#it was so funny though the next line being like -no applause followed this speech and the men seemed scared-

[tweedfrog]

Pompey's men in book II after he treats them to a 69 verse speech abt the justice of his cause and they respond with awkward silence:

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Soulmate AU Part 4 (final part):

Uther continues to be very OOC and Merlin is presented to the Kingdom; luckily enough, everyone already loves him. The Future starts to come together...

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

The summer passed in much the same way the previous year had; awkwardly polite conversation between Merlin and Uther, Leon panicking at everything, Gwen being exasperated, Morgana and Merlin pissing about, and Arthur watching it all with exponentially growing fondness.

Eventually, it was Yuletide again. Yuletide meant Arthur’s 18th birthday. Arthur’s 18th birthday meant revealing Merlin to the Kingdom; announcing him as The Crown Prince’s Soulmate.

There was an odd mix of feelings surrounding the upcoming event. Both Arthur and Merlin were ecstatic at the idea of not having to hide and sneak around anymore, but Merlin was a foreign peasant boy. The common people would love him, Nobles and Foreign dignitaries? Not so much. Granted, Arthur had a powerfully intimidating presence, when he chose to display it, Morgana could glare anyone into submission, and even Leon was known to be passive aggressively threatening when it concerned Merlin’s safety and respect, but not all could be daunted into compliance. Merlin would surely face discrimination.

That, and the growing spotlight meant that it would become much harder to keep his magic a secret. With Uther’s insistence that Merlin be... part of the family, they’d already had a few close calls.

Thankfully, not much else had changed, or it had changed for the better. Arthur and Merlin still scared everyone else shitless when they popped up to each other, but Morgana’s visions seemed a lot less terrifying now. Leon still had heart palpitations when Merlin and The King were in the same room, but Gwen, Gaius, and Hunith relaxed more; the Physician especially could see the pride glowing in Uther’s eyes, and the awkward fondness he held for Merlin (even if that wouldn't protect him if Uther discovered his magic).

Nevertheless, no ones’ fears or aspirations stopped the passage of time (though Merlin, in his increasing power, had put it on his “List of Things to Try Before I Die”), and Arthur’s crowning ceremony crept closer, day by day.

Hunith, Merlin, Leon, Gwen, and Gaius were gifted front row seats to the event, and as annoyed as Uther was at having the front row taking by commoners, a servant, and a young knight, he didn’t dare argue; he’d learnt that it was pointless now. Morgana was stood behind Uther’s throne at her own seat, giving Arthur a rare smile, not a hint of teasing in her expression, and Arthur returned it easily, comforted by the dream she told him she had the previous night (of adoring crowds and a grinning Merlin) despite his nerves.

The ceremony of course went of without a hitch, a rare smile on Uther’s face, and tears on all the faces of Arthur’s front row.

After an uproarious round of applause and chants of “Long Live The King, Long Live The Prince!”, the room cleared, leaving only Uther, Arthur, Morgana, Merlin, and a few faceless guards.

(Gaius, Hunith, Gwen, and Leon rushed off, wanting to be at the front of the crowds in the courtyard when Arthur and Merlin were presented to the Kingdom.)

Merlin didn’t hesitate in rushing up the steps to Arthur, wrapping his soulmate in a tight hug and whispering his pride into his blushing ear. For once, Morgana didn’t roll her eyes at the display of affection; Arthur may have occasional spurts of arrogance, and the two of them still acted like immature children occasionally, but she loved them both dearly. Uther did roll his eyes, though he could not hide his fondness from Morgana, who raised (yet another) teasing eyebrow at him. He glared at her half-heartedly before clearing his throat, and the boys jumped apart with a start.

He wordlessly nodded towards the door of the Throne Room, and walked out regally, his steps fast and heavy and his cloak billowing behind him. Merlin and Arthur followed quickly, hand in hand, and Morgana walked closely behind them, the guards bringing up the rear. The group finally made it to the large double doors that opened out onto the balcony above the courtyard, though it was two corridors previously that they began to hear the cheering and festivities below.

Arthur could feel Merlin’s hand shaking in his own, and squeezes it comfortingly, giving him a reassuringly soft smile as he murmurs, so Uther can’t hear them:

“Don’t worry, it’ll only be a few minutes, then we’ll come back in. You’ll be introduced to nobles and such during the feast,-”

When Merlin begins to look even more distressed, Arthur rolls his eyes good-naturedly and continues before his Warlock can interrupt him:

“-yes, I know, we’ll have to mingle, but this evening, it’s just us and the others. We’ll take some food and wine back to yours, and we can have some fun and all fall asleep in front of the fire together. Alright?”

Merlin takes a deep breath and nods, but before he can say anything, Uther stops his conversation with one of the guards and abruptly turns around, his face tersely concerned.

He takes one look at the boys before tutting and stepping towards them. Arthur freezes in shock as Uther begins to run a gloved hand through his hair, neatening it out and flattening it properly under the newly placed crown before stepping back again with a satisfied nod of the head. Arthur’s wide eyes stare straight ahead, and Morgana (having snuck in front of them to watch the whole ordeal) has to stop herself from snorting at his face. If she thought that was funny... well.

Next, Uther’s eyes move to Merlin, where he gives an even more disapproving tut and steps forward once more. He removes one of his gloves quickly, wetting his thumb with his tongue before wiping it just a little too harshly along Merlin’s nose, muttering-

“How the hell are you always so Godamn grubby?”

-to himself. Morgana doesn’t manage to hold in her giggles at that, clamping a hand over her mouth as she dedicates this whole scene to memory forever. Arthur is staring at his father with not even an attempt to hide his bafflement, but at this point, Uther is too busy brushing invisible lint off of Merlin’s shoulders to notice the incredulous stares from the three teenagers (and all the guards).

He finally steps back, huffing out a sigh, and muttering-

“That will have to do, I suppose.”

-before turning back to the doors and gesturing to the guards. Morgana, and Arthur have only a moment to regain their composure before they are ushered out on the balcony; Merlin staying back as he had been informed to do that morning, though he can hear the cheers get impossibly louder as the three royals greet their people.

Arthur glances back, just quickly, giving him one last smile before facing his people and standing in support of his father’s kingly speech:

“My people! Today, on this year’s Winter Solstice, my son has come of age!-”

The crowds had quietened significantly when Uther began, but another cheer went up at his words, and he paused, holding a silencing hand up:

“-I now present him to you, as Crown Prince Arthur Pendragon, heir to the throne of Camelot, my successor!”

His hand moves to gesture at Arthur, and the Prince steps forward as The King steps back, a wide smile on the blonde's face as his people cheer for him. He waves back, eyes searching the crowd for Hunith, Gaius, Gwen, and Leon; they meet gazes just as Uther steps forward once more, holding his hand up again:

“There is other news! It is...-”

He looks to Arthur, settling a hand on his shoulder and giving him a small smile. His voice quietens a little, but it can still be heard by the crowd:

“-it is with great pride, that I announce-”

The moment ended as quickly as it had started as Uther turns back to the crowds below, raising his voice again:

“-that my son has found his soulmate!!-”

Arthur had been expecting loud cheers, but their audience grows quiet and still at the announcement, as if frozen in suspense. As he peers over the stone barrier, he can see almost everyone in the crowd pairing off slightly, pulling their soulmates closer as they wait with baited breath to see their Prince’s partner.

Inside, Merlin takes a deep breath, but relaxes slightly when he sees Arthur unclench his own nervous fist, holding it behind him in preparation, invitation, for Merlin to take it in just a few moments:

“-I present to you, a close family friend of the royals,-”

(Morgana scoffs and rolls her eyes, but thankfully no one is paying her any attention.)

“-a skilled physician in training, and a trusted citizen of this Great Kingdom,-”

He gestures towards the door behind him, and Merlin takes his first shaky step forward, coming into line with Arthur as Uther finishes:

“Merlin, of Ealdor!”

Arthur and Merlin walk to the front of the balcony, hand in hand, as the loudest cheers Merlin has ever heard explode from the crowd. Despite the thunderous noise, Merlin can still pick out the cheers of his mother, uncle, friend, and older brother, and the leisurely applause from Morgana behind him, and he smiles in spite of his nerves. Arthur squeezes his hand once more, and they raise their joined fists to the crowds as they grin, struggling to hold in their laughter at the sheer amount of joy on the faces of everyone (bar Uther, of course, he just looked marginally happy)  present.

Merlin has become even more recognised around the kingdom; normally seen trailing Gaius (who is also well-known, and well-loved) or, as inappropriate as it might be (at least according to Uther’s council), hanging around with Morgana and Gwen during the day. The castle’s servants and the majority of the knights had guessed that Merlin was the soulmate of either Prince Arthur or the Lady Morgana, what with how often he was with them and the way King Uther was apparently ok with that, and gossip spread like wildfire. But the loud cheers just drive home how well-loved Merlin is, and he tears up in response.

Merlin and Arthur finally step away from the edge of the balcony, and Uther continues his address of the people, though it passes by in a bit of a blur for Merlin, and he tunes out fairly quickly. He’s vaguely aware of Arthur running a soft thumb over his knuckles, and Morgana stepping towards him to clutch the edge of his tunic (loud crowds had never been her thing), but the speech and the cheering are drowned out by his racing thoughts.

~

Uther’s speech finally came to an end and the crowd dissipated. The King rushed off immediately, after sending what could almost be described as a respectfully fond nod in Merlin’s direction, but Morgana, Arthur, and Merlin luckily had nothing pressing to attend to before the feast, and had around an hour of time to waste (read: relax).

Despite Leon escorting the three of them to Merlin and Hunith’s home dressed in full armour, sword strapped to his hip, the journey took twice as long as it normally did, with various nobles and citizens alike wanting to stop them in the street and congratulate them. Arthur and Merlin were endlessly polite and extremely grateful for the support of their (now shared) people, but Leon’s forceful insistence that they “have somewhere important to be, My Lords, My Lady” went quietly thanked.

