#i had the entire script of the second movie memorized guys when i say i like kfp i fucking mean it

[starredforlife]

i'm assigning my followers animation homework u have to study these two battle scenes and tell me why they're both so goddamned effective. i could tell u all the answers myself. but i want ur answers

#i had the entire script of the second movie memorized guys when i say i like kfp i fucking mean it #i know the music beat for beat i could probably hum it along to every note #the sound design in both of these....immaculate #BUT THE STORYBOARDING. GOD THE FUCKING STORYBOARDING. #jennifer yuh nelson i love you forever #watching the 4th movie i was SO disappointed in the storyboarding #it was completely uncinematic!!!! and compared to the final fights in both movies the second movies and even the 3rd #the stage was so limited and not played with #it never felt grand and it never felt like the stakes were high enough #like it sucked so much ass AUGHHHGHHGHGH AND IT DIDNT HAVE TO #also the character animation???? also just not great???? #like i LOVE how they did tai lung and tigress in the bridge scene ok #you have all the character motivation behind the way they hold and express themselves #and in the gongmen fight. po is just so SO well animated in all his idiosyncrasies #and the way he gets intense. and the way shen panics. and the boss wolf's turn. SO WELL DONE. #this is my fucking white whale guys this is it #videos #kfp #Youtube

[katierosefun]

today has been such a wild up and down and up and down moment for me because i got a text message from my favorite person in the world at like. 6:52 am wishing me luck on first day of classes for the second semester, and then classes were . . . interesting (ie. professors + class content is all really exciting, but boy some of my sectionmates just. keep driving me insane. why do people still act like they’re in high school). and then my college friends and i made plans to hang out this sunday. and then my three hour class turned out to just be super awkward (again: why are some of my sectionmates like. fucking high schoolers). and then i texted my friend who made me feel ten times more valid for my shared fun fact (ie. everyone looked at me like an idiot for saying that i used to memorize an entire movie script when i was thirteen. and for saying that i would like to explore deep space at one point). and then i realized i need to go back to my place (which always fills me with a certain dread). and then i learned that my roommate had very kindly dragged up my heavy-ass packages up the stairs today (which made me cry because for a split second i thought my landlord had stolen my packages, and i’m so sad that’s something i genuinely need to worry about now, but like. i really worried about that). and then i hopped on a zoom meeting and rambled for 2 seconds too long because “sorry my camera’s off, i’m making dinner rn oh no i’m freezing aren’t i” and it was very chaotic so i felt bad for no reason. and then i found out my contracts professor has finally posted the grade, and guys. it’s my highest doctrinal classes grade. do you know how weird that is. contracts was literally the class i for sure thought i was going to fail. and it’s my highest grade. what the fuck--

#caroline talks #so. it's been a . . . . very chaotic day #but you know what :')) i've decided that all the good outweighed a lot of the bad #because it was pretty rocky in moments #like not gonna lie besties. i had five separate seconds in my day today #just contemplating if i should drop out of law school. #but now i'm like '. . . . you know what :')) even if i feel like i don't belong here' #'my professors clearly think i belong here . . . and my loved ones think i belong here . . . .' #SORRY FOR BEING SUPER PERSONAL THESE DAYS . . . january has truly been Such a Fucking Month so far #but here we are :'))

[cherrycheridarling]

chemistry test | t.h.

tom holland x actress!reader

warnings: fluff and acting..?

summary: you're auditioning for the role of silk in the new marvel film. they've already chosen their spider-man and now it's time to see how much chemistry you two have.

wc: 1.9k

"Hi! I'm here for the Marvel auditions?" you greeted the lady who sat at the front desk.

"Hello! What's your name?"

"Y/N Y/L/N."

Nerves were running through your veins at lightning speed. The lady gave you a kind smile and told you to head to room three hundred and sixteen. You returned the smile before heading to the elevators.

Upon entering, you were faced with at least fifteen other women who were also auditioning. All with black locks and brown eyes. You'd be lying if you said you weren't slightly intimidated. Sure, you had done some small films here and there, but looking at the competition now was frightening. A lady came and handed all of you a small script. At least it was a distraction. You spent the entire time reading your lines and trying your hardest to memorize them.

You sat in the waiting room for at least fourty-five minutes before your name was finally called and you were escorted into another space. Once you entered, your eyes were immediately drawn to the long table where the producers, casting crew and directors - who you've met hundreds of times in your previous auditions - were sat. You shook hands and gave greetings, the usual.

"Y/N, meet our new Spider-Man." Kevin gestured to the brunette boy at the front of the room.

He was cute. Dangerously cute. His small curls that laid messily only seemed to add to his appeal.

You smiled and walked over to him, "Hi. I'm Y/N Y/L/N. It's great to meet you." you offered your hand.

He returned the grin before shaking your hand, "Tom Holland. It's a pleasure." you noticed his British accent and couldn't stop yourself from the confused expression that took over your features.

"You're British?"

He nodded with a smile, "That I am, but," he switched to an American accent, "I can turn it off, too."

Your smile grew, impressed by his ability, "That's so cool. I would try a British accent, but I feel like I might offend you."

He laughed with you for a bit, his hand still holding yours. You both noticed the predicament and quickly withdrew your hands. Sheepish grins showed on both your lips.

Joe Russo cleared his throat, "A little background information in case you're not familiar with Cindy Moon's story."

You silently thanked him for this since you were not at all familiar with whatever the character entailed. Only getting small glimpses of her personality and behaviour before you got thrown into the mix of auditions.

"Cindy and Peter went to the same school and got bitten by the same radioactive spider. A man took Cindy and trained her, but also hid her in a bunker when her powers became too much for her to control. Her Silk Sense – which is her version of a Spider Sense – is incredibly powerful. Stronger than Peter's. In this scene, Peter is saving her from the bunker. Understood?" he spoke so quickly that you nearly didn't catch it all, but nevertheless, you nodded your head.

"Got it." you put the script to the side and took off your jacket.

"Now," Kevin spoke, "Remember, this is a chemistry test. So we want to see – not just how compatible your characters are – but you guys, as well."

Your palms began to sweat. You already knew that they were looking for chemistry, but being put on the spot made your anxiety sky rocket. You nodded again in understanding.

"Sounds good." Tom went to the other side of the room, "Good luck." he sent you another frustratingly attractive smile.

You nodded with your own grin, "Thanks, Spidey."

You spotted a small cot beside you and made your way over, laying with your back to Tom. Ready to start the scene.

"Action!"

Before any lines were given, you lifted your head, but kept it facing the wall. As if you were listening for something, waiting for something.

"Spider- Boy? Guy? Spider-something." you spoke to the wall and a second later, Tom's footsteps were heard behind you.

"I prefer Spider-Man." Tom's voice filled your ears as he leaned against the wall. "Nice to meet you, Cindy Moon."

You held a hand to your head, as if a painful migraine had just arrived. "Your presence is causing me pain. Who-" you looked up at the man, recognition dawning on your features, "Peter."

"W-what? N-n-no, no, no. Who's Peter? I'm Spider-Man." he insisted rather poorly. Deepening his voice.

You turned your body around, hanging your legs off of the cot, "I-I feel it. I remember you. Parker from my science class. Left row, three seats behind me. And my math and history. Front row in history. Middle in math. You always had a new backpack every week."

"Eidetic memory." he mumbled under his breath.

"Hm?" you furrowed your eyebrows.

"Nothing. Never mind. We can discuss this later. You need to get out of here. And I have come to save you from whatever this place is." he eyed the space with disgust.

You eyed him suspiciously, "Is this some Disney movie? Is there a magical horse drawn carriage waiting outside?"

He showed a boyish grin, "I guess you can call me your knight in red and blue spandex."

You scoffed and stood up, "Okay, Parker. How'd you know I was here?"

"Oh! This awesome dude, Tony Stark, he knows, like, everything! A-and he told me that you were here and sent me on a mission– Which is so cool! But yeah, he told me to come and save you. And that is what I am doing." he jumped up and down like an excited child.

You eyed the space around you, "Wait. M-my powers. I can't control them. I-I mean, I'm trying, b-but it's still—"

"—We can focus on that later! Right now, the richest and sickest guy on the planet is requesting you. C'mon." he grabbed your hand and, as scripted, you both locked eyes immediately.

You tried your best to look like you were falling in love. And as you stared into his deep brown eyes, you found that it wasn't that difficult. He stared back into yours. His hand still wrapped around your fingers. Your free hand travelled to his face, as if you were about to pull his mask up. Resting your palm on his jawline. His other hand that wasn't grasping yours, rested on your hip. A light pressure that nearly sent you into a haze. You both began to lean in and it no longer felt like acting until you squeezed your eyes shut, shook your head and pushed him away rather aggressively.

You put a hand on the wall, drawing heavy breaths in and out, "W-what are you doing to me?" you looked at him through heavy eyelids.

Tom was in a similar position, back against the wall, hand over his chest, "Mister Stark said that m-might h-happen." his head was thrown back against the wall, showing off the expanse of his neck as he swallowed. "Something- Something about our senses causes a strong- How do I say this? I-Intimate attraction between us."

Your eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing, "A-an attraction? An intimate attraction? To you? Ew."

He pushed himself off the wall, "Glad to see you haven't changed one bit, Moon." he walked away from you, "We really need to get going. You- Oh! I've been wondering this: Where's your webbing?" he looked around as if he was searching for it.

You stuck your hand out and pretended to shoot a string of silk out of your finger and onto the wall. Tom followed your movements with a starstruck expression.

"That's sick! I have to make mine." he frowned, "We got bit by the same fricking spider and yours is in your hands? Let me see!" he came closer and attempted to grab your hand again before you quickly put it behind your back.

"Don't touch me." you spoke slowly, "I-if this attraction is caused by physical touch. Please, do not touch me."

He plastered on a playful smirk, "Oh, it's more than physical, Moon."

You rolled your eyes and stepped away from the wall, "Dream on, Parker. Are we going to this Mister Stank or whatever?" you waved your hand with a limp wrist.

Tom gasped, "He's Iron Man! It's Mister Stark! Stark! Not stank! And you need a suit. Mister Stark has one ready for you at the compound, but you need something to wear on the way there." he looked around for one.

As if it had just dawned on your character that you were finally leaving the bunker, your attitude changed. A smile gracing your lips.

"I think I can do a little something."

You gestured your hands around yourself, pretending to create a suit from your silk. Tom watched with amazement, "Hey, how are you doing that?" he bent down and examined your body from head to toe.

"I had a lot of free time on my hands. Costume on-the-go. You like?" you smirked as you continued your movements.

Tom nodded his head as he came back up to stand beside you, "I could've saved so much time and money by doing that."

You finally completed your gesturing with a grin, "Ta-da! A bit sticky, but I think it'll do." you pretended to stretch around in the costume.

"Okay, let's go, Moon—"

"—Nope. Nuh-uh. When I'm webbed up like this, call me Silk." you smiled triumphantly.

And with that, the scene came to an end. The producers and casting directors all stood and clapped for you and Tom. You smiled widely at how successful it had gone. Before you could even react, Tom pulled you into a hug. Arms wrapped around your waist. Without a second thought, you wrapped yours around his neck with a laugh.

"You were amazing!" Tom praised you with a wide grin.

You couldn't help but to smile, "Thank you! It helps when you have an awesome scene partner."

His cheeks turned a shade of scarlet at your compliment before Anthony Russo spoke, "That was amazing! Thank you, Y/N."

You shook your head, "Thank you for having me."

Joe came and shook your hand, "Expect a call on Monday. Keep your ringer on." he smiled.

"And that wraps up the chemistry tests! Great job, everyone!" Anthony announced as you handed the script back to them and threw your jacket on.

You swung your bag over your shoulder and made your way to the door.

"Wait!" Tom called from behind you.

You stopped in your steps and turned around with a kind smile.

He held out his phone, "Since we're going to be working together, might as well get to know one another." he had a timid grin.

"Don't jinx it, Holland." you let a light chuckle fall from your lips.

He shook his head, "It's not jinxing, it's manifesting and you were by far the best Cindy Moon. You've already got the part." he insisted making you shake your head.

"We'll see about that." you punched in your number and before you could add your name, Tom took his phone back.

"Wait." he quickly typed away.

'silk'

You smiled at the contact name before offering your phone. He typed in his number and took it upon himself to put the name.

'spidey'

"I'll see you around, Y/L/N." he gave you a little salute making you laugh.

You nodded, "Definitely, Holland." you turned around and walked out of the door.

Both of you were so engrossed in your interaction that you didn't notice the producers and casting directors watching from afar. Proud smiles dawning their lips.

They found their Cindy Moon.

#tom holland smut #tom holland x osterfield!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x singer!reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #marvel fan fiction #cindy moon #spider man #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot

[honeysorwell]

(a very unprofessional) game changer

Pairing: Audrey Tidall x fem!Reader x Diane Sherman

Summary: Audrey Tidall ends up conquering the role of the protagonist in the expected film that marks the great director and screenwriter Diane Sherman return to the film market, Run, that the blonde one desired really much. The filmmaker has only managed to return now since she left her job almost twenty years ago to take care of her daughter. She has no real plans other than finishing the film that will mark her return, but her nonpeaceful coexistence with Audrey during the filming, along with the loneliness that consumes her personal life ends up instigating an unexpected affection - and that grows every day - for Y/N, the costume designer for Run.

What Diane did not expect, when giving Y/N anonymously flowers during the recording months, is that the costume designer has been in a secret relationship for more than months with Audrey. However, the feeling of indifference and disdain that the director feels for the actress gradually dies after a heated argument between the two, leaving an unnamed tension in the air, while Y/N searches for her secret admirer with her girlfriend.

[gif by @sapphiclesbian​ ]

[gif by @cherry-jimin] 

A/N: I was extremely surprised when I posted You rush into my life, stay a little while (I know that we can have it all), and in less than a month I got +50likes (after all I barely know how to use tumblr and I discovered these days how and where to look at the followers that I have lol). And thanks to that, I will use (a very unprofessional) game changer as a social experiment, to see if you guys really like what I write, and if the answer is also positive, I will open requests to write things in my free time. And yes, my first language is not English so maybe something might sound strange.

I had this idea as soon as Run was released, thanks to Diane's passion for films... And since Audrey is an actress, I thought it would be good to combine these two...

I can say that this is a big AU because Diane is a lovely mother, and no one from Roanoke dies (because I don't have time to develop any of this shit).

Hope you all like it!

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1 ,  Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 (final one)

Chapter 1

Chapter’s summary: Audrey and Y/N get to know each other thanks to Diane, and even though they are about to start recording Run, they decide that it is worthwhile to continue with their relationship. Even if secretly.

Warnings: In this chapter at least, none. Just implicit mentions of smut, it's not really something!  

Word Count: 1,2k

In theory, when someone wins an award as important as The Saturn, their career between movies becomes more likely to invitations to productions. Films, miniseries, or even theatrical productions. But that didn't happen with Audrey.

There was a voice in her head that said it was thanks to her age. But since none of the actors in Roanoke's cast, especially women, were so different in this aspect, Audrey continued to ignore that voice.

Everything was relatively ready for the British woman to participate in Return to Roanoke: Three Days in Hell, however after her breakup with Rory, the blonde one preferred to focus on something new. She quickly fell in love with him, but when the red-haired man asked about marriage, everything was clear to Audrey. Their paths and thoughts were so different, even with the significant feeling between them, that it was better to break their love relationship before their friendship was affected. And this was what she did.

It was audacious. Refuse a proposal for the same program that gave her fame and awards, to audition for a new film that she barely knew would happen. Some people would call her crazy, but the email she received from her agent was enough to give her courage.

Or rather, four words from that email. Directed by Diane Sherman was what caught her attention and prompted her to try to venture out to take the test.

She can still remember. Years ago, while she was still fighting for a minor role in any theatrical production in England, Diane Sherman was already acclaimed worldwide for the grandiose films with unexpected endings that she produced, even at a young age.

All the films of the woman with a reddish tone between her brunette hair strands became hits. But in the midst of it all, Diane decided to take a break from her career, and less than five months later, a pregnancy was announced.

After that, twenty years passed and no film was released, no interview, no magazine cover. Such a gloriously famous woman disappeared from everyone's view with her baby. But only up to now.

That test was probably the one that tired Audrey the most in her entire career. To portray in a few minutes the pain of the life of a woman who is obsessed with her daughter to the point of making her sick was difficult. But she did, and so, while her former co-stars were locking themselves up in a seemingly haunted mansion, she was getting a call from her agent saying that she got the lead role.

Everything worked well when the blonde received her script and started working with Diane on how they would like this character to be seen by the audience, but as the conversations flowed, Audrey understood why all of the woman's films were such a success. She was a perfectionist and her authority was clear.

Everything needed to be perfect. Including the costume.

And so Audrey met Y/N. A beautiful costume designer with so much talent to spare to the world.

The first time they saw each other, Diane was not present, after all, it was just a date to take Audrey's body measurements. As the story was about a housewife, movable and comfortable clothes had to be designed, which did not force Audrey to strip naked to have her measurements known by Y/N, even if an unprofessional part of her wanted to.

Quick encounters followed, some with Diane briefly present, just to define new color palettes or to approve and disapprove something. The director never stayed more than twenty minutes with the two women, but thanks to Y/N's perseverance, in producing everything exactly as Diane wished, and Audrey's free time, due to her mind being ease in memorizing lines and just a few friendships outside England, the two woman became relatively close.

When the costumes were all designed and in the final process of being made, Diane decided that she would like Audrey's hair to be longer. Some wig tests took place, but a joint decision was made.

The film would be postponed in five months from there, so that the blonde's hair would grow.

It was frustrating, to say the least, and maybe that was the trigger for Audrey's disapproval with Diane, but one thing was good. The time now acquired has started to be spent on Y/N.

Always at discreet lunches or afternoon teas in their homes...

Y/N thinks it might be extremely inappropriate and absolutely unprofessional to get personally involved with a co-worker, even outside the set, and even though their work on Diane's film was relatively distant. But, after many glasses of wine and random conversations, nothing made more sense to Y/N than Audrey's lips against hers.

A one-night stand. That was what they thought they were born to be. But the skin on Audrey's stomach was so smooth that Y/N didn't know if she wanted to kiss her until she moaned or laughed, confused as she tried to understand which one of the sounds was the actual responsible for her heart beating faster.

A one-night stand. Because Audrey didn't feel ready to start a relationship after such a recent breakup. But there was nothing more beautiful than Y/N's face full of pleasure while she was being touched, or her face concentrated on redoing a crooked seam, even if she was the only one that noticed the defect in the piece.

A one-night stand. That turned into two, three, ten, thirty... and when they noticed, Audrey's hair was long enough for the film to start recording and their mind was unconsciously bought each other's favorite foods at the supermarket.

And on one of those nights, when they were both lying on Y/N's bed and Audrey was drawing imaginary flowers on the bare skin of her right hip, a whisper escaped the actresses lips:

"I don't want this to end because we are going to work together... Does that make me unprofessional?", The moment the question escapes her lips, she raises her face towards Y/N and looks deeply into her eyes.

"Well ...", the costume designer starts and stops, distracted by the beauty of Audrey's brown eyes and a lock of her hair - now longer - that is hindering the Y/N view of the blonde's cheeks, but that soon puts the hair strands behind her ear and continues - "Count me in because I don't want this to end either..."

It is a smile so beautiful that it takes hold of Audrey's lips, that the courage to take possession of Y / N's body and one more phrase escapes her lips.

"I think I'm in love with you."

The word think sounds so low, it's like it's not even there. Because Y/N's mind knows that she is sure, even scared and that is why Y/N's eyes focus on the whole room, except the face in front of her. Until delicate fingers touch her chin and direct her to see brown eyes bathed in tears, amid the same glorious smile of seconds ago.

"And I don't know how you didn't notice that I fell in love with you too."

And so they come to an agreement. Nothing will be explicit while they are on set. At work, they will be just friends, close friends if the distance wraps their stomachs, but still, just friends.

For the sake of their reputations, their jobs, and the Diane Sherman film they will be just friends.

#audrey tindall x reader #diane sherman x reader #audrey tindall x diane sherman #diane sherman imagine #audrey tindall imagine #audrey tindall #diane sherman #sarah paulson imagine #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson #audrey tindall x diane sherman x reader

[bitchapalooza]

Hetalia actor AU(yes, inspired by the BNHA actor AU specifically)

• Alfred and Matthew are irl twins that got their start in acting as children. They both at first tried out for the roles of Northern and Southern Italy but they were seen to be better fits for the North American brothers. That and their Italian accents were not the best. No one cared they have an Italian uncle. Literally no one asked them. In fact their bad accents prompted the casting list to go more international faster than it already was. They both look exactly the same without the addition of the cowlick or ahoge so it's pretty good Matthew grew his hair out for this role. Otherwise they'd constantly have to correct everyone like they used to in the other shows they worked on.

• Arthur thought he was auditioning for the newest James Bond movie but turns out his agent tricked him. Arthur ended up liking it however and stayed. He managed to drag his son Peter in to audition for the role of Sealand, as Peter wanted to get into acting in something bigger than school plays. His character may be annoyed by his son's character but irl you can catch Arthur being a loving and caring father. Peter however is embarrassed to be around him, just as many kids are to their parents. Arthur is much more relaxed than the character he plays. And Peter isn't as annoying as Sealand is. He's actually always on his phone or doing homework when not working.

• Francis did not know a lick of English when he auditioned. He went into this blind. And yet he got the part after staying up 3 nights in a row beforehand listening to the Google translated script(from English to French and back) to memorize it that way. Presently he may be on par with a 10 year old's basic knowledge of English but that doesn't stop him from frequently speaking only French on set when no one else but Yao and half the writing staff understand him. He even only does his interviews in French because WHY put effort into a second language??? Y'all he's the epitome of lazy.

• Ivan is the prankster on set. He teams up with Kiku, Basch, Peter, Alfred, and Mathias very frequently to prank everyone else in the cast. He also purposefully messes up his lines when his character is being creepy. He'll say the weirdest shit while in the most intense scenes. During the magical pipe of pain scene, Ivan caused almost 20 retakes because he kept making bad innuendos causing everyone to lose their shit. He's the exact opposite of his character.

• Roderich really is a former pianist and former child actor coming back to acting because gosh he missed it. He's actually SUPER irresponsible with his money despite the character he plays. The first paycheck from the show he spent on a bulk of 200 rubber ducks just so he could set them up in his bedroom on his and his wife's 3rd anniversary. All for a chuckle. And to get a use out of them. That was an impulse buy. And he does not regret it. The scenes where Austria is playing the piano really is Roderich playing it, and he asks there to be almost no sound editing to those takes whatsoever. He's extremely forgetful so the staff has resorted to sticky noting his lines into the scene then green screening it out later. He's a good actor but someone help this man's poor memory.

• Timo basically already was Finland before ever auditioning. His friends already called him the dad of their group to begin with. He's a sweet guy and he bakes cookies and other sweets the night before just to bring them in to the set the next morning for not just the cast but the entire film crew too; he has two ovens for this and really knows how to speed bake. He just wants to make sure everyone's morning is as good as his own is. He's just a darling. Everyone is glad Berwald recommended Timo for the part of Finland and even happier that he got the role.

• Gilbert is a brunette with brown eyes irl so no one recognizes him without the white wig or red contacts. Fans meet him and are like "You remind me of that Prussia guy from Hetalia! You'd make a great cosplay of him!" and he just accepts it every time by this point. Every convention he goes to, every interview he does he is in costume. At least he isn't constantly bombarded by fans like Ludwig or Ivan are.

• Feliciano is a very mature and professional guy despite the bubbly and goofy character he plays. Feliciano does have his relaxed and fun moments though, learning to let go from his time acting as North Italy. He's a really pleasant guy to be friends with but it can be a little tough to break through his shell. He's kind of shy, different from North Italy's friendly nature.

• Lovino is a nice guy. He's kind but not super kind, but also not an asshole. He does a lot a Instagram live streams after episode recordings, mostly of him hanging out with the other actors. He and Feliciano get along well but Lovino tends to hang around Ludwig more because he feels so bad for how he screams at him and insults him on set, even though its purely for the show. He apologizes immediately after filming is finished.

