoved into his sensitive little nerves.

“You know just what you want, don’t you?” Billy was mouthing at his chest, sucked a dark mark on his left pec. “Not afraid to ask for it, either.”

He was drilling into Steve with his fingers, fucking him roughly with his hand, bending his fingers, opening them up. Steve was gasped, his legs opening even wider. He added another finger, pouring more lube over his hand, over Steve’s hole.

“I’m ready, just fuck me.” Steve’s eyes were wide, being sure to pout just the way he knew guys liked, voice all perfect and whiny.

“You’re bossy is what you are.” Billy added another finger, making Steve cry out at the stretch. “Think you can cum on just my fingers? I think I’d like that.” He bite gently at Steve’s nipple, making him arch into his chest, pushing his hips down onto Billy’s fingers.

“I want you cock. Please, just fuck me. Please, please.” Billy grinned, resting his chin on Steve’s chest, speeding his hand up, jack hammering it into Steve. “Holy fu-uck.” Steve came all over himself, choking around a few breathy moans.

“That was hot. You’re gorgeous.” Billy pulled his fingers out gently, letting Steve catch his breath while he took off his jeans, tossing them on the floor. Steve took extra notice of the lack of any underwear.

Billy was hard, his cock flushed red against his stomach. He rolled on a condom, settling himself between Steve’s legs, spread wide.

“You ready for me?” Billy was stroking Steve’s cock, smirking as Steve whined, oversensitive. Steve modded, wiggling his hips, whimpering for Billy to fuck him.

Billy pressed himself against Steve, holding his hips down as he gentled himself in, going slowly, inch by inch.

“You’re so tight Baby.” He was pressed flush to Steve, grinding his cock deeper, making Steve choke. He pulled out, immediately setting a brutal pace, sitting on his knees, one hand holding onto Steve’s upper thing, the other gripping his hip.

Steve was fisting the sheets under his head, clawing at them to try and hold on.

Billy was gorgeous above him, hair messy and wild, skin glistening, his muscles moving so beautifully under his tattooed skin.

Steve was hard again, trailed on hand down his body to wrap his fingers around his cock, jerking to the speed of Billy’s thrusts. He was getting close again, Billy was expertly hitting that sensitive little spot inside him, was panting and muttering about how hot Steve is, was making him whine and flush and fly closer to orgasm.

It hit him like a fucking train, making him cry out, adding to the mess on his stomach, tightening around Billy.

Billy gave one final grunt, slamming into Steve, emptying inside the condom. He caught his breath, staring down at Steve, running a finger through the spunk on his stomach, pressing it into Steve’s mouth, his eyes going dark as Steve moaned around his finger, eating his cum off it.

“You’re ridiculously fucking hot.” He huffed a laugh, pulling out of Steve to ditch the condom. “Now I actually owe Heather. That sucks.”

Steve laughed, slapping Billy’s chest.

[spacecakes20]

Begin Again

(Chapter 6)

Chapter 7: Sebastian, New Keepsake

It wasn’t rare to see Sam so worked up. He was always energetic and rarely ever kept his energy in check. Entering his friend’s room, Sebastian noticed he was practically vibrating from excitement. He just wouldn’t stop fidgeting with his guitar, his leg bouncing almost rhythmically.

      “Hey, Sam.” Sebastian greeted his friend nonchalantly from his bedroom door.

      “Seb!” Sam exclaimed, putting his guitar on his bed and excitedly ran toward his friend. He almost reminded Sebastian of an overly excited puppy. “You’ll never guess what happened!”

      Sebastian pretended to ponder, eyes wandering the room for nothing in particular. “You finally asked out Penny?” He finally said, his voice laced in amusement.

      Sam looked slightly taken aback, “Wha—no! Not that!” He punched his friend in the arm before continuing, “I got us a gig!”

      Now it was Sebastian’s turn to look stunned. He wasn’t expecting that. He was used to Sam making plans but never really committing to them. He’d say he was going to do something one day, then completely change his plans the next. It was an endless cycle. So, when his friend said he’d try to book them a music gig almost a month ago, Sebastian didn’t think much of it. He was willing to admit that he underestimated Sam. But then again…

      “That’s great.” Sebastian said, though his words didn’t match his skeptical tone, “But—”

      “No!” Sam coved his ears, shaking his head, “You’re not allowed to be a killjoy about this one!”

      Sebastian rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics. “I was going to say,” He gave Sam a pointed look, “That’s great, but we don’t have any finished songs—”

      Sam groaned at that, plopping face-first into his bed. “Please don’t remind me!” His muffled voice said in annoyance.

      “And,” Sebastian ignored him, “We still don’t have a drummer.”

      Sam was silent, body unmoving. He was still for so long, Sebastian wondered if perhaps his friend had suffocated himself and passed out. The only thing that gave away that his friend were conscious was the slight twitch of his finger.

      “You know,” Sebastian had made his way over to his friend’s bed, sitting on the edge, “Abigail plays drums. We could always just ask her.”

      Sam groaned again, face never leaving his mattress. How was he even breathing?

      “Abby’s always busy with school.” Sam’s muffled voice said, “She rarely has time for practice.”

      Sebastian hummed, “Isn’t summer break coming up for her?”

      Sam didn’t answer, only peeking one eye from where he was laying.

      “She should have plenty of time for practice over the summer.” Said Sebastian, not really waiting for Sam’s response. For a fraction of a second, he thought about asking Sam if he knew about Abigail’s new friendship with Maru but decided to keep that to himself. That’s just something he’d have to ask Abigail himself. He also didn’t want to know if Sam knew more about it than he did. The idea of Sam and Abigail keeping secrets from him just didn’t sit right with him. He’d rather be blissfully unaware if that were the case.

      “Fiiiiiine.” Sam gave an over-exaggerated groan before flipping over on his bed, “I’ll ask Abby. And then maybe we could work on finishing a few songs.”

      Before Sebastian could come up with a response, the sound of someone knocking on Sam’s bedroom door caught everyone’s attention.

      "Come in!” Sam called out.

      At first, Sebastian was expecting it to be Jodi or Vincent—Sam’s mother and younger brother— but he was surprised to see a familiar mop of tight brown curls and shimmering green eyes.

      “Luna!?” Sam sounded just as surprised, “What are you doing here?”

      She looked a little sheepish as she shot them a soft smile. “I’m sorry,” She looked genuinely apologetic, “I was making a delivery, and your mom sent me. She wants to talk to you.”

      Sam nodded in understanding, jumping to his feet with a stretch. He made his way over to the door, giving Luna a bright smile, “Alright, I’ll be right there.” He gave her a pat on the shoulder, perhaps to calm her nerves, before leaving the room. Reassuring others and making them feel more welcomed was like a special talent to Sam, Sebastian noticed. He always seemed to know all the right ways to calm someone without making them uncomfortable. It was a talent Sebastian wished he had at this very moment because now he was alone with Luna once again. He didn’t dislike being alone with her. He just felt like he couldn’t get a read on her. Sometimes she seemed timid and a little shy. But then at other moments she seemed downright playful. Perhaps she was still warming up to him.

      “I wasn’t excepting to see you here too.” It was Luna who broke the silence. She was standing by the door, eyeing him curiously.

      “Yeah.” Sebastian shrugged, “Me and Sam usually meet up here for band practice.”

      Her eyes, if possible, grew brighter, “You’re in a band?”

      “Um,” Sebastian rubbed the nape of his neck, gaze finally meeting hers, “Sort of. It’s just the two of us.”

      She smiled at that, “I see.”

      He didn’t know what to say to that. He wreaked his brain for anything to say, but he was drawing a blank.

      “So, what do you play?”

      He was so grateful that she was the one reviving the conversation. “The keyboard,” He answered as smoothly as he could muster.

      That seemed to have caught her attention, “Really? Are you self-taught?”

      “Kind of…” He answered unsure, causing Luna to tilt her head in confusion. “I mean, I had piano lessons in middle school.” He clarified, “Dropped them around high school. Decided to teach myself the rest since then.”

      She nodded in understanding. “I get that. I took violin since elementary school.” She stated, “I wanted to drop it around high school too, but my mom never allowed it.” She shook her head with a light chuckle, but Sebastian could see, if only for a split second, that there was no mirth behind her eyes. Just as quickly as it came, it disappeared and was replaced with a half-smile, “Perhaps we could collab some time.”

      He couldn’t help but snicker at that, “Didn’t realize we had a professional musician here.”

      “Well…” The playful glint in her eyes grew brighter as a small smirk graced her face, “Don’t want to brag or anything, but I did win third place in my school talent show. So, I am kind of a big deal.”

      Sebastian whistled, “Third place? Impressive. Don’t tell Sam, or he’ll never stop bothering you to join our band.”

      Luna laughed at that, “Sorry, but I’m retired from music. And I don’t know how well an acoustic violin would sound in a band.”

      Before Sebastian could make a comment, the door opened, and Sam entered the room. “Sorry ‘bout that!” He exclaimed, “But now we can get back to practice!”

      Luna nodded in Sam’s direction before giving Sebastian a smile, “Well, I’ll be seeing you boys later than. Wouldn’t want to be a distraction.” She waved goodbye and made her way out the door.

      Sam looked to the door, then to Sebastian. His easy-going smile morphed into something smug, “So, you and Luna gettin’ along now?”

      He didn’t know why that comment made him feel self-conscious. He just decided to shrug Sam off and fiddled with his pockets, “I guess…” He tried to sound casual about it. It’s not like he and Luna were fighting before or anything. They just had… unfortunate first impressions. But before Sam could get the chance to question him further about it, he seemed to suddenly remember the reason they’re in his room in the first place. Perhaps Sam’s mind was jumping to the next subject lined up in his brain of cue cards at light speed. Sam tended to do that a lot. Ever since the two were kids, Sam would bounce from subject to subject, not really caring about carrying on a one-sided conversation. Currently, he was on a ramble about the songs they needed to work on and get finished.

      Letting his mind wander, Sebastian started playing on his keyboard mindlessly. His mind brought him back to when Luna was talking about playing the violin. Something about her voice sounded bitter, and he wondered why.

                                                              ...

The lake always felt so peaceful at night. It was a full moon that night, and the way the lunar light sparkled on the ripples of the waters was mesmerizing. The sounds of night echoed through Sebastian’s ears, setting his mind at ease. He was taking a smoke break by the lake that was next to his house. Working close to a deadline was always a stressful event, and it didn’t help that his current client was starting to become anxious. Which, in turn, also put Sebastian on edge. This would be the last time he lets Sam talk him out of work.

      Empty promises, a voice in the back of his head nagged. He was pretty sure he had uttered those same words before. Perhaps he’ll just stop answering his phone when he was too busy. But that probably wouldn’t stop his blond friend from bursting through his door for an unannounced visit. Just the very thought made Sebastian already feel exasperated.

      He was brought out of his train of thought by the sound of a tree branch snapping. Sebastian’s eyes snapped up to the source of the sound, a small bit of panic rushing over him. He calmed down when he saw where—or rather who—the sound was coming from. Farmer Luna had made her way out of the mines that were close to his house. She had a pickaxe in hand, a sword at her hip, and a backpack full of… rocks? She was dressed in her typical overalls and heavy looking mountain boots. Her wild curls were kept in place in her usual ponytail. As she stepped into the glow of the moonlight, he noticed she was covered in dirt and her overalls were stained with slim. Despite that, she still managed to smile when their eyes met.

      “Oh hey!” She greeted him as she picked up the pace to meet him. He stayed in his spot, nodding in her direction. He was in a sour mood and didn’t trust his words enough to speak.

      “I was just thinking about you.” She said, almost too casually.

      “Huh?” He eyed her; a bit taken aback by her statement.

      She seemed to have realized what she’d just said, her features melting into a slight panic, “Oh, I meant, uh…” She averted her gaze, eyes focused on the lake. Her hands fished through her pockets. Her face relaxed when she found whatever she was looking for. She finally met his gaze, almost sheepishly. “I saw this, and I just… thought of you?” She held something in her closed hand, holding it closer to him. He stared at it for a fraction of a second, his brain not exactly catching up with the current situation. The sound of a nearby frog croaking brought him out of his stupor. He opened his hand and allowed her to place whatever she was holding into his open palm. Whatever it was, it was light and cool to the touch. Taking a closer look, he realized it was a quartz. It shimmered in an array of colors under the dazzling moonlight.

      “Huh. I really like this.” He said simply, still in awe from receiving the small token, “Thanks.”

      That statement seemed to make her smile, and instantly Sebastian felt his sour mood melt right off him. Her smile was almost blinding. He looked to the lake to distract himself. Clearing his throat, he asked, “What about this made you think about me?” He had to admit; he was curious. Looking at the quartz, there was nothing about it that would fit his outward aesthetic. He did like to collect gems from the mines on days he was feeling bored, but surly Luna didn’t know that.

      She looked surprised by his question, eyes avoiding his gaze. The gesture looked almost timed. Finally, she looked up at him, the previous shyness had washed over and was replaced with a teasing look of defiance, “That’s a secret.” She whispered, so low he almost didn’t hear her. But he did. And he couldn’t help it, but he allowed a tiny chuckle to escape his lips. “Alright.” He surrendered, “Keep your secrets. I’ll find out eventually.”

      The tips of Luna’s lips twitched into a smirk, “We’ll see about that.” The two stood side by side, the sounds of the lake soothing their senses. For the first time since the two had been alone together, the silence wasn’t awkward. No, it was comfortable. Calming. A sweet blanket of peace washed over them. It was nice. They stood there, in their peaceful silence, with only each other and the moon’s light as company. All good things must eventually come to an end, of course. Sebastian knew that. But he couldn’t help but feel just a little disappointed when she said, “It’s getting late. I should go.” 

       He didn’t look at her. He simply put his cigarette to his lips and shrugged, “Yeah…”

       With that, she left. Walking down the path that leads to her farm, she didn’t hesitate to turn around and give him a small wave goodbye. He gave her a wave of his own and that seemed to satisfy her. As he watched her disappear, it was like a magic spell had been lifted. He suddenly remembered why he was outside in the first place. That’s right, he was procrastinating. He groaned when he remembered his long night of work that was ahead of him. He looked to the cool quartz he still held in his hand. Perhaps it could bring back that calming peace he enjoyed but only a few seconds ago.

(Chapter 8)

[ashleyspinelliburnbook]

S1E8: The Pest/The Legend of Big Kid

It’s a happy day, because we have been gifted both a Gretchen episode and a TJ episode! But it’s also a very fraught day, emotionally, for reasons you’ll soon discover. (There’s a good kicker, at least, for your trouble. No spoilers, but the ending of “The Pest” goes exactly as I’ve relayed it here.)

Read on for relationship advice, feminism, and a brief aside about white colonists in Africa:

The Pest

How To Make A Boy You Don’t Like Leave You Alone

by Gretchen Grundler

I don’t hate boys. Anyone who says that about me is simply incorrect. Four of my best friends are boys — my friend Spinelli and I are the only two girls in our group. When I’m fighting that kind of gender ratio and still enjoy their company, how could I ever hate them?

But some boys in particular are not worth my time. As a person who recently had an experience deflecting one of these boys’ advances over an extended period of time, I feel I am uniquely qualified to dole out advice on this matter.

I’m sort of spoiling the endgame here, but let me say, it is scores more effective to deal with troublesome boys yourself than to leave them to your teacher. Miss Grotke may mean well, but she’s a teacher, after all. At the core of her philosophy is law and order. Plus, in Miss Grotke’s case, she’s a much bigger proponent of letting us work out our own issues. Everyone wins.

You may feel hopeless, though, when a boy you don’t like starts bothering you in class. Maybe you want to tell the teacher. But that’s just a quick fix, and not a particularly effective one. It’s a band-aid. It won’t translate to your interactions on the playground, which is where your reputation really matters. (Okay, your academic reputation also matters. Maybe more.)

Of course, you may not know he likes you until he TELLS THE ENTIRE SCHOOL AT THE SAME TIME AND YOU JUST HAVE TO SIT THERE AND TAKE IT BECAUSE IF YOU DENY IT RIGHT AWAY THE ENTIRE PLAYGROUND WILL BE TOO BUSY LAUGHING TO NOTICE.

Whew, that felt good.

Still, nothing brings the playground together like a common laughingstock, and that was me. And when there’s a common laughingstock — the K-I-S-S-I-N-G chants were still ringing in my ears long after they happened — this empowers the boy you don’t like. Because suddenly, he’s not working for his cause alone. Suddenly, the entire playground is on his side.

What did I do? Well, I felt entirely hopeless. I tossed and turned every night, vivid dreams of this boy and I getting married and having children and growing old together disrupting my sleep. I was so distressed that I didn’t come to school the next day until lunch, which isn’t like me at all, of course. I want to stress, that was a one-time course of action. When he found me in the cafeteria, my friends tried to protect me, but alas, my lovestruck friend Mikey was starting to be won over by this boy’s persistence.

The first action I took was to simply cancel out what this boy had done to me first, declaring his love for me to the whole school. According to my calculations, it had the least risk and the most reward. Unfortunately, when a girl tells the whole school she isn’t romantically involved with a boy, they tend to believe the opposite. A boy publicly announcing his love for a girl, even against her wishes, is revolutionary, a real risk, something to be lauded. A girl publicly announcing her rejection of a boy is, well, mean. There are many high-school names a girl in my position might be called, but I won’t trouble you with them.

After even more pestering at school, even up to him talking to me through the vent that connects the boys’ bathroom and the girls’ bathroom, I had had enough. On the bus home, I told him I wouldn’t speak to him anymore, recognizing that ignoring him hadn’t worked in the past, but I was desperate for any semblance of peace and quiet, even if it was from me. 

You know what he said? “I’ll take your silence as a yes,” and, “Denial is the sincerest form of flattery.” That’s not even the phrase! And if he was taking silence as a yes, why wouldn’t he take me saying “no” as a no?

The next action I took was drastic — high risk, a potential of a lifetime of punishment if it went south — but I knew it was a risk I had to take. I marched up to this boy at school the next day and called him out. I pulled out a pair of handcuffs and locked us together for eternity. The key? Gone. This boy? Presumably having the time of his life.

Except...he wasn’t. As I regaled him with all the things I would make him do that day — math club, spelling bee practice, a frog dissection over lunch — robbing him of his agency for perhaps the very first time, he broke down immediately. I pulled out the spare key to the handcuffs and set him free.

He said he just wanted to show me how much he liked me. But if we don’t call out this entitlement early, who knows when this awakening might have occurred for him? How many more girls would have had to suffer this ordeal?

“You know, Spinelli? Boys are really weird,” I told my friend when this was all said and done. “I know what you mean,” she replied. “Can’t live with them, can’t grind them into chalk dust.”

My eyes lit up as I thought of a science project I had been working on in my spare time.

“Well, actually, you could,” I said. Because I may be one to take one for the team, to put myself in harm’s way to try to mitigate future suffering at the hands of another person, but that doesn’t mean I don’t always have a backup plan.

Takeaway: Hot damn, this episode made me mad!

The Legend of Big Kid

Is Kirby Puckett the greatest outfielder that ever lived?

I'm not much of a stats person beyond the basics — field goal percentage, sacks, errors, the ones that will come up in conversation on a regular game broadcast. So, aside from a quick glance at his career numbers, which tell a story about his career, I can’t tell you if Kirby Puckett was the greatest outfielder that ever lived. (I will say that his number was retired a few months before this episode aired, which was a few years before the domestic violence allegations against him came out.)

Anyway, lucky for us, Vince and TJ can’t make this decision either, and it’s during their argument that they stumble right into the setting for this episode: the old playground that allegedly hasn’t been used since the 1970s. (Yet it’s on campus? Okay, okay, suspension of disbelief. My elementary school had a whole bunch of ways to get off campus during recess without anyone noticing, but it wasn’t done with any regularity — it’s possible they just didn’t know it was there.)

But it turns out someone has been using it, and recently, because TJ falls into a trap. As he’s hanging upside-down from the monkey bars, the two hear the rumbling of kindergarteners approaching. TJ tells Vince to save himself, but Vince instead distracts them so that perhaps TJ can get away. Vince, though, doesn’t realize how far or how fast he’s been running, because before he knows it, he’s back at the regular playground sobbing into Spinelli’s arms about how he could have done more to save his friend.

The coast seems clear, so the gang heads back to the old playground to get TJ, but he’s gone. Gretchen posits the kindergarteners must have taken him back to their pen, but that’s deserted, too. “They’ve probably migrated to their winter encampment,” she says, which doesn’t make the rest of the gang any less terrified for TJ’s safety.

We then get a jarring prisoner log from TJ, who tells us, “The unthinkable has happened. I am a prisoner of the kindergarteners.” He’s in a cage, unsure how much time has passed, and he’s not sure what his captors have planned for him. One of them — their leader, who TJ calls “Captain Sticky,” calls him “Big Kid” and tosses him some candy. TJ refuses to eat it, in case they’re fattening him up to eat him, but eventually is too hungry to say no.

Meanwhile, the gang is busy hustling the rest of the school, asking if they saw the kindergarteners, if there was a fourth-grader with them. The outcome appears bleak for TJ — everyone knows what might happen if those kids got a hold of an older kid: nothing good.

TJ, though, is...starting to like captivity, or at least get used to it. Whereas the kindergarteners first have to threaten him with weapons (crayons and paintbrushes attached to the end of yardsticks) to join them in tasks like finger painting and napping, he quickly assimilates to their ways.

Gretchen finds TJ’s shoe on the playground, lost in one of the initial scuffles, and Vince erupts in a “Noooo!” so heart-wrenching, you forget that TJ is, well, okay. Because the gang doesn’t know that. The kindergarteners are too elusive. No one knows what they’re up to except them.

But the gang acts on a more promising lead as Gretchen uncovers a still-wet lollipop. The trail is hot again!...just as we see TJ napping again, riding tricycles, and playing musical chairs. Is he too far gone?

When the gang arrive back at the old playground, they fall into yet another trap. Someone locks them in a cage, and the kindergarteners assemble, beating drums and shrieking. (We will...have to talk about how the kindergarteners are portrayed at some point in these recaps. There’s a very obvious white settler colonist, Indiana Jones, “thrilling adventures through untamed Africa!” look about them.)

The drumbeats slow, and who should walk out but...Big Kid. Well, TJ. The gang are shocked at how quickly the kindergarteners have completely taken hold of their friend, who now dresses like the kindergarteners, acts like the kindergarteners, and speaks like the kindergarteners. He won’t listen when they try to tell them who he is.

Somehow, it’s Vince talking about baseball that brings him back, though. Little League. Kirby Puckett. And TJ breaks down in tears, wailing, because he’s been through so much.

The gang finally gets him out of there, and Spinelli has to help TJ tie his shoes. “Shoes, underpants, I can’t get used to all this stuff!” he exclaims, and they don’t get it. (Gus calls the kindergarteners “primitive.” See latest parenthetical section.) But Gretchen recognizes he’s in a better place to be able to listen to reason now, so after he tells the gang he misses the freedom of being able to do whatever he wants all day, she says, “Don’t you see? Their way of life is coming to an end. By this time next year, they’ll be first graders.”

And TJ does get it. With one last nod to Captain Sticky, they part ways.

Takeaway: Growing up is hard, especially when you’re a kid and it goes by so quickly. Perhaps giving into some indulgences of yesteryear isn’t all bad, though, so long as you balance them with your current life and don’t let them consume you.

[waitineedaname]

Lightning Round, Take Two

kudos to @notedchampagne for inspiring this!!

also on ao3

-

“This is a terrible idea.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“She’s going to hate me.”

“She’ll love you.”

“Love me? Love me?!” Karkat all but shrieked. “I don’t know if you’ve realized this, Dave, but I don’t exactly make the best impressions! In fact, one might even say I make the worst impressions! We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t end this visit early because she can’t stand being around me because I have the personality of a deep seated pimple!”

“Damn. The kind it hurts to pop?”

“Yes! The kind of pimple that never forms a head and settles on your upper lip so it hurts every time you move your mouth! That’s what my personality is like: persistent, painful, and pus-filled!”

“The three P’s.” Dave mused, and Karkat shot him a scowl. “C’mon man, don’t sell yourself short. You’re like a blackhead at the worst.”

“Don’t pander to me, Strider.” Karkat grumbled and crossed his arms, but he didn’t complain when Dave slung his arm over his shoulders. “I still think this would go much better without me.”

“Nah, dude, trust me, this is the best option. I mean, best case scenario, if I did this by myself, she’d be like ‘omg do u have a bf’ and I’d be like ‘yeah’ because that’s part of what I’m tryna do here, tell folks about us, but then she’d want pictures even though she’s definitely met you, and then I’d have to show her all those cute pictures I took of you when you weren’t looking, and I know you don’t want that.”

“You what?”

“You didn’t hear that.”

Karkat rolled his eyes and leaned a little closer into Dave’s side, eyes tracing the little carapacian homes they were walking by. Dusk was falling, much to his relief; they both had to make compromises when they realized their species operated at different times of day, but he still avoided leaving the hive when the sun was glaring and ready to burn him to a crisp. Dave probably could’ve flown them all the way to Roxy and Calliope’s house, but Karkat hated making him carry him that far (Dave always insisted he wasn’t that heavy, but the strain in his voice never escaped Karkat’s notice), so they were walking the last few blocks. Karkat had a sneaking suspicion Dave was fine with walking because he was trying to delay the inevitable. He was nervous, if the way his fingers were tapping on Karkat’s upper arm or the way he kept clenching and unclenching his jaw said anything. Karkat sighed and unfolded his arms to wrap one around Dave’s waist.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, you know.” He said, surprising Dave into looking down at him.

