#thank you genuinely I wish the 'always be yourself' crowd was more realistic about this

[cyan-kelpie]

PLE

The trick is to not let people know how really weird you are until it’s too late for them to back out.

[jiminrings]

honestly i could talk w band!hobi abt numbers all day, like i wouldn't even mind. what are ur thoughts on 27 hobi? i think they a bad bitch. also UM might i request a drabble abt like a film major! yn (that is very enthusiastic abt films and the aesthetics + cinematography and whatnot) w like,,, a theatre kid?? any of ot7 works fine and it's all good if u can't or don't want to! thankyouu 💜

muse of mine

pairing: namjoon x y/n

wordcount: 4k

glimpse: namjoon’s always been a little sensitive to feedback whether it’s positive or negative, y/n’s an endearing type of talker, and smuggled snacks to the theater haven’t ever tasted this sweet :D // gif from pinterest!

notes: i kinda switched it up a lil bit and made them more established in their respective fields bc my mind went berserk on this concept!!! also this is mayhaps my oNLY piece that’s just pure fluff

“27? The number? Hmm. That sounds... sexy.” - band!hobi

this been’s bugging you for the past half hour

this whole experience feels oddly familiar

you’ve been in this theater for half an hour so far to watch this play!!

lmao ur gonna admit RIGHT off the bat that theatre’s definitely not it for you

your slight unfondness for it is deeply-rooted back to university and for four years, you’ve consistently taken dumps on theatre kids even if it’s under your breath

alright it’s possible that you don’t hATE the actual people ( only some of them ;D ) themselves but rather this whole type of cockiness and the “i’m a direct descendant of shakespeare himself. trust me bro. on god” energy that they always seem to exhude

but realistically, maybe this deep-rooted hate stemmed from seokjin

he was the guy you’d share the exact same elective class with him for two straight whole semesters and you’ve been seatmates from time to time

homie took foreign language as an elective?????

the language is korean?????????????????

“wait b-but i — aren’t you — n-no but i really???”

that’s what you first sputtered to him in realization when he took his seat beside you

the two of you have only ever shown each other notes bc the other was dozing off and the occasional sharing of gummy bears that’s already pre-opened to not make any noise

but for some reason, it’s only dawned in you why seokjin’s a god in this class and he answers your questions without even looking at his notes by hALFWAY through the whole semester of foreign language

one day, u are gonna find a way to bodyslam yourself and never recover from it ever again

“mhmm. don’t sweat it, sweetheart. i personally think it’s very don quixote of me to y’know, take something as impractical and amusing as this.”

you snort at his choice of words because honestly!! you barely remember don quixote and jin’s use of it as an adjective jigs up a refresher course on your brain

who was he again?? 

was he the donkey

.. or are you thinking about shrek again because of your film analysis

you sWEAR there was a donkey in that story

it’s good fun to talk with jin even if he keeps sliding bourgeoisie words here and there and you’re a lil confused with all these references that he makes but that’s okay !!!

atleast even him saying it in a long-winded way that he was like someone from the merchant of somewhere, you know now that he pretty-pleased and charmed his way to the registrar for him to take korean as an elective

...

two weeks later, jin sits next to you in class 

in ACTUAL non-elective, non-native language he already speaks class

now that you’re squinting a bit more, jin does look a little uh?? different

his hair that was once a hybrid of lavender and peach and pink and then blonde was now wholly black and it’s probably his original hair color because it matches with those eyebrows of his!!!

his combo of a black bomber jacket with a silk button-up underneath honestly SLAPS and it makes you forget how he used to exclusively wear only knitted shirts and argyle-patterned cardigans

you have ur jaw dropped because you totally would’ve fallen for seokjin jAW-FIRST 

— if only he didn’t strike you as the brother type when he smacked the back of your head because you were falling asleep on class again and uhhh you mUst be forgetting that the two of you were sitting in front

you had no time to reevaluate whether you should develop a crush for him or not 

he’s immediately slapping his hands on his knees, looking at you so intensely before pointing a finger at you with so much conviction, and then scoffing to himself

“switched majors to film. theatre was gonna be the death of me!!! y/n, if you even think about trying to switch to that cheap, amazon-ordered quill and tanning lights for stage lighting major, you’re absolutely dEAD to me-”

you’ve never had a conversation this striking nor long with jin but you genuinely have no complaints at all

seokjin talks pure shit about theatre and theatre junkies and everything in between for the WHOLE day 

trails beside you for every single class you had, which was convenient because he can then sweet-talk his way again (if anybody even dared to question him) that he’s just newly-switched 

sat with you for lunch and him not eating because he just needS to tell you all about it and you trying not to choke on your pasta as you try to reply to him

followed you back hOME and decided to crash the night there

yeah, that. your unfondness for theatre’s rooted on that one

uh-huh safe to say that you’ve become best friends with jin ever since that day

you’re a sponge for your friends and jin’s the closest one you have, so it was only natural that you soak up his distastes and whatnot

not to brag but aha :D

you add salt to the water while you boil pasta so u may be a little bit of a masterchef or somewhat, no big deal :D

he’s absorbed your fascination for all kinds of lights and fixtures that he has about seven different nightlights in the form of squishies or neon and everything else on his bedside table, in which he turns all of them on at night

fun fact: he’s capable of sleeping in the dark

jin’s the whole reason for your stance on this

he’s adamant about his points and you’ve graduated uni four years ago!!!

which is why you DON’T get why jin would give you a scented black envelope, with “don’t come to this” scribbled in gold at the front, carrying a single ticket to this play with a sticky note saying “don’t watch this at 7 pm, wearing your boss lady year-end award show type of clothes, sitting at the ninth row from the back and two seats from your right.”

because of course!! what the hell did he expect you to do? NOT come to this play at 7 pm wearing your boss lady year-end award show type of clothes then sitting at the ninth row from the back, two seats from the right???

OF COURSE YOU WOULD

your goal in life is to do exactly the opposite of what jin tells you. there’s literally nothing else in life you’d want to fulfill

he’s made it quite easy for you to spite him and although you wouldn’t admit it.,,.,., you may be a little petty ok

he’s the even bigger goof out of the two of you and you can never have the final say!! it’s always him and his wit and yOU being the dunce

it’s a lil sus that jin’s basically ASKING for it with his instructions but whatever

whatever it is, this is finally your chance to enact the final say and you’re gonna pull ALL the stops

all you know about theater-goers is that they dress fancy and wear these mini binoculars and that’s about it

there’s not even one film you know that you see anyone in the audience wearing a worn-in cardigan or even a puffer jacket even if the theater’s mad cold

all the people bring are scarves and shawls???? thee thinnest version of a blanket that won’t warm them up against the frigid airconditioning

that whole dress code sounds ridiculous!!! great please ring out this thousand-dollar dress im gonna wear to the theater thank u

you’re a little worried that you’re not gonna blend into the crowd, but after some digging about the invitation, formal wear is most definitely recommended

it’s an exclusive invite-only play which would be later released to the general public later on so yeah the situation dOES call for a gown thank u very much

also how could you forget that jin explicitly told you not to wear this type of attire

if you’re being humble right now, which you always normally are, even if that jUST sounded boastful talking about how you’re humble all the time —

you do look pretty breath-taking :-)

even when the doors weren’t opened and everyone’s just collectively loitering outside the hall, you’d feel glances at you

the sweet security guard did a double-take at you and mumbled a “very very nice evening to you, miss :D” instead of his normal “enjoy the show!” to the other patrons before you

you’re gonna soak all the silent compliments up and try to remember all of them before writing them on your journal later hee-hee

your midnight blue satin dress that’s floor-length and off-shoulder is dEFINITELY in your favor :D

your dress still glimmers even if the spotlight isn’t on you and you wish you weren’t shy to ask a random stranger to take a picture of you

going on self-timer isn’t ideal either when there’s like a hundred other people in the room

they probably wouldn’t even care if you took a picture of yourself!!! but in your head they probably think that you’re laughable so you’d rather not.. do that

the theater’s dark as hell if that wasn’t established

it is literally pitch black in the room and the ushers at each row holding the flashlights that are meant to guide the patrons aren’t exactly helpful

big kudos to them though,, must take a lot of self-control to not wave their lights like it was a rave :D

a flashlight tHAT bright?? whew pls is this what ships feel in the night

the last time you were in a rave, your thirty minutes of fun was cut short when seokjin immediately got hammered and wouldn’t stop throwing a fit if you didn’t drive him home that instant

his energy seemed to compelling everyone that he’s managed to somehow suck the energy out of a WHOLE rave so you took him home for everyone’s enjoyment :(((( except yours apparently

you’re trying hard to focus on the play that’s happening because for the past twenty minutes, all you’ve done is zone out randomly with ideas all of a sudden 

you NEED to listen

....

uh-huh...

UH-HUH......

wait this is actually.. good

you find plays hard to follow and absolutely boring when you don’t immerse yourself in a run-down PRIOR to watching it in order to get

it’s the same analogy as reading the plot of a movie on wikipedia before watching the movie at the cinema.... absolutely useless

it sucks out the fun from something you weren’t supposed to know

watching plays is two hours of you being confused, going home to read the plot and only understand it by tHEN, and never coming to the theater again because you’d waste your money.... watching something cluelessly in the theater..... for a plot you’d grasp at home

but no

because this one

actually this one that you’re watching...

it’s not bad

it’s nice, actually.

within two minutes, you managed to grasp that it’s a story about a never-ending spring between these two lovers

there’s something about the whole setting of it actually that just sucks you in

in some plays, the outfits would seem so forced even in the given context that it reminds you of uh a particular superhero movie

and yes ur aware that stage makeup has to be enhanced so that people all the way to the back row would see

but there’s just something in this scene that’s laid out right-now that actually gets you in awe

it’s of the couple in the back of their pick-up truck and everything about it seems so natural

the background straight up looks like what it’d be if you were to go outside

the guy’s arm around her shoulder seems so natural and in nature that it doesn’t feel like a random cue in the script

the girl twinkles and it doesn’t even feel like a forced type of laugh you’d cue in attempt to warm the audience’s hearts

it’s of a plot where the the guy eventually falls out of love with the girl, while girl gets even more smitten with the guy at the same time

it’s what you take from the past ten minutes that you watch in dead silence, and you don’t even remember in the back of your head that you’re supposed to hate plays

“no way.”

you mumble in disbelief under your breath, head shaking profusely

is your mind playing tricks on you???

you’ve got too used to seokjin sitting beside you that you immediately turn to your right, whispering out your concerns 

“is it just me or is she wearing a different shade of pink?”

you don’t even buffer for one second when you ask the stranger beside you

you’re so concerned that you’re looking at him intently while waiting for his answer that could either console or despair you, a random theater-goer that’s too noisy with her questions for her own good

it’s absolutely dARK as fuck in the theater but after awhile your eyes adjusted slightly

and the first thing you look at after the stage is him

him as in the dude in your right that you just asked all of a sudden

you could only see his silhouette and the faintest features of his face along with his well-dressed suit but god

... you are totally not lying if you say that even the barest silhouette of him doesn’t look handsome

you’re expecting him to tell you off for being so noisy but instead, he’s the one who takes you by surprise

“how did you notice that?” 

:O

“oh my god!” you exclaim almost too loudly that you yourself even jolts, the guy even making you duck with him slightly for a brief second, “im sO sorry!! am i accidentally spoiling it out for you?”

the guy blinks twice, lips slightly parted before shaking his head no

“no, no... this is the first screening — i mean uh, how would you know that?”

oh boy

you’re adjusting yourself on your seat, bum now warm as you try to explain and not be nervous because what if you just made a wrong assumption about this play and you’re sitting next to a goddamn tHEATRE BUFF???

“well i —uh, uhm what’s your name?” you’re flustered and the FIRST thing you ask is what was his name.,.,,

he seems equally as flustered before he adjusts his glasses, “o-oh uhm i’m namjoon...?”

alright! handsome guy is namjoon!

“you see, namjoon — okay it might just be in my head, but i tHINK it looks deeper with the light somehow. but uh...? the spotlight’s not following her and — is it just me or without the light, her sweater looks brown?”

you’re squinting and if u squint even more, maybe your contacts would just crumple by then

hold on a second

“brown, like — oh my gOD LIKE-”

namjoon puts a hand over his mouth before you could even gasp, hand reaching out for your forearm even before you manage to grasp his shoulder to take it in realization

was it under your nose the whole time??

“... fall.”

:D

holy fucking shit

namjoon looks positively euphoric looking at your face of realization, his once-heavy chest about the whole scene becoming completely devoid of weight

“exactly!!”

his confirmation makes you inwardly squeal, grinning as you point at him and the stage back and forth

“i think this is the first play i’ve become ever interested in watching.”

okay what now

his ears perk up at that, your first sentence that you’ve said after your pink sweater that looks like spring also looks brown like fall in certain scene because of the lighting realization

“it is?”

he takes the chance to look at you as best as he could, trying to play his squinting as cool as he can

namjoon’s far sighted and the glasses he’s wearing are nOT up to date with his current grade bc he’s pretty sure his eyesight’s worsened the past month

he can’t make you out wholly, but he does know that you’re pretty

his eyes don’t linger on you because of the snacks you’re fishing from your purse while you talk that are absolutely illegal in this theater house lmao

but instead, his gaze lingers on you because you’re so pretty

the minimal light that’s bouncing off the stage is enough for him to see a faint outline of your features, highlighting your smiles just right and your dress to glint underneath

“mhmm. i actually hate plays,” suddenly, you’re not scared if namjoon happens to be some sort of theatre buff and you’re offending him because honestly, you feel at ease. “crunch?” you’re holding out the mini bar of chocolate out to him, one he politely declines to because his eyes are bulging out the next second

“you do????”

his genuine reaction indulges you, making you grin ultimately that you put off eating snacks for now to focus on him

“yeah! this is my hate outfit :D”

namjoon giggles as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard

you automatically scoot closer because this time, it’s yOUR turn to shush him

this is totally for just the reason of talking more discreetly and not distracting anyone and is totally not an excuse to be closer to the next guy and touch shoulders with him then get a whiff of cologne because it’s rare for a guy to be handsome and aLSO smell good

your eyes get used to the darkness and eventually, you could make out features of namjoon beside you

he has the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen

and the way he looks at you makes you feel safe and even your height difference is visible with how probably lonG his torso is compared to yours, his gaze doesn’t make you feel small

namjoon’s still (unsurprisingly) far-sighted and ur so close that he’s a lil cross-eyed 

fuck it he’s gonna go to ophthalmologist FIRST thing in the morning tomorrow

“then why are you here?”

“my friend seokjin,” you lean back upon realizing the original reason why you’re here, the situation being so ironic that you puff out a smile

your friend’s named seokjin?

cool :D kim seokjin is namjoon’s of his favorite directors eVER!!

second best for him actually though.,., no one could quite compare to his first

your explanation makes him cackle several times, a swell of pride recounting why you hate (it’ll be past tense probably after this one) theatre 

“what about you?”

you turn the question to him, making his dimples disappear effectively that you think you’ve just spooked him

“i uh, well i always wanted to see a story that went like this, so i’m here.”

“you’re a critic? oh god. please don’t tell me you heard all my mumbles.”

no this is even WORSE

namjoon’s not a theatre buff

HE’S A CRITIC????????????

god im coming up

“don’t worry, i also think that the drapings must probably be dirty.”

he breaks out into a smile recounting how you were talking to yourself earlier, a snort escaping him involuntarily 

“RIGHT??? it’s like how do you even clean them?? do they fit in washing machines or-”

my god he’s such a nice guy!!!

in fact, he’s everything you want in a guy

you’ve went through atleast twelve facets of emotions for the past hour and you’re not even dating!!!!!!!

“my thoughts exactly!! and if it’s by hand, how do you even scrub the entirety of it?? or wring the water out??”

namjoon KNOWS exactly what’s up :’)

“is there even a clothesline that’d bEAR the weight??”

the two of you are so happy that you just look at each other laughing, a moment in time before namjoon nudges you to lean back because the ending’s happening

you don’t even question him how he’d know that it’s the ending and not just another opening to a new scene, just listening to him

you’re so happy

the play made you happy but namjoon made you even happier :-)

“if you are a critic, you should probably open up your review with this chatty play-hating girl beside you, then at the end, close it off with how she loves it.”

it’s the parting conversation as you realize and holy fuck you are nOT ready for it

you r gonna drag this out for as long as you could <3

......

and namjoon wants in too <3

“noted. if i was a playwright, i’d even make you the lead. which detail should i include? offering me wrapper-covered rice crispy snacks, or asking how you’d watch it while going thru the bathroom?”

this feels so natural

as natural as the couple in the play you’ve just finished watching :))

“you’re hilarious,” you’re not even the slightest bit annoyed and your restrained smile tells him all about it

yea you may have brought in snacks illegally but you aRE gathering your trash up as you’re a decent human being

namjoon wishes you’d pick up after yourself slowly, standing up from his seat as he has the plan of picking up trash that isn’t even his

“what name should i put then?”

you’re silent and oh god he thinks you found his company stupid and would definitely not give him your name

you’re not ignoring him though!!!

his words are still stuck in your head, realizing it lately with his “which detail should i include?”

“me wanting to turn this into a film, actually.”

you test the words out on your tongue, nodding to yourself after a few seconds that you seem so sure of it

“yeah. i wanna make it into a film.”

the lights turn on after being dim for so long, namjoon’s eyes going wide trying to digest what you’ve just said

“w-what?

.....

no fucking way

HOLY FUCKING SHIT SWFRWFBWRHGBRBVWRV SWBHJSDB SHJAVBHGJDS BWHRGHBSVWBGRH

namjoon’s malfunctioning as he’s looking at you from eye to eye, bottom lip trembling while he’s so keen at pointing at you

“y-you’re miss y/n!!”

....

right

oH RIGHT

he’s a fan of yours??

namjoon’s fanning his face because he’s about to literally burst into tears

how could he nOT???

how could he not be emotional when all along, he’s been talking to his number one favorite director????

you and your films are the absolute gems of his life namjoon’s not even kidding

your films were world-renowned for being so natural and sentimental without loading too much into it!!!! you’re known for being so humble through the multiple back-to-back awards and praise you get!!!! 

he cannot calm the fUCK down when you’re rubbing circles on his back

“you w-want to turn my play into a film?”

oh my gOD

you’re fumbling for the envelope and it’s only nOW that you realize that it’s not from seokjin in the first place

spring day a play by kim namjoon an invite for director y/n y/l/n

“it’s you!!!!”

“no it’s YOU!!”

jin’s plan worked alright :D

he’s just FOUR rows behind you lmao

it was just two weeks ago when yoongi, the executive producer of his film that he was directing, let it slip that he was co-financing a play

he met yoongi some semesters later after he became close with you, and he’s aLSO converted yoongi into hating theatre then he fit right in to your little posse of theatre kid-hating film students

that gave jin the laugh of his laugh and yoongi was not joking at all

“no, no. i’m telling you man. it’s different! i even have the script that i’ll let you read.”

and holy shit it IS different

if you see a couple tears on the last seven pages of yoongi’s copy of spring day’s script then mind yo oWN fucking business

then two weeks later, here he is :D

jin managed to also convert you to love theatre even IF it is namjoon’s play that did all the work

( also coincidentally found you a future boyfriend because he’s tired of seeing you alone and the closest you’d get to having someone is projecting your yearning into writing the scripts for the films you’d make )

he’s also secretly co-financed the whole play along with yoongi and he’ll drop that bomb later on lmao

“and that must mean i looked like a total FOOL beside you oh my god im so sorry!!”

namjoon panics at that, about to cry when another realization hits him when he’s about to put his head on his hands

“then that means the friend who gave you the ticket was-”

SEOKJIN VBFHSBVHSFBVSFHDVBSJFV SFJVJSFVSJVSSV SSV V FS FSV SFBVRBVRSVSWVGU

he cries to your shoulder and you never expected to be hugging and consoling someone you’ve just met two hours ago, a more than fond smile on your face he takes advantage of when he sneaks in the chance to ask you

“do you mean that?”

“now why would i lie to the playwright who’s been listening to me talk shit, then theorizing, then crying for the past hour?”

it’s true though

namjoon’s seen it all

he’s still handsome as ever even when he sniffles, his dimples on display when you return his question

“now did you mean it? writing me into your play?”

why are you even ASKING

:D

he’s the biggest fan of u

namjoon’s made notes of your work, dedicated scripts to your movies, and he’s thinking about how it’s not yet hitting you how your whole epiphany about the pink sweater turning brown on his play,,, was entirely inspired from you and your affinity for lighting in your films

he thinks it’s still a little early to kiss you on the cheek even if you’ve already hugged, instead settling on pinching your cheek with satisfaction present in all corners

“you’ve always been my muse.”