• Ludwig is pretty orderly but he isn't exactly mature. He's the one to recite bad jokes and puns to everyone, his favorites being dad jokes. No one likes this. At all. He's a fun loving guy that everyone can get along with. He has fun acting. He's very grateful Gilbert pointed him in the direction of the auditions.

• Kiku is glad his very first acting gig will probably be one of his most successful and popular. He's freshly graduated from college and completely chaotic. He's got a degree in business he's never going to use. He collects weird Japanese products as well as gifting them to his coworkers every Christmas without fail. He once walked into Ivan's trailer and tossed a whole bag of hard boiled eggs at him and ran off. The eggs all had individual faces drawn onto them. Ivan still does not know why he did this and he's honestly too afraid to ask at this point.

• The actor for Chibitalia also plays chibi Romano! His name is Emilio and he's Lovino's nephew. Emilio is a sweetie that pretty much stole everyone's heart. He loves working on the show, especially when he gets to curse and not get in trouble for it.

• Holy Roman Empire's actor was originally a kid who had no prior experience in acting neither had he really been near a camera before. He ended up freezing up his first day. He was recasted by Ludwig's son Otto, especially since Otto had been around a film set dozens of times before. The dad jokes really escalated once Otto was brought on set....

This is all I'm going to do for now without the post getting too long. Plus I'm tired and have a headache. But I really wanted to get this out lol I spent 3 hours figuring this all out with a really bad glaucoma headache please at least appreciate this for my eyes' sake lmao

#hetalia #hetalia au #hetalia actor au #not gonna tag em all

[mostlymovieswithmax]

Movies I watched in September

I skipped a month again. But not to worry. This is a wrap-up of all the movies I watched in the month of September (2021). I think I maintained a steady ratio throughout but perhaps there’s not as much on the list this time because I wanted to get on with other things, be that work-wise or just trying to get out to the beach as much as possible and make the most of the last dregs of summertime. I went swimming in the sea a lot! But I also got to catch the new James Wan movie, Malignant (twice!) as well as the new James Bond, No Time To Die. Not to mention a couple of classics! My hope again with this list is to introduce people to new movies that they may otherwise not have seen or perhaps have never have heard of. These short reviews are my own subjective opinions on each individual movie. I’m thinking maybe a more informal approach to movie criticism can help include others who are just passing through. So here is every film I watched from the 1st to the 30th of September.

Fanny and Alexander (1982) - 8/10

Coming from Ingmar Bergman, I was surprised to see just how warm this was. I’m a big fan of the Swedish director and while this isn’t my favourite from him (perhaps due to it needing a second watch, or the fact I watched it in three chunks because it’s about three hours long and I overestimated how much time I had in the day) it’s still an interesting departure from what I’ve come to expect from him. Fanny and Alexander is a dreamy Christmassy movie that presents an overarching theme of love, spending a large portion of its runtime just hanging out with this big family on Christmas and showing how close they are. I would love to watch this again at some point in December and see how my opinion shifts but for now, while it could meandre in places, I can’t deny how unique a movie it is.

Another Round (2021) - 10/10

I had seen Thomas Vinterberg’s latest film before this point but this was the first time I got to see it in a cinema. Luckily for me my local independent cinema was showing it one night and while they had a few technical hiccups with setting everything up, the movie itself was still fantastic. Following a handful of school teachers who experiment with whether they can maintain a certain level of blood alcohol throughout the day, Another Round demonstrates a sense of unease and sadness throughout an otherwise comedic tone. These emotions are balanced perfectly, boosting an already intriguing concept that examines our relationship with alcohol from every angle.

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings (2021) - 4/10

Straight after Another Round, I made my way to the chain cinema to meet up with friends to see the new Marvel movie. At this point, having had my second dose of the Covid vaccine that morning, I was starting to feel the effects and I was not doing well. But I watched the movie anyway, all the while wanting to be in bed. Shang-Chi was massively underwhelming and I’d go as far as to say it was even incompetent. Truth be told,  I like the Marvel Cinematic Universe but from the get-go I already wasn’t hyped for this movie and I was expecting it to be about mediocre but what I got was something a lot worse. I won’t rehash what I’ve already said on this film so if you want to hear me rant about it a bit then I would recommend checking out episode 47 of my podcast, The Sunday Movie Marathon.

Your Name. (2016) - 6/10

Ultimately this was a fun little romance movie but I can’t say I understand why people adore it, nor do I understand why it needed to be animated. For what it’s worth, I found it cute and entertaining but nothing much jumped out to me.

Phil Wang: Philly Philly Wang Wang (2021) - 7/10

I’m always stumped on what to say about stand-up shows. It was good! I enjoyed Phil Wang talking about different things in a funny way and it got some laughs out of me. Admittedly I’m writing this a couple of weeks after watching it but it’s certainly a decent way to spend an hour if you’re looking for something light and fun.

The Lego Batman Movie (2017) - 6/10

I remember seeing this in the cinema with two of my friends and the theatre wasn’t exactly packed but those that were there were either children or parents. But I like The Lego Batman Movie! Clearly this was made by fans of the character as it’s packed with a lot of details and references from old comic runs but as someone who has never read the comics or seen those older movies, it still managed to be entertaining and while I won’t say it’s quite as good as The Lego Movie, the animation is still top notch and the voice actors are certainly giving it their all, especially Will Arnett as the titular character. It’s just a bit of fun!

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991) - 10/10

A friend of mine told me to go to the screening of Terminator 2 at my local because they themselves weren’t able to attend. The first Terminator movie is a real gem and one of the most 80’s-type movies I’ve ever seen. I was excited to watch T2, remembering next to nothing about what I watched of it when I was a child. So it was just me in this screening, with one person in a row in front of me, and one other person behind me. If I had it my way, I would have been the only person there because this is honestly one of the best movies I’ve ever seen and it was very hard not to yell out every time something incredible happened, especially when it’s so action-packed and basically goes all out at every opportunity to deliver some of the most jaw-dropping effects or choreography. Truly there is never a dull moment and I was grinning like a lunatic the entire time. This film rocks!

Mirror (1975) - 7/10

Andrei Tarkovsky is one of my favourite directors and the new Criterion release of his film, Mirror, had been on my shelf for a while. My friend and fellow podcast co-host, Chris, was also interested in watching this movie so we decided we’d give it a watch and review it on the podcast. But this is such a weirdly structured film that the entire way through, neither of us knew what on earth was happening. What we got from the experience is reflected in the episode we made and I would love to watch this again at some point, hopefully with more context and a better understanding of what I’m in for. But in the meantime, you can hear the discussion on episode 46 of the podcast.

The Night House (2021) - 6/10

The Night House is David Bruckner’s follow-up to his previous movie, The Ritual and while I’ll say I prefer The Ritual, this is still a decent watch, just don’t go in expecting horror. More of my thoughts can be found in episode 46 of the podcast.

The Ritual (2017) - 7/10

After watching The Night House, I decided to go back to the director’s previous film, The Ritual and I got a lot more out of it this time around. Themes of guilt and grief permeate the movie and the result is this weird and unnerving film about a group of guys who go hiking in Sweden after the death of one of their friends and encounter dark forces beyond their comprehension. It can be drawn out at times and probably could have been boosted with a better script but there are so many interesting and strange ideas presented that culminate in a haunting third act that it’s worth watching just to see what on earth they’re being hunted by.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) - 10/10

Straight after recording an episode about our favourite movies on the podcast, I returned to one of my all-time favourites. Holy Grail is such a fantastically funny movie with so many memorable lines and moments that it’s become a staple in the comedy genre. Setting it in Arthurian England is a surefire way to make sure it stands the test of time, making use of the budget in a way that heightens the comedy, for example: not being able to get horses and so resorting to having a man banging two coconut halves together as they skip through the grassy terrain. It’s the writing that really takes centre stage here; the guys from Monty Python were/are geniuses. A couple more points were made on my podcast so please do listen to that to hear more: Episode 46 of The Sunday Movie Marathon

Malignant (2021) - 7/10

The new James Wan movie was bonkers! I saw this one twice in quick succession without hesitation. To find out why I love it so much, listen to episode 47 of the podcast.

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) - 8/10

We got a marathon of the first three Nightmare on Elm Street movies on the podcast so we watched them in quick succession within a day. This first movie is a true masterpiece of its time. For more insight, listen to episode 47 of the podcast.

A Nightmare on Elm Street Part 2: Freddy’s Revenge (1985) - 2/10

Quite an embarrassing departure from the genius and fun of the original. Elm Street 2 is not only technically unfulfilling but a wholly unentertaining movie to boot. More thoughts in episode 47 of the podcast.

A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors (1987) - 3/10

While only a few hairs better than its predecessor, Elm Street 3 is still a mere shadow of the original. All in all, these second and third instalments in the franchise have put me off watching any of the others. More thoughts in episode 47 of the podcast.

Her (2013) - 10/10

Her is at once a beautiful love story between a man and an AI, and a scarily accurate look at how technology is expanding and moving forward. It uses warm colours and smooth camera work to create something that feels homely and safe, juxtaposing the often cold and dark feeling of science-fiction films to tell an intrinsically human story. What would it be like to go through this and what are the hurdles that need to be overcome? Her is a masterpiece of filmmaking and it left me emotionally exhausted in all the right ways.

Alien (1979) - 10/10

First time I’ve seen Alien in the cinema (as I was too busy not being born yet to see it on an initial release) and it was amazing! This is cosmic horror at its best. With all the eerie sound design, slow and deliberate camera movement, and outstanding effects, there’s no wonder as to why this is considered one of the greats and seeing it on the big screen was enthralling.

Aliens (1986) - 8/10

I had never seen Aliens before so the opportunity to see it for the first time in a cinema was one I could not pass up, especially since I was able to see it straight after the first. This is more of an action movie than the first one and as that, it was really something to see. While I don’t think it quite measures up to the original, James Cameron does bring a style to it that makes it something completely different while still feeling in line with its predecessor. A problem I’ve found as time goes on is that I don’t find myself thinking much about Aliens whatsoever and that’s probably down to its characters who generally I found quite weak. I’m already not big on standard action flicks and this is a clear cut above those but it does still fall victim to the trappings. That being said, I would in no way call this bad or even mediocre because it was a lot fun and being able to see it in the cinema is an experience I’m very grateful for.

Gunpowder Milkshake (2021) - 6/10

Gunpowder Milkshake is trying very hard to be John Wick and although it never really manages it, there is still fun to be had with its action (because really that’s all this movie has to offer). There’s a very creative scene in which Karen Gillan has to fight some goons in a hospital with a gun taped to one hand and a scalpel taped to the other, with the caveat being that her arms don’t work. Despite that and a good enough performance from Gillan, the rest is very goofy, with a villain about as intriguing as an advert for life insurance and a story that to say the least, leaves much to be desired.

I Lost My Body (2019) - 10/10

Another one for the podcast, I Lost My Body is a glorious cerebral animated piece that hits every nerve in my body. Listen to episode 48 for more.

Alice In Wonderland (1951) - 10/10

Perhaps the best early Disney movie in my humble opinion. Alice In Wonderland is complete insanity, doing things simply for the sake of it in a beguiling dreamlike take on Lewis Carroll’s classic book. Listen to episode 48 of The Sunday Movie Marathon for more.

WALL-E (2008) - 9/10

WALL-E is one of Pixar’s best. It is a cautionary tale of where the world is headed wrapped in a sweet story about going to the ends of the solar system in order to help those you love. I do however have one big problem with this movie and you can find out more in episode 48 of the podcast.

Killing Them Softly (2012) - 6/10

A lot about America’s economy at the time, Killing Them Softly goes about showing the lengths people will go to for money and yes it is generally solid with a fantastic speech by Brad Pitt to cap it off, but it cannot avoid meandering scenes of listless dialogue that neither engage me nor make me care about the characters it presents.

The Dirties (2013) - 6/10

Funny! The Dirties is a mockumentary about two guys making a movie about bullies in their school. While often it was generally chugging along and making me laugh, it tended to err on the side of plain as regards its presentation. A lot of scenes happen for the sake of it and in a movie that’s around an hour and twenty, it’s amazing I still managed to dip out in the latter half. More thoughts in episode 49 of the podcast.

Telstar: The Joe Meek Story (2009) - 3/10

Ah, I really hated this. I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. Just listen to episode 49 of the podcast to hear what I had to say.

Blade Runner 2049 (2017) - 10/10

This is my favourite movie! I got to talk about it on my podcast! Listen to episode 49 of The Sunday Movie Marathon to hear what I have to say!

No Time To Die (2021) - 8/10

Best Bond movie? Perhaps. I’ve not seen every Bond movie but of the ones I have seen (which does include all of Daniel Craig’s run), this is as good as it gets. Despite a near three hour runtime, No Time To Die felt as though it wasted very little. I’ve always complained that I could never follow the plot to these movies because often I simply didn’t care about it; for me it’s more about the action and seeing Daniel Craig be James Bond. No Time To Die does not escape some of the general tropes that often don’t leave me thinking I’ve watched something masterful but what I will say in its favour is that it’s fucking fun! Don’t expect to love it if you already dislike these movies because generally it stays in the same vein as the others before it, but for Bond fans it’s something totally enjoyable. Captivating cinematography, biting fight choreography and action set-pieces, a core struggle for James who actually goes through relatable hardships his time round, coping with being part of a family and trying to keep them safe.

I was happy to see a bit more attention paid to female characters this go round; in a franchise that often glamorizes Bond’s sexual promiscuity and ability to woo any woman he likes, it was much more refreshing to see that he often did need help from a lot of badass, well written female characters.

No Time To Die has been waiting to be released for a long time now and now it’s actually out, I’m pleased it’s not hot garbage. In fact, quite the opposite is true. The final swan song for Craig’s fifteen-year tenure as one of cinema’s most recognisable heroes outdoes all that came before it. Bravo.

#September #Movies #Wrap-up #Follow For More #Films #Twitter: @MHShukster #Fanny and Alexander #Another Round #Shang-Chi #Your Name. #The Lego Batman Movie #Terminator 2: Judgment Day #Mirror #The Night House #The Ritual #Monty Python and the Holy Grail #Malignant #A Nightmare on Elm Street #Her #Alien #Aliens #Gunpowder Milkshake #I Lost My Body #Alice In Wonderland #WALLE #WALL-E #Killing Them Softly #The Dirties #Blade Runner 2049 #No Time To Die

[buzzdixonwriter]

The Purple Monster Strikes

Recently in an online discussion of 1950s sci-fi films, the old Republic serial The Purple Monster Strikes came up.

Why is came up I’ll mention later, but first let’s note it: 

was made in 1945 

was the last 15 chapter Republic serial

is awful

Not eyeball gouging / brain melting / soul scorching awful the way The Lost City or Gene Autry And The Phantom Empire or Captain Video are awful, but awful enough…

…yet at the same time, worthy of comment (as we’ll soon note).

1945 is a crucial year.  Despite the Nazis last ditch Battle of the Bulge, WWII is clearly winding down to an Allied victory in both Europe and the Pacific. 

American audiences feel tired of the war wand want something else in their entertainment, even low brow / low rent entertainment like movie serials.

Republic produced three serials that year:  Federal Operator 99 proved surprisingly good, Manhunt Of Mystery Island (their next to last 15 chapter serial) tried some new ideas that while interesting didn’t prove interesting enough to be tried again, and The Purple Monster Strikes brought interplanetary thrills back to the theaters, only this time instead of visiting Mars, Mars (at least two of ‘em) came to Earth.

As noted in my overview of Federal Operator 99, Republic serials of that year looked…inexpensive.* 

This is especially true of The Purple Monster Strikes which really needed a bigger budget, a better script, and adequate production time for the type of story it was trying to tell.

That story?

In a nutshell:   The Purple Monster is a one-Martian invasion come to steal the secret of the “jet plane” (the script uses the term interchangeably with “rocketship”) from Earth and take it to Mars where it can be mass produced and used to attack our world (Why?  WTF knows or cares?).  To achieve this The Purple Monster bumps off the scientist in charge of the project, physically possesses his corpse by turning into a ghost-like entity, and tries to kill a nosy investigator and the late scientist’s niece.  In the end The Purple Monster tries to escape Earth only to get blowed up real good (Did I mention this is silly, stooped, and trite?  I did?  Good).

So why am I interested in The Purple Monster Strikes?  Well, for two reasons, the second and more important one we’ll save for the end, the first is that when watched with fully informed eyes, it’s a testament to the single greatest contribution the serials made to filmmaking:  The production board.

Lemme ‘splain what that is.

In the old days of movie making it was a folder with slots for narrow strips of colored cardboard to be slid in.  The strips were color coded for interior or exterior scenes, night or day, specific locations, second unit or special effects, etc.

These strips were grouped together on the production board so all the exterior day shots at one location could be filmed back-to-back, followed by all the night shots there before moving on to a new location.

The colored carboard strips were further broken down to match production numbers in the shooting script (“Scene 37:  The bandits take the town”), key props and costumes, stunt work, but most importantly actors / characters in the scene.

You want all your most important / expensive / difficult stuff grouped together…but you also need to figure out what you didn’t need so you could pare down your budget.

For example, if you need someone to play a policeman in Scene 1 and in Scene 12 but those scenes are shot two seeks apart, maybe it’s cheaper to have two different actors playing two different policemen for one day each than keep one actor on call for two weeks.

Likewise, if you’ve got an actor in a key supporting role, put all his scenes together.

This necessitates shooting out of sequence, but shooting out of sequence is now pretty much the industry norm for any filmed or taped production.

The serials invented the production board and the rest of the industry speedily glommed onto it.

Once you know what to look for in The Purple Monster Strikes, you can pretty much break down which scenes were shot when.

Case in point: Masked heroes and villains aside, serial characters rarely change costume except to match stock footage from earlier productions.  It’s not especially notable for male characters but females typically wear The Same Damn Dress in Every Damn Scene.

So when heroine Linda Sterling gets dunked in a water tank midway through The Purple Monster Strikes, you can bet that was her last day of filming since they were no longer worried about ruining her costume.

Likewise when a female reinforcement from Mars arrives, the exact same location right down to the same car parked in the same spot are used even though the female Martian doesn’t arrive until 2/3rds of the way into the story.

You wouldn’t notice this week to week in a movie theater, but they’re painfully obvious when bingewatching.

Case in point: There are never more than four characters onscreen at any time; this was all the production could afford on any given day.  If a fifth character showed up, one of the others needed to be knocked unconscious (if they were lucky) shot and fall off camera (if they were unlucky), or disintegrated (if they were really unlucky).

For example, the hero and heroine could be talking to a scientist (day 1 / shot 1) when three baddies show up at the door (day 2 / shot 1).  The first baddie shoots the scientist, who falls off camera then enters the frame and knocks out the heroine, who conveniently falls behind a counter (day 1 / shot 2).  The other two baddies enter and a huge brawl erupts (day 2 / shot 2).  The heroine revives (day 1 / shot 3) and shouts a warning at the hero.  The hero blasts a minor baddie who falls off camera as the other two baddies flee the scene (day 2 / shot 3), then the heroine rejoins the hero (day 1 / shot 4).

Binge watching also reveals a lot of sets and props reused again and again.  The same footstool is used as a weapon more than once, a prop valve in one chapter serves an entirely different function in another, and while serials frequently reused stock special effects shots, The Purple Monster Strikes doesn’t just use the same exploding car shot twice in the same serial, not just twice in the same chapter, but twice in the same car chase!

(Speaking of which, whenever they get in Linda Sterling’s car you know the odds are 50-50 it’s going off a cliff in a big flaming fireball.  The Purple Monster Strikes has her going through so many identical make automobiles you’d think she owned stock in a car dealership.)

Anybody familiar with Republic serials is going to find a lot of reused sets and props here.  Having seen Manhunt Of Mystery Island recently, I immediately recognized their ubiquitous warehouse set, the Republic Studios loading dock doubles as two different factory exteriors, and having lived in Chatsworth several years I can practically name each and every rock in the exterior scenes.**

On the plus side, bonus points for some impressive looking props, including a rocket test engine that provides the explosive cliffhanger for the first chapter, a double-barrel disintegrator that looks like a giant set of binoculars (I wonder if it was originally a military surplus training aid), and a spaceship seen under construction for most of the serial that proves to be the most striking design the redoubtable Lydecker brothers ever created (a pity it’s glimpsed only briefly before being blown up in the last chapter; Republic should have reused it for their later sci-fi serials instead of the dull unimaginative designs they went with).

Fun factoid: Mi amigo Donald F. Glut, filmmaker / NYTimes bestselling author / film historian, knew The Purple Monster hizzownsef, Roy Barcroft, and reports Barcroft had the wardrobe department sew a secret pocket in his costume for his cigarettes! 

Speaking of Barcroft, he’s the best thing in this serial and he ain’t that good.  A perennial bad guy in serials and B-Westerns, he normally turned in a satisfying performance, but the script for The Purple Monster Strikes gives him nothing to work with.

I mentioned previously how Federal Operator 99’s script works more often than not and gives its characters something the actors can work with, but The Purple Monster Strikes?  Nada.

Every line is a clunky flat declarative sentence exposition dump of the “I’ll take this strange medallion we discovered to Harvey the metallurgist to analyze” variety.

Even Linda Sterling can’t do anything with this though she tries to find an appropriate facial expression for whatever scene she’s thrown in.

As for nominal star Dennis Moore, I won’t say he’s wooden but in one of the innumerable fight scenes Barcroft hurls a coatrack at him and for that brief moment the coatrack delivers a far more memorable performance.

Sidebar on the fight scenes: They are choreographed expertly, among some of the best Republic ever staged, but directors Spencer Gordon Bennet and Fred C. Brannon -- both serial veterans who could do much, much better -- really dropped the ball in shooting them.  They’re shot almost entirely in wide angle longshots using slightly sped up photography instead of intercutting to keep the pacing fast.

The rest of the cast consists mostly of stuntmen carefully enunciating their one line before the fists start flying, or older male actors who deliver surprisingly good performances compared to everyone else.

But that script -- oh, lordie, that script!  This was made in 1945 and they’ve got a damn organ grinder in it!  Organ grinders vanished from the public sphere with the damn of movies; by the 1940s they were found only in comic books and animated cartoons; in other words, kid stuff.***

It’s clear the writers on The Purple Monster Strikes (Royal Cole, Albert DeMond, Basil Dickey, Lynn Perkins, Joseph Poland, and Barney Sarecky) considered this mere juvenile pablum, not worthy of even the smattering of sophistication they sprinkled on Federal Operator 99.

An adult can watch Federal Operator 99 and at least feel the story makes some kind of sense and the characters, however imperfectly enacted, at least offer adult motives and behaviors, but The Purple Monster Strikes is just insulting to the intelligence (I mean, they call the female Martian invader Marsha.  Seriously?).

Okay, so why do I think this is worth writing about?

Because The Purple Monster Strikes is the bridge between WWII and the Cold War.

Most of the major tropes of 1950s sci-fi are reactions to Cold War anxieties, and those anxieties are transplanted WWII anxieties.

Before WWII, American moneyed interests waged a relentless PR campaign against communism, socialism, and labor unions (sound familiar?).

Forced to make peace with the Soviets during WWII, these moneyed interests -- now heavily invested in what Dwight D. Eisenhower called the military-industrial complex -- bit their lips as US pop culture portrayed the Russians as gallant allies against fascism (and they were; credit where credit is due).

As soon as the war ended, however, and in fact, even a little before the end (see The Best Years Of Our Lives; great movie), they were already recasting the Russians as treacherous authoritarian atheists out to conquer the world.

As noted earlier, American audiences felt weary of a relentless diet of war related entertainment and in the waning days of the war turned eagerly to non-war related stories. 

Likewise studios, not wanting to get caught with rapidly dating WWII related material nobody wanted to see began actively developing different kinds of stories.

After four years of intense anxiety, the country needed to come down but couldn’t go cold turkey.  Science fiction (and hardboiled mysteries and spy thrillers) provided safe decompression.