“What? Who said I’m worried? You’re the one who’s been bitching the whole evening.”

“Because I want to make a good impression on your weird paradox ancestor, shit for brains. I’m saying you don’t need to be worried about coming out to her.” He met Dave’s eyes through his shades, something he’d gotten good at over the sweeps. “Of all fucking people, she’ll be the most fine with it. That’s why you’re telling her first, right?”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just-” Dave sighed and looked away. He was better than he used to be, but holding eye contact was still hard for him, “It’s a big deal, you know? I mean, Rose probably figured it out from living in a confined space with us, and Dirk kinda got it out of context clues, but this is a first using the big B-word.”

“She’ll be fine. And if she isn’t, I’ll tear her apart and at least give her a reason to hate your boyfriend besides my shit-awful personality.”

“Aw, babe, I dunno whether to be flattered you’d attack my mom like a feral raccoon or bummed that you’re trashin’ yourself.”

“How about we compromise, and I’ll stop shit-talking myself if you stop stressing yourself out about this.”

“...Deal.”

“Good. Because I think that’s her house.”

“Oh shit.”

The two of them stopped just outside the elaborate building the carapacians had offered Roxy and Calliope back when they’d first arrived in the middle of Earth C society, both of them brimming with anxiety despite their reassurances. Karkat almost thought Dave was going to say this was too much for him and turn around and fly home, but he unwrapped himself from Karkat’s arm and instead held his hand to walk up to the front door and knock.

“Just a sec!” Roxy’s voice rang out from somewhere inside, and a few seconds later, the door opened to reveal her smiling face. “Davey!” She squealed and launched herself at him, hugging him tightly. Dave, to his credit, adapted quickly and let go of Karkat’s hand to hug her back.

“Sup, Rox.”

Roxy pulled away from Dave to turn towards Karkat, who instinctively took a half step back. She noticed and laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hug you if you don’t wanna. Is a fistbump cool?”

“I don’t know if I would call anything a certain red asshole harangued me with in the early years of our friendship ‘cool’, but it is acceptable.” That made Roxy laugh, and he gave her a light fistbump.

“Karkat, bro, I can’t believe you’re just calling me uncool in front of my mom. What the fuck. What is this betrayal.” Dave shook his head, but he already seemed more relaxed.

“Dave, I dunno how to break this to you, but you’re related to me ‘n Dirk.” Roxy tried to adopt a sympathetic expression despite her grin. “You’ve got dork running through your veins.”

“Goddamn. You’re tellin’ me I’ve got a genetic predisposition for this shit?”

“Yup. It’s chronic. Doctors everywhere’re rushing to write studies on our family to try and isolate the ‘cool-but-really-not-cool’ gene.”

“Let’s hope it’s not replicable in a lab or anything. I’m pretty sure Earth C can only handle four of us.”

“Ohmigod, can you imagine them trying to test it out. Little lab rats wearing shades and writing wizard fic. Holy shit.” Roxy gasped at her own idea, an unbelievably pleased look on her face.

“Oh my dick. Fuck ectobiology, this is the science I want to invest in.”

“Absolutely not.” Karkat interjected. “There’s already enough of you jackasses, I think I’d have an aneurysm if any more blond lunatics were running around.”

“Lol,” Karkat couldn’t believe Roxy just said that out loud, “You’re probably right. Are we gonna keep fucking around about cool mice on the doorstep, or do you guys wanna come in?”

She stepped aside to lead them inside and showed them to the living room. “Callie’s out picking up dinner. I would’ve made something since I invited you guys over for dinner, but living in the water apocalypse did not leave me with many cooking skills.”

“Hey, no shade here.” Dave shrugged, plopping down on the couch with Karkat at his side. “I don’t think I’d be able to work an oven if I tried. We’re a strictly take-out household. Hivehold? I dunno, but we’ve barely touched the kitchen in the week we’ve been here.”

“Excuse you, I made those Hot Pockets yesterday.” Karkat countered sharply.

“Yeah, and they were like 30% cooked, dude. You put them in the microwave for thirty seconds and then panicked.”

“Fuck you, I don’t see you doing much better! In fact, I distinctly remember you eating those frozen pizza pockets like a ravenous barkbeast! It was like you’d been locked in a cave with nothing to eat for half a sweep and my delicious plate of folded sauce treats were the only thing saving you from a miserable, malnourished death!”

“I mean, a Hot Pocket’s a Hot Pocket. I’m not gonna turn one of those fuckers down, who do you think I am.”

“I think you’re a wiggler with no sense of taste.”

“You eat bugs.”

“And you put ranch on your pizza! Bricks and glass houses, Dave!”

“Dude, do trolls even have that expression? Aren’t y’all light sensitive? Why would you have glass houses?”

“Newsflash, dipshit, I’ve lived in close proximity for the majority of the past two sweeps with an overflowing fountain of pop culture references and idioms and an uppity seer that likes to make things as convoluted and difficult to understand as possible. I picked up a few human phrases! Uh, no offense, Roxy.” Karkat added at the mention of Rose.

“None taken! I’m pretty sure she gets that from Dirk anyway.” Roxy waved him off. “Take it back to the ranch on pizza thing tho, do you really do that? Is this some earth delicacy I missed out on?”

“Oh fuck yeah, it rules. You gotta try it some time.” Dave nodded, excited to get someone else to try his food crimes.

“Imma have to take a pass on that.” Roxy said, crinkling her nose.

“Finally, someone with taste!” Karkat exclaimed, and Dave gently hit his shoulder.

“I am slowly workin’ through traditional earth food tho! Or at least as traditional as you can get here. That’s where we’re getting dinner from! There’s this human/troll fusion place that Callie and I like. I dunno how authentic it is, but it tastes good at least!”

“I mean, nothing on Earth C is super authentic, it’s all like human diet slightly to the left, but it’s edible.”

“Better than the garbage we alchemized on the meteor, at least.” Karkat agreed.

“God, the fucking buffalo wings debacle.” Dave and Karkat shuddered in unison. Roxy looked amused.

“You guys spent a lot of time together on the meteor, right? And now you’re living together?” Roxy asked, and they both nodded. She had a look in her eyes that was far too reminiscent of the look Rose got when she was gearing up to psychoanalyze someone, and Karkat was hit with a stroke of panic. “Sooo, I should prob’ly do a lightning round with you too, right? Since you’re important to Dave?”

The pair shared a look and Dave shrugged, appearing nonchalant despite the way he was anxiously picking at a loose string on his jeans. “Uh, I guess?” Karkat said, bracing himself.

“I’ll start easy, I promise!” Roxy drummed her fingers on her lips as if thinking. “Hm… you’ve got ‘cat’ in your name, do you like cats?”

Karkat made a face, thrown off by the question. “I guess? I never had one, but Nepeta was pretty fucking into them, and they seemed… fine. I can respect a meowbeast that just lazes around if it’ll leave me the fuck alone, but Nepeta’s lusus could’ve probably torn me to shreds, so…” He shrugged.

“Was Nepeta a friend from the game?” Roxy backpedaled the moment she saw Karkat’s face fall. “Oh shit, tender subject, sorry.” She worried her lip, looking for another question, then perked up. “Oh! What’s your sign? I know it’s Cancer from earth astrology and stuff, but what’s that mean for trolls?”

Karkat looked down at his chest and grimaced. “Fuck if I know, I don’t actually have a sign. I spent most of my life thinking this stupid thing meant precisely fuck all. I guess it’s a symbol of my ancestor? But I never really learned much about him since the empress always tried to erase his rebellion, and I thought that ancestor shit was highblood bullshit anyway. I guess now I know it’s not, but ugh, I could’ve happily gone my whole wretched life without meeting that douchebag.”

“We met his ancestor in the dream bubbles.” Dave explained. “Or I guess descendent? Since y’all are technically the post-scratch group? I never really understood that part.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter, he was a pretentious asswipe with his head so far up his nook it’s a wonder he was even audible, but oh god, was he audible alright.”

“Lmao, I kinda wanna meet this guy.” Roxy grinned.

“No you don’t.” Dave and Karkat said in unison, which made her laugh.

“I’ll take your word for it.” The mischievous look was back in her eyes. “Next question! Have you ever had your quadrants filled?”

Karkat almost choked. “What the fuck kind of question is that? That’s none of your fucking business!” He blustered. “My quadrants are private, and it’s my decision if I want to bring them up! Are all humans this fucking nosy or is it just the Lalondes?!”

“It’s just the Lalondes.” Dave said flatly.

“I just thought it’d be fair since I asked Dave that in our lightning round!” Roxy put her hands up in apology, but didn’t look particularly apologetic. “I was curious!”

Karkat was about to continue his rant about people feeling entitled to knowledge about virtual strangers’ quadrants, but the way Dave sat up and cleared his throat gave him pause.

“Actually, Rox,” Dave started, fidgeting a bit, “I never answered that question back on the lilypad.”

“Yeah, but that’s okay!” Roxy brushed him off. “I’m not gonna push you to answer something you’re not comfy with.”

“That’s the thing. I wanna answer you now, if that’s cool.”

“Oh!” Roxy’s eyes widened. “Of course that’s cool! That’s cooler than cool.”

Dave lifted an eyebrow, a smile pulling at his lips despite himself. “What’s cooler than being cool?”

“Ice cold!” Roxy shouted at the top of her lungs, and the two of them chanted “alright” about a dozen times while Karkat watched them in bewilderment. Humans, he thought. He’d never understand them.

“Okay, but for real tho,” Roxy said once they’d both gotten a handle on their giggles, “You wanted to say something?”

“Yeah.” Dave almost immediately looked anxious again, running his hands over his jeans. “So. You asked if I’d ever kissed anyone or-” He cleared his throat and the rest came out in a mumbled cough, “-been in love.”

Karkat held his breath, eyes flicking between Dave and a very focused Roxy.

“The, um. The answer to both of those questions is… yes? And I know you’re wonderin’ who, that’s like the next logical question, like if you ask someone if they’re hungry and they say yes, your next question is probably gonna be ‘what do you wanna eat’, unless you’re a total dick and just wanted to, I dunno, be aware of someone else’s hunger for your own sick pleasures and leave ‘em waiting like you’re some kinda sick torturer tryin’ to extract information out of a prisoner, like ‘hey are you hungry?’ ‘Yeah, I am, actually. I’ve been hanging from my ankles for a week now and I’d kill for some motherfucking KFC right now.’ ‘Interesting. Go fuck yourself.’ That’s not a very good interrogator, actually, he didn’t even try to get any information out of the guy except for the knowledge that he’s really craving some chicken, which is virtually useless, unless the interrogator is working for KFC’s competitor, like Popeyes out here tryna get the deets on their rival brands. Hey, do you think they’ve got a Popeyes anywhere on Earth C? Maybe we should start one, make a shit ton of money. Really boost the economy.”

“Dave.” Karkat cut him off before he could get too far from the topic, giving him a pointed look. “Were you actually going to say something important or were you going to just talk out of your deflated ass forever?”

“Hey man, you know you love my ass.”

“The point, Dave-!”

“Right right right.” Dave shook his head and took a deep breath before looking at Roxy again, who looked like she was might be putting things together already. “It’s Karkat. The answer to ‘who’, I mean. We’ve, uh. We’ve been dating since the meteor.”

Roxy’s whole face lit up. “Aw, congrats you guys! That’s really sweet!”

“Yeah.” Dave looked over at Karkat and gave him a tiny smile before looking a little apprehensive again. “I’d, uh, appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone though? I mean, the rest of the meteor crew probably knows because we spent… a lot of time together.”

“Most of that was platonic, though. A good two-thirds of it, at least.” Karkat countered.

“True, but they don’t know that. Far as they know, one day we were just two bros hanging out and watching movies and shit, then the next day, Vriska walks in to catch one of those bros taking a snooze on his other bro’s lap and falling off the couch the moment she announces her presence.”

“I’ll give you three fucking guesses which dumbass that was.” Karkat directed that at Roxy, and she snorted.

“Rude.” Dave nudged him. “But yeah, they’ve probably figured it out, but we haven’t officially told anyone. I haven’t even told anyone I’m, you know. Bisexual.”

“Wait, so I’m the first person you’ve told?” Roxy looked a little stunned.

“I- Yeah? I just thought you’d probably be a safe person to go to, especially since we don’t have any weird baggage like I might have with John and Jade, you’re just my alt-mom, which I guess does make things a little weird-”

“It’s a little weird, but it does mean you get a certified mom hug!” She interrupted, standing up.

“A mom hug? Dunno if I know what those are like.” Dave said, smiling a little.

“They’re like this, you big goober.” Roxy pulled him into a tight hug, pulling him down a little so he could put his head on her shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Davey. That’s a big deal, comin’ out and shit. I’m glad you felt like you could tell me.”

“...Thanks mom.” Dave’s voice was a watery mumble against her shoulder, but he seemed to have collected himself by the time they pulled away. Roxy immediately turned her sights on Karkat.

“Your turn! You’re family now, you can’t escape hugs anymore.”

“Ugh, you humans are so fucking tactile.” Karkat grumbled but resigned himself to Roxy’s affectionate squeeze.

“Hey man, don’t act like you’re not cuddly as hell. I have to pry you off of me with a crowbar to go take a piss sometimes. You should see this dude when he gets sleepy, Rox, it’s so fucking cute. Did you know trolls purr? It’s some kinda flushed noise or something and it’s the fucking best.” Dave seemed to already be relaxing now that the thing he’d been dreading was over with.

“That’s private!” Karkat hissed, embarrassed. Dave just grinned at him and sat a little closer when they took a seat again. “Do you want me airing out how you melt like a touch starved candybar left in the sunlight when I suggest you should be the little spoon? Or how you turn into a warbling puddle of Dave when I do this?” He reached over and out his hand on Dave’s knee, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. Casual affection, Dave’s weakness.

“Aw,” Roxy cooed. Dave looked thoroughly embarrassed and made a strangled noise in his throat. Karkat gave him a smug look.

“Shut up.” He grumbled weakly and scooted a little closer so he could press against Karkat’s side and hold his hand.

“So you guys are matesprits?” Roxy asked, and Karkat’s anxiety immediately returned. Dave wasn’t the only one who had coming out to do. Dave squeezed his hand and let Karkat start since this was his thing to discuss.

“Mostly?” He offered weakly, then tried to sound more certain. “We’re kind of pale too.”

“Plus I piss you off in a pitch way sometimes.” Dave added helpfully.

“And the way you kept me from tearing Vriska apart on the meteor was sort of ashen.” Karkat admitted.

“I mean, there wasn’t really much of a chance of you tearing her apart to begin with. Spidertroll could’ve probably kicked any of our asses in her sleep, she’s fuckin’ crazy.”

“My point still stands!”

“So…” Roxy interrupted, guiding them back on topic, “You’re in all quadrants? I didn’t know trolls did that!”

Karkat winced. “They don’t. Usually. It’s extremely frowned upon.”

“Karkat’s had trouble keeping shit in one quadrant.” Dave explained for him. “He’s got a big ol’ heart full of love.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only person in Paradox Space to come to that conclusion about what my useless fucking pump biscuit is full of, but thanks for the thought.” Karkat rolled his eyes, defaulting to annoyance to avoid the insecurities that always gnawed at him when he thought about his relationship with quadrants. “‘Full of love’ is usually not the first thing people describe me as. More like ‘full of a burning anger’ or ‘a perpetual stream of irritable piss’ or, hell, ‘just undiluted dumbass juice!’ As far as most people are concerned, I’m Karkat ‘useless shitfit’ Vantas, and they’re not fucking wrong!”

“Okay, sure, you might be the grumpiest person in all - what, is this five universes now? I can’t keep track, but that doesn’t mean you’re not secretly a big softy.” Dave rubbed his thumb over Karkat’s knuckles. “I know that best out of probably anyone.”

“If it helps, I don’t think of you as those things!” Roxy added. Karkat gave her a disbelieving look.

“Full offense, we’ve never really ‘hung out.’”

“I mean, no, but I’ve seen you interacting with Dave and John and Kanaya and stuff, and you’ve always seemed to be a caring friend underneath all the yelling.” Roxy shrugged. “It’s nice knowing Dave’s in good hands since I’ve only been part of his family for a couple weeks. Means I don’t have to give you a shovel talk prob’ly!”

“The shovel talk? What the fuck? What does that even mean?” Karkat looked at Dave for an explanation, but he only winced.

“You know, when parents meet their kid’s partner and are like ‘you better not hurt my baby, or I’ll kill you.’ That kind of thing. I’m guessing trolls didn’t do that on Alternia?” Roxy tilted her head, seeming genuinely curious. Karkat’s face contorted as he wrapped his head around that concept.

“Okay, first of all, no we didn’t because we didn’t even have parents and our lusii wouldn’t give two shits about our quadrantmates. Second of all, you better not even think about giving me your ridiculous human ‘shovel talk’! I’ve known Dave far longer than you have, so it really should be me going ‘don’t fucking hurt him,’ but I know I don’t need to because Dave can fucking handle himself! He doesn’t need your bullshit defenses! If I ever hurt him, I trust him to be able to tell me to fuck off out of his life - not that he’d ever need to because I’d rather establish a culling system in the Troll Kingdom and offer myself up as their first sacrifice than hurt Dave!” He took a deep inhale to continue his tirade, but Dave cut him off with a pat to the cheek.

“Yo, dude, shoosh, it’s okay. It’s really not that big of a deal.” It was only after Dave cut off his train of thought that Karkat realized how worked up he was getting, and he shrank back down against Dave’s shoulder, embarrassed. “I’m pretty sure Roxy was kidding, anyway.”

“Yeah, for sure!” Roxy nodded quickly. “I didn’t mean to imply you were gonna hurt Dave or that he couldn’t take care of himself or anything. That’s hella not my place, and you guys seem very good for each other.”

“Oh. Well. Good.” He sent her a warning glare just to make sure he’d gotten the point across, then forced himself to let some tension out of his shoulders.

“It is really nice knowin’ my family’s in good hands though.” Roxy smiled. “Hell, it’s nice knowin’ I have a family! Oh my god, Dave, do you realize none of us Strilondes are straight? I mean, Rose ‘n Dirk are both gay as hell, and then you and I are bi!”

“Yeah- Wait, what?” Dave jolted a little in surprise. “Rox, you’re bi too? Since when?”

“Uh, since always?” Roxy laughed a bit. “I thought that’s why you came to me, because you knew!”

“No! Holy shit, I gotta process this for a second.”

“LMAO.” Roxy said, pronouncing every letter. “Yeah, dude! I mean, can you blame me? Like, dudes are hot as fuck, that’s like self explanatory. I mean, have you seen the Englberts? Eglishes? Whatever their family name is, John and Jake are both total babes, but then there are girls too! I mean, Janey, what a gal, right? And Callie too!”

“Right?” Dave enthused, clearly excited someone understood where he was coming from. “Girls are so fucking good, hot damn, but then? Dudes? Holy shit?”

“Yeah!” Roxy was just about throwing herself out of her chair with her excitement. “I can barely leave the house, it’s just smoochable babes everywhere I turn.”

“I’d say it’s a goddamn plight, but I got the most smoochable right here.” Dave emphasized his point with a kiss to one of Karkat’s horns, making him squawk. Dave laughed a little and turned back to Roxy. “Yo, but rewind back to Callie. Soooo, are y’all two, y’know…”

Roxy looked remarkably like Dave when embarrassed. “Uh…” The sound of the front door opening and Calliope’s greeting voice cut her off. “I’ll get back to you on that!” Dave waggled his eyebrows at her but didn’t push it.

Dinner was an enjoyable affair, despite Karkat’s near constant crippling fear of being miserable in every social engagement. The food was good and pretty close to tasting like home, and the conversation was fluid - mostly because Roxy and Dave chattered the entire time like hyperactive squirrels. Karkat tried to be annoyed with their ridiculous stream of consciousness discussions, but he couldn’t help but feel warm watching Dave talk so comfortably with his ecto-mom. And he certainly wasn’t the only person happy with the situation; every time he and Dave started bantering back and forth, he could see Roxy’s delight out of the corner of his eye, and the absolutely lovestruck look on her face whenever Calliope spoke didn’t escape him either.

Eventually, though, they had to head home - though Dave and Karkat had both shifted their sleep schedules to be active in the afternoon and most of the night, the majority of their human friends were still diurnal and needed to go to bed eventually - so after a few more hugs from Roxy, they were sent on their way.

Dave landed them down the street from their hive, and Karkat didn’t complain about having to walk that last distance. The Troll Kingdom was just now starting to wake up, stores and restaurants lighting up, trolls in suits rushing to their early jobs, and young trolls getting ushered off to school. It was so different from Alternia, but Karkat thought he could probably get used to the differences if it meant he didn’t have to worry about getting culled at a single glance at his blood color. Maybe it was too early to tell, but if he let himself feel just the slightest bit optimistic for his future, he had a feeling he could be really happy here. He could live a peaceful, successful life on Earth C, and if the cheerful way Dave was swinging their clasped hands meant anything, he wasn’t the only one feeling hopeful.

“So,” He prompted, leaning into Dave’s shoulder, “I guess that could have been more horrible.”

“Yep.” Dave said, popping the ‘p’. “We’ll have to scrap those emergency plans. Cancel our name changes and facial reconstructions and flights to the other side of Earth C, no need to run away immediately.”

“I don’t know, we might have to keep that shit pencilled in. We still need to tell John.” Karkat reminded him, and Dave groaned.

“Oh fuck. Yeah, never mind, you sure we can’t just fuck off into another universe? Universe D here we come. The D stands for Davekat ‘cause it’ll just be us, babe. It also stands for Dick because, come on, it’s us, of course it does. Also Dinosaurs just ‘cause. Do you think dinosaurs are a universal constant? Like, did dinosaurs exist for you guys? Or- oh shit, do you think they evolved differently? Are trolls just super evolved dinosaurs?”

“Dave,” Karkat gave him a look, “I think I would know if I was a dinosaur.”

“I dunno, dude, maybe we’re all dinosaurs-”

“Okay, I know when to cut that shit off.” Karkat rolled his eyes and let go of his hand to unlock their door. “Seriously, I think… that went okay. Less than horrid.”

“Less than horrid, huh? That’s a big compliment coming from you, are you feeling okay? Are you gettin’ some kinda fluffy feelings from hanging out with Roxy too long, ‘cause like, I get it.”

“Shut up. All I’m saying is this might not have been as much of an ordeal as we thought, this ‘coming out to everyone we know’ thing.”

“Maybe. You might be right.” Dave admitted, following him inside. “But that involved way too many emotions, and I think all my brain’s been used up for the rest of the day for anything that involves more thought than playing Xbox for seven hours straight. You down?”

“Fuck yes.”

[notmyatari]

On “Intellivision Amico,” from a friend

This was just posted on the AtariAge forum, where Tommy Tallarico has been holding court for the past year. I thought it would be smart to preserve it here. 

Yes, yes, official "hater," here.

I have certainly not made any secret of my dislike of what Tallerico has brought to our forum (cronyism, white knighting, a lack of critical thinking). That's probably not entirely fair... some of the Amico enthusiasm I'm sure is pure and genuine, but it really seems anything but the most mild criticism is met with insults, dogma and blinded thinking. I have stopped subscribing because of it (perhaps I'll go back to subscribing when some of this silliness dies down; I obviously still use and mostly enjoy the site). I have stopped trusting certain AA staff because of it. My block list is much larger than it used to be. I know perfectly well that a certain CEO has gone after me at least a couple of times (I'm really not sure why as I haven't done anything in his "official" thread and have limited most of my negative comments to YouTube... and even then, it's generally been light snark, never anything as personal as some around here have become). I've never been banned or reprimanded on this (or any) forum.

I truly hope some of you can put that, all of that aside for a second. I want to appeal to your critical thinking caps for a bit.

I always said that I did like the idea of family friendly, casual gaming. I have too many video games to even list (I'm one of those dorks with literally thousands of games), and hardly any time to play them... so fun, small pick up and play experiences and multiplayer experiences that my significant other and I can enjoy are important to me.

I have also been consistent in my view that an Amico was unnecessary to have those experiences.

I don't know that I'm a huge fan of any company or brand. I certainly have my expectations of certain companies, certain brands. When Nintendo releases a compilation of budget mini games, I have an expectation that they will be (for the most part) well thought out, buttoned up tightly and be mostly good value for money.

I don't need to become a walking infomercial for the Switch. You probably already know if one is good for you and your family or whatever. I will say this... at this point, if you can't see that Switch (really any console, but let's put aside the really heavy hitters that cost a ton for a second) provides literally everything Tallerico has promised you so far... RIGHT NOW, then you are either not looking carefully enough or you've been blinded by the "science" of talking to Tommy. I get it; I thought it was super cool when he first joined the forum, too! I legitimately love some of his contributions to gaming. My thoughts of happiness curdled slowly at first and then more quickly as I saw how he conducted himself here and elsewhere. All too often criticism became a reason to personally attack others. All along, there seemed to be a burning desire to have the last word, which, in and of itself is obnoxious, but doubly so when he preaches "let's agree to disagree" one time and then goes after physical appearances, relationships, mental states and other assorted nasty things on the other.