Hunith, Gaius, and Gwen met them at the house, and a round of tight hugs was shared; all staring fondly when Hunith wouldn’t let Merlin go for love nor money, whispering tearful exclamations of pride in his ear.

The hour felt like it passed in mere minutes, but it was enough time at least for Merlin to relax a little. Morgana and Gwen helped Hunith get ready, and Merlin definitely did NOT tear up when she came out of her room dressed like royalty, a string of Morgana’s pearls around her neck. Arthur and Morgana had deliberately stored a spare set of clothes here so they didn’t have to go back to the castle to change, and the Prince just about managed to force Merlin into a new jacket and cloak (”Why?!”  “Because you have to, it’s protocol, you have to be dressed differently.”  “That’s fucking stu-”  “Merlin, I love you, but shut up and get changed.”  “...Prat.” ) .

The seating arrangements weren’t too terrible. As per normal, Uther sat at the head of the table, with Arthur around the corner on the King’s right and Morgana to his left. Merlin sat in between Arthur and his mother; Leon was, unfortunately, on guard duty, though thankfully he was being assigned to Prince Duty (training, hunts, patrols, bodyguard, etc) more and more, meaning he was stood at the wall behind the two boys. 

Thankfully, the only stranger anywhere near Merlin was a respected Camelot noble seated opposite him, and he seemed far more interested in boasting about his son to the King in the hopes of winning him a knighthood than he was in Merlin, and payed barely any attention to him other than the occasional distasteful glare (they did not go unnoticed by Arthur, and simply guaranteed that his prick of a son wasn’t going to end up anywhere near a sword).

So all in all, the feast wasn’t too bad. Merlin’s stomach was turning a little, but Arthur’s hand on his thigh under the table and his mother’s shoulder occasionally brushing against his own calmed him right down, though he still kept well away from any alcohol or too-rich foods, worried about making a fool of himself or turning his stomach even more.

The Gang also had Gwen serving them. Morgana had given up on her pleas to have her join them at the table fairly quickly; she could argue with Uther endlessly on many things, but she knew she was never going to win this one. At Guinevere’s insistence that today wasn’t about her, and Morgana shouldn’t ruin Uther’s tenuous good mood on Arthur’s birthday AND coronation AND soulmate-reveal-day, she gave in. But Merlin appreciated the feeling of friendly eyes, both Leon’s and Gwen’s, on his back for the course of the feast.

Just like during the celebrations of Arthur’s knighting ceremony, the tables were cleared from the room to make way for music and dancing, though this time Arthur and Merlin didn’t have to hide their partnership.

Merlin’s stomach turned more at the mingling he was forced to do, answering awkward questions about the purity of his blood and where he came from and his education and his understanding of social etiquette, almost all of which were phrased in condescending and/or downright spiteful ways. But the way Arthur’s arm, looped through his, tensed, and the scowl the Prince sported when Merlin couldn’t bring himself to, partnered with Leon’s comforting shadow (and even Uther’s, when the question’s strayed into cruelty) made him feel at least justified in his discomfort.

Morgana, at the quiet request of Merlin, spent the entire night by Hunith’s side, shielding her from the malicious glaring of nobles who felt cheated by her accidental winning of a position in the royal family. She was granted at least a little respect due to her being a relation of Gaius, who was highly respected and close to the King, but that was about as far as her favour went, and she was eternally grateful for Morgana’s steadfast presence and silent-but-deadly brand of defence.

The night passed slowly, but not so unpleasantly that Merlin was too desperate for it to end, though that changed rather jarringly when he found himself without Arthur for the first time. The Prince and Merlin had been stood next to each other, though involved in different conversations; thankfully for Merlin, he had been having a rather lovely chat about country-life with the wife of a knight. It was when she was pulled away by her husband to converse with another that Merlin realised that Arthur had also been pulled away by whoever it was he had been talking to.

Merlin tensed when he couldn’t immediately spot his soulmate through the crowd, but took a calming breath when he did spot Leon stood dutifully against the opposite wall, Guinevere next to him. That was fine, it wasn’t Arthur, but it was better than nothing, and he allowed his anxiety to swirl in his lungs for only a moment before he began his soft-stepped journey across the hall. 

He caught Leon’s eye, thankfully, and the knight frowned slightly at the empty space next to him before sending a reassuring smile his way, nodding in encouragement and understanding.

Alas, he only made it halfway when he was stopped by a rather harsh hand on his shoulder.

He turns around, barely swallowing a gasp and a flinch, only to come face to face with the noble he had been sat opposite during the feast. The hand was uncomfortably tight on his shoulder, and Merlin wanted more than anything to push it away, but instead he forced a smile on his face and bowed his head respectfully, hoping beyond hope that Arthur would make a reappearance or Leon would see his discomfort and be able to come up with an excuse to abandon his post:

“Lord Otto, a pleasure to see you again.”

The drunken Lord let out a huff of sarcastic laughter, pressing his thumb even more severely into Merlin’s collarbone:

“Hmm, a pleasure indeed. Tell me boy, how is it that you, a peasant, think yourself worthy of such a magnificent soulmate?”

Merlin’s eyes widen in shock. No one had been so obviously disdainful, but the over-indulgence in alcohol, the Lord’s privileged seat at the table, and Merlin's lack of any sort of protector had evidently given him a boost in confidence. Merlin stuttered for a few moments, not quite sure what to say, before quietly coming out with:

“Well... I... don’t really know, I-”

He’s interrupted by a far softer hand on his other shoulder, but is even more shocked when, instead of Leon or Arthur, he found The King stood by his side, flicking an incredibly scornful gaze between Lord Otto’s hand and face. It does nothing to dissuade the Lord, and Merlin can’t disguise his wince this time when the hand once again tightens it’s grip.

Merlin had hoped he’d been subtle, but the clenching of Uther’s jaw tells him he had not been; before he can worry about what social rule he had broken and how Uther was going to punish him for it, The King finally settled his glare on Otto’s face:

“I must insist that you remove your hand from my boy’s person, and refrain from making such improper inquiries.”

His cold tone almost sends a shiver down Merlin’s spine, but the confusion of having Uther being in defence of him (a Warlock) stops the reaction before it even starts. The Lord glances up at the crown sitting strongly on Uther’s head, seemingly reminding himself of his company, before dropping his hand from Merlin’s shoulder as if he’d been burned.

He bows his head shallowly, making himself look as subservient as his pride could manage, and Uther gives him a barely restrained look of disgust when he looks up again, interrupting any quivering apologies he might have made:

“It’s getting rather late, and you’ve indulged enough for one night, do you not think? I suggest you end your evening here, Lord Otto.”

All three knew that it was not a suggestion, and Otto bows once more before muttering a humiliated, red-faced “Right you are, Your Majesty” and waddling out of the hall, towards the guest chambers.

Merlin let out a breath, his face just a little flushed as Uther spares him a quick, concerned glance before pushing him gently towards an on-going conversation between Arthur and a group of knights on the other side of the band. Merlin lets out a relieved breath when he sees his partner, but quickly frowns in concern when he then sees the tense line of Arthur’s shoulders and the way his eyes were darting around the room. He’s obviously paying only the shallowest of attention to the conversation at hand; but then they meet gazes, and the tension drains out of him as he sends a relieved smile Merlin’s way.

Arthur politely excuses himself from the conversation, using the blinding smile that only made an appearance when he was manipulating courtiers and nobles, before making his way through the crowd towards Merlin, evidently trying to disguise his desperation. Merlin was absent-mindedly aware of Uther keeping pace with him, the supportive hand on his shoulder-blade not leaving even when Merlin sped up slightly.

(If Merlin had been thinking about anything other than just being at Arthur’s side again, he would’ve found the odd mix of disgust and gratitude for Uther’s presence very confusing.)

They finally reach each other and Arthur grabs Merlin’s hand gently, pulling him to his side and landing a soft kiss to his cheek. Uther finally removes his hand from Merlin’s back, and it’s the absence of touch that reminds Merlin of The King’s presence. He turns quickly, hand safely in Arthur’s grip, to give Uther a flushed, timid smile:

“I... uh... thank you, My Lord.”

Uther gives him a tight smile, though you’d have to be blind to miss the slight fondness in his expression as he shakes his head:

“Hmm, I’ve been looking for an excuse to get Otto out of here for at least an hour, the man is intolerable, his incessant rambling about his unremarkable son even more so.”

Merlin nodded awkwardly and tightened his hold on Arthur’s hand, but before either boy can say anything, Uther lets out a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders and settling hesitant hands on one of their shoulders each:

“I... am proud of you both, and I wish you all the happiness in the world. One day, this Kingdom shall be yours, and it will be golden under your rule.”

Merlin almost manages to forget the whole... unforgivable genocide thing, and gives The King a weak, though grateful smile, running his thumb over Arthur’s knuckles when he feels the blonde shake slightly. Arthur tears up at Uther’s words, but thankfully manages to keep his voice steady as he quietly replies:

“Thank you, father, we will do everything in our power to live up to your legacy.”

(An utter lie, considering they plan on undoing pretty much everything he’s known for the moment they come into power, but Uther doesn’t need to know that, and the sentiment remains.)

Uther gives Arthur one last gentle smile, before lowering his hands and straightening his posture, going from awkwardly doting father to detached mighty King within a second. He nods at each of them before turning and walking regally away, his cloak billowing behind him and his golden crown shining atop his head.

Arthur tilts his head in question and tugs Merlin’s hand slightly when he sees the small frown on the younger’s face:

“Merls? What did Otto do? He didn't hurt you, did he?!”

Merlin looked up at him in shock before blinking away the surprise and chuckling:

“Ah, no, nothing like that, just asked how a peasant ended up with such a magnificent soulmate.-”

Arthur looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or offended on Merlin’s behalf, so he settled for an odd mix of the two:

“-That didn’t bother me though, it was... Uther called me his boy.”

Arthur dropped his chin slightly in shock:

“He what?”

Merlin shrugged:

“He said “I must insist that you remove your hand from my boy”. It was very... disconcerting, and oddly endearing considering what he’d do if he knew what I was.”