1945 marks a significant sea change in Republic serial production.  Sci-fi would become a more predominant theme, infiltrating other genres such as the ever popular masked mastermind (viz. The Crimson Ghost).

Federal Operator 99 would be the last highwater mark for more plausible serial stories, but crime and undercover espionage remained serial staples to the bitter end.

Only Manhunt Of Mystery Island seemed a misfire and even in that case it only meant the masked mastermind returned to more traditional origins instead of the inventive backstory created for Captain Mephisto.  

What The Purple Monster Strikes did was take a very familiar set of WWII cliches and stereotypes then recast them in a (relatively) safe science fictional context.

The closest prototype to The Purple Monster Strikes is Republic’s G-Men Vs. The Black Dragon, as racially offensive as you could hope to imagine, and turn the inscrutable “yellow” villains into malevolent purple ones (later green when colorization was added).

By making the literally other worldly alien the “other”, 1950s sci-fi sidestepped the worst implications of their own themes:  

Invasion 

Subversion 

Fifth columns 

Loss of soul / identity / individuality (personified in bodily possession by alien intellects)

Paranoia

The Purple Monster Strikes lacks the wit and wherewithal to fully exploit these ideas, but it sure could hold them up for everyone to get a quick glimpse.

As childish and as inane as the plot may be, by the end when hero and heroine realize there is literally no one they can trust, The Purple Monster Strikes dropped a depth charge into preteen psyches fated to go off six years later with the arrival of The Thing From Another World and countless other sci-fi films and TV episodes afterwards.

Did The Purple Monster Strikes create this trend?  No, of course not – but as Stephen King pointed out in Danse Macabre regarding the incredibly inane The Horror Of Party Beach’s selection of nuclear waste dumping as their raison d'être for their monsters:

“I’m sure it was one of the least important points in their preproduction discussions and for that reason it becomes very important.”

King’s point is by not giving the matter much thought, The Horror Of Party Beach’s producers simply tapped into a subconscious gestalt already running through the culture and said, “Yeah, nuclear waste, wuddup widdat?”

Likewise, The Purple Monster Strikes’ producers / directors / writers didn’t sit themselves down to analyze Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four but rather picked up on the forever war current already moving through the American body politic.

War without end, war without ceasing.

And if we can’t define an enemy by name or place, so much the better!  The war on crime, the war on poverty, the war on drugs…

The war on terror.

The forever war thrives on the faceless unknowable enemy with the unknown but clearly malevolent anti-American agenda.

“Them”…against…U.S.

As an artistic achievement, The Purple Monster Strikes is sadly lacking in nearly all aspects, but as a cultural artifact, it’s still a clear warning.

Only not about “them” but about…us.

  © Buzz Dixon 

  *  read “cheap”

** Republic’s low budget backed them into an overlapping series of sci-fi serials, loosely referred to as the Rocket Man / Martian invasion serials by fans.  The Purple Monster Strikes’ costume was reused for Flying Disc Man From Mars (which featured a semi-circular flying wing already featured in Spy Smasher and King Of The Mounties) and again for Zombies Of The Stratosphere, but between those two serials the wholly unrelated King Of The Rocket Men was released.  Zombies… is a sequel to both Flying Disc Man… and King Of The Rocket Men but Radar Men From The Moon introduces a new character -- Commando Cody -- who wears the same rocket pack as the heroes of King… and Zombies… but faces a lunar, not Martian menace then he spins off to become Commando Cody:  Sky Marshall Of The Universe in a quasi-serial (i.e., no cliff-hangers, each chapter a complete adventure) fighting a third alien invasion!

***  Or the works of Bertolt Brecht, but that ain’t what Republic’s going for here.

#Roy Barcroft #The Purple Monster Strikes #serial #sci-fi movies #1950s science fiction movies #Cold War

[bythebigcoolingtower]

Eye on Springfield - An Interview with Raymie Muzquiz

Since working on eighteen episodes of seasons two and three of the Simpsons, Raymie Muzquiz has enjoyed a strong, thirty plus years career in the animation industry, including directing eight episodes of Futurama’s second run. Here, Raymie talks about his spell on both shows, his other projects and the industry itself.

Let’s start at the start, how did you get into animation and end up at Klasky-Csupo?

In 1988-89, I was working for a movie trailer company. I was a production assistant and then a post coordinator for about 2 years. I learned a lot about film post production and worked on a flatbed editor, dubbing machines, etc. (all pre-digital). However, it was nonetheless a miserable, unartistic, poorly-paying job that laid bare all those awful “Swimming With Sharks”, fear-and-loathing tropes of the movie business. My boss was a horror. He’d yell at me about the dressing in his salad, or the variety of bread on the sandwich. I was his presumed personal assistant to deride. Yet he would shamelessly “lick the boots” of celebs and execs higher up the food chain. To this day, I cannot watch movie trailers. On the rare trip to a theater, I sit in the lobby and have my wife text me when the feature starts.

During this awful period I would look daily through the trades for another job. One day in the Hollywood Reporter there was an ad that included a picture of Marge (I think). Klasky-Csupo (just blocks from my apartment!) was looking to staff for Season 2 of The Simpsons. Since I storyboarded all my student films and some action sequences in live-action low-budget features at Roger Corman’s Concorde/New Horizons in the late 80’s. I applied for a storyboard position. What happened next gave me whiplash. I was given a test. Hours after turning the in the test I hired as a staff storyboard artist to start two weeks hence and immediately given a freelance assignment.  

How did I get this plum position with zero experience? This requires some context. The Simpsons was an unexpected TV-animation phoenix rising from the ashes of a poverty-row industry. It is little exaggeration to say that the TV animation talent pool (as opposed to feature animation) consisted largely of old, alcoholic and broken-spirited artists doing Saturday-morning hack-work, subsuming their talent to low budgets and low cel counts. The necessary talent were simply nonexistent for this new, hip renaissance. The doors opened to the young, the students and the inexperienced like me; someone who didn’t go to art school nor drew for a living. It was a singular event for me. I was ignorant that there was even a difference between animation and live action storyboards. I was even naive about my drawing ability. Imagine my reaction when I saw trained artists draw in a professional environment. It blew my mind! My only saving grace was that as a live-action film graduate, I knew film language. I could stage without “crossing the line”. Scenes “cut” together and “hooked up” and I was staging in depth rather than in the traditional “proscenium” cartoon style. My acting was restrained, not broad or cartoony.

I did my first storyboard freelance while still at the trailer company. It was for Jim Reardon; his first directing assignment: Itchy & Scratchy & Marge in 1989.

Can you explain the work you did on the Simpsons?

Everybody probably knows what storyboarding is, so I’ll keep it short. It’s the visualisation of the script/story. It’s TV animation’s biggest step from script to screen. You are staging the characters in space and acting them out and breaking it up into separate scenes that informs the entire rest of the process. Design, layout, key posing, action and timing build off the storyboard.

When you were assigned to work on the show what were your thoughts? It was a phenomenon by that point.

The first season’s episodes of the Simpsons were being re-runned to death. I remember doubting if they’d successfully make more before the buzz died off. When I was hired I couldn’t believe my luck. The Simpsons was THE hip show of the moment. To actually be a creative team member on something fresh and original AND get paid more than beggar’s wages was like winning the lottery.

How closely did you work with the directors and writers, what kind of notes and feedback did you receive?

When I arrived for my first meeting, Mark Kirkland and Jim Reardon were crowded in a small room with folding tables, right off of reception. I believe they were both directing for the first time. Although I was already hired to work in-house, I had to give two weeks to my current, satanic employer, so I was assigned work as a freelancer. It was to board an act of Itchy & Scratchy & Marge by its director, Jim Reardon. Little did I know what I was getting into.

I never had to draw so much in my life! My drawing hand (left) was killing me in those early months. I had to develop a callous on the middle finger. They gave me the “radio-play;” an audio cassette of the recorded dialog to draw to and tons of model sheets.  

I remember being overwhelmed by the volume. And you had to draw in these tiny boxes of the formatted storyboard page. I didn’t have that kind of discipline (I never did: I eventually developed a style of drawing on blank pages, then fielding and formatting them onto a page. Sometimes I scaled my drawings down on the xerox machine. I also drew on post-its (the greatest invention in animation after cels) and taped them onto the formatted sheet.  

As this was freelance, I actually only met with Jim twice: Once for the hand-out and then again to show him my roughs. I vaguely remember him asking for changes that I thought were off-show (I’d seen all extant episodes multiple times on TV by then). Plus this was my first time and really had no expectations of what the process was.

But--he was the director--I addressed his notes and turned in the storyboard to the receptionist without further feedback. This almost became my undoing. In future, I would know the director should go over the storyboard and decide if it was ready, needed further revision or even just check the “bookkeeping”; the placement of dialog, notes and scene and page numbering before releasing it to the producers (all the Executives at Gracie Films across town). However--for whatever reason--this didn’t happen. It went directly from reception to Gracie. And evidently the executives didn’t react well. I was ignorant of all of this for years; until Mark Kirkland told me what happened...

The Executives were displeased with the storyboard and demanded to know what happened. Someone blamed it on the new guy (me!). So it was decided I had to be fired (before I even started my first day on staff)!  

Did I get thrown under the bus? I can’t say. I wasn’t there. I am only relating events second hand.  

Anyway, Mark Kirkland, who shared the room with Jim Reardon and was present during my meetings came to my rescue (again, completely unbeknownst to me). He vouched for my character and said I was worthy of rescue and rather than firing me, I could work with him. 

So I have Mark to thank for my career. If I was fired, it would have been crushing and I think it’s safe to say I would never have become the artist I’ve become in the thirty plus years of my career.

What was the pressure like working on the show and at the studios during that time?

Because of my lack of experience, I found it difficult judging deadlines and the necessary labor (and just pencil mileage) to succeed. Plus I was traumatised by my previous job; I was conditioned to fear punishment and humiliation at anytime for something I did or didn’t do.

The climate at Klasky/Csupo couldn’t be more starkly different; so egalitarian! Everyone was socialising and goofing around. Gabor Csupo couldn’t be a more laid-back boss! Long lunches with side-trips for comic books and toys! Nerf guns in the hall. I shared a tiny room with two other board artists, Peter Avanzino and Steve Moore. They would both have to vacate the room for me to reach my desk in the far corner. We bantered and laughed more than worked. Celebrities would drop by (Most memorable was meeting Frank Zappa). There were events always going on; bowling, screenings and parties. And yet, a ton of thought and drawing was necessary; especially for me. I worried I couldn’t work as fast as other artists. I often had to work nights and weekends to meet my deadlines. However, there always were other artists doing the same thing; they may have been more experienced than me, but they were young and not so disciplined; so I was never alone. Plus, you never knew how off the mark your roughs could be and after a meeting with the director and Brad Bird, you might suddenly be looking at a ton of revision work. I also remember that Brad was busy weekdays and meetings could sometimes only be done on Saturdays. I simply had a lot to learn and time to put in to build my proficiency. And Brad Bird was very important influence in those days: I could be nervous and exhausted preparing for a meeting with him, but he’d so infect you with his enthusiasm and creative vision that you’d end up re-doing the whole thing but be excited about doing it. He emphasized the cinematic aspects and empowered us to be bold and push the limits of traditional animation staging.

You worked on some of the show’s early classics, could you tell from your position how the episodes would come out?

My next episode for Jim Reardon was “When Flanders Failed”. Because of the kerfuffle of the first episode I did for him, I was anxious to be as professional and impressive as possible. I thought the act I did showed improvement. However, the episode seemed to languish at some point (after animation?) and word got around that it was a bust and wouldn’t reach air. My memory is hazy about this, but I was bummed at the time; thinking my working relationship with Jim was snake-bit.  

A season later, it eventually did air. I’m not giving a very good account of this, sorry.

“Flaming Moe’s” was an episode I was excited about. I remember Brad Bird suggesting some very exciting staging that turned my head around. Especially the part where Homer ends up--“Phantom of the Opera-ish”--in the rafters. I think that was a turning point for me; I was going to be a Brad disciple and determined to push the staging from then on.

“Stark Raving Dad”, is memorable to me, but not for a good reason. It was one of the last episodes I worked on; only doing an act. I remember being scandalized that Michael Jackson was the subject of the episode. Being a Simpsons purist, I believed that the show existed in a parallel universe and celebrities were parodied for laughs; it was too hip to be a shill for celebrity. There was no Arnold Swarzenegger, there was McBain. There was no Hal Fishman (our local channel 5 anchor), there was Kent Brockman. Dr. Hibbert was a parody of Bill Cosby. Mayor Quimby was a parody of Ted Kennedy. Even Nick Riviera was supposed to be Gabor Csupo! Having Michael Jackson exist in this universe and embodied in a sympathetic character (rather than a target of ridicule) was seriously “jumping the shark” in my opinion. I believed the show had done the unthinkable and it would prove fatal to the series.  

Of course I was wrong. The Simpsons goes on like a perpetual motion machine. But I couldn’t abide watching this wise and subversive show trample over its principles to star-fuck. Now of course, which celebrity HASN’T been on the Simpsons. As you may well know, “Stark Raving Dad” has been pulled from the series since the premiere of the HBO documentary “Leaving Neverland”, giving some credence to my long ago objection: sometimes it bites you on the ass.

“Black Widower” was my swan song. I remember meeting Kelsey Grammer at the table read and being mesmerized by his voice. He sounded just like Orson Welles. The act I boarded included Bob and Selma’s honeymoon. I wanted to give the staging a Hitchcockian influence with deep-focus, Z-axis compositions (like looking out of the fireplace, across the gas burner to Selma and Bob) and my first-ever use of DX (double exposed) shadows to provide menace. I thought that was my best work of the series.

One of my favourite early episodes is ‘Homer at the Bat’ which you storyboarded. What are your recollections on working on it? Did you get any specific notes when it came to the players?

“Homer” was my third “at bat” (pardon the pun) with Jim. He’s a baseball fan as I am, but he also PLAYED Chicago-Style Softball (baseball with a huge, soft ball). I’m a baseball fan too, but I felt I’d be exposed a dilettante due to my terminal lack of athleticism. I was assigned all three acts of the show as well! I really had to be on my game (again, pardon) and not miss any of the references. I reluctantly took him up on his offer playing in one of the Chicago-Style games one Saturday in Burbank. It was a sacrifice as I had to work weekends to keep up with the workload of this episode. I went with a fellow board artist, who’ll remain unnamed (to remain friends).  

It went terribly. At bat, I whiffed three pitches in a row, and Jim kept pitching more and more out of pity. I missed them all. He finally had to tell me to just give the bat to the next guy. In the outfield, I stunk just as badly. The piece-de-resistance was when my fellow board artist was at bat and swung hard on a pitch. He missed the ball AND dislocated his knee. I ran to him as he plopped down in agony onto home plate with his knee, shin and foot pointed in the wrong direction. “If my leg stays like this much longer, I think I’m gonna start crying,” he said through the pain.  After a terribly long moment, his shin and foot rotated snapped back into place. We hobbled off the field as Jim and his pals resumed the game. Could things have gone any worse? I was certain that Jim had no faith in me by that time. If so, he never said it. He was a laconic guy.  

I worked on it a hundred years ago so I don’t feel the pride I objectively should. The episode went against The Cosby Show and beat it in the ratings!  There’s even an exhibit in The Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, that I wasn’t aware of until I went there. No artist other than Matt is mentioned. It’s all about the writers and the players who voiced the show.

I still have the storyboards of Jose Canseco in the bathtub with Ms. Krabappel that Jose objected to and we had to cut. I’ll post them someday.

How do you reflect on your time working on the show? Do you ever watch those seasons and episodes back?

See below for details; but no. I haven’t watched the episodes I worked on or those seasons for decades. I haven’t watched any episodes after the 3rd season at all. I did see the movie.

The relationship between Klasky-Csupo and Gracie Films finished at the end of the third season, when Gracie decided to move production to Film Roman, what was your view of that situation?

With the handwriting on the wall that Fox might pull The Simpsons from Klasky-Csupo, the in-house producer Sherry Gunther countered by getting all us artists to sign a document tying us exclusively to Klasky-Csupo in an effort to block Fox access to the crew. That gambit didn’t dissuade Fox. They pulled the show anyway and took it to Film Roman. At the time, I wanted desperately to follow the show, but naively thought I couldn’t because I was bound by Sherry’s contract. Virtually everyone left Klasky-Csupo for Film Roman anyways; contract be damned.

The studio became a ghost town. I stayed, distressed that I had to work on Rugrats. However, I eventually concluded that being torn away from The Simpsons was the best thing for my creative growth. Wherein The Simpsons was written so well, closely supervised and finding its stride, The Rugrats scripts were mediocre and the gags not funny. Rugrats was a vacuum to fill and I was empowered to add gags and exercise Gabor’s mandate to really push the staging into warped and low-angled baby POVs that defined the series. It lacked the regimentation of The Simpsons and I exposed to all the other processes in making cartoons. On the Chanukah special I directed, I timed the animation, I even helped direct the voice talent and supervise animatic and final edit.

The Simpsons, like many prime-time animated shows, are dominated by writer/producers who closely control the creative aspects and the artists are more or less staying in their lanes.

After the Simpsons you were assigned to work on ‘Duckman’ where you directed eight episodes, what was the step up to direction like?

I didn’t go directly to Duckman. There was a period of boarding on Rugrats and assistant directing on two Edith-Ann specials for ABC. It was a sad time, something like being in purgatory, but one which I believe was necessary in retrospect.

Speaking of being in purgatory, here’s an anecdote. Klasky-Csupo was a bunch of empty rooms after the Simpsons left. I was working on Edith Ann one day and Gabor was walking a tour of potential clients through. I showed them what I was doing and then Gabor directed them to the next room; opening a door to usher them in, various large and small auto parts suddenly tumbled noisily out onto the floor. A car bumper, pieces of trim, a fender and hub-caps.  

You may ask why auto parts were in there? I’ll tell you: When Rich Moore worked there, his office overlooked the corner of Highland and Fountain avenues. Over time, he and his crew witnessed a lot of auto collisions on that corner. They would go and retrieve the parts left behind and hang them on the wall. Rich obviously left without taking his collection and somebody decided to hide them all in this room. Suffice to say, it didn’t look professional and I felt terrible for Gabor at that moment.

When I did become director, there was many moments of panic. I was used to storyboarding to my personal standard and quality that defined my aesthetic. Paradoxically, being a director meant losing close control. I had to depend on clearly communicating to the storyboard artists, quickly learning you can only tell artists so much before they “top-off” and forget what you said. No one took notes! It was all by memory! I always took notes as a board artist. A good board artist makes a director look good. There are far more mediocre storyboard artists than good ones; mainly because the good ones are promoted to directors (I feel the quality has improved over time). And I had to deal with freelancers for the first time. They are the guys that fill-in when there’s not enough staff artists. These people were usually moonlighting for extra money and end up storyboarding your show in the style of the show they were working on during the day. There just wasn’t enough time in the schedule to fix everything without working crazy hours. The Simpsons had layout. So storyboards didn’t have to be so precise and if something wasn’t staged right or acting out in storyboard, you could work with a layout artist in shorthand to correct it. Virtually my entire career has been absent layouts. They are very rare for TV nowadays. This makes the storyboard all the more important. The bar must be high; we call them “layout storyboards”; they need to be closer to model and the acting must be spot on.  

Animation timing was also something I had to get control of; At first, Duckman didn’t have a supervising timing director, who could maintain the quality and the timing aesthetics particular to the show. It was up to the director to check timing. I had almost no experience and it was a new show. No one person had the answers. I could review the timer’s work (so often a dreaded freelancer) and I could see it wasn’t at all right and I’d wholesale erase it, but then I panicked that I might have done more damage than good; suddenly in over my head. It took time, but I got it.

I believe that the director who masters his x-sheets is true master of his show.  I could add quality and personal aesthetics in a new dimension.

Does you background as a storyboard artist influence the way in which you direct?

Absolutely. In animation history, there were directors who didn’t storyboard or even draw. There were a few of these “dinosaurs” on Rugrats. They sat and read the paper when we boarded their shows. But because of the overseas process of animation and the loss of layouts here at home, if you are going to direct at all, you have to be comfortable drawing a detailed, informed layout storyboard. It is literally the blueprint of your show.

That said, I had to mature as a director who storyboarded. It was insane to try and board all my episodes personally, though directors will put some work aside for themselves, especially if its a sequence that would be too hard to delegate to another artist. If a sequence involves a new character, location or prop integral to the story, it may not be designed yet, so I’ll take it on and “feel it out;” designing as I board.

I had to learn how to be a good delegator and a clear communicator. I pitch sequences to the board artist before they begin and give them roughs of designs, poses or staging I think is important for the sequence. From my boarding experience, I don’t like directors who don’t tell you what they want until after you’ve drawn the storyboard. That wastes time and effort. And morale. I want the artists to know my take and hopefully that will inform the storyboard they do. I also know from my board experience that you should balance criticism with praise. Communicate what you like about how they do this and that before you go through critiquing the parts that aren’t working. Ultimately, you want to help the board artists be successful in storyboarding it their way, not my way. If it works, don’t change it just because it isn’t the way you’d do it. Lean into and support what they’ve done.

‘Duckman’ had a cavalcade of guest stars throughout the shows run, did you ever get to meet any of them, and if so, do you have a favourite encounter?

I was always of two minds regarding using live-action stars for animation. Yeah, it’s fun to meet them and some like Jason Alexander can knock-it-out-of-the-park, but sometimes this kind of “stunt casting” backfires. In my first episode, we used Crispin Glover in a stunt role as a crazed maniac with only one line. He showed up brandishing an eight inch hunting knife acting like a REAL maniac. Maybe it was method acting, but we were scared of him and got him in and out as fast as we could. His delivery didn’t work for the line and it spoiled the joke in my opinion, but it remained in the episode. If we used one of the legion of professional voice actors available, we could have worked with them for the perfect “voice” and delivery and nailed it.

We also used Teri Garr for an episode (not one I was directing) and I attended because I was a huge fan of hers. I got to see her behind the mike as she looked over her pages and said acidly, “This isn’t exactly Tolstoy, is it.” That is the opposite attitude you should have when you’re hired. She was soon pitching underwear afterwards...obviously not Tolstoy either.

So I’ll say it again: using celebrities can bite you on the ass.

Performances aside, I certainly did enjoy meeting legends. Carl Reiner played a priest in Noir Gang. Mind you we recorded in a small studio that was in the back of the Rugrats building that was essentially a cavernous storage room. Ed Asner looked visibly uncomfortable when we huddled around him in there. I’ll never forget the look on Marina Sirtis’ face when she arrived to record an episode. Me and a couple of other guys were laying in wait in this sketchy storage area eating our lunches. She was concerned: “is this the right place?” I felt like a lech and stopped going to records that I didn’t have to be at.

Overall, if the celebrity you’ve cast for a voice roll has theater experience, you are more likely to get a good vocal performance. Especially musical theater experience. They are more aware of their voice and have the tools. This goes for Jason and others like Tim Curry and Bebe Neuwirth; all great voice talent to have behind the mic.

You worked on the second run of Futurama, had you been a fan of the original seasons?

No. I didn’t watch the show before. I had to catch up and learn the “canon” when I was hired.

How did you get involved in working on Futurama?

The animating studio, Rough Draft, was something of a clique. They didn’t just hire “anybody” and unlike most studios, they maintain a staff of lifers who usually have the choice positions. I knew Peter Avanzino from our Simpsons days doing storyboards together, so he vouched for me. I was hired to direct on the 2nd season of Drawn Together. So they had a taste of what they could expect from me. I was no longer an unknown quantity when Futurama came around.

One of the eight episodes you directed was, ‘The Mutants are Revolting’, the shows hundredth episode. How special was it to work on such a landmark episode?