Putting aside my criticism of his behavior here for a moment, let's talk about the product he is trying to bring to market.

Most of the skepticism in regards to the Amico has been, all along, that it wasn't bringing enough DIFFERENCE to the table, particularly when Switch exists. Certainly, as the price of the console crept (continues to creep?) upward, the idea of a budget conscious console has all but flown out the window. "But what about the cost of games?" I hear some of you say. Well, sure, first party Nintendo games tend to be fifty or sixty(!) bucks... but how many wonderful indie titles come in under the 10 dollar mark? Hell, even the five dollar mark? "But the shop is too difficult to navigate; my mom can't do it!" I dunno... if you are that concerned about your mom's gaming habits, you help her with it? Just a thought. "But porn!" Sigh. You want to go after Nintendo (or any of the big guys) for charging an arm and a leg for controllers and peripherals... well sure, that's absolutely true... they gouge us! But when Amico costs right under what Switch costs already... I don't know how long you can hang onto that lifeline.

I think that the release of that trailer for 51 Worldwide Games today absolutely puts paid to the Amico and even the concept of it. You have 51 games, coming in at roughly forty bucks (what's that... 80 cents a game? even if a third of them suck, you'd still be looking at over thirty games)... and almost everything on that comp is something that Amico has touted for themselves (and no, I don't believe Nintendo is releasing this to undercut Amico somehow. This kind of dominance of casual gaming is WHAT NINTENDO DOES) as being an experience you can only have thru their machine. It just simply isn't the case. You can prosthelytize about the revolutionary controller and couch co-op and everything else you want... but my biggest problem all along has been that rhetoric.

Couch co-op already exists. On every game platform.

Fun, pick up and play family games exist. On every platform.

Easy to use controls? I guess that one is debatable, but I feel like that's more down to developers. I'm certainly not convinced that the Amico controller is some kind of paradigm-shifting wonder peripheral, anymore than I was about the Wiimote. The argument of "you have to hold one to see" simply doesn't work unless you're mailing one to those three billion people for a week so they can all give it the ol' college try.

Another red flag has been the insistence that Amico "isn't for us" (us meaning people who care enough about games to hang out on a board, I guess)... and yet, Tallerico spends a great deal of time here, preaching to the converted, and then making sure that every YouTube channel, big and small gets a personal checkup from him (or the faithful) if the word "Amico" is uttered. It's not for "us," but why is the drum being hit so hard on places that have "us." Do you see the disconnect, there? This weird, grassroots marketing appeal loses a lot of it's attractiveness when Tallerico has flat out stated that getting YouTube "influencers" onside was part of his strategy... and then suddenly skeptics have phone calls and interviews and free stuff. What are we supposed to think? What is anybody supposed to think? I can't help but think of the part in the Wayne's World movie where suddenly it's Wayne and Garth shilling Nike and Motrin for five minutes. I get wanting to go after 3 billion casual gamers who just play freeimum games on their phone... but I honestly and truly believe that if Tallerico and his team wanted to do that, they should have developed a suite of unmissable, killer software for phones, Steam, Switch, PSN, Live Marketplace (or whatever it's called these days), etc. under the Intellivision banner. Instead, they have gone this all but baffling route, designing an underpowered console from the ground up, couching it as some kind of budget solution and then watching as the price slowly grew. What is the end goal here? The stated goals of bringing back family gaming and so forth sound great... but they simply do not hold up to the light of scrutiny. Families never stopped gaming. Cheap, small games are within reach. I don't like the proliferation of huge budget AAA FPS titles with lootboxes and all of the other perils of modern gaming either... but nor do I pretend that that's all there is to gaming in this time.

Despite all of this, I don't wish Tallerico or Amico ill. He saw his shot, and I guess he took it. I don't think the Amico has much of a chance commercially, even being sold at non traditional retail channels. Very few will ever know about it; it will most likely be a blip on the radar. I do wish the never ending infomercial here at Atari Age would end. I do wish that some of you would realize that when you white knight for Amico, when you "stan" for it (as the kids allegedly say), you make the whole operation look bad. When you bash others for not liking an unproven, untried product... who are you actually doing harm to? The targets of your ire? I realize that this will kick up some stink, and I'm not particularly looking forward to it or looking for a fight. In fact, I won't. I've stated my issues, reservations and concerns. I particularly expect anything to change. I already know who this message will resonate with and who will take it as a personal attack. I just wanted to get some of this off of my chest, particularly in light of that Worldwide games trailer. Let me get it out of the way; my name is Justin, I'm married and have no kids and the Amico isn't for me and I have too many games and I'm  a manchild with toys on a shelf and etc. I'm a "hater," remember. But the last thing I am is a bandwagon jumper.

I really hope that some of you don't take this as some hate-filled screed... rather it's an appeal. An appeal to not let yourselves get so caught up in something that criticism of that thing hurts you like you were attacked. An appeal to look below the surface, even slightly when a new product is announced. If there are things you want, your family wants... don't be fooled by hype. Don't fall in love with the IDEA of something to the exclusion of all else. Instead, look around to see if your needs can be met by other means. Do you need the better mousetrap? Will that better mousetrap actually BE any better? Please think critically.

[gukyi]

moonlight melody (ii.) | jjk

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

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

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

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

part one | part two (finale)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook nods. “We’re the storm.”

You wish you could say you were shocked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sightseeing.”

“Drinking.”

Seokjin and Yoongi glare at each other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As in?”

“Some healthy, hearty Shin ramen.”

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

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

“That is absolutely horrifying,” you tell him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look cute!” Jungkook insists.

You scoff. “I beg to differ.”

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

You resign. “Quickly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t know that at all.

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

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

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

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

You narrow your eyes. “Touché.”

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

Then Seokjin says, “Excuse me?”

And Hoseok smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he really?

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

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

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

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

Jungkook grins. “Anywhere.”

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

One of which being a gondola tour.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“He looks like he loves you a lot.”)

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

Taehyung winks.

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

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

To that, everyone cheers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Us?” You ask, confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook!” You hiss.

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

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

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

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

“So?”

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

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

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

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

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

please come with taehyung really wants to try italian alcohol

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

dropping by ur room to pick u up in twenty minutes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It seems like a good enough plan to you.

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

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

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

“In their drinks?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s really all that matters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is art, and there is art.

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

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

There is Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have fun melting your goddamn face off,” Jimin comments bitterly. His pointer finger and thumb are pinching the collar of his shirt as he fans it out in the hopes that he’ll cool down what must be burning skin underneath. Jimin’s got a casual dress shirt and shorts on and his sweat stains are quite honestly, record-breaking. You can’t imagine yourself to be any better. Simply walking on the concrete makes your body temperature rise something fierce and unrelenting. “It’s balls hot here.”

“It’s balls hot here everywhere, climate change is real,” Yoongi says snidely, though he isn’t faring much better. “This is what greenhouse gases are doing to our goddamn ecosystem.”

“I’m sorry?” Taehyung asks, and you already know that whatever is about to come out of his mouth is going to earn him some sort of physical response from Yoongi. “Global warming is a hoax created by China to steal American jobs. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Yoongi mutters even if the fondness peeks right through his words.

Fanning yourself as you beeline to the closest shaded part of the sidewalk, where the veranda offers a brief and weak respite from the blazing rays beating down on you, you heave out, “I could go for a water bottle. How about you Jungko—?” You turn to find the boy you thought had been walking right behind you gone, vanished into thin air. You know he couldn’t be far but the crowds on this road seem to be never-ending, and for a split second you’re worried you’ve lost him entirely.

“We lost Jungkook!” You shout to the rest of your friends, who are currently loitering outside a watch store as Jimin and Namjoon take a peek inside. They all shrug in response, none of them feeling any sort of a sense of urgency to find the boy. What if he’s been sucked into a black hole and none of you know because none of you bother to look for him?

“Of course we did!” Hoseok says, shrugging it off like it’s nothing. “He’s probably taking photos in one of the alleys!”

“I’ll go get him!” You shout to them. Hoseok gives you a thumbs up before he caves and walks into the watch store, desperate for any sort of air conditioned haven that he can find, even if not for very long.

Walking against the current of the crowd, your eyes scan the smaller streets that jut out from the main one, searching for the boy with the camera. He must be down one of these, in no scenario would he ever stop in such a busy road to take photos. And then, near the very beginning of the downhill slope, you see a mop of dark hair and a camera.

“Jungkook!” You call, rushing over to him. He’s looking at some smaller works of street art, tiny little drawings on the sides of buildings and walls of political cartoons, lips, stick figures. They look like tattoos on the skin, each with a different meaning, spread out along an arm or a chest or a back. Little drawings that make up a bigger picture. “Jungkook, you disappeared on us!”

“I hate being in the sun,” he tells you, which, valid. You hate it too. Never have you hated that ball of fire in the sky more than this vacation. “And these drawings are amazing. Very quirky, would probably get accepted into a top college.”

“You can’t just vanish like that, you know,” you tell him pointedly. “It’s busy as shit here. We’d lose you. I’d lose you!”

Jungkook places a hand on his heart, feigning appreciation. “Aw, would my girlfriend miss me if I was gone?”

You barely take notice of the way the word “fake” has slipped from his mind.

(Maybe if you pretend it’s not there this time, you can pretend that it was never there to begin with.)

You scoff, rolling your eyes even if his words cause a little grin to break out on your face. Jungkook seems to have this permanent effect on you where, in his presence, you’ll always end up smiling. He’s just a wonderful person. Someone worth smiling for. “No, just don’t wanna be held liable for your disappearance. I’d have to pay your college tuition. Fuck that.”

“Ever the romantic, Thumper,” Jungkook says. His smile reaches his eyes, makes little wrinkles appear at the corners of them. People say wrinkles are bad but wrinkles are proof that you are living your life the right way: filled with laughter and joy. Finding something truly wonderful and being unabashed about your admiration for it. That’s how you’re supposed to live your life. “Say Firenze!”

Yet another classic Jungkook as he catches you off guard, quickly pulling up his camera and snapping a photo before you can object, the familiar click of the camera ringing out throughout the alley. You know what the photo looks like before he can show it to you, know exactly what it’s going to be before seeing it yourself. It’ll be you, standing in front of the conjunction between the alleyway and the main street, the perpendicularly-moving crowd an unfocused blur behind you. It’ll be you, clear as day, with the beginnings of a giggle on your face.

(You. In love with the man behind the camera.)

“That’s going into the portfolio for sure,” Jungkook declares as he quickly scans through his most recent takes. “Some of my finest work, if I do say so myself.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Jeon,” you say as a warning, even if you know he’s right. In everything that Jungkook does he is improving, getting one step closer and closer to complete and utmost perfection. Jungkook is the kind of person God created and then realized that they were too close to immaculate, but it was too late, because he was already here. “Come on, we gotta meet up with the rest of them. Pretty sure Jimin’s about to drop all of his money on a watch.”

Jungkook sighs. “Not again.”

This time, when you walk into a clothing store, it isn’t one with articles that cost more than a car. Luckily. Meaning you can comfortably shop without your eyes widening comically when you look at the price tag. It’s another one of those movie fantasies, shopping in a visually, culturally, and historically breathtaking place like Italy. Another one of those silly tourist things you’ll do just for the hell of it.

You’re in the middle of inspecting a button-down shirt, one that is entirely asymmetrical in both its design and its pattern, with horizontal and vertical stripes crashing into each other, when Hoseok comes up to you with the most obscene shorts you have ever seen (save for his awful, awful denim ones). They are a fluorescent canary yellow, the color you would find in a Crayola box for elementary students, and they have bright green polka dots covering them. They’re horrifying, and yet, only Hoseok would ever be able to pull them off.

“What in tarnation,” you say, not so much a question as it is a gasp, eyebrows furrowing instantly as Hoseok holds up the offending article of clothing. It looks more like a very diseased banana than a piece of clothing.

“Aren’t these great?” He asks enthusiastically. “And they’re on sale!”

You wonder why. Maybe if you were back home, at your own shopping mall, you would tell him that he’s about as fashionable as a colorblind giraffe and that it would be a waste of his money, but you’re not back home. You’re in Italy, and if in Italy Hoseok wants to buy what may or may not be the ugliest pair of shorts you’ve ever laid eyes on, then, well, who are you to stop him?

“You know what, Hoseok?” You say, nodding your head in support. He deserves to treat himself, even if his tastes are questionable at best. “You do you.”

“Treat myself, bitch,” Hoseok says confidently, turning to face what you’re browsing through. It’s mindful shopping, not the same kind that you do back home, because you only have one chance to buy something nice. No returns, refunds, or exchanges. “What are you gonna get?”

“I don’t know. Something nice.”

“Way to be specific, Y/N,” Hoseok says sarcastically.

You scoff, accosted. “You have no right to be talking to me about fashion when you have those monstrosities in your hand.”

Hoseok gasps. “How dare you insult these shorts. They are now my pride and joy and I will always wear them around you just to spite you.”

“First of all, fuck you,” you spit out though there is no animosity to your words. Hoseok cackles before prancing off to find some other hideous items in the sale section hidden in the back corner, away from the customer’s view. Not without good reason, of course.

With your best friend gone, frolicking around the store’s lower level, you begin to migrate yourself, eyes scanning the racks and shelves and mannequins for something to catch your eye. For some reason you seem to have become pickier than before, as if the change in location suddenly altered your own taste when it came to shopping, like you’re being stingy because you know you can’t just up and return the items like you could elsewhere.

That is precisely when you feel a figure slide up next to you, placing a soft kiss on your cheek to alert you of his presence.

“Hey, Thumper,” Jungkook says. “What do you think?”

Over his graphic tee, he’s got on a faux leather jacket, a sleek black material that looks much more expensive than it actually is. It fits him extremely well, hugs the biceps he’s gotten from so many years of violin-holding and perhaps a couple years of some devoted weightlifting as well, compliments his flawless figure and small waist. It looks great on him. You find it only a little strange that a store in Italy is selling a high-quality, thick leather jacket in the middle of summer.

“It doesn’t go with your shoes,” you tell him, looking down at the Jesus sandals look he’s sporting.

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Aside from my shoes, what do you think?”

You can’t help but be honest. This relationship has turned you into one hell of a softie. “It looks great on you, Jungkook. Everything does.” It comes out kind of like a sigh, like it’s something he should already know, so why is he bothering asking you? Does he need you to tell him that he’s beautiful too?

“You really think so?” Jungkook asks, looking at you as he takes the jacket off, hanging it over one arm as he flattens it out.

“Well, after Hoseok came up to me with the Satan of shorts, everything in this store seems nicer than it really is,” you joke. Jungkook laughs knowingly, having obviously caught a glimpse of Hoseok and those demons while walking around as well. “But yeah, I’m serious. You should get it.”

“It’s a little expensive,” Jungkook says hesitantly, eyeing the price tag. “I don’t know, maybe it’s not worth it. It’s not even real leather.”

“So? Save a cow and get it,” you tell him. “You shouldn’t be scared of it. We’re in Italy. You’re with your youth orchestra group. I’m here. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Words to live by.

Galileo Galilei once said that you must “measure what is measurable, and make measurable what is not so.” And you’ve lost count of the amount of times that Jungkook has pulled his hand into yours but you know that he’s kissed you on the cheek five times and you’ve seen him smile about as many times as there are stars in the sky. But what you cannot measure is your relationship with him. There is a contract written on a napkin somewhere but you wonder if he’s accidentally thrown it away while cleaning out his backpack, and you begin to wonder if you even care if he has. Galileo Galilei says that you need to make measurable what is not but you don’t know how you’re supposed to begin counting out your relationship with Jungkook when you yourself don’t even know how to define it. All of these numbers must add up to something but there is an unforeseen variable that you cannot solve for.

Galileo Galilei is a genius, but even still there are some unanswered questions.

On the edge of Florence and north of the Arno river is a smaller, less frequented church than the Duomo in the center called the Basilica de Santa Croce, and it is where Galileo is buried alongside people like Dante, Machiavelli, and Michelangelo. It is the deathbed of legends, of names permanently etched into history as shining stars, forgers of what is now the present. The Basilica de Santa Croce is not only an architectural wonder but it bears the names of some of the world’s most famous writers, philosophers, artists, leaders.

It just so happens to be your tourist stop of the day.

“That’s Dante!” Jimin shouts as you come up to the church, pointing towards the statue to the left of the main doors. Engraved in the stone is his name, Dante Alighieri. “He wrote that one book about hell.”

Namjoon looks as though he’s about to have an aneurysm with Jimin’s very obvious lack of deep and immense respect for not only the book but also the author behind it. You are willing to bet very good money that Namjoon poured out his heart, mind, and soul into the study of the book, whenever he was forced to read it during his mandated schooling. Coughing, he corrects, “He wrote the Divine Comedy, largely considered to be Italy’s greatest literary work, one of which features the poem Inferno. Yes.”

“That’s what I said,” Jimin says pointedly, making Namjoon sigh. You suppose that’s what he gets for easily being the only one in this entire group who’s somehow managed to retain the majority of his brain cells. You are actually quite impressed he hasn’t lost more considering how often he spends time with Taehyung.

“I’m really looking forward to this one,” Jungkook leans in to tell you as Namjoon doles out the tickets. It’s the middle of the day on a weekday and there is absolutely no line to enter, a shocking sight in a bustling tourist center like Florence. “Inferno was my favorite thing that I’ve ever read in all of high school. Knocked out Slaughterhouse-Five for the top spot.”

“Damn, what did Vonnegut ever do to deserve that, huh?” You joke, holding out your ticket for the guard waiting at the door to inspect. He gives a hearty yet stern nod and you and Jungkook walk inside. Ahead of you, Seokjin and Taehyung are already “ooh”-ing their way around the Basilica, much to the chagrin of literally everybody else. Hoseok’s already on his way to shushing them.

Jungkook loses his ability to speak when his eyes catch up with his mouth as he takes in the sight before him. Graves are littered throughout the entire building but shrines have been built into the walls, with messages and statues and marble decorating their designs. The people here deserve to be buried with such high distinction, revered so deeply not only by Italians of hundreds of centuries but by the whole world for their contributions to society, beliefs that have shaped the world as you know it.

You’d think he’d been rendered entirely speechless if it weren’t for the awe-stricken “Wow” to leave his mouth as he stares around the building, unable to focus his eyes all on one spot for there is simply too much to see. He doesn’t know where to turn but he does seem to be drifting towards Michelangelo’s tomb, a move you definitely saw coming considering the past two weeks spent here. Namjoon, Jimin, and Taehyung are busy looking at Machiavelli’s burial site, and a quick glance their way tells you that Namjoon is currently reciting all of Machiavelli’s greatest accomplishments as Jimin and Taehyung dumbly listen in. Hoseok and Yoongi are strolling around without a clear destination in sight, letting the grandeur of the place sink in. Seokjin has striked up a conversation with another group of Korean tourists, a family with two young children. They seem to be getting along incredibly well, and Seokjin even offers to take a photo.

“Never in a million years did I ever think I’d get to be here,” Jungkook tells you as you come up to Michelangelo’s tomb. A bust of the artists rests atop a stone coffin, and next to it, statues. “These women represent Architecture, Sculpture, and Painting,” he informs you, pointing to each respective statue. “His favorite things.”

“That’s—”

“It’s nerdy, I know,” Jungkook jokes, even if he continues to stare. He takes it all in like a breath of fresh air after being locked up for a year, lets it pierce his skin and melt into his bones. “I don’t know, I just think that he’s a genius.”

“It’s not nerdy,” you promise, equally as floored by the sight in front of you as well as beside you. Jungkook speaks like his passions aren’t worth being passionate about, but you think that he’s brilliant. “It’s really fucking cool, actually. The fact that you love this stuff so much, Jungkook. It’s incredible.”

“You think so?”

You nod. Knowledge is beauty and Jungkook is the most beautiful of them all.

Conveniently, right beside the Basilica de Santa Croce, on a road barely a five minute walk away, is a gelato store with an abundance of flavors to choose from. And it just so happens to be next on your list of places to visit, the overwhelming heat of Florence scorching your skin the moment you leave the blissful shade of the church.

On the Via Dei Neri there is a little gelato shop that bears the same name as the street, and when you arrive it is mostly empty, save for a couple of tourists who are seated in the plastic chairs in the corner of the store. Admittedly, the gelato here looks a lot more scrumptious than the thick, artificial flavors of Rome and Venice, beautiful colors and swirls decorating the tubs of the sweet.

“Wow, look!” Hoseok says, smacking your shoulder roughly as he points. “Mango cheesecake! And rice!”

“Rice?” Seokjin overhears, budging in. “Move over. My Asian ass is shaking.”

The one in Rome had over a hundred flavors but every single one of these look more delectable than any of the ones there. You can’t help but ache to taste each and every one, even if you know you’ll only be able to consume one or two before your stomach is filled to the brim.

This time, you are a little more giving with your blackberry and rose gelato, allowing Hoseok a single scoop of each with that tiny plastic spoon of his, letting him divulge into your gelato as you respectfully decline a bit of his own. He’s already attacked the entire surface area of the damn thing, and while mango cheesecake sounds delicious, Hoseok’s saliva, less so.

“It’s your loss,” he tells you over a mouthful of the dessert. He then proceeds to slurp up half of it like an animal starved. Your best friend is, quite frankly, disgusting.

“What’d you get,” Jungkook asks as he plops down heavily into the open seat next to you. You can hear the bone-shattering crash of something and peer under the table to find his phone lying face down on the floor. “Ah, fuck it. It’s already broken.” He shrugs carelessly and makes no move to retrieve his cellular device, much to your anxiety. You don’t know what he’s on but it’s certainly doing wonders for your fine lines.

“Blackberry and rose.”

“Oh, can I have some?” Jungkook asks hopefully. You sigh, resigning yourself to a life of letting all of the people close to you mooch off of your food, and hold out the cone to him. He helps himself to a small scoop of each flavor, humming in appreciation as he pops the whole thing into his mouth. “Mmm,” he says. “A rose by any other name would taste as sweet.”

“Nice wordplay,” you compliment dryly. “Let me have some of yours.”

“It’s mango,” he tells you, scooping some and holding it in front of your lips, ready to feed you. You comply instantly, opening your mouth to let him pop the spoon inside. And then, catching you off guard, he quickly takes a dollop on the tip of his finger and wipes it on your nose, much to your shock.

“Every fucking time we get gelato they’re at it again,” Jimin huffs when he sees the both of you giggling in the corner, retreating to the table where Seokjin and Yoongi sit, clearly trying to avoid looking your way so they don’t vomit up their gelato. “I think we’re gonna have to exile them from our gelato-scapades.”

“You know you don’t have to talk about us like we can’t hear you, right?” Jungkook asks pointedly.

“We know,” Jimin nods. “Go be gross elsewhere. I’m trying to stuff my face into the food of my culture.”

“Gelato is not the food of your culture,” Yoongi says. “We have the same fucking culture.”

“Ah ah ah,” Jimin says, shushing Yoongi with a finger to his lips. Yoongi, in retaliation, licks Jimin’s entire digit, but Jimin doesn’t even flinch. Like it’s normal for his finger to be licked by his friends. “This is rice gelato. Therefore, food of my culture.”

Seokjin, the biggest cone of rice-flavored gelato in his hand, high fives him.

Almost never does Bang receive enough credit for the work he puts into this orchestra. It’s his heart and soul and you are almost positive it’s the only thing he cares about, even if he’s spending the majority of his time sending glares Taehyung’s way. He’s the reason you’re even in Italy in the first place, and he is also the reason that you are currently standing in a line with tickets to enter Florence’s most famous art gallery instead of having to wait around for four hours in the blistering heat just for a spot in line.

“I pray to all of the higher powers above us and perhaps some demons as well just be sure that this place has air conditioning,” Taehyung declares as he attempts to fan himself with his ticket, the floppy piece of paper doing absolutely nothing for his body temperature. Even though you’re standing in the shade, covered by the shadow of the Uffizi, the heat is, quite frankly, still overwhelming.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Seokjin mutters. “The Lord works hard but the sun works harder.”

“Fuck that,” Taehyung grumbles, as if that’s going to do anything to calm the 500% humidity currently permeating the air.

“If you’re going to spend this entire trip complaining about the heat you’ll never be able to actually enjoy it,” Namjoon advises wisely, preferring to keep his obvious distaste for the weather to himself.

“That’s where you’re wrong, good sir,” Taehyung says, shooting Namjoon a finger gun alongside a wink. “I can complain about the heat and enjoy the trip at the same time. I’m a good multitasker.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. Taehyung’s always been like this.

The Uffizi, ironically enough, is shaped like a gigantic U, where you start at the very top floor of the museum and make your way around and down, slowly traipsing through room after room of stunning artwork, whether it be sculptures, paintings, and everything in between. You find the setup to be much more manageable than some of the other museums you’ve been to in your time as a museum aficionado, the layout easy to navigate and certain exhibits entirely unhidden.