He whispered the last part quietly, and Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise before chuckling quietly:

“Wow, never thought I’d see the day. My father being protective of a commoner and telling me how proud he is all in one evening, perhaps the world is ending.”

Merlin snorts, rolling his eyes and softly responding:

“Hmm. He may be a bit of a prat, but he does love you, and he has his moments.”

Arthur narrows his eyes at Merlin good-naturedly, a smirk dangerously close to breaking out on his face:

“You know Merlin, you may be right, but you’re still the only person I allow to say it aloud without sanction.”

Merlin just smirks and raises an eyebrow; Arthur laughs, and the world feels right.

~

It was late by the time Arthur and Merlin finally decided to call it quits. Morgana, Gaius, and Hunith had left around an hour ago, Gwen following them the moment her shift ended. Technically, someone had come to take over from Leon about halfway through the night, but he stuck around, patrolling the shadows of the room with one eye on Merlin always.

(The boys had insisted that he should go home and relax, but were quietly grateful when he stayed.)

They had been wanting to leave for hours, and normally they could easily get away with such an absence, but this particular celebration was in their honour, it wouldn't do to leave too early, so they finally made their way out of the hall when the crowds had halved and it was approaching midnight.

Uther gave them one last pat on the back when they said goodbye, and the tension practically melted off them when they stepped foot outside, despite the freezing temperatures of winter in the dead of night.

Leon stepped out just a moment after them, and the three of them make quick work of the journey to the house, not wanting to dally in the frigid air and just a little desperate to find themselves in the comforting presence on the family they had built.

They arrive just in time to find Hunith pouring out mugs of hot chocolate (a luxury that Merlin and Hunith never had in Ealdor), and Gwen adding another log to the fire. The next round of hugs was quicker than the last; everyone was tired and eager to settle down, to push the insensitive questions to the back of their minds and revel in the positive feeling of things moving forward.

Arthur had removed his cloak immediately upon entry, folding it precisely and leaving it on the table in the hall, his golden circlet following shortly after, cushioned by the soft fabric, but Merlin excused himself to their bedroom, changing into comfier clothes and washing his face. He had been looking forward to leaving all night, but now that he was home, he found all he wanted to do was collapse in bed and sleep, Arthur securely in his arms.

A knock at the door broke him out of his slow moving thoughts, and he frowned slightly, Arthur wouldn’t knock:

“Come in.”

It was Leon that opened the door, having rid himself of his sword and most of his armour (a pain in the arse, considering he’ll have to wake up early to put it all on again, but oh well), and he stepped into the room, quietly shutting the door again behind him. Merlin sent him a tired smile, but Leon saw through it and raised an eyebrow:

“You alright, Birdy? Anyone in particular you’d like me to embarrass during training or council meetings?”

Merlin laughed and shook his head:

“No, that definitely won’t endear me to people. Honestly, it was a lot better than I was expecting, and having Arthur scowling at people and Uther defending me was rather entertaining in the end.”

Leon snorted, muttering a quietly amused “yeah, I bet” before stepping forward and enveloping Merlin in a tight hug, one hand on his back, one in his hair, holding him close. Merlin melted into the embrace, clutching the back of Leon’s tunic tightly as the older man swayed on his feet slightly, murmuring:

“I’m proud of you, little brother. You handled everything just fine, the kingdom loves you; you’re doing great.”

Merlin lets out a deep breath and steps back, though was grateful to feel Leon’s hands still on his shoulders as he replies:

“Thank you. Honestly, I’m just exhausted, I don’t know how I’m going to deal with this for the rest of my life, and I... I don’t want to disappoint Arthur.”

Leon rolled his eyes good-naturedly and ruffled Merlin’s hair:

“You could never. He loves you more than anything in this world, Birdy, you’re made for each other, after all. He would abandon all of this in a heartbeat if he thought it would make you happy.”

Merlin frowns slightly, clenching his jaw:

“Yeah, I know, that’s what worries me. We’re meant to... bring about a golden age or whatever, and we can’t do that if we leave, but I’m not sure I’m going to be any good at the... politics, or the court manipulation or anything that comes with... with running a Kingdom. I know it’s a long way off but...-”

Leon nods in understanding and squeezes Merlin’s shoulder softly:

“You’ve got plenty of time to learn. And hey, if you want to stay away from the politics? Fine, Arthur and Morgana have plenty of expertise in that area. You’re a physician, Merls, not a courtier, and the kingdom already loves you, not because you’re a good politician or anything like that, but because you’re a good person, and you’re worth loving. Just keep being yourself and you’ll be absolutely fine. And besides, you’ll always have us lot to fall back on when you’re unsure; you’ll never be alone, little brother, I’ll make sure of it.”

Merlin nods and sniffles slightly at Leon’s words, giving him another tight hug. They step back into the hall, and Leon gives Merlin’s hand a gentle squeeze:

“Ready? I can tell them you headed to bed, if you just want some sleep?”

Merlin smiles and shakes his head, pulling Leon to the living room, where everyone is undoubtedly crowded around the fire surrounded by blankets and pillows.

~

From that day forth, Merlin’s life becomes a lot more... official.

He was officially given sword-fighting lessons by a few of the older knights, though thanks to the lessons Leon, Arthur, and Morgana had given him already, he held his own pretty well, and they were more than impressed with the skill level of someone they had assumed was a complete beginner.

He was officially invited to the occasional council meeting (at least the boring, everyday ones). He was always a silent spectator, his participation discouraged, though his presence expected; Arthur always made a point to ask his opinions afterwards though.

His new duties and lessons, on top of his pre-existing duties as the Physician’s Apprentice, AND having to keep his magic hidden and his reputation intact, was all somewhat overwhelming for Merlin, but the steadfast support of Arthur and Morgana when it concerns politics, and Gaius talking Uther down when The King wants Merlin to be more involved in court life, definitely help him in everyday life. Gwen’s hugs and Leon’s hair ruffling are certainly God-sends as well.

The oddest thing was the way people addressed Merlin now. He wasn’t even of age yet, but people were calling him Lord, and servants bowed at him in the corridor. There wasn’t much he could do about the nobles without making some incredible social faux pas, but he always flushed at the servants and insisted they stop bowing and just call him Merlin, at least when no one else is around. 

Thankfully, both visitors to the Kingdom and local nobles tone down the snootiness, especially when Uther publicly shows Merlin respect and rumours (correct rumours) spread of Arthur and Morgana’s protectiveness.

Merlin’s birthday was celebrated minimally, though there was, once again, a mix of feelings upon the realisation that he was now only one year away from being of age, and things would surely get even more intense when that happened. But they all tried to push it from their minds, at least for the time being.

As winter broke and the sun came up on what was undoubtedly a Spring day, Merlin felt the most refreshed he had in a long time, though his mood dropped instantly when he, Arthur, and Morgana were summoned to Uther’s private study... only to be given another mini, awkward “I’m proud of you” speech, and given a week off.

Of course, Arthur was still somewhat expected to keep up with his training at least a little, but really, there was nothing forcing him to.

They exited the study flushed with pride and excitement at the prospect of doing whatever the hell they wanted for a week, and met Gwen in the hall. She was worrying her lip between her teeth when they saw her, but she instantly relaxed and raised a questioning eyebrow when she saw the grins on their faces, and Morgana explained what had happened.

It was that evening, whilst relaxing in Arthur’s chambers, that Merlin heard the dreaded echo of “Emrys...” in his head.

He groaned, dropping his head in his hands, out of both frustration and the pain of another’s voice unexpectedly materializing on the inside of one’s skull.

It was just Arthur and Merlin in the room, and the Prince immediately moved from his own chair to kneel in front of his soulmate, running his hands up and down Merlin’s arms as he shakily asks:

“Merls? What’s wrong?”

Merlin just looks up at him blearily, one hand taking Arthur’s and the other rubbing his temple:

“Fucking... scaly arsehole.”

Arthur tenses and frowns as he answers:

“I thought he had given up months ago? Why is he calling you now?”

Merlin shrugs, slumping back in his seat:

“Who knows, he didn’t say, he just-”

“It’s important, bring your little... friends, if it makes you feel any better.”

“-never mind. He just said it’s important, and I can bring my “little friends” if I want.-”

He snorted in dry amusement before continuing:

“-as if I would’ve listened if he told me to go alone anyway. I really thought that me thinking “Fuck Off” as loud as I could helped him get the hint. Apparently not.”

Arthur rolled his eyes before looking to Merlin in concern:

“Well... do you want to go? Or do you want to just hope he goes away again?”

Merlin sighs, but before he can answer, the voice echoes once again:

“I will not go away this time, young Warlock. This is important, and I have very little else to entertain myself with, other than being an annoyance to you. Come.”

He huffs in frustration, standing abruptly and taking Arthur’s hand, dragging him to where their swords are kept as he grumbles:

“He’s not going away this time. Let’s fetch Leon and head down.”

Arthur dutifully follows, strapping his sword to his hip and locking the chamber doors behind them, not speaking until they were approaching Leon’s door:

“No Morgana or Gwen?”

Merlin halts, clenching his hands tightly as he thinks for a moment:

“Hmm. No, I don’t want to freak them out. We can tell them what happens later, but I don’t want Morgana to have to face him again.”

Arthur nods, and knocks quietly on Leon’s door. He opens quickly, and Arthur and Merlin are thankful that they didn’t wake him, though quickly notice his panic when he sees their grave faces and swords.

The explanation is quick, and within a few minutes the trio are making a stealthy journey down to the Dragon’s Lair. There are no dramatic appearances this time, the great lizard is already perched regally on the edge of the platform, waiting for them.

He tilts his head when he sees their tense forms at the gate:

“I’m grateful that you did not bring the Witch.”

Arthur and Leon look to Merlin in confusion as he bristles, tightening his grip on the sword at his hip as he speaks:

“Yeah, well, I didn’t fancy you trying to kill my best friend again. What do you want?”