[creativenostalgiastuff]

Butterflies

Summary: Virgil made Roman promise that he wouldn’t fall for him. Virgil never made the same promise. And as they get ready for the High School Theater Awards, Virgil is left not quite sure what he thinks. Pairings: Prinxiety Warnings: homophobia mention, theater mentions, falling mention, stress, worry, awards, kissing, flowers Word Count: 5853 Author’s Note: I was watching Phineas and Ferb and Isabella says a line that was my springboard for this story. It takes place after Locked and before Last Words. I guess it's kind of forming its own Prinxiety Human AU because I keep adding more to this set up. Anyway, again this can be read as part of that or separately. Up to you. Just lots of feelings that were fun to explore. 

Virgil lays on the stage, a foot dangling over the side as he places his head down on his knee, waiting, amongst the confetti scattered across the floor. The lights are up in full, the castle backdrop that had been used in at least twenty different productions before this one swaying slightly in the breeze from the open backstage door. 

He closes his eyes, listening to the commotion in the vestibule outside of the theater. All of the families, friends, teachers, and other students gushing over the cast of the show, congratulating them for their performances and hard work. It will still be a bit before the cast comes in to turn in their mics, not that Virgil minds. He knows his family isn’t out there (he didn’t tell them when the show was… or even that he was in another show) and he doesn’t like crowds anyway. He is happy to just sit there and calm down from the show hype.

Virgil takes a deep breath, shakily letting it out as he looks around the theater. Admittedly, Virgil can’t quite figure out why his chest feels so tight. Maybe it has something to do with the release of all the pent up stress from his role as Prop Master. Running backstage had been stressful enough when he wasn’t in a leadership role, but lord help him when it came to being put in charge of the props. 

Or, maybe, it had something to do with the impending high school theater awards nominations. The student critics had been attending the show all weekend. Their reviews would come out by Wednesday, nominations for awards announced Friday, and then two weeks until the Gala where the winners would be announced.

“Oh, Virgil!” a sing-song voice rings as the door to the theater opens. “You have visitors!”

Virgil smiles as his eyes find his friends. Patton skips down the center aisle towards him, a flower tucked behind his ear, probably from a cast member’s bouquet. 

“It really was a great show,” says Patton, his grin large and genuine. “And you did a great job backstage! Everyone is talking about it. Best Junior Senior show in the history of the program! I can’t wait to take a turn at it next year with you guys!”

“It is regrettable that we were not able to participate in this show,” Logan nods. “You designed a fantastic, functional carriage and your props organization system was highly regarded by both the cast and crew.”

Virgil laughs dismissively as he stuffs his hands into his hoodie’s pocket, “Right. System. Or, you know, excessively fussing over items to the point of annoying the cast into submission.”

“You did well, Virge,” Patton reassures. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you get a nomination.”

 “Yeah, nominations,” Virgil blinks as he thinks about the upcoming city awards for the different high school theater programs. Cinderella was the last show before nominations were announced. “I don’t know. It's a talented city.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Patton encourages. “Go to the cast party and just relax. What’s done is done.”

Before Virgil can respond, the doors open and a blob of bright, glittering blue fabric fills the doorway. An arm emerges from the blob followed by the torso of a girl shouting, “Ay, yo, Prince! Push me through!”

“Dude, I’m trying. Your hoop is stuck!”

Virgil sprints up to the stuck Cinderella, “Woah, wait, stop! That hoop is a rental! Alana, back up, fold the hoop and then come through.”

Alana does as directed and gets through the doorway easily this time, “Yeah, I think the costume department would cry if I tore this dress. How many hours did it take?”

“It was a semester project for Talyn, so more than you want to know,” Roman answers as he follows his princess through the door, straightening the golden crown on his head. Virgil can’t help but notice the confidence that was almost glowing around this Prince: his posture straight and tall, a smile that could stop traffic, a sparkle in his eye that made them seem bright and full.  Snapchat wished it could make a filter to make people look like Roman did after a great performance, thought Virgil as he took in the sight of his friend.

“Virgil?”

Virgil shook his head, snapping back to reality, “Sorry, yeah?”

Alana turned around and pointed at the battery pack hidden on the hip pocket at the back of the dress (did Virgil say how amazing the dress design was for student work?), “Take my mic? I need to get out of this monstrosity.”

“Right,” Virgil says as he helps Alana get out of her mic, trying to ignore Roman; a task which was getting harder for Virgil as their friendship grew. Roman was such a big personality he seemed to demand attention. That meant that the more time Virgil spent with him, the more attention Roman took.

“Roman, Alana!” Patton calls as he bounces up and wraps the two leads in a big bear hug, “I am so proud of you two! That was such a good show!”

Virgil  finally untangles Alana, “You’re good to go.”

“Thanks,” she responds as she turns to face the group, “And thanks, Patton. It was a good last run. Only thing that would make it better is if we can at least get a nomination my senior year. It’d be nice to leave a legacy.”

“What is a legacy?” Roman immediately starts asking, striking dramatic poses. “Its leaving seeds in a garden you never get to see.”

“Come here, Mr. Legacy,” Virgil quips back with a roll of his eyes. “Before you pull a wire with your dramatics.”

“And I’m going to get out of this,” Alana says as she grabs as much of her dress as she can. 

“Need help with doors?” Patton asks, already headed towards the door. 

“That’d be great,” answers the princess. “Logan, can you help grab more of this?”

“Yes ma’am,” responds Logan as Alana hands him an armful of dress. “How did you do this for the production?”

“Mice,” Alana answers flatly as she picks up more dress. She takes a moment to pointedly make eye contact with Virgil, as if trying to send a secret message. Whatever the message is, Virgil doesn’t catch it, but it does make his ears red as the three of them maneuver her out of the theater and down to the green room to change. 

Virgil returns his attention to getting the mic off of Roman. The costume strategically hides his mic pack in his red sash, the wire running along it up to his shoulder before it blends into his hair. Easy enough to free. Without a word, Virgil gets to work fishing it out of the sash as his friend works to free himself from the mic in his hair.

They are friends, right? After the events in the locked choir room, Virgil doesn’t really know what is happening as far as their relationship, if you want to call it that, is concerned.There was a time where Virgil couldn’t stand the sight of Roman Prince. But things change. Roman has been true to his word, not telling anyone about Virgil being gay. They are fine doing things without Logan and Patton with them, which hadn’t always been true.  

Throughout the run of the show, Roman had gone out of his way to ensure that Virgil was included when the cast and crew did things; extending invites and offering rides. And Virgil realized he didn’t mind the large social gatherings with Roman. Something about Roman was almost calming, reassuring in those situations. Virgil almost found himself waiting for the next party, just so that he could hang out with Roman when he was in his element as Mr. Popular. Wanting to spend time with friends was normal, right?

“So, Virge,” Roman asks quietly, pulling Virgil from his thoughts, “you are coming to the cast party with me, aren’t you?”

“Uh…” Virgil begins, stuttering. With me?

“I mean, I’m taking Logan and Patton in my car, so it just makes sense you’d come too,” Roman explains as he hands the mic over his shoulder to Virgil, his words fast. “Sorry, I shouldn’t assume you’re going. It’s totally up to you. Just, you know, you always have a seat in my car if you want it. ”

It takes Virgil a moment to steady his voice, aiming for his signature indifference,  as he takes the mic and checks the battery is turned off, “Sure.”

“Perfect!” Roman turns, a smile beaming before he starts walking towards the door. “Give me five to change and then we’ll head out!”

Virgil  waits until the door to the theater clicks before he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He takes a steadying breath as he heads towards the sound booth, his face burning up and heart fluttering. 

~:-:~

Virgil sits in his last period class, his leg bouncing as he watches the second hand on the clock make its rounds, counting down the minutes. Why does the last period on the last day of the week always feel like the longest? He knows he isn't the only one anxious for once. 

The whole Cinderella cast had been a mess since Wednesday when they got their reviews from the student critics. They had been overwhelmingly positive, showering them with praise for everything from their costume design to their ensemble to their leads. Virgil found it hard to stay realistic, getting swept up in the hope of his fellow cast and crew. The energy had been undeniably infectious and Roman was definitely the patient zero of the group. As soon as that bell rang, the whole theater department would take off running to check the board. 

“They do realize the stampede of students will be worse than when they post the cast lists, right?” Logan inquires to Virgil, turning in his seat to face him. 

Virgil shrugs, chewing absently on his thumb nail, “Will that stop us from doing it?”

“No, I would think not,” Logan smirks as he turns back and folds his hands on his desk. Virgil rolls his eyes at Logan’s quiet patience. 

“What are the odds we get nominated again?” asks Virgil, leaning forward so that he could talk softly to Logan’s ear. 

“As I have told you, it depends on the category,” answers Logan while still facing front, his hands folded on the desk. “North Valley had a well recieved My Fair Lady, Mount Battenhorn’s stage for Les Mis was all anyone wanted to talk about in the forums for months.”

“Right, right,” sighs the emo as he sits back in his seat. His eyes flit back to the clock and the remaining few minutes before they would be dismissed. His class was about as far from the theater as he could get. Virgil would have to push upstream of the students if he wanted to check the board. Fast, too, if he wants to catch his bus. 

Virgil can’t help the burning question from bubbling out, “But like, what are the chances that Roman…” 

“Roman will get nominated?,” Logan finishes the question in unison with Virgil. He sighs as he pushes his glasses up his nose. “As I have told you the last three times you have asked in this class alone, I am optimistic of Roman’s chances. As I am sure you would agree based on your personal experience, he makes a very convincing Prince Charming. ”

Virgil stops, not quite sure what Logan is trying to insinuate. Was that referring to Virgil’s experience of Roman as an actor, a friend, or something else? 

“Excuse me,” a voice comes over the PA system, cutting off Virgil from retorting. “Teachers, please command a presence in your classroom.”

There is a pause before the voice continues, “As many of you are aware, our theater department just wrapped up the Junior Senior show last weekend, Cinderella. Ms. Martin, the director, is here with some big announcements.” 

“Well this is unprecedented,” comments Logan, loud enough for Virgil to hear. Virgil can feel his pulse skyrocket, adrenaline flooding the system. This can only mean something big. They wouldn’t announce publicly no nominations, right?

“Thank you, Principal Arthur,” the director’s high soprano voice said. “I am here to happily announce that this year’s show set a new school record for nominations, with a total of four nominations!”

“What?!” 

“We have nominations in best costumes, best supporting actor in a musical lead actress in a musical, and best musical!” Ms. Martin rattled off quickly, her voice getting squeakier with each word. “The awards will be given out at the Gala in two weeks. Congrats to everyone on a job well done. Oh, and I need to meet with you all in the theater immediately. Thanks and congrats!”

Virgil doesn't remember standing up. All he knows is that he is looking down at Logan, still sitting in front of him with a smirk, “I guess the odds of nominations were pretty good.”

“We were nominated.” Virgil states, not quite sure he can believe the words coming out of his own mouth. 

The teacher motions towards the door, “I believe your presence was requested in the theater, Virgil?”

“Right,” Virgil says as he picks up his backpack and hurries out the door.  When he gets to the doorway, he sees fellow cast and crew members in the hallway, running and jumping, whooping with excitement. Virgil can’t tell if he wants to join in for a moment as he takes in what they said. The cast is nominated. Roman is nominated. 

Roman. God, he would be so excited.  

A cast member runs past him, “Come on, Virge! They’re waiting!”

Virgil takes off after the rest of the cast, joining in the growing group of theater kids as they get closer to the theater. 

Once in the theater, he follows his fellow techies to the back of the theater as the cast fills the stage, just as they always did for full rehearsals. The whole room is loud with whoops of excitement and genuine joy. Someone hits the lights for the house, leaving the lights for the stage on from the drama class that had just been in there before the cast had taken over. 

“Can I get a mic?” the director yells from the stage, hardly audible over the excitement. She’s a short woman, blending in easily to the small ocean of high school students. One of the sound kids finds a mic and runs it up to her. “Thanks, is this thing on?” the director asks.

“Someone get the spotlight!” shouts one of the actors. 

“I’ll get it,” Virgil yells back. He honestly had missed being in the lighting booth for this show, having gotten his start in the technical side as a spotter. Quickly, Virgil scrambles up the ladder to the lighting booth tower. It takes him a second to turn the nob on the light to turn it on, his hands shaking from the excitement. Finally he gets it, turning on the spotlight and hitting the director. 

“Ah, thank you,” the director calls. “Okay, quiet down. I know we’re excited, but I have a few things we need to cover before dismissal.”

The chattering continues until a “Quiet on stage!” is barked by a familiar voice with a demanding presence. Virgil’s eyes follow to the sound of the voice over the others and smiles at Roman. The cast quiets down at the request of their Prince. 

“Thank you,” Ms. Martin says. “First of all, congratulations to everyone for everything you have done. We wouldn’t have gotten the Best Musical nomination without each and every one of you.

“As you are aware, the Gala is in two weeks. We have been asked to perform a song from the musical at the Gala. I would like to suggest we honor our fabulous leads by going with ‘Do I Love You’. Any objections?”

There’s silence before someone yells, “Give it up for our Prince and Princess, both nominated in their category!”

Virgil finds Alana in the crowd as people turn towards her and hits her with the spotlight quickly while flipping the other one on and spotting Roman too. Both of them laugh as they try to block the light to see who is spotting them.

“Let’s not forget our behind the scene’s nominations too,” Alana calls, finally giving up trying to see Virgil on the spot. “Talyn for that beautiful blue mammoth of a dress, as well as the rest of the costume department!”

Virgil finds Talyn in the group to spot them too and swinging the light from Alana to Talyn. 

“And to our beautiful director for all of her hard work,” Roman shouts as the kids break into applause and cheers. Virgil swings Roman’s spot back to Ms. Martin who has tears in her eyes. “We wouldn’t have set the school record without her!”

A student starts blasting music through the sound system to the cheers of everyone in the theater. Virgil takes a deep breath as he watches the stage, all of the students are hugging one another and dancing in celebration. The room truly feels electric. Virgil can[t help but watch Roman as he make his way through the entire stage, congratulating everyone, before jumping off the stage and making his way to the tech crew, continuing the celebration with them. A few of the other cast members follow him, with a few techies climbing on the stage until it was just one sea of celebration. Virgil is happy to watch from his place on the tower, feeling part of the joy while being comfortably separated. He never wants this moment to end. 

The bell rings, causing all of the students to scramble to find their discarded bags. Virgil watches, mesmerized by the movement below him.

“Okay, Alana and Roman, I need to see you first thing Monday so we can set a schedule to rehearse before the Gala,” Ms. Martin shouts into the mic and the students start to rush for the door. “Great job, everyone! I’ll let you know more details as I get them. Thanks and have a great weekend!”

Virgil sighs, resigning himself to miss the bus after seeing the rush for the door. He needs a minute to calm his shaking hands and falling from scaffolding was not something he plans to do. He sits on the ledge, swinging his legs and waving to the other techies as they head out of the theater. 

Ms. Martin points at him from her spot on the stage, “Virgil, aren’t you going to miss the bus?”

“Yes, ma’am, but its okay,” he waves to her. “I just need a minute to wrap my head around it all, if that’s okay.”

“Well don’t take too long,” she calls back, her eyes drifting to the bottom of the tower where the sound equipment was kept. “I’ll be in my office doing paperwork. Holler if you need me?”

Virgil nods and watches her exit the stage. He takes a deep breath, continuing to swing his legs back and forth. The adrenaline in his system was finally starting to calm back to what Virgil would consider an acceptable level now that the others had left. Virgil pulls out his phone and checks the time. He curses under his breath when he does the math in his head; if he leaves now he might walk in before his parents. Maybe. 

It's not that his parents are bad. They just don’t get Virgil, you know? They are always fighting over really dumb things, like his hoodie or his hair or why he wasn’t dating. After his coming out to Roman, Virgil just didn’t want to deal with questions his parents might ask. He could never tell them that he was gay. 

Virgil rubs his eyes, telling himself to stop sitting here thinking and go home. He gets up on the platform and quickly hits a few buttons to turn back on the lights to the house and the stage lights out. He scrambles down the ladder when an unexpected voice says, “Hey, Virge.” 

Startled, Virgil’s feet slip and he falls, “Shit!” He feels his body tense as he readies himself for the inevitable contact with the ground.

Instead, he is surprised again by a pair of arms catching him from the fall. 

“I guess the promise was that I wouldn’t fall for you, not the other way around,” Roman’s amused voice came. Virgil feels his heart skip a beat having nothing to do with the fall he just experienced. 

He opens his eyes and lets out a laugh of relief, “Roman, warn a guy next time, will ya?”

Roman winces at Virgil’s point, “Sorry. Still excited I guess.”

“Yeah, the cast did great,” Virgil responds as he places his feet on the floor. “Best Musical and all. I’m sure it wouldn’t have happened without you and Alana getting your own nominations.”

“That’s kind, but it was a group effort,” adds Roman as he helps Virgil get steady on his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” Virgil teases, “But is the great Roman being humble? I never thought I would see the day.” 

“You wound me, sir,” Roman retorts, bumping Virgil with his shoulder. “I’ll have you know, humility is the least of my many redeeming qualities.”

“Oh, right, my apologies,” Virgil laughs as he rubs the back of his neck, “I forgot who I was talking to.” 

Roman picks up Virgil’s backpack from where he had unceremoniously thrown it on the ground, dusting it off, “I wanted to ask, some of us were going to go get ice cream to celebrate. Logan and Patton are coming.”

“Oh,” Virgil responds. As soon as he says it, he wants to smack himself in the face. Really? All of that clever banter and now all you have is oh?

Roman extends his hand to Virgil, still holding the backpack in the other hand, “You up for it, or do you need to get home?”

Virgil swallows hard, trying to ignore the somersaults his stomach was doing, as he takes the offered hand. The simple touch is like flipping the switch in his head that made him worry and panic. For Roman, he has all the time in the world. 

“Yeah, ice cream sounds nice.”  

“Sweet,” Roman slings the backpack on his own shoulder, keeping a hold of Virgil’s hand. 

~:-:~

Virgil stands backstage at the High School Theater Awards Gala, fidgeting with the sleeves on his borrowed-from-the-costume-department metallic purple jacket. Talyn had insisted he wear it due to how it matched his purple Converse he had insisted on wearing. He didn’t mind the look it gave him with his black dress pants and button down shirt, only it was a bit impractical given his task of helping Alana manage the blue sparkling dress that had earned the nomination. He wasn’t sure why it was him helping and not one of the other techies who had the job during the show, but he didn’t ask questions.

On stage they are announcing another award, a technical award. The school had won for best costume already, thanks to Talyn’s beautiful and practical designs. They had taken everything into account, such as Alana’s nervous fidgeting with the beading on the dress, a habit she often showed backstage as she prepared for this section of the show. The costume department had reinforced the beading to allow her to fuss without breaking it. 

Virgil checks on the single flower he had placed in his pocket earlier, ensuring it is still okay. His breath catches at the sight of the red petals against the black lining of the jacket. He swallows hard and closes the jacket, nodding to himself. Now is not the time to think of that. Roman would win his award. He returns his attention to Alana, walking up to her spot in the wings.  

Virgil bites at his thumb as he looks across the stage from his current place. In the other wing Roman sits on a box, staring at the floor, blankly. His body reads as tense, folded up on itself more than Virgil is used to from the man. 

Roman had been acting weird the few days leading up to the Gala. He was more argumentative, more withdrawn, and refused to listen to reason. He insisted on using all of his free time and energy to work and rework the song for the Gala, ignoring their pleas for him to take care of himself. They had all tried to distract him by watching Disney movies or playing board games. Patton had baked cookies and brought him food whenever he refused to stop working. Logan had made a schedule to help Roman optimize his time to take care of himself. 

Virgil, admittedly, didn’t really know what to do. He had spent most of his time just sitting with Roman as he worked through the song, not saying much except the occasional reassurance that Roman knew what he was doing. Virgil wanted to do more, but he just didn’t understand. The performance had nothing to do with who won the award. This performance was supposed to be for fun.

Yet Virgil is nervous too, isn’t he? Maybe because he was worried of what would happen if Roman lost the award. Or maybe for other reasons. Now wasn’t the time to worry about it. 

He looks at Alana, acknowledging her own anxious energy as she messes with the reinforced beads, “You okay? You know you already won, right?”

Earlier they had announced her win.  She had been crying in relief and excitement as they had been getting set up for the performance, but now she clearly seems on edge. All that was left out of their nominations were Roman for Best Supporting Actor in a Musical and Best musical.

“I just don’t want to let anyone down,” Alana admits. She turns slightly to look at him without moving the dress, “Yeah. Can you do me a favor though, before I go on?”

“Yeah, what is it?”

She nods across the stage, “Go calm him down. He’s making me nervous looking that pale.”

Virgil snorts, “You say that like I haven’t been trying to all week. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Go talk to him?”

“You think I’m your best bet for talking?”

“Just try. You always have an effect on him. I think he needs you right now.”