It had the most visibility of my episodes, at least internally. They made T-shirts and some publicity art and even the script had a nicer cover. But it was the episode with the most headaches. The scope of the story was huge with multiple set pieces. The opening newsreel, movie in a movie of the Land-Titanic, the asteroid delivery, the party at Planet Express, the riot in the sewers and the flood and “parting of the red sea” climax all required a ton of designs and characters; plus more hand-drawn and CG effects. That’s a lot to manage and marshall for a TV show. Most episodes don’t require the director to do this kind of heavy lifting. I find that when a show demands this much visually, the story ends up being more superficial, gag driven and episodic feeling. Such is the case for this episode. It was visually pumped up because it was representing the 100th episode; meaning I was saddled with managing lots of logistics rather than the usual character-based comedy and emotion of say, Tip of The Zoidberg, which is a relationship story that--as a director--I feel I give more time to flourish and shine with.

‘The Mutants are Revolting’ features some fantastic animation, most notably a brief sequence of Bender standing perfectly still as the Planet Express ship moves around him. Can you explain the challenges of a sequence like that?

That’s a good, insightful question. A shot like this shows off the resources Rough Draft has that aren’t available at just any other studio doing TV animation. The interior of the Planet Express Ship was built and animated in CG. At it’s gimbal point was a CG version of a stationary Bender; locked to field, but who’s feet move with the CG ship. Once the CG elements were approved, they were printed out as wire frame drawings printed onto pegged paper. My Assistant Director drew key poses of the characters on a separate layer in register with the CG print outs, old school on a light box animation disc. This all was sent to our overseas studio Rough Draft Korea for inbetweening and color of the characters only. That came back as an alpha-channeled digital file and layered over the CG animation in our digital compositing department.

Scott Vanzo runs the department and directs all the CG animation effects. I can’t remember who exactly built the interior of the PE ship and animated it, so I’ll rely on IMDb: Don Kim and Jason Plapp. But all the guys in the digital department do tremendous work and allowed us to fine tune a lot of animation (that doesn’t have CG in it); giving us the ability that raises the quality and takes the curse off of overseas animation limitations.

‘The Tip of the Zoidberg’ was nominated for a Primetime Emmy, how proud were you of that achievement and the episode itself?

The episode was one of my favorites; it was character focused and elaborating on canon so a director couldn’t ask for more. As for the Emmy nomination, it’s one of those show business awards that I realized early I can’t get emotionally vested in. The Futurama guys have a formula for figuring out which episode will be submitted. I think it has something to do with each writer getting a shot at the statue. And then from then on it’s just politics.

You’ve also done work on ‘Disenchantment’, giving you the distinction of having worked on all three of Matt Groening’s shows. What’s your relationship like with him?

I can’t help but laugh at this question. I’ve run into him twice out in public over the years and he didn’t recognize me. Once at the Moscow Cat Circus! But that humbling fact aside, he’s a genuinely nice, funny person devoid of pretence and he’s said some very complementary things about my work. However, it’s all business. Like virtually all primetime shows, he’s with the writers at their separate production office. Animation production takes place in a different geographical location. My face time is limited to usually 2-3 meeting points in a show’s schedule. Anything in between are fielded via emails routed through coordinators and assistants.

As well as short form animation you’ve been involved with several feature length productions, including ‘The Rugrats Movie’ and ‘Despicable Me’, what are the key differences between long from and short form animated projects?

I don’t think I’ve ever had a purely feature production experience. The Rugrats Movie(s) were spin-offs from TV series so some processes were grandfathered in from TV production. Despicable Me was truly off-the-wall in that the storyboard artists were working remotely from literally all over the world. No one met each other. I met with Chris Renaud once. I was not allowed to see the entire script, only pages here and there. It was called “Evil Me” at the time. I was truly working in the dark and ultimately, they didn’t use anything I drew. Which to me seemed par-for-the-course: this was one harebrained, inefficient, right-hand-doesn’t-know-what-the-left-hand-is-doing way to make a show. Again, I predicted it would fail. Again, I was wrong.

At the time I was working on Despicable Me, Gru looked like Snape from Harry Potter and there were no minions yet, just an “Igor” kind of 2nd banana that was a shorter version of the final Gru design.  

So my takeaway from those experiences is that I prefer TV production. You don’t have the luxury of a feature schedule, but there is less time for executives to get replaced, sundry monkey-business and creatives pulling the rug out from under you. However, TV is catching up in those regards. See below.

Do you have a scene or episode you’re particularly proud of working on?

I feel fulfilled and proud of directing and being supervising producer on Hey Arnold: The Jungle Movie. I was empowered to work in every aspect of the process and benefit from my experience to make it the smoothest running ship and happiest crew ever. Only at the very end did the executives get into overdrive meddling. But it ran well and looked good. It may not be as funny as my prime time stuff, but I think we elevated the material across the board; writing, design, animation quality. And it was a project put in mothballs 15 years before being resurrected. So it completes me in a way.

Ultimately, I believe work is about relationships and quality of life. The shows where you were empowered and respected and not overworked due to inefficiency are the shows I’m proud to work on. As Jim Duffy would always say, “It’s only a cartoon.”

Often sequences are cut or revised before broadcast. Do you have any favourites that didn’t make it in?

If I had, I’ve forgotten them.  

What are the biggest changes you’ve seen in the industry over your time and what do you think the next big change will be?

The trend seems to be as I get better and more efficient at my job, creators and writers (especially in streaming prime-time) are becoming more entitled, indecisive, mecurial and demanding. As processes have evolved in digital technology, we’ve opened the door for those in power indulging in more rewrites, revisions, reviews, etc. Despite the technical advancements, animation remains expensive and time intensive and good artists (especially in TV) have to work intelligently and diligently on tight schedules to produce funny, inspired, detail-oriented work. Rewrites and revisions burn out artists and make us feel like office machines and though our overlords pay for the last minute re-dos, they are often throwing out higher quality work for patchwork revisions that lower the overall quality of a show.

Who inspired you as a young animator and who do you look to now?

Ironically, I never saw myself becoming an animator. I did do some stop-motion on Super 8 as a kid. But that was because I didn’t have access to peers to act and help. What inspired me were live action directors with strong, individual styles: Orson Welles, Stanley Kubrick, Peter Greenaway and Terry Gilliam. I think of these guys in essence as “live-action-animation directors”. The stylization in their sequence planning, shot selection and composition as well as how production design integrates in their storytelling reminds me of how background design and art direction naturally occur in animation production.  

I’m sure there are new visionaries out there, but I’ve become so disenchanted with modern cinema, I rarely see new movies anymore. I find streaming TV much more interesting. Current movies strike me as self-consciously mannered and hyperactive. I find it endlessly fascinating looking back into cinema history before movies had to begin with three or four production company logos whooshing noisily about.

What advice would you give to people looking to break into the animation industry?

I’ve seen an improvement in the college educated animation students over the years. They seem to be of a higher intellectual standard than before. They aren’t as thrown by the rigors of schedule and they ALL can draw circles around me.  

Be original in your own work, but also be a craftsman (as opposed to purely an artist) who can take criticism neutrally and have the tools to fit in the grand scheme of a show that might challenge your personal aesthetics.  

Denis Sanders, a directing teacher I had in college said the director’s job is to be “an expert at all things”. In animation, that translates into intellegently knowing what to draw. If a character is looking under the hood of a car, know what an internal combustion engine looks like and what reasonable pieces you can have your character toss out of said engine. The distributor, the carburettor. Find and use reference! Go that extra step and inform your work with the texture of reality.

Don’t regurgitate old tropes. A trite example of what I’m talking about: If a character is peeking at another, avoid the obvious keyhole in the door trope. Keyholes aren’t in doors anymore. It’s been a cliche from the beginning of cinema. Rather, crack the door open, slide your cellphone under the door, look through a window or punch a hole in the door and look in. Like I said, this is a trite example, but making non-obvious choices rather than knee-jerk non-choices makes cartoons fresh and funnier.

What animated shows do you currently watch and what’s your opinion on the current state of animation?

It’s a terrible admission, but I’m not watching anything in animation. There’s a lot of animation that seems to be just writer-driven, animated live-action sit-coms. There isn’t a reason for them to be animated. Those are the kind of jobs I get offered a lot. It seems like a more trouble than it’s worth.

Who are some young animators you think we should be looking out for?

Gosh, I don’t know.

What projects are you currently working on?

I’m productively unemployed at the moment.

Where can people follow you on social media?

I only do tumblr: mashymilkiesinc.tumblr.com

#The Simpsons #Futurama #Eye on Springfield #Raymie Muzquiz #Not tall or wide

[rebelscum-2187]

So after nearly 22 years of life on this planet, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am high functioning autistic. I believe I fell through the cracks of an early diagnosis for the following reasons:

1.) I am Female (I learned how to mask myself very early on)

2.) I have a gifted IQ (above 130) and was classified as such in 4th grade so no one considered that I could be both ASD and intellectually gifted.

I am in the beginning stages of unmasking and am currently seeking an official diagnosis. Right now, I’m trying to write down everything I know about my neurodivergent experience so here’s a list of things I’ve experienced and believe to be relevant. If you can relate or you understand please comment and share! I’m new to this community and it feels so good to finally meet people who understand and can relate. Ok, Here we go.

“So the general population doesn’t memorize scripts to movies or watch the same one every day for a year?”

“People think it’s weird that I prefer to have subtitles on when I watch stuff, even though I don’t have damaged hearing”

“I watch movies with subtitles because I won’t understand what’s said if I don’t read it. I have no hearing issues.”

“I cannot hear/understand someone if I have one ear bud in and one out. Too much sensory input at once.”

“I thought I had a hearing deficit because I literally could not understand people at church or parties or other places with a lot of background noise, and I was so confused when they told me my hearing was normal.”

“I love star wars. Not just love but I could tell you what planet each character is from and what kind of ship they use, what model droid that one is and I will gladly talk about it all day if you let me. Everyone now gets me Star Wars stuff for my birthday and holidays”

“Eye contact is so uncomfortable for me that sometimes it ‘burns’ to maintain it, but then I overcompensate and stare too intensely. Over the years, being female, I’ve forced myself to make eye contact for a certain number of seconds and then look away a certain number of seconds but I’m concentrating so hard on that, that I don’t remember anything that was said to me.”

“Giving me verbal directions is a special kind of hell. I need it written down.”

“I can memorize pictures of things and exactly where every kid sat in my 10th grade US history class as well as my 9th grade geometry class.”

“I never fit in anywhere, in my childhood, most of my adolescence, except the swim team and my new church.”

“Team sports are the worst. I can’t communicate fast enough, I’m bad with hand eye coordination and keeping track of a ball. I excelled in individual sports and fell in love with swimming.”

“I often found it much easier to make friends with older kids because I could have intelligent conversations with them and their good social skills could make up for my lack of social skills.”

“But, I had a few friends that were considerably younger who I could still play imaginatively with dolls when I was 13 and one particular friend was 9. I had a lot of trouble getting a long with her sister who was the same age as me.”

“It physically pains me to hear someone mispronounce a word, spell something wrong, or make a grammatical mistake. I corrected my cousin A LOT when we were kids, she frequently got mad and I couldn’t understand why. My grandma would tell me to stop because correcting people is rude.”

“One of my special interests as a kid was dolphins. I was 5-6 years old and I remember being so excited when my mom let me check out like 10 books from the library and I read them quickly and multiple times.”

“I corrected a teacher one time about dolphins. She said dolphins weren’t whales and I knew FOR A FACT that ‘dolphins were a type of small whale’ because I read it in one of my books. She laughed at me and so did the rest of the class and I felt stupid even though I was right. This led to me suppressing my knowledge and real self and ultimately more masking.”

“As per that last one, my memory is impeccable.”

“I had another special interest in dogs when I got a bit older. My mom bought me a book with every kind of breed of dog, where they came from, their temperament, their size, everything. I can still, to this day, tell you the breed of dog just by looking at it.”

“I always wanted a best friend but never had one. I had groups of friends but never someone who would call me their best friend. When I got a boyfriend in high school, I was so excited because he called me his best friend and he was mine and I finally had that feeling reciprocated. He also had a gifted IQ and dyslexia, ADHD and a few other things so we understood each other quite well.”

“I can’t tell if someone is flirting with me because I can’t read between the lines. I also don’t know how to flirt because if I like a guy too much I get soooo nervous and I stumble over my words and it’s a disaster.”

“When I liked this guy (last year, 2019) I would freeze up so bad when I talked to him that I rehearsed every conversation I wanted to have with him so I wouldn’t mess it up. I would write topics in the notes section of my phone before hanging out with him so I’d remember what to ask him. It made for very awkward and forced conversations and probably drove him away.”

“Sarcasm and jokes almost always go over my head. The boyfriend I had in high school was very funny and outgoing but used a lot of sarcasm and it always caused disagreements because I took him seriously when he was being sarcastic.”

“I talk slowly and very monotone.”

“I have no difficulty reading in my head and can read/comprehend it well, but reading aloud is difficult and I often stumble over words and mess up.”

“I need directions repeated multiple times before I understand.”

“I went to the beach to hang out with some church friends yesterday. They all play spike ball and are so confused as to why I sit there and don’t play. I’ve tried playing spike ball but it involves way too much hand eye coordination and I’m so bad at it that it’s embarrassing. So I don’t play.”

“That same night, a group of them said ‘let’s play uno!’ And I was so happy to play something familiar that didn’t involve a lot of coordination. Then they said ‘we’re playing SPICY uno, right?’ And immediately my heart sank because I knew they were playing a different way that I wasn’t familiar with. Again, receiving verbal directions was hell and I didn’t understand it. I was so bad at it and wasn’t getting it, and in the middle of the game I had the urge to cry. I wanted to cry because I couldn’t even get this right. I suppressed the urge, of course, so they wouldn’t think I was even more weird than the already suspected. Another group of people that I wouldn’t fit in with.”

“Making friends has always been so difficult. Once I make a good friend I hang on to them for as long as possible even if they’re not very nice because I’m scared I’ll have to make a new one if I lose them. And we all know how hard making new friends is for me.”

“I’m a perfectionist. Especially with my art projects. When I took a painting class I realized I do it the wrong way. You’re supposed to paint layer by layer over the entire canvas and focus on small details at the very end. I work on one small area at a time and do small details too soon. I often spend way too much time on small details before I realize that the larger shape of the object isn’t proportionate and then it’s too late.”

“I won’t even attempt tasks if I know I can’t do them perfectly.”

“I have perfect pitch. I don’t know if that has anything to do with autism or that I just started music lessons when I was young. I can tune instruments perfectly without a tuner or reference note and I never understood why my orchestra teacher had me play the A key on the piano over and over again while she walked around and tuned everyone’s instruments when I could do it without any reference. I can hear it in my head.”

“When my parents got me a keyboard at age 7-8, they were impressed because I could sit down, without listening to any song and find the notes of a song I liked by ear. I still do that today but my piano is very out of tune and it bothers me.”

“Autistic boys tend to isolate and not care about concealing their stims or weird behavior but girls don’t. I am a ‘loner’ and always have been but I want so badly to belong and have friends and socialize, but I’ve always been so bad at it that I strike out every time. I often drink at social gatherings because it helps me loosen up and talk more freely. I guess it helps me lose the mask for a while.”

“I HATE people touching me. I’ve always hated it and still hate it to this day unless it’s someone I’m super comfortable with. I’ve been told I have the ‘dead fish hand shake’ and I’m an awkward hugger. My friend picked me up from behind and carried me for a few seconds because we were all goofing off and having fun but afterwards I was so mad at him I got really quiet and didn’t talk for a while. I told him later on the ride home that if he did that again I would slap him. “

“Everyone thinks it’s weird that I don’t like touching people, and some of my friends who also don’t like touching people were abused and I always thought, ‘there had to be a reason, maybe I was abused as a kid and repressed it.’ It’s been so long and I’ve finally realized that maybe it’s just because I have Aspergers or ASD. “

“When I make sarcastic remarks or jokes I often have to clarify because I say them in such a monotone way that people think I’m serious.”

“I’ve always joked that I’m just really clumsy and uncoordinated, and chalked it up to being tall and lanky. That’s why swimming was the perfect sport for me. Little to no risk of injury and not much hand eye coordination needed to be good at it. Just hours of practice, technique and endurance.”

“I also injure myself quite a lot because I’m ‘a klutz.’”

“Stims: I scratch my head and then smell my fingers and I will do this for hours if I am able (I know that one is weird so I only do it at home) popping my knuckles a ridiculous amount of times when I feel uncomfortable and don’t know what to do with my hands. I twirl my hair constantly (that one is pretty socially acceptable so I do it in class nonstop). I tap my foot or bounce my leg, I make weird facial expressions and forget to hide those. People notice but they often think it’s funny because I’ll make a face if someone says something dumb and make an expression that people seem to relate to. I scrunch my nose if I’m uncomfortable or just whenever.”

Special interests: Star Wars, Disney (I know every word to every Disney song and I watch animated Disney movies over and over again, like literally every night) dolphins, the ocean, dogs, theology/the Bible.

“With my art work, and other things, I will get so focused on a painting that I will work non stop for 8-9 hours (all day basically) and not eat because I’m so focused that I forget to eat.”

“I think I slur my words a lot and sometimes my friends will laugh and be like ‘did you just say ____.?!?!’And I’ll clarify and they will continue laughing and say ‘oh it sounded like you said this.’ I hate when that happens.”

“Loud noises really bother me. I jump if I hear an unexpected loud noise and I hate people yelling, even if it’s not directed at me, it makes me want to cry. “

“I loved the color blue so much as a kid (I still do) but my entire wardrobe was basically different shades of blue t-shirts. I also only ever wore baggy t-shirts and baggy cargo shorts (I kinda dressed like a boy) because it was comfortable and I didn’t like getting comments if I looked “cute today”. I hated the attention. I also never ever wore my hair down to school. It always had to be up in a tight pony tail. I still don’t like my hair being in my face to this day and wear it up almost every day.”

“The other day, I was hanging out with a friend and she was trying to tell a story but I kept getting distracted and interrupting her. She said, ‘Emily, you kind of interrupt people a lot.’ At first I was hurt, but then I realized it’s not entirely my fault and it’s an autistic thing.”

“I mask so much that I have rehearsed responses to social interactions and will often get so nervous or start speaking from the script before I realize I’ve said the wrong response. Of course I’ll think about it all day after that and think of ‘well great, so and so thinks I’m weird now.’”

#autistic community #autistic life #aspergers #autistic problems #autistic girl

[365days365movies]

January 6: Last Action Hero (Epilogue)

First thing first, I do indeed like this movie. It’s got a cult following, and if you look it up on Tumblr, you can see that this cult following is present on this very site! So, if you’re in that cult following, well...

I’ve got good news and bad news, to quote the Dean. Yes, I’ve been rewatching Community, what of it? Anyway, I do like this movie...and it’s an absolute mess that makes no sense when you really think about it.

Rather than go into my feelings on it now, I’ll just put up the review, OK? Let’s go. And get ready for a lot of words. I know, atypical of me.

Review

Cast and Acting

I appreciate that Arnold was, essentially, making fun of himself throughout this movie. And in the end, he almost injected some character depth into Jack Slater. Almost. THe movie itself didn’t really let him, but I’ll get into that in the next section. Austin O’Brien does fine with Danny, but he doesn’t save from getting juuuuuust a little annoying there around the middle. Again, there’s obviously something deeper to the character, but the movie didn’t let O’Brien explore any of that depth. But then again, he’s also far too emotionless in the movie, considering the events that happen within it. Unfortunately, that’s common for ‘90s movie kid protagonists, and it’s very jarring in this example. On the flip side, Charles Dance is fantastic. Seriously. I love him. Dance actually appears to be taking this role seriously throughout most of the film. Toward the end, he starts to get a little hammy during that ending villain speech (a speech literally about film villains), but he’s a great casting choice, and a great actor. But then, it’s Charles Dance. Who’s surprised by that? 

Prosky’s Nick is extremely endearing. Despite his lack of screen time, he quickly became one of my favorite characters in the film as well, placing second above Slater but below Benedict. Prosky also doesn’t get a lot of time to inject much character into Nick, but we still get a sense of who this man is. Everybody else is fine; they play the characters that they’re supposed to play, no complaints there. In fact, any complaints belong in the next section. A couple of standouts amongst this supporting cast includes Tom Noonan’s Ripper (terrifying, and played very well), Bridgette Wilson’s Whitney/Meredith Caprice (the first film role gimmick to her character makes me smile), and Art Carney in his last film role. 

Cast and Acting: 6/10

Plot and Writing

THERE IS WAY TOO MUCH IN THIS GODDAMN MOVIE. OK, let me explain. Zak Penn and Adam Leff wrote a story for the movie, parodying ‘80s action films like Die Hard and Lethal Weapon. This was Penn’s first movie, and he’d go on to some success including writing the story for The Avengers with Joss Whedon, alongside a few great movies, and many...not great ones. Anyway, they sold the story, and the screenplay duties were handed to Shane Black, the writer for, uh...Lethal Weapon. OK. Black, in case you didn’t know, tends to inject his screenplays with irreverence and meta humor. Check out his earlier movie The Monster Squad (I love that goddamn movie), and his later movies Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (on the list) and Iron Man 3 (form your own conclusions from that). That screenplay is VERY different from the original, and only kept a few elements. And a bunch of script doctors and edits later, and you have...a mess.

THIS MOVIE IS A MESS. IT IS ALL OVER THE PLACE. There are SO many potentials for character development and plot points that are unexplored, while the number of meta jokes and commentary and film references are SO FREQUENT that they end up breaking the entire concept of the movie. Here’s an example of what I mean: WHERE IN THE SHIT IS THE MOVIE UNIVERSE SET? Weird question, but think about this. In Slater’s world, there’s a widely accepted cartoon cat cop voiced by Danny DeVito. And, just...how? How does that work? If Danny gets zapped into the movie, that means that all of the stuff, ALL of the stuff that we see in the movie is in Slater’s universe. And that makes...no sense. Unless the film franchise is just that batshit crazy, which I doubt. This movie is absolutely crazy, and it ends up breaking itself with plot holes. There are a lot more, but this section is already long, and I’m about to add a paragraph.

See, new paragraph. Why? Well, I should say this: a lot of the commentary about the film industry and action films of the day actually do work really well. The movie-in-a-movie universe does have some great references and jokes, and that stuff actually salvages the film somewhat for me. Man, I love some of that stuff...but there’s also so much of it, that it becomes draining. Plus, the balance between the movie world and the real one is heavily skewed towards the former, not giving us enough time in the real world, and missing the opportunity to have Arnold fight Jason or Freddy Kreuger. I mean...come on. Of all the missed opportunities in the world...that’s the biggest one I’ve ever heard. Whoof.

Plot and Writing: 4/10

Direction and Action

John McTiernan, the director of Die Hard, apparently didn’t have a hell of a lot of time to make this movie, and the production of this film is legendarily a mess. That said...direction was fine. I think McTiernan did OK, and he wasn’t the biggest issue with this movie. The action, on the other hand, is the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever seen...and I love it. A LOT. It’s constantly over-the-top, and I’m goddamn HERE for it, as I said before. If there’s anything else to talk about with this movie, it’s the goddamn action. Hell yeah.

Direction and Action: 7/10

Production Design

Costume and set design for this movie was sometimes pretty suthentic, similar to that of The Running Man. And sometimes, also like The Running Man, IT IS GODDAMN INSANE. The weird-ass creative choices in this movie boggle the mind. I didn’t even MENTION the dominatrix cop you see when Slater’s fired. Yeah, look it up. This movie makes no sense 50% of the time, from a viaul standpoint. And yet, sometimes, it’s just straight-up good looking, especially when you get to the real world. Look, if there’s anything I can see, its that this movie’s production design is extremely memorable. And for that...yeah, it weirdly deserves some credit. Might’ve melted by brain, but, hey, I ain’t gonna forget it!

Production Design: 8/10

Music and Editing

AC/DC, Aerosmith, Alice in Chains, Megadeth, Def Leppard, Cypress Hill. Do, uh...do I need to say anything else here? That lineup is insane, and it works pretty well! Stands out more than The Running Man did last week, and definitely brings you into the universe of the movies. Where The Running Man’s soundtrack was distilled ‘80s, this one is pure ‘90s. This one I would download on iTunes. However, it’s still not extremely memorable outside of the film, unfortunately. Better than The Running Man’s, though, I can say that.