The dragon does what the trio guesses is the closest to an eye roll and dramatic sigh that his great form can manage, before lowering his head and speaking in English:

“If you won’t listen to me, I suggest you use your new found, though temporary freedom to meet with the Druids. They have all relevant information on the prophecies, you can learn of your destinies from them. The closest camp is a day’s ride from the Eastern border of Camelot.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, but Arthur beats him to it:

“And how would you know that? How did you know we had time off?”

The dragon tilts his head and huffs out a dry laugh, the hot air making the trio sweat under their thick cloaks (it may have been Spring, but it was still cold) :

“I know a great many things, young King.”

Merlin and Arthur can practically feel the way Leon tenses, even from a  few paces away. The man, ever the knight, was obviously incredibly uncomfortable with the idea that this dragon knew the goings on of the world, could listen in on conversations, all while being chained in the basement. Before either knight can say anything, Merlin tilts his head, a challenging look on his face as he regards the dragon:

“You... you keep saying destiny, but destiny is pre-written, the whole point is that it’s going to happen no matter what anyone involved does, no matter the interference. So why are you so desperate to have us know it, and work towards it? Us knowing or not knowing won’t alter things either way, unless it’s all a pile of shit and you’re manipulating us.”

Arthur smirks at Merlin’s quick mind and Leon looks impressed, the two of them turning their own challenging gazes on the rather thoughtful looking reptile. He mutters something along the lines of “you weren’t so bloody clever last time,” before lowering himself even closer to the ground, closer to Merlin:

“If I were manipulating you, then I wouldn’t send you to a third party known for being pacifist and unbiased, would I? Destiny isn’t completely certain, it is simply one of many likelihoods, the most... benefitting likelihood, is the destiny of you and your soulmate.”

Merlin scowls:

“Benefitting for who? Something tells me that one day you’re going to ask us for something, and we’ll be powerless to say no, thanks to all this... help you’re giving us, and it’ll be a mistake. So, benefitting who?”

The dragon shifts his jaw in such a way that resembles a smirk, speaking once again in the rasping language that Leon and Arthur don’t understand:

“Do you not want magic, yourself, your people, to be free, Emrys?”

He raises himself to his full height, stalking towards the ledge and stretching his leathery wings out. The trio manage to hold their ground in his dauntingly large presence, but their hands do tighten around their weapons:

“Go to the Druids, tell them Kilgharrah sent you.”

With that, he tips himself over the edge, falling for a second before snapping his wings out once again and shooting upwards towards the shadow-bathed ceiling, thick chain clanging loudly with the sudden movement.

Merlin huffs and turns to ascend the steps without another word, grumbling to himself about “stupid fucking dragons” and “my one week off and I have to deal with this shit” . Leon and Arthur look to each other with a shrug and a mix of genuine concern and mild amusement on their faces, before hurriedly following Merlin back through the castle.

~

Thankfully, it took almost no effort for Arthur and Morgana to get Uther to allow them to leave the Kingdom on their little vacation. It being under the guise of “visiting Ealdor” meant that it was perfectly within the realm of reasonable requests to have Leon tag along as “protection” as well. Guinevere was coming because they of course would need a servant whilst they were out and about (though Uther was definitely beginning to suspect that something more was at play between Morgana and the serving girl).

Unfortunately, Hunith was unable to get the week off work at such short notice (mother of the Prince’s soulmate or not), and there was no way they’d be able to justify asking The King for Gaius to tag along, so they didn’t even try. But they set out the next afternoon, having filled Gwen and Morgana in on Kilgharrah’s rather vague and annoying directions.

Neither of them were particularly happy that they had gone to see the Dragon without them or that they were just... doing what he said, but destiny or no, consulting the Druids on Morgana’s visions and Merlin’s magic was still a good idea, and they’d never get a better chance.

Just like Kilgharrah said, they found the Druid camp two days into their journey from the city, almost a day’s ride beyond Camelot’s border. They had to be careful, wear disguises, but they were travelling through virtually untouched wood so they didn’t run into anyone, not even a pesky group of bandits made an appearance.

When the first tents came into sight through the trees, the group stopped to take a breath and prepare themselves, giving each other one last round of dubious looks before beginning to walk again.

They barely make it to their third step when Merlin pauses and takes a stuttering breath, clenching his fingers around Arthur’s sleeve in a white-knuckled grip. The others crowd around him worriedly, but relax (only slightly) when he looks more confused than anything else. Before they can ask what’s wrong, he peers between them towards the tents:

“Uh... how are you- are you Druid? Is this one of you?”

Arthur’s eyes widen as he realises:

“Someone’s in your head again?”

Merlin nods distractedly but doesn’t move his gaze, speaking louder:

“Hello??”

Finally, a middle-aged man steps out from the camp; he wears floor length, dark green robes, and his silver hair almost falls to his shoulders. He gives the group a kind smile before finally focusing in on Arthur and Merlin, bowing his head slightly:

“My Lords. Our seers saw you coming some days ago, and we felt your presence the moment you entered our wood, Emrys.”

Merlin clenches his jaw slightly:

“Please don’t call me that, my name is Merlin... and... Kilgharrah sent us?”

He says it as if it’s a question and the Druid gives Merlin an assessing gaze, before nodding slightly. Before he can verbally respond, Leon steps subtly in front of the others. Morgana rolls her eyes at his protectiveness and Arthur huffs, but before they can challenge him, he asks:

“What do you mean, you felt his presence?”

He tilts his head again and smiles slightly, as though amused:

“Em- Merlin is rather powerful; we can sense him from miles away, his magic is incredibly... distinctive.”

Merlin frowns, holding Arthur’s hand protectively in his own as he side-steps Leon:

“What does that even mean? I’m not that powerful.”

The man shakes his head slightly and gestures behind him:

“Come. I imagine you have many questions about many things. The camp awaits your presence, My Lord.”

Merlin frowns at the title, but the Druid turns his back and begins walking back into the centre of the camp before he can challenge it. He gives a small shrug and a quiet “well, here we go” to the others before following his trail, Arthur’s hand still clutched tightly in his.

They all receive peculiar looks as they walk through the camp. Life seems to stop as everyone pauses what they’re doing to stare at the intruding teenagers (and Leon), but they keep their heads down, all letting out a relieved sigh when the man leads them to a tent, gesturing for them to sit around a table, and closing the fabric gently behind him.

He turns around with relaxed shoulders and an easy smile, not acknowledging that none of them are sat down and are instead gathered in a huddle by the table:

“My name is Iseldir. Druids don’t have strict hierarchies, but I’m considered the chieftain here, welcome.”

He looks at Merlin as he speaks, and the young Warlock nods slightly. He opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it again with furrowed brows; Iseldir raises an eyebrow and Merlin hums thoughtfully before trying again:

“I was going to introduce everyone, but something tells me that you already know who we are.”

Iseldir smiles again and nods, the expression on his face looking something similar to pride:

“Yes, I know who you all are. I see that you are learning to trust your instincts, My Lord.”

Merlin grimaces:

“It’s just Merlin, please. It’s bad enough that everyone at the castle calls me Lord now, I’m not even of age yet.”

The Chieftain’s smile widens in amusement as he nods, and Morgana is the next to speak up, her hand clutched tightly in Gwen’s as her voice shakes only slightly:

“We were sent here to learn about our... destinies?”

Iseldir nods, politely ignoring the way Merlin reaches behind him to grab Morgana’s wrist comfortingly, and how Leon and Arthur rest their hands near their swords:

“I have everything we need laid out here; it isn’t too complicated and we should get through all of it by this evening.”

The teenagers finally move to the seats, but make no effort to hide the way they shuffle the furniture to be sat closer together. Morgana and Merlin are sat in the middle, Arthur and Gwen flanking them protectively; Leon remains standing, a hand on each of his magical kid’s shoulders and a blank, though slightly challenging look on his face. Iseldir raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment, moving to sit on the opposite side of the table and shuffling a few papers around before looking up with a smile:

“Let us begin.”

~

The general mood of the room could be judged accurately by how tense Leon was at any one moment. Though he remained standing, he was relaxed and curious when Iseldir told them about the extent of Merlin’s powers (which Merlin looked incredibly dubious at), and he smiled proudly when they were told of Merlin and Arthur’s intertwined destinies (the nature of their soul-bond means he already knew they had some sort of great future, and this only proved it). 

It was when Iseldir hesitated slightly as he gave Morgana a pitying look that Leon tensed up, and tightened his grip on her shoulder.

“You must all remember that destinies are... tricky. They are incredibly difficult to avoid, but it isn’t impossible; the future is not set in stone.-”

Morgana takes a deep breath and straightens her back, taking Merlin’s hand in her own and settling her face into a determined grimace:

“Just come out with it. Just tell me.”

Iseldir gives her a comforting smile as he nods, turning a sheet of incredibly ancient looking paper over and pushing it across the table towards them. On the scroll is a old, rough charcoal drawing of a woman with long, dark hair, her clothes somehow elegant and tatty at the same time. Her face is covered by a hood, but her arms are outstretched and violent looking flames extend from her hands, burning and destroying all the foliage drawn around the edge of the paper.

Morgana reaches a shaking hand out to touch the drawing but withdraws her hand before she makes contact, ignoring the tears gathering in her eyes as she looks up at Iseldir again:

“That’s me, isn’t it? Burning things?”

Iseldir nods slowly before speaking, his voice low and gentle, understanding:

“It is said that if you come into your full power, you will unite with The Once and Future King’s Bane. Your heart will freeze over, you will become consumed by hatred and fear and bitterness, and you will work tirelessly to bring about the downfall of Camelot, the downfall of Albion.-”

Arthur interrupts:

“Albion?”

Iseldir moves his gaze to the Prince, giving him a tight smile as he explains:

“The Kingdoms to be united under one name, Albion, with yourself as King.-”

He looks back to Morgana, his smiles turning just a little encouraging:

“-Like I said, the future is not set in stone. Arthur’s Bane came into existence several years ago, we’re keeping close watch on him; he has yet to show any... troubling, signs, nor have you.”