Pushing the knot in his stomach down, Virgil agrees he has to try, “Alright. Just don’t move until you step on that stage, got it?”

Alana nods again, so Virgil slips around the backstage, avoiding all of the moving people and props, until he ends up behind Roman. Virgil stops and tries to think of something to make Roman laugh. He could just say hi, but that could scare the guy if he wasn’t careful. 

He could say what he was thinking: that he would never get tired of Roman in the Prince costume. That Roman had nothing to worry about. That he would make them all understand why he was nominated in the first place. That everyone was so proud of him, that Virgil was so proud of him. That he was glad they got locked in that choir room. That he was glad they were friends. That he, maybe, wanted… No, it wasn’t time to worry about the gift in his pocket and the words he might  end up saying. 

Virgil takes a deep breath before choosing his words, “I was going to say something clever, but honestly I got nothing.”

Roman keeps staring absently at the floor, “Hey, Virge.”

A stagehand passes them, placing a hand on Roman’s shoulder as he does so, “Two minutes, your highness.”

“Thank you two,” Roman mumbles as he stands up. 

“I’m here, Ro. What do you need?” Virgil asks in a rush, wanting to help before it is too late.

Roman’s head snaps up to look at Virgil and the use of the nickname. Virgil swallows the lump in his throat as he realizes he had never actually said that name before, only sending it in group messages with Logan and Patton before. He isn’t sure if its okay or not with Roman.

Roman gives a small smile, “Honestly? You won’t hate me?”

“Not possible,” answers Virgil as he crouches down so that he can be eye level with Roman. “Whatever it is, I got it, promise.”

“Just… hold my hand?” asks the Prince in a small voice. 

Virgil takes Roman’s hands in his own, his heart hammering hard inside him. He looks over the actor, not saying anything as Roman holds on and closes his eyes. Virgil can’t help but watch in awe as Roman takes deep breaths, seemingly breathing in confidence with each breath. 

“One minute,” the stage hand comes back and informs them. “Mic is going live now.”

Roman stands, nodding, pulling Virgil with him, still holding his hand while he takes his position in the wing. Virgil can’t help but notice the almost electric feeling in his hand in Roman’s. He’d be lying if he didn’t say it was intoxicating, standing in the wings next to  Roman Prince about to go on stage. 

The music comes in under the MCs voices, helping to set the tone for the love song. Roman gives a final squeeze to Virgil’s hand before he lifts it up and kisses it softly, causing Virgil’s brain to go crazy with bells and alarms. Virgil reaches up and straightens the crown on Roman’s head before giving him the thumbs up and a smile. 

Roman and Alana enter the stage and sing the song, “Do I Love You Because You’re Beautiful” like they were born singing it. They hit all of the notes, the staging is natural, and they both look absolutely stunning. Virgil just watches from his place in the wings, like he had every time the song was done for their show. He just adores how Roman sings the song, so full of meaning and emotion. He would never admit it, but it was his favorite moment in the whole show. He ignores the lump in his throat that forms when he realises its the last time he will watch them perform this song together. 

They end the song to the roar of applause at the kiss. Roman and Alana take their bows before Roman escorts his princess off stage towards Virgil. The two of them are beaming, knowing that they nailed it. Virgil can’t help but beam with pride for the two of them. 

Not saying anything, Roman lets go of Alana’s hand and takes Virgil’s. He doesn’t stop as he pulls Virgil through the crowded backstage, taking his mic and handing it to the techie waiting for it without breaking stride. 

“Roman?” Virgil finally asks when he finds his voice. “Where are we going?”

“Need some air,” Roman answers breathlessly as he pushes on a door marked with an exit sign. “Come on.”

“Wait,” Virgil says as he stops. He takes off his shoe and places it in the doorway, preventing the door from closing completely behind them. “We don’t want to get locked out.”

Roman nods and walks a few steps away from the building into the alleyway, letting go of Virgil’s hand, “You’re always looking out for us.”

Virgil leans against the brick wall as he watches Roman pace in the alley, just trying to catch his breath and calm himself down. Roman’s hands are on his hips as he walks the nervous energy out, causing Virgil to grin before saying, “You did it, Roman. You guys killed it.”

Roman shakes his head, a smile spreading across his face, “Yeah? You think so?”

“Obviously,” Virgil adds as he crosses his arms to try and stop them from shaking. “They’d be crazy to not have you win your category. Anyone with eyes can see you deserve it.”

“That… means a lot, coming from you,” admits Roman. 

“Uh, I’ve been trying to tell you that all week!”

Roman laughs as he approaches Virgil, staying on the bottom stair,  “Well, you know, I never do listen.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

“Hey, Prince!” Alana’s voice comes as she leans her head out the doorway, working to put her earrings back in her ears. “Get your butt back in here. They’re getting ready to announce your category.” 

“Coming,” Roman responds as Alana disappears back inside. Virgil grabs Roman’s hand as he starts to pass, “Ro, wait, I almost forgot.” He pulls out the single rose from his inside coat pocket and extends it to Roman, his hand shaking. “For good luck, not that you need it.”

Roman takes another step towards him, “You shouldn’t have. I didn’t get you anything.”

Before Virgil can say anything, Roman kisses Virgil softly, gently, yet electrifying. Virgil is caught off guard and tense for a moment before he relaxes into the embrace, closing his eyes and accepting the moment. 

“Roman!” barks Alana. 

Roman pulls back, causing Virgil to come back to reality, at the separation. “I’m sorry. I…” Roman mutters as he hurries past Virgil and heads inside before Virgil can say anything.  

Virgil stands there, stunned for a moment as he tries to process what just happened. Roman Prince had just kissed him. And Virgil had wanted it to keep going. It's the most alive Virgil remembers feeling. He hears a commotion inside the theater and snaps back to reality. Roman. 

Virgil grabs his shoe and heads into the theater, and hears the MC read all the nominees in Roman’s category. He starts running, sliding into the wing as they read off, “And the winner for Best Supporting Actor in a Musical goes to Roman Prince.”

Roman walks on stage, radiating at the announcement, waving to the crowd. Virgil knows Roman needs the validation from others when it comes to his creative work. And now he had it. Virgil joined the cheering as tears started filling his eyes. He can’t help the pride welling up inside of him for his friend. 

Roman accepts the trophy and waves it in the air, signing thank you to the audience as the MCs start ushering him back towards the wings to keep the show going. Virgil isn’t thinking, he just starts moving towards Roman coming off stage. His Prince’s eyes find him, tears of joy shimmering, as Virgil offers him a hand and pulls him further off stage and out of the way.

 “Virgil, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...”

Virgil leans in and kisses Roman to stop him from talking. Virgil is gentle, but pushes all of the things he hasn’t said to Roman into it. All of the longing, the pining, the quiet hoping. Roman melts into him, wrapping an arm around him to pull them closer together. Virgil pulls back and wipes away a tear that had fallen down Roman’s cheek with a soft smile.  “Butterflies,” he says in response to Roman’s statement earlier. “You give me butterflies. Always.” 

[kkemtal]

Risk and Benefit: Where Was I For You Not To Mind My Own Business Here

September 1, 2021

The peak of my red tide has got to be the cause of why my mind goes intangled and triggered a growing deeply sown frustation throughout this whole day. I might second my over intake of caffeinated beverages today to be part of the major blame too. This has conjured images of the things I really want to do and enjoy. In the unprecedented world we're currently caught on, with my reluctance, I am jeopardized by having second thoughts on weighing out the risks and benefits on pushing what I desire to do as part of my self-love - gym, solo travels, driving classes. From these planted frustrations unveils what rolls out at the end of today.

Throughout the day, just out of the blue, while waiting for my appointment at the hospital, I decided to meet with someone who works at the coffeeshop. It's just a walk mile distance. I had a fine moment of transient socializing with 'them' while jumbling with my client calls and a few mail reports. As always, on how consistently thoughtful and welcoming they were, they treated me with my favorite coffee drink along with vegetarian salad and blueberry cheesecake. Honestly, I felt an immense gratitude on my every visit there as I thought they and along others associated with me are angels in my life based on their gestures imbued of positive energies. Along with our conversation, it was just me being accosted of how I was doing. I was expressing on wanting to unwind on local travels and beaches as a solo traveller or hoping to be adopted by any willing adventure seeking cliques. As an open opportunity for me to explore and along the way make new friends which I know how crucial this is at my age.

From suggesting cool beaches and tourist spots into harboring mixed emotions of frustration and dreading over you as they asked me how am I with you. They kinda felt dubious on our non-label or lowkey so to speak kind of relationship. They kinda felt a pity on me as they knew how expressive I was on assuring you that I still have feelings for you. They adamantly advised me not to take this martyrdom too long while you're at abroad as they had a gut feeling you might possibly met someone more special. Since, we haven't spoken yet for almost two months right after you left me on seenzone last July 20, 2021, I believe? You were at the van on your way home from whatever was your part-time job related errands at night. As an overthinker, I have already thought about that as one of the future major possibilities for another painful heartbreak in this cusp of adulthood. Most likely the reason to be would be you finding yourself falling in love more in there and choose to live permanently there and restart a new life chapter. I sensed it's never gonna be as traumatazing as my last toxic ex-boyfriend. But, a somewhat liberating yet a very painful and great lesson in love to be embedded from.

Right now, honestly, I'm crying here at my room because I'm overthinking that maybe our depth of love for one another since then was we misinterpreted in some way on confronting what's so special and rare we had or we took it differently by meaning. Maybe, on your side, this is just a fleeting rollercoaster moment, a phase you'll take what we had a special connection for granted. From my side, I know I prayed for this to have it with you during college which right now I yearned for something greater between us and that has left me feeling one-sided with you. Maybe, I mistook what you've felt for me as something greater and beyond just purely a crush. Since you've got no father figure and are a single child, maybe you loved me more as a sibling with no romantic/intimate attachment, perhaps. I don't know, I feel kinda guilty, confused and hurt with these self-inflicting thoughts. I have a hunch that could be the reason on your phases of denial flickering out. At the same time, I'm sulking to the thought of you being taken over by your selfishness and pride or your own demon as you mentioned then. Maybe you might forget me and along with your closest loved ones here who are missing you. I know you just have to figure things out for yourself and come up with some thoughtfulness and considerations whilst exploring on your dream land which I'm so happy for you that you've made it given the global situation.

Being so emotional right now and incessantly crying, fuck. Of course, I have thought about these possibilities on being on your shoes because I want to save myself from being too idealistic in love and shift my perception into what is realistic. I have considered every factor amidst this pandemic while being patient with you without waiting, I don't know if that makes any sense. The pain caused from these thoughts is something I should embrace as a cure of a future heartbreak. I don't want to disturb you although I want to besides on how much I miss you so much and wondering about you. But, truly the main reason is I know you have received more than enough of my assurance that you'll always count on me based on the poems, songs, letters and most especially that birthday presentation I sent during the lockdown period.

Apart from that, I will just let you be. Just like that significant gist from the film Ruby Sparks, I don't want to control or try to change you out of frustration to stay in line what favorable consequences I'd like to project through you in choosing me. Teary-eyed me painfully sees this as a challenge on what's meant for me will find its way back to me on the right time granted by the Universe. Done right out naturally. Regardless, the balance of negative and positive opinions I gathered from others, I'm still gonna be on flow and patience with you. Wholeheartedly, no matter what, I'll always be thankful for how long I take this too far on reaching you amidst the uproar of doubts and approvals, cheers and jeers from the crowd on how our relationship unfolds. Despite, I felt I am silenced onto holding with this, anchoring with hope though I'm drowning in despair. Because, I swear to God, what we have is so unimaginably rare that I couldn't find this kind of special connection with a gazillion of people I met who just come and go. I kept searching for you to anyone who has been enamored by me or anyone at our age group connected with me both in and out of my professional field. At this far reaching point, you are beyond comparable. No one is anywhere near significantly special as you - the fear of losing and the risk of temporary place in my life serving as what figure of platitude.

Tonight, I saw a post introducing one of the locally known DJs residing from the middle region of our country who's in a long-term 6 year relationship with one of the Miss Universe candidates from the aformentioned region competing against other beauty pageants for the globally crown reigning competition. As I viewed the couple's adorable pictures and appreciating how beautiful they are, I cried asking God how I wish to be genuinely happy by having this kind of exact inspiring and loving relationship with open acceptance and no room of denials coupled with exuberance and blessings from both parties and the public with no clouded judgements and be perceived as subject to love is beyond what's intangible. This. I felt envious. I know this overblowing trail of messed up rumination will pass but come in lighter degrees from inexplicably thinking about you past work hours until I hit the hay.

Right now, I only hope and ask the Universe for you to be safe at all aspects while chiselling in becoming the better version of yourself by weeding out the realized toxic traits you figured from yourself based on your encounters from living with your abroad ambitions. Hoping you will have more strength and energy to take care of yourself and tread against whatever plummets you down in this new journey as the world has been hard enough. As you say, happiness is such a luxury.

- kkemtal

[talistheintrovert]

a royal pain

a royalty arranged marriage au with some pregnancy thrown in for @life-astudyofhypotheticals because TROPES ARE AWESOME KIDS. do i know what era this is set in? absolutely not. vaguely not modern, i guess? anyway, i hope you enjoy it <3

Read it under the cut or on ao3!

********

“You need me to WHAT?!” Clarke asked, incredulous. 

“Bear an heir,” Abby repeated, like it was obvious. 

They were sitting at the breakfast table when Abby brought it up, and Clarke had nearly choked on her toast. It’s not like she didn’t know her mother was trying to marry her off for the kingdom, but she never expected her to just jump right in like that. She thought she’d spend a few more months being coy about it at least. 

“So you’ve arranged my marriage?” Clarke asked, taking a long draught of champagne from the glass that Jasper discreetly handed her, no longer caring that it was too early in the morning for alcohol. 

Abby tutted. “You knew this was coming, Clarke, you’re a princess; you don’t get to decide. You marry who is best for the kingdom, and Kane’s kingdom is what we need right now. They have resources we don’t, and the only reason they even agreed to this arrangement was because Kane doesn’t have any legitimate children - his heir is the son of his sister, and he needs to legitimise him. Marrying him to another kingdom’s successor will do that.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes over the glass, trying to keep her emotions below boiling point. “And you want me to bear an heir.”

“Of course, Clarke, that’s to be expected. But look at King Marcus; he never bore an heir of his own and now his kingdom is in danger of becoming unstable due to his nephew’s legitimacy being questioned. I don’t ever want to lose our kingdom simply by lack of trying.”

“Lack of tr-” Clarke cut herself off by downing the last of the drink, trying to stop her mind from reeling. Jasper appeared at her side to switch the glass out for a full one, and she could see Monty glaring angrily at the back of her mother’s head while he refilled hers. It was nice to know she wasn’t the only person who found this insane. Abby would find it repellent that Clarke was friends with ‘the help’ but she didn’t care. She’d never really cared much about that kind of thing, much to her mother’s chagrin, which was probably why Abby was leaning so hard on the arranged marriage - it was the one thing Clarke couldn’t really contest. 

Clarke took a breath, trying to calm herself. “Do I get to meet this man?” 

“You’re getting married next Thursday,” Abby said, impassive. 

Clarke actually did choke on her toast that time. 

“Wh- shit...”

“For goodness sake, temper your language, child. If you speak like that in front of Kane’s nephew, you will give him the wrong impression of your character.”

“Or the right one,” Jasper muttered, which only made the choking worse because Clarke started laughing and tried to muffle it by shoving more bread in her mouth. 

When she got her bearings back, lungs burning, she asked, “I don’t even get to meet him before our wedding day?”

Abby sighed loudly and folded her hands over the table - a clear sign that Clarke was in trouble. “This is how it has always been done. I didn’t meet your father until our wedding day and we were perfectly civil until the day he died. You’re far too much like him sometimes; he wanted to be radical and spend more time with the people, and I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s just not realistic. You are marrying this gentleman and that’s the end of the discussion.”

And with that, Abby pushed her plate away and left the room.

Clarke slumped down in her chair and Monty put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “Hey, look at it this way - at least it’s not your cousin.”

******

Clarke had never been fond of dresses. She didn’t hate them, but boy did she prefer a comfortable pair of pants to eighty layers of tulle and silk. Yet there she was, standing in front of the mirror in a white wedding dress while Harper added the finishing touches to her hair. 

“Are you sure you can’t take my place?” Clarke asked, for at least the third time that afternoon. “We look enough alike, I’m sure we could manage it, at least for long enough for me to escape.”

Harper ducked her head as she laughed. “I don’t know why you’re complaining, he’s really attractive.”

“You’ve seen him?!” Clarke’s eyes widened. “When?!”

Harper raised her eyebrows. “About an hour ago, all of us had to go meet his staff, to make sure none of us step on each other’s toes, and he was there.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, actually. I think he was concerned we might not be very friendly to each other.”

“Interesting,” Clarke hummed. 

Someone knocked on the door, and then Monty poked his head around. “Are you almost ready? The ceremony is supposed to start in a minute.”

“All done!” Harper said, stepping away from Clarke so she could admire her handiwork. “And looking like a princess, if I do say so myself.”

Clarke walked carefully towards Monty, dress swishing with every step, and looped her arm around his elbow so he could guide her towards the great hall she was about to get married in. 

“You look beautiful,” he said, genuine. 

“Thanks,” she sighed, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “Why couldn’t you walk me down the aisle?” 

He smiled sadly. “I’m a servant, Clarke.”

“I don’t care,” she said, earnest, and he squeezed her hand. “I’ve met King Marcus maybe twice in my whole life, I don’t want him walking me down; if I can’t have my dad, I’d rather have a friend.”

Before he could reply, they reached the doors and the king himself poked his head through. “Ah! Princess Clarke, I was beginning to think you might have gotten lost.”

“In my own castle?” 

“I get lost in mine all the time,” Kane admitted, taking her arm from Monty as he stepped away. Clarke really didn’t mind Kane, if she was honest - he wasn’t the worst king she’d ever met - but she still ached for someone else to take her towards one of the biggest moments of her life. He seemed to notice her discomfort and tilted his head sympathetically. “I’m sorry your father couldn’t be here.”

She managed a wan smile. “Me too.”

Music swelled and the doors burst open, and then she was walking, automatic, with Kane at her side down a long carpeted nave. The hall was packed with people and she kept her eyes forward, looking at the man she was about to marry. 

Bellamy Blake. 

He was tall, dark hair slicked back and dark eyes scrutinising her as she approached. His hands were folded in front of him and she could see the tension in his frame the closer she got. Harper wasn’t wrong, he was handsome, but there was something in gaze, something like arrogance or annoyance or maybe both, that made Clarke’s hackles rise. 

As she reached the front, Kane let go of her, and she stood in front of this man, the man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with, and all she could think about was that she didn’t know the first thing about him. 

*****

The ceremony, and the celebrations afterwards, passed in a kind of slow blur. 

Clarke wasn’t really registering any of it, she was just going through the motions. She said “I do” and she let the man kiss her briefly on the lips, dry and to the point, and she sat beside him throughout dinner and dessert and the various entertainment before them, smiling and nodding as people came up to the table to congratulate them. 

She was slightly comforted by the fact that he seemed as uncomfortable as she did, sitting up just a little too straight in his chair and drumming his fingers on his knees where no-one else could see. 

Jasper kept bringing her drinks - thank god for her friends - and on the third or fourth time he slipped between them to top up her champagne, she nudged him slightly, looking to Bellamy’s empty glass. Jasper took the hint and filled it, before winking at Clarke and disappearing back to the kitchen. She wished she could go with him. 

Bellamy sipped the drink, gaze cutting to her briefly before returning to the crowd. “Thanks.”

She lifted a shoulder, noncommittal, and bit into the last piece of cake on her plate. She was still chewing when someone approached; a dark-haired girl, who looked pretty angry, and Bellamy winced. 

“I’m really sorry,” he muttered, and Clarke didn’t get to ask why before the girl spoke. 

“This is bullshit, you know,” she snapped, keeping her voice low. 

“Princess, this is my sister,” Bellamy said. “Octavia, this is Clarke.”

“Uh,” was Clarke managed to get out before she forged ahead. 

“He doesn’t need to marry some prissy princess just to prove he can run a kingdom, it’s stupid, and frankly it’s offensive. If you think you’re going to come in and run our place like it’s your own you’ve got another think coming, Princess. We don’t need you, and we certainly don’t like you, so you better keep your opinions and your condescension and your money to yourself.”

“O,” Bellamy said, chastising, and she rounded on him. 

“No, it’s bullshit and you know it, Bellamy.”

He sighed. “It’s done now, there’s no point picking a fight with the person I now have to spend the rest of my life with, let alone the rest of this evening. Getting angry about it isn’t going to undo the fact that I’m married. It is what it is.”

“It’s bullshit,” she repeated, glaring between him and Clarke.  “You don’t get to look down on us just because your kingdom is wealthier and Bellamy isn’t a direct heir.”