More than once does Jungkook urge you to break away from your tour group and go exploring, and you almost cave in once or twice, but you understand that, between the two of you you are part of that select group of kids in your orchestra that don’t actually give Bang minor headaches, and therefore you should probably stay with your group, for Bang’s sake.

“This city is the birthplace of the Renaissance as we know it, please?” Jungkook asks, tugging on your arm as you enter another room filled entirely with stone sculptures and busts. You actually find his desire to abandon the tour group quite endearing, like he appreciates art so much he wants to explore it, admire it, cherish it in his own time, without having to keep up with the quick pace of the tour guide. It is something so unabashedly Jungkook, an unapologetic want to let the art sink in for himself without the crackly voice of a tour guide speaking into his ear.

“Jungkook, you know we shouldn’t,” you advise him, quite honestly shocked that you have turned into the sole diligent orchestra member between the two of you. Never in a million years could you imagine Jungkook wanting to break the rules and you wanting to follow them considering who you are as individuals and who you hang out with as friends.

“Aw, come on, Thumper, live a little,” he pleads. “Look, we’ve already drifted to the back of the group.”

He motions up ahead of you, where the tour group is currently gathered around a particular sculpture that even Jungkook bears very little interest in. You and Jungkook have strayed behind, and the rest of your friends are closer to the front, too immersed in the tour to notice your absence. Jungkook’s got a gleam in his eye and a wonder decorating his features, like he’s aching to get out and explore as much as he can. One of his hands is held tightly to his camera, the other, in your own. You can’t believe you’re about to do this.

“Fine,” you submit to his desires, not that you seem to mind very much either. You seem to have gotten progressively weaker and weaker to Jungkook’s causes as the trip’s gone on, both a blessing and a curse. “But if we get in trouble, it’s your fault.”

“Yes!” Jungkook cheers. He keeps his eyes trained on Bang, and when the conductor has his back turned to you, he grabs onto you and you quickly shuffle out of sight.

“This is literally such a shitty idea, Jungkook,” you tell him as you enter a different room, filled less with sculptures and more with art from the Gothic, pre-Renaissance periods. “We could get lost.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jungkook says, shrugging off your concerns. “I snagged a map. Look. We’re a couple of rooms away from The Birth of Venus and Primavera.”

“You just wanted to explore this place by yourself,” you say matter-of-factly, sighing as Jungkook tugs you towards another piece of artwork, lined with gold, blue, and red. It portrays a part of the story of Christ, a common muse amongst the artists of the age.

“This is true,” he admits to you, “but I’m not by myself. Look, I’m here with you.”

And maybe he only means that in a literal sense but you take it to heart anyway, allow yourself to fall into this fleeting dream where you and Jungkook are in Italy together, no loud group of friends or youth orchestra to interrupt your plans, where it is just you and him and the city of Florence all to yourselves. Where you can do what you please and take as much time as you need and explore all you want without anybody stopping you. Where you can hold hands and it isn’t just for show and take pictures of each other to preserve in the photo albums of your brain and your heart. A dream where you are in Italy together and there is no contract standing in your way, a bitter reminder that even if the location is real your relationship is not.

“I guess,” you say out loud, more a reminder to yourself than to him that you are together physically and nothing else.

“Come on, Botticelli is a couple of rooms over,” he says quickly, tugging you towards the prize he’s got his eyes trained on, arguably the most famous of the pieces housed in this museum. They’ll have crowds in front of them, for sure, but that’s alright. Jungkook’s tall, and he’ll be able to lift you up in more ways than one.

Though Jungkook does seem to be in a bit of a rush to get to the paintings, he takes his time exploring each room, reading the plaques in earnest and staring as closely as he can at the paintings, analyzing each one like the art student he was meant to be. It’s wondrous, really, the way he falls so deeply into the art in front of him, like a well he’ll never escape from. He looks at each piece like it is just as important as the one next to it, even if they aren’t nearly as famous as others, because to him art is a gift, a treasure that should be preserved, recognized, and celebrated.

As you approach the open doorway to the room containing Botticelli’s work, Jungkook gasps softly beside you, floored even from seeing the work from far away. It’s right there, right in front of him, and it’s as though Jungkook doesn’t really know what to do with himself now.

“Hey, let’s go,” you murmur to him. His feet seem to have given up and he’s rooted firmly in place, like if he takes another step he’ll simply collapse. “Come on, Jungkook. You’re almost there.”

It seems as though he’s in a trance as he follows you along, tugging him closer and closer to the piece. Primavera has less of a crowd in front of it than The Birth of Venus a few meters away, and so you pull him up close, standing right in front of the painting as he stares at it from in front of the glass that protects it.

“Look,” you whisper to him as if he needs the extra instruction. Jungkook can’t help the way his camera immediately comes up, knowing that even if he stares down the painting for another fifteen hours it will never be preserved in his brain the way a photo is.

You don’t know if you’d rather gaze at the artwork or at Jungkook, who is as much of a masterpiece as everything else in this museum is. You elect, just for today, to let your eyes drift to the art, because maybe, selfishly so, you’ll be able to continue looking at Jungkook long after you’ve left Italy. You barely notice the way he leaves your side to get a couple of different angles of the painting, allowing yourself to sink into the art as much as he has. You lack the analytical abilities and artistic prowess that Jungkook possesses at the tips of his fingers but that’s alright because you don’t need either of those to know that this is a piece of artwork worth saving.

“Beautiful,” Jungkook says when he joins back up at your side, your fears of being caught by your tour group long forgotten. You can’t help but wish that he wasn’t talking about the art but instead talking about you, but that is a thought to be shoved into the deep crevices of your mind, far from anything that may leave your mouth.

The crowds mean absolutely nothing when Jungkook lays his eyes on The Birth of Venus, the painting illuminated by a single bulb but otherwise shadowed for safe-keeping purposes. There’s an entire Chinese tour group standing in front of the painting, old ladies whipping out their massive iPads to take a thousand photos from the exact same position as though one of them will turn out better than all of the others.

“This,” Jungkook says when you finally make your way towards the painting. He doesn’t need to elaborate. You know. Italy is a dream for someone like Jungkook, someone who can’t help but fall in love with every new piece of art he comes across. And Jungkook is a dream for someone like you, someone who can’t help but fall in love with—

“Is this what you had dreamed of?” You ask him softly. Jungkook isn’t taking out his camera for this one. He doesn’t need to. This one he’s studied, analyzed, inspected, down to each and every stroke of the brush. Even if Jungkook isn’t an art major he is an artist nonetheless, and a painting as famous as this one is something he doesn’t think he’ll forget. Not in a million years.

“More,” he whispers back, and it feels sort of like a slow motion movie, like the world is stopping but you’ll forever be able to gaze at this painting, like it is the only thing left for your eyes to look at. That’s what this feels like. Jungkook’s grip on your hand has gotten tighter but you don’t mind at all, not when he looks like he’s just seen a supernova burst in front of him. Jungkook’s eyes are permanently decorated with wonder but right now they seem to have something else in them too, like awe, like amazement, like pure beauty is staring him right in the face and he doesn’t know what to do with himself because of it.

“Don’t you want to take a photo?” You ask, nudging his camera. Jungkook’s camera hangs limply from his neck and even if he’s got a hand holding the device he makes no move to do anything about it.

“No,” Jungkook says. “This is the kind of thing I want to remember all to myself.”

Sometimes, you wonder what goes on in that head of his when he sees artwork like this. Artwork so famous, so revered, so breathtaking, that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, how to react other than with an open mouth and an awed expression. But then you realize that the way he feels when he stares at paintings like The Birth of Venus, like The Last Judgement, is the way that you feel when you stare at him. Because even if he doesn’t realize it, he himself is art, the same kind of art that he loves. Art that is worth remembering.

You and Jungkook catch up with your group somewhere along the first floor, near the end of the guided tour. Not that any of them noticed that you were missing in the first place, though Hoseok does send you a wink and a cheeky little smirk when you make a reappearance. And as the tour guide wraps up, pointing out a couple of the last few notable pieces of art, you ask Jungkook how he feels, and he tells you that he never wants to forget this moment, right now, because it is everything he has ever wanted.

The city of Florence is littered with so many art museums, galleries, palaces that it’s hard to catch a break in such a bustling city. Not that you really mind, especially since they give you the evenings off to do your own thing, but it’s easy to recognize that this city is the birthplace of the Renaissance when, with each corner you turn, there is another place to be discovered, art to be found.

Someone who very, very obviously does not mind this whatsoever is Jungkook. In fact, when you spend so much time with him you often times find yourself roped into his expeditions to seek out more paintings, sculptures, churches, architecture, anything that even screams Florentine art to him. Not that it’s something that particularly bothers or inconveniences you. Especially when the rest of your friends are sick of Jungkook’s unyielding desire to art and you are, as his honorary fake girlfriend, are not.

Throughout your week and a bit in Florence you can’t count on both of your hands how many different museums, churches that you’ve explored together. Jungkook’s got a hand on his camera and he doesn’t seem to want to let go, constantly taking photos of the art and the mosaics and the designs and of you, even if you sometimes tell him you look awful and that the art is worth remembering more than you are. Jungkook seems to beg to differ. He says that all the photos are for his portfolio. You imagine that thing must be a mile long at this point considering how many memory cards he’s gone through during this trip.

“I’m hungry,” you whine one day when you’re journeying on your own for a little around lunchtime. You’ve got an arranged tour (courtesy of Bang) for later in the afternoon, a trip to The Academy to see Michelangelo’s David, but right now you’re free to do what you please. Jungkook’s already gotten you to go into the Basilica di San Lorenzo this morning, and your stomach is grumbling.

“Hey, here’s a place,” Jungkook points out as you come up the street to a restaurant in a square-that-is-not-a-square-but-more-like-a-triangle, a place with indoor and outdoor seating. The smell that wafts through the air is enough to have you and Jungkook both asking for a table for two, sitting down by the side of the covered outdoor veranda as you stare down the menus. They’ve got a pasta list the same size as some of the essays you submitted in high school, all of which look as appetizing as the previous.

“This place knows how to treat pasta-lovers well,” Jungkook comments as you pick out your pasta of choice, one with truffle that you know is going to be stinking up your breath for the rest of the day. It’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make for the sake of the meal. “I want to order everything.”

“Slow down there, tiger. We can come back, if you’d like,” you suggest, the implications of another fake date slipping your mind. The question of “What are we?” makes you laugh from how overused it is, but even still, it applies perfectly.

The waitress comes by quickly, taking your orders and swooping up the menus, and you’re left alone listening to the sounds of the street music from several meters away, a father and a son performing in the middle of the square to passersby. It feels peaceful, homey. Like this is where you are meant to be.

“Let me take a photo of you,” Jungkook pleads, already making to get his camera out. “Please?”

Instead of objecting like you normally would, you nod, allowing Jungkook to snap as many pictures as he wants. It’s high time you indulge him, with how much he asks you to. Smiling softly, you grin towards the camera as he snaps away, unable to erase the smile that grows on his face at the sight of you. You wonder if you really are that photogenic, because all of your school IDs say otherwise, quite frankly.

“Okay, now let me take a photo of you,” you demand, making grabby hands over the table towards Jungkook’s camera. Very rarely is Jungkook ever the one in front of the camera, always preferring to be behind it, have his finger clicking away on the silver button, which you find astounding considering how deserving Jungkook is of having his photo taken, deserving to have that luxury just as everyone else.

“What? No way,” Jungkook says, holding his camera near and dear to his heart. “No. I don’t get my photo taken.”

“That’s about to change,” you declare, going so far as to stretch over the table to see if you can loop Jungkook’s camera over his head to snag it for yourself.

“Excuse me?” Jungkook asks indignantly, though he’s making absolutely no move to stop you, already resigning himself to the reality of you snagging a photo of him. You easily pull his camera from him, sitting back down in your seat and holding the camera up to your eye, letting the lens focus in on the man sitting in front of you.

“You heard me,” you tell him. “Smile, Jungkook. A picture’s worth a thousand words.”

With a sigh, Jungkook does. He closes his eyes and grins widely and even through the tiny viewfinder he looks gorgeous, looks like he’s just part of the photo instead of the focus of it. Looks like he belongs here, in Florence, surrounded by the art that he so loves and the food that he craves. He smiles and it reaches the corner of his closed eyes and God, he’s beautiful. You don’t think the camera does him justice, but it sure as hell comes close enough. With a click, you take the photo and lower the camera, hoping that maybe, if he doesn’t hear you, you’ll be able to look at him just a little longer.

“Alright,” you say softly, handing him back his camera. “There. Now you’ll get to remember yourself here, too.”

Maybe, if you’re lucky, he’ll remember the girl behind the camera as well.

Michelangelo’s David is the kind of art that you don’t know what to do with yourself when you finally lay eyes on it. The kind of art that renders you not only speechless but your mind blank, an iconic piece of work that is the emblem of an era, an art form in and of itself. That’s what it is. David is the kind of art that holds nothing less than the highest praise possible.

It’s strange, organizing a tour group for a place like the Academy. It’s small, well-known only for its housing of Michelangelo’s famed statue. There’s not very much else to see other than some lesser known pieces, nor is the place suited for massive herds of people at a time. Even still, the building manages to cram in fifty youth orchestra members without too much of a hassle, so you suppose that the capacity is bigger than you thought.

David is, unsurprisingly, the main attraction. He has an entire section of the biggest room all to himself, standing proudly at the end of it. And even peering through the cracks of the doors in the entrance is enough to get Jungkook grinning, aching to see the sculpture for himself. Michelangelo isn’t necessarily Jungkook’s idol but he’s someone Jungkook knows so deeply, so profoundly, that it leaves a heavy impact on him either way.

When you make it inside the main room, Jungkook stops. His breath catches in his throat as he stares up at the sculpture, the five-meter tall man of marble proudly waiting for him at the end. The rest of the group shuffles ahead of him, desperate to get as up close and personal with the statue, but Jungkook refuses. He stays back to admire, looking above all of the people gathered around the glass barrier protecting the sculpture, a perfect view of the Biblical hero. Wordlessly, he pulls out his camera, immediately snapping a photo.

There is so little to say and so much to look at. What you are laying your eyes upon is nothing less than the symbol of an artistic god. Jungkook keeps a firm grip on your hand but says absolutely nothing, instead opting to simply walk up to the sculpture, look at it with his own two eyes, let the sight sink in like he has with so many others. This is a piece of art he wants engraved into his brain, etched permanently into his memory, and it’s easy to understand why.

He says nothing but he doesn’t need to. You can see it in his eyes, the way he gazes at the statue like if he blinks, he’ll forget it entirely. That expression of pure wonderstruckness in his eyes, decorating his face. He’s smiling, though. Like this is where he’s meant to be, nowhere else. He’s smiling and he’s beautiful and David is art but so is Jungkook, in every sense of the word.

It’s strange. It’s like you’ve fallen for Jungkook without even meaning to. Like the napkin on the tray table means nothing anymore.

With two days to go before you have to leave Florence, leave Italy once and for all, things are beginning to wind down. With visits to the major attractions already tucked under your belt and your last performance over last night, Bang seems have lost all motivation to keep his youth orchestra organized and instead has just given the lot of you free reign until you have to meet in the lobby of the hotel the day that you leave. It’s probably a mistake on his part, but you aren’t going to ruin your freedom by admitting that aloud.

Hoseok dragged you out the entire day on the hunt for clothes, leaving Jungkook to his own devices as Taehyung clung to him like a koala bear, citing his newfound girlfriend as reasoning for their lack of physical contact over the past few weeks. Jungkook had repeatedly reminded Taehyung that the two of them have slept in the exact same bed every single night since the beginning of the trip, and Taehyung is no stranger to draping his entire body over his bed buddy for the sake of warmth and comfort.

You and Hoseok and Jungkook and Taehyung reach the lobby of the hotel at roughly the same time, far past normal dinner time for such non-Italians like yourselves. Hoseok’s got about five shopping bags in his hands and looks about ready for a fat nap, but Jungkook and Taehyung are alive as ever.

“Long day, Hobi?” Taehyung asks when he sees your best friend, already collapsing into one of the chairs in the lobby.

“The longest,” Hoseok agrees. “Made all the more long by this one right here.”

“Excuse me!” You cry indignantly. You can’t believe Hoseok would roast you like this in front of your own fake boyfriend and his best friend. How could he do you like this. “I am a morale booster and incredibly fun to be around. Jungkook, vouch for me.”

“She’s fun sometimes,” Jungkook admits nonchalantly, making you sneer at him. Of course.

“Alright, fuck you.”

“You wanna bet?” Jungkook challenges.

“I’m taking Hoseok to the hotel restaurant before the two of you start doing something about the obvious sexual tension in the room. Okay, bye!” Taehyung says quickly, grabbing onto Hoseok’s arm and practically dragging him towards the hotel elevator before either you or Jungkook can stop him. The two of them disappear from your sight faster than you can say Florence, and pretty soon is it just the two of you waiting in the lobby.

“Have you eaten?” Jungkook asks, checking the time. It’s nearly eight o’clock, and the last thing you had was some plum gelato in a gelateria by the Duomo a couple of hours ago. You are, admittedly, a bit hungry.

“Not yet,” you tell him.

“Cool.” Jungkook nods. “Let’s go out.”

And so you and him leave the lobby in search of a nice restaurant to settle down in, perhaps indulge in a spritz since it is your second-to-last night, after all. Not that there’s a shortage of them around, but most of them seem to be filled to the brim with tourists, persistent waiters inviting you inside in the hopes that they’ll be able to gain your custom.

“Was there really some unresolved sexual tension between us in the lobby?” You ask, Taehyung’s words popping back into your head as Jungkook swings your interlocked hands together in between your bodies as you walk. “I didn’t even notice.”

“I don’t know, man, you were the one who said ‘Fuck you’. I didn’t know you wanted to bone that bad,” Jungkook jokes, though the sentences come out of his mouth completely seriously, making you gasp.

“Not like that! My God,” you exclaim in shock, giving Jungkook a shove. “Don’t talk about it like us wanting to bone. That’s so… unsexy.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Would you rather me be sexy about it? Didn’t know you were into exhibitionism, either.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“You love me,” Jungkook teases. It’s weird. Maybe you do.

“That’s debatable,” you warn, especially after the conversation you’ve just had. “Don’t forget about our napkin contract. Nowhere did it have any specifications on any sexual tension, real or not. So I don’t wanna hear it.”

Jungkook nods, lips pursed into a tight line at the mention of the napkin. “Yes, the napkin contract,” he says stiffly. “I had almost forgotten about that.”

That makes two of you.

You eventually stumble upon the same restaurant you had eaten at the day you went to see Michelangelo’s David, the one in the square-that’s-a-triangle. It’s busy, but the sound of Italian drifts through the air and you and Jungkook both know that you’ve found yourselves a restaurant worth visiting a second time, one without obnoxious tourists such as yourselves to ruin the immersion.

The two of you order the exact same things you did the last time you were here, but Jungkook’s left his camera with Taehyung (on accident, of course), meaning no photo opportunities tonight.

“Cheers to our second-to-last night in Italy,” Jungkook says, holding up his orange spritz. You grab your own, clinking his glass.

“Cheers.”

It’s bittersweet. You don’t want to go but you don’t know how much longer you can do this if you stay. Like you’re trying to hold onto something that’s not real in the hopes that maybe, if you grab tight enough, it will be. You know that the feelings, whatever kind of feelings they are, you have for Jungkook are indecipherable at best. Wondering if you’re in love with him or just in love with the feeling or if you’re even in love at all. When you look at Jungkook it’s not necessarily love. No fireworks, no fanfare. It just feels like beauty. Like you’re staring down a sense of euphoria in the face, and it’s him. Peculiar.

Your curfew is at ten o’clock sharp, but you and Jungkook have spent the last two hours lounging at this restaurant, making mindless jokes and tasteful commentary and laughing all the same. You’ll probably miss your curfew, but neither of you seem to mind. It’s gotten quieter at the restaurant now, most of the customers long on their way, but you and Jungkook have stayed. Watched as the sun set and the street lights came on, illuminating the cobblestone roads and alleyways as everyone makes their way back home.

“Do you wanna go?” Jungkook asks. The check has long since been taken but you and Jungkook made no effort to leave when it did. In fact, your waitress even gave the two of you a small glass each of complimentary champagne.

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel,” you whine, the idea of bringing this night to a close so soon incredibly unappealing.

Jungkook shrugs. Grins softly. Holds his warm hand out. “We don’t have to go back to the hotel.”

And this is how you end up strolling the streets of Florence, long after the other tourists have gone back to their places of lodging and only the locals remain, celebrating at bars and making their way back to their own homes. It’s a clear night tonight, not a single cloud covering the navy of the sky. There are hardly any stars visible in a bustling city like Florence, but that’s alright (Jungkook’s eyes are more than enough to keep you satisfied) because the moon is out, a crescent glow alongside the warm yellow of the street lamps.

The feeling is like the first day you put fairy lights up in your room and the sun sets and suddenly everything is romantic and wonderful and cozy all at once, a foreign sensation you are perfectly willing to get used to. That’s what this night feels like. Cozy. Homey. All things that make you wish it wasn’t so soon that you had to go, because you’ll never get something like this again. Something so intimate, so real.

There are only a few street musicians out playing now, most of them having packed up for the night, awaiting the next day to start the process all over again, but there is enough to create a little soundtrack for your stroll, the hazy hum of background music soothing your pounding thoughts. Jungkook doesn’t have his camera but it’s nice to see him without it, nice to see him walking with no purpose in mind, without his beautiful eyes hidden behind the black device in his hands. Without that camera looped around his neck it feels more like an everyday evening stroll rather than an excursion in Italy, like this is something you do normally, a routine that you have. It’s nice. It’s warm. It’s all him, really.

“This is so peaceful,” Jungkook comments as you stumble upon a lone street musician. She’s playing a soft melody on her flute, the soprano sound soothing, music to your ears. You don’t recognize the tune but you don’t need to, not in order to appreciate good music and talented players.

You and Jungkook wait around her for a while, loitering on the other side of the street as the moon reflects off of the silver of her instrument. She seems to notice your presence, smiling to herself as she continues to play. No dancing, this time. No need for it. You and Jungkook can simply sway back and forth the sound, the melody, without needing to break into moves.

When she finishes what you are sure is the fourth or fifth song you’ve hung around for, Jungkook walks up to drop a five Euro bill into the case in front of her, a donation she greatly appreciates. She deserves much more than five Euros, the both of you know as much. Someone as talented as her deserves a spot in an acclaimed orchestra. She’s not playing Top 50 Disney tunes, she’s playing sonatas, chorales, etudes, classics, all from memory. It’s clear she’s been studying the craft for plenty of years. The two of you clap as you leave, continuing to meander down the rest of the street, telling her grazie as you go. She deserves a lot more than this, but it’s all you can offer her right now.

“That was so nice,” Jungkook comments as the two of you wander around. You have no idea where you are, not with all of the stores you had been using as landmarks closed up, blinds drawn and doors locked, but that’s alright. Sometimes you don’t need to know where you’re going, you just need to know that you are going.

“I know,” you agree softly, humming the tune she had left you with. “Bang would like her.”

“I think that the London Symphony Orchestra would like her, quite honestly,” Jungkook compliments, something you absolutely have no choice but to agree with. She made your night.

“This is nice, too,” you add on softly. There’s little energy left in your bodies after such a long day, but just enough for you to continue to wander, no desire to go back to the hotel any time soon.

“This?” Jungkook asks, confused. He doesn’t stop walking but he does turn to look at you, a bewildered expression lacing his features.

“This. Walking around at night with the street lamps. It’s like… seventy degrees and breezy. There aren’t any more tourists. The alleyways are dark but still comforting. I like this. I like being here.”

The “with you” goes unsaid but you hope that Jungkook picks it up anyway, hope that he recognizes all the thoughts in your head you are too afraid to say aloud for fear that they may be lies or worse, that they might come true. Hope that the things left unsaid are said nonetheless, but in a wordless way.

Jungkook hums to himself, turning back to face forward. You don’t know what that means, but you can feel the way his hand on yours gets tighter, afraid to let you go. What’s bizarre is that you’re afraid for him to let you go as well.

There is something about Florence that feels more final than any of the other trips. Like this is the end of the road, the last stop. Because the nagging voice in your brain keeps reminding you, over and over, that you and Jungkook agree to stop with this fucking nonsense, put an end to this fake relationship but this real contract at the end of this vacation, and here you are. When you first wrote that thing down on the airplane napkin the end of your trip in Italy felt light years away but now, now it’s just on the horizon but you think you’d rather never see the sun again.

“I like being here, too,” he says softly, so inaudible that you could barely hear him if it weren’t for the quietness of the world around you.

You eventually become aware of your surroundings when you come across the magnificent Duomo, made all the more enchanting in the moonlight. It’s difficult to miss and even more difficult to not know where you are, other than the center of the city. Your hotel shouldn’t be too far away from here, down one of the side streets that connect to the square where the Duomo rests. Even in near darkness, it is an architectural marvel. The stones aren’t as colorful in the dark but that’s alright because you can still see the different patterns, the different shades of marble as they blend together.

“Hey, look,” Jungkook says, pointing up. There’s a bird flying overhead and it makes the entire scene all the more romantic. “A beautiful end to a beautiful stay in Italy.”