Merlin scowls slightly in though, before slowly saying:

“Arthur’s Bane is... a person?”

Iseldir raises an eyebrow and nods, letting out a breath of subtle relief when Merlin seems more genuinely worried than murderous.

Gwen is the next to speak up, her voice strong and her face determined:

“None of that is happening,-”

She reaches forward and aggressively turns the scroll over, squeezing Morgana’s hand as she continues:

“-not ever.”

Leon’s gasp has everyone’s eyes drawn to the overturned sheet, only to see a colourful image appear on the paper. The first figure to materialize is clearly Morgana, though in this drawing she is grinning, hood down, eyes golden and flowers in her hair. Next, Merlin and Gwen appear either side of her, Merlin’s eyes also glowing as he summons matching flowers in Gwen’s hair, Gwen who is pressing a kiss to Morgana’s cheek. Leon and Arthur appear next, in full armour with bright grins, a golden crown on Arthur’s head.

Iseldir chuckles, looking up at Merlin who is giving himself a satisfied nod as the golden glow fades from his eyes:

“Trusting your instincts indeed; you didn’t even need an incantation, very impressive.”

Merlin shrugs before turning to Morgana with a grin. She returns it with a shaky one of her own, once again feeling not-quite-so-scared thanks to the ever-comforting presence of her family.

~

They slept that night in a large tent that had been prepared for them, and were woken up early the next morning. They were given a proper tour of the camp and introduced to a few people. 

Leon had questions about how the camp was run, in terms of enforcing rules and staying safe, so he was quickly introduced to a few of the elders. Whilst he had been reluctant to leave the others at first, Arthur’s teasing laughter and Morgana’s rolled eyes convinced him to spend the day away from them, learning about as much of Druid politics as he could.

Merlin and Morgana were quickly introduced to the strongest magic users, and whilst Merlin was taken aside to be given some lessons on healing using magic, Morgana was taught meditation techniques and breathing exercises by the camp’s most respected Seer.

Gwen sticks mostly with Merlin; whilst she had no magic to heal with, the herbal knowledge that was being shared was fascinating and she was eager to memorise as much of it as possible. She of course wandered over to check on Morgana occasionally, at first out of concern, but then out of pride, out of a desperation to never forget how relaxed and happy and at-home her soulmate looks.

Arthur spends the morning with Merlin, but quickly grows bored. Perhaps he should take more interest in healing considering how often he and the knights get injured, but he’s already got Merlin, Gaius, and now Gwen, so why waste the effort? Instead, he finds Morgana and the Seer. The sense of relief he feels to see his sister looking so at ease with such an easy smile gracing her face is almost overwhelming, but he doesn’t disturb them, sitting a little way away and silently watching them.

The Prince didn’t even realise he had fallen asleep until the tell-tale pop and the sudden shadow of someone stood above him jolts him from his nap. He opens his eyes blearily to see Merlin crouching next to him, an amused smile on his face and his hand out-stretched:

“Come on sleepy head, the others are waiting for us, it’s time to eat.”

Arthur takes a deep breath, allowing Merlin to pull him up before he stretches and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The sun was only an hour or so away from touching the horizon and he could see no one else in the little patch of woods Morgana had previously been sat in:

“Morgana?”

Merlin smiles softly, taking Arthur’s hand and leading him back towards the tents:

“Happy. She joined me a couple hours ago and we were practicing some simple spells, turns out she has more magic than just visions-”

At Arthur’s slightly affronted expression, Merlin chuckles and rolls his eyes:

“-You were exhausted, Arthur, don’t deny it. You got this holiday because of how hard you’ve been working, we didn’t want to wake you. We’ll show you a few tricks tomorrow alright?”

Arthur pouts and huffs slightly, fighting the smile trying to appear on his face as he nodded his agreement. Merlin just laughed at him again as they entered the meal tent, finding spaces with the other three.

~

The next morning was just as relaxed, though this time the five of them stayed together. 

Leon, Arthur, and Gwen sat against a fallen log as they watched Merlin and Morgana show their magic off. A small audience of Druids had gathered as well, on account of Lord Emrys’ presence, and whilst Morgana tired quickly, not used to having such free access to the magic that had been inside her for years, Merlin could go for hours. He used few actual incantations, manipulating water and flowers and floating lights with just a little concentration and some imprecise waving of his hands. 

Noon, unfortunately, came rather quickly, at which point Leon sighed and stood up, giving Merlin a sad smile before looking to Arthur:

“If we want to be home with a day to spare, we should start the journey soon.”

Arthur nodded in agreement and the rest of the group joins Leon in standing. The Druids disperse fairly quickly, but Iseldir stays with them, giving Merlin a pat on the back and a wide smile:

“It was a pleasure to have you here My Lor- Merlin.”

Merlin snorts in amusements but nods his appreciation, and the five of them wander over to their tent to gather their belongings whilst Iseldir collects the horses. 

It’s only half a candle mark before they’re riding back out into the forest in the direction of Camelot. The teachers and elders, including Iseldir, wave them off with proud smiles, and whilst Merlin and Morgana are sad to leave this sanctuary behind, they were grateful for the freedom and safety and lessons they’d had, even if it was less than two days. Their utter faith that things would change when Arthur took the crown, that one day Camelot would feel just as safe, gave them something beautiful to look forward to as well.

Their journey home was just as uneventful as the journey out. When they finally pulled up into the courtyard with a day and a half of their free week left, Leon took everyone’s horses to the stable and informed a servant to tell the King of their arrival, whilst the others headed straight to Merlin and Hunith’s house. They had to wait for Hunith and Gaius to finish their actual jobs, but soon enough the whole group was crowded around the kitchen table. 

Arthur and Gwen (who, though no one else would admit it, has the best memory of all of them) re-tell the prophecies and destinies.

Both Hunith and Gaius were furious once again at Morgana’s so-called destiny, but smiled proudly at her determined disposition, and the obviously magical drawing (the flowers seemed to move and the golden eyes definitely glowed off of the page) that Merlin pulled from his pocket. The others hadn’t even realised he’d kept it, but are grateful.

Next, Merlin and Morgana talk about their lessons. Gaius was intrigued by the healing knowledge Merlin and Gwen had gained, and after double checking that the door was locked and the curtains were drawn, they even showed off a few spells to their captive audience.

(There were times that Merlin showing off even the slightest bit of magic would give Hunith a heart attack and nightmares for days; she finds it doesn’t bother her so much anymore. She knows that Arthur, Morgana, Leon, and Gwen would never let anything happen to him, and the new stories of his apparent great power certainly helped ease her mind as well.)

Finally, Leon spoke about what he had learned from the elders; all bout how they keep camps running, their democracy, and how knowledge is preserved and passed on. It was a little boring, if any of them are being honest, but the bright grin on the knight’s face kept them from interrupting him.

Eventually, it came time for everyone to head to their respective beds and sleep. There was no denying that they’d had an amazing few days, but it was also a few days of constant activity and sleeping rough... they were all exhausted. 

As Arthur and Merlin curled up under the covers, grateful for the slightly chilled night making cuddling easier, they let out simultaneous breaths of relief.

Arthur ran a hand through Merlin’s hair softly as he quietly spoke, aware of Hunith asleep in the next room:

“You think we’ll be alright?”

Merlin sighs and Arthur tries not to let the anxiety in his stomach swirl too violently at the lengthening silence. Finally, Merlin turns over to face his soulmate, shuffling even impossibly closer and giving Arthur a small smile. Arthur doesn’t comment on the nerves in the younger man’s eyes:

“There’s all this pressure on us to fulfil our destinies, to save the world, it’s a little... overwhelming. My whole childhood I tried to forget the fact that being Prince Arthur Pendragon’s magical soulmate would mean... everything, in one way or another, some day. And now that day is fast approaching, I can feel it, and I still have no clue what I’m doing. And that’s not even considering Morgana.-”

Arthur’s hold around Merlin tenses at the mention of his sister, and Merlin presses a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw before continuing:

“-I would give up all of it, everything, to save her. To see her happy. But... do I really have the right to make that decision? My people are counting on me, but you and Morgana and Leon and Gwen, you come first, and you always will.-”

Merlin rolls onto his back again, staring at the ceiling with furrowed brows as Arthur watches him mournfully:

“-I’ve spent so long being terrified of the fact that I know you would give up your crown if I just asked you to, and now I’m close to making the same decision myself; giving up everything for one person, to the detriment of the world.-”

He turns his head to face Arthur again, tears in his eyes:

“-I don’t know what to do, Arthur.”

The Prince clenches his jaw, having to push down the swell of anger at... everyone really. Kilgharrah, the Druids, the Gods, whosever idea this whole destiny shit was. Arthur often thought of himself as a fully matured adult whose place in the world was clear, but at times like these, he’s reminded of how young he is, and how Merlin is even younger.

He pulls the Warlock into a tight embrace, tucking his dark hair under his chin and running a soft hand over his back:

“I will stand by you, always, and we’ll figure it out, we always do. The future is fluid, Merls, we just have to keep an open mind and push through. We’ve all been through a little bit of hell, but that day? That you can feel approaching? That’s the day we change the world. I’ll force my father from the throne if that’s what it takes,-”

Arthur feels Merlin tense to argue, but rushes on before he can say anything:

“-not just for you, but because it will be the right thing to do, one day. This Kingdom, and then the world, will be golden, and the five of us, and Gaius and your mum, will be together every single step of the way. Ok? You don’t have to do anything, Merlin, not alone, not ever.”

Merlin relaxes again, and Arthur can feel his sigh of relief across his collarbones. The room goes silent for a while, and Arthur only just hears Merlin’s quiet words before he slips into a sleep filled with peaceful dreams full of meadows and flower crowns and golden eyes:

“Yeah... I think we’ll be alright.”

~

THE END!!

After thinking about it for a few days, and re-reading the series, I’ve decided that I actually like the ending here!