Not for the first time that evening, Clarke was thankful her mother was at the other table across the room. She took a long sip of her drink. “Did I once say I did? I don’t care how much money you or anyone else has. I don’t care if you’re direct descendants of the throne or a merchant from across the sea; either way, I don’t know you. You’re saying all this like I had a choice in the matter. You think I wanted to get married to someone I’ve never met? You think I wanted any of this? I don’t get any choice who I marry, I don’t get to fall in love, I didn’t even get to see his face before I married him, I just do my duty because that’s what is expected of me. You don’t know me and I don’t appreciate the assumption.”

Octavia scowled, folding her arms like she was about to start a fight, but Bellamy held up a hand, quieting her, and she huffed loudly and stomped away back to her table where she immediately started muttering to people, shooting glares up at Clarke. 

Bellamy turned to Clarke, apologetic. “She’s just worried about me.”

She shrugged, finishing off her drink. “It’s been a long day, I think I’m going to bed.”

He nodded, getting to his feet and holding out his arm. 

At her questioning look, he rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “It’s our wedding night; it might look a bit strange if you go to bed alone.”

She felt mildly nauseous. “Oh.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” he rushed to correct himself, “I don’t intend to do anything you don’t want me to do, but for the sake of appearances-”

“Good idea,” she said, before he could speak any further, and took the hand he was still holding out to her. They stepped away from the table to the cheers and toasts of the crowd, and she smiled until her cheeks hurt, until the people could no longer see them, until they reached the door to their new bedroom and she finally let it fall from her face. 

He dropped her hand as he let them into the room, barely sparing a glance at the bed before he walked to the closet and started shedding clothes, hanging them up as he went. She hovered near the bedpost, biting her lip nervously, and when he glanced over his shoulder and noticed, he stopped unbuttoning his undershirt and returned to her side. 

“I meant what I said, Princess, I don’t have any expectations about tonight. You don’t need to concern yourself with that.”

“We have to consummate the marriage, Bellamy, or it isn’t bound,” she said, matter-of-fact, and he laughed.

“Who’s going to know? Outside these four walls, who would notice if we didn’t?”

“Are you not... interested in women? Because if that’s the case I’m sure we could arrange something,” she noticed the expression of pleasant surprise cross his face and forged ahead. “Or is it me? If you don’t find me attractive-”

“Yeah, that’s,” he let his eyes trail down her figure appreciately, “that’s not going to be an issue.”

She blushed. “Then surely it’s just better to get it out of the way?”

He snorted. “Well, when you put it like that.”

“You know what I mean,” she bristled. 

“Princess, we’re married. We have years ahead of us, and I don’t know about you, but I’d quite like to know more about you before we do anything else. I don’t even know what you eat for breakfast yet, let alone where you like to be kissed.”

“Neck,” she said instinctively, and his eyes widened a little. Her blush deepened. “Now probably isn’t the best time to admit I’m not a virgin, is it?”

His face broke into a wide grin. “Me neither. See, we’re learning about each other. Isn’t this a better use of our time than a quick consummation of a marriage neither of us wanted? I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind being friends, if nothing else.”

Clarke felt the tension she’d been carrying in herself for the last week slowly uncoil and she took a shaky breath, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

He returned to the side of the room to finish undressing and she did the same, managing to get out of most of the layers on her own before she reached the corset and gave up. 

“Bellamy?” she asked, quiet, and within seconds he was at her back, fingers making quick work of the ties. As it loosened, she sighed, slumping slightly, and by the time it was completely untied, hanging off her frame, she was leaning against him and his hands were around her ribs, comforting. “Thank you.”

He hummed acknowledgement and pulled her towards the mattress, sitting down and positioning her on the edge in between his legs. Before she could think to ask what he was doing, he started taking out her hair, unwinding the twists and tugging pins from the ornate updo until all of it was hanging around her shoulders and he was idly running his fingers through it. 

“You’re good at this,” she mumbled, eyelids drooping. 

“I’ve got a little sister, you pick things up. You might remember her as the woman who accosted you earlier,” he said dryly, and she laughed. He removed his hands from her person and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over his waist while she finished putting her things away. She was dimly aware of him watching her, and as she tucked herself in next to him, he said, “I am sorry about that by the way.”

“I understand,” she said, turning to face him on the pillows despite the darkness they were washed in. “You’re moving in here for the foreseeable future and she doesn’t want you to leave her. She has to blame someone for that.”

“It shouldn’t be you though. You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Clarke smiled reassuringly, hoping he could see it. “It’s okay Bellamy, really. We’ll introduce her to my mother and then she’ll really have someone to hate.”

And when Clarke drifted off, she did it with the sound of Bellamy’s low laugh still circling her mind. 

*****

Over the next few days, Clarke learned that waking up next to Bellamy was incredibly frustrating, mostly because she kept waking up on his chest. 

It wasn’t her fault; he was warm and she seemed to unconsciously gravitate towards him, and it really didn’t help things that he looked abnormally good in the mornings. The first time, she stammered an apology as she sat up, scrambling to her own side of the bed, but he waved a hand, uncaring, and promised her he didn’t mind. The fact that he went to bed shirtless only made it worse. 

The first morning, he’d tossed an undershirt on loosely and encouraged her to not get dressed properly either; so they could sell the idea that they’d spent the entire night consummating the marriage. Clarke had wrapped a dressing gown around her night clothes and at his smirk of approval, they’d walked to breakfast together. 

His family was staying in the castle from the wedding, so Kane and Octavia were both at the breakfast table with Abby, along with Kane’s staff, and Clarke wanted to sink into the floor when she realised they were all there, but Bellamy’s arm snaked around her waist and he kept it there as they found their way to their seats. She felt embarrassed despite not having done anything wrong, but his hand on her hip made her feel a little less anxious, especially when he seemed to forget it was there and idly stroked her side while he chatted to his sister. 

To her credit, Octavia seemed a lot less furious in the light of day, and even managed to spare a nice word or two towards Clarke, which was progress.

Of course, it helped when Clarke suggested that Octavia should stay even when Kane returned to his own kingdom, to help “make the transition easier” for Bellamy. She was pretty sure she earned herself a serious chunk of respect from the fiery girl for that, not to mention from Bellamy, whose eyes poured into hers like liquid gold until Abby cleared her throat and changed the topic. 

Breakfast passed comfortably and after a while Clarke could almost forget that she and Bellamy were in a significant state of undress for a royal gathering.

Almost. 

Monty and Jasper, mature adults that they were, kept mouthing innuendos at her behind the heads of Abby and Marcus, and more than once, Clarke had to cough to cover a laugh. It didn’t take long for Bellamy to notice it too, and he turned and hid his smirk in Clarke’s shoulder, which only deepened their ruse. 

And then, of course, some of Kane’s staff joined in, which only made the laughter in her chest bubble even closer to the surface, and Bellamy’s cheeks turn pink with the effort to remain expressionless while he ate. 

As it turned out, she liked Kane’s staff almost as much as she liked her own; the ones assigned to stay with Bellamy once Kane left - Murphy and Miller - were particularly fun, and Clarke found herself in more than one animated conversation with Murphy about the local markets (which she was not supposed to have visited, but what Abby didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her). And Miller’s deadpan sarcasm never failed to bring a smile to her lips, particularly when it was directed towards her mother. 

But the person she was most taken with was Bellamy. 

He was perfect. 

It was actually incredibly annoying how wonderful he was. 

He loved to read, and in the first few days he kept going missing, until Clarke asked Miller where he was going and he told her he liked hiding in the library. 

He also clearly loved his sister, and doted on the girl frequently. 

He was an impressive archer (although he would be the first to tell you that his sister was better) and his sword skills were remarkable. Sometimes Clarke went and sat to the side and sketched while she watched his fencing practice with Miller or Murphy or Octavia. 

He was also unfalteringly kind.

Sometimes she found herself daydreaming about what it would be like to wake him up with a kiss or surprise him before bed, especially on the occasions when she caught him looking at her with that warmth in his eyes, or when his hand brushed against the small of her back when he passed her at the table. 

It was beginning to drive her a little crazy how easy it was to want him. 

*****

After a few weeks, Abby started to make more and more obvious hints about expecting them to bear an heir in the very near future, and it began to really stress Clarke out. 

She wasn’t ready for a baby, and she was just getting on even-footing with the idea of being married, but her mother was always eight steps ahead and expecting her to catch up. 

The first time Bellamy walked in on her having a panic attack was over two months after their wedding. He’d been away for the weekend, back in his own kingdom to assist Kane, and the entire two days Abby had done nothing but lecture Clarke about how important it was for her to bear children and how much better of a wife she could be if she would only try, and if she couldn’t even bring herself to perform her wifely duties then how could she be expected to run a kingdom - and Clarke reached her breaking point. She was sitting on the edge of their bed and sobbing into her hands, unable to catch her breath, and she thought she had the entire afternoon to herself as the Blakes weren’t getting back until the evening, but she must have lost track of time, because suddenly the door of their room was opening and then it slammed as he pushed himself towards her. 

“Whoa, whoa, Princess, what’s going on?!” Bellamy crouched down between her legs, trying to catch her eye. 

“It’s nothing,” she wiped the tears from her cheeks and looked away, attempting to get her breathing under control. 

He huffed. “It’s clearly not nothing. C’mon, Clarke, what’s going on, what can I do?”

“Nothing, I... it’s my mom, she... she just keeps talking about heirs, and she thinks I’m not spending enough time on you, and she spent the entire weekend just making me feel awful about it and she think we’re already sleeping together. I can’t even imagine what she would say if she knew we hadn’t yet, I... I just... it makes me feel so...” she sobbed. “I’m not just a princess, I’m a person, I can’t just be perfect all the time, it’s so exhausting, I’m so tired Bellamy, I’m-”

“Hey, hey,” his palms were stroking up and down her thighs and he was still trying to find her gaze. “Your mother has no say in what we do behind closed doors, okay? If you don’t want to-”

“But that’s the problem, I do want to,” she admitted in a rush. “I want to so much, all the time. It’s all I think about. But I’m... part of me thinks that if we do, that I’m only doing it for the wrong reasons. And I know I’m not, I know I like you, but I’ve spent so long listening to my mother and the other royals that it’s so hard to separate duty and want in my head, they’re so intertwined I don’t even know if I know the difference anymore-”

“Whoa, Clarke, breathe,” he said urgently, palms ceasing their movement against her knees and the pressure of it felt like it was holding her together. “It’s okay.”

She chanced a peek at him, and she wasn’t expecting to find anger in his features. It startled her. “I’m sorry.”

His scowl only deepened. “I’m not angry at you, Princess, I’m angry at Abby. She has no right to make you feel this way. Hell, if I’d have known this sooner I would have confronted her. I would have confronted her every day if I had to. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Clarke shook her head. “It’s not your problem.”

“You’re my wife,” he said, emphatic. “It is absolutely my business when someone makes you feel lesser, especially when that person is your mother.”

She felt those words to her core, resonating in her chest, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so supported. She didn’t even let Monty or Jasper see her panic attacks - the only people who knew were her father and Wells (who had been across the oceans travelling between kingdoms for two years) and she managed to keep them hidden from everyone else for fear of being accused of being weak. But Bellamy was sitting in front of her, looking up into her eyes like he wanted to fight the world to wipe the sadness from her brow, and she found herself swaying towards him. 

The first time their lips met, it was moistened by her tears, and he made a noise of surprise. She made to pull back, feeling embarrassed for being so forward, especially when she was crying, but he followed her upwards, hand coming up to her neck to steady them when he kissed her. 

She instinctively tangled her fingers in his curls, tugging slightly and making him moan into her mouth and yep- that was a noise she wanted to hear again. 

Somehow, they ended up horizontal, Bellamy’s arms framed either side of her head as he trailed kisses down her neck, making her arch up into him. She felt his cocky grin pressed into the underside of her jaw and she couldn’t even be annoyed at it, because of course he remembered. 

“This okay?” he asked, moving down her chest, nosing fabric aside as he went. 

“I swear to god if your clothes aren’t off in the next two minutes, I’m divorcing you,” she breathed towards the ceiling, and felt his laugh against her collarbone. 

“As you wish, Princess.”

*****

It took a lot of time for Bellamy to convince Clarke that the fact that they were sleeping together didn’t mean that she was just doing her duty. Months passed and she still couldn’t quite shake that anxiety, despite all his attempts to convince her otherwise. He made sure to check in constantly that she wanted it, making sure to remind her that it had nothing to do with their lives outside that room. 

And occasionally the bathroom. 

And once in the library. 

(In her defence, he’d looked particular radiant in the light from the window, squinting at the book because despite the sun being in his eyes, he didn’t want to move and lose his place.) (He didn’t mind so much about losing the place when she climbed in his lap.)

She wanted desperately to silence the voice in her head that told her it was part of her wifely duties, and sometimes, when Bellamy was murmuring sweet nothings in her ear, he could drown it out, but it was never quiet for long. 

That was, until the day he told her he loved it. 

It wasn’t anything big, not a sweeping romantic moment, he was just climbing into bed after her (shirtless, of course) and when he leaned across the pillow to kiss her goodnight, he mumbled the words into her lips. Like it was routine, something he always did. 

“Really?” she asked, stroking his hair back from his face. 

He smiled and dropped another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Princess, I’ve been in love with you for months. Surely you’ve noticed. Or Octavia must have told you. Or Murphy.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t put much stock in what Murphy says,” she said, lashes fluttering. 

“That’s a pity, sometimes he does actually say something of value, and it would be a shame if you were to tune it out,” he teased. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she retorted, kissing him again. 

“I love you,” he repeated, for emphasis, and she smiled into the kiss, ruining it somewhat. “And it’s not like it could come as a total shock, considering we’re married.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” she laughed. 

“Go to sleep, Princess, we’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.”

“Don’t remind me,” she groaned. 

“That’s what I’m here for, to remind you of all the important engagements we have to keep.”

“Ah yes, that’s the only reason I love you,” she rolled her eyes, but he froze above her, eyes boring into hers. 

“Yeah?” he asked, and she almost laughed again at how earnest it was; he could tease her for being surprised at the words, but when it came down to it he was just as taken aback by it. 

She shrugged. “It’s true, that is the only reason.”

His head dropped against her chest, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “You’re awful, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you the rest of my life.”

“Get used to it, I’m not going anywhere,” she teased. 

Rather than return to his side of the bed, Bellamy settled in against her chest, arm curling over her waist as he got comfortable, and she played with his curls, feeling sleep beckoning. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with hers, and she’d never felt so content in her life. But still, she felt she should clarify;

“I do, you know. Love you.”

He chuckled into her shirt. “Yeah, Princess, I know. But it’s nice to hear it again. I can’t see myself getting tired of it.”

“Good, cause now that I’ve said it, I’m not going to stop.”

“Good plan,” he exhaled, already half-asleep. 

And as she drifted of, Clarke noticed that she hadn’t heard that voice of self-doubt since the moment he first said the words. 

*****

Unfortunately, Bellamy was particularly blessed, and not two months after their first declarations of love, Clarke woke up feeling nauseous and ran to the bathroom. She spent most of the morning hunched over the toilet, but it didn’t occur to her that it could be anything other than food poisoning until she was sick again the next day. And the one after that. 

Just over a week later, Bellamy crouched with her as he had done every day, palm stroking up and down her back as she sniffled against the wall, the worst of it fading. 

“I think I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering there. “I think so too. Is that okay?”

She closed her eyes as another smaller, wave of nausea hit her. “I don’t know. I’m so sorry, Bellamy-”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” he said, earnest and passionate and everything she loved about him. “It’s okay if you’re not ready, we don’t have to-”

“I want to,” she promised, turning to look at him and ignoring the way her stomach flipped as she did. Her hand lifted to his cheek. “With you, I want to. I just... I wish it was on our terms.”

“It is on our terms, Princess,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to, but if we’re doing this, if we’re having a baby, we’re doing it because we want to. Because we love each other and respect each other and we decide. Okay? No-one else has anything to say to us about it.”

She starting crying in earnest, overcome with emotion, and threw her arms around his neck, dragging him into a tight hug. They sat on the bathroom tiles, misty-eyed and rocking slightly, and Clarke wondered how they’d gotten here. When they got married she had decided she didn’t know him, that she wouldn’t like him, and every day since he’d managed to prove her wrong. 

“I love you,” she sobbed.

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic, Princess,” he said sardonically, to hide the wobble in his own voice as he dropped a kiss into the crook of her neck. 

“Shut up, you know I do.”

“Yeah,” he sat back, brushing the hair from her face. “I know.”

“I want to do it,” she admitted. “With you, I want to.”

A small smile began to grow in his cheeks. “Yeah?”

“But we’re not telling my mother for at least another month.”

“Make it two and you got a deal,” he grinned, leaning in to kiss the tears from her cheeks. 

There was a noise in the doorway - someone clearing their throat - and they looked up to find Wells standing there with Jasper and Monty trailing sheepishly behind him. He smiled awkwardly down at them. “Hi. Sorry; they let me in. They said your husband would be busy with Abby by now, I assumed you would be bored and I could surprise you.”

“Wells?!” Clarke stumbled over her feet as she stood up and Bellamy’s hands snaked out to steady her, right before she leapt at her friend. “When did you get here?!”

“This morning.”

“How long were you standing there?” She asked, pulling back to look at him properly. 

He shrugged. “Long enough to offer you congratulations.”

“Yeah, congrats Princess!” Jasper said loudly, earning a smack from Monty. “Ow, what was that for?!”

“She just said she didn’t want anyone to know.”

“I don’t want my mother to know,” Clarke clarified, reaching blindly back for Bellamy’s hand. “Provided you can keep it a secret from her, I’m more than happy for you to tell every other person in this castle.”

Monty snorted. “Deal. Congratulations, Clarke, Bellamy.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, eyes flicking to Wells. “So you’re the best friend, right?”

“And you’re the husband. Clarke’s letters have been getting to me a little late because of my travels, but I’m pretty sure the last one I received said something about wanting to kiss you and not knowing how to ask,” Wells grinned at Clarke as a blush filled her cheeks. “I assume you’ve managed without my advice, what with the baby on the way?”  

“That was months ago,” she said, flustered. 

“And that letter reached me barely a few weeks ago,” he replied, winking at her. “C’mon, let’s sit in the garden for lunch, you can tell me all about it.”

“Bellamy?” Clarke asked, looking up at him with all the affection she could muster. “You coming?”

“I’ll give you some time to catch up - I’ve got some news to give my sister,” he kissed her nose. 

“Tell me what she says!” Clarke called after him as he ducked from the room, waving sweetly as he did. 

As it turned out, there was no need for Bellamy to relay the message to her, because twenty minutes later, when she and Wells were sitting on the grass with Jasper, Monty and Miller, Octavia ran up and  - very carefully - tackled her. “You’re pregnant!?”

“Keep it down, O,” Bellamy’s voice said as he approached behind her. 

“Don’t worry, Abby’s not here, she’s with the council,” Monty waved a hand. 

“You’re pregnant?” Miller asked, somewhat more subdued than the youngest Blake, who was now dancing around excitedly, attempting to drag Bellamy into it. Things had changed a great deal since their first arrival all those months ago. 

Clarke smiled. “I suppose I’ll have to call Doctor Jackson, but yes.”

“Nice,” he held his fist out for her to bump and she laughed. 

“Where’s Murphy?” Jasper asked, glancing around. 

Bellamy made a face. “I told and he disappeared, I don’t know where he went.”

“It’s not like him to avoid us, especially when Abby isn’t here,” Miller frowned. 

“CONGRATULATIONS, IDIOTS,” Murphy’s voice rang through the garden and they all swivelled to see him carrying an enormous cake towards them, iced to perfection. He put it down on the blanket and rocked back on his heels so he could cut it, handing the first slice to Clarke. “I’m so glad we got stuck with you, because Kane’s first choice was someone from Azgeda and I can’t deal with those bland, icy people. There’s no sense of humour in those mountains. You get me.”

“And more importantly, she loves your friend,” Miller nudged him with his toe. 

“Ah, yep, that too,” Murphy shrugged, and Bellamy snatched a piece of cake from the plate, looking unimpressed, but it was belayed by the smirk that threatened to overwhelm his whole face. 

Her family was supportive, and regardless of how anyone else reacted, regardless of the months ahead, regardless of what had brought them here, this was enough. 

*****

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” 

Clarke had been in labour for fifteen hours and she had hated every agony-laden second, not least because at first, the only people in the room had been Abby and Jackson. 

Jackson eventually asked for Harper to join them, to help with the process, but even her calming presence didn’t alleviate the stress Clarke felt at having her mother peer at her from the side of the room. 

“Where’s Bellamy?” she’d panted, throwing her head back against the pillow as another contraction started building. 

“He’s still in court with the parliament.” Abby said, like it was obvious.

“Why?!”

“Focus less on your husband and more on your baby,” she said, serious.