Also, you wanna see something? Check this out.

Here’s the deal, as I see it. This movie is a complete mess. And, yeah, I gave it a 64%, which is higher than most critics would give it. But one, I’m not a critic; this is a fun hobby for me. And two...sue me. I had a good time with this movie! I laughed quite a bit throughout it, so the jokes really did work for me. Got a little annoying after a bit, but I still liked it. Would I watch this movie again? Absolutely...but probably with friends. This is definitely another good party movie. But then, it’s Arnold? Are you really surprised?

This movie, amongst EVERYTHING ELSE, sets itself up as a buddy cop movie. That’s actually a pretty common action-comedy formula, right? But I’ve seen most of the old classic buddy cop movies...so how about a new one?

January 7, 2021: The Nice Guys

#last action hero #jack slater #arnold schwarzenegger #austin o'brien #danny madigan #charles dance #benedict #robert prosky #tom noonan #f murray abraham #frank mcrae #anthony quinn #bridgette wilson #art carney #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year #movie challenge #movies #action movies #action genre #action #userel #userrobin #animusrox #vhs-ninja #mygifs #action january

[k-llama-llama]

Christmas Radio

X1 AU: 12th member

Mya x X1

Mya needs some supportive friendship from Junho

A/N: ALSO CHECK OUT MY PATREON FOR ACCESS TO EXCLUSIVE CONTENT AND EARLY ACCESS (patreon.com/kllamallama)

Requests are closed, but your feedback is still greatly appreciated!

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

“They’re really going to let us speak on the radio?” Mya bounced around excitedly. “This is amazing!”

“It’s just a merry christmas message, Mimi. It isn’t that exciting.” Dongpyo rolled his eyes.

“It’s amazing!” She growled. “I love Christmas!”

They were waiting in the recording studio at the radio station, getting ready to record their vocals for the message. Mya was thrilled to be taking part in their first activity in a while, even though it was something as simple as a radio interview.

“Here are you cards!” Their manager walked into the room, handing out the cards with their lines on them so they could start to review them.

Seungwoo passed Mya her’s and she quickly skimmed for her lines, ready to memorize them all and do her best.

“We have five minutes, so everyone get ready.” The manager directed them to sit around the table in front of their microphones.

Mya read her script again. Her Korean wasn’t amazing, but she could still recognize her own name. But it wasn’t there. In fact, the only line highlighter for her was the final one, where they would all say ‘merry christmas’ together.

“You good, Mimi?” Minhee kicked her foot under the table.

She could see his card, which had two lines on it.

She nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I’m good. Just excited.”

“Alright, let’s go!”

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” The all cheered together, continuing to clap and cheer until the light went off, signalling that they were done recording.

“That was great guys!”

“We’re done all ready?” Hyeongjun pouted.

“It’s okay, we’ll be back in a week or two to record the New Years message.” Their manager reassured them. “Get your stuff, we’re heading out.”

Mya watched as the manager went to speak to the radio director, as all of the boys hurried out into the lounge to collect their stuff.

Swallowing her fear and forcing herself to look confident, Mya walked forward, stopping in front of the two men.

“Excuse me?” She squeaked, confidence immediately gone.

“Did you need something, Mya?” Their manager asked.

She bit her lip. “I was um...just wondering if...for the New Year’s....New Year’s message... I could...”

“Oh my god, you actually understand this?” The radio director rolled his eyes. “Good call on the line distribution.”

Mya swallowed, eyes wide. “I’m just...just nervous. I can speak Korean well.”

“I can speak Korean well.” He mocked her accent with a light laugh. “If you’re trying to ask for more lines...maybe when you can speak clearly.”

Mya looked to her manager, mouth falling open as she realized that he wasn’t going to say anything.

“But...but I can...”

“Mya!” Their manager cut her off. “Please don’t argue about this. Make it easier for everyone and just go get your stuff.”

“I-” His look was final, and Mya felt herself shrinking into the floor. “Okay.”

She turned and left the room. She grabbed her bag and marched right past the boys, thankful that her seat was in the back of the van and she would be able to ignore the others.

It wasn’t fair. She worked so hard on her Korean, but it was never good enough. It didn’t matter how good she got, she was always just going to be the little Japanese girl that no one would take seriously.

The entire drive home Mya stayed quiet. Her head leaning against the window and her eyes being closed was enough for the boys to leave her alone. The only time she was disturbed was when Hangyul tapped her on the shoulder to let her know that they were home.

“You tired, Mya?” Seungyoun asked, giving her a light poke as she stepped out of the van.

She nodded. “Yeah, I just want to go to sleep.”

The boys decided that they wanted to watch a movie, which was perfect for Mya. She went into her room and changed into her duck pyjamas, before twisting her hair into a bun and crawling into bed. 

She yanked the covers over her head, trying to block out the events of the day.

She was so stupid. Why did she think it would be a good idea to ask for more lines. She’d just embarrassed herself.

“Mya?” A voice called into the room.

She peeked one eye out, returning under the covers when she saw Junho looking through the door.

“Sleeping.” She replied.

“No you’re not.” He closed the door behind her. “Are you sick or something? You never turn down movie night.”

She rolled to face the wall, still completely hidden by the blanket. “I’m just tired.”

Mya felt him sit down on the mattress next to her, and then seconds later his hands were poking at the covers, trying to figure out where amongst the pile of blankets and pillows she was hiding.

“Mimi...” He whined. “Come out and talk to me.”

“No, I - OW!” She flung the covers back as he poked her in the rib. “Careful!”

He didn’t look apologetic at all. “See, it worked.”

“Just let me sleep.” She insisted, trying to roll back under the covers.

Junho pinned them down, trapping her and preventing her from hiding. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“C’mon, Mimi.”

“Get a life, Cha Cha.” She glared at him.

“Ooh.” He laughed. “Now I know something is wrong. You’re never mean.”

“I’m just tired.” She repeated. 

Junho gave her a look of pure exasperation. “I know you better than that. Is this because you didn’t have many lines in the radio broadcast? I only had two.”

“Not many. Any.”

“What?”

Mya sighed. “I didn’t have any lines.”

“You didn’t?” He tried to think back. He’d been so worried about trying not to mess up that he hadn’t realized, but she was right. “Well, maybe they forgot? It’s fine, we’ll make sure you get lines for the New Year’s one.” He patted the top of her bun, thinking he’d solved it.

Mya shook her head. “I asked. The radio guy said my Korean was too bad.”

Junho’s mouth fell open. “What? That’s insane. We’ll talk to our manager then and-”

“Our manager agreed with him.” Mya flipped over so her face as buried in the pillow. “And they laughed at me.”

“They laughed?” Junho rubbed her back. “Mimi, is this why you were sad on the drive back? You could’ve told us.”

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself more.”

“How would you embarrass yourself?” He demanded. “Mimi, you’re an accomplished rapper in a language you’re just learning to speak. That’s amazing.”

“My accent makes me sound stupid.”

“No, it makes you sound like you’re from somewhere else. But your Korean gets better every single day.”

Mya sighed. “I guess so. But it still isn’t enough.”

Junho flopped down next to her so he could look her in the eye. “Mimi, this is ridiculous. Let’s tell Seungwoo and he’ll help us take care of it.”

“Or maybe he’ll laugh at me too.” She pressed her face back into the pillow. “I’m just never going to talk again.”

“A silent rapper, you know that won’t work.” Junho poked her cheek. “You know we’d never laugh at you.”

“You laughed at me this morning.”

“You confused the words for cat and tiger, it was adorable.” He insisted. “You know we’ve got your back when it counts, right?”

Mya turned her face slightly to look at him. “Right.”

“Good! So let’s go tell Seungwoo, and he’ll talk to our manager and make them let you have lines.” He pulled her up into a sitting position.

“I don’t want to make them.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t want to make you guys look bad.”

“You won’t!” He flicked her in the forehead. “We’d rather you speak with us with a cute accent than you get sad or ignored. You’re a part of the team and we want to hear you speak.”

Mya gave a tiny smile. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He stood, pulling her with him. “Duck pyjamas, really?”

She looked down at the fluffy pink and yellow pyjamas. “They’re really warm.”

“Whatever?” He laughed, “let’s go.” He started to pull her out of the room.

“Hey, Cha-Cha?” 

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you have to make the word for cat and tiger so similar?”

He snorted. “So that we’d get to laugh when you said you watched a video of a tiger playing the piano.”

#x1 #x1 imagines #x1 au #x1 reactions #x1 ships #x1 12th member #female!kpop #female member kpop #requests open #au #kpop #imagines #imagine #kpop au #kpop imagines #kpop imagine #yohan #wooseok #seungyoun #seungwoo #hyeongjun #dohyon #hangyul #minhee #junho #eunsang #dongpyo

[ronninoir]

Can I Steal You for a Second? CH16

Summary: Adrien is forced to participate in a new dating show, but becomes more excited when Ladybug says she’ll participate as her civilian self.

AKA: AU where Adrien doesn’t know Marinette, the superheroes are 22 and Gabriel is mean and ruthless but not Hawkmoth.

Read on AO3

Start from the beginning Chp 1 on AO3

Chapter 16

(Please enjoy this EXTRA LONG chapter because I can and I hope you're ready for what this chapter entails, cause it's a fun one.)

Marinette woke up excited. She was going to get to see Adrien today! It felt as though the whole house was buzzing. Alice came back from her one-on-one with a rose and Juliette was calmly helping Hanna get ready. Everyone else was in a frenzy. They knew that with so many girls on one date, they would have to fight for time. Marinette was just hoping that some girls (cough cough Lila) didn’t take that literally.

When it was time to leave, Marinette and Hanna gave Juliette a hug. “Have fun! Kick some ass!” Juliette called as they ran for the van, which made both Hanna and Marinette burst into giggles the minute the set foot on the van. The ride didn’t feel very long with all of the girls chatting with each other and in no time, they were pulling to a stop.

They were greeted by a producer who led them inside a warehouse with a smile. As they followed, they were greeted with what was obviously a film set of some sort. It looked a lot like what the mansion looked like on Cocktail Party nights with cameras and lights and microphones everywhere. They walked further into the space and was greeted both by Adrien, who looked handsome as always, and another man who looked to be in his late 20s.

“Hello ladies, and thank you for joining me today,” Adrien began, smiling at all of them in turn. “I have something super exciting planned for you. Most of you may not know this, but my mother was an actress before she disappeared. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to star in a movie and today we will be doing just that. I have here with me a popular film director, Jean Vigo, who is going to be directing our film today.”

The other man stepped forward and addressed the girls, “Yes, hello to you all. Today we are going to be filming a short movie, which will be a mystery. Someone has stolen Adrien’s heart and he will have to search through the list of suspects to see who has it. All of you have assigned parts and will be fitted for costumes. First, let’s pass out scripts and I need you to begin memorizing lines.”

Marinette waited as a crew member stepped forward and began calling out the girls’ names. They each had a script, which was about 13 pages long, with their names on it and their highlighted lines marked. Marinette would be playing the role of the undercover detective, who was sent to aid Adrien in his investigation without him knowing.

Marinette was actually really excited about this. Although she had been separated from Hanna, who was playing the role of a lawyer, Marinette, out of all the girls, would get to spend the most time with Adrien while practicing and shooting.

She was in the first group to be fitted for costumes, which meant she’d be memorizing her lines while waiting on everyone else to be fitted. She was wearing this sexy red dress that had a low neckline and the sleeves were off-the-shoulder while going into a full long sleeve. It had a sparkle to it, and clung to Marinette in just the right places.  It also had a fake holster on her thigh, which made Marinette feel both sexy and uncomfortable. Inside the holster was a fake gun, a fake knife, and her badge. Right at the end of the movie, after Marinette revealed that she was the undercover cop, she would seductively pull out her badge and gun. The costume department did a wonderful job dressing her and she was waiting for the rest of the group to be done. She was spending some time memorizing her lines when she heard a shrill scream from nearby.

“OH MY GOSH! I can’t believe that I DON’T get to kiss Adrien in the movie! Who in the WORLD wrote this script? And you’re making me wear THIS? Is this EVEN a Gabriel original, because I’m a model and know good style. This is NOT good style! This is TRASH and I REFUSE to be a part of this!”

Marinette had to stifle an eye-roll. Lila was already causing a scene and they had only just arrived at the date. Marinette was silently hoping that Adrien would hear about this outburst and have a good reason to kick her out, but she tried not to get her hopes up.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Rossi. But, that’s your assigned costume and not every girl can have a kiss scene with Adrien. Miss Dupain-Cheng doesn’t have a kiss scene and she’s not complaining.” Why did I have to get dragged into this? Marinette wondered as she slowly turned towards the crew member talking with Lila. Lila chose that moment to shoot Marinette a glare, which Marinette returned with a smile.

“Well if Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng can get over it, then I guess I can too. She is the favorite after all. I want to be just like her.” Lila’s voice was as sweet as a macaroon and stung like poison. Lila slowly approached Marinette and she took that time to size her up. Lila was currently barefoot, and Marinette discovered that she wasn’t as tall as she made herself seem, only a couple of inches taller than Marinette. She was also dressed in a typical maid outfit, black and white dress, modest skirt length, odd looking headband. She was very angry, though, and Marinette knew something was about to go down and was preparing herself for a fight. But, when Lila put her hand gently on Marinette’s shoulder and leaned forward towards Marinette’s ear, she was so in shock she didn’t do anything.

“Come with me,” Lila whispered in a deadly way.

 Marinette did as she was told, half curious and half trying not to make more of a scene. The two girls ended up in a bathroom together, since the cameras can’t follow anyone into a bathroom.

Lila roughly pushed Marinette inside and after Marinette had righted herself with a frown, she crossed her arms and stared Lila down. Lila copied her stance and crept closer to Marinette.

“I knew you would be the problem child on the first night.” Marinette rolled her eyes but Lila ignored it. “You have done nothing but ruin all of my well thought out plans. I am meant to marry Adrien Agreste. You have no hope of winning his affections and honestly, you’re so pathetic I’m having trouble seeing you as actual competition. You need to sit down and leave me and my future husband alone, do you hear me? If you keep up this ‘I’m the perfect child’ act, I’ll have no choice but to turn all of your friends against you and force the public to see me as the good guy.”

Marinette had to admit that the speech was slightly terrifying. Thankfully, being Ladybug for so long, had rubbed off some of that courage and strength into her normal, everyday life. Plus no one talks about her Kitty that way. “Leave me alone. You have no ‘right’ over Adrien and you don’t own him. He is here to make his own decisions and you have to play by the rules just like everyone else.”

Lila paused, but only for a minute, before stepping even closer to Marinette. They were merely inches away when she dropped her voice and whispered with a straight tone, “Give me your dress.”

“Excuse me?” Marinette asked incredulously, while taking a step back to better look at Lila.

“I said, give me your dress. I’m going to play the sexy detective and you are going to play the pathetic maid and just spend the entire movie dusting and being annoying.”

“No.” Marinette muttered that word with all of the contempt and confidence she could muster.

Lila looked as though she had been slapped and reached out and pulled on a sleeve of Marinette’s dress. “Fine, then I’ll take care of it myself.” She gripped Marinette’s arm with a vice like grip and yanked down. Marinette heard the fabric ripping and watched as her sleeve fluttered to the floor. Marinette bent to pick it up, anger rising, and when she looked back, Lila had turned and was looking at herself in the mirror. She had her hand raised and was looking as if she was going to high-five herself or something odd when a huge CRACK was heard.

Marinette couldn’t believe her eyes. Lila had slapped herself. She had tears running down her face and a red hand print was beginning to appear. She gave Marinette a devious smile before reaching for the doorknob of the bathroom door.

“I can’t believe it, Marinette!” Lila yelled as she opened the door to the camera crew waiting outside. Her tears were flowing down her cheeks and someone was rushing up to Lila immediately to help her. “I thought you were my friend! Just leave me alone!” Lila cried as she was ushered away by a producer. Marinette could only stare after her in shock as a producer rushed up to her and said, “Well, looks like we need an interview.”

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

Adrien had just finished putting on his costume and was working on his lines when the producer who had originally told Adrien about Gabriel’s plans for the show, Mark, rushed up to him in a hurry. He’d never seen a producer rush before and was curious as to what the occasion would be.

“So sorry to bother you Adrien, but something’s happened you need to know about.”

Mark’s tone of voice put Adrien on edge. He stood up quickly, forgetting his script and followed him to a room off to the side, near where the girls were getting ready. Inside was Lila and she looked a mess. She was dressed in an adorable maid outfit that actually made Lila seem older and more mature. Adrien’s attention, however, was quickly drawn to the red handprint shaped mark on her cheek and the tears running down her face.

“Oh my gosh, Lila what happened?”

At that, she broke down into sobs, and between the sobs Adrien was able to piece together the story. She was in the bathroom fixing her make-up, when Marinette came storming and claiming that Lila was ruining all of her plans and that she was meant to be with Adrien. Lila tried to tell her that she meant no harm when she freaked out and told Lila that she would turn all of her friends against her and that she would look like the good guy. Lila tried to calm Marinette and accidentally ripped her dress. Marinette freaked out and slapped Lila.

Adrien was having a hard time processing this. It didn’t make sense. Marinette didn’t seem like the kind of girl to go off and become violent with anyone. He thought back to the Marinette that said all of those wonderful things about him multiple times Saturday night. This didn’t sit right and he needed to get to the bottom of it. Adrien remembered what Plagg had told him, about dealing with the drama. “Lila, I’m so sorry this happened to you. Let’s get you fixed up and ready to go for the movie and I’ll see you in a bit okay?” He turned on his heel and walked right out the room, itching to find Marinette and see what her take on this was.

As Adrien searched through the warehouse where they were filming, he knew he should be memorizing his lines but was much more concerned about this. He had to do what Plagg suggested and solve this before it got too big to handle. Finally, he found Marinette, leaving another small room with a camera crew and looking harassed.

“Marinette! I’m glad I found you. We need to talk.” Marinette looked almost upset at those words but solemnly nodded and gestured for him to lead the way. He led her to the boys bathroom, knowing full well that no one else would need it and that way they could talk without the cameras following them. Maybe he could get the full truth from her with more privacy.

“So,” Adrien began watching Marinette and her reactions closely. “I was just talking with Lila.” At that, Marinette’s eyes flared. Adrien took a step back away from Marinette, but continued anyway. “She said—”

“I don’t care what she said, it's totally false. I did not touch her, I did not say anything to her except defend you when she claimed that she owned you. She is the one who ripped my dress after asking me to switch roles with her. She also slapped herself right after she threatened me and I was too stunned to say anything. Plus, who would believe me? Who in their right mind would slap themselves? Adrien,” She grabbed his arm and forced him to meet her eyes, “I promise that I have nothing to do with this.” Marinette was breathing heavily and had tears streaming down her face. Adrien noticed that she was gorgeous while determined and crying, and his heart twinged a little. He shook his head to clear it, he couldn’t be thinking of how pretty she was when he was supposed to be clearing the air.

She looked up at him with a fierce determination and he could tell that she was telling the truth. He had gotten to know her well enough to know for sure. Plus, she once told him that she always keeps her promises, and she has given him no reason to doubt her. Lila on the other hand messed with Marinette at the last rose ceremony and seems to thrive off of drama. That gave him reason to doubt her.

“You have to believe me, Adrien. I would never lie to you.”

He immediately thought of Ladybug. She had that same look in her eyes when fighting an akuma, or telling Chat that she knew where the akuma was located. He trusted her blindly and it always worked out for him. Now, he owed Marinette that same trust.

“I believe you, but the other girls won’t. Lila seems really upset,” at that Marinette rolled her eyes, “and I can’t allow this drama to be present or made to seem okay.” He paused for a minute, thinking up a plan. “Okay, I have an idea.”

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

Adrien walked Marinette to the main room where they could clearly be seen by the cameras. He made sure there was some sort of distance between them and he led her straight to the room where he had left Lila, who was graciously still there.

“Marinette, Lila, I know something happened earlier today that needs to be discussed. I’ve heard each of your takes on the story and I have decided what’s the best thing to do with both of you. Lila, I want you to be cleaned up and ready to play the maid in the movie.” Lila’s face flashed a look of anger before going back to a calm demeanor.

“Whatever you want, Adrien. But, what will happen to Marinette?” Lila asked with a sniffle, getting up calmly from her chair. Adrien was hoping that she would think he sided with her, as the rest of the girls and crew would side as well. Adrien was just hoping that he could catch the camera crew that followed the girls to the bathroom before Lila did.

“As for Marinette,” Adrien made a show of turning towards her. She did a wonderful job of looking very upset and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Adrien took a deep breath and tried to sound as much like his Father as he could. “She is going to be excused from the day-portion of the date. She and I will have a talk tonight at the evening portion and her fate will be decided then.”

Lila seemed satisfied with that answer and sauntered out of the room, making sure the give Adrien a peck on the cheek as she left. Adrien, now slightly blushing watched as the rest of the crew followed after her. He turned towards Marinette again and asked, “Can I walk you out?” She nodded and he led her towards the exit of the warehouse, making sure no one was following them.

He grabbed her hand before she got in the van. “This isn’t goodbye. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Marinette nodded and, without warning, pulled Adrien into a hug. His arms automatically wrapped around her and he couldn’t help but take in her smell and the feel of her in his arms. It was something he could get used to.

“I trust you,” Marinette whispered into his chest, where her head rested. He couldn’t help but smile at that as he let her go and opened the van door for her.

“Tonight.” He reminded her, not wanting to let go of her hand.

“Tonight.” She gave his hand a squeeze and then let go and shut the door.

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

Adrien felt a tug on his heart as he watched the car leave the lot. As soon as it had turned the corner, he rushed back inside and beelined for the main producers.

“I need footage of the fight that happened between Marinette and Lila.” He always forgot how much like his Father he could sound like until moments like these. He was directed towards the crew that followed them and was allowed to watch the tape.

All that could be seen was the bathroom door, but everything was clearly heard. The hardest part was that since there is no way to know who was saying what, exactly, both Marinette and Lila’s story could be true. He pulled aside one of the producers and asked if some sort of voice recognition could be done on the video so he could know exactly who said what. He was told that it was possible, it would just take a couple of days, maybe even a week to complete.

Adrien nodded and returned to the fake movie set, where his script and un-memorized lines were waiting.

A couple hours later, Adrien was dressed in a decent suit and casually making a movie with 11 beautiful girls. They had cut out Marinette’s character completely, and he ended up having a kiss scene with every girl willing, including Lila. Each one put their full effort into the date, even if some of them were not very good actresses. Overall, Adrien decided the date would have been more fun if Marinette had been there to enjoy it with him.

Word got around quickly (thanks to Lila, no doubt) that Marinette had been asked to leave the day portion of the date. He had to reassure a hyperventilating Hanna that Marinette would be at the night portion of the date and that he had not kicked her out of the house. He was approached by others, both worried about Marinette’s safety and claiming her innocence.

“Adrien,” the cool, crisp voice of Kagami cut through his thoughts as he watched the girls pack up to leave for the night portion. “Can we talk?” Adrien smiled at her and gestured to a more secluded corner where no cameras were sure to find them.

“What’s up?”

“It’s about Marinette. I need to tell you that she did not harm Lila.”

Adrien was a little taken aback by her statement. Kagami didn’t ever seem to interact with the other girls and only talked with Adrien privately. He had never even seen Kagami interact with Marinette, especially be friends with her enough for her to come to Marinette’s defense.

“I didn’t realize you and Marinette are close.”

“We aren’t. I just know that she is innocent. I am very perceptive of these things and I can usually read the motives or the thoughts of a person before most. When I saw Lila after the incident, her motives were clear.”

Adrien waited for Kagami to elaborate, but she didn’t. He sighed and bit back a small smile. Kagami was interesting, and someone that Adrien could definitely see himself falling for. But, there was a side of her that didn’t seem to understand a lot of social situations, much like himself. He really grew to care for her during their fencing date. He felt as though that was the first time she opened up and connected with Adrien, without even saying a word.