“Speaking of ending things,” you say, the idea popping into your head before you can stop yourself. You know you shouldn’t. Selfishly, you know that if you don’t mention anything then maybe this façade of a relationship can continue far past the end of this trip, but you won’t do that to yourself and more importantly, you won’t do that to him. You’ve fallen in love but it feels more like you’ve fallen in love with the feeling than with the boy. You can’t do that to him. “When are we gonna tell our friends?”

“About what?” Jungkook asks, clueless. Like he’s really forgotten.

“About us, silly,” you say, hoping to keep the tone light in spite of the darkness around you. “We’re finished in a couple days. The least we could do is fess up and come clean.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says, the realization sinking in. The smile that once decorated his face is gone, replaced by something unreadable. “Right. I forgot about that.”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a laugh. Oh God, it’s getting awkward. It’s getting awkward and tense and stiff and this is exactly what you didn’t want, what you were hoping wouldn’t happen because that means that this fake relationship has become too real. It means that somewhere you had crossed the line between acting and reality but neither of you know when that happened and now you’re too scared to go back. Fuck. “I mean, I’ve always been pretty bad at confessing.”

Jungkook’s silent. He’s thinking. You can tell by the way his mouth sits solemnly on his face, the furrow of his brows. He’s standing in front of the Duomo with you but no longer are your hands intertwined. You can’t remember when they stopped being connected, and more importantly, you can’t remember who did it first. He’s thinking and you’re afraid to find out what about, worried that whatever he says will cause the whole thing to come crashing down like a wrong move in a game of Jenga. That’s what this feels like, now that you think about it. That’s what this whole relationship has felt like. Like a game of Jenga where everything is fine until everything isn’t.

And then, Jungkook pulls you in close, his one hand on your waist and the other around the back of your neck, and he kisses you.

Really kisses you. His warm lips press firmly onto yours and you gasp at the sensation but your body immediately melts into it, a feeling you cannot believe you starved yourself of for so long. He’s always been right there but you’ve never done anything about it until now, and now you don’t know what to do because of that. He really kisses you and it feels like a million years and a split second all at once because holy shit Jeon Jungkook is kissing you and you’re kissing back and then—

“I’m bad at confessing, too,” Jungkook says shyly, out of breath. His eyes are wide, like he can’t believe he’s just done that but it’s too late to take it back.

“Jungkook, what—”

“This whole thing, I don’t want it to end, Thumper,” he tells you. “It’s always been real to me. Fuck the napkin contract. I’ve always wanted to be with you, prank or not. I don’t want it to be over.”

It’s too much. It’s everything you were hoping to hear but your mind can’t seem to process it. Like a tsunami crashing into a pier, and you’re standing on the edge of it hoping that you stay dry but at the same time wishing it takes you with it.

Practically speechless, you say, “Jungkook, I—”

“Please, Y/N,” he begs, but you already feel yourself drifting away, a piece of wood floating out to sea. Your feet are moving faster than your heart but that’s alright because when in doubt, run.

“I can’t, Jungkook,” you say softly. You don’t notice the tears until they’re streaming down your cheeks, warped from your footsteps on the cobblestone as you dash away. “I can’t.”

You don’t turn back around but you don’t need to, not when you know Jungkook will still be there, as heartbroken as ever.

The next day is spent in your hotel bed, and that’s it.

You’re kidding, but you wish it was like that. You snuck into your hotel room far past curfew to a bed and a half of your sleeping roommates and, barely remembering to wipe away your makeup and brush your teeth, climbed into bed sniffling, wishing that the whole thing had just been a memory.

You know that it’s real when you wake up the next morning to find five missed calls and a dozen texts, all from Jungkook. You swipe away each one, letting the notification disappear from your phone, and that’s when you notice your empty room and the knock at your door. Hardly caring about your just-rolled-out-of-bed appearance, you trudge up to the door and find an animated Hoseok behind it, eyes wide and bucket hat a fluorescent highlighter yellow. He’s always had a thing for colors like that.

“Y/N! Ready to—oh my god, are you okay?” He asks.

“I’m fine, Hobi. I just woke up,” you tell him, not wanting to alert him of anything alarming. You’d hate to ruin his vacation with woes of your non-existent, pretend love life. It’d also mean explaining the entire thing to him, and you don’t know if you’re willing to sacrifice yourself like that. Not yet, at least.

“You just woke up?” Hoseok asks, in shock. “It’s noon! You never wake up this late, not even back home! Are you sure everything is okay?” He asks. He’s too good of a friend, too used to your mannerisms and habits. Nothing slips by him, goddamnit.

“Yes, I swear, Hobi,” you say, rubbing your eyes to get the sleep gunk out of them. “What do you want?”

“Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted to come out with me and we could go on a last-minute adventure before we have to leave tomorrow,” Hoseok suggests, an excursion that sounds much-needed considering the overwhelming amount of time spent with Jungkook the past few weeks, only to find yourself starved of his contact. “You could invite Jungkook, if you want. I don’t know what he’s up to…”

“No! No, it’s okay. Jungkook doesn’t need to come along with,” you exclaim, perhaps a bit too loudly for your liking. Hoseok scrunches up his nose in confusion, tilting his head like a bewildered puppy. Quickly, you search for an excuse before he can say anything. “I’ve been spending so much time with him recently. We should just do something together.”

“Alright… whatever you say, I guess.” Hoseok’s still hesitant, rightfully so, but he leaves you be and lets you get ready, camping out on your bed playing the new Harry Potter game on his phone. Last you heard, he was getting ready to duel that “bitch, Merula” in the courtyard. You emerge from your bathroom fifteen minutes later, though you would hardly consider yourself Italy-ready, you look mildly acceptable and hope that you’ve done a good enough job disguising the bags under your eyes, that the puffiness from last night’s crying extravaganza has gone down. It’d be nice if you could just simply go through the rest of the day without having to think of Jungkook but you can already feel yourself worrying about him and what he’s getting up to, what state you left him in last night. You don’t think you can bring yourself to see him again, even if on accident.

Hoseok’s animated self keeps your mind fairly occupied, though. He does a good job of distracting you even if he isn’t trying to, another one of the qualities he possesses that you so envy. He barely takes note of your less-energetic self, much more tired and reserved that normal, chalking it up to vacation fatigue rather than self-inflicted heartbreak. Luckily enough. You’d rather not start out your next conversation with him with, “Hey, remember when I told you Jungkook and I were dating? Well, it was all pretend except I ended up falling for him and now I don’t know what to do with myself, please help?”

“We didn’t get to spend a lot of time at Palazzo Vecchio, let’s go back,” Hoseok suggests, skipping up the street. “There’s that baby David that we didn’t get a very good look at.”

“We saw the real thing, Hobi,” you remind him.

“I know, but this one is just as cool and just as important,” Hoseok insists. “Namjoon told me that Palazzo Vecchio is Florence’s city hall. Isn’t that cool?”

You suppose it is. Though, anything that Hoseok gets excited about is cool in your eyes.

You spend the day out with Hoseok and it lightens your mood extraordinarily, Hoseok’s joy and excitement contagious, getting the best of even you. You knew that you made the right choice when you befriended Hoseok back as children. He always seems to know exactly what he’s doing, without even trying. The sun works hard but Hoseok works much harder.

“Can’t believe this is all over tomorrow,” Hoseok admits as he spreads out in the center of Palazzo Vecchio, happily lying down like a starfish in an aquarium display. You wonder if just the front of his body will get tanned from this, even if he spends only five minutes in the position. You’ll never let him live it down if he returns home from Italy with the front half of his body much darker in color than the back half. He’ll look ridiculous. “Wish we could stay here forever.”

“You and me both,” you admit. You wonder what Jungkook is doing right now, if he’s thinking of you just like you’re thinking of him.

“Feels like just yesterday Yoongi was downing three shots of espresso in quick succession.”

“He did do that yesterday, didn’t he?” You ask. You have this vague memory of him at a cafe somewhere in Florence, ordering either a third or a fourth espresso shot like the absolute heathen he is.

“Wait, let me rephrase that. Feels like just yesterday Yoongi was downing three shots of espresso in quick succession in Rome,” Hoseok emphasizes, making you laugh. He’s right, though. It does feel like just yesterday you were landing at the Rome International Airport and Jungkook was placing a slobbery, wet kiss on your cheek. Feels like just yesterday the two of you confessed your relationship to your friends. Feels like just yesterday you were standing in the Sistine Chapel, staring up at the ceiling together.

And it was just yesterday when all of the memories came crashing down around you, an earthquake striking your mind and leaving it in nothing but a pile of rubble.

“Are you gonna want to come back here? When we’re out of college and paid off our student debt?”

“So, never?” You joke even if the harsh reality permeates your jest. Capitalism can suck your left big toe.

“Okay, true,” Hoseok admits. “But seriously. Are you going to want to come back? When you’re older? Before the rising sea levels suck this entire peninsula under the ocean?”

And you think to yourself that you’d love to, but only if you got to come with a certain someone. Wishful thinking.

Hoseok drops you off at your hotel room after you grab some sandwiches to eat for dinner, and you’re about to close the door and pass out from a long day of walking and an even longer day of thinking, when you spot Seokjin jogging towards you. You think that he’s going for Hoseok but then he stops at your room, sending you a small smile.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says. “Mind if I come in for a second?”

“Come on in,” you invite him inside. Seokjin paces about the little floor space left in your room—Minnie’s ridiculously messy—before taking a seat on the edge of your shared bed with Miyeon and the only surface that isn’t covered in clothes. “What’s up?”

“Have you spoken to Jungkook recently?” Seokjin dives right in. The mention of his name is an arrow to your heart but the abruptness of it all causes alarms to go off in your brain.

“Uh—” you begin, sputtering for an answer that won’t lead to you giving yourself away. “Why do you ask?”

“Because his mood has taken a 180 this past twenty-four hours and I am almost certain it has something to do with you,” he says, but it doesn’t feel like he’s placing blame or pointing his fingers at you. It more just feels like an observation, something he’s picked up on in the past day. You’ll give him credit for that, at least.

“Wow, alright,” you say, hands up in surrender.

“Listen, Y/N,” Seokjin says before running a hand through his hair. It reaches the back of his neck and he tilts his head back, exasperated. “I know that you and Jungkook have had a fake relationship this entire time.”

“What?”

You stumble for a response, stuttering hopelessly even though Seokjin’s very obviously seen through your entire act. Are the two of you that transparent?

“Unlike everybody else, I didn’t have my headphones in when the two of you were discussing the terms of your agreement on the plane. I had very conveniently locked them up in my overhead carry-on and was much too lazy to fish for them,” Seokjin says pointedly, making you groan in despair as you collapse on the bed beside him.

“God, could this vacation get any worse?” You ask to the higher powers above you.

“I didn’t tell anyone, obviously,” Seokjin reminds you. “And quite frankly, I had no idea that it would snowball into this. I thought the two of you were just doing this for laughs and that’s it. You were gonna get everyone real good.”

“That was the plan,” you mumble bitterly.

“You know, Taehyung and I spoke a couple of days ago. About the two of you.”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” You ask, grumbling into the pillow you’ve stuffed over your face. If you pray hard enough, maybe the ground will open up and swallow you whole.

“No, I’m rather good at keeping secrets, even if I wasn’t supposed to find out in the first place,” Seokjin says haughtily. “Taehyung told me that he was really proud of Jungkook for stepping up and confessing to you on the flight.”

You suddenly feel very guilty.

“He said that Jungkook had had this huge crush on you for ages beforehand and was just too scared to do anything about it.”

That makes you pop up like a puppet in a box, the pillow coming off your face and straight into your lap as you turn to Seokjin, shocked. “What?”

“He said that Jungkook really deserved somebody like you, because you made him so happy,” Seokjin continues, as if the life-altering revelation that Jeon Jungkook has been harboring this massive crush on you for ages prior to the agreement isn’t enough. “He said he hadn’t seen his best friend this happy in a really long time.”

(“He looks like he loves you a lot.”)

“You’re fucking with me,” you declare, the only feasible explanation at this point. There’s no way this is real. This is just another big prank orchestrated by all of your friends because Seokjin went on blabbing and now they’re getting back at you in the cruelest of ways. There’s no way that this is real.

“I’m not,” Seokjin insists firmly, and there’s a desperate part of your heart that’s aching for it to be true but your brain has the power and it’s telling your heart to move on. “But Jungkook’s been really down lately. I know that maybe you thought that the relationship was fake but it’s obvious that he didn’t.”

“It—I—” you begin, unable to form a coherent sentence. “But I was the one who fell in love with him! How is this even possible?”

Seokjin chuckles, a smile blossoming on his face. “I guess he had already fallen in love with you before this whole thing even begin.”

“I’m so fucking stupid,” you groan to yourself, collapsing back onto the bed and pressing the pillow over yourself, muffling your wails.

“You’re not, Y/N, listen,” he demands, pulling the pillow away from you. You wrestle him for a couple seconds but eventually let him have his way, the heat of the cushion coming off of your face. “Maybe the relationship was pretend on paper but it was rooted in reality. For the both of you. It’s clear that there are some feelings between the two of you. Maybe that’s why we all fell for it. Because it was real. You guys thought you were fooling us but the only people you were tricking were yourselves.”

“When did you get so wise, hmm, Seokjin?” You ask ruefully, unsure as to what to do next. You can’t just go back to Jungkook and ask to call an end to the fake part and but leave the relationship.

“I’m not wise, Y/N,” Seokjin says. “You two just looked like you needed a third party to help out.”

You grin, unbelievably thankful for a man by the name of Kim Seokjin. “I guess so, huh. So, what now?”

“Well, as far as I last heard, Jungkook was hanging around the Duomo. He told Taehyung he wanted to stay back for a little while.”

Your face lights up and your heart starts beating. “Really?” You ask, perhaps a bit too hopeful.

“Yeah,” Seokjin nods. “Go get your man.”

You bolt out the door.

Sure enough, you find Jungkook walking around the edges of the square, headphones in as the sun slowly sets over the horizon. There are still plenty of people out and about, finishing up their meals or just settling into their seats, and the street musicians are alive and active. Jungkook comes to a halt in front of a pair of violinists playing on one of the smoother streets in the area, a small crowd gathering around them.

Quickly, wordlessly, desperately, you dash up to Jungkook before he can slip from your sight and out of your hands forever.

“Jungkook!” You shout, and he can barely hear you over his music but he turns nonetheless, eyes widening when he sees you rushing towards him, already out of breath. You’re in orchestra, not a sports team. “Jungkook, wait!”

He doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, but he does take a single earbud from his ear, turning to you with furrowed brows and a scrunched-up nose. “Y/N, what—?”

“Jungkook, don’t go,” you say as you catch up to him. Your shout seems to have interrupted the music in the background, both violinists and the crowd around them stopping to watch you. “I don’t want this to be over either.”

“What are you saying—?”

“I’m bad at confessing, too. Really bad. You probably already figured that out,” you joke, chuckling bitterly to yourself. “But when you said that you it’s always been real to you I realized that it’s always been real to me as well. That I don’t want to let you go, not here, not on the plane, and not back home. I want to be with you wherever you go.”

“You’re shitting me,” Jungkook says.

You shake your head, smiling at his disbelief. Like he can’t believe that all of his dreams are coming true. “I’m not. Fuck the napkin contract. That shit’s probably all crumpled up anyway. I want to be with you for real, no faking it, no acting, no games. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want you.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Thumper?” He asks, coming up to you. His warm hands find purchase on your waist as he pulls you in close, guarding you tightly. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until his thumb comes up to wipe a stray tear away, and you laugh.

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook. For real, this time. No more contracts,” you tell him, gazing up into his eyes.

You have seen Jungkook stare at the most brilliant pieces of art in the world, seen him gaze into his camera to get the perfect shot, seen him glance at his music quickly before launching off into a song he’s memorized, and finally, you can say that you’ve seen Jungkook in love.

“You know what, Thumper?” He asks. “I love you too.”

When you kiss, the entire crowd and the two violinists explode into applause, but you barely take notice of them when Jungkook’s lips are on yours. Maybe Italy’s over but you and him are just beginning.

“Tell me about that portfolio you were making,” you say on the flight home. Everyone’s asleep around you, all but Seokjin wholly unaware that your relationship was even a farce to begin with. You think you’d like to keep it that way. Though maybe, in five years, you’ll come clean. Hopefully by that point, none of them will mind anymore. You’ve pushed the armrest that separates your seats up so you can snuggle up against him, his body temperature all the warmth you need on this frigid airplane.

“Oh, that?” He asks. He pulls up a page on his computer, and suddenly you’re presented with an entire album of pictures of just you, some you recognize and some you didn’t even realize he had taken. “It was this.”

“Are these all of me?” You ask, leaning in close. There must be at least four hundred photos in here and each of them have at least a bit of you in them, whether it be you talking with Hoseok or Namjoon or Yoongi or staring at art without knowing that Jungkook had been behind you, or the ones he’d convinced you to pose for or the ones that he sniped right before you had realized.

“Essentially, yes,” Jungkook admits guiltily, a cherry red tinting his cheeks as he curls in on himself, embarrassed. “I thought that when Italy was over, we’d just go back to being acquaintances or something, and I didn’t want to forget it. So I made this.”

“You have an entire album dedicated to me?” You ask. God, being in a relationship has turned the both of you into fucking softies. “I’m touched. Thank you.” You add onto your gratefulness by pressing a kiss into his cheek, making him blush impossibly harder.

“Yeah, well. I didn’t want to forget anything,” Jungkook says, something you can definitely agree with.

“Well, now you don’t have to,” you promise. “We can make new memories all the time, so you can delete that photo album of me. Or at least turn it into an Italy album rather than just a My Girlfriend album. That’s fucking cheesy as shit.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m never getting rid of this thing. There’s gems like this,” Jungkook says, pulling up a photo of you blowing into a tissue after a particularly hard sneeze in Venice.

You gasp, both endeared and incredibly offended. “Oh my God, I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I hate that I love you.”

“You know what? I’ll take it,” Jungkook says, pulling you in and planting a wet kiss on your cheek, right at the corner of your lips. “I hate that I love you, too.”

“Get a room!” Jimin shouts from next to you, sitting in the seat directly across the aisle from yours. He’s got this disgusted look on his face, but you and Jungkook just grin to yourselves. You have a feeling that you’re never going to get sick of grossing out your friends with your obnoxious public displays of affection.

“Can’t, the bathrooms are too small for what we want to do!” Jungkook calls back, making Jimin dry heave onto the floor beside the two of you before angrily stuffing his headphone back into his ear and hoping that the two of you will just shut the fuck up, for once. “I’m never gonna get sick of doing that.”

“Good.”

“Hey, Thumper, do you want to see all the photos I took of Seokjin? He’s gonna become Instagram famous, but not in the way he wants to because all of these photos are meme-worthy,” Jungkook asks, already clicking around to pull open the album.

“Oh my God, yes. You gotta send all of these to me,” you say, wrapping your body around Jungkook’s left arm as he begins to filter through each photo.

Jungkook’s got the window shade next to him cracked open the slightest bit, the night sky wholly unobtrusive considering the rest of the cabin is dark. You can’t make out the moon but you know that it’s there, somewhere, singing a melody that only the two of you can hear.

⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!

[recurring-polynya]

Hey, remember that metapost I did a week ago, when I joked that I was charmed by the idea of Renji and Rukia getting together immediately after the Soul Society arc and making out in the waiting room of the Coordinated Relief Station while waiting for Byakuya to get out of surgery?

Uh, welp, some fanfic fell out.

Fast Times at the Coordinated Relief Station [AO3][FF.net] (leave me some kudo/favs, you animals!)

Quality Assurance by @diademchiofthetripod

Rated T for salty language and make-outs.

Everything about this is just extremely disrespectful to Byakuya.

Rukia glanced at the clock over the nurse’s station. 1:17p.m. 

A little later than planned, but that was Ichigo's fault, as usual. She had wanted to check in with him and make sure he was actually resting and not destroying any beloved cultural institutions before she got tied up for the afternoon. He was not, as it happens, resting. He was mostly shouting, as was his way, but at least he seemed to be staying in his bed down in the recovery ward. She felt she had left him in good hands, between Chad and Orihime. Uryuu was there, too, although he appeared to be the proximate cause of the shouting.

“Has my brother been taken into surgery, yet?” Rukia asked the harried nurse on duty.

The nurse flipped through some papers. “Who is your brother?”

“Kuchiki Byakuya? Captain of the Sixth?”

The nurse didn’t seem to care whether he was the Soul King himself. She unhurriedly located the correct chart. “Yes. He was deemed well enough to have the surgery today, and they just took him in. It should be two hours at least. If you’d like to stay, go down to Waiting Area 4C.” She pointed down the hallway without looking up.

Byakuya’s head retainer, Seike, had offered to come down and wait, in case anything went amiss during the surgery, but Rukia had insisted on coming herself. It was probably the first time she had insisted on anything since she had come to live with the Kuchikis. Byakuya had been injured saving her, though, and this was something she wanted to do. To her surprise, Seike had seemed almost...charmed by her insistence.

Was it only two days ago?

Two days ago that Rukia had nearly been executed. Two days ago that Ichigo and then her captain and then Renji and then Ichigo again had come to her rescue. Two days ago that Captain Aizen had betrayed Soul Society and escaped with two other captains in tow. Two days ago that Byakuya had taken a blade through the heart meant to take her life. 

Byakuya’s condition had been dicey the first day, Captain Unohana hovering over him casting kaidou after kaidou, hesitant to do anything more disruptive that might tip him toward the worse. He had stabilized somewhat the next day, and Unohana had declared that, unless he took a turn overnight, he was well enough to undergo surgery to repair the damage and get him back on the real road to recovery. 

Brother will be okay, Rukia kept reminding herself as she walked down the hallway, eyes scanning the hallways for Waiting Area 4C. He’s so strong, he can survive anything. This was a bit of a new feeling. She was used to thinking of her brother as "intimidating" or sometimes "downright terrifying." Being proud of him was a nice change.

Ah, there it was, the placard proclaiming "4C". But as she slid open the door, she was surprised to find the room wasn’t empty. The first thing she noticed was a pair of long legs in black hakama stretched halfway across the little waiting area. The face of the other visitor was hidden behind a copy of the Bulletin.

“Oh, pardon me,” Rukia said, ducking head. “I didn’t realize anyone was--”

“Rukia?”

 1:28pm

Rukia blinked as the copy of the newspaper lowered to reveal a face that had once been more familiar than her own, now a little older and bearing significantly more tattoos than it did in her memories. “Renji? What are you doing here?”

Her old friend rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, a familiar gesture that flooded her heart with nostalgia. “Uh, same as you, I imagine. Waitin’ around to hear how the captain’s surgery goes.”

Rukia twisted her hands together. “Oh. That’s nice of you.”

“I’m his lieutenant,” Renji scoffed, as if this explained everything. 

“You’re still going to work for him?” she asked. “After all that happened?”

Renji pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Was plannin’ on it. If he’ll have me.”

Rukia glanced around the room. It really wasn’t very big. There were two banks of seats, almost like couches, on either side of the room, with a low table against the wall opposite the door, covered in out-of-date periodicals. She could either sit next to Renji or opposite him. His outstretched legs reached most of the way across the room. Self-consciously, he pulled them in, sitting up a little straighter. Gingerly, she sat down facing him. 

Why was this more awkward without a set of cell bars separating them?

He folded his newspaper and tucked it neatly in his lap. 

“How're you feeling?”

“Me?” she asked, surprised. “Fine. Tired, I guess.” Hanatarou had been by to see her the day before, and said that it looked like her body was finally starting to replenish her depleted reiryoku, which was a good sign, but it was also somewhat exhausting. “How about you? You were, uh, kinda busted up the last time I saw you.”

Renji laughed. “No kidding! All flesh wounds, though. I got to go home yesterday morning. It’s been over twenty-four hours now since I’ve been in a fight, it’s like being on vacation.” He paused thoughtfully. "At least until Captain Zaraki hears I made bankai. Then I'm really in for it."

Rukia swallowed. He'd made bankai, something only the most elite shinigami could do, and was sitting here talking about it as though it barely rated notice. Perhaps that was true, compared to everything else that had happened, but surely it was important to him. Abarai Renji, a boy of her acquaintance who once got a newt stuck in own hair, was now, strictly speaking, qualified to become a captain of the Gotei 13. She'd always known he'd be good at this.

She should say something. He helped save her life. He’d risked his career and his life for her. He’d...said some things, as well.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said cheerfully, as though he had merely strained a muscle instead of being slashed into large chunks by Aizen just a few hours after being shredded into small chunks by her own brother. Flesh wounds, indeed. "And congratulations on bankai. I'm sure no one's made the proper fuss you deserve over it, but it's a big deal." She wanted to say more. "I'm proud of you", maybe? But what right did she have, being proud of someone she wouldn't even talk to for forty years?

He looked at her curiously. "Thanks."

Rukia swallowed.  “I didn’t mean to interrupt, you certainly don’t need to entertain me.”

He looked at her, confused, then remembered his newspaper. “I’d rather talk to just about anyone than read a three-week old newspaper. And you’re not just anyone.”