“Why isn’t he here, Mom?!”

“He doesn’t need to be distracted from his duties simply because of labour; it isn’t as if he could be in the room anyway, that isn’t civilised.”

“He doesn’t even know?!” 

“You’re having a baby, Clarke, that’s hardly something he can help with.”

Clarke wanted to scream. “If someone doesn’t bring me my husband right now, I’m going to abdicate the throne.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Harper!” Clarke cried, and she took the hint immediately, running from the room and calling out for Octavia and Wells who were pacing nervously down the hall. They immediately ran to the stables to make their way to the parliament house, while Harper returned to Clarke’s side and dampened a cool cloth to place around her neck. 

It felt like hours passed, but the court was only a twenty minute carriage ride from the carriage, and she was certain her friends could ride fast, but finally, finally, Bellamy burst into the room. 

Abby shrieked in shock. “Absolutely not! Out! Out!”

Bellamy didn’t even look at her, just climbed onto the mattress and crawled up to Clarke, his boots still on. He reached for her hand. “Hey Princess. You’re doing great, okay? I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. You’re doing great.”

She gripped his fingers so hard she would have been worried about breaking his knuckles, if it weren’t for the pain taking up every inch of her consciousness. To his credit, he didn’t say a word, didn’t even wince, and settled down next to her, stroking her sweaty forehead. 

“This is highly irregular,” Abby sniffed. 

“I want her out,” Clarke panted. “I don’t want her here, I can’t- get her out.”

Before Bellamy could take action, Jackson straightened and turned to the Queen. “Madam, it seems that with both the Princess and her husband in here, the parliament must be lacking in royal guidance. I suggest you make haste to assuage them - I am perfectly capable of delivering this child under Prince Blake’s supervision.”

Abby looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn’t have a leg up against the doctor, so she spared one last disparaging look at the couple on the bed before she strode from the room. 

The second she was gone, Clarke slumped sideways into Bellamy. His arm came up around her, holding her upright as he offered a strained smile to Jackson. “Thank you.”

“I’m a doctor, my first priority is my patient; I don’t care what the done thing is - if Clarke wants her husband and not her mother, she gets it. There is no reason to make childbirth more strenuous than it typically is.”

Clarke whimpered in acknowledgement as another contraction started, and Jackson’s clinical gaze looked her over. 

“I do believe it might be more than helpful to have you here, Prince Blake - could you sit behind the Princess? She needs something sturdy at her back, and when I tried to take the pillows away, she used some rather harsh language.”

“Because the headboard is wooden, ah-” she cut herself off with a cry, scrunching her face up in pain. 

Bellamy didn’t need to be asked twice. He kicked off his shoes and manoeuvred himself around until she was sitting between his legs and her arms were propped up on his thighs, nails digging into his knees. He banded an arm above her baby bump, holding her steady, and she threw her head back against his shoulder, trying to remember to breathe. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” she growled.

“That’s hardly language befitting of a princess,” he teased, and she dug her nails in harder. “Ow, ow, okay, I’m sorry, not the time for jokes, I’ve got it.”

“We are never doing this again,” she panted. “I don’t care how good you are with kids, or how cute you are, or how much you love me, we are never having another goddamn baby. This is the only one you get.”

“Whatever the hell you want,” he promised, brows pulling together in distress as she muffled a scream of pain against his neck. 

*****

Over twenty hours of labour and at least eighty curse words later, Clarke cradled her baby to her chest, unable to tear her eyes from the perfect creature in her arms. 

“She’s beautiful,” she whispered. 

Bellamy pulled her sweat-soaked hair back from her neck, blowing cool air on it as he looked over her shoulder at the gorgeous baby girl. 

“She’s wonderful,” he agreed, kissing her cheek idly. 

“I’m sorry I screamed at you.”

“I’m not, it was pretty fucking attractive,” he deadpanned, punctuating the sentence by running his nose along her cheekbone, pressing gentle kisses as he did. “Seriously, if I wasn’t in love with you before-”

“I was bright red and sweating,” she pointed out.

“You say that like it’s going to change my opinion,” he smiled against her skin and lifted his hand to brush his thumb carefully over the baby’s chubby cheeks as she slept. “Can you believe we made something this perfect?”

“Should I let in the spectators?” Harper asked, grinning. 

Clarke almost started; she’d forgotten anyone else was in the room, but Harper and Jackson were both standing to the side of the bed looking tired but pleased. At their nods of approval, Harper shuffled to the door and called out, waking up the people on the other side. Wells, Monty, Jasper, Miller, Murphy and Octavia all stumbled in, half-asleep but excited to see the new royal baby. 

Octavia was the first to hold her, rocking her gently as she sat on the edge of the mattress. Clarke tangled her fingers in Bellamy’s, feeling a surge of pride, and Jasper started openly weeping, grinning from ear to ear. He wasn’t the only one, although Miller and Murphy were a little more subtle about wiping their tears away. 

“Where’s Abby?” Jackson asked, bemused. 

“We told her we’d wake her up when the baby was born,” Monty shrugged, cooing at the baby. 

“Do you want me to go get her?” Jasper asked, a teasing lilt to his voice, “I can tell her you’ve born an heir.” 

Clarke smiled softly, watching Octavia pass the child to Wells, who looked like he was holding the entire world in his hands. “You know what, I think we can wait a few more minutes. She’s had a stressful day, after all.”

Murphy snorted. “This kid is gonna grow up a tiny menace with parents like you two.”

“Good,” she grinned. 

“What are you going to name her?” Harper asked, playing with the baby’s tiny fingers as she spoke. 

Clarke hummed pensively, exhausted, and rested her head against Bellamy’s. “I don’t know. Can we figure it out later?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” he agreed.

It was sappy, and later she would claim to have never had such a thought, but surrounded by her family in that room, sleep-deprived and spent, it occured to her that with Bellamy at her side, she was ready for anything. 

[jadondonsancho]

heyyooo love your writing keep it up💖 idk who to request for so maybe an "anyone you'd like" one where they bump into each other at a wedding after being broken up for months with no contact

Thanks bb ❤️ this ended up wayyy longer than intended lol but I hope you enjoy!

Lots of love xxx

You couldn’t lie you didn’t really want to go to the wedding. You knew he’d be there, it was his friends wedding after all. You’d only been invited because you two were dating but after news spread of your relationship ending, the bride had sent you a text to let you know you were still welcome to come.

You weren’t planning on it, but one of your friends thought it would be a good idea. “Babe, you’ve made so much progress these last few months. You can stop hiding from him now”, she had urged “it’ll be good for you, treat yourself to a new dress and show him what he’s missing”

And now that you were here, in your new dress, you couldn’t help but think it was a bad idea. You felt so out of place, back in his world but this time without him.

You spotted him pretty early on, he was sitting a few rows ahead of you, thankfully your seats had been moved from being next to each other. That would have been too much to bear. And thankfully he came alone. Something else you weren’t prepared for. The wedding ceremony passed by quickly, probably because your mind was occupied, you couldn’t wait until the reception so you could get some alcohol in your system. That way this would be more bearable.

He hadn’t said a word to you all night, the closest was some awkward eye contact from across the room when you had first sat down to eat. You didn’t really know anyone there, you were seated at the singles table further emphasis on how alone you felt and most of the conversations you’d had were with former friends, most of them about how you were doing. You wondered if he had been having the same conversations although from what you’d heard, he had been moving on just fine. Several times at that. You felt bitter, it had been such a process to get over him, avoiding him at all costs. You had even stopped watching his games. Part of you considered moving, your relationship with him so wrapped up in the city that everywhere you went you were reminded of date nights and special moments. The billboard of him outside the stadium didn’t really help much either.

The reception was fun, you wished you could actually enjoy it but all you could think about was him. You kept finding yourself scanning the crowd to keep track of where he was. What you didn’t know was that he was doing the same...

He took the break up harder than he’d expected. He found himself drinking more, playing worse and spending way to much time in strangers beds trying to forget you and it had almost worked, not actually seeing you for 6 months had tricked him into thinking he was over it. That was until he saw you standing there, looking so perfect in that dress that it felt like he was right back to the first night he saw you, falling in love all over again. He wanted so badly to talk to you, even if just to find out how you were doing. He wanted so badly to hug you but he couldn’t find the courage. He knew you’d probably heard all about how much “fun” he was having getting over you that the guilt kept him away. But god he felt like a dick, you clearly came alone and he knew these people weren’t really your friends, most of all he could tell that you were only staying this long out of courtesy.

Something came over him and despite it all he found himself walking over to your table at the end of the room. It was the singles table which he’s not going to lie, made him feel relieved. He had been wondering for months if you’d found someone new and not that he was sure you hadn’t but he took it as a good sign. You were politely making conversation with a middle aged woman who was sitting across from you, you looked like you wanted to the conversation to end and he laughed to himself at how awkward you looked. As he approached your eyes lifted to his then back to the middle aged woman before finally doing a double take back to his. He smiled, that sort of polite awkward smile you do when you walk past people on the street. One used for strangers but you definitely weren’t a stranger.

You excused yourself from the conversation and stood up, an awkward hug later and he had invited you to take a walk with him outside, “I need some air, you wanna join?”, you didn’t really, you couldn’t think of anything nice you wanted to say to him to be honest. The only things coming to mind were snarky comments about how easily he had moved on.

“So how have you been? It’s been what? Like 6 months?”, he said as soon as you’d stepped outside. “Yeah something like that”, you replied “I’ve been uhm good I guess, working as per usual”, you smiled. “You? How’s the season going? I haven’t really been able to watch much”, he’s not sure why but something about that hurt. He guessed he’d just assumed you were always watching. “Nah it’s going good, it’s been tough but I’m happy with the results we’ve had”, you smiled in reply and he smiled right back. His dimples on full display, something that used to bring you so much joy now just sadness at the idea that you don’t get to see them everyday.

Silence fell over the two of you. Both your minds running a mile a minute at all the things left unsaid.

"I miss you", he blurted out taking you both by suprise. The words sounded so good and you hadn't realized how much you'd wanted to go hear them until they were said but your heart was guarded so instead of telling him that you missed him too you said, "please...please just don't say that unless you mean it. I don't feel like getting played again", you sighed, "it's been hell getting over you, you know that right? and I don't want to go through that again"

He looked at you, he didn't know that it had been hell for you too but suddenly he was unable to even remember why you'd broken up in the first place. "it's been hell for me too" he replied.

"what?" you weren't sure what you were expecting him to say but it definitely wasn't that.

"I said it's been hell for me too", he reiterated.

"yeah sounds like it, waking up in a new bed everyday must be exhausting", you scoffed. You didn't really know why you were so angry, you'd broken up with home after all, it's not like he'd cheated but realistically if you are sleeping with that many people how much can you be struggling?

"I take it you've heard then?", he sighed.

"this is a small city, people talk"

"fair enough, I deserved that. For what its worth I was only doing it to make myself feel better but it just made me feel worse because, well, because I guess...none of them were you", his eyes were trained to the floor. You stopped walking and so did he. He looked up at you, you were trying to process his words when he started to lean in. You couldn't stop yourself from leaning in too. The kiss was soft and short but it said more than words could.

"for what it's worth, I missed you too", was all you could say in response. He smiled at that, and you smiled back. For the first time in months, it was a genuine one.

[yoon-kooks]

Witch Hazel- Pt.1

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader 

Genre: FanficWriter!Jungkook, Idol!Reader, College!AU, Angst, Fluff 

Summary: There are two students in your art class with a secret: you and the quiet Jeon Jungkook. You’re a problematic idol singer, infamous for your ice cold reputation and perpetual resting bitch face; he’s the artist and author behind the viral comic series based on a certain ice queen idol. After a blowup of destructive rumors, lost motivation and inevitable solitude, you stumble upon Jungkook’s comic and find a new and unexpected light.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: none

Parts: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // ?

A/N: after a million years, it’s finally here guys! my first jeon jungkook series :’)

“For homework this weekend, I want you all to sketch a self-portrait. It can be realistic or abstract, but just make sure it still represents you,” your professor says before dismissing class.

As you shove your sketchbook into your bag and pick up your guitar case, you hear one of your loud classmates, Kim Taehyung, talking with his friend who’s always so quiet in class that you don’t actually know what the fuck his name is. All you know is that he only ever wears oversized hoodies.

“Psst, Jungkook. Wanna draw my face for me?” Taehyung makes a flower pose with his handsome face.

“What’s in it for me?” Hoodie Boy throws his eraser at Taehyung to make him stop, perhaps out of secondhand embarrassment. You snicker silently to yourself as you pass by them to exit the room, but not before they mention something that triggers you.

“I’ll pay for your ticket tonight.”

“And tomorrow night, too, lol.” 

“Bitch, I’m not even going to tomorrow’s concert.”

“Then I guess you have time to draw your own face~”

“Wait, Jungkook. I’m busy tomorrow. Really. I have a date, remember?” Taehyung is basically pleading for his life at this point, and you can’t really blame him. Out of the entire class, he’s the only other non-art major besides you, so his drawing abilities are almost as shitty as yours. “And besides, we both know you could spend five minutes on the assignment and it’ll still look better than if I spent an hour on it.”

“Fine,” Hoodie Boy sighs. “I’ll take a ticket to tonight’s concert and a signed album instead. Thanks in advance.”

“Deal… I just don’t understand how you can be so whipped for an idol like Snow. She might have a nice body and a pretty face, but her personality is the worst. Even worse than Y/N’s,” Taehyung spins around to wave at you. “Right?”

“Ew, don’t compare me to her, Tae.” You give him an unimpressed face. The boy literally talks to everyone as if they’re his friend, and it kind of pisses you off.

“But you agree she has a shitty attitude, yeah?”

You notice Hoodie Boy is keeping a close ear out for your opinion on his supposed favorite idol. He accidentally makes eye contact with you for half a second before flailing around to gather his shit into his camo backpack. Were you really that intimidating to make those around you so flustered?

“Her shitty attitude isn’t the problem,” you hum as you walk away before they can bother you some more.

When you arrive home, you only have half an hour before you have to head out again. After tossing your bag and guitar case off to the side, you slip into slightly more fashionable clothes and break out your makeup bag. A quick layering of shadows, winged liner, and falsies paired with contouring and rose lip tint is enough for you to transform out of your barefaced college kid self. With a mask and your signature icy blue lens, you leave once more.

-

“You’re late, again,” your manager, Kim Seokjin, only sighs as you casually walk into backstage with a nonfat latte in hand. “I’m the one who’s going to be fired if you keep showing up late for soundcheck, Y/N.”

“It’s not my fault, Jin.” You pass your latte over to your cranky manager, who’s long overdue for another caffeine fix. He takes a sip, still glaring at you. “I was held up after class by two cute boys~”

“Cute boys? Y/N, you know you’re not supposed to be-”

“I know, I know. I’m just fucking with you,” you shrug. “All they did was ask me about Snow’s shitty personality. Oh, and apparently they’re coming to the concert tonight.”

“Don’t let them recognize you.” Seokjin finally hands you back your latte after chugging down half of it.

“I’m sure they would’ve said something months ago if they recognized me in class, Jin…” No one at school knows you’re an idol. As a matter of fact, no one in the world is aware that you, Y/N, are the idol with a cold piercing gaze and an even colder personality, Snow. No one except Seokjin, of course. He’s the only one you trust enough. “Besides, taking that art class has improved my makeup disguising skills, so don’t worry~”

“Well speaking of cute boys attending your concert, there are a few other idols that’ll be coming as well, so be careful.”

“Great, because all we need is another dumb dating rumor to get out of hand.” You’ve already experienced far too many of those in your short idol career. As an idol equally looked up to as you are frowned down upon, you’re pretty much at the center of every rumor or scandal. And it fucking sucks.

“Just try to stay positive about it, and don’t put yourself in a situation that the media can take advantage of, okay?” Seokjin has a worried look in his eyes—not for his own sake, but for yours. It’s his genuine tenderness and concern for you that keep you from walking away.

“Okay…”

The concert goes as usual. There are no technical difficulties, your vocals are on point, and nothing scandalous happens on stage. But at what cost?

Fan engagement is always kept at a minimum—the most fanservice you can offer is a split second of eye contact while you’re singing. You often wonder why anyone would want to see you perform live when there’s an invisible yet obvious wall standing between the stage and the audience. Like Seokjin advised, your company is doing what they can to ensure that their loose cannon idol stays out of any potential problematic situations.

But this distance doesn’t simply go away after your concerts. If it did, you wouldn’t be known as the Ice Queen, and your personal life wouldn’t be such a mystery to everyone. And for that, you cannot even put the full blame on the strict rules of your company. A large part of you appreciates the privacy that comes with this distance. Even if it is a little selfish and unfair to those who only wish to support you and your music.

As your concert comes to a close, you’re finally given the opportunity to address the dedicated fans who came out to see your performance.

“Thank you for coming tonight.” I’m sorry if it feels like you’ve wasted your money and time.

“A lot of you might be busy with school and studying right now, but you still made time for me.” I know because I too am a student.

“That means a lot, even to an Ice Queen.” I know what my reputation is, but please remember I’m human as well. I’m really grateful even if my resting bitch face doesn’t reflect that.

“Let’s meet again next time.” Next time, I’ll try to show a better version of Snow.

“Good night, everyone. Please get home safely~” I hope I was able to make you guys smile at least a little bit.

On your way out, you do your best to avoid both the media and the crowd. If you’re quick enough, you’ll be able to make it home in peace. Tonight is not that night, however.

You don’t even get outside of the venue before you see two familiar faces from class sitting on the stairs near one of the exits: Taehyung and Hoodie Boy. This is exactly why you never take off your makeup or lens until after you’re home where you don’t have to face anyone.

Of course it’s the loud one who approaches you. Hoodie Boy stays put on the stairs and watches from afar. You give them a halfhearted wave in hopes that that’s all they want, but of course it’s not.

“My friend is a huge fan of yours, Snow,” Taehyung lowkey pointed his thumb back at Hoodie Boy. He pulled out a copy of your latest album and a black sharpie. “Of course I love your music too, but would it be alright for me to get an autograph for him? He said he didn’t want to bother you himself.”

Usually you’d refuse. Whenever people say their “friend” is a fan, you get the impression that they’re just too ashamed to identify themselves as a fan of you. Like they don’t want to be associated with the kind of idol that you are.

But you’re certain that Taehyung is telling the truth since you heard that same promise being made earlier in class. And you know how shy Hoodie Boy is. So just this once, you’ll allow it.

You take the boy’s album and pen. “What’s your friend’s name?” You want to know, not only so you could write his name out, but also so you could stop calling him Hoodie Boy.

“Taehyung,” he says in a rather hushed voice.

“Taehyung?” That asshole. You glance over at Hoodie Boy just for a second. He’s busy taking pictures on his phone—not of you, but of the now empty venue. You feel bad, but there’s not much you can do besides sign the album to “Taehyung”. As you hand back the album, an idea pops up, “May I ask what your name is?”

“Me? Uhh-” You catch Taehyung off guard. “It’s Jungkook.” The name sounds familiar to you.

You nod and pull out a spare album from your bag to sign for Jungkook. You even decide to get a little fancy and draw a cute heart next to his name, just to spite Taehyung. “Here,” you say, looking back at the real Jungkook once more, only to find that yet another unwanted visitor had appeared. In moments like this, you question your decision to become an idol despite hating the attention.

Quickly you shoo away your classmates before the media shows up. You wouldn't want there to be another “misunderstanding”. The other boy now approaching you is already more than you’d prefer.

With his bleached ash blonde hair and an expensive yet casual fashion, you recognize him as fellow idol, Park Jimin, aka Korea’s Sweetheart. If you’re the devil, he’s most certainly an angel.

You’ve never spoken to the boy, but you’ve seen him at music shows plenty of times and have even competed against him for several awards. The two of you are “rivals”, or at least that’s how the media loves to phrase it. To you, there is no such rivalry; it’s clear that Jimin is the likable one. Your name is only ever placed next to his to generate newsworthy content.

“Is it really a good idea to visit your rival at her concert?” You don’t know how else to welcome the unwelcomed idol.

“It’s always good to scout out the competition,” Jimin shrugs, going along with your unfriendly greeting. “But for real, the concert was a lot of fun.” He glows with sparkles in his eyes. You can’t deny he has the most gorgeous smile.

“I’m glad…” It’s reassuring to hear compliments, especially from a fellow idol. But at the same time, you know Korea’s Sweetheart would never say anything rude—even if he feels differently. He’s perfect, after all.

“Anyway, I heard from the boy in the black hoodie that you’re handing out free autographs?” Jimin tries to point back at Jungkook, but he and Taehyung have already vanished. “I thought you were notorious for refusing autographs?” He pokes fun at you, but not in a way that annoys you like Taehyung had.

“They were bothering me and that was the easiest way to get them to leave,” you explain in half-truth. “Should I give you one too? It’d be better for you to leave before the media shows up.”