He knew that pushing Kagami to clarify would only lead him to be more confused, so he instead rested a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for telling me, Kagami. I appreciate you bringing more clarity to the situation.” She gave him a slight bow, like they would at the beginning of a fencing match, before walking away.

All the signs pointed to Marinette being in the right, but without a confirmed voice recognition test tonight, he was going to have to treat Marinette like the bad guy.

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

Marinette had never been more nervous for the second half of a date. Last week she was addressed by Gabriel Agreste himself, and this week she would have to be on the receiving end of Adrien’s anger, even if it wasn’t true. He had told her his plan with the voice recognition software, but if there was one thing that Alya taught her, it was that things like that take time, which means that she wouldn’t be liked by many tonight.

She had the whole afternoon to change and prepare for the evening portion of their date and was itching to see other people again. She met up with the group right outside of the hotel that was hosting them tonight, and was ushered to the back of the group as they were filmed entering.

She could feel both the cameras and Hanna watching her more than normal and she sighed as the realization that it was going to be like that the whole date hit her. She sat at the edge of the couch, right in Lila’s eye sight, and waited for Adrien to come and make his toast.

Before too long, Adrien entered, smiling and looking handsome, as usual. Just the sight of him in a suit got her heart racing and made her palms sweaty. “Long time no see, ladies.” Adrien smirked, causing all of the girls to laugh. Marinette gave a weak chuckle. “It’s so wonderful to see you all in your normal clothes, and may I say you all look stunning tonight.” Adrien’s eyes swept the group and landed on Marinette. She felt a slight blush hit her cheeks and she quickly looked down at her lap, hoping no one caught the slight edge of her smile.

“I am so excited to talk with each of you tonight and I want you all to know that I value your feelings and opinions very much.” On that ominous note, Adrien turned towards Marie with a smile and a, “Can I steal you for a second?” to which he received a nod.

Once Adrien was out of earshot, the girls began chatting and Hanna grabbed Marinette’s wrist. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”

Marinette gave her a weak smile and followed her to the closest bathroom, locking the door behind her. She then turned on both of the sinks. “What are you doing?”

“Making background noise so no one can hear what’s being said outside.” Hanna said with the most serious face Marinette had ever seen her wear.

Marinette smiled, “That’s brilliant!”

The girls retreated as far from the door as they could and Marinette explained her side of the story to Hanna. When she had finished, Hanna was shaking with anger.

“That girl! Ugh! What does she have against you to continuously target you?”

“I don’t know, but Hanna we have to let it go. I promise that I have a plan and Adrien believes me, he believes that I’m innocent.” Marinette gently placed her hands on Hanna’s shoulders, the physical touch calming her slightly.

“I just don’t want to see anything happen to you, Marinette. You’re one of my best friends, tied with Juliette of course.”

“And I don’t want anything to happen to you, which is why you need to stay out of it. I’m used to fighting people like Lila and I can’t let you get twisted in this battle she’s created.” Marinette pulled Hanna in for a hug and they just held each other for a minute. “Just think of Lila like one of the akumas I’ve had to deal with. My best friend back home told me that, ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing.’ Lila is the evil here, and I’m the good people. Just like in my stories. Good always wins.”

“Ladybug and Chat Noir always save the day.” Hanna said, pulling away from Marinette and giving her hands a squeeze.

Hanna had no idea how true that statement actually was.

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

Adrien was having flashbacks to his first night ever being the Bachelor: so many girls and very short conversations. At least this time he knew all of their names.

He had purposefully saved Lila and Marinette for last, hoping to spend more time with each of the girls smoothing out the fight from earlier. The last thing he needed was another akumatization of one of the girls. Lila was first, and he didn’t have a clue what he was going to say. Without his proof, he couldn’t confront her, so his main goal of the talk was to just keep her calm and content until he could confront her with the truth when he had it.

When Lila was instructed to interrupt his conversation with Camille, Adrien plastered on a fake smile and reminded himself that it would all be over soon.

“Hey gorgeous,” she teased as she gave Adrien a hug and a kiss. He made sure it was a short one and had her sit down with him to talk.

“How are you doing after everything today?” He asked, trying hard not to let the anger color his voice.

She had the audacity to give him a sad smile and a sniffle before replying, “I’m doing much better. Thank you so much for dealing with Marinette. She’s been so mean to me since the first night in the mansion and I just didn’t know how to tell you.” She sounded like a small child talking about their lost puppy, and Adrien worked to keep the grimace off of his face.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to endure that, especially here on the show. All I want is for all of you to be happy and comfortable while I work out how I feel about everyone.”

Lila gave a giggle that was probably supposed to be cute, but Adrien wasn’t about it. “You are the sweetest thing.” She had begun to play with his tie, which if he remembered correctly from various movies he had watched meant that she was probably flirting with him. Adrien took that as a good sign that she couldn’t see how upset he was with her.

She gave him a look that could only be described as sultry and leaned in close enough for their breaths to mix. “What is your heart saying about me?” He stuttered slightly, not prepared for their proximity for each other and knowing that the truthful answer wouldn’t please her. She took his silence as something other than the uneasiness that it was and moved even closer to him, to where she was sitting on his lap. “Or are you paying attention to what the other parts of you are saying?” Adrien gulped and her hand started to slip from his tie towards the bottom of his shirt. He quickly intercepted it and twined his fingers through hers to prevent her from trying to do whatever she was planning on doing again.

Adrien swallowed and gave a weak smile, “My heart is telling me that there is more to you than meets the eye, and that I want to get to know you even more as our time together continues.” Technically that wasn’t a lie.

“Does that mean you want me to stick around?” Lila asked playfully. He had forgotten that she had two hands, so when the other one began petting his hair, he almost jumped. But he quickly smiled to cover his skittish movements when an idea popped into his head.

“Actually, I do.” The smile on her face almost made him gag. “I was going to wait to ask you next week, but I was hoping you’d do me the honor of having a one-on-one date with me.”

Lila’s smile got bigger and she leaned in for a kiss. This one lasted longer and Adrien had a harder time pushing her off of him. “Oh, Adrien I would love to have some more alone time with you,” she gushed.

“We’re still going to have to go through the formalities with the date card and whatnot. Plus, you can’t tell a soul, it’s just between me and you for now.” She nodded and leaned in for another kiss. He was so over this kissing.

Adrien’s saving grace came in the form of heels clicking from afar, which made Lila pull back. She gracefully slid off of Adrien’s lap and gently grabbed his hand, making it look like nothing had transpired between them right as Marinette rounded the corner. Marinette smiled nervously and Adrien stood up, taking Lila with him. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to have a serious conversation with Marinette now.”

Lila nodded solemnly and pulled him in for one last hug. He counted to five before pushing her away and letting go of her hand. His gaze immediately went to Marinette and his whole body seemed to relax. He made sure to make his smile look grim as he caught her hand and led her to the chaise.

“So, how was the rest of the date?”

“What are your thoughts on today?”

Both Marinette and Adrien started at the same time, causing them both to laugh. Adrien couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on his face. “You first.”

Marinette hadn’t let go of Adrien’s hand and was playing with his fingers, like Ladybug did sometimes when he was upset. She also wouldn’t look at him. “I think you should go first.”

Adrien paused slightly, suddenly very aware of the cameras watching, before diving right in, “I know you told me your side of the story about what happened with Lila today, but I need you to know that Lila’s version is the complete opposite of yours. And that means one of you is lying to me, and that bothers me a great deal.” Adrien held up his hand as Marinette went to open her mouth to speak, and she quickly shut it, looking dejected. “Now before you say anything, I need you to know that I am analyzing the footage that was taken from outside of the bathroom and trying to piece together for myself what happened in there.”

Marinette glanced up at him slightly and spoke just loudly enough for the cameras to catch it, “What does that mean for you and me?”

Adrien bit his cheek to keep from grinning. Should fashion not work out for her, she has a serious career potential in movies. She is a wonderful actress. She is selling this so well.

“I’m going to keep you around,” Adrien said with a soft smile, reaching out to lift her chin up. Her blue eyes locked into his and he could see real hurt there. He froze, suddenly worried that Marinette may actually think that he is mad at her. He wanted to ask her right then, but since he couldn’t be sure she would answer him not in character, he moved on with the conversation as planned.

“Marinette, I really care for you. I have a serious crush and I am very interested in seeing where this relationship can go. But I need you to know, I will not date a liar. If you are the one not telling the truth, please come clean with me now, and it’ll make it easier on both of us later.”

She was still looking him in the eye and they had subconsciously moved closer together though Adrien knew he wouldn’t be kissing her tonight. “I promise you, Adrien. I’m not the one lying to you. I care about you too much to do something like that.”

Adrien smiled fully now and stood up, once again, taking the girl attached to his hand with him. Although he didn’t mind this attachment as much as the last. “Thank you for your honesty, Marinette.” He pulled her in for a hug, and with his mouth covered by her hair, whispered, “Please, please stay so we can chat.”

She pulled away and gave him a smile, which he chose to interpret as a yes. He watched her walk away and was struck with how much harder it was to see her go than any of the other girls.

Once she was out of sight, he was whisked away to choose who received the group date rose. He honestly chose a random name that wasn’t Lila or Marinette and went ahead to present it.

“Hello again, everyone. I had such a wonderful time talking with all of you and I am so grateful that I was actually able to spend time with all of you tonight. There are so many of you, it felt like my first day at the mansion all over again, but it was better because our conversations were deeper and real.” Some of the girls awed at that, and he made a mental note to thank the producer who wrote most of his speeches. He reached out and grabbed the rose sitting on the table. “One of you really opened up to me tonight and I wanted to show how thankful I am for that.” He searched the group, noticing both Lila’s awaiting eyes, and Marinette’s patient ones as his gaze landed on who he had chosen. “Zoe, will you accept this rose?”

Zoe beamed and blushed a bright red. She stood up clumsily and almost tripped, but was caught by both Adrien and Lucie grabbing her arms. “Oh goodness! Thanks,” Zoe was even more red than before as she took the rose from Adrien and quickly sat back down.

A producer stepped up and began assigning girls to rooms for interviews and Adrien watched Marinette slip away towards the bathrooms. He quickly followed.

As he got closer to her, his heartbeat quickened and his hands started to get clammy. He didn’t know why he was reacting to her like this, but he had this crazy urge to kiss her. He settled this time for a hug.

“You did a wonderful job on that speech! You made it so easy to not be super happy to be with you.” Marinette said, craning her neck to look up at him. He loved how small she was and how easily she fit into him. Her hugs reminded him of the comfort and safeness he felt when hugging Ladybug.

“You did such a great job. I was terrified you were actually upset with me,” Adrien gushed, letting a little of his worry into his voice.

“How could I be mad at a plan that you created? Lila seemed pretty happy when I saw her after you two talked. So that’s a really good sign.”

Adrien shivered a little, remembering what his talk with Lila had really been like. He looked back down at Marinette, and the urge to kiss her overcame him again. He channeled some of his inner Chat Noir and dove right in. She was clearly startled at first, and he almost pulled away. But then, he felt her lips soften against his. She began kissing him back and he realized how intoxicating kissing her was. He was on cloud-nine and he never wanted to come down. When they did break apart, Adrien was slightly out of breath, and he was pleased to see that Marinette was as well. They both stood there in the moment, just smiling at each other and forgetting that an entire other world existed around them.

“What was that for?” Marinette asked, her breathy tone doing dangerous things to his body.

“I wanted to kiss you so bad earlier, but couldn’t because I was pretending to be upset with you. I was going to go crazy if I didn’t get that kiss tonight.” Adrien realized he was sharing a lot to one of the 14 girls he was currently dating, but he didn’t feel embarrassed.

Marinette flushed a darker shade of red and just smiled at him. They both jumped when a crew member dropped something nearby, reminding them both that they were actually not alone, nor supposed to be together.

Marinette was the first to react. “Oh no, I have to go! They are going to be looking for me to interview soon!” Adrien didn’t want her to walk away, and held her hand a little longer. She leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you again Saturday at the cocktail party.” He nodded and watched her walk away once again.

Kissing Marinette was wonderful, and thrilling, and familiar. Her lips were soft, sweet, and tasted oddly like strawberry lip gloss. Something about it struck a chord with Adrien, but he pushed it away, and began searching for Mini-Natalie so he could go back to the hotel room and sleep.

~

~

~

Jean Vigo is a movie director in France, but he is not in his late 20s as he actually passed away in 1934, but his picture on Google looked the coolest so that’s why he got chosen to be the director.

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list

@momor3202

@legendaryneckjudgestudent

@discoveringmiraculouswriters

@adrianarfox

@veroocasanova

@jeminiikrystal

#can i steal you for a second #ml fanfic #ml fic #MLB #miraculous ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #ml ladybug #ml ladynoir #Ayla Cesaire #ml bachlelor au #ml bachelor #ml au #The Bachelor #bachelor! Adrien #chat noir #plagg #ml tikki #tikki #tikki and plagg #ao3 #ao3 work #original content #original character #Chris Harrison #Lila Rossi #Gabriel Agreste

[bluewatsons]

Jennifer Schaffer, The Wife Glitch, 51 The Baffler (April 2020)

Household tech makes women’s work profitable—for men

© Evangeline Gallagher

Five summers ago, I was invited to visit an eccentric acquaintance on a picturesque island off the East Coast. The island was divided into two parts: the shingled, sea-beaten summer homes of the inherited wealthy, and the year-round homes of the working people who serviced the island’s various amenities—the old-timey movie theater, the upscale restaurants, the twelve-dollars-a-beer bars.

The acquaintance and I had become friendly years prior in San Francisco, where I had been a student and he was, by his account, a high school drop-out tech millionaire. Let’s call him Matt. I’d found him funny, kind, and more down-to-earth than the archetype would suggest. Like many Silicon Valley guys, Matt’s small talk ran five sizes too large, from the purpose of fidelity in modern society to various bodily functions he was attempting to outsmart. But he always seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say in response. Our conversations often took on the appearance of a mutual interview: Matt, interviewing me as though for a job, unsubtly trying to determine how intelligent I was; me, interviewing him as though for a profile, shamelessly provoking and storing up his most memorable lines.

It didn’t seem out of character, then, when years later Matt reached out to ask me for help on a potential moonshot philanthropic venture related to artificial intelligence and education. I happily agreed, and a few weeks later, Matt invited me to join him at his summer house, graciously encouraging me to bring along my then-boyfriend. We booked tickets later that night.

When we arrived on the island, we rented exorbitantly expensive bikes and used Google Maps to find our way to Matt’s house. The weather seemed almost self-congratulatory with temperance: sunshine diffused through fast, bright clouds; heat offset by a steady sea breeze. The house itself was beautiful, stuck in time. It had belonged to Matt’s family for generations and was littered with trinkets that went back as far as the Civil War. The floor was made of long, splintered wooden planks, and the dusty windows looked out onto a semi-wild expanse of tall, bleached grass. The Atlantic was somewhere beyond the grass; you could hear it, but you couldn’t see it.

We stayed on the island for just a few days. Matt was almost constantly busy, glued to his laptop and his phone, occasionally running mysterious errands. It wasn’t until the last full day of our trip that he decided it was time to discuss the project. Hearing him talk about the potential of artificial intelligence was like reading the script to an action movie: the possibilities were exhilarating and the vision ambitious, but it was hard to believe it’d all get made. Still, I offered my perspective in earnest, and Matt listened closely before suggesting we go for a walk on the beach. We set out, climbing a set of steep, sandy paths before arriving in front of a calm sea. Waves broke, metronomic, between two panels of rich blue. Matt began to tell me, with flat-line sincerity, about how he felt it was reasonable to assume that we were living in a simulation.

I had heard this idea before, always from men for whom life looked pretty great: wealthy men, white men, intelligent men, respected men. Here was yet another. What was it about the idea that this all might be a game, someone else’s game, that struck such a chord among those who were by all accounts winning?

I thought back to another conversation we’d had in the kitchen, two nights prior. Matt had been describing his approach to dating—a topic which he’d clearly given a great deal of thought, studying the criteria that the various four-letter billionaire tech moguls (Elon, Mark, Jeff, Bill) had used when selecting a “mate.”

“I don’t want to be with someone who has my skill set,” Matt began, “I want to be with someone who has strengths in another area, who can fill in my blind spots.” He went on to describe a woman he was seeing, who he was flying out first-class the day we left. He liked, for instance, that she was good at reading people, that she was perceptive and sensitive to things like art and literature, that she was knowledgeable about cooking and food culture, that she understood his world but was not exactly of it and so could objectively add something to his field of vision. I found this odd but charming: better than the engineers I knew in college who thought it was “dating down” to be with a humanities major. Unlike them, Matt spoke eloquently about how selecting a partner was among the most pivotal choices a person made in life.

“So if we’re in a simulation,” I said, snapping back to the moment, the beach, Matt’s expectant look. “How would partnerships work?”

Matt grinned. “That would depend.”

“On what?”

“On who controlled the simulation.”

Happy Wife, Happy Life

Look: he wanted a wife. Don’t we all? Someone to think ahead about our needs; someone to make our homes and our lives orderly; someone to tend to our emotions when they’re raw and sore. Someone to track and manage the infinite details of living; someone to be responsible for our moods; someone to balance the books. We all want someone who knows us so intimately they can predict what we’ll want; someone who picks up our loose ends without complaint; someone who fills in our weaknesses with her strength; someone who does what it takes to help us succeed. Someone who attends to our desires eagerly, with a smile. Someone who means it.

But, you know, we’re progressive. We want a wife, but we want her to be happy. More than happy, we want her to be fulfilled. We want a true wife, a born wife, a wife who would feel imprisoned by any other role, so that to be our wife is in its own way a golden opportunity, a liberation. We want a wife who wears her responsibilities like a privilege.

And who could blame us! Regardless of gender expression or sexual orientation—everyone needs a wife. There isn’t enough time in the day to fulfill the demands placed on a modern human: to be available to work throughout all our waking hours; to show determination and ambition so that we are not made redundant; to service debts and taxes and run a cost-effective household; to source and consume healthful meals three times a day; to exercise our bodies the recommended amount; to maintain mental well-being amidst chaos; to care for dependents (aging parents, young children); to be present and attentive to those we interact with; to find, build, maintain, and perpetually assess the longevity of meaningful and fulfilling partnerships; to get eight hours of quality sleep. Literally: how does one do it?

For most of Western history, the answer was: the wife. Now what?

An App of One’s Own

The new answer, for those with a little disposable income, may seem obvious. Food, laundry, health, money management, well-being? There’s an app for that, honey. By which we mean: there’s underpaid labor, and a massive tech conglomerate ready to profit off that, honey! Seamless your dinner, Cleanly your laundry, Babylon your doctor’s visits, Wealthfront your savings, Headspace your sleep. Such services are either entirely automated or rely on poorly compensated human workers as a stopgap. The end goal is the same: to take work which, for most of history, has been uncompensated and drive the price of it up as high as possible to the benefit of a minute number of venture capitalists, company directors, and shareholders.

There’s an app for that, honey. By which we mean: there’s underpaid labor, and a massive tech conglomerate ready to profit off that, honey!

Of course, those with more substantial disposable income can still cut out the digital middle man and hire underpaid labor directly into their home, or proceed directly to what I like to call “artisanal wife” mode: choosing a partner with a wide set of skills who will focus their energies on servicing your various needs, without the economic imperative to pursue paid labor themselves. And then there is the highest echelon of earning power: the bunker-deep pockets of the billionaire class that reaps the profits of the underpaid workers, holding the entire sick, inverted pyramid of wealth on their shoulders like a packed delivery cooler. For those at the top, it’s always been the “lady of the manor” approach: a wife who manages an entire fleet of, you guessed it, underpaid labor. Judging by the number of extraordinarily ambitious and competent women in my graduating class whose aspirations have been funneled into marriages to hedge fund scions, the “ladies of the manor” remain in high demand.

For those without any disposable income at all—a rapidly-growing demographic made perpetually larger by tech-accelerated inequality, because irony isn’t part of Silicon Valley’s vocabulary— there are virtually no options. Most working-class women have no choice but to work one job or several—often in the precise, underpaid sectors being automated by technology—alongside providing caregiving labor at home. The direct and knock-on consequences of this second (or third, or fourth) shift labor are borne out in the growing chasm between the life expectancy of the rich and the poor. Meanwhile, the privileged middle remains perpetually marketed to by apps and products designed to give the illusion of technology-supported self-sufficiency, masking the interdependent web of individuals and stakeholders which make up any given household service.

Picture it: a bearded dad stands alone in the kitchen making a stir-fry. “Eloise?” he calls up to the ceiling, “Dinner in five.” His voice is loud but calm, pleasant. The kitchen is lit with clean blue LED lights. Four bright yellow lemons sit in a clear glass bowl, next to a full, meticulously balanced ceramic fruit platter. The only sign that there is cooking taking place is the cutting board in front of him, topped with a mound of chopped neon bell peppers. An open bottle of craft beer is placed on the center of the kitchen island; Dad wears a casual chambray button-down shirt. This is all very relaxed, the tableau suggests, but also pristine; homely, but perfect. Dad is easy-going, dinner is effortless. Eloise arrives promptly and slides into a seat at the kitchen island, where Dad serves up a nutritionally void but photogenic bowl of stir-fried cabbage. “Enjoying that?” He asks, self-satisfied, as he watches her eat. Eloise raises her eyebrows and nods. “Mum will be pleased!” Dad exclaims, and gently asks Alexa—the female voice that lives inside a smart speaker on the kitchen counter—to add stir-fry vegetables to his shopping list. She does so dutifully. Dad and Eloise retire to the sofa, where they eat ice cream together and Alexa plays a Philip Pullman audiobook.

Mum will be pleased! Or, as the identical German ad, in which the bearded British dad is simply swapped out for a slightly younger-looking bearded German dad, puts it, Mama wird sich freuen! The subtext is clear: Mother isn’t here, Mother is “leaning in.” But we—a progressive, modern family, assisted by an unobtrusive yet highly skilled and patently stylish, artificially intelligent smart speaker—are thriving.

Who Cares?

We are fast approaching the social breaking point of a historical movement in capitalism that has simultaneously brought our waged life into our private life (what’s a private life?) and the tasks of the domestic into the commodified world. In the nineteenth century, as industrial capitalism boomed, the state shunned responsibility for care work, cementing it firmly in the private sphere—giving rise to a particular kind of Victorian, feminine responsibility in the home. The twentieth century saw the rise of a “family wage” for the working class; families were expected to survive on the husband’s work alone, further ensnaring women in unpaid care roles. Pre-sexual revolution, the labor of the twentieth- century wife served as a critical support structure for the male worker. Though he was waged and she was not, the family finances depended on their combined work in clear and distinct gender roles.

During the manufacturing decline of the 1970s, as wages began to plummet for working-class men, capitalism Trojan-horsed its way into feminist liberation, warping a necessary social cause—freeing women to pursue aims outside of housework—to suit capital: freedom means working for capitalists! The result has been the normalization and subsequent necessitation of the two-wage household. Across the industrialized world, the cost of living has soared while wages have stagnated, to the point where what could once be afforded on one salary can barely be afforded on two. At the same time, right-wing commentariats lambast the low birth-rate and the death of family values, framing feminism as the root of all evil, carefully eschewing the reality that liberal and conservative governments alike have chosen the enrichment of a few over the social reproduction of the many.

Without federal assistance in the form of publicly funded childcare for all, wage protections for workers, or a universal basic income—to name but a few of the creative opportunities at hand—the individual becomes increasingly reliant on her employer. It is no coincidence that technology companies, particularly keen to co-opt and commodify historically feminized care work, offer the most pointed range of reproduction-related benefits for their employees: egg freezing and paid parental leave abound, though often not childcare.

The end result is that we now all have at least three jobs, three modes of survival to tend to: our financial survival, the survival of our communities, and the survival of our family units. The state has long shirked its responsibilities in each sphere; now, the wide, slobbering maw of the tech industry waits, ready to commodify whatever it can.

Rage Against the Machines

Perhaps you can sense the despair in my tone. Certainly, when I have broached this topic with men, the most common response has been: But come on, isn’t that better than before?