Rukia’s cheeks colored. “I’ve been in jail. I don’t have anything interesting to talk about." She drummed her fingers on her knee. "You could do the logic puzzle.”

Renji laughed again. “I’m sh-- crap at those things.”

“Don’t!” she snapped.

“Huh?” He was taken aback by her sudden vehemence.

“Who do you think I am, Abarai Renji, that you would need to watch your language around me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “The lady of the Kuchikis maybe. The sister of my captain.”

“I may be those things, but I was your friend long before that, I don’t recall you ever holding back for the sake of my delicate ears. I would much prefer you continued to afford me the same respect.”

Renji’s mouth quirked up in a pleased smile. “Arright, m’lady. I’m shit at logic puzzles. You happy now, asshole?”

“They’re very simple if you have any brains at all.” She got up from her seat and sat down next to him instead, poking at his newspaper insistently. “Come on. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

 1:52pm

"There! Complete! I told you these were easy, when one is capable of basic reasoning."

She had spent a good ten minutes leaning over his arm and trying to explain how you used the numbers on the borders of the grid to determine which blocks should be blackened and which left blank, before realizing that he wasn't actually listening, just making approving noises and funny faces at her. Then she had stolen his newspaper and done it herself.

He scrutinized her work.

"What is that, a rabbit riding a skateboard?"

"It's very cute, I think. The author of the puzzle obviously has some real artistic talent."

"I think you gave up on trying to solve it and just drew a rabbit riding a skateboard."

Rukia gasped and made a shocked face. This was, of course, exactly what she had done. No one could solve these things, they were impossible. "Well, there's no solution in the back, so we'll never know shall we?" She tossed the newspaper to the side.

"Mmm," Renji agreed noncommittally.

Rukia sucked her teeth and put her hands in her lap. It occurred to her that she was sitting rather close to him.

She wondered if she should move back to the other side of the room.

There was a clock on the wall above the magazine table. They both looked at it at the same time.

 1:58pm

“Do you carry a spirit phone?” Renji asked, out of the blue.

Rukia looked back at him. “What? Of course I do. Why?”

“Well, if you didn’t want to wait around, you could just give me your number, and I could let you know if we get any news.”   

Rukia snorted. “He’s my brother and he got injured saving me. I know I’m not actually helping in any way, but it… I want to do this." She frowned. "You could go and I could let you know.”

He shook his head. “Nah, same. Also, he confiscated my keys, so I can’t get into the office, it’s not like I could get any work done.”

“He confiscated your keys?”

“Yeah. He kinda fired me. I don’t think he got any of the paperwork filled out, though, so I’m hoping he’ll either reconsider or forget about it. It was on the basis that I started a fight with Kurosaki Ichigo and lost and I feel like he doesn’t have a lot of high ground there.”

“Was this before or after he tried to kill you?” Rukia still hadn’t gotten most of the details of what Renji went through leading up to her rescue, although she'd heard about that part from Hanatarou. She supposed she could ask. They were going to be here for a while.

“Before, actually.” Renji sighed. “I probably should give you my number, in any case.”

“Why?” Rukia asked, suspicious of his motives.

“‘Cause your brother doesn’t carry a phone, so if you need to get a message to him when we’re out in the field, you can send it through me.”

“He doesn’t?” Now that he mentioned it, she had certainly never seen Byakuya with one. He also tended to use Hell Butterflies for even the most trivial communications.

“You didn’t know that?”

“He doesn’t talk to me. At least he didn’t used to. Things might be different now.”

“Mmm,” Renji agreed. He started reciting numbers.

“Hold on, hold on!” Rukia exclaimed, pulling out her phone. She had already started making a new contact before realizing that she hadn’t actually agreed to this. Not that she objected, his rationale made perfect sense. It just wasn't right, Renji tricking her into doing things. She glared at him over the top of her phone.

“1-1-3-8,” he repeated the last few digits, his face a portrait of innocence.

“Okay, I’m going to text you now, so you have mine. In case you need to reach him when he’s at home.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“He would love it. ‘Oh, my devoted lieutenant, Text Messaging me in his Leisure Hours,’” Rukia intoned over her typing.

Renji rolled his eyes, and glanced down at his phone. He blinked.

“Thanks for not giving up on me,” she had sent.

He looked back up at her and smiled. “No problem.”

 2:10pm

“They have tea down by the nurses’ station. I’m gonna go get some. You want me to get you one?”

“Yeah, sure,” Rukia agreed. 

She watched him stretch his back as he left, accompanied by an array of painful-sounding pops and cracks. Served him right for being so stupidly tall.

She wondered if he had ever learned how to make tea properly.

 2:16pm

“One tea bag makes one cup. They’re portioned that way.”

“We're not poor anymore, Rukia. We don't have to live like that.”

When he had returned, Renji had sat back down on the other side of the room, so they were facing each other once again. He took a sip of his tea, even though Rukia knew it was still brutally hot. 

“No. That’s not how it works," she tried once more. "More tea bags do not make it better.”

“If it’s bad, it’s because they don’t keep the water hot enough. Maybe you should leave the bags in a little longer to make up for it.”

“That’s not-- you know what? It’s fine. Thanks for the tea. It’s great.” Rukia blew on hers, icing her breath just a bit before she took a sip. It tasted the way a shakkahou smelled. This was exactly like being in jail again.

 2:24pm

Renji appeared to be checking his texts. “So, what are the rules for texting you?” he asked without looking up. “Byakuya pass-through only, or can I hit you up when I’m looking for someone to go out for a drink with?”

“I don’t go out much.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He was no longer looking at his phone, but watching her with a look that she had never seen on his face before. It was appreciative, but nonchalant, with just a hint of Rukongai swagger. Was he… flirting with her? Impossible. The Renji of her youth had zero game. Had he acquired game? It had been forty years, he must have been doing something with his time besides lifting weights and getting tattooed.

“You can text me if you want. I can’t promise I’ll text back. I’ll tell you if you start getting obnoxious.”

“Deal.” He thought for a moment. “You aren’t seeing anyone these days, are you?”

She almost choked. “Me? No. Not even a little bit.” The only people who were interested in her were thirsty nobles trying to get into her brother’s good graces and Ichigo’s gross friend Keigo. She stared back at Renji, and very blatantly looked him up and down, keeping a stony scowl on her face the whole time. He’d always been good-looking growing up, but now he was downright hot. He’d finally filled out all that height with muscle, accented by those little glimpses of his tats you got around the edges of his shihakushou. “How ‘bout you?” she threw back.

He seemed to find all this very amusing. “Naw, not right now.”

“Why not?” She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “Look at you. Any girl in the Gotei would go out with you. Half the guys, too.”

He shrugged, and gave her a look that positively smoldered. “There’s someone I’m a little hung up on.”

 2:26pm

Rukia fisted her hands into the cloth of her kimono. “What the hell, Abarai Renji?”

He blinked and sat up abruptly.

“You are flirting with me, aren't you? Or is this just how you are with everyone, now? With all your… your… tallness and good delts and… and... strong jawline?”

"I dunno! You've been flirting with me this whole time!"

"What?! I most certainly have not!"

"Are you kidding?" He started ticking off on his fingers. "You showed off at something you aren't actually good at and then bragged about it, you invaded my personal space, and you criticized me when I did something nice for you. Just now, you checked me out in a weirdly aggressive way. I mean, that's obviously not how normal people flirt, but you might've well handed me a note that says, 'Do you like me? Circle yes or no.'"

Rukia took a deep breath and screwed up her face.

Renji leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “And before you start stammering out excuses, I'll just tell you: Yes. I. Do.”

They sat in a hospital waiting area, across from one another, leaning forward, in absolute silence. 

 2:28pm

“Um. Ummm,” Rukia managed. 

This wasn’t a surprise, not exactly. She could pretend that they hadn't said those things to each other as he carried her away from Soukyoku Hill, that she hadn't ended up crying all over his kosode like a dumb baby. That she hadn't noticed the hitch in his voice when he promised, to her and her alone, that he would never let her go, right before he tightened his hand on his sword and used what he thought was his last breath to scream his defiance at Aizen. These things had happened though, and they both knew it.

That's how things went between Renji and Rukia. They had a long history of keeping their feelings jarred up and left to ferment deep in the basements of their souls. Sometimes, one of them would say something just a little too heartfelt or there would be some physical contact that lasted just a bit too long and they would ignore it and go on with their lives , because what else were you supposed to do?

Talk about it, apparently, although Rukia didn't recall agreeing to this.

“I wasn’t real honest with you about my intentions when we were younger,” Renji was saying. “And I don’t think it turned out too good for either of us. Maybe this is a good chance to start things off on a different foot. I think you’re real cute and cool as hell and I can’t imagine anything better than being with you, if that’s something you’d be up for.”

Rukia’s mouth fell open. “You...and me?” she managed, trying to sound skeptical. It was a little bit difficult with her idiot brain flailing, 'He thinks I'm cute?' in the background.

“We used to be a pretty incredible team.”

Well, there was no denying that. 

“Things are different now. You’re a vice captain. I’m, uh, noble. I guess.”

“You guess,” he echoed, rolling his eyes.

“How would it even work?” she grumbled.

Renji shrugged. “I’ve thought about that. I’ve thought about that a lot, as it happens, over the years. It’s intractable. Nearly impossible. And in the last week, a human kid busted his way through Squad 11, your brother, and one of the most powerful magical artifacts in Soul Society. I committed treason. Three captains defected to Hueco Mundo. So my definition of 'impossible' has shifted a little, and uptight people bitchin’ about who I smooch doesn't cut it anymore.”

“Oh, you want to smooch now?”

Renji leaned back, stretching his arms up and resting his head on his interlaced fingers. "You act like you've never smooched anyone before, which I know ain't true. There's no reason to make a big deal outta this. It's not like I suggested we start coming up with combination zanpakutou attacks, I just asked if you'd like to get a maybe-more-than-friendly drink sometime."

"That's bullshit," Rukia snapped.

 2:32pm

"Excuse me?" Renji replied coolly.

"I know you, Abarai Renji! You don't even know what my sword does and you've thought about combo attacks, admit it!"

His ears turned a little bit red, and Rukia was pleased to finally have him on the ropes. "I do so! I read your file when I got sent to arrest you and your zanpakutou sounds rad as hell, do you blame me?"

"That's--" she started to exclaim, "--kind of sweet, actually."

Renji smiled hopefully.

"Ichigo says your bankai's big enough that a person could reasonably ride around on it?"

"Yeah, he was too busy to try, though, so you can have first crack if you want it."

"Stop trying to sucker me in!" Rukia protested, but it was clear from her voice that her heart wasn't quite in it.

"I'm not," replied, leaning back on his hands again and closing his eyes. "I just like you. When you're done being defensive and decide if you like me back or not, let me know, okay?"

Rukia was silent.

She considered some facts.

Fact #1: Young Renji, at his best, was one of the most excellent people she had ever had the privilege of knowing. 

Fact #2: Renji, in his Academy days, had been a real shit.

Fact #3: Rukia had recently had occasion to spend a bunch of time with some teens. It turned out that a lot of teens were real shits. Some teens even managed to exist as both a real shit and an excellent person at the same time.

Fact #4: Shithead Academy Rukia would have been absolutely over the moon if Shithead Academy Renji had told her he liked her. Utterly ecstatic. 

Fact #5: Vice-Captain Renji seemed to be a marked improvement over Shithead Academy Renji.

Fact #6: Rukia had spent a long time closing herself off from other people. Frankly, it had sucked.

Fact #7: Some jerks, some real shits, had recently wormed their way past her defenses and tricked her into being friends with them. Frankly, it had ruled.

Maybe it was time to let someone in again. Maybe Renji was a really good someone to start with.

 2:35 pm

Rukia stood up and strode across the room, which took all of four steps, even for her.

"Listen up, dumbass," she announced. 

He cracked open one eye.

"Here's how it is: I might like you. I haven't decided yet. You're kinda hot, and I respect that. You used to be a pretty good guy once in a while, so I'm giving you a chance, but that doesn't mean you get a free ride on past good behavior, you got that?"

He'd opened the other eye by this time, and they'd both gone a bit wide. He dropped his arms to his sides and sat up a bit straighter.

"None of this is because you rescued me, is that clear? You didn't even rescue me, really, more like ruined what was shaping up to be a pretty good execution."

"Technically, Ichigo ruined your execution."

"That's absolutely correct, and I expect you to stick to that." She put one hand down on either side of his head, looming down over him as much as her four feet, nine-and-a-half inches would allow. "We are absolutely coming up with combo attacks, starting immediately. When we fight Aizen, I get to stab him first. I will never make you come to noble stuff, but I'll get you in if that's something you're interested in. I can't speak for what Brother makes you do. I get veto power over all nicknames. You will let me wear your pink bathrobe whenever I want." She thought for a moment. "I reserve the right to add more things later."

She stared into his eyes, waiting.

"Is that it?"

"That's it."

He nodded. "I accept."

 2:38pm

She kissed him.

 Still 2:38pm

He kissed her back.

 2:41pm

Rukia had expected to surprise him and then tease him for getting flustered.

She had not expected to kiss him long enough for her neck to start to get stiff. This was not a problem she usually encountered.

She certainly could have stopped kissing him. 

That seemed extreme.

Instead, she hitched up her kimono and hefted one knee and then the other up onto the chair on either side of his legs and settled down in his lap, moving her hands to a less threatening position on the back of his neck. Renji sighed contentedly and slid his hands to her hips.

 2:43pm

Rukia placed her hands onto his shoulders and slowly pushed herself backwards, until she could see Renji's face again.

The first time she had ever kissed him, under the old dead tree outside their squat in Inuzuri, he'd made a face like he'd just been whacked over the head with a tree branch.

The last time she'd kissed him, drunk, around the burned down coals of a bonfire celebrating the end of their first semester at school, he had gazed at her with such longing and affection in his eyes that she almost didn't recognize him.

He'd gotten some practice since then, that much was obvious. She liked the look in his eyes right then: It had a little of that boyish longing and affection and a little bit of being hit over the head with a tree branch, but it had a number of other things in there she didn't quite recognize, too. A little Squad 11 ferocity? The rampant self-esteem of a newly minted vice-captain? Just a dash of stone-cold lust, the look that a grown-ass man gave a woman he was enjoying having in his lap?

"I don't even know you anymore," she murmured. "How am I supposed to know if I like you or not?"

"I'm mostly the same," he promised.

"I might be into the new you."

"I'm very different. Whole new guy."

"I think," Rukia said, tilting her head to one side, "I might be interested in finding out."

 2:43pm

Kissing again.

 3:18pm

Whack! Whack!

"Ow!"

"There is no--" Whack! "--making out--" Whack! "--permitted in the Coordinated Relief Station!"

"Isane--ow!--stop!"

"Oh, Rukia, is that you?"

"Yes."

Kotetsu Isane, lieutenant of the Fourth Division, tapped her rolled up newspaper in the palm of her hand as the two disheveled shinigami before her sat up and adjusted their clothing. "Rukia, I would have thought better of you! Then again, you do hang out with my sister, whose bad habits-- Lieutenant Abarai?"

"Present," he groaned.

Isane looked at Rukia with wide eyes. "Well done," she mouthed, before clearing her throat. "You will both be happy to hear that Captain Kuchiki's surgery went very well.”

“Great!” Rukia chirped, casually fishing something out of her sleeve. She stared at it in befuddlement for a moment before recognizing it as Renji's bandana and thrusting it at him.

“Can we see him?” Renji asked, trying to grab the bandana back without actually looking at it. He kept missing.

“He’s still heavily sedated,” Isane explained. “It will be a while before he’s ready for visitors.”

“Gosh,” said Rukia. 

“How long we talkin’?” asked Renji.

 7:40pm

Rukia listened very carefully, nodding at appropriate times, as Captain Unohana explained Byakuya’s status and the details of his recovery regimen. Occasionally, on the topic of restricted activity, the gentle doctor would glance back and make steely eye contact with Renji, who would take over on nodding duty. They paused outside of Byakuya’s room. “One last thing. Due to his unusually high spiritual energy, we had to give him a...lot...of painkillers.”

“Ahhhh,” said Rukia. 

Renji looked confused.

“He may act a little strange,” Unohana clarified.

“I’ve been on a pretty heavy load of those a time or two myself,” Renji frowned. “Never had a problem.”

Unohana’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline and she rolled her eyes so hard that in another part of the Seireitei, Zaraki Kenpachi sat up a little straighter. Renji did not appear to notice. “Of course, Lieutenant.”

Rukia looked at Renji as Unohana went into Byakuya's room to check some of his vitals. “This is good actually. I’ve seen him on these a time or two before. He’s utterly cuckoo, but he thinks he’s fine, so if we can get him to agree to anything--like not firing you--he’ll remember it later and think he made the decision rationally.”

“That sounds...underhanded.”

“It’s how I got him to sponsor that Gotei 13 Eurovision thing the Women's Association put on last year."

"Squad 11 got robbed in that, by the way. You need to never mention it around my friend Ayesegawa."

It gave Rukia a bit of a warm feeling in her stomach, that he was already thinking about introducing her to his friends. She couldn't imagine how terrible his Squad 11 friends were. She couldn't wait to meet them.

 "I will remember that. But in any case, these are rare opportunities. We're basically obligated to take advantage of them. Trust me.”

Unohana reappeared, having finished her business. "He's all yours," she said, gliding down the hallway.

Byakuya was sitting up in bed, poking at a tray of food. His face was pale and drawn, his hair uncharacteristically non-silky, but he was most definitely making a very Byakuya facial expression.

“Helloooo, Brother!” Rukia said cheerfully, walking into the room. 

He looked at her, slightly lost for a moment.

“It’s me. Rukia. Your little sister.”

An extremely non-Byakuya-like smile spread across his face. “Kuchiki Rukia! My beloved sister!”

“How do you feel, Brother?”

“Horrid,” Byakuya replied. “Also, they have given me this slop. I would like to throw it out the window, but I cannot reach. Could you do that for me?”

“I’m sorry to say that you should eat as much as you can. You need to regain your strength.”

Byakuya made an extremely petulant face.

“Guess who else came to see you!” Rukia waved at the doorway.

A little hesitantly, Renji stepped into the room. “Hey, there, Captain. Glad to see you looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

“Abarai Renji! My loyal lieutenant! You may have forgotten, but I do not have a tail!”

“I did not forget, sir.”

“Kuchiki Rukia! Do you see this? Abarai Renji, my indomitable second, a man who fought by my side in the War for the 79th Bridge--”

“That was 800 years ago, neither of us was alive then.”

“--has come to see me! During his Leisure Hours!”

Rukia gave Renji a Look.

“Abarai Renji! If you are still the man you were when we stormed the Demon Realms together--”

“We definitely didn’t.”

“--you will throw this tray of food out the window for me!”

Renji walked over, grabbed the tray of food, opened the window, and hurled it out. There was a far-off thump and an indignant shout. Renji shut the window again.

“Renji!” Rukia hissed.

“He’s my captain," Renji shrugged. "It was a basically reasonable request. In the grand scheme of things."

“Truly, I chose wisely when I named you general of my armies and proclaimed that your family shall heretofore be a branch family to my own!” 

“You don’t have any--” Renji gave up. “To be honest, Captain, I really just want to know if I’m still fired or not.”

Byakuya lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “I will never fire you. You are my favorite.”

“That’s great news, sir. Thank you. At some point, I would appreciate it if you would give me the keys to the office back, but no hurry on that.”

“How fares the Manor, Rukia?” Byakuya asked grandly.

“Oh, it will run smoothly without you for a few days more, but everyone has been worried, Brother. They will be very happy to hear how well you are recovering.”

“I am counting on you to fill in during my absence,” Byakuya informed her. “If anyone does not afford you the proper respects, write their name down, and I will kill them once I am recovered.”

“That’s--" Rukia paused suddenly. "Do you mean servants, or other nobles? Because Lord Noragashi was by yesterday and he was very salty to me about you not being at home.”

“I will kill him,” Byakuya swore.

“Or you could… just not go to his next party or something.”

“Or I could attend and be handsomer than he!”

“Sure. Sure, that sounds good.” Rukia licked her lips and glanced at Renji, who nodded slightly.  “We have some other news for you, as well, Brother,” Rukia said gently.

Renji sucked in a deep breath and held it.

“Renji and I are seeing each other.”

Byakuya looked at Rukia very seriously, his eyebrows beetling. Then he looked at Renji. Then back at Rukia. “You are not seeing Kurosaki Ichigo, then?”

Rukia looked vaguely stricken. “Uh, no, Brother. Certainly not.”

“But you are seeing Lieutenant Abarai Renji? Vice-Captain of the Sixth Division?

“Yes, that one.”

“My faithful adjutant! Who has served me without question for over fifty years!”

“Six weeks. Sir.” Renji elected not to mention the treason.

“Come here, Abarai.” He tried to motion with his finger, but couldn’t summon the fine motor control. Renji came over anyway. “Closer.” Renji leaned down, glancing briefly at Rukia. “Attend me well, Abarai Renji,” Byakuya said in the same loud whisper that Rukia could hear perfectly clearly from across the room. “I have not always done right by my sister, but I have resolved to do so in the future.”

Rukia’s cheeks colored.

“It seems that she likes you.”

“She’s giving it a go, sir.”

“And it is self-evident that you like her.”

“That’s very true, sir.”

“And you are very much not Kurosaki Ichigo.”

“That is also very true.”

“So I shall accept this development and not require you to best me in combat. I suspect that, at this exact moment, you might actually be capable of doing so.”

“It’s possible,” Renji speculated.

“But I shall require your regular attendance at Sunday dinner.”

“With all the aunts?” Rukia asked, eyebrows raised.

“Withstanding the aunts is what it means to be a Kuchiki!” Byakuya proclaimed.

“For Rukia’s sake, I will do it,” Renji promised.

“Welcome to the family, my beloved son-in-law!”

“I’m not--”

“Let’s just count this as a win,” Rukia suggested. 

Renji smiled hopefully at her. It was, in Rukia's opinion, a very cute smile.

Rukia smiled back. She couldn't help it.

This was going to be an adventure.

 ~ end

[twdmusicboxmystery]

Music From Bounty and The Red Machete - Seriously Awesome! ;D

Okay guys, this won’t be terribly long today. Erm—at least not compared to my Details post on Wednesday, which was a monster. This is something I’ve been trying to get to since last week, and I’m super excited to share it, because it’s a pretty big deal. It has to do with three musical aspects of Bounty, 9x11. 

First, let me say there were two songs featured in this episode. It’s All Right Now, by Eddie Harris (this is the song Ezekiel played on the boombox to distract the walkers so they could go into the theater; it’s also the one we saw Jerry lip syncing and dancing to) 

and All My Dreaming by Emma Russack. This was played at the end when it showed everyone being happy together because the exchange went well. It’s still playing when Daryl realizes Henry has gone and goes to find him, and Connie goes with him.

It’s actually hard to find lyrics to either of these songs online, though there are youtube videos where you can just listen to them. Neither is difficult to hear and decipher.

I don’t have tons to say about the first song, It’s All Right Now. This is one of those songs where that line “It’s all right now,” is literally sung over and over and over again for the entire song. You hear the singers making other, extraneous comments (“Come on girl,” and Jerry’s “whoo!”) but there aren’t any other actual lyrics. So it’s a fairly happy, positive song, right? And I think it works for the Kingdomers at the theater because things go well for them. They had to fight a little harder than they’d planned to get the bulb, but they got it and nobody dies, which doesn’t happen all that often on the show.

But the one thing that really jumps out at me is when Diane comes into tell them that they have to hurry because the “boombox died” and the walkers will be coming back toward them. As in, the music died? And the music was the “it’s all right now” song. So that means it’s no longer all right.

Again, I think that works well for the Carzekiel in particular because, everything’s okay for them right now. Going better than expected, actually, since Alexandria will now be attending the fair. But if you’ve read spoilers, you know things are about to go terribly, terribly wrong.

But… we also know Beth was the song bird so I really think we can relate this back to her as well. Everything was all right, then the song bird died (compare to Henry spoilers) and then everything wasn’t all right. Also remember, this was the episode with the prisoner exchange, which had some ridiculous parallels to Grady. So yeah. That’s all I have to say about that.

Emma Russack’s All My Dreaming we can read into a little more. This song really only has one verse and we heard all of it in the show. (The rest of the song is just all the “oohs” we also heard in the show to tranquil music.) It’s really a very beautiful, calming song.

So here’s what it says:

All my dreaming, all my wishing

It hasn’t come through. Life’s just like that

And I don’t know what I am looking for

But when I find it, it will feel right.

I’ve dreamt of loving, I’ve wished for control.

It hasn’t come through, but I won’t push that

Maybe all that I’ve ever wanted

Is what I have now. That is all right.

Does that sound like Daryl or what? Especially the dreaming of love bit. And it works well with what he told Henry. He’s really not happy and doesn’t have what he wants, but life’s just shit sometimes and you live with it.

The other interesting thing is that everyone it shows during the playing of this song is fairly happy: Carzekiel, Magna’s group who are happy to have Luke back, Enid and Alden, Tammy and Earl with the baby, etc. The only unhappy ones are Daryl 

and Henry.