“Only if you have a stash of albums hiding in your bag.”

“I don’t.”

“Why did you happen to have one with you?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“I’m just curious. Idols don’t just carry around their own albums like that.”

“…My friend gave it to me,” you say after a moment of hesitation. That isn’t a lie, but a vague truth.

“Your friend gave it to you as a gift, and you just gave it away to a stranger?” Jimin chuckles, amused by you for whatever reason. “Living up to your reputation as Ice Queen, huh.”

You narrow your eyes at him. You hate when other people call you that, and you hate it even more when they aren’t wrong.

“I’m just kidding, Snow.” The way he smiles while speaking is so mesmerizing that you almost forgive him. “I know you did it with good intentions. And because of that, those two boys were able to leave here with a smile.”

“Good.” Your expression softens. “Anyway, did you need something or…?”

“I just wanted to say hi before heading home,” Jimin shook his head. “But let’s hangout some time, yeah?” He waves farewell and leaves before you can properly reject him.

On your way home, however, you take the time to consider the boy’s offer again. Truthfully, it would be a nice opportunity, especially since you don’t have any friends besides Seokjin. Plus, Jimin is pretty fucking attractive in your eyes.

But the conclusion you come to remains the same. There’s no way you can say yes.

By the time you finally return home, it’s late, you’re exhausted, but you still have that self-portrait to draw. In all honesty, you’re quite jealous of Taehyung who has a friend willing to do the work for him. If anything, Jungkook should draw your face, since you were the one who ultimately ensured that he got his signed album. But that’s just you being salty.

You pull out your sketchbook and pens and stare into the oval mirror that hangs from your bedroom wall. Your eye makeup is smudged, your dark circles are prominent through the fading concealer, and your eyes are as icy as ever. To finish your homework as soon as possible, you don’t overthink anything and just draw what you see. At this point you just want to get it over with so you can roll into bed and laze around.

“Finally~” you squeal about an hour later, plopping yourself onto your bed in your pink penguin pajamas. You’re always in a more cheerful mood after taking a shower, so you snuggle up under your blankets and take the time to check up on social media before dozing off. This wouldn’t be the first mistake of the night.

According to the latest news that has blown up on Twitter, you’re apparently dating and fucking Park Jimin, who made a special trip just to see you, his secret lover. How. Fucking. Romantic. You laugh because you notice a confused Jungkook with his hoodie and album in the shadowy background of the tabloid photo. But other than that, you’re pissed.

You want to post a tweet to express your outrage over the dumb rumor, but those kinds of messages need to pass through PR first, and you’re sure as fuck your company’s not going to approve of anything you have to say. As always, they’d just rewrite your statement in a more civilized manor, and at that point, it’s no longer your words.

So instead, you move away from the toxic hellsite that is Twitter and move somewhere a little more tranquil. You wish you could just find a few posts about fans who enjoyed the concert—that would be enough to set your mind at ease. It isn’t easy, considering all of the positive posts are buried beneath the massive amount of shit you’re getting for sleeping with the Park Jimin, but you eventually reach a cute blog post.

“guys! i saw snow tonight and shes so pretty😭💕”

“her vocals? fUCK. yes pls”

“also she might have rbf but shes super sweet ok”

“btw new fanfic coming tomorrow bc i was suddenly inspired lol👋”

You’re not sure how to feel about being the central subject to someone else’s fictional fantasies, but you do really love that you’ve inspired this person. Being able to have a positive impact in someone’s life; that was perhaps the deciding factor for you to walk the path of an idol. You only hope that this rewarding feeling can outweigh all of the bad.

Before closing your eyes, you check the name of the blog: jk.seagull. What a funny name, you giggle to yourself. But at least there’s someone out there who’s able to make your cold-hearted soul laugh. And for that, you’re as grateful to that person as your fans are to Snow.

-

7:27AM jinnie❤️ “We have to cancel today’s concert.”

7:28AM jinnie❤️ “There have been multiple threats made against you overnight after that rumor broke out, so we believe this is the safest thing to do.”

7:31AM Y/N “at least now i have more time to spend with my boyfriend park jimin~”

7:32AM Y/N “(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻”

7:33AM jinnie❤️ “Y/N, just take it easy today, okay? I’ll keep you updated on everything.”

7:35AM jinnie❤️ “Let me know if you want to talk.”

7:40AM Y/N “can you come over now?”

7:41AM Y/N “and can you bring another album please?”

You roll out of bed much earlier than expected to change out of your pink penguin pajamas and into sweats. Usually, you’d kill time by scrolling through Twitter, but since you aren’t in the mood to see all of the death threats, you decide to check up on that jk.seagull blog instead. You’re delighted to see that there’s a new post waiting for you. It’s a comic of some sort.

The first thing you see is a cute drawing of a pouty magic girl with bright blue eyes and a tiny snowflake in her palms. You’ve never seen fanart of Snow before, but you’re pleasantly surprised by the amount of detail and effort put into the drawing. It looks a lot like you, except cuter.

What impresses you even more is the storyline of the comic. Snow is a powerful ice witch who wishes to protect the world from evil. The only problem is that the world fears her and bans her from using magic. Rather than shunning the world that has shunned her, she decides to find new ways to be a positive light for others without the use of magic. She decides there are other ways to be a hero.

You want to keep reading, but there’s a knock at your door.

“Ooh, pancakes~” you sniff the plastic bag of sweets that your manager hands to you as you sit him down on your couch. “Thanks, Jin~”

“You’re in a rather good mood, despite all the shit that’s been going on,” Seokjin says, putting a warm hand against your forehead to make sure you’re not sick.

“I just read an interesting fanfic.”

“You read fanfics?”

“Not usually, but this one was super cute by this funny person named jk.seagull.”

“jk.seagull? He’s a pretty popular writer and artist for Snow fanfiction, you know.”

“How would you know that? Are you saying you read smutty fanfics about me, Kim Seokjin?” you smirk.

“I never said anything about smut!” He gets overly dramatic whenever you tease him, but you always find it adorable.

“So anyway, has anyone addressed the dating rumors yet?”

“Jimin apologized for the misunderstanding, but that’s all so far.”

“We shouldn’t have to apologize.” You take an angry bite of the pancakes. “I’ll deny the rumor, but I’m not going to apologize for something that didn’t happen.”

“Look Y/N, I understand, okay? But you should at least relay a statement to PR so you can clear things up on your end.”

“Just tell them I’m sorry for interacting with another human and I’ll never do it again.”

“Y/N…”

“What, Jin? It’s bullshit. I can’t do anything without it being twisted into something scandalous and getting a shit ton of hate for it. And the company isn’t even trying to help. The only reason they want me to apologize is to save their own asses, not mine.”

“Then what do you want to do?” Seokjin speaks in his calm voice.

“I want a break,” you sigh. What’s the point of being an idol if you’re doing more harm than good?

“I’ll ask the CEO on your behalf,” Seokjin pinches your cheek. “So cheer up.” He hands you the album you requested before heading out to give you some space to think.

The rest of the day is spent being a sad potato. You honestly don’t mind the threats or rumors by themselves, but what irks you is the fact that you’re not the idol you hoped to be. You’re not a light that people look to when they’re feeling down. You’re not someone who’s made a positive impact on the world. You’re no one’s hero.

You pick up your phone and go back to jk.seagull’s comic and reread everything that’s posted so far. You’re not sure why, but it’s as if this comic understands you—not just you as Snow, but also you as Y/N. The only difference is that the Snow portrayed in the comic is a much better version of yourself; a version you’re not sure you can achieve.

One other thing you don’t yet comprehend about the comic is the title: Witch Hazel. Who would ever name a story after skincare products? Then again, who would ever name himself jk.seagull?

After looking over Witch Hazel once more, you’re finally done being a sad potato and log back onto Twitter. You link the comic to tweet and post it out to the world. No caption is attached to the tweet. You want the comic to speak for itself.

[woildismyerster]

HOW CUTE WAS THAT PIZZA FIC??? Can we have the same kind of set up but with Aaron Samuels?

One of the strange things about staying home for college instead of leaving was seeing everybody else come and go during breaks.  For months, you could go to the store without seeing anybody you graduated with, and then you would suddenly see three or four people you’d never wanted to see again.  You’d have to ask those obligatory questions, you’d forget the answers immediately, and you’d have to do it over and over again.

It was the worst.

Summer began, your old classmates came home, and Chicago felt far too crowded.  The best solution to the overcrowding was, for now, staying home.  Thank God for takeout.  

You had grown used to getting the same two or three pizza delivery guys, all of whom were in high school.  They were about as disinterested in you as you were in them, so the exchange was quick and painless.  Today, you opened the door, and it was not a kid on the other side.

“Aaron Samuels,” you said, voice going up an octave in your surprise.  You cringed.  “Hey!”

He smiled, and your throat felt a little tighter.  You hadn’t been ready to see anybody today, least of all somebody who actually mattered.  “Y/N!  It’s been a while.”

“For sure,” you said.  You had seen him around a few times since graduation - at the store, movies, graduation parties.  Normal places.  Never on your doorstep, in a work uniform.  “So, you’re a pizza guy now?”

“College was too much,” he sighed.  “I thought this was a better career plan.”

“Totally,” you said, working to keep a straight face.  “Work through the ranks.  Save your tips.  Buy the city.”

“Pizza is the future,” he said, and handed you a receipt to sign.  “No - this is my summer job.  I wanted to make a dent in the decades of college debt ahead of me.”

Aaron was at some out of state school, though you couldn’t remember which one.  It hadn’t really mattered back then, when he was a popular guy with a popular girlfriend.

The problem with guys like Aaron was that he deserved his popularity.  He was worth knowing, worth liking, and thinking too much about him made you want to think about him more.  It had been easier to avoid thinking about him at all.  Now he was on your doorstep, and he had a pizza, and there was nothing else to think about.  You suspected that thinking about him now would be just as dangerous.

“Try to marry somebody rich,” you advised.  “No need for pizza deliveries when you have somebody to pay for your every whim.”

“I haven’t met anybody that rich,” he said.  “But I’ll keep an eye out.”

The pizza he gave you was still warm, and the smell hit you like a ton of bricks.  

“Have a nice day,” you said.  When he left, you wondered if you had said that many words to him in all of the years you were in school together.  You wondered whose fault that was.

Aaron was a good pizza guy.

You started ordering a lot of pizzas.

It had nothing to do with Aaron being a good pizza guy.

Probably.

“I’m going to ask a question that I should probably already know the answer to,” you told Aaron.

“Shoot.”

You schooled your face into the most casual, businesslike face you could manage.  You immediately started wondering if that was the wrong face - you wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t care about the answer.  “Are you still dating Cady Heron?”

“No,” he said, and his face was as blank as yours.  “No, we broke up a little after she started college.”

“Are you guys on good terms?”

He shrugged.  “We aren’t really on any terms.”

You had liked Cady.  She seemed nice, most of the time.  She seemed like the type of girl that Aaron would be good with.

“Is that a good thing?”  He didn’t seem totally broken; he was always genuinely cheerful when you saw him.  The way he looked now - carefully empty, like he was making sure not to react - did not seem as casual.

“She felt like we were heading in different directions.  I disagreed.  It didn’t matter; relationships have to be mutual, but breakups don’t.”  Aaron picked at the corner of your receipt compulsively.  “It’s been a while.  I’m fine.  I’m sure that she’s fine.”

“That’s good,” you said cautiously.  “Fine is good.”

“It’ll do,” he said.

“And you haven’t seen anybody since then?”  You were pushing things now, surely.  No casual face would mask the fact that you were asking if he was single.

“Nope.”  Aaron blinked at the receipt and smiled apologetically.  It was mangled in one corner.  “No, I’m not seeing anybody.  Are you?”

“No,” you said, and the nod he gave you was a little less than casual.

“If you find somebody rich to marry, you should pay for my pizzas.”

He snorted.  “Why?”

“Because,” you said grandly, “I’m tipping you really well.”

He hummed.  “So I should pay you back for paying me to do my job?”

“I’ll be your best friend,” you offered.  You felt like a six year old.  From what you remembered of six year old Aaron, he got in trouble for drawing turtles, no matter what he was supposed to be drawing.

That did not make six year old you want to be friends with him.  That definitely made current you want to be friends with him.

“That seems like an unequal friendship,” he said.  “If you want to talk to me, I have to bring you a pizza.  If I want to talk to you, I have to wait for you to order a pizza.  I’m not sure that it’s worth it.”

“Fine,” you said.  “I’ll add you on Snapchat.  You’ll still have to bring me pizzas.”

“I don’t have Snapchat,” he said.  As it turned out, Aaron didn’t really do social media.  You could see why - Northshore hadn’t had a great media environment.

“I guess I’ll have to buy my own pizzas,” you sighed.  

“I do have a phone,” he said.  Your eyebrows went up - the words had come out in a rush of air, like he had been as surprised to be saying them as you were to hear them.

“That’s good,” you said, not sure how he wanted you to respond.  “It’s hard to get a job when you don’t.”

“No - I mean, I don’t have social media, but I do have a phone.  If you wanted to be able to contact me.”  Aaron didn’t meet your eyes while he spoke, but the was a whisper of a smile that gave you a warm, jittery feeling while you wrote your number on a scrap of paper.

“So, now you can buy my pizzas.”

“No.”

“How long is your shift today?”

“Eight hours,” Aaron sighed, and the look he gave your pizza box was hysterical in its longing.

“I’ll bet you’re wishing for that sugar-momma now, huh?”  You opened the box and gave a dramatic inhale.  “Oh, that smells amazing.”

“Don’t be cruel,” he warned.  “I deliver your pizzas.  Someday I’ll spit on it, and you’ll have no idea.”

“Now that you’ve told me, I will.”

“You won’t know when.  It could be next time.  It could be a year from now.  You’ll be terrified until I do.”

You shrugged.  “Fine.  I’ll use the request section to ask for literally any other pizza guy.”

You both knew it was a bluff, but he didn’t call you on it.

“I’ll recruit them,” he said.

“What, you’ll woo them into submission?”  Realistically, he could.  Aaron Samuels got more attractive by the day - or maybe you were just more attracted to him every day.  It was a thin line to walk, but you fancied yourself a decent acrobat.

“If that’s what it takes,” he said, and his smile had enough of a edge to it to make your chest flutter.  “Don’t play a player.”

You gave a snort of laughter.  “Aaron Samuels, a player.  Sure.”

“You’ll never see me coming,” he said.

The next time you ordered a pizza, you requested that he deliver it.

Y/N:  Aaron

Y/N:  are you working?

Y/N:  i heard a funny joke, and i’ll tell you if you deliver my pizza

Y/N:  if youre working, dont reply for 3 minutes

Y/N:  im ordering a pizza

Aaron:  I wasn’t working.  I was sleeping.

Y/N:  yeah.  i know that now

Aaron:  What was the joke?

Y/N:  you lost your joke privileges

Aaron grinned, lopsided and wonderful.  “I can see the perks of the guy that controls dairy, from season one.”

“You’d be the perfect pizza guy,” you said, and he laughed.

“What about you?  What Misfits power do you want?”

“I’d be okay with the time travel,” you said.  That had always seemed like a no brainer to you - time travel was a prime power.  

Aaron took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair.  It was a hot day, and his hair was sticking up in wet clumps.  “You seem to have things pretty together.  Is there really something that you regret enough to go back in time for?”

You twirled the receipt pen around your fingers.  “I should have listened to My Chemical Romance before they broke up.”

“That would have made all the difference.”

“Mikey Way would have fallen in love with me, I’ll bet,” you said.

“And all of your college debt would be taken care of,” Aaron said, and the way he smiled made you drop the pen.

“What about you?  Any big regrets?”  You picked up the pen and handed it back, making your voice light and airy so you could ask a hard, heavy question.  “I’ll bet it’s Cady, right?  Maybe you’d go back and fix things with Cady - live happily ever after with your beautiful wife and decades of debt?

He shook his head, thoughtful.  “No, I don’t think I would change that.”

“No?”

“I regret the way things ended, maybe,” he said.  He handed off the pizza box, and you were so focused on his words that you almost didn’t take it.  “I don’t regret the fact that things ended.”

You picked at the hem of your shirt, not wanting to look too happy or too interested.  It would be so easy, when he was looking at you with that smile and those eyes, to believe that the only reason he was single was that he wasn’t with you.

“Maybe it would be different, though, if you went back,” you offered.  “You could go back and be with the Cady that loves you.”

“No.  The Cady who loves me isn’t the person I want to be with anymore,” Aaron said, and proceeded to say something about needing to go back to work.  More pizzas to deliver, and all that.  You didn’t have the chance to ask him what he meant.

It made you feel a little queasy to ask Aaron if he was excited to go back to school, and he looked a little uncomfortable while he answered.

“Yes and no.  I like school, but I really like not-school.”

You nodded.  “When do you go back?”

“In a couple of weeks.”  He held the pizza box steady so you could sign the receipt on it.  “I have less than two weeks before I stop working.”

“And I’ll have to break in a new pizza guy,” you sighed.  “What a shame.  You’ve been doing such a good job.”

“Tragic.”

Your feet shifted a little.  “And, you know, I’ll miss seeing you.”

Aaron’s face softened, and a few strands of hair fell in his eyes.  “I’ll miss seeing you, too.”

“If things were different -”  You paused, brow furrowing.

“What?”

“If you were staying, I think I would ask you out,” you said.  There was no point lying, not when he was about to leave.  If he didn’t like that, you would just start ordering more Chinese.  “We’d hang out all the time, and we’d be able to see each other every few days.  It would be really nice, and I think we could make it work.”

“Yeah,” he breathed.  “If I was staying.”

You took the pizza, stuck somewhere between happy that he hadn’t laughed and sad that he seemed as wistful as you were.  For the rest of your life, he was going to be your ‘almost.’

“Y/N?”

You paused, only able to see a sliver of him through the crack between the door and the frame.  “Yeah?”

He was almost smiling, but it wasn’t quite happy.  “If that was a roundabout way of telling me that you like me - likewise.”

You had not ordered a pizza, but Aaron was standing on your doorstep with one.

“I think that you’re doing your job wrong,” you said, raising one brow at him.  “You only give food to the people who paid for it.”

“I paid,” he said.  “Do you want it, or not?”

“I want it.”

Aaron gave a pointed look to the room behind you.  “Are you going to invite me in?”

You crossed your arms.  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I haven’t found a rich woman to marry me,” he said.  “So I thought, hey, maybe I should start looking for somebody who I might like for reasons other than money.”

You bit back a grin.  “How’s the search going?”

“That depends,” he said.  “Are you going to invite me in?”

You took the pizza, making sure to let your fingertips touch his hands as you did.  He smiled, running his hands through his hair.

“This is only because of the pizza,” you lied.  “Anything for a pizza - even if I have to deal with a boy that’s leaving.”

“What if I promise to buy lots of pizzas?  I guess I’d have to visit sometimes, but it’s a cross I’m willing to bear.”

“I guess I’ll have to let you in lots of times.”

In the end, you would let him in empty handed.

[alanaswriting]

Convenient Store Dates

Carl Grimes x Reader

part two of “We’re Not Friends”

Request: Can you do a Carl imagine where Carl wants to take the reader on a real date so he begs Rick to let him take her driving. Rick finally gives in and he lets Carl take her out driving. Carl tries to help her learn how to drive (because it stressed Rick out too much) then maybe they find a little convenient store. Maybe they find pickles for Maggie because she was craving them (this is before 7x01). Omg maybe this could be the part two of "we're not friends"

Word Count: 3,800 ish

Warnings: swearing

A/N: wow this imagine has been r o u g h. writing it was easy breezy but I’ve had the worst troubles posting this! either way I really enjoyed this! thank you so much for requesting!

Requests are currently open!

Please don’t steal, plagiarize or repost my writing. I work really hard on my writing as I imagine all writers do and it would suck to find out someone else is trying to claim it as theirs.

ー

It’d taken a lot of begging. It’d taken so much pleading and extra chores, babysitting Judith, bending over backwards and doing Rick’s every word for him to even consider letting Carl take a car outside the walls of Alexandria. Carl had been doing everything right to try and prove that he was responsible enough, old enough, to do this. It’d taken Carl weeks to get Rick to get used to the idea, let alone agree to it so when Rick had given Carl the keys to a car parked by the walls of Alexandria early on a Sunday morning Carl was in disbelief.

Carl thought maybe it was because his father felt bad that he’d never get to experience a real date with you, like a arcade date or going to a carnival in town, or going to the movies when you both turned 16 and had finally gotten a car and some freedom, or maybe it was the fact Rick couldn’t stand teaching you how to drive himself. Whatever had changed Rick’s mind Carl didn’t care about, he was just ecstatic that Rick trusted him enough to do this.

Carl had been itching to take you somewhere since the two of you confessed your feelings to each other that night that seemed like forever ago but was barely a few weeks. The words ‘we’re not friends’ kept echoing in his head and he wanted to prove them to you, make them a reality for you, for the both of you.