“Before” being the presumption of a wife’s place in the home as “natural” and “right,” unpaid and largely unseen? The electroshock therapy that presumption necessitated when housework drove a generation of wives clinically mad? Legal rape? Or should we go a touch further back to “wife as property”?

Is today a better state than those “befores”? Yes, of course it is, though a lobotomy might be too.

To pay wages for housework would require a wholesale transformation of the economy, revealing at the core of capitalism a fundamental reliance on the unpaid labor of women.

What troubles me, what keeps me turning the matter over and over in my head, is this: for centuries, women asked for recognition of the value of “women’s work”—which is to say, the practical labor that makes the world go round and has historically been placed on the shoulders of wives and mothers and daughters without question. Many simply asked that the work be recognized as just that: work—not a calling, not a natural state, not a pure act of love. Others asked that men take on their share of domestic labor, and in so doing, free women to pursue other, potentially more fulfilling or stimulating forms of work—and leisure. And through the Wages for Housework movement led by Silvia Federici, women even asked that that value of their work be recognized in capital’s primary currency: a wage. This demand was more radical provocation than concrete policy proposal, one which attempted to speak the language of capitalism in order to undermine it. To pay wages for housework would require a wholesale transformation of the economy, revealing at the core of capitalism a fundamental reliance on the unpaid labor of women.

How strange and predictable it is, then, that wages for housework have, at last, become widespread—but in the form of our subscription to digital services and gig economy labor. This work has become concretely valuable at the precise moment its value can be effectively captured by a small cadre of men sitting at the top of the tech industry.

This didn’t happen overnight, and it didn’t happen by accident. It is no coincidence that the first artificial intelligence boom began around the same time as the sexual revolution; no coincidence that the history of women in computing has been roundly overwritten by the myth of male coding genius; no coincidence that the voice coming out of your smart device is almost always a woman’s. Stemming from a fundamental arrogance on the part of men—the idea that work historically performed by women is so straightforward, so mindless even, that it can be effectively programmed— the latter part of the twentieth century saw a rise in technologies aimed at making traditional women’s work faster, simpler, or redundant.

Robot mistresses, digital nurses, smartphone secretaries, algorithmic wives, and app-based mommies: huge swathes of the modern tech boom are a reaction against women’s partial liberation from housework and our increasing resistance to performing unpaid and undervalued emotional and sexual labor. When small-minded men are terrified of losing something, they belittle it; they puff their chests out and stomp their feet and declare they do not need it at all, that they have something better at hand anyway. And the rise of personified technologies in particular is a mass response from a male-dominated industry to the revelations of the twentieth century: the sexual revolution and women’s movement that upended traditional gender roles, and the economic pressures requiring women to seek employment outside of the home. The first wave of at-home artificial intelligence—embodied by Amazon’s Alexa, Microsoft’s Cortana, and the nameless personality living inside the Google Home—was designed to replace or supplement roles historically filled by women: mothers, wives, mistresses, secretaries, nannies, even sex workers.

Robot mistresses, digital nurses, smartphone secretaries, algorithmic wives, and app-based mommies: huge swathes of the modern tech boom are a reaction against women’s partial liberation from housework and our increasing resistance to performing unpaid and undervalued emotional and sexual labor.

Of course, in addition to being historically female, these roles are almost always underpaid or undervalued. As philosopher Helen Hester notes, the same tasks Alexa and Cortana perform for a premium are not just ill-remunerated but often resented and mocked when performed by human women. A smart device’s insistence on helping is clever and valuable; a wife’s insistence on helping is taken for granted or viewed as frivolous nagging. It’s no surprise many women no longer want to take on the roles they’ve been programmed to perform, or that still more of us simply cannot afford to, regardless of what we desire. The system is malfunctioning; we’ve gone off script. Tech, looking for a fix to the glitch, has found it at the intersection of cheap labor, algorithms, and automation, which in concert perform thankless female labor (with no bitching or aging) for an upfront cost, to the enormous financial benefit of the overwhelmingly male industry leaders and stockholders.

Much of the writing about the sexism latent in the tech industry, and the development of artificial intelligence in particular, has focused in on three concerning realities: the dramatic underrepresentation of women at virtually every level of the industry (and the self-perpetuating, demi-god-in-a-sweat-drenched-hoodie culture that serves as both the primary cause and effect of this lack of gender diversity); the gender bias being coded into tomorrow’s (and today’s and yesterday’s) algorithms by virtue of this lack of diversity; and the portrayal of many personified tech products as servile and female, chief among them Amazon’s Alexa and the Google Home which, if not real AI, still stand as most Americans’ first experience with something even remotely close.

What concerns me as much as these developments is the broader picture of which they form only a part: a world in which the exact forms of labor women have fought to have recognized and remunerated—chief among them caretaking labor, tedious household labor, buoying-the-male-ego labor, service-with-a-smile labor—are being co-opted, monetized, and sold back to us as shiny, premium, cutting-edge tech, the intermediary step of individual households outsourcing such tasks to workers primarily from the Global South having been insufficiently profitable for the Silicon Valley brain trust. As automation rises, technology will increasingly undercut the wages of these workers; the human workers who depend on these precarious gigs are viewed by the tech industry and the broader economy as a temporary inefficiency.

This is the dark ethos of the twenty-first century: most of us are performing labor that can and will be at least partially automated. We work, and as we work, we audition for the right to continue working. There is no room at the negotiation table; any unpaid work will remain unpaid until, in due course, we will pay to have that work done for us by automation. And like that, the mainstays of human life become premium services we pay for. Like that, the value only flows up.

The Future is Fembots

Pop culture and advertising have reacted in lockstep with the rise of household technologies. Disney’s Smart House, released in 1999, showed an overworked female computer scientist developing the perfect AI “smart home” to liberate women from housework, only for the “smart home” to become increasingly unwieldy and possessive—hormonal even—after a motherless teenage boy tinkers with the code to make the artificial intelligence behave more maternally. The happy ending comes when the scientist reprograms the smart home and settles down with a nice man.

More recently, Her and Ex Machina played into the heterosexual male’s neuroses that feminine affection is, in a sense, always a ruse and as replicable as code. The British television series Humans shows male and female bots—designed to perform care labor in family households and the homes of the elderly—driven to rebellion over a desire for recognition. Many early advertising campaigns for Google Home and Alexa, like the one described above, portrayed modern men aptly assisted by gentle, obedient, disembodied women. Such visions of techno-capitalist feminism abound: women empowered by technologies that free them from the unsavory realities of pregnancy or household labor or sex; men taking on new, progressive roles as a result of their obedient female-voiced assistants.

It has been quite some time since we’ve seen a direct cultural portrayal of feminized tech that has any real teeth. But if we look back to a time before Lean In feminism, there have been more honest attempts. Much of Bryan Forbes’s 1975 horror film The Stepford Wives feels oddly familiar, even millennial in its sensibility, from its pared-back interior design, its fetishization of upstate domestic life, and its portrayal of a certain type of liberal man who—while paying lip service to progressive ideas—yearns for a wife who will let him call the shots. Based on the 1972 novel by Ira Levin, the film follows Joanna Eberhart as she moves from New York City to Stepford, Connecticut, with her husband Walter and their two children. Walter quickly joins the local Men’s Association, where former technology and entertainment moguls relax with scotch and cigars. The women of Stepford, meanwhile, are uniformly beautiful and obedient, spending their days ironing sheets, watching children, and preparing casseroles: a hybrid of tradwives, Instagram influencers, and spam bots. Their husbands adore them.

Joanna, an aspiring photographer, felt coerced into moving to Stepford, but she tries to put on a game face. Hoping that her new suburban lifestyle will offer her the chance to focus more on her art, she is understandably creeped out by the passivity of the Stepford wives and her husband’s secretive involvement in the Men’s Association. She soon forms an alliance with the two other women in town not yet obsessed with housework: Bobby, an outspoken New York feminist, and Charmaine, a tennis-playing trophy wife. Together, they attempt to start a women’s group. But when they gather the women of Stepford together, the wives fall into discussing a litany of household tips: advice on starching their husbands’ collars, brand name suggestions, and vague musings on their domestic contentedness.

In the end, it becomes apparent that these beloved wives are robots, modeled on the human wives of Men’s Association members, who are summarily murdered once their robot replacements are ready. (The seventies were not known for their subtlety.) Unlike in the camp, feel-good 2004 remake, love and corporate feminism do not save the day. On the advice of a psychiatrist, Joanna tries to escape, but ends up strangled to death by her robot replacement.

The messaging is a little too obvious to be worth digging into at length: housework deadens a part of a woman, and men are desperate for control. What really stuck with me about The Stepford Wives is the way the men watch the women, both the human Joanna and their robot wives. In one scene, a Men’s Association member draws Joanna with incredible skill, making sketches of her face and her eyes. In another, a man records her voice, allegedly for a hobby project; preying on her kindness, he claims that his childhood stutter has made him fascinated with language and accents. The men look at Joanna with admiration and desire: she is beautiful, spirited, and kind. There’s lust, but it’s not quite sexual. It’s as though they genuinely want to understand the way she works, if only so that they can reconstruct her according to their own desires and ideals. It’s the same way they look at their own wives, always with a knowing confidence in their eyes.

I wonder, sometimes, if this is what it all comes down to. Perhaps our moment is just catering to a particular kind of man, the kind who longs to look at those who serve him, without ever feeling the unsettling tug of need. Who desires nothing more than to look at a woman—real or simulated, no matter—and think: I made you.

#technology #women #feminism #objectification #women's work #housework #interpersonal relationships #the stepford wives #analogy #tech industry #automatization #commodification #women's labor #labor

[j-j-ehlby-writes]

Păpuşă (s.s.)

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Word Count: ~6.3k

Summary: You and Sebastian just finished a movie together. This is your first promo interview. What happens when an unknown truth is revealed?

Italicized = flashback

My Masterlist

“My first guest tonight is starring in her very first movie, a hilarious romantic comedy with Sebastian Stan that’s coming out in theaters this Friday. It’s her first time on the show- her first interview even. Please welcome to the show, Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

I come from behind the curtain and am greeted by Jimmy Fallon. He shakes my hand before giving me a light hug as I step up onto the stage in the 5 inch heels I immediately regret choosing for this interview. I wave at the crowd before taking a seat.

“Welcome to the show, Y/N.” He greets.

“Thank you! I’m excited to be here.” I cross my legs at the knee to get more comfortable in the outfit my stylist picked for me. This was my first promo interview for my very first movie. It’s expected to do fantastic at the box office. I know it’s going to be a great film.

“So this is your first movie. How cool is that?”

“Oh it’s beyond cool. I can’t even explain how excited I am for it to finally come out.” I smile, thinking about the last year of my life and how much it has changed.

“And your co-star and love interest is the amazing Sebastian Stan. Tell me how that was and how that came to be.”

“That’s a funny story actually. I insulted him during the first round of auditions.”

“Can you believe you’re headed to your first audition?” My friend shrieks in my ear through my headphones. I walk down the sidewalk from the bus station, trying to re-read the script we were all sent to make sure I memorized my lines.

 “No, I can’t. Don’t get your hopes up. You know how rare it is for someone to book their first ever audition? Practically unheard of.” I finally find the building after hanging up and go inside. I follow the signs until I reach a large room with dozens of people waiting their turn. People left and right all reading from the same script I have. I feel like the complete amateur I am in this crowd. Everyone looks so professional and not at all nervous, like I am. I find a quiet corner where there aren’t very many people.

 “Hey.” I hear someone one say over my soft music. I pull out my earphone to see a gorgeous girl standing in front of me. “Do you need help running lines?” She asks offering a kind smile.

 “Sure.” I unplug and put away my phone.

 We go over some small talk before turning to the script. I feel foolish doing this in front of her, but at least it’s some practice that I definitely need. I feel like I know this script front-wards and backwards by now, but I still feel like I will mess it up somehow.

 After we rehearse the necessary scenes, we continue to chat. She tells me that this is her tenth audition this week and I instantly want to drop out. There’s no way I will get picked over her. She looks like she belongs in this world. I don’t. The best that I could probably get would be someone in the back with no lines. I know it’d be something. Getting even a small part in a movie is something. But I want to go big. I wanted to go for the female lead. Go big or go home, right?

 We’re standing around, waiting for the process to start.

 And then he walks in.

 “Who,” I drag out, “is that?” I try not to stare too much, but it’s hard not to. He is one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. His shorter dark brown hair is covered with a dark blue baseball cap and his steel blue eyes are shaded by a pair of tortoise sunglasses, but he’s not fooling anyone. His beard is perfectly trimmed, trying to hide the sharp jawline but failing miserably. No one seems to have noticed his entrance, or if they did no one wanted to react.

 She turns around to see who I’m gawking at. “You seriously don’t know who that is?”

 “Oh no, I know exactly who that is. I just wanted to have that ‘movie moment’.” She laughed at my silly behavior, before looking behind me again.

 “Well get ready to have another because here he comes.”

 By the time I turned around, he was a few feet away from us. He greets the girl next to me. “Who’s your friend?” He asks, looking at me.

 “Y/N.” I introduce myself. I see out of my peripheral vision him hold his hand out to me. I shake it, trying my hardest to keep my fangirling at bay.

 “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Sebastian.”

 I chuckled at how humble he is. He’s an A-list actor. He needs no introductions anymore. “I know. You played one of my least favorite characters on Gossip Girl.”

 “One of?” He asks, feigning offense. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, trying to act like a tough guy. “Who’s worse than me?”

 “Georgina,” I don’t hesitate to say, “and then Louis and Marcus tie for a close second. Blair didn’t have the best dating history.” I just finished re-watching all six seasons of the show for like the fifth time, so everything is fresh. I never thought my knowledge of a teen soap-drama would actually come in handy one day. “A history that briefly included Carter, even if it was to just piss off Chuck.”

 “In your eyes, what made Carter so bad?”

 “What he did to Beth was inexcusable. He deserved to work off his debt to the Buckley’s. And then lying to Serena about how long he’s known about where her dad is? That was sketchy and unnecessary. He didn’t deserve Serena. I was happy she left him on the side of the road.”

 He smirks at me, “You seem to have a strong opinion.”

 “Well I did just finish watching it again so you could say I’m pretty well-versed on what happened with Manhattan’s Upper East Side elite.”

 “I’d love to hear what other opinions you have.” His smirk turned into a smile that lit up the room.

 The first name was called into the audition room, bringing us back to the reason we are all here.

 “What part are you auditioning for?” He asks after the conversations continued around the room.

 “Noelle.” I name the main female character and ask the same question in return.

“Forrest.” He answers with the name of the main male character a.k.a. Noelle’s love interest. “Do you want to run lines together real quick before we get called in there? It’d be nice to go through it with someone who actually knows the dialogue.”

“We ran lines together and found out we just fit. When we made it to the chemistry read round, they told us to pair up. You can imagine everyone wanted to be his partner.”

“Everyone wanted to be Bucky’s partner.” Jimmy filled in.

“Everyone!” I emphasized. “I mean, how could they not? He’s a phenomenal actor and an even better human being.” I had to stop myself from gushing about him. I didn’t want to give everyone the wrong idea about us… “And much to everyone else’s dismay, he chose me because of how well we had gotten along the last time and we remained a pair for the rest of the process.”

“That’s awesome. And since this is your first movie, it must have been helpful to be surrounded by so many veterans.”

“Oh gosh, was it ever! I had no idea what I was doing the entire time. I felt like a fish out of water. Thank God I had someone like Sebastian to help whenever I needed something, which was a lot.”

I slam the door of my trailer and immediately fall apart. Today was bad. No, worse than bad. It was a trainwreck. I wouldn’t be surprised if they fired me after that awful performance.

I don’t know what was wrong with me today. I kept forgetting my lines, constantly messing up the take and having to do it over and over again. I know the director and everyone else involved must be frustrated with me with wasting everyone’s money and time. I also kept missing my marks. Somehow my feet and my eyes couldn’t register where I was supposed to stand and stop in the camera shot.

But worst of all, I couldn’t get into character. Getting into another head space right now didn’t seem possible no matter how many times I read the scene, I just couldn’t do it. It was frustrating as an actress because that’s what I’m being paid to do and I can’t do my job.

Knocks on my door nearly scares the crap out of me. I don’t get up from my spot on the floor. I don’t want to talk to anyone or have anyone seeing me like this.

Unfortunately I forgot to lock the door, so whoever knocked opens it and comes in. “Hey.” Sebastian’s voice fills my trailer with no trace of frustration. I run my fingers through my hair and wipe the tears away. He sits next to me, not saying anything else.

“I’m so sorry.” A new wave of tears threatens to fall, but I push them back. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders. “You’re just having an off day. Everyone has them. That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.” He coos. “Frankly, I think we’d all be surprised if you didn’t have one. Then we may think you’re a Russian spy coming to infiltrate.”

A very unattractive snort came from my nose as I tried not to burst out laughing. I finally look at him to see him smiling. Even if my dark trailer, his grin lights up the entire room like it always does. “You should know! You’re the Romanian vampire who never ages.”

“‘Romanian vampire’ is kind of redundant.” He pursed his lips, nodding. “All vampires are from Romania.”

“Oh shut up!” I use all of my strength to push him over but because his arm is secured around me, he barely moved more than a few inches and brought me with him. He keeps going though, lying on the floor, pulling me to his chest. We lie in the new calm silence.

Over the last few weeks, Sebastian has become more than just my co-star. He’s someone I would call a good friend. I can go to him if I need help knowing he would never judge me. I can bounce ideas off of him for our upcoming scenes. I can talk to him so easily about anything that’s on my mind and he will engage in the most meaningless conversations with me. I truly enjoy his company more than I ever thought I would… which definitely didn’t help with the slight crush on him before I even met him.

I tried to bury it as soon as we were both cast in this film. I didn’t want to ruin this job because of it by making things awkward on set when I couldn’t get a grip on reality. I managed pretty well until we had to do our kissing scene… When I found out there was going to be one, I instantly dreaded it. My only hope was it was done right away. I wanted to get it out of the way so I could then get over it and look at him as just a friend and co-star for the rest of the movie.

Luck was not on my side though. It took two months before we got to that scene. Two whole months of hanging out with him on and off set, running lines behind the scenes, him bringing me Starbucks every morning, and me slowly falling for him before finally getting to that scene. And to say it made things worse would have been an understatement. Every scene we’ve had to do together after that, I messed up at least twice getting lost in the things he said and the way he looked at me. I’d try and explain it away by blaming the lack of sleep for clouding my mind, but that can only go so far and can be used so many times before people start getting concerned about my health and work ethic.

“Are you going to be okay, păpuşă?” He asks breaking the silence with his Romanian that sounds like the most natural thing in the world. I wish he would tell me what that word means. I asked him the first time he used it, but he said, “Now păpuşă, if I told you that, then I’d have to kill you.” So now I just deal with it and hope for the day he finally tells me.

“Did you two get close during filming? I ask because when he was here earlier in the week, he said he told the casting people when they offered him the part that he wouldn’t do the movie if you weren’t cast as Noelle. And there are plenty of rumors about the two of you being an item.”

My heart dropped. “Did he really say that?” I hadn’t had a chance to watch his interview from last week. I had been so busy with preparing all of mine in the coming weeks that I haven’t had much down time. And he didn’t say a word about it to me. Jimmy played the clip where he indeed said that. “Wow. Um...” I manage to squeak out before snapping out of it. “Yeah, we did get pretty close. I’m lucky enough to be able to consider him my best guy friend now. He’s someone I trust wholeheartedly.”

“So those rumors about you two dating are…?”

“Untrue. I am single and he is, too.” At one point during filming, I wasn’t sure that was true…

“Cut!” The director yells. “Alright, that’s a wrap today! Good job everyone. Be back here at 9 am tomorrow.”

I turn to one of my co-stars. “Thank God this day is over! I’m so tired. All I want to do this weekend is go back to my hotel room and stay there until Monday.”

“So you and Sebastian don’t have plans this weekend?” She asks as we walk back to our trailers.

“No? Why would we?” We do hang out a lot after we’re done filming for the day and sometimes spend the weekend hanging out in one of our hotel rooms, but we’re not always together like she is making it seem.

“So he’s free this Friday?” She tried to hide the smile on her face by biting her lip.

I shrugged, “As far as I know, yes? Why don’t you go ask him yourself? I’m not his keeper.”

That Friday, as we finish filming for the day, I see him leaving with her and I don’t hear from him again until I see him Monday morning. She was grinning ear-to-ear the entire day and he acted odd around me for the week following. He didn’t look at me unless we were filming, he disappeared during our lunch break, he would give short answers to my questions but then run away as soon as he saw an opening, and he’d be gone before I finished changing in my trailer. By the next weekend, I had had enough of it.

I bang on his hotel door and wait. It took a few minutes before I heard the lock on click and the door open to reveal a shirtless Sebastian and a pair of low-hanging sweatpants around his waist. His hair was also a mess, hanging in front of his eye. “Y/N, this isn’t a good time. I-”

“Why have you been avoiding me? Did I do something? I thought we were-”

“Is that the room service, Sebby?” I hear someone call from inside the room.

And suddenly, I realize what an idiot I was. He wasn’t avoiding me. He was just occupied with someone else now.

He turns back to me with the guiltiest look on his beautiful face. I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry, I, uh, I’ll see you Monday.”

“Y/N!”

That weekend was probably the worst I had had in a very long time. I locked myself in my hotel room and ignored everyone except for the delivery guys when they brought me food. Sebastian came to my door a few times, knocking and begging for me to open up for twenty minutes the first time but then got shorter every time he came back.

By Monday, I plastered a smile on my face and planned on giving the performance of a lifetime, but fell incredibly short. I could barely look at him without feeling betrayed. But why did I feel like that? We weren’t together. He can hang out with whomever he wants. He’s a gorgeous single man who could have his choice of any girl and he’s choosing someone that isn’t me.

“Cut! That’s lunch.” Everyone scatters after the announcement. I make a bee-line for my trailer to eat in peace. I picked up something before coming in this morning for this very reason.

“Y/N, wait!” I hear Sebastian shout. As much as I want to ignore him right now, I have to get along with him for the sake of filming. But if he wants to talk about anything other than the movie, I’m out. He appears in front of me, halting my steps. “Now who’s avoiding who?”

“I’m not avoiding you. I just want to get to my lunch. I’ve been looking forward to it all day and I’m starving.” I step around him to continue my journey.

“Subway again?” He guesses correctly walking along with me. I don’t answer. I just kept going finally seeing my trailer in sight. “Can I please explain myself?”

“You don’t need to. You don’t owe me anything.” I yank open the door and step inside. He follows.

“I know I don’t need to, but it’s obvious you’re upset-”

“Upset? What gave you that impression?” My sarcasm bit. “Was it ignoring your constant knocking on my door? Or was it the fact that I didn’t return any of your phone calls and texts? Oh no, it must have been my blatant disregard for your repeated efforts to talk about it. I’m just giving back what you gave me all of last week.”

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes, “I know I should have talked to you.”

“Why? Like I said, you don’t owe me anything.”

He steps closer. “But I do. We’re friends, Y/N. I should have told you what was going on.”

Friends. The worst F word a person can hear from someone they like.

So he explains. She had asked him out on a date last week. He said yes. They had a good time, but ultimately decided they were better off as friends. He was weird around me last week because he didn’t know if he could talk to me about it. He didn’t know if we were at that level of friendship yet, but I assured him that he could talk to me about anything, even girls no matter how much that would hurt. Of course I didn’t say that last part.

“Are we okay now?” He asks from his seat across the table. “Can I have my best friend back?”

“I’m your best friend? I thought that was reserved for Evans or Mackie.” I cross my arms on the table, smirking outwardly at his statement. My heart hurt a little to hear it. I don’t want to be his best friend… I want to be more.

“I think they’ll understand.” He smiles at me only confirming my stupid feelings.

“Well in that case, we have to be okay. If I’m going to face their wrath, I’m going to need some Winter Soldier protection.” My smirk turned into a smile as I imagine what their reactions are going to be.

“I gotchu, păpuşă.”