(Quick aside about the above pic of Daryl. Someone in my group (forget who) something very interesting. It looks similar to this pic from Still, 

Even if the light is a different color, it’s still behind him, silhouetting him. We also know that Beth was Daryl’s light (confirmed by Norman). So between that, and the prisoner exchange that just happened, you know he has to be thinking about her right here. Meanwhile, this song is playing…) 

So what does this mean? More than just a reminder of her, I think it shows the Whisperers and this whole thing with Henry will lead to her. More on that in a minute, but I’m once again going to argue the “domino shit” card here. Henry couldn’t live with the results of the prisoner exchange, which lead to Daryl going out after him, and that will lead to what happens the rest of the season. And I think it will lead to Beth in some way.

Okay, one final thing to talk about, which I actually this is the MOST exciting of the three. You guys are gonna love this. Again, I have to credit @wdway with this because I wouldn’t have thought of it. If you listen to the music that plays when Daryl takes Lydia outside the gates for the prisoner exchange, it’s very distinctive music. I think it’s a mixture of drums and some kind of horn, but it sounds like a very ominous drum roll.

@wdway said she thought it was the same music from The Red Machete. (Again, I wouldn’t have remembered that at all or thought to check.) But she’s right. If you want to compare, listen to the music playing specifically when Daryl takes Lydia out and has her by the arm. It only lasts a few seconds and then stops. 

Then get on Youtube and find The Red Machete. Listen to the last two minutes or so when it shows Legs come out and claim the red machete. It’s the EXACT same music. I think the Red Machete one has a faster tempo and sounds bolder (might just be a volume thing) but it’s still the same music.

undefined

So we discussed what this meant. Does it mean Lydia is Legs? Well, we already discussed how Cassidy McClincy (who plays Lydia) has a body type a lot like Emily’s, so it’s possible. But I really don’t think so. For two reasons:

1. I think if she or even Alpha or Beta had the red machete, we’d have seen it by now. We would have seen it really early on because that would be a big deal to have one of them wielding Rick’s red machete. I doubt they’d wait so many episodes to be like, “oh, by the way…” It’d be more epic than that. I actually thought, from the trailer, that when it showed Alpha in the woods, obviously hiding a weapon behind her leg (it was when Luke and Alden saw her just before being captured) it might be the red machete. But it wasn’t. It was a double-barreled shot gun. So yeah, we really haven’t seen it yet and that’s important.

2. There’s still the fact that they hid Legs’s face/identity. We didn’t know who Lydia was back when the Red Machete aired. There was no reason to hide her face. It would have been better to show it so that when she showed up in the show, the audience would have been like, *gasp* “she has the red machete!” (gasp gif) In fact, they used that exact tactic with an earlier mini series that had to do with Fear. The first one they did showed the virus breaking out on a plane at the beginning. One woman survived and later showed up in Fear. They got that exact reaction. Audience: *gasp* “She was the lady on the plane!!!” So I think if Legs was Lydia, th ey would have done something similar to this. Instead, they hid Legs’s identity, and there’s just no reason to do that unless she’s someone we already know and would recognize.

So what does this mean? Well, I still believe Legs is Beth, but even putting that aside for a moment, the parallel music shows that something about this prisoner exchange will, as I said above about dominoes and leading to the rest of the season, also lead to Legs/the red machete.

But then we HAVE to circle back around to the parallels during the prisoner exchange, what Daryl says, this song that’s playing, all the Beth/Henry parallels this season, and of course the same ole stuff about how we saw her image twice in 9a. For me, it all still points very obviously to Beth being Legs—it kinda has to be—and this sequence leading to her in some way.

I don’t think Alpha or Beta has the red machete. I think Beth has it and will show up at some point in some way that has to do with the Whisperers.

Thoughts?

***Last minute addition: So this morning, before I got this posted, I noticed a post in my FB group. I didn’t want to add onto this because it would have taken longer (probably wouldn’t have posted until tomorrow) and it would have made it too long. But let’s just say @wdway found something that really has nothing to do with this Red Machete music parallel, but, in my mind, pretty much confirms what I’ve said here. It deserves it’s own post, and I’ll try to get to it next week. ;D ***

[letsdothistom]

Air Guitar and 85 MPH!

I was going to spend my second “blog” discussing pretentiousness in Santa Fe or New Mexican food and green chile in general.  But since I came up with something a little more fun, I guess I’ll save the talk about ordering water in a bowl and drinking it with a spoon for a different time.  On my drive back to Oklahoma I thought of a topic that always shows its face when I’m on a road trip.   I often forget about it until the next time I’m in the car or just don’t put much thought into it once I’ve opened the car doors and let the dog out to deal with his pent up energy as I unload the car.  Not to mention the obligatory hour I have to spend re-aquainting myself to the cat, who is certain that I have disappeared forever this time.

The topic that came to me is road trip songs.  

I love road trips.  You may think I’m crazy but settling into the driver seat, snacks on the passenger seat,  the basset hound panting in my face, his front feet on the console, anticipating our newest adventure, is the best.  Within a pretty short time, he tends to realize that this is just another day-long roady and roughs up his blanket in the backseat and settles in for the ride. Giving me weird basset hound glances in the mirror.  Not sure if it’s the music or he just wants some pork rinds.

Now these road trips of mine usually arent extravagant or exotic.  Unless you consider driving state highways through Kansas, Oklahoma, Wyoming or any other of the fly-over states I tend to travel as being exotic. (Personally I’d choose these drives over just about any other you could propose to me).  The great thing about these road trips, aside from seeing so many wonderful historically relevant places (as well as plenty of non-relevant places), and feeling a oneness with wide open spaces, is the time you get to yourself to hone your listening skills.  

Those of you that know me, know that I have many preferences when it comes to music.  As Cheech says in Up In Smoke, “we play everything from El Chicano to Santana”.  I love it all.  Some more than others, but I probably have a song or two from every type of playlist or genre that you can think of.  Add to that the fact that if there is a specific location I’m aiming my car to (often there is not), I will jam songs from or about that location.  For instance, while driving the empty roads of New Mexico it will be Ennio Morricone and The Good, The Bad and the Ugly soundtrack.  Wyoming is of course Chris LeDoux country.  On my way to Kansas City to eat BBQ, it’s Joe Williams singing “Kansas City” or Charlie Parker and K.C. Blues.  Memphis is Sister Rosetta Tharpe (you can keep Elvis, I am not a fan.  Yeah, I said it).  West Texas?  Marty Robbins Gunfighter Ballads, of course!  Down south, it’s Big Maybelle, Lightnin’ Hopkins and Muddy Waters.  You get the idea.  It may seem strange but there is something that touches my soul in listening to those songs that are native to an area.  Whether or not I actually do learn anything, it feels as though I have.

With that weird little eccentricity out of the way, let me add that of course there are some staples of any road trip, for me at least.  These are songs, albums and artists that I listen to, to fill in all the  empty spaces of those relatively uneventful miles, musically or otherwise.  Maybe it’s Def Leppard or ACDC or Beyonce or Ariana Grande for you.  For me these are easy.  I can not even begin to guess how many miles have been eaten up by Merle Haggard, or The Count Basie Orchestra.  I am not scared of extreme opposites.  Hundreds upon thousands upon tens of thousands of miles have been chewed up by these two musical groups, and yes, I’m aware that I am probably the only person living who can claim that.

The millennials reading this will have no idea about this next category.  There use to be these things called albums.  Albums were a group of songs, recorded (usually around the same time), and released as a unit to the masses.  These units were sold as vinyl records, cassette tapes, 8-tracks, or CDs.  Those of us a little older can attest that 90 percent of these albums had 2-4 songs that we liked and a bunch of other average or barely tolerable songs that you listened to whether you liked them or not (if you didn’t have control of the radio in the car).  Sometimes, you even grew to enjoy a few of those songs.  On rare occasions though, you found an entire album, yes the whole thing! that you enjoyed.   For all of us oldies, these albums are near and dear to our hearts.  They vary from person to person, but these are a few I can put on and just let them play, enjoying almost every song:  Van Halen-1984, Blood Sweat and Tears-Greatest hits, Nirvana-Nevermind, George Strait-Strait From The Heart, Muddy “Mississippi” Waters-Live, Art Blakey-Moanin’,  U2-Joshua Tree, Miles Davis-Kind of Blue, Steve Miller Band-Greatest Hits 74-78, IceT-Greatest Hits to name a few of my favorites.

All of these categories are important to a good road trip.  You must have a combination of all of them.  Yeah, I know, all of you XM/Sirius users are claiming that you don’t need any of them.  You got genres on every channel, and all you ever need with all those fancy channels.  To those of you in that camp, I say “HOGWASH!”  Why Hogwash?  Well no matter how specific these channels are, or how much you enjoy the carefree toggling between your favorite genres, no road trip is complete without those irreplaceable, epic, nostalgic songs that nearly blow out your speakers and get your ears ringing whenever you choose to rock them.  And how the hell are you supposed to play these favorites 2, 3, 10 times in a row with your XM radio?!  You can’t. So without further palaver, I’m gonna lay my favorites out and would love to hear some of yours.  

Rich’s top 20 Road Trip Jams (if you have any sense, you will build this playlist!-yeah I know it’s not gonna float everyone’s boat but if nothing else, listen to it, you might find some music that you don’t normally dig.)  And for the record, none of these songs ever get bumped off the list, new ones just get added to it occasionally.  As weird as it may be, here is my list:

Honorable Mentions.  These songs get me thinking about all the great road trip songs and my musical wheels start turning.  It’s on when I hear any of these songs.

Runnin on Empty-Jackson Browne, Hello Walls-Faron Young, Blues in Hoss Flat-Count Basie, Night In Tunisia-Ella Fitzgerald, Gimme All Your Love-Alabama Shakes, Miles and Miles of Texas-Asleep at the Wheel, China Grove-Doobie Brothers, Come Down-Anderson Paak, Crosstown Traffic-Jimi Hendrix, El Paso-Marty Robbins, Ida Red-Bob Wills and Sunshine of Your Love-Cream.  Those get me started but here is when it gets real.

20-16  These are like the kindling for me.  Getting the fire lit, and starting my descent into the next hour of driving, without really remembering the road I’ve just driven or the scenes outside the window.  

20)  Suavecito-Malo   Ok, Ok, it wouldn’t seem like a fire starter, but...

19)  Magic Man-Heart This one should get your blood flowing

18)  Keep on Rockin’ Me-Steve Miller The best roady to choose from SMB

17)  Watermelon Man-Herbie Hancock You might not have soul if you don’t love this

16)  When My Train Pulls In- Gary Clark JR Great Long Jam.  incredible guitar riffs

11-15  These are a small step up, adding logs to my fire

15)  Me and Mrs. Jones-Billy Paul So there’s always a song that you love to sing while you are alone in your car, and you think you sing it just as well as the artist

14)  Stairway to Heaven-Led Zeppelin Ok so of course I have it, but this is a really, really great song no matter how many times it is played.

13)  Ev’ryday I have the Blues-Count Basie and Joe Williams The definition of a foot stomper.

12)  Luckenbach, TX-Waylon and Willie One of the best country songs translates to a great road song.

11)  The Story- Brandi Carlisle Not a song liable to be on many lists, road trip or not.  My sister introduced me to this years and years ago and it barely misses the top 10

6-10  Ok, we are really cookin with gas now.  These are legendary roadies in my book.  The dog gives me a look, here we go again.

10)  Rooster-Alice In Chains Gets my grunge on.  I love everything about this song.  Probably one of the biggest contributors to hearing loss in my right ear.

9)   Six Days on the Road-Dave Duncan All those over-the-road truckers can’t be wrong, this is the best of all truckin’ songs.

8)   Tonight The Bottle Let Me Down-Merle Haggard   My favorite country singer and a whole lot of my favorite country music instrument, the steel guitar.  Damn I love this song

7)   Ticket To Ride-Beatles There are tons of Beatles songs to choose from and this isn’t my favorite, but it is my favorite on the road

6)   867-5309-Tommy Tutone This is my favorite 80s song.  And when I hear that guitar riff at the beginning...Jenny, Jenny who can I turn to?

2-5  These are huge, the fire is roaring and I have no concerns as to what is going on at this point.  I’ll be singing, playing drums, air guitar.  The dog has now tried to cover his ears due to the volume.

5)   Jamie’s Cryin-Van Halen Im not sure why, because there are tons of Van Halen songs to choose from, but for whatever reason, this one is my favorite while on the road

4)   North To Alaska-Johnny Horton   Ok, another one you may not expect at all but damn this is a fun song.  I physically can’t help whaling “big nuggets they’re finding” every time!

3)   Pink Houses-John Cougar Mellencamp    Im not a globalist. ‘Murica!!

2)   Sweet Child of Mine-Guns and Roses    This should be on everyones list. Road songs or any other.  Simply one of the best songs ever.  

Number 1!!!

So all the previous songs are great.  I love them all, and many, many more.  This is an elaborate list for me.  If you know me, you know I love lists, and don’t make them without deep thought.  But Ironically, the battle for the top spot isn’t even close.  I LOVE Sweet Child of Mine, and Pink Houses.  I might play them 2 or 3 times in a row, but the battle for number one isn’t much of a battle.  Not because these others arent great but because number one is so unbelievably spectacular in the car.  I can’t help singing to it, playing air guitar, drum solo in my car, volume literally turned up 3 or 4 times during the song, ears ringing and can’t even hear myself singing, and just when you don’t think it could be any better, it gets better!!!  There are times I may play this song 5, 6 times in a row if things are cookin.  I can barely keep the needle under 85 mph! The number one song for the road is:

1)  More Than A Feeling- Boston  I really built it up, and with good reason. Rock ballad, guitar anthem, unbelievable vocals, harmony soft, loud, louder, high, higher, drums...what else can I say?  This is simply the best road trip song ever!!

Ok, that’s it.  Maybe it was anti-climatic for you, but I got jazzed just listing the songs.  I may go take a drive just to hear the playlist!  I’d love to hear everyone else’s playlist that they take on every trip.  Maybe I’m missing some good road trip songs!  

I hope the dog never figures out how to jump out of the car while it’s moving.

[harrieatthemet]

Holiday: Chapter 5

A/N: you ask, you shall receive. I’m for sure posting 6 soon, because at first I combined them but then I separated it bc it was hella long BUT 6 YOU GUYS. ITS INSANE. Enjoy, dm me if you wanna chat about the storyyy xx

Waking up the next morning, with an all too familiar headache, I realized that I didn’t wake up to my routine alarm. Propping myself up on my elbows, whilst blowing a few stray blonde hairs that hung loosely out of my bun and in my face, my eyes groggily raided the room to see if any little people in particular were hiding behind the furniture. But there was no one, which made me a little nervous. Glancing at the clock that sat on my bedside table, I was alarmed to see that it was almost 10 am. The kids never let me sleep past 8, which made me wonder where they were and what they were doing if they weren’t in here shaking me awake. 

Slipping on whatever pair of pajama shorts my hands grabbed out of my luggage, I buttoned up my oversized button down I had slept in before lunging towards my bedroom door. As I walked out in the hallway, peeking in to each of the kids rooms, I had noticed that their beds were unmade and their toys were strewn across the room. Harboring a great deal of anticipation to find them, my bare feet pitter pattered against the cold wood of the floor before hitting the staircase. That’s when the faint noise of cartoons was in earshot, and a small sense of relief became me. My pace eased as I approached the bottom of the steps, and I could hear the oddly comforting noise of Penelope whining as Brayden changed the channel in the middle of her ‘favorite show’. Every show was her favorite show, especially when Brayden would change the channel. 

I peeked into the sitting room, where my laptop was still open but the wine bottle had disappeared. Figured Harry had taken care of that, if he was even awake yet. Sauntering into the room where the kids were fully tuned into the TV, I noticed that they had even been fed already. Plates with half eaten pancakes, some scrambled eggs, and even toast (I could never get them to eat toast, for some weird reason) had been gnawed at. In that moment, I had to give it to Harry. I was impressed at how efficient and quietly he had gotten everything done, especially since he didn’t have someone else do it for him. 

“Morning.” I hummed, leaning over to press a kiss atop Brayden’s head. 

“Mornin mama.” Quinn gleamed, throwing his head all the way back to lock eyes with me.

I scrunched my face together in endearment, tapping his cute little nose before exiting the room. I could smell the alluring scent of coffee from down the hall, which was followed by the sound of a pan tumbling to the floor and an incoherent ‘fuck’ or two slip from Harry’s mouth. 

To say I was nervous to talk to Harry would be an utter understatement. I was still feeling a little culpable for our spiff last night, and I didn’t want to have the awkward ‘I’m sorry’ conversation. Typically, the I’m sorries ended up resulting in another fight about who started the fight and so on. 

His back was to me as I walked in, and he was wearing that snug white v neck I loved on him. It complimented every crease and every bicep so well, that it was hard not to stop and gawk for a little while. Those jaw string sweatpants that he always slept in hung dangerously low around his waist, and I watched intently as he hiked them up every time he moved side to side. I’d been telling him since we first spent the night together that they were too big, but he was too stubborn to listen. His hair, though it was cut short again, had fallen since last night and was hanging in his face just enough to get in the way. Every few minutes he’d lift a hand up to it and push a few strands out of the way so he could see better. 

Clearing my throat to get his attention, I stretched my hand over my chest and awkwardly wrapped it just above my elbow as I shifted all my weight on my hip. He hesitated, mumbling something under his breath in that thick accent of his as he grew frustrated with the pan on the stovetop. He turned around, eyes bright and skin glowing. He’d always been a morning person.

“You’re up.” His voice was monotone, and he wouldn’t look directly at me which insinuated he was still annoyed.

“Yeah.” I nodded my head awkwardly as I fidgeted in my position, “Harry can we talk about-“

As if it were timed, his phone started buzzing on the countertop. I exhaled loudly, annoyed but not completely surprised because this happened nearly every time I tried to talk to him about something. Shuffling from one end of the kitchen to the other, he reached over and picked his phone off the table with two of his fingers. He still had those rings on, and he probably slept with them on too. I use to love feeling those cold metal rings on my skin in the morning.

“I, er, I gotta take this.” He excused himself, accepting the call before formally greeting whoever was on the other end. 

I watched solemnly as he scurried off into the next room, before moving to the front door. He swept his coat up off the hanger before opening the door, strolling outside while jamming his sneakers on and shutting the door behind him. From the corner of the kitchen, I could get a semi clear view of him slowly pacing while he chatted on the phone. Running a hand through his hair a few times, it was obvious to me that he was overwhelmed. 

“Mooooooooom” Penelope whined, her voice ringing in my ears even from the next room over. 

I went wandering down the hall, listening to the whining that flooded the first level of the house as Penelope and Brayden bickered over the TV. Once I reached the TV room, I rolled my eyes in frustration as I got a glimpse of the shit show playing out in front of me. Brayden towered over Penelope’s small frame, holding the TV remote high above her head as she wailed and begged for it back. Brayden loved to push her buttons, maybe because it was so easy to get her worked up and he simply enjoyed reminding her that he was the oldest and could get his way if he wanted to. He wasn’t always like that, an instigator and fight starter. Once Harry moved out, he would do little things like this every so often as a way to act out. He hadn’t quit doing it, which was my fault because I struggled with reprimanding him. 

“Mommy tell him to stop.” Penelope sobbed, throwing herself to the floor in hysterics.

“Oh my god, quit the drama.” I grumbled, picking her up by her arms and peeling her off the floor.

Brayden looked up at me, green eyes wide as he tried to play it innocent. I shot him a stern look, and we had a bit of a stare off before he caved and placed the TV remote down on the table. Stressed out from Harry and I’s fight, and everything else, I wasn’t in the mood to play peacemaker or try and tiptoe around Brayden’s feelings. Just as I was about to raise my voice and finally scold Brayden for shamelessly taunting his sister, Harry strode in and saved his ass.

“I’d say it’s time we make a snowman or two, yeah?” He yelled jokingly, earning a chorus of cheers from the kids.

“Go,” I hissed at Brayden, “apologize to Penelope, and get your snow stuff on.”

With a quick nod of his head, taken back by my unfamiliar tone of voice, he scampered out of the room and went barreling up the steps. Penelope wasn’t far behind, and Harry even gave her a soft and playful smack on the bum as she went running past him. Only for a moment did he stand in the archway, giving me a soft and apologetic look before he turned on his heel to head upstairs. It was just me and Quinn now, who had thrown a blanket over his head and pretended to be a ghost. 

Harry got the easy job of helping Penelope and Brayden get prepped for the bitterness of the snow, while I was stuck fighting tooth and nail to get Quinn to just stand still so I could finish getting him ready.

“Quinn, can you just-“ I grunted out of irritation, “stop moving around!” 

The baby giggled as he swayed side to side, purposely trying to make it difficult for me to secure his snow gear onto his chubby little body. I couldn’t help but give up for a minute, letting a few laughs slip out. Quinn was the silliest out of all three kids. He would do just about anything to get a laugh out of anyone, and loved the attention he’d get from being goofy. Even though he was the baby, he took direction from no one and marched to the beat of his own drum. However, it made it difficult for me to get him to listen, but in a comical way. 

“Quinnie,” I started, a serious expression flickering over my face, “if you don’t let me zip you up, you can’t go play in the snow.” 

He pouted, in an insincere and playful manner, as I glided the zipper up so his jacket covered a portion of his neck. As soon as my fingers left the zipper, he went heading off towards the double glass doors that led to the yard. Since he was still small, and I had him wearing Brayden’s old snow boots, he went staggering off and almost did a nose dive in the snow after his attempt to take too big of a step off the deck stair. I couldn’t help but start to laugh, because even though he fell, he went teetering on in order to catch up to Penelope and Brayden. 

As I prepared myself for the bitter cold that awaited me just outside the warmth of the living room, slipping my boots on and wrapping a scarf around my neck, I peered out the window to make sure the kids hadn’t buried each other head first in the snow. Instead, I saw something else. Harry was prancing around in the snow, Brayden on his back as the two chased P and Quinn. Brayden had two snowballs waiting in his hand, and the squeals of the children made me feel happy that I agreed to this. It also made me feel guilty, mainly because of what I had angrily spat at Harry last night. Fighting, especially around this time of year, was the last thing I wanted to do with Harry. And I figured that, though I was reluctant at first, apologizing to him would be the appropriate thing to do. 

As I stepped out into the yard, fidgeting with my hat to cover my ears, a wintery breeze slapped me in the face and left my nose icy. I hadn’t even taken a step off the deck before a snowball came catapulting at me, hitting me right in my chest. Once I brushed off the snow, I caught a glimpse of Penelope, who was peeking behind one of the trees as she waited for me to spot her. I teasingly squinted my eyes at her, making her aware that I was gonna get payback. 

“Mom’s here, can we sled now?” Brayden cheered, picking up the orange sled that laid in the snow.

“Let’s sled!” Harry chanted, marching towards Brayden and the kids as I trailed behind them.

The kids went sprinting off, Quinn tripping and falling occasionally while Brayden led the way. Penelope followed closely behind, her hands holding onto her furry white ear muffs to keep them from falling. Harry and I began to walk in sync, trudging through the snow as the kids sauntered towards the sledding hill up ahead.

We walked in silence for a little while, neither of us knowing what to say. It was obvious that he felt bad for raising his voice so belligerently, and I felt even worse about accusing him of caring about his career more than his kids. 

“Harry,” I spoke, voice a little quiet and shy as I worked up my courage.

“Hm?” 

“I’m sorry.” I sighed, breaking the silence.

“Fo’ what?” He breathed out in one word, small smile on his face.

I was extremely hardheaded, and Harry knew that all too well. He found a little bit of joy in getting me to admit I was wrong, the few times that I have. For a second, seeing that he would get some satisfaction and the upper hand if I apologized, I thought about not saying anything anymore. But, being the bigger person this time seemed more idealistic. 

“You know, for what I said. It was.. it was mean and out of line.” I laughed lightly, looking down as we kept walking.

“Very.” 

He was never one to really hold grudges, and right now I was especially thankful for that. He chuckled, glancing at me over his shoulder. I nudged him, placing my hand to his shoulder and giving him a playful shove. His arm was hard, reminding me how fit he used to be and probably still was. Sometimes, like right now, I would start to miss him. I’d miss him holding me when I couldn’t fall asleep, and how he’d lull me to sleep with a song or two. His hugs were so warm and comforting, and I’d find myself needing one at the end of a work day or when Quinn would throw one of his infamous tantrums. It was the little things, those small voids that no bottle of wine could fill, that I often found myself craving. 

“M’sorry too.” He confessed, hands stuffed in his pockets as his eyes squinted from the cold wind, “Hate yelling like that, especially at you. Didn’t mean t’call you a drunk mess, was rude of me.”

I felt my chest flutter a little as the words rolled off his tongue. A lot of the time, after the year that we had been apart, I wondered if I even crossed his mind at any given point. I’d seen him, all over social media, with a different girl every time he stepped out. He had gone through 3 or 4 temporary relationships, probably just to keep him entertained on tour when he got bored or needed something to do. Nobody had ever met the kids, which was reassuring to me. It let me know that he hadn’t engaged in anything serious since me, which made me feel a little special in a weird kind of way. 

“But y’always get so nasty when you’re drunk.” He snickered.

“I wasn’t drunk!” I laughed, “Buzzed, I was buzzed.” 