Things had changed since that night definitely, you started to share slow kisses  before runs, longer hugs, things had even gotten heated a few times and you looked at Carl differently than you had before and he’d definitely started seeing you in a new light too but he wanted to make it official. A shitty car ride might not be the best idea of a date but it was all he had so he was going to make the best of it.

“Carl, oh my god. I’m gonna kill us. I’m horrible, Rick’s gonna kill me if I kill us.” You say in the drivers seat gripping the steering wheel for dear life.

Carl was sitting in the passenger seat calmly but you could tell his shoulders were a little stiff, he was nervous. With you as a driver he had a good reason to be. Maybe he wasn’t as nervous as you but he was still nonetheless nervous. You knew him too well for him to try and hide it from you. He had a calm exterior though and was doing well when it came to guiding you and telling you what to do. He wasn’t getting frustrated or angry. You were thankful for that.

“Just, just slow down. Loosen up, it’s fine. I’m right here.” Carl tries to reassure you so you’ll feel more comfortable behind the wheel.

Carl wasn’t exactly the best driver out there but he was better than you to say the least. You’d never driven before, you never had the opportunity. The end of the world began long before you could take drivers ed or get your license. Sure, you’d sat on your dad’s lap and steered before when you were younger in the middle of nowhere but that was when you were 6, you weren’t 6 anymore.

Nobody taught you how to drive because when Rick first tried to he’d gotten so frustrated he had to take over, he wasn’t as patient as normal when it came to teaching you how to drive and you didn’t blame him. You sucked. You knew you sucked. It was just something you weren’t good at.

“Can’t you just drive? I trust you more.” You whine a little taking your eyes off the road for a split second to glance over at the blue eyed boy sitting beside you.

“And I trust you, you’re doing fine. You have to learn eventually.” Carl says and moves one of his free hands to rest on your shoulder.

Your shoulders immediately loosen under his touch and you slouch in the drivers seat. The speed of the car slowly began to lessen in speed until you were at a steady 40 MPH and you felt a little better. You might not have believed or trusted yourself but Carl did, and even when you didn’t agree with him you trusted his judgement and his thoughts, he was usually right about most things. If he believed in you this much maybe you should believe in yourself too. After all, you hadn’t hit anything yet, which was a plus.

“There you go, see you’re doing fine. You’re just nervous.” Carl tells you as a small smile begins to form on his lips.

Carl was good at calming people down, he always had been but with you it was different, just his voice made things feel a little better. It was like magic.

Your grip on the steering wheel loosened and your knuckles were no longer white, your palms were still sweating though. Your hair was in your face a little and the air surrounding you and Carl was hot. Rick told you not to use to AC to save gas but the two of you were boiling in the summer heat. You had to do something.

You made a bold move and took one of your hands off the steering wheel to roll down both the front windows. You pressed the button on the door next to you watching the glass windows roll down easily. You couldn’t help but grin as the warm wind hit your skin blowing your hair around gently. You weren’t going that fast so the breeze passing through the car wasn’t strong enough to be a distraction but it was definitely enough to be fun.

“See, it’s fun.” Carl teases you as the breeze blows his hat back off his forehead.

“Maybe.” You respond with a smile on your lips.

You glance over at the boy you’d grown to love so much. You knew you probably shouldn’t be taking your eyes off the road but the sight beside you was one you never wanted to forget. Carl’s eyes were crinkled by the smile on his face and his cheeks were a rosy red. He looked genuinely happy, like he didn’t have a care in the world. You wished you could see him like this all the time but that wasn’t realistic, so for now you were just going to enjoy the happiness in the air while it lasted.

You watched Carl’s slender fingers move towards the radio turning it on and pressing the CD button as music blasts through the speakers, the song Come on Eileen by Dexy’s Midnight specifically. The sound was a little funny from the oldness of the car and the scratches on the CD but Carl didn’t care. He bobbed his head and mouthed the words laughing every now and then.

“You’re staring.” Carl comments after awhile and you instantly avert your gaze back toward the road in front of you.

“No I wasn’t.” You say defensively causing the older boy to chuckle.

He watched the way your eyes focus on the road as if you’re scared that you can’t control the vehicle you’re driving as much despite his reassurance. He notices the way you’re squinting and it reminds him of when you first had glasses in the beginning, but he accidentally broke them.

He felt horrible about it and he knew you were about half blind without them so he tried to find you pairs to help your eyesight but after awhile the two of you both forgot. Carl always had good eyesight from what you knew, you envied him for it.

He was about to say something before he stops before he can speak and squints his eyes staring at the road ahead. Your gaze follows his as you see a small building coming into sight. It wasn’t big, maybe the size of a house, it was a bit hidden due to the overgrown trees and plant life but Carl had spotted it still. It got clearer as you pulled up closer to it.

“Hey, wait, up there.” Carl catches your gaze removing his hand from your shoulder to point towards a empty convenient store to your left.

There were a few walkers in the parking lot of the building but you knew that you and Carl could take them so you sharply turned into the parking lot last minute causing Carl to dramatically grasp the console and the handle bar above his head. A shaky breath leaves his lips as you hit the brakes parking in the middle of the lot harshly.

“Yeah, we need to work on that.” He mumbles causing you to roll your eyes.

Like anyone’s gonna car about a few rough turns in a apocalypse, your thoughts echo through your head.

The walkers surrounding the old run down building begin to turn their attention to the beaten up car you and Carl were in as they began to crowd it quickly. It was only a few, three or four. The music wasn’t helping and Carl shut it off quickly. You weren’t worried though, you could take them easily. Especially since they were all piled on your side giving Carl the opportunity to slip out of the car with ease.

He left the car door open behind him and quickly stabbed the two closed to himin the head roughly before you stabbed the other two from the open drivers side window. You unbuckled your tight seatbelt shutting Carl’s open door before slipping out of your now open one. You shut it behind you gripping your knife tightly just in case you had some surprise attacks around the corner.

The air was thick with humidity which meant it was probably going to rain soon. The sky was covered in light grey clouds lingering over the previous bright blue sky and the atmosphere had a quiet silence filling it which was unusual but calming.

“I’ll go in first.” Carl informs you only for you to shake your head in disagreement.

“No, I’ll go in first, then you’ll cover me as we search it.” You tell him changing the plan so you were the one going first.

“No, that’s not the plan.” He says causing you to scoff.

“It’s tiny, let me do this.” You argue with him.

Carl always tried to pull the same thing every time you two would go out on a run together, he’d try and go first because he wanted to protect you but you were quicker so you thought it was better if you went first. Carl’s movements were quite but they had a lag in them, you preferred if you went first. Besides, you didn’t need protecting.

“We’ll go in side by side.” He settles and you stubbornly nod in agreement.

You still preferred if you just went first.

The two of you make your way against the blood covered concrete going up to the glass doors of the store. You were about to pull the handle but Carl shook his head grabbing your wrist to stop you and he put a finger to his lips signaling for you to stay quiet.

His grip on your wrist lingered a little longer than it probably should’ve before he brought his hand up towards the dirty glass and tapped on it a good three times loudly. The sound travelled through the air and you then realized he was waiting to see if there was any walkers in there and if so how many. The two of you waited for a couple minutes until you both decided the convenient store was completely empty.

With that, you both pulled each door open, your hand on your knife, Carl’s on his gun. You glanced around the messy isles and kept your shoulder touching Carl’s to make sure he was still there next to you. You always got nervous going on runs or searching places with Carl.

If anything ever happened to him, you couldn’t even think about that. Carl had been your right hand man for forever, you two were a team, you’d saved each others asses so much since the start. You couldn’t live without him, and you don’t mean that dramatically, you’d get yourself killed without him most likely. You needed him.

“Y/N.” His voice says as you stand next to him stuck in thought.

The voice breaks you from distraction and you turn your head towards where he’s looking only to find the candy isle and the food isle fully untouched. The luck and coincide of this was incredibly low but somehow here it was. Your eyes went a little wide and your grip on your knife loosened. This place looked like it’d never been looted before. You’d hit the gold mine for small convenient stores.

“Holy shit.” You whisper moving towards the isle slowly.

Carl kept his gun up high covering you just in case anything popped out that was a risk to you. The sight of everything was surprising and you didn’t think you’d ever seen gummy worms again in your life time. It was a sweet sight.

Your footsteps echoes in the building as you grab a pack of gum off the shelf before grinning. You turn around towards Carl since he was traveling closely behind you and hand the pack of bubblegum to him as he stares at you in confusion.

“Here, you need these.” You tease watching Carl’s protective exterior fall a little.

He rolls his baby blue eyes and the corner of his mouth turn into a smirk. He glances down at the packet of gum before grabbing it and pushing it into the back pocket of his jeans but not before taking out a piece and pushing it into his mouth. He moves his gun to his gun holster and secures it there now that he knew the two of you were safe and it was okay.

He reaches behind you grabbing a bag of M&Ms handing them to you with a amused expression. He clears his throat and you can already tell he’s going to make some snide comment but to your surprise he doesn’t.

“Here, sweet, like you.” He smiles and you feel your heart flutter in your chest.

“Thanks, loser.” You mumble grabbing the bag and shoving it into your pocket as well.

You can hear Carl’s chewing as you begin to shove multiple candies and foods, probably expired but better than nothing, into your heavy backpack. You made your way to what used to be the refrigerator isle and grab a few bottles of soda, water, and even alcohol, not for you of course.

Carl was doing the same as you but he was focusing more on a few canned foods he’d found filling the shelves instead of candy. He’d grabbed a duffle bag he’d found on the floor curiously and had it in his hand as he continued searching. The two of you were both distracted and silent until you found something on a shelf causing you to start smiling at the sight of it, what were the odds.

“Didn’t Maggie say she was craving pickles earlier?” You ask Carl as he continues to search another isle.

“I think so, that’s what Enid said anyways.” He says before he stops and stands up turning around.

You grab the last jar of pickles on the shelf and turn towards him waving it around in the air to get his attention. He looks surprised but still amused as he picks up his worn out backpack off the floor keeping it on his shoulders once again.

He walks around the shelves looking at the jar in your hands before leaning against metal beside the two of you. He was a little concerned about how old those pickles actually were but he didn’t want to ruin your mood so he kept the thought to himself.

“Maggie’s gonna love you.” He says causing your smile to grow to the point where your teeth were starting to show.

“I know.”

You shove the jar into your opened backpack carefully before setting it back on the ground as you. You sigh and glance around the building trying to see if there was anything else the two of you could grab that’d be useful.

There was candy and sodas but you’d already grabbed some and didn’t have room for more. You saw a few unnecessary things covering the shelves around you but there wasn’t much. Most of it was gone, things must’ve went downhill before this places new stock came in.

It sucked but at least you’d get to show Judith what a ring pop was and that’s all that mattered to you right now. That little girl deserved some candy, especially considering you don’t think she’d ever had any before, maybe a cookie or two but it wasn’t the same.

“Hey, look at what I found.” Carl exclaims.

You turn your head to see him opening the duffle bag to reveal some old roller skates and a few elbow pads only to cause you to shake your head instantly. You couldn’t skate for shit, Carl knew this. He on the other hand was a little better than you, still horrible though. That’s how most of your skills worked, you were good but he was better.

You used to get jealous but it doesn’t bother you much anymore.

“Come on, maybe you’ll be better at rollerskating than you are at driving.” He says pulling you towards the exit as you grab your bag quickly to avoid leaving it behind.

“Carl, there’s no way-“ He interrupts you quickly shaking his head.

“You’re not getting out of this so might as well just put them on.” He says as you roll your eyes again.

The two of you exit the building and make your way to the curb of sidewalk outside the small convenient store. You sit down on the pavement as your hands scrap the concrete before grabbing the roller skates from Carl unhappily. He had a smile on his face as bright as the sun itself which made you a little less grumpy but still unhappy about it.

You both laced up your roller skates before Carl tried to stand up before you shakily. He was pretty wobbly and you stifled a few laughs. Carl was never the clumsy type but he wasn’t doing too well on the skates so far and all he was doing was standing there. It made you want to laugh but once again you held back.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Carl curses as he almost looses his balance causing you to stand up quickly just in case you need to grab him.

You stand up just as wobbly as he did but tough it out as you try to catch your balance so you won’t fall. You grab onto Carl’s shoulder for support only for Carl to turn his head towards you slightly surprised. You stood up to help him and now you were only making it worse.

“What, what are you doing? Stop it. Nuh uh.” Carl laughs loudly shaking your hand off his shoulder only for you to grab his arms instead.

“Come on, I suck, help me, I’m doing this for you.” You respond trying to get his support as he sighs grabbing your hands with his own.

They were rough but sweaty and still the action made your heart race. Carl still made you nervous, even after all these years. It was cute for awhile but now it was tiring. You didn’t get how people could complain about losing the spark. You two would never lose yours, and even if you did, it’d be okay.

He begins to inch away from the curb carefully trying to keep you steady as well as himself. It was difficult but he had it. You feel tense at first but after a few minutes of not falling you started to trust that maybe you had this, or at least maybe Carl did because he was the one helping you out the most.

“I got you, relax.” He grins starting to pick up the pace so you weren’t inching away so slowly anymore.

He starts out slow before letting go of one of your hands so the two of you were just holding one of each others hand. You were side by side now and the smile Carl had was worth the pain in your ankles and your shaky knees. It always was.

He was looking at you with such happiness, things felt good. It felt like you were normal teenagers, like this wasn’t the end of the world for once. If you closed your eyes you could probably pretend you were in a 50s themed roller rink with him with some new pop music playing through the stereos that was annoyingly catchy.

What you’d do to experience that with him.

“Thank you.” You tell him as he shrugs his shoulders.

“I’m only helping, you can do a lot of things without my help, Y/N. You just don’t realize it.” He admits causing you to think about his words more than he intended.

You knew you could do things without Carl, you two were separated for awhile after the prison so you knew you could survive without him, you were capable of it, you knew that much. You didn’t need him, you could survive without his help or him, you didn’t want to.

“I do.” You confess as the two of you stop skating so his attention is fully on you.

His face twists with confusion and you turn your body so you’re facing him before you lean forward towards him. You move yourself so you’re a little closer to him than before. He looks down at you trying to figure out what you’re thinking as you only smile.

“I just don’t want to.”

His lips offer a sad smile and he was about to say something before a few drops of water fall on your faces. The droplets cause you both to stare up towards the sky as the droplets suddenly turn into a drizzle. The two of you were both smiling ear to ear. You even had your tongue out a little trying to catch the raindrops.

You turn your gaze back to Carl after a second or two only to see that he was staring at you the whole time. You felt embarrassed and a blush rose to your cheeks but he hardly noticed.

“You won’t have to.” He assures you before moving his face towards yours.

His nose brushes against your own before he captures your lip in a slow kiss. The raindrops around you dampen your hair and clothes but it didn’t matter right now.

Today was good.

[callmehawkeye]

Watched in 2019

Big Little Lies (Season 1): This is such a solid cast and story, albeit predictable. I loved it as a mini-series and do not understand why it needs a second season; but I’ll be watching regardless. 

Taylor Swift Reputation Stadium Tour (2018): IIIIIIIIIII don’t think this setting is the best for Taylor. I go back and forth on her as a person often, but dig over half her catalog. The big theatrical show doesn’t quite suit her particular stage presence. She is great when just talking to the crowd with her guitar or piano. Regardless, she was definitely having fun, it was entertaining enough, and it’s cool she put this up on Netflix so I don’t have to amputate a body part to afford a ticket.

If Beale Street Could Talk (2018): Without a doubt, this is perhaps the most genuine and fulfilling depiction of a (hetero) romantic love story put to film I’ve witnessed in recent memory. The actors and their chemistry were breathtaking. 

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018): Hands down the best Spider-Man movie to date. Soundtrack was perfection. Story was great. Characters were amazing. I want to protect Miles with my dying breath. Unique animation. Deservedly kicked Disney’s ass this award season.

Bumblebee (2018): Oddly endearing? Easily the best Transformers movie, and the only one I’ll recognize.

A Star is Born (2018): I’m sure I’d like this more if I weren’t a fan of the other 3. Lacked subtlety. Overhyped. It’s fine. The only best part was the rehab scene.

Fyre Fraud (2019): The Hulu documentary about the disastrous Fyre Festival. Superior of the two, in production and scope.

Abducted in Plain Sight (2017): WHAT. THE. FUCK. A must-see for true crime enthusiasts. 

Conversations with a Killer: The Ted Bundy Tapes (2019): This is more or less the same thing if you have already spent a little more time on this case than the average person. Good content for first-timers.

Girlfriends Day (2017): A nice, fast watch to pass the time.

Fyre Festival (2019): The other Fyre Festival documentary. To me, the lesser because it is produced from people who were on the inside. Which you’d think, “Oh so then they’d know.” But their bias and attempts to scrub themselves from the narrative are obvious.

The Favourite (2018): This made my little queer heart so happy. Great characters. 

Everybody Knows (2019): A little on the nose in the mystery itself (just watch the actors in the background). But the performances were great. Loved the setting. Appropriate ending. Good job.

Isn’t It Romantic (2019): I loved this. I feel like I’ve written something exactly like this before. Very endearing and satisfying to watch.

How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World (2019): It felt a little long, unsatisfying at some parts and rushed. But it’s a great bookend to a great series.

They Shall Not Grow Old (2019): Very impressive filmmaking and editing. I loved learning how they accomplished it in the featurette at the end of the screening.

Arctic (2019): Now THIS is how you make a survival movie. 90 minutes. No romance. Brutal reality without becoming melodramatic. Mads Mikkelsen cast in the lead...

Don’t Knock Twice (2016): Pleh. I hated the pacing and editing. Called out the “twist” immediately as a joke because I didn’t expect this movie to be that nuanced (magic done without permission, even with the intent to be good, is bad magic).

Captain Marvel (2019): My god this was so much fun and rejuvenated my interest in the MCU. I’m absolutely dreading Endgame and not for the reasons you think.

Greta (2019): Great performances, absolutely tense, very creepy and fun.

1922 (2017): What a great fucking motif.

Climax (2019): This was quite the sit. A literal 90 minute bad LSD trip from an up-close perspective. God I hated it.

Michael Che Matters (2016): I’ve never seen a standup special start so strong and progressively get weaker like this before...

Us (2019): As I said on Twitter --  it seems to me primarily casual or non-horror fans think Us is the greatest horror film of all time and is going to rejuvenate or “save” the genre. Then primarily veteran fans think it’s weak and vague. I think both viewpoints are shortsighted and formed from either category being stuck in their perspectives. For me, the movie was neither. (I loved it).

The Beach Bum (2019): Another movie I can’t believe I sat all the way through.

Leaving Neverland (2019): I stand with Wade and James.

Queer Eye (Season 3): Who needs antidepressants? Not me!

Homecoming: A Film By Beyoncé (2019): Beychella reigns once again!!

Dancing Queen (Season 1): This was very sweet. I never thought I could sit through anything with insufferable dance moms, but Justin/Alyssa makes it so engaging and watchable. Stupid to end on a cliffhanger, however.

Avengers: Endgame (2019): ..............B+ At least it was a million times better than Infinity War. And I had fun.

Booksmart (2019): This hit so close to home. Sure, the coming of age movie is nothing new. But there was something liberating about the characters in this one that were terribly stereotypical and much more relatable. To me, anyway.

Long Shot (2019): Great music, great relationship, great laughs. This was a fun, solid watch of a romcom.

Hail Satan? (2019): I want to inject this documentary directly into my veins.

Amazing Grace (2019): The live footage of Aretha Franklin recording her Amazing Grace album at the church in Watts.

Meeting Gorbachev (2019): I got to see this documentary at a theater where Wener Herzog himself was hosting a Q&A and introduced this film. Maybe it made me more biased to liking it. But I honestly felt like I learned a lot.

Missing Link (2019): First movie of the year I didn’t complete/walked out of. I let it have an hour. First time I’ve ever been disappointed in Laika. I can’t believe it. It was so dull and I kept waiting for something to happen.

Little (2019): This was sweet. Issa Rae is dipped in gold. BUT it felt like there was an outline, not a script. Lots of dropped threads. And a weirdly out of place, glaring, punching-down trans joke??!

Tolkien (2019): Wow. I really liked this. Great pacing, shifting between time frames. Even better performances and relationships. Made me think of my own fellowship a lot. This is how biopics should be done.

The Biggest Little Farm (2019): WONDERFUL documentary covering the years of building up a sustainable farm from less than scratch.

The Hustle (2019): God, this was a long, humorless sit. At least Anne looked stunning.

The Sun is Also a Star (2019): This isn’t more realistic than romantic comedies, or teen love films. But it’s more enjoyable than most. The leads are great and have electric chemistry. New York is framed beautifully.

John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum (2019): I am blessed by this Keanu Reevessance.