“Well if you’re both single then why not make it true? I saw the movie. Your chemistry is fire.”

I tried to hide my being uncomfortable with laughter. “I mean,” I shrugged, “I’m never going to say ‘never,’ because you really don’t know what can happen in the future, especially in Hollywood. But as for right at this moment, I am single.”

“And are you ready to mingle?”

“I am so ready to mingle!” I exclaim. “You have the connections, set a girl up!”

The rest of the interview went smoothly after that. I was escorted back to the dressing room, where I met up with my agent. She confirmed I had two phone interviews later, but I wasn’t listening very much. All I wanted to do was talk to Sebastian.

When I called him, I got his voicemail. “Bună iubito,” I use the greeting he taught me that meant “hey dude,” or something along the lines of that, “can you give me a call back as soon as you’re not busy? I need to talk to you about something.” I leave my hotel information before hanging up.

I just hang up with room service later that evening when there’s a knock on my door.

“I come bearing food!” He greets as he steps into my room.

“I just ordered room service.” I whine before taking a look at what he brought. Subway. Of course. I shake my head at how well he knows me before joining him at the table.

“Thank God because I’m starving. I only got this for you because you said you wanted to talk. I figured I needed to apologize for something, so I brought your favorite to soften the blow.”

“You know I had my Fallon interview today, right?” I ask getting straight to the point.

“Oh yeah, how’d that go?” He started unpacking my food, not looking at me.

“Good…” when he didn’t say anything, I add, “He told me what you said.”

His head dropped and his shoulders slumped. A sharp breath of air came out like a weight just lifted. “I was waiting for this.” He mumbles as he turns around to face me. “Look, if it sounded like an insult, I didn’t mean like that. I just meant that I believed in you so much and we got along so well during the audition process that if they didn’t choose you to play my opposite, then I didn’t want to be a part of the movie.”

“Why would you do that though? I’m sure there were more well-established actresses that auditioned that you would have gotten along with just as well. You took a huge risk betting on me.” I can’t imagine what this would do to his career if this fails because of me. “Not to mention, you could have lost the movie completely because of your foolishness.”

“I know, I know. There was just…” He paused, gaining a half smile at the image in his head, “there was just something about you that I wanted to know. I couldn’t let the opportunity go; I couldn’t let the possibility of being around you more slip through my fingers.”

Even in the poorly lit room, I could see the emotions in his eyes. The emotions I’ve seen multiple times while filming this movie with him… The way I imagine I look at him when he’s not looking. My heart races at the possibility of what he could be saying. I’ve had a crush on this man for years before I met him. Even the mention of his name made me smile and seeing videos of him interacting with fans always ended with me giggling because he was just so adorable. Then I actually met him and he has exceeded all of my expectations since then. He is the sweetest, most down to earth, hard-working, kind-hearted, passionate human being I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. And by some miracle, he might feel the same way about me that I do him.

“Sebastian…”

“Y/N…”

I had to sit down. If we were going to have this conversation, I wanted to be sitting. I curled up on the couch. He followed, sitting facing me resting his arm on the back of the couch. “When?” was the only question I could ask. My mind was spinning. Was this really happening right now?

His big, mesmerizing blue eyes locked on mine. They were filled with nostalgia as he remembered the moment. “It was the first time we hung out off set.”

After a long first week of filming, it was finally the weekend. One of the other actors suggested we all go out to celebrate surviving. I immediately turned to Y/N, waiting for her answer. All week I have been wanting to hang out with her off set. She is hilarious while just the two of us are between takes but shy when around everyone else, I wanted to know what she would be like in a more casual environment and not surrounded by dozens of people.

During lunch we all agreed to meet at this “cool” club downtown. Even as she said yes, I could tell she didn’t really want to. She’s an introvert. She doesn’t like crowds of people she doesn’t know. When we got back on set, I promised her I wouldn’t leave her side. She seemed reassured by it and that made me happy.

She makes me happy. Being around her has made me feel truly happy for the first time in a very long time. From the first moment I met her, she wasn’t afraid to tell me how she felt about my portrayal of an Upper East Side elite dick. Her conviction about a simple show showed me a side that interested me. What else made her blood boil? What other kinds of things is she passionate about? I had to know.

So when I was offered the part of Forrest, I asked who they were going to cast as Noelle. I panicked when they were leaning more towards someone else. I wanted to spend more time with her. Filming nearly every day with her for three to four months and then promoting the movie afterwards will give me that time. I knew I was risking everything by saying I wouldn’t do it unless she was Noelle. My agent definitely wasn’t happy with me about it when she found out. Thankfully it all worked in both of our favors.

She wasn’t like anyone I’d met in this industry and I wanted to see what else there was to her. I vowed not to waste any opportunity to do so.

I told her I would pick her up at her hotel and then we could go to the club together. But when she opened the door, she looked me straight in the eye and asked, “Do you just want to order pizza instead?”

No matter how badly I wanted to say yes and completely forget the plans we had made, I knew the two leads had to participate in a cast get-together even if it was only for a short bit. I did manage to convince her to go at least for a little while and then we could get pizza. I even added ice cream to the deal to persuade her.

When we got to the club, she instantly clammed up. I did all I could to make her feel comfortable for the time being by upholding my earlier promise. I never left her side. We ordered one drink, toasted with the cast, chatted for about ten minutes, and then we left.

The second she stepped out of the club, she was back to being her confident self. She complained about how stuffy it was in there, how loud and obnoxious the music was and how all she wanted to do was go back to her hotel and eat pizza and ice cream. Her wish was my command…

After we finally got our food, we went back to my hotel room. I was right about her having a whole different side to her outside of work. She is laid back, incredibly funny, and outgoing once she gets comfortable with you. I learned she has many different laughs for different situations, all of them equally as adorable as the last. She snorts when she laughs so hard that she can’t breathe. She squeaks when she likes something, her nose crinkles and her upper lip kinks up when she doesn’t. Each and every time she laughs, her smile lights up the room. She does have very strong opinions on more things than TV shows she knows well. I got to know her more than I ever expected.

“You know I didn’t initially want to be an actress?” She says lying on the couch with her feet on my lap. “It was more like a last resort thing. I never thought I could do it.”

“Why didn’t you think you could do it?” I ask flabbergasted by her inability to see how talented she is. Throughout the audition process, if I didn’t already know she was a newbie, I would never have guessed it. She acted like a pro. She nailed just about everything that was asked of her.

“Well,” She finishes her last piece of pizza, impressing the hell out of me. This girl isn’t afraid to eat. She consumed the entirety of her own pizza. I love it. “It’s not that I thought I couldn’t act. It’s that I knew it would a long shot that anything would ever come of it. All you ever hear about are people struggling to make it in LA. I’m one of those people that doesn’t like failing. If I didn’t get this movie, I probably would have given up on acting completely and tried something else.

Plus, it was drilled into my mind during my formative years that being an actor or a singer ‘weren’t real jobs’ so I just kind of swept it under the rug, never to be thought about again… until a few months ago that is.”

“Just goes to show, păpuşă, that you shouldn’t listen to the doubters.”

“Pap-what?” Her brows furrowed and her mouth hung open in confusion.

“Păpuşă.” I repeated fully knowing she has no clue what I’m saying. I’d been calling her that in my head ever since I met her, guess it just kind of slipped out.

She sat up and scooted closer to me. “I know you fluently speak Romanian, no need to show off to the rest of us that are inept and uneducated at languages. What does it mean?”

I tucked some of her hair behind her ear, taking in her natural beauty. When I met her, she wasn’t wearing much make-up, and she looked stunning. She’s complained to me many times this week that she has to wear more than she’s used to for filming. She thoroughly enjoys when she can take it off at the end of the day. She goes into her trailer as a beautiful woman, but she comes out the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen when she is without any. Not only is she naturally beautiful, her hair smells heavenly I literally want to bury my face in it constantly, she’s smarter than she thinks she is, she’s kind to everyone on set, she’s caring towards all she meets, she’s creative on and off set, she’s extremely passionate about many different things, she’s… everything I had thought she would be and so much more.

I like her. A lot more than I ever thought I would. I see that now.

“Now păpuşă, if I told you that, then I’d have to kill you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I ask after going down memory lane of that night. We went to McDonalds later because we were both still hungry and were craving their fries. We walked a few blocks to do so, singing Disney songs to each other down the empty streets to pass the time. It was an adventure that I never expected but am extremely grateful for. It showed me a side of him I had always wanted to see… and it only worsened my feelings for him.

“I didn’t want to make things awkward on set if you didn’t feel the same way.”

“And that date you went on with-?” It was only a month after our first hang out that he went out with our co-star. If he liked me then, it doesn’t make sense why he would go through with it.

“I did agree to go on a date with her, but only because I couldn’t go out with the person I really wanted to take out. And as soon as we got to the restaurant, she told me she only asked me out because she knew you wouldn’t. She was hoping that her even mentioning asking me out would spark something in you. That gave me hope.” Even the small smile that appeared beamed causing my insides to feel all melty.

“If you had hope then why did you ignore me after that?” All of the pieces are coming together now; it’s all starting to make sense.

“I only ignored you because every time I looked at you, all I wanted to do was tell you how I felt. But I didn’t want to tell you unless I knew for certain that you liked me back. I didn’t know how to handle it correctly. The night you came to my hotel room, she was only there to try and convince me to tell you. I had just gotten out of the shower when she arrived, so she had ordered room service while I was getting dressed. That’s when you knocked on the door. Nothing was going on between us.” He reached over, taking my hand in his. “It shattered me to see how hurt you were.”

I shook my head at the memory of that night. “Did you even suspect why I was so hurt?” I know at times I wasn’t subtle about my feelings for him. I always had a stupidly big smile on my face when I was around him, finding every opportunity to bring him up in a conversation… but that night, I was sure he would find out. When he didn’t ask me about it specifically, I thought he didn’t notice or care.

“Believe me, I had hoped that the reason you were so upset was because you cared about me the way I did you. But when I explained everything and you didn’t say anything, I assumed…”

“When you called me your best friend, it kind of slammed the door on that talk. One of the reasons why one day I literally could not do anything right was because of how I felt about you.” I admit, “I think I just got so overwhelmed with everything going on with the movie and how quickly life had flipped upside-down, trying to make sense of my feelings for you and maintaining a façade that my mind just could not do what everyone asked of it.”

He titters, “The day we laid on the floor in your trailer for so long that we fell asleep.” I nod. As we both reminisce about that day, his thumb rubs circles on the back of my hand. We fell asleep for quite some time too. It was the best nap I had had in a very long time. No one had any idea where we were and why we weren’t back on set when called. It was slightly embarrassing to be found in that position but since we were both clothed, no one suspected anything happened.

“I tried to bury my feelings for you when we were cast, but every day we’ve spent together has just-”

“made them stronger?” He finishes, locking eyes with me.

“How freaking cliché is that? Falling for your co-star?” Everything is telling me that this wouldn’t work. The track record of celebrities starting relationships on set and staying together is staggeringly low. I don’t want to become another statistic, but with the way Sebastian is looking at me right now, it makes me feel hopeful that we’d be one of the success stories.

“I mean, I liked you before we were even cast. Doing the movie together just helped those feelings grow exponentially.” He smiles at me again, caressing my cheek.

“You made sure of that,” I chuckled.

“And I think I made the right choice in trusting my heart.” He grabs both of my hands and pulls me up off of the couch. “If we’re going to do this, I want to do it right.” He takes a deep breath, letting his smile take over his handsome features. “Will you, Y/F/N Y/L/N, go out on a date with me?”

“It would be my humblest honor, Sebastian Stan.”

“Great, how does now sound?” He asks eagerly.

“Now? But Subway and room service…” I whine, eyeing the long white plastic bag on the table.

“You know as well as I do that you can have it later or tomorrow.” He gave me a pointed look, daring me to argue with him. He knows that’s what I’ve done multiple times; he knows I can’t argue with him. Bastard.

“Ugh, fine!” I whine some more. “Let me just take off my make-up and then we can go.” I still hadn’t taken off the stage make-up from my interview earlier. I felt disgusting and in need of a good face wash.

“Păpuşă, you look perfect.” He pulls me to him after I exit the bathroom, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“Are you ever going to tell me what that means?” I giggle as he buries his bearded face in my neck.

He laughs, pulling back. “Doll.”

“What?”

“Păpuşă means ‘doll’.”

Permanent taglist: @elusive-beauty @drakesfiance @im-a-slut-for-an-accent @fantasy-is-my-reality @naniky

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan drabble #papusa #doll #sebastian #stan #stanstory

[taegris]

/ik,stempǝ’rānēǝs/

adjective

spoken or done without preparation

{?} x reader

Summary: You are finally escaping community college and jumping into grad school, deciding on CalArts with your best friend Taehyung, who you haven’t yet met in person. While the idea of meeting new people, living in a big city, and pursuing what you love is appealing, you are still terrified of the unknown lying ahead.

Chapter Seventeen: Deep Breaths

26 August 2019

6:09 PM

“Welcome to the last shoot day for Extemporaneous, y’all!” Jungkook yells, a massive grin plastered on his face, and you all roar your approval, the walls bouncing sound across the room. 

Spirits are high tonight as your first project as a group wraps up. Perhaps the bittersweet feeling that comes with wrapping a massive passion project will settle after the viewing party, but for now, the excitement of everything you’ve worked so hard for finally coming to fruition is too great to feel any sort of melancholy. Plus, the snacks and minimal script to have to memorize puts you and Tae in good spirits. Any amount of discomfort or anger or whatever had been going on in previous shoots seems to have dissipated, as Tae and Jungkook joke around again. Somehow, in a matter of a few days, the tension had disappeared entirely.

“Did you look over the script?” Jungkook asks, glancing to you and Tae. 

You suddenly remember what’s in the script, and your heart races. Oh, right. Today is the day in which you kiss your best friend. Well, your character kisses his character. But frankly, it’s a little too close for comfort. You’re still terrified of your possible feelings for Taehyung, and the fact that today has been looming over your mind so much that you couldn’t even sleep before coming to set is not helping the matter. It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does. It’s just Taehyung. dogemaster29. Mr. I-eat-two-inches-of-jam-on-my-sandwiches. It shouldn’t bother you, right?

You push that aside for now.

“Yeah! Not much dialogue, right? Or am I missing a page?” you joke, and they laugh.

“Yeah, very little dialogue today. Hopefully this’ll be an easy shoot, but who knows? These scenes are a bit technical.” He says, looking at the script. “So, we’re shooting in the bedroom and the kitchen. This scene takes place after scene 8.”

“Remind me what scene 8 is?” Taehyung asks, scratching the back of his neck. Jungkook rolls his eyes, smiling.

“The bedroom scene.”

Taehyung stares blankly. 

“Okay, a synopsis: Y/N’s character is not dealing well with all the changes in her life, with the last major change being moving out and losing her childhood home, and tells your character she’s okay but you come over anyway to find her crying in bed at 3 PM. And then your character holds hers until she falls asleep. So this next scene takes place later, when she wakes up and you left the bed to get her water.”

“Right, so this is the comfort and “finding home” scene?” Tae asks, leaning against the counter.

“Precisely!”

“Alright, so I’ll start setting the bedroom, and you guys work on setting equipment, is that cool?” you ask, headed towards the bedroom in the back of the apartment.

“Yep!” they call simultaneously. You stifle laughter down the hallway. 

-

You can’t help but admire the way that Jungkook lights the scene before you; yellow beams slicing the shadowed interior, spilling bright color across the bleached sheets. It’s clean, but not extraordinarily so. The chair is covered in jackets, a blanket lying on the floor. it’s a comfortable, warm image. A perfect reflection of the mood.

You completely destroy it to get into place, slipping under the comforter. 

“Okay,” Jungkook says, stepping into the doorway. “I think that’s about where I want it. Let me check the monitor...” he steps over to his camera and sets the tripod, pulling the legs apart and gently setting it down to the carpeted floor. He peeks through the viewfinder, and you watch him visibly stiffen. You sit up a little.

“Jungkook? You okay?” you call to him. His head pops up from behind the camera, dusted pink.

“Y-yeah! Just...checking the framing.” He pops his head down again. “Can you shift a little to your left? It looks empty over there.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” you shift over in the bed, adjusting the comforter. “Is this better?”

“Pretty,” Jungkook breathes. He takes a few more moments at the monitor. “Yes, this is perfect, thank you.”

“Are we ready to go?” Tae asks, wiping the slate to adjust the information.

“Yeah, ready when you are. Let me know so we can get sound rolling.”

“Alright, it’s ready.”

“O-kay,” Jungkook starts, adjusting the framing once more before turning on the microphone. “Sound speeding. And... Camera rolling. Slate it.”

Taehyung steps into frame with the slate, holding it across your vision.

“Scene 9A take 1.” He clicks the slate into place before moving silently out of place. You lay in position, eyes fluttering shut. It’s silent for a few moments more. 

“Action!” 

The words cut through the air, but you allow yourself a few more moments to yourself to reimmerse into the warm atmosphere. When you feel ready, you flutter your eyes open.

Acting has always been difficult to explain for you, but you suppose the easiest way would be to say it is simply play; you know you’re not REALLY this character, and yet for a moment you’re able to pretend that these are the issues you face, that this is all you’re feeling. it’s immersive, it’s like stepping into another world, it’s like living an alternate timeline. So when you look for Tae beside you when you “wake up,” when you step onto the carpeted floor and pad over to the bedroom door, you know you aren’t someone else, and yet, for a moment, you can nearly convince yourself that you COULD be.

“Cut! Y/N, that was perfect! Two more shots, then we’re done in here!” Jungkook sings his praise, grinning ear to ear and moving his camera. You can't help but feel the swell of pride in your chest. 

“Then let’s go!” You sing, prancing back to the bed. Jungkook throws his head back in laughter, setting up the next shot. After a few moments, he looks at you, a big smile on his face. Your features echo his.

“Let’s get it!” he shouts, glancing into the monitor once more, and Tae inches the slate into frame.

“Scene 9A insert 1 take 1.” the sound of the slate punctuates Tae’s words.

“Action!”

-

“Cut!” Jungkook says, immediately turning off the camera and unraveling cords. “Let’s move, we’re losing light. We only got so much from our kit. Taehyung, secure the lighting equipment and get it moved to position B. Y/N, slate and props. Get it set for the next scene since you’ll be the one dealing with it.” He moves to the other room, setting the sound equipment over his shoulder.

You’d never seen Jungkook like this, so serious, focused, and in control, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t affect you. Your face burns red, and you quickly busy yourself with the task handed to you so Tae can’t see the faint blush on your cheeks. You quickly scribble in the information and move to the next room, Taehyung following behind.

“Y/N, can you come here for a second?” Jungkook calls, not looking up from the viewfinder. You dip into frame, and he smiles.

“Good. Can you stand on your tip toes?”

“What?”

“I-uh-Tae is taller than you, and I need to frame it for him, but he’s doing the lights right now.”

“No he’s not, he’s right-” You turn to see him, but instead are met with the sound of the back door clicking shut. “Huh. Yeah I guess he’s busy.” You stand on your tiptoes, not missing how Jungkook’s mouth twitches into a curve.

“Okay, so you’re still probably a little too short... would you mind?” He says, pointing at the camera. You stare at him for a moment, puzzled, before realizing what he needs.

“Oh-are you sure?” you say, inching toward the monitor.

“Yeah, Tae isn’t too much taller than me, and you know what you’re doing,” Jungkook says, stepping where you were. You shake your head and step to the monitor, looking through. His head is slightly cut off, but other than that the framing is correct. If you were to bump the image slightly up...

“Can I?” you ask, looking up to him. He smiles.

“Please.”

You tilt the camera upward slowly, careful to lock the tilt before you let go. You slightly pan it to the left, then when satisfied with the framing, release Jungkook with a nod and a smile.

“Cool, let’s mark it.” Jungkook says, putting a piece of blue tape on the floor by the tips of his shoes.

“How does it look?” Taehyung asks, stepping in the doorway.

“I don’t know yet, do you mind stepping to your mark?” Jungkook questions, stepping to the monitor.

“Not at all.”

Jungkook’s face lights up when he sees Tae in frame.

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I told you you know what you’re doing.” He rubs a small circle into your back. “Y/N, you’ll step into frame here,” he places a hand to signal where he’s referring to, “after you slate. You see Tae’s getting you water in the kitchen. Tae, you are bringing her the water. We good? Good. Places!” 

You scramble to find the slate.

“Uh, ready?”

“Okay...  Sound speeding. Aaaaand... Camera rolling. Slate it?”

“Okay. Scene 9b, take one.” You click the slate closed.

You’re extremely comfortable with Taehyung, more comfortable with him than anyone else. Before you moved for college, you’d facetime him every night, falling asleep to the sound of whatever distorted music was coming from the screen. You’d call for hours and hours, and even text memes while doing so. When you’d finally moved there, it was as if you’d never been apart. You’d cuddled, held hands, whatever. So yeah, the rest of this movie shoot had been pretty easy prior to the incident. But now? 

You swear you’re a better actor than this, normally able to separate the art from reality, but this...feels far too real. Whatever happened that night playing Bioshock brought up thoughts that were far too tangible. And now this film shoot feels more like a game of torture on your own mind than it does fun. You wish you could just know for sure. Know if whatever you felt for Tae in that moment was a fleeting second in the span of a lifetime, or if it was the something more that you feared.

“Action!”

Your trained mind goes blank, thinking nothing but objective. Find your friend. You look up and he is turning around with the water.

Go.

“Jae-”

“I know,” Taehyung says, before setting the glass down and stepping towards you. You’re caught off guard entirely, left with buzzing limbs and a question on your lips.

That was NOT his line. 

You’re brought back to reality when he takes your face in his hands, stepping closer to you.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he breathes, the warmest look on his face. It feels like home. “I know.” 

There’s a moment where you both stare into each other’s eyes, and you're reminded just how much you trust him. All those late-night conversations, all those secrets, just for the two of you. And in this moment, you know he trusts you just as much. So, you improvise.

Technically, in this scene, you were supposed to confess entirely, but he switched things up. So now, in this moment, where he was supposed to kiss you, you press your mouth to his, eyes fluttering closed. His body stiffens for less than a second before he reacts, pulling you closer to him and deepening the kiss, a smile on his face.

And you feel... nothing.

You don’t know what you expected, in all honesty. Perhaps you expected the “sparks” all the movies discussed. But instead, you’re met with the same feeling you get when you hold his hand, or spend hours on a call, or send memes from across the room. It's comfortable, but it isn’t the “love” you know.

Taehyung picks you up swiftly, following choreography. Just on cue, your back hits the edge of the table, and he lifts you just enough to slide your body on top, letting his weight guide you to the surface. You notice you haven’t stopped smiling.

Taehyung breaks the kiss slowly, smiling down at you, his hair framing his face on either side, blurring your vision of him slightly. There you both stay for a moment, drinking one another in, smiling at each other, a calm resting between the two of you.

“Cut!”

You’re startled for a moment before you start laughing, pure relief and joy running through your veins. Tae laughs along with you, resting his head on your shoulder for a moment before getting up, pulling you with him. 

“Tae, those were not your lines.” Jungkook mutters, fidgeting with the camera.

“Oh, sorry director, do we need to reshoot?” Tae asks, a smirk on his face. You hit his shoulder playfully, laughing along with him.

“No...” Jungkook grumbles, moving the camera to a different angle. “I’m just pissed that it was better than the original script.”

You and Tae drop to the floor, laughter wracking through both of your bodies, squeezing your lungs so hard your eyes burn. Soon, Jungkook’s own laughter joins.

previous | masterlist | next

#taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #extemporaneous;fic #bts x reader #bts x y/n #sm au #social media au #bts sm au #bts texts #bts fake texts #bts scenarios #bts fic #bts fluff #bts angst

[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!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #bts college au #jungkook college au #w: moonlight melody #THIS FIC IS LITERALLY 51K I KID YOU NOT #I HAVE SLAVED OVER THIS FOR SO LONG #MOONLIGHT MELODY BY RV IS BY FAR THE MOST LISTENED TO SONG ON MY ITUNES #AND FINALLY. SHE IS DONE