I hope y’all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, thanks anon for sending the idea to me all those months ago! :)

[anasticep]

Why Julie and the Phantoms is a masterpiece of a show. Part 2. Heroes and Villains or Let that foil shine

NOTE: Thanks again for your kind response to Part 1. I never expected that. It being my first tumblr post and a first meta in quite a long time I was blown away. I read all the tags, some were really hilarious. About having more than one brain cell xDDD I laughed so hard. It means a lot.

NOTE2: Please remember that the gifs are made by me, so don't crop, edit or give as yours.

Part 1.

Before diving into meta, I have to mention that the Villain of the story is actually one of the best in the decade. He’s cool, evil from the start, we understand his motives and we certainly are not supposed to love and make excuses for him. The writers made sure of that. So back to the main topic.

A foil is a character who contrasts with another character; typically, a character who contrasts with the protagonist, in order to better highlight or differentiate certain qualities of the protagonist

Foils in literature are not necessarily antagonists. A friend can be a foil or sometimes even a thing, a song. Whatever can make a good and real contrast to the protagonist. But it’s not very simple to use this author’s device and not fall down a deep hole. Because you have to make sure you did just the right amount of work to make it understandable for a reader, the things you want to contrast are definitely there and still you don't waste a character. On TV it can be even harder given limited air time. And, well, I don’t come across this device being used in full very often nowadays. It’s usually good and evil fighting for the plot. That’s why I personally appreciate JaTP so much.

Caleb is clearly a foil to Luke. As much as I’d love to say that Julie also has one, that’s not entirely true, at least not this season. Carrie is not her foil though it may seem so, and I really think that’s cool as Julie’s journey is being presented through her own demons and I'm going to cover that next. That being said, of course Caleb doubles as an antagonist plotwise, but I personally consider him being written more as a contract to Luke so we could see and appreciate his character and journey better.

1. Origins

Caleb and Luke have extremely similar backgrounds. They are both natural performers. They know how to deliver, because c’mon, “Now or Never” is something and so is “The other side of Hollywood”. Stage is their natural habitat, their element, power. Although they channel this power from completely different places.

Let’s start with our little ball of energy. It’s emphasized TWICE that he doesn’t care about the money aka the physical side of art.

All Luke wants is to make music. Connect with people. He is so happy just to be heard despite him loving to perform. Making music is what makes him feel alive and basically that’s enough. I think if there was no “hologram” magic at all, Luke would have still been extremely happy to make music with and for Julie. Because that’s the way he is.

But Caleb doesn’t know that. He knows, and I’m standing by that, right away that Luke is the one to aim at. Because we always feel the similarity in people. If Luke said yes, Reggie and Alex would have followed. So Caleb recognizes the passion and shoots at them what he thinks is appealing. And, oh boy, he delivers.

“The Other Side of Hollywood” is a perfect song to emphasize Luke and Caleb being foils for each other. Follow me here:

But these lines come from very different places. For Caleb the only thing that matters is himself. He owns the show, he IS the show. It’s about being famous, drowning in applause, admiration. Look at how he performs. Confident, yes, but still very much in control. He must keep his perfect face. No flaws, no real emotions, no real connection (Did you miss ME? I did too // This band is back). Whereas Luke is simply living the best time of his life each time he performs. Is it just jamming? Bring it on. Doing fun riffs? He’s all for it. He doesn’t care how he looks (though who could deny gorgeous sweaty Luke), he owns the show just because he is a natural.

So back to the business. Caleb immediately puts the boys in his own shoes:

On the other side we live like kings // Your soulprint on the walk of fame on the boulevard of your wildest dreams // I got your glamour, got your gold, got all you’ll ever need

And, I mean, he is not that wrong. You can see the appeal on the boys’ faces. They are young, passionate, handsome, talented musicians. Of course they wouldn’t deny fame. Of course they would want all that to some extent. And Caleb is very sure he pulled the right strings.

Watch me make a move, I’m your number one choice

Also I have to mention, as we are talking about TOSOH (IKEA name again) and it being a foil for Luke, thy lyrics still don’t forget about what is important for Reggie and Alex (we’ll talk about that just a bit later):

Welcome to the brotherhood -> Reggie

Where you won’t be misunderstood -> Alex

Then again, lots of foreshadowing in the song, if you listen carefully the lyrics are stressing the true colors of the offer:

A tomb with a view

Man, what a metaphor. I would have run out of there the minute I heard this line. But our boys share one brain cell (I can’t get over how funny this is) and it’s currently taken by Julie, so I don’t blame them.

Disappointment is huge. Caleb read it all wrong. So we are moving to the next point in our Heroes and Villains essay.

2. Recruitment

It’s very cool that Caleb offers the boys to join his band right after Luke offers Julie to join Sunset Curve. They both are going out of their ways to get that (although have different budgets apparently. But look, they live in a garage). Luke made a hit with a bunch of Julie’s not very well structured lines (I love Flying Solo with all my heart as a song, but as a poem it just looks weird to me) to impress her, and we all saw the show Caleb had thrown to impress the boys. Plus food. And fancy dancing. But here is where contrast comes again.

Caleb offers to join the band, yes, but only as backup singers. It’s his show, remember? It’s only about him. He doesn’t care if they are even good. He wants their magic under control.

Share the spotlight with ME / How do you like MY new band?!

Luke offering Julie a spot in the band is a completely different story. He saw what she is capable of. He instantly knows she must be the key to a new sound, a new level. And he, a natural performer, frontman, lead guitarist, steps back and gives the spotlight to Julie. To think about it, he could have just got her magic under control by giving her simple lines, incorporating piano in the songs and that’s all. They would be visible, he would still be a center of attention, and Julie herself wouldn't mind that much. But that’s not who Luke is. Yes, there is a funny scene of “Hey, I’m your lead singer” and “you don’t have to be mean”, but it’s just messing around. Because right after that he finishes Flying Solo, writes several other songs with Julie, seeks her approval of Sunset Curve songs and basically follows her around like an adorable excited puppy.

Moving on and back to the rejection. Again the writers are mirroring them. Julie quits the band & the boys decline the offer. What does Luke do? Well, he tries the way he knows: books a gig, makes Reggie and Alex sing in perfect harmonies and does his puppy eyes thing. And it doesn’t work. And Luke goes to reflect and then probably try to come up with a plan. But something tells me he would not have haunted Julie until she joined them.

What does Caleb do after the initial rejection? Puts a cursed stamp that leaves them no choice but to join HGC. You don’t need to say more.

But in fact the more I think about it, the more I suspect Caleb also not possessing enough mental capacity for a human being. Like, if it wasn’t for Willie, how would they even know? Has Caleb planned to simply show up one day and casually explain? Look, foils in everything.

“You’re in a tough spot… So, you wanna join the band?” | “Looked like it hurt… you know where to find me”

But we sidestepped a bit.

3. Pulling the strings

After the song Caleb comes out to consolidate his success. What he does is clever and, btw, that’s the only time he becomes Julie’s foil. They are stating basically the same thing.

Again, Julie is concerned about the band and the boys, while Caleb is only concerned about having them under control. But they both are pulling basically the right strings.

What is interesting, Caleb actually impressed the wrong person (and that person is our sweet Reggie). Luke follows the string Julie pulled. Although the offer is tempting, he insists twice that they are in a band already directly to Caleb and then in Eats&Beats he says "It's like Julie said, we have a new band, a new sound». No matter what Caleb promised, Luke is not affected at all although Caleb’s offer is a very-very safe choice.

Speaking about using friends as foils, Alex and Reggie also serve as contrast characters for Luke at some points. Luke’s indifference to money is first stressed through Alex who is clearly the chief accountant for the band. His lines about not getting tips, living in a garage and «it’s a little bit about the money» are waved aside by Luke. Reggie is clearly the most affected by the whole Bobbie thing. His lines «I don’t care what Julie said, I’m glad we scared Bobbie», «So we’re gonna forget about getting back at Trevor?» are getting a clear contrast by Luke’s «It’s what Julie said, we have a new band, a new sound» and «He has to live with that guilt».

While editing the article I realised a very cool thing I haven't noticed before. How badly Luke wants to go on tour. And again that's another thing Caleb offers as if reading his mind. That's actually brilliant, to think about it.

Caleb is a VERY good reader. He tests the waters with a speech about disappearing from stage and going around the world and all dreams coming true. Still he doesn’t know the boys and especially Luke, so his phrase “no real connection” doesn’t register that much.

But he learns. Remember the lines I’ve marked before?

Reggie is afraid they will not be together after they cross over. He is in desperate need of a family. So wouldn’t it be nice to spend the rest of your afterlife with your brothers? (Reggie's main insecurity is loneliness, feel of a broken family. That's why he is the most concerned about crossing over. Will his family stay intact?)

Alex is insecure, and not being understood by the people closest to him will always hit hard. So welcome to a place where you won’t be misunderstood. And actually we know there is a guy you like and find comfort in. (Alex's insecurity is growing up in times when he could not truly be himself even with his family and for sure not believing he would ever be able to find someone meant just for him)

That mirrors the whole Luke’s beach speech perfectly. Only comparing them we can truly appreciate why Luke is the leader. He shuts down his own demons to make Alex and Reggie remember that they are not alone (“and I believe in you”. sorry. Olicity fan).

Caleb makes them suffer to get what he wants. But this time he is careful with the words aimed at Luke. Yes, he repeats his words about vanishing and applauses BUT he makes sure that his words about CONNECTION are the key words for Luke. Intense look, calming voice, touching - these are all elements of hypnosis. And Luke is in a daze. (Continuing the parents' thing, for Luke the main insecurity is not managing to connect with his mom. Maybe that's such a big thing for him: through all these people he wanted to find that connection with her)

4. The Hero’s journey

That’s the best part actually but I won’t be saying anything new or that you don’t know. Luke is made of lyrics and music. That’s his soul, heart, that’s the feeling running through his veins. He doesn’t need anything other than that in his life. Playing for eternity is “a gift no musician would ever turn down”. But he actually does turn it down. As well as his dream to go see the world with his band (is there covid in jatp universe?). He is the one who resists the hardest to the pull. Luke, who always has a guitar in his hands, doesn't want to play. Because it’s not only about the music now. He has this amazing girl in his afterlife who was willing to accept them for who they were, helped Luke battle his own demons, eased his pain and made him open up. And it doesn’t make sense any longer without her anymore. “And you’re a part of me now till eternity”.