Fleabag (Season 1): This is probably going to be the best thing I watch this year.

Fleabag (Season 2): Yup. Confirmed. Something very special would need to come along from June to December to change this mindset. I highly recommend this. Watch it. Go in blind. Watch it!!

Pavarotti (2019): I enjoy documentaries where I feel I really learn about the subject. Beautiful music, beautiful memories, beautiful life.

Rocketman (2019): I wish more biopics were like this. It was wonderful and such a grand time.

Lorena (2019): A deep dive into the Bobbitt case, including the woman herself. I have such empathy and love for Lorena. You should watch it and learn about the incident yourself.

The Last Man in San Francisco (2019): Go in blind. Don’t look it up. Just go. it’s the most beautiful film I’ve seen so far this year. I wish there were more male protagonists like this.

Toy Story 4 (2019): I was so skeptical. It more than exceeded my expectations. Just go in prepared to have your heart ripped in two.

Godzilla: King of the Monsters (2019): They’re learning. Out of the newer films, this one has the less amount of people. Now make another film like this, only extend the monster fight scenes. Less. People.

Child’s Play (2019): This was fun. Not much more to say. More Aubrey in things!

Men in Black International (2019): Honestly, this was better than the second or third ones. I legitimately enjoyed myself. It was funny. The cast was charming. The otherworldly aliens were interesting. And I’m so proud of Les Twins.

Grace and Frankie (Season 5) :This is always a good time for me. I love watching this show when I want to take a break from more dedicated watches. I love these actresses with all my heart. June Diane Raphael is goals.

Midsommar (2019): This was such a fun aesthetic to watch. I was so uncomfortable throughout.

Toni Morrison: The Pieces I Am (2019): Ugh, my hearrrrrtt.

Maiden (2019): Documentary about the first all-female crew who competed in the 1985-86 Whitbread Round the World Race. The woman next to me in the theater was the same age as the women featured in old footage and modern day talking head interviews -- and she was just sobbing by the end. Solidarity.

Frankenstein’s Monster’s Monster, Frankenstein (2019): 30 minutes well spent. Fucking hilarious.

Stranger Things (Season 3): God, what a fun season. I am still Steve.

Queer Eye (Season 4): I need 54 more seasons, kthx.

Spider-Man: Far From Home (2019): My absolute favorite battle sequence in a Marvel movie. Such a good time.

Hobbs & Shaw (2019): My first and last Fast movie. Goddamn I was so bored.

Bring the Soul: The Movie (2019): Wow, this was brutal. I get it wasn’t all of the footage, but they seemed to mostly focus on members being sick and injured and miserable. I didn’t understand the love for this movie when all it did was highlight how exhausted the boys are. I suppose it was meant to be inspiring, but I only felt bad for them. I just ranted about them needing a break and thank god they finally have one -- apt timing!

Burn the Stage: The Movie (2018): I went back to the earlier film with the hopes of... Higher hopes. And they were fulfilled. Such cute and uplifting footage.

Blinded by the Light (2019): God I love Springsteen. This movie is a great homage to his music. It’s not a straight-up musical, and that’s lovingly the point. Some things never change.

It: Chapter Two (2019): This was a slog compared to the first part. Much like the miniseries. Much like the book.

Parasite (2019): I, a college student with very little free time -- let alone free time to go to the movies -- saw this in theaters twice. I tried to go a third time but then finals happened. Go see it. Go see it blind. I'm not really doing end-year lists anymore but this is without a doubt my favorite film from 2019.

BTS World Tour: Love Yourself (2019): Most fun I've had in a theater in some time. I feel like I curled up into the tiniest ball at some point out of pure joy that couldn't be contained.

Frozen II (2019): This was quite plot-heavy for a sequel. I loved how many songs they were. It's an acceptable sequel. A lot of weak themes and choices, however, if you think about it for more than a few minutes. Overall delightful. 

Jojo Rabbit (2019): Speaking of delightful. Taika Waititi continues to be my favorite living writer-director. This is such a solid portrayal of Nazism without glorifying it. Always go the Mel Brooks route and make it a comedy; they can't turn it around and make the imagery propaganda. I have high hopes for Roman Griffin Davis and his future career.

Knives Out (2019): This was quite fun. I love a good mystery with a large ensemble cast like this. It didn't blow my mind of anything -- I saw every turn coming -- but that's just because I credit it to being such a lonely kid who read so many mystery novels.

2018 | 2017 | 2016 | 2015 | 2014

[vintagemichelle91]

Someone Was Waiting (A Company Fic: Bobby x Reader)

Authors Note: *fiddles with nails nervously* Well I have to say I’ve this idea for a very very long time and finally got the courage to write it. I’ve never written fanfic for a musical...and I LOVE Company so much that I thought it was time. This is for @larkistin!!! I hope you love it my dear!! And a big thank to my darling @rauliskafan for looking it over and giving me the confidence to post this!! 

           Dawn was just beginning to filter through the curtains.

           You didn’t know whether you wanted to cry or scream. The entire night you waited for him to come back. Maybe sending him out for champagne and baby oil was a bad idea. And yet, in the heat of the moment… in between those fiery kisses… you wanted to experience that blissful high to its full extent. His hands, oh those gorgeous hands that pressed against your curves, hiking up your dress past your thighs…

           No! You won’t fall under that spell again. He had abandoned you in a sleazy hotel and didn’t bother to come back….

           You couldn’t help but wonder if you did something wrong. Or said something wrong. More like the former because you hardly spoke once you had your hands on each other. Perhaps, it was all too much for him? He seemed so into it though…

           Groaning in frustration, you slipped back into your blush pink dress and mentally berated yourself for even being wanton enough to be naked by the time he came back with the requested essentials.

           “This is why you’re still single,” you whispered to yourself. At least the room had been paid for on his credit card and the night wasn’t on your dime. What did that matter? He left you and you had absolutely no idea why.

           Moving into the bathroom, completely drained, you realized that maybe this happened for a reason. He wasn’t meant for you.

And for some strange reason it hurt like hell.

“How was Miami?” Joanne asked as she took a long sip from her martini glass.

Robert glanced up from his bourbon and smiled. “Just great. The… weather was nice.”

Joanne arched her brow. “I didn’t mean the weather, Robbie.”

“Oh, you didn’t?”

She shook her head slowly, a smirk spreading across her crimson lips. At times his innocence was adorable, in other moments tiresome. No wonder dear ol’ Robbie was still an eligible bachelor. To corrupt him just a little would likely put him at the top of the mating game. Yet, therein lied his charm. He wasn’t like your average Joe who couldn’t get a woman. In fact, most girls fawned over him for his looks or his charm or the way he made anyone feel special with just his gaze.

“Didn’t you say you were attending a friend’s party?” Joanne was more curious than anything else, hoping to hear about some fleeting affair. Those were always the best. She recalled a few of her own while traveling through Europe.

“Yeah, yeah it was great… the food was superb.”

He was going around in circles and Joanne could see him struggling, and she laughed dryly.

“Just the food? Since when are you so dull, Robbie.”

Robert nodded nervously and took a swig from his glass. “Nothing else to say.”

He had to lie. There was no way he was going to tell Joanne what happened that night. She would only laugh at him and remind him again why he was single. Robert didn’t need that, not tonight, not when his thoughts these past few days were only about her. The way she smiled, the way her breathy laugh sent his heart racing against his chest, the movement of her dancing against him, her hands running through his thick dark hair, her lips against his…

“Well, then that was a wasted trip.”

“In more ways than one,” Robert grumbled and signaled the bartender to send another bourbon his way.

Another swanky party… another hopeless night.

You sighed as you glanced around the room and watched the guests continued to trickle in the grand penthouse that overlooked the entire city of New York, all smiles sparkling, some genuine and others fake. Joanne had mentioned how this wasn’t her usual crowd, but it was Larry’s birthday party and she at least wanted to appear to make some effort on his behalf.

She had promised that you were bound to meet the man of your dreams. But so far, every man that had approached you seemed incredibly ordinary, and you were bored out of your mind. All trying to impress you with their careers, their houses in the Hamptons, and their yachts. In truth, no one compared to that man from Miami. The one that you had shared an instant connection with… the one that you were going to completely give yourself over to without no question.

A part of you hated the fact that you were pining over someone who had abandoned you and made you feel like a complete fool. How could you still want someone like that? Did he even regret what he had done?

So many questions swirled around your head as you took a sip from your glass of champagne. If anything, the booze would be your preferred companion this night.

“Now, I can’t understand why with a room full of eligible bachelors you are here drowning your sorrows into a glass.” Joanne’s voice pulled you away from your insecure thoughts.

You scoffed and turned to face her. “None of them are to my liking.”

“Are you sure?”             

 “Quite sure.”

“You’re cruel,” Joanne remarked with a sly smile gracing her lips. She was never one to shy away from passing judgment. But that only made you trust her more, for telling it like it was with no sense of remorse and still making you laugh.

“No, more… realistic perhaps?” You gestured to yourself with a wink. Another beautiful little black dress adorned your body and you felt every inch of Holly Golightly tonight, traipsing amongst the crème de la crème of New York, hoping for a good time before you went home to your studio apartment to sleep it off and do it all over again the next night.

Oh no… you needed another drink. It was exhausting and sad to live this way.

“You’re still hung up on the Miami man,” Joanne pointed out. “That is not going to do you any good, my dear. Now, this is me being realistic.”

You raised your glass and took another swig. “Then call me a little buzzed.”

“Yeah, blame it on the booze.”

“I’m allowed am I not?” You fluttered your lashes and smirked, this time hoping to charm her away and reassure you were fine.

“This time, darling.” She grabbed another flute of champagne and sauntered off to greet the other guests. “Don’t get used to it.”

He was late. Truth be told, Robert was not looking forward to this night. But it was Larry’s birthday. Failing to appear was not an option; he was never one to bail on his friends.

“Well, look who decided to show up!” Joanne’s voice echoed from across the room, and Robert felt his face flush. He had hoped to sneak in unnoticed, grab a drink, and wish Larry many happy returns before ducking out again.

“Sorry; traffic was terrible.”

“Not your best excuse, Robbie,” Joanne replied as she led him towards the bar for his poison of choice. Gratefully, he accepted a fresh glass of bourbon.

“You got me. But I’m here now.”

“Finally! There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Not this again. He was in no mood to play forcefully polite to a sweet girl that would do nothing for him. No connection, no passion…. just an empty attraction. Because the Miami Miss was too much on his mind these days.

“Joanne, not tonight.”

“Think you’ll find this one more than meets your standards.”

“More like yours.”

“I only want the best for you.”

Smirking, Robert and glanced down at his glass, fiddling with the crystal and shooting her a smile. “You’re sweeter than you give yourself credit for.”

“Don’t ever describe me as sweet,” Joanne warned.

He couldn’t resist.

“Alright, let me just gather some liquid courage and then I’ll go meet this girl,” Robert reluctantly agreed.

“Be right back, Robbie.”

With that she left him alone at the bar, and suddenly he was in dire need of air. The balcony beckoned him on this sizzling summer night, and he took a step out without turning back.

The breeze was terribly warm for your taste, but it had nothing on the stuffiness swirling around the room. And it wasn’t just the guests.

You felt trapped. Going back to Miami crossed your mind, but then you chastised yourself for being so foolish. He probably didn’t even live there, and it irked you that you didn’t remember what your actual conversation had consisted of. Again, it was the booze and the heat of the moment, much like tonight.

And then his touch…

“Oh, I… I’m sorry. Didn’t know anyone was out here.”

At the sound of the voice interrupting your thoughts, you dropped your glass of champagne. The golden liquid splattered across your Prada pumps as you gasped in surprise.

The stranger rushed to your side with a napkin in hand to help you save your shoes. If only they were leather and not suede… just great.

“Thank you, but they’re already ruined,” you sighed, glancing up at the stranger that had dared intrude on you.

And then you gasped once again.

It was him, your Miami man, the one you shared an instant connection with. The one who had all but driven you over the edge with his kisses, and the one who walked out never to return.

“I’m really sorry that I…” His voice trailed off as he recognized you instantly. “It’s you.”

           You were stunned completely unable to move from the champagne puddle. Oh, his eyes were like emeralds; had they been this enchanting before?

           “You… you left me all alone in hotel room.” There was no way you were going to let him off easily, you wanted an explanation.

           “I know. I’m sorry…”

           Not another word.

         “Is that all you have to say?”

           He seemed taken aback. “I’m trying to apologize.”

           You managed to move away slightly to give yourself some distance. “It doesn’t remedy the fact that I have been going over it all my head for what I did wrong.”

           His eyes softened and you felt your knees go weak.

“You did nothing wrong. I… I kind of got lost…I drove around for hours and could not find my way back to you.”

           Seriously? That was all it was? He had gotten lost…. that was his excuse? Oh this was one for the books! Or those women magazines!

           “I don’t know if I believe that.” Joanne was right; you were cruel tonight.

           He nodded in understanding, turning his eyes away for a moment and looking back to the party where everyone seemed to be having a fabulous time. Except for you two.

           “It’s the total truth. And I haven’t stopped thinking about you for months.”

           Peering into his eyes once again, you sensed his sincerity.

           “Why?” You had to be sure if you were going to believe him.

           His sighed, “because I felt a connection with you that I haven’t felt with anyone in a very long time. Maybe ever.”

           Your heart fluttered as he took a step closer to you, sending the butterflies were swirling all around your belly. It was exactly like the first night you had met. A sudden sense of déjà vu passed over you as the air began to cool.

           “And I’ve compared you to every other girl I meet…” He continued with his enticing words, and his hand was on your arm, his touch so gentle and everything that you wanted to fall into.

           “And?” you whispered, suddenly parched again.

           “None of them can hold a candle to you.”

           Before you could respond, he swept you up into a knee-buckling kiss that sent you’re head spinning. His lips melded perfectly against yours, and his hands felt so right once again. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

           It felt so right to be in his embrace, and all other questions left your mind. If he were lying he would have shown up with a date or probably be in a relationship. The fact that he was here alone and holding you like this spoke volumes.

           “So… you lost me.” You pulled back a bit to breathe again.

           “And now I found you.” His lips stole another kiss from yours. “I have no intention of letting you out of my sight this time.”

           “Then we better for get the baby oil and champagne together.” You winked at him as a breathy laugh escaped your lips.

           His smirk was irresistible.

         “I like the sound of that.”

           He had been indeed waiting for you, just like you had been waiting for him.

[raystart]

The Creative World’s Bullshit Industrial Complex

As editor of 99U, my inbox is (thankfully) filled with pitches of all kinds. Mainly, writers who’d like to contribute to this site and speakers who’d like to throw their hat in the ring for our yearly 99U Conference.

And most times, when we dig deeper into a specific person’s pitch, his or her purported authority is more of a facade to make them appear authoritative — and any ideas are actually a mosaic of people also trying to appear authoritative in a disconcerting house of cards.

They are what philosopher Harry Frankfurt would call “bullshitters.” Those that are giving advice for the sake of giving advice, without any regard as to how it is actually implemented, if it can even be implemented at all. “It’s not important to [the bullshitter] what the world really is like,” he says in a short video documentary about the phenomenon (below). “What is important is how he’d like to represent himself.”

BULLSHIT! (H/T Oliver Burkeman).

In these pitches there’s nothing to suggest the person has any original experience or research or insight to offer said advice. Instead they choose to quote other people who quote other people and the insights can often be traced back in a recursive loop. Their interest is not in making the reader’s life any better, it is in building their own profile as some kind of influencer or thought leader. Or, most frustratingly, they all reference the same company case studies (Hello, Apple and Pixar!), the same writers, or the same internet thinkers. I often encounter writers that share “success advice” learned from a blogger who was quoting a book that interviewed a notable prolific person.

The bullshit industrial complex is a pyramid of groups that goes something like this:

Group 1: People actually shipping ideas, launching businesses, doing creative work, taking risks and sharing first-hand learnings.

Group 2: People writing about group 1 in clear, concise, accessible language.

[And here rests the line of bullshit demarcation…]

Group 3: People aggregating the learnings of group 2, passing it off as first-hand wisdom.

Group 4: People aggregating the learnings of group 3, believing they are as worthy of praise as the people in group 1.

Groups 5+: And downward….

The Complex eventually becomes a full fledged self-sufficient ecosystem when people in group 4 are reviewing books by people in group 3 who are only tweeting people in group 2 who are appearing on the podcasts started by people in group 3.

This Bullshit Industrial Complex has always existed. But thanks to the precarious economics and job prospects of the creative person, it is often in a creative’s financial interest to climb the bullshit pyramid. In the short term, it’s creating a class of (often young) creatives deluded into thinking they are doing something meaningful by sharing “advice.” Long term, it’s robbing us of a creative talent.

Don’t Hate the Player, Hate the Game

Being quiet and slowly building mastery and expertise doesn’t pay off much at first. So many creatives must make a calculation: Do I want the short term, could-go-viral-at-any-second thrill of being a vocal expert in my field? Or am I more content playing the long game? More people are incentivized to choose the former — and it’s getting crowded in here.

It’s not our fault. We are set up to reward those proclaiming to have the answers. Sometimes the rewards are higher than those for actually doing the creating, as creatives are getting squeezed. Technology can rob you of your mastery. Automation can rob you of your value. Fickle clients can rob you of a paycheck. But once you’re perceived as an expert on the core premises of creativity? You’re in! Mostly.

There are TEDx events spreading from city to city, websites (like this one!) always seeking out voices to share their views and content to stock newsletters and make the social media rounds. Many sites like Medium are, yes, rich with intelligent essays, but also rich with people giving generic advice in the hopes of selling the next ebook containing aggregated advice from other advice givers. And as more of us are tasked with appearing as experts, we’re incentivized to look the other way. For all of the cynicism around something as innocent as a goddamn logo redesign, the creative world sure looks the other way when someone tells us that the key to creativity is just “shipping.”

Writing About Writing About Thinking About Doing

— False Medium (@FalseMedium) September 10, 2013

As someone who edits a website, there are red flags. The person will claim that they’ve written for site x and site y and have z twitter followers. This is coded language for “take me seriously, because other people have!” Sites like Forbes, Huffington Post, and Entrepreneur Magazine have “open contributor” policies where almost anyone can get published with little or no editorial oversight. And the reason they have those policies? Because more content equals more advertising dollars. The incentive structure for both sides makes this credibility hopscotch arrangement appealing. It’s the Complex at work.

Book publishers, the ultimate authority vehicle, are the capstone of the Complex but are just as victim to changing economics as any blog. Responses to book pitches often do not involve a thorough deconstruction of your idea and its substance. Instead, they will ask “How can you market this book?” Which really means “How big is your mailing list?” No one has the time or incentive to make sure their ideas advance the conversation. Or are even realistic. I know because every day a book arrives at the 99U offices with ideas as recursive as a rushed Medium blog post.

Above: Advice in an actual published (and popular!) book.

Creative people often despise those that criticize work without having work of their own. Something Teddy Roosevelt referred to as “being in the arena.” We respect opinions from those that are in the trenches with us, doing the hard things that we try to do. But this creative expert class is worse than any critic, offering other people creative salvation in an attempt to find their own. We despise critics with no skin in the game but we’ve handed them the keys to our kingdom and the space on our library bookshelf.

Make Room at the Top

The cynic in you may wonder, “Who cares? The more bullshitters out there, the more the non-bullshitters like me will be valued.” But what is frightening is those among us who consider success as bullshitter as actual success.

Let’s be clear here: Those who write books, speak at conferences, or write essays are not all bullshitters. Many (if not most!) are offering advice that takes its audience into consideration. This is not bullshit. This is good.

What I’m referring to are those that believe being “industry famous” in the creative world is success in of itself. Especially those that start out with that goal in mind. This is where the Complex can poison talent. Being industry famous should be the result of some contribution to the world that the industry respects and wishes to learn from. Or insights unique and useful that it genuinely makes people’s lives better.

Increasingly “creative coaches” and people with “keynote speaker” in their Twitter bios are making their quest to earn authority a higher priority than the very reason they got into this in the first place. Fueling the Complex is alluring catnip that feels like you’re advancing your career the same way answering a bunch of emails just feels productive.

If someone cares more about what their industry peers think of them than the problems they are solving, they’re a bullshitter. If the idea of being “known” is barometer of their success above user (or reader) success stories, they’re a bullshitter. They are the internet’s equivalent of a reality TV star, taking advantage of the attention economy by catering to our worst instincts in lieu of substance.

The “first principle” of why people willingly join the Complex is a matter of external versus internal motivation. If you’re fueled primarily by external validation, the best way to get it is by surrounding yourself with people like you and writing as an “expert” for that group. Voila, here come a thundering stampede of people ready to tell you to follow your passion. And when you make choices based on what others will think about you, you lose yourself along the way, and the world loses another creative mind that would otherwise share something original. And then, we’re stuck with the same voices at the top of the Complex. We all deserve better.