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “ a drunk buzzed.”

“Got a bottle of champagne, stuffed away in one o’my bags. Figured if, well if y’won’t be mean t’me, we’d open it up later on. Just to destress from this.” He laughed, nodding his head towards the kids up a little ways ahead.

I let out a loud laugh as I watched the three of those knuckleheads go traipsing through the snow. Quinn was throwing himself on top of Penelope, who would shout and demand for him to stop. Brayden was trying to tug the sled along, and every time he’d fall he’d blame it on a different sibling. Penelope was trying her best to run the show, her bossy side coming out as she directed the trio in the direction she saw fit. Every time Quinn would stray away, she would grow agitated and call him a baby. Brayden tried to set everyone straight, and Quinn would interrupt him every time with a loud and incoherent noise. I gave them about another 20 minutes before someone had a meltdown and started to cry.

“I hope you brought two bottles.”

[art-things-and-stuff]

Chapter 6

     Selfish                                       

Lena won't lie, she's nervous, I mean of course she is this is the moment, the moment that Kara tells her something so treacherous that she wouldn't talk to her for 5 weeks, something that had her, 'Kara sunny Danvers' crying in shambles on her bathroom floor. So yes, Lena is nervous.

Kara needs her to understand, that she's perfect, in every way, and that she shouldn't change a thing. That Kara's, what was it that Lena called it? Right, her 'god complex' was what was to blame. Lena was right after all. Kara was being selfish and needed to get Lena, her light, back. So she did and said some thing's that she knew were out of pure greed the moment she said them. She knows she would ramble on forever If she tried to explain the reasoning behind her actions before she admits to them. so she starts.

"I love you" is the first thing she says after she tells Lena. Tells her that she was supergirl. "Put the blame on me, Lena" is the second, then she hears a sob. At first she's not sure if it came from her but then she sees Lena's face, (which is stone like) as well as feels the tears running down her own cheek and she Knows that she broke down again. "All of it, it was all my fault Lena and I'm so sorry that I put you through this. I understand if you don't want to see me anymore but I need you to know that I love you, Lena Luthor you are my light, my heart and my soul everything I feel, I feel for you". She said while kneeling down in front of Lena, who was still in her chair at the table.

The last word she breathes out is broken, and then she falls apart, again. Holding on to Lena's hands tight enough to leave marks. Her head bowed in defeat as she tried to calm herself down. 'Three words' she thinks. 'Three words that made her whole world crumble, and fall right in front of her eye's. Then she feels Lena trying to pull her hands away, and she lets her. When she does, Kara breaks from what little semblance of calm she had in those moments of silence and is roughly sobbing again, still kneeling but slummped over, her hands to her chest. She prepares herself for Lena's departure and when she doesn't feel it, she looks up slowly to Lena's eyes and sees nothing but green devotion.

When Lena is sure that Kara is looking at her in the eyes, she grabs her phone off the table where she'd left it the night before. Not breaking eye contact with Kara, which the blonde is extremely thankful for because Lena's eyes are the calm in any storm. Lena then says softly into the phone "Siri, call Jess". Kara is confused but doesn't say anything because she feels she doesn't deserve answers at the moment. Lena can guess Kara's confusion even though the alien doesn't show it, and places a hand on Kara's head, lowering it to her lap. When Kara's head is placed there she lets out a sigh and removes her hands from her chest to place them on Lena's knees.

  Jess answers and says "Yes Miss Luthor" to which Lena replies, voice more stern than her words to Kara before. "Make sure that L-Corp and Catco. are supervised for the next week and be prepared to extend that time." Three seconds when no sound but Kara's shaky breathing and Jess' typing are heard pass, until the typing stops and Jess starts. "It's done miss Luthor, but may I ask why?" Lena sighs and says, voice soft again, "I'm taking time off from both L-Corp and Catco until further notice to spend time with a loved one".

She's looking Kara right in the eyes again and she holds her phone in between her ear and her shoulder as she puts both of her hands into Kara's hair and runs her fingers through it. "Oh, that sounds very nice Miss Luthor. Tell Kara I say hello?" Jess asks and Kara figures it makes sense that Jess knew that said loved one was her because Lena is a workaholic and because her and James' relationship is still new so they don't love eachother yet.... (Also because everyone knows that James is both needy about and an enabler to Lena's working and not to brag but Kara is the only person Lena has ever stopped a project for just saying). Kara forms a small smile and Lena responds "I believe she heard you, she says hello". Kara nods, then laughs and Lena smilies, bright and releaved. Jess says goodbye, and hangs up.

Lena removes one of her hands from Kara's hair much to the blondes dismay, which she expresses by catching Lena's hand before it can reach to grab the phone from her ear and moving it back to her head of blonde locks. Lena smiles and laughs saying "Fine but if my ear drums burst it's on you." Kara moves her head so that her lips are to Lena's palm and places a kiss there, then moves back to her previous position, snuggling into Lena's lap. "Siri, call Alex Danvers" Lena says scratching Kara's scalp slowly. When realization hits Kara that Lena is calling Alex, she looks up, thankfully not too quick because the force of her movements would probably break Lena's wrist. "Why?-" she starts before stopping short as she hears the click and pick up tone coming from Lena's phone, telling Kara that her sister had just answered Lena's call. "Hello Alex," Lena says, not stopping her fingers in Kara's hair as the alien looks up at her.

"Hey Lena, um not to be rude but what's wrong?" Alex responds, worried and getting to the point. "There's no problem Alex, thing's are actually rather well, and getting better." Lena pauses, then continues. "You should come over, to Kara's place I mean. There are some things we need to talk about, the three of us." Lena finishes and Alex responds "On my way be there in 5". Alex hangs up and Kara immideitly starts again.

"Why do we need talk?" she asks. Lena silently pulls her hands from Kara's hair and pats her shoulders, gesturing for the blonde to get up. They both stand and Kara leans on the table. "If we're going on a vacation we need to handel both of our duties." Kara nods and begins to clean up the table. Lena continues "Also, your sister is worried about you. You need to tell her what we've been up to". "I know but I just wanted to stay in our Karlena bubble a little longer." Kara says, walking into the kitchen with everything from the table but two cups of Orange juice, not noticing how startled Lena was by her choice of words.

  "Our what now?" Lena asks. "Hmm?" Kara responds not picking up on the fact that she just referred to both  Lena and herself as one, 'Karlena'. "'Karlena'?" Lena explains further. "Oh, that's just our bubble." Kara says finishing the dishes and walking to Lena who was now standing at the front of the kitchen island and facing the door, "I get that, but we're...... Karlena?" Lena asks, making sure she heard the blonde correctly. "Yup, it's just a way to refer to us quicker, instead of saying 'Our Kara and Lena bubble', I can say 'Our Karlena bubble', Get it?" Kara says facing Lena who looked astounded.

  "Yeah, I got it" Lena says, putting her hands on Kara's cheeks and pulling her closer. Kara's hands move to Lena's forearms and she pulls their foreheads together. "I missed you so much Kara. Don't say that you're sorry but, even before you stopped talking to me, you had pulled away, and it was clear." Kara closed her eyes and breathed in. "I can't. I can't not be sorry Lena, you're right. It was just too hard for me to be around but not have you." Kara continues huffing out a breath and looking into Lena's eyes. "But again, I guess that was just me being selfish".

"Kara do you not see that I want you to be?" Lena says, but before either of them can say another word there's a knocking at the door. "I've got that" Kara says letting go of Lena and walking to open the door. Kara opens the door, saying "Alex, we should talk. Just the two of us first though". Alex nods stepping aside for Kara to walk out of her apartment and close the door behind her. "What do you want to talk about Kara?" Alex asked kindly. "Just, everything I guess. No, I know" Kara said correcting herself, taking a seat in front of Alex who was still standing. "I, I want to start with an apology. I have been distant, and unkind for weeks now and I know that i've worried you. I owe you an explanation and that's what I'm going to give you."

  Alex sat across from Kara, arms folded. "Okay, so there's no easy way to say this but um... I kindof told Lena who I am." Alex just looked at Kara, a blank, and utterly unreadable expression on her face. Kara took that as a sign to continue, and so she did. "She accepted me, and she's not mad" Kara smiles weak, and starts to cry. "I was so worried that I'd ruined everything that we had Alex, I was so worried, and I just started to tear things apart, because I don't deserve her. She's so special Alex, and so good and I couldn't help but feel sorry for the people I'm close to for having to deal with someone who could've ruined something, someone so special and so perfect, so I decided to make it so that they didn't have to anymore."

  Kara saw the tears in her sister's eyes, but knew that she needed to continue. "No matter how much I wanted to be with them, it was for their own good, I just figured that I deserved what I went through keeping it that way. And I felt that way until yesterday, when Lena came over. She drilled it into my head that you all were better with me, that she was better. I never stopped to actually see how my 'plan' was working, I just knew, somehow, I knew that me suffering was going to make your lives better. But I guess, I guess I was wrong".

Kara sounded like she was so alone.  Alex almost started to cry, because she and her sister were always together, stronger together. Kara had always gone to Alex in times of need, always confided in her big sister, and it hurt that that was no longer the role she played in her baby sisters life. But Alex held in the tears she felt sting in her eyes. Kara was finally better, better than she had been for a long time even since before the 'kryptonite incident' with Lena. Her sister hadn't had this light in her eyes since she figured out she wanted to be a reporter and Alex wasn't going to let it fade away again. She was going to do everything in her power to keep that light right there, in her baby sisters eyes where It belonged.

"Kara, all that I care about is if you're happy, thats it. You don't have to explain yourself to me but next time let me know how you feel, so I can help, and so I can try to fix it." Kara nods. "Also, don't lie to me, that's not us, that's not how we work. Yeah?" Kara nods again, still looking remorseful, but this time also greatful. "Yeah-yes, yes, Alex, you're right, as always. Listen," Kara puts a finger up, knowing what Alex was going to say. "And I know you probably don't wanna hear it but just," Kara releases a deep breath. "I'm sorry, really, really sorry". "I know you are Kar, I know." Alex says, standing up, arms open to hug her sister. Kara happily falls into Alex and hugs her tightly, saying "I love you Alex". "Now that I wanna hear" Alex says, smiling into the embrace. "I love you too, Kara."

[tysonrunningfox]

Open Flames: Part 6

I left that cliffhanger so long.  That was really mean.  I’m sorry but also, not really, because look at this dork.  

Masterpost 

“Oh.”  

Fuse isn’t like other people.  It’s what I love most about her.  She doesn’t take silence to mean anything other than silence.  I don’t think her mind races like mine does, hers paces carefully forward, eyes farther on the future than I can conceptualize.  

My brain is awfully thor-damned eloquent, all things considered.  

Fuse thinks she’s pregnant.  I don’t remember a time Fuse has ever been wrong about anything that mattered.  

My mouth opens and closes and nothing comes out.  I’m not sure air goes in.  

“Eret,” she prompts me, gently, crossing her arms, and that’s just Fuse.  It’s Fuse and Fuse isn’t pregnant.  How can Fuse be pregnant?  It’s Fuse.  It’s…

“How?”  

“After I...you know, bombed the princess who tried to marry you, I didn’t drink the herb tea I usually do and...I mean, statistically.”  She sounds like rationality distilled, like only Fuse can do.  

I gulp.  

“Oh.”  

That’s reasonable.  That’s a reason.  Of course I know how this is a possibility, this being Fuse being pregnant with my baby.  A baby that we made.  A baby that’s going to be a baby.  

A baby that’s half Fuse and half me and Gods, is there any way to make sure it’s more Fuse than it is me?  That thought makes my heart swell almost painfully, the idea of another Fuse in the world.  Another Fuse that I get to love and take care of and keep safe and I think I might cry.  Two Fuses.  

“How long have you known?”  My voice cracks across the question and Fuse shrugs, cool under pressure, even though she’s the one dealing with being pregnant and I’m just the one hearing about it.  

I haven’t been around pregnant people aside from my mom, years ago, and that went horribly and now I’m terrified.  I understand the chief’s grief at a new level and I’ve known about this all of a few minutes.  And women die from having kids, Fuse, I...it’s too dangerous, she can’t be pregnant.  I think I might throw up.  

“Last week I went on a scouting trip with Arvid and I felt really awful and tired and he kept asking if you knew I was sick and I realized I was late.  And I’ve never lost track of that before but with you being gone I guess it just slipped my mind.”  

“Understandable.”  

“I don’t understand what your face means right now.”  Her voice trembles a little bit, somewhere between scared and nervous.  “How do you feel about this?”  

“How do you feel about it?”  

“Nauseous.”  

“I’m sorry,” I finally get my feet to move and rest both hands on her shoulders, stroking the shoulder seam of her shirt with my thumbs, “is that normal?  Are you ok?”  

“It’s normal.”  She nods, biting her lip so that her cute little snaggletooth catches the candlelight and my heart thuds again.  Two Fuses.  I feel lucky and terrified and unsure if it’s rude or not to kiss a nauseous person.  I’ve never known Fuse to be anything but healthy and stable, even when she had that cold last winter it only lasted a couple of days.  “Really, Eret, are you--”

“I know you’re nauseous, does that--I mean, even though you’re nauseous, is it ok if I think I’m kind of happy about it?”  

She smiles, one of those rare, wide smiles I rarely see unless the rubble is still on fire and I hug her too tight, kissing the side of her head.  She doesn’t feel pregnant, her stomach is still flat against mine and I don’t know when that will change.  I have so many questions. I rock back and forth slightly, burying my nose in her hair and kissing the soft skin behind her ear.  

“It’s really early, a lot of stuff could go wrong.”  

“Shh, it’s going to be great.  You’re going to be great,” I pull back and kiss her forehead, “this is--I’m still wrapping my head around it, I…”  

All of the nerves condense into a molten ball of purpose and dread in my stomach and I look down at her, exhaling shakily.  

“What?”  She frowns, “you’re giving me whiplash here--”

“I love you.”  

It’s too loud.  It echoes.  The candle flickers in the breeze that it makes.  Fuse cocks her head and wraps her arms around my neck, drumming her fingertips on my shoulder.  

“Ok,” she narrows her eyes, “I know that.”  

“That’s not...the dream response, especially right now.”  

“You sign all your letters and notes to me: Love, Eret.”  She backtracks slightly, “why are you so nervous about saying it?”

“It’s kind of a big deal, I guess,” I bark out a nervous laugh, “the first time you say ‘I love you’ to someone is a big deal and it just finally felt right with you being pregnant and all.”  The word sounds absurd and impossible and as terrifying as the fact that she hasn’t said it back yet.  And she’s not happy about it or at least she didn’t say she was happy about it.  Being nauseous is a good excuse but still, what if she’s not happy about it and I am and I just messed up by rubbing her face in it?  

“Finally?  How long have you wanted to say it?”  

“A year,” I snort, “since the fire.”  

She shakes her head at me, exasperated, and kisses my cheek.  

“That’s what all those really weird compliments were.”  She scans my still nervous face, “what is it now?”  

“You didn’t say it back and I know you’re nauseous but are you happy about this?  Or at least--”

“I thought it was obvious, of course I love you.”  She shrugs like it’s no big deal for her to take the massive, crushing weight off of my chest.  

“I don’t mind you saying it, sometimes,” I take a step back to lean against the wall and she follows, resting her head on my shoulder.  “If you want.”  

“And I don’t know how I feel yet.”  She yawns, “besides tired and nauseous and just kind of off.  It doesn’t seem real, I can’t see it, I can’t touch it or prove it.”  

“Ok, the concept then,” I kiss the top of her head, “I mean...we’re going to have a baby?  Does that--how do you feel about that?”  

“Nauseous,” she rubs my sides with gentle palms, sliding cool hands under my shirt and tracing my scars.  “Tired.”  

It’s not the answer I’m looking for but I don’t mind it as much as I probably should, because it’s Fuse and she loves me and I feel things loudly and quickly and she tends to work on them a bit longer.  And I’m exhausted, doubly so from telling Fuse that I love her which...I was expecting more of a response, but this is fine too.  Better than fine.  

And she’s pregnant.  With a baby.  A baby that’s also going to be my baby and that baby will expect me to be a father to it and I can’t even think through freaking out about that right now.  

I think if I don’t get somewhere soft and horizontal, I’m going to pass out on the floor right where I’m standing.  

“Can I interest you in tea and a nap?”  I kiss her head again, rubbing her lower back through her smooth leather vest.  

“Do open door rules still exist if your mom and the chief know I’m pregnant?”  She asks, pushing her face into the front of my shirt and sighing.  

Shit.  I haven’t thought about that.   

If we tell anyone, the marriage pressure is going to triple.  More than triple.  It’s going to be ten times worse.  A hundred times worse.  

And if I marry Fuse because she’s pregnant and it ruins everything, am I going to resent her?  Am I going to resent the baby that comes from it?  

Maybe I’m more like the chief than I thought.  Maybe I just have to pass through all the milestones and Gods.  Fuck.  

“Of course they do,” she stands up straight and adjusts my shirt, “those rules are about marriage, not babies.”  She’s as wry as Fuse ever gets, her smile slanted and understanding and as exhausted as I feel.  

“I love you.”  Saying it the second time feels better than the first.  Somehow, the person fighting me the least is the person whose opinion I care about the most, and she’s the only one who ever gives that to me.  

“I love you too.”  She says it because I need to hear it and I kiss her forehead.  

“So, are we on the same page with the not telling anyone right now?”  

“Well, Rolf knows.”  

“Huh?”  

She steps back, sheepish, reaching back to open the door and blow out the candle.  She looks tired in a way she didn’t when it closed, faint bluish bruises more obvious under her eyes, like she’s also slumping under the relief of shedding secrets.  

“I went to the library and asked for a book on being pregnant.  He brought me back to his house and we talked.”  She shrugs, “he brought up marriage a lot, it’s…”

I’ve seen Fuse not struggle for words this much after not sleeping for three days.  Is being pregnant really that exhausting?  

Is Rolf going to tell Mom?  

That’s a question I can answer, at least, Rolf loves having information that other people don’t have.  If he shared his knowledge, what would he lord over us all?  

“What is it?”

“It’s best if we don’t tell anyone.”  Her face is almost green in full sunlight and she reaches for me like an answer.  “We have some time.  I just...I’m still wrapping my head around it.  It didn’t feel real at all until I told you and it still...I just feel tired.”  

That sounds like a trick.  It’s too easy that she’s agreeing with me but I’m too tired to figure out why right now so I grab her hand and start walking towards the chief’s house, mostly in silence.  It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, it’s that everything I do want to say spirals immediately into ten more things I don’t know what to think about.  I need to sleep.  Fuse needs tea.  

Pregnant Fuse who doesn’t want to tell anyone.  She could have not told me, I guess, and the weight of her trust is both welcome and terrifying.  We can’t not tell anyone forever, but we can put it off today.  And tomorrow.  And maybe even until things feel a little more stable and I know what’s going on around here.  

“Knock knock,” I open the door to the chief’s house and see Mom sitting at the table, fixing a tear in what looks like Stoick’s shirt.  

“You still live here, last time I checked,” she sets it down and looks up, smiling at Fuse with a friendly familiarity that I can’t wrap my head around, “no need to knock.” She walks over to me, putting one palm on each of my cheeks and looking at me carefully, her lips pursed.  “Why is it that you always come back looking like you didn’t sleep the entire time you were gone?”  

“Because he doesn’t sleep,” Fuse and my mom share a sigh and I can’t say I’ve ever felt ganged up on like this in this particular set of company.  

And I have a secret.  A big secret.  Mom is going to read it all over my face.  

“And you’re too skinny,” she thumps my stomach, right on the hammer shaped dent in me that’s just starting to be more green than blue.  “You flinched, you’re hurt, what did you do?”  

“What did I do?”  I let go of Fuse’s hand and pull my shirt up to my armpits to show off the bruise.  My scars are bright pink against the yellowing edges of it and it’s still throbbing from scrubbing it in the bath.  “This is Smitelout’s handiwork, you should be asking her what she did to me.”  

“Right, I’m sure she had no reason at all.”  Mom raises an eyebrow at me and I know instantly that Smitelout told her about it already.  

And I remember Smitelout pointing out Elva’s attempted betrothal in the crude forge, which isn’t really a thing I need to mention around Fuse, especially because now she’s pregnant, and isn’t stress bad for that?  That’s what the chief was always saying about Mom’s pregnancy--and I really need to stop thinking the P word in front of Mom, at least until Fuse and I have time to figure this out.  

And until she makes a decision about feeling something other than nauseous, because I know she needs time, but it’s already starting to make me nauseous.  

“Tea?”  I ask Fuse, tugging my shirt back down and avoiding eye contact by walking to the hearth and hanging the kettle back over the fire.  It takes a couple pieces of kindling to get the coals going again and I can feel Fuse’s eyes digging into my back.  

“Sure,” she takes too long to answer and I hear her and Mom ignoring me as they sit down at the table.  

“How was your trip with Arvid last week?”  Mom starts sewing again as I pour the tea into a mug, setting it in front of Fuse.  The smell makes her wrinkle her nose and she spins it between her hands, a little green again as she stares at the table.  

“Fine.  Nothing too thrilling.”  

What if she’s sick and she’s not telling anyone because she thinks she’s p--the other reason?  I glance at Mom like she could have read that slip up in my head, but she’s sewing without looking up, and my tired eyes start to itch.  

“You’ll have to tell me about it,” I rub Fuse’s shoulder with my fingertips, tracing along the sleeve of her vest.  “Upstairs, maybe?  I’m dead on my feet.”  

“Sure,” she stands up with the tea and I brace her with a hand on the small of her back, because she really does look green and tired and like she’s going to fall over if I let her negotiate the stairs by herself.  

Mom narrows her eyes at me and I pause, shrugging.  

“What?”  

“Nothing,” she looks between me and Fuse, opening her mouth to admonish me and I roll my eyes.  

“I’ll leave the door open, I know the rules.”  

Not that they worked, really, because whatever Fuse said, I think they’re rules about both babies and marriage and the inescapable ties between the two.  

“Don’t worry about it,” she stands up, “you’re obviously both exhausted and the house will be empty anyway.  I have to go talk to Arvid about something.”  

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”  I want to ask what she needs from Arvid, but I’m too numb from dealing with today on so little sleep to really care.  That and Fuse is sipping at her tea and looking as tired as I feel and the pull of my bed is getting impossible to ignore.  

When I shut my bedroom door behind us, I sigh and lean back against it, rubbing my temple and watching Fuse sit down on my bed, staring into her mug.  

“That went ok.”  I kick off my boots and pull my shirt off, eyeing the soft, clean blankets at the foot of my bed.  “I half thought as soon as I saw my mom I’d just blurt it out.  Or as soon as she saw me she’d read my mind.”  

“That’s impossible.”  She sets the mug down on the table by my bed and curls her knees to her chest, her arms wrapped around them.  Her eyes catch on my bruise and she frowns, “Smitelout has pretty good aim.”  

“Yes, she does,” I crawl around her, flopping onto the pillow as soon as it’s within reach and tugging at the back of Fuse’s leather vest.  “I’m glad she doesn’t use it on me very often.”  

My bed tries to eat me whole and I’m inclined to let it.  It makes my hip throb worse and relax entirely all at once and my back muscles go slack as I adjust the pillow under my head.  Bed.  Yes.  I’m going to try my thor-damned hardest to be here for two weeks this time.  

“She shouldn’t ever use it on you,” Fuse scowls at her hands and I sigh.  

“Don’t go starting your next list of targets, alright?”  It’s not the right thing to say and her shoulders tense up.  “Not--I’m sorry.  Have whatever list of targets you want, just tell me about it next time.  Maybe.”  

“Maybe,” she gives me that much, unclasping her vest with slow, meticulous fingers and hanging it on one of the empty hooks for my axe.  My axe is...somewhere.  I think it’s with the pile of my stuff in the barn outside.  Bang was guarding it with his snores when I left to take a bath and I’m sure he hasn’t moved, lucky dragon.  Everything is still the same as far as he knows.  

Hel, as far as I know everything still seems the same.  Fuse lays down facing me and presses her forehead into my shoulder like she’s hiding from the sunlight and her stomach is flat against mine, her waist thin as always under my elbow.  

“For the record, I love how you...take initiative.”  I try to say ‘obliterate your perceived enemies’ more gently and hope she hears what I mean.  “But you don’t need to do it on my account.”  

“It was on my own account.”  Her lips brush across my chest as she talks and her quiet groan reverberates in my ribs.  

“What’s up?”  

“Still nauseous.”  

“Did the tea help at all?”  I can’t quite open my eyes to catch her answer, because the bed is winning and quickly, and Fuse’s warmth pressed against me is on its side.  

“Maybe,” she huffs an obvious lie, only said to make me stop asking.  Usually I’d push, but I’m all out of push right now.  

Her breathing goes quiet and even and I’m sure she’s asleep until her hand snakes its way between us and rests on the bruise on my chest.  

“M’fine,” I assure her, or at least I try to, I’m not sure I understand my own half-asleep mumble.  

“This time,” she sighs.  

“We can talk later,” I pull her closer, slinging one of my legs over hers so that she can’t get away while I’m asleep.  “Let’s just get some sleep.”  

I take her silence as agreement or more likely, I drift off before I hear her answer.