Caleb, being Luke’s foil, completely misses the whole point of connection. It’s not in his nature. His house band are just recruits (Just so happens you’re in luck we’ve got a vacancy). For Luke his band is his family (We are the only family we ever gonna need). The Connection theme is one of the main in the show. And it’s so cool to show it focused through Luke whose best way of interaction is a touch. But not being able to touch Julie Luke has to find other ways, although it’s not that simple for him. And Julie backs that up: We connect in so many other ways. They literally touched each other's souls. Without knowing she put a stamp of her own on Luke, Alex and Reggie. They’ve never felt loved enough, appreciated enough, supported enough. They’ve only had each other. And Julie’s stamp is love. And for Luke (as well as Reggie and Alex) from now on this girl is worth dying for all over again.

_______

So yeah. I hope you enjoyed it, as I for sure enjoyed writing. There is gonna be a part 3 about Julie and a few honorable mentions of parallels of the Pilot and the Finale (I hope at least to do all that). I’ve also figured very very cool connections in the songs and I can’t wait to share.

Also as I was heavily speaking about The Other side of Hollywood, @catty-words has a wonderful meta on rain metaphors here (sorry for tagging, if you don't want to be tagged), check it out if you somehow missed it. It's super clever.

[purple-stuck]

Hi It's me again! I hope my excessive rambling in the tags wasn't too annoying I just really loved that drabble you wrote

If it's not too much can I request something with Sollux and Gamzee meeting in the subjugglator training ranks after Ascension?

I'd really love to hear what your headcanons might be or what fics you take inspiration from about subjugglators off-planet

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Gamzee's breath was perfectly steady, his heartbeat perfectly level, his mind completely calm. Even as he hopped from platform to platform, moving at speeds imperceivable to the naked eye, his body remained impossibly calm. Such was the Messiahs' gift to him and all purplebloods like him. With training, they could command their body to do the impossible.

Gamzee stopped atop a thin pole, claws digging into his perch as he got his barings. A sea of bloodied spikes spread out around him, ensuring him a slow death should he miss even a single pole or platform. But beyond that, lie his goal. His target. The horned outline of which was a mere speck in his vision.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Gamzee felt the wood begin to give way beneath his weight and lept to another perch, hoping between poles and bouncing away before the could bend against him. Thoughtlessly, he reasoned out the closest platform in between leaps. Automatically, he twisted his body to reach them. His body twisted in ways that crack and snap the bones of any other caste. If the graveyard full of mangled bones below him was any indication, even other purples struggled to make such moves.

Soon, Gamzee's shadow was cast over his prey. A club appeared in his hand, upraised so as to crack open his target's skull in one swing.

For the first time since this lesson began, his breath hitched.

Gamzee's feet hit the ground, his momentum stopped dead. His club hung over his target's shoulder.

Breathe. In.

Breathe. Out.

At this distance, Gamzee could see that his target wasn't even a troll at all. Rather, he'd been tasked with assassinating a mannequin, a hard plastic replica of his would be victim. Gamzee felt his posture relax before he pulled his club back and cracked the target's head of with one swing.

Purple paint sprayed over Gamzee as the body hit the floor and he turned to his audience and bowed.

The audience cheered as the lights flashed on, a cacophony of honks, whoops, and cheers as the stage was revealed in full. If he bothered to look towards the pit, Gamzee could see all the remains of the clowns who came before him and failed. He did not look.

"well, would you look at that."

"HE ACTUALLY MANAGED TO PASS."

Two ropes descended down around him, carrying the Twin Instructors, clad in their iconic matching masks. Comedy's voice was sing song, contrasting Tragedy's melancholy just as their half masks contrasted their mood. Gamzee looked up to see half of Tragedy's face grinning down at him.

"still, you haven't quite managed to beat our record."

"MAYBE WE SHOULD HAVE HIM GO AGAIN."

The two broke into giggles, with the rest of the tent following. Gamzee heard a few voices call out for an encore and quietly hoped they wouldn't be heard. He didn't have it in him to go another round. He didn't know how Sollux did it so easily, controlling his body they way he did.

Tragedy leaned down and gave him an encouraging pat on the back, causing Gamzee to grin at him tiredly in between pants. Comedy leaned down to his other side, handing him a faygo and a rag.

"OH, BUT HE'S SO WORN OUT. WE WOULDN'T WANT TO BREAK OUR NEW FAVORITE."

"we'd love to share notes, but this isn't your show anymore. head to the lounge, it's time for the next act."

Gamzee chugged the bottle, nearly emptying it in two gulps as he walked off stage. He waved his thanks, to tired to talk, as he shoved his way through the curtains and into the lounge.

Gamzee finished his faygo as he lazily scanned the room. Normally, throwing a bunch of clowns into one room would be a recipe for disaster, but all was strangely quiet. It seemed like the others who passed the test were just as warn out from it as he was. It made him feel better to see his brothers and sisters laying around exhausted, half collapsed against walls or the couch. It made him proud to still be standing.

And then he saw Sollux, looking none the worse for wear as he hogged the couch. He smirked smugly as Gamzee made his way over, scooting over to let the shorter clown collapse next to him. "Jegus, you look like shit."

Gamzee flipped him off, causing Sollux to snort. "And you're acting like shit too. Maybe I'm a bad influence on you."

Gamzee snorted. "Shit man, I thought you didn't want me to be so friendly and clingy around you anymore." He wiped the sweat off his forehead, stopping to look at the facepaint that had melted onto his hand. "Although, a brother's got a point about. I ain't much to look at right now."

Sollux slid his half empty faygo down the table, which Gamzee guzzled happily. "Yeah, body control is hard. I've been doing it ever sense I grew hands and I still eat my swords sometimes. Nevermind the more advanced stuff."

Gamzee slammed the faygo bottle on the table. "Shit, man, my bones hurt. And my veins... and lungs. Fuck."

Sollux grunted and handed him a spare Nintendie Dualscream. "How about something to take your mind of it? It's been awhile sense I kicked your ass in Fiduspawn anyways."

It was Gamzee's turn to snort. "All right, you are on, motherfucker."

~

They were eight rounds in when the new clowns stopped coming in. Gamzee counted only five had made it in after him, but he was more focused on beating Sollux than keeping count. Either he'd gotten better or Sollux had gotten worse. The taller troll used to be able to kick his ass, now they were tied four to four. But, their fifth round was interrupted as two familar shadows were cast over them.

"DID YOU TWO BRING TOYS FROM BACK ON ALTERNIA ALONG?"

"just between the four of us, I've heard that's against the rules."

Gamzee and Sollux froze as the Twin Instructors leaned over them. Even Gamzee could feel everyone in the room staring at them. Gamzee had seen this set up before. Comedy and Tragedy learing over a helpless troll or two. Acting like they were just disappointed, like they were just going to give the rule breaker a stern talking to before they decapitated the mischief maker.

Instead, the twins doubled over into a giggling fit the spread through the room. The trolls around them joined in, some more nervously than others.

"JuSt KiDdInG!"

"WE KNOW OUR HIGHEST SCORERS..."

"....know better than to break the rules."

"AsSuMiNg YoU dId'T cHeAt!"

Sollux and Gamzee pushed themselves to their feet, hands moving to ask about their progress, but the duo pushed their hands aside.

"DON'T BOTHER WITH THAT."

"you're subjugulators now."

"YoU'rE oFfIcIaLlY fUnNy EnOuGh To LiStEn To!"

Gamzee let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He heard Sollux do the same before the cheers erupted around them. Tragedy grabbed his arm and hoisted him into the air with it to bare before the crowd, leaving him and Sollux to gaze at their audience.

"GIVE OUR BOYS A ROUND OF APPLAUSE."

"well, those of you who still have hands anyways."

Gamzee looked over at Sollux, himself being held up for all to see by comedy. It was strange to see Sollux actually look nervous, even if they were seemingly in the Twin's good graces. Sweeps of living according to their capricious whims was enough to instill a lasting fear in anyone.

Even when granted verbal permission to speak, the two didn't make a peep as the twins hefted them over their shoulders. The twins cheerfully waved off the crowd as they carried the two ascendants to their office.

Gamzee grunted as he was dropped into a chair to small for him, hearing Sollux swear off to the right as the same happened to him. Comedy and Tragedy flopped into their chairs on the opposite end of the desk, kicking their feet up on it.

"normally, we'd take the time to talk about boring business shit with you."

"PREP YOUR ASCENSION SPEECH AND ALL THAT BLAH BLAH BLAH."

"BuT lIkE wE sAiD, wE hAvE nOtEs."

Sollux and Gamzee shared a nervous look, before Sollux straightened up and spoke. "What, uh, about exactly?"

Comedy shook a chidding finger in their faces.

"WHY, YOU BOTH HESITATED."

"tripped at the finish line."

"DeRaIlEd A pErFeCtLy GoOd ShOw."

Gamzee looked over at Sollux in suprise. Sollux... hesitated? But he was used to killing shit. Hell, that was his idea of a date night. Gamzee hardly had time to consider it before Tragedy leaned in his direction.

"now you we perfectly understand. you've never dabbled with fresh paint before."

"YOU'VE ONLY BEEN OFF THE SLIME FOR JUST THREE SWEEPS AT THAT."

"BuT iT's YoUr BuDdY wE'rE cUrIoUs AbOuT."

They both turned to Sollux expectantly. He scratched the back of hia head. "I... well. Something made me reconsider." He rested his hands in his head. "There was.... a kill I'd been planning for a really long time. Something... big. Special. And, when I landed that kill, when I did kill her and savor killing her... it just felt empty?"

Gamzee knew what he meant. The image of a cart drenched in Cerulean blood flashes in his mind. "I'd... rather not get any more into it than that."

The Twins tented their hands as they nodded sympathetically. Comedy even reached over to pat him on the shoulder.

"oh, we've both been there before."

"I DID ESPECIALLY."

Tragedy bent down and fished around beneath the desk, nearly banging his golden mask on it in the process.

"I STILL REMEMBER MY FIRST KILL."

He placed a white horned skull on the desk, carefully preserved and cleaned even though it seemed to have been centuries old. Still, the more Gamzee looked at it, the more it looked slightly off. The horns seemed to be... fake somehow. Like they were made of some kind of old plastic. And the skull's facial structure was all wrong. Too thin, too light, too delicate looking. It looked like a troll but not quite. If Karkat were here, he'd call it a mockery of troll kind.

"you'd think he'd be honored."

"MY VERY FIRST KILL. SHE WAS SO CLEVER AND BRUTAL THAT I NEVER THOUGHT I'D PULL IT OFF."

He rubbed the skull fondly, clearly nostalgic. Part of him sounded almost remorseful over it too, strangely enough. Like talking about a long dead friend or a beloved canceled show.

"BuT iT fElT sO eMpTy."

Sollux cleared his throat, clearly annoyed, even if he couldn't outright say it. Gamzee couldn't blame him. The twins liked to talk about their first two kills a lot. "So, what's your point?"

Tragedy sighed wistfully and Comedy playfully roled her eyes and elbowed him to get him back on topic.

"THE POINT IS, I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO IT."

"and when it's over, it always feels...."

"AnTiClImAcTiC."

Sollux hummed and considered this, but Gamzee could tell he wasn't quite buying it. Gamzee could tell that something else was needling away at him. Something deeper than just that.

"you'll probably get that feeling too."

Gamzee straightened up as he realized they were addressing him again.

"HERE'S A TIP. DON'T LOOK INTO THEIR EYES. IT'LL ONLY MAKE YOU MISS THEM MORE."

Comedy slid two communicators across the desk.

"YOU CAN TALK IT OUT WITH YOU QUADS, NOW THAT YOU'RE ALLOWED TO SEE THEM AGAIN. YOUR BRONZE HEART AND RUST DIAMOND PROBABLY MISS YOU."

They nodded at Sollux.

"and the Empress will be happy to see her favorite clown is safe."

[writer-k-pop]

Photoshoot

네 앞에서 내가 잘 보이도록 하고 싶어. I want to make sure I look good in front of you.

Description: [REQUEST] I'd love to see an idol!Seungkwan and photographer!reader fluff piece where they’re so enamored with each other and the reader considers him their muse around the boys and Seungkwan gets so shy but loves it. (I hope this is along the lines of what you were looking for, Anon! If not, let me know and I can try again ) Warnings: None Genre: Fluff, Idol!Seungkwan x Photographer!Reader Word Count: 2.4k

Seventeen Masterlist | Masterlists

Click. Click.

"Light check, please." My right hand man, Jongmin, called out. Then a moment later, the lights switched through every color they could.

I stayed behind the camera waiting for a moment to slip away to the dressing room. But of course, the pre shoot preparations were as  always the busiest and most chaotic times. As one of the favorite photographers for Seventeen, I was recruited to shoot their Season's Greetings last year and was asked to return again this year. Which how could I have denied the request when the one requesting was my own boyfriend, Seungkwan.

"(y/n)?" One of my newer assistants, Somin, called out to me, "Do you want to check these?" She asked pointing towards the screen front of her. I nodded and walked over to the computer.

I chuckled, "How can I check it when all it's only shots of the background?"

She tilted her head to the side, "Oh, you're right. Sorry."

I shook my head, "Don't be. Can you get one of the staff members to stand in frame?" She nodded quickly and got out of her seat to find somebody.

I walked back to the camera and began fiddling with the settings as the lights changed to match what was needed for the shoot. Reds and blues and purples for a fun first shoot.

"I went to find a staff but the other members pushed him out of the dressing room and told me to use him instead." Somin returned.

I looked up at her and standing behind her was Seungkwan smiling sheepishly at me. I laughed, loving the way he was brought to me instead of me having to go to him. "Seungkwan, can you?" I asked nodding towards the set.

"Are we starting already?" He asked giving me a quick hug as Somin walked away.

I shook my head, "Nope, I just have to check a few things." I informed him but he still didn't release me. Though I enjoyed it thoroughly, we were about to start a large shoot and his members would show up at any moment.

"Seungkwan?" He hummed in a simple response, "Coups is coming." I lied and faster than one could say "Seventeen," Seungkwan released me and walked in front of the camera.

"Right here is good?" He asked looking around nervously for his leader and the teasing that would have surely followed if Coups had really been there.

I suppressed a laugh and nodded but Seungkwan caught on.

"That was a lie." He chuckled at himself.

I nodded and started to snap some shots of him laughing at himself as testers. After a few, I stopped to check the settings.

"How are they looking?" I asked Somin.

"They look good." She started but trailed off slightly.

"But?" I pushed, silently encouraging her to speak her thoughts. I leaned down and took in the pictures, immediately catching what needed to be fixed.

"I think the center mark is off and the one balloon in the back should be moved to the left a little." She explained, "I think it would look more natural that way."

I smiled at her with pride, "Good, I also think the center mark should be moved but I didn't notice the balloon. Can you move it? I'll get the center mark."

She nodded and we moved towards where Seungkwan was still standing, hands clasped in front of him, looking around a little awkwardly.

"Did I do okay?" He asked as I got closer.

"Do you always ask your photographers so many questions?" I questioned him with a small smirk.

"No, but it's you." He tried to explain.

"What does that matter?" I nudged him to the side and knelt down to do what I needed to. He bent down in front of me with his hands wrapped around his knees and his eyes watching me work.

"Because you're my girlfriend and I want to make sure I look good in front of you." He answered with a matter-of-fact tone.

Slapping the mark into place, I stood back up. "You always look good, Seungkwan. Now get up, I need to check it again."

He quickly stood up, hands in his pockets. "Shoot away." He said with a simple smile.

I clicked away and simultaneously checked the monitors. Somin gave her nod of approval and my head followed suit. Everything was set.

"We're ready." I told one of their managers.

They nodded, "I'll go check on the members." And they walked away.

I stretched my neck and arms out, preparing for a loud but fun shoot.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seungkwan shaking his head.

"What?" I asked him, straightening out.

"You should do this one instead." He stated and dropped into a squat.

"But your pants." I protested, not wanting him to ruin his outfit.

"It's fine." He dismissed my concern and began doing his infamous swelling reducing exercise. When he noticed I wasn't following him, he stopped, "Come on (y/n). It's a good for you."

"I think I'm good." I smiled, embarrassed at his antics.

"Oh come on, it's a really good." He pouted but I still shook my head. He then walked towards me in attempts to make me do the stretch but I ran away from him laughing.

He caught me near the center mark and spun me around, arms secured around my waist. In the midst of our little moment, we failed to hear the 12 other members walking in until the flash blinked around us. Seungkwan immediately put me down, making sure I was steady on my feet before completely releasing me.

"Ahhhh, Seungkwan!" Mingyu exclaimed from behind the camera, a huge smile plastered on his face. "You and (y/n) look so cute!"

"Yah, why don't you ever look that cute with us?" Hoshi questioned.

Seungkwan's cheeks blushed bright red even through his makeup and he tried to hide behind me. I laughed as I moved towards the camera but he kept following me.

"This must be why he asked (y/n) to be our photographer. So he can look his cutest." Dokyeom continued to tease.

I caught Seungcheol's gaze as I reached the camera and gave him a quick head shake, signaling that he should stop the teasing.

He received my message well and clapped his hands together, "Alright, we should introduce ourselves."

Mingyu gave me a pat on the back before joining the others, Seungkwan included.

As usual, Seungcheol led their greeting before giving a little speech.

"Please take care of us today. It sounds like it's going to be a long shoot but we'll do our best to make it fun for everyone." He said with a warm smile. "Thank you for being here today." He finished and then began a round of applause.

I clapped my hands together quietly and took in a breath to start giving orders.

"Members, gather in the center please." I ordered and all 13 members moved as one big blob onto the set. "Alright, pose and smile at me." I snapped shot after shot as they smiled and moved poses every so often. "Now laugh as if Wonwoo's just said the funniest thing in the world." I told them as Wonwoo stood in the middle of the group.

"But he doesn't usually say anything so he's not that funny." Dino stated with a straight face.

"What do you mean?" Wonwoo exclaimed, "I can be funny!" He laughed, joining the others and I got to work capturing their wide smiles.

"Alright, mix up, mix up." I called and they moved around, standing in different spots and we repeated the same process twice more.

"First unit?" I asked when we'd captured enough group photos.

"Vocal unit." Jun exclaimed happily.

"Alright, the others can rest for now." Then I turned my attention to the five who were already making their way towards the set. "Youngest on the left, oldest on the right please." I told them. I watched a moment of panic cross Dokyeom's face before Seungkwan slapped his shoulder.

"Hyung, I'm the only one younger than you." Seungkwan and Dokyeom shared a laugh while the other three quickly lined up: Jeonghan, Joshua, then Woozi.

Giggling to myself, I set myself up behind the camera.

"Okay," I mindlessly stated taking in their stick straight stances, standing straight at me. They continued to stare at me as I raised up from the lense. "Can you wrap an arm around the person next to you and lean your head slightly to the right?" I instructed their movements.

Jeonghan, Joshua, Woozi, and Dokyeom all followed my instructions but Seungkwan took on glance to his right then playfully glared at me.

"Oh! Is Seungkwan already getting angry?" Minghao called out from somewhere behind me.

"Seungkwan, just cross your arms and lean your head." I told him, ignoring the quips from the other members though Seungkwan's cheeks had already started to turn pink.

Seungkwan quickly followed my instructions and I took my place behind the camera again.

"Alright, smiles!" I said and instantly all five gave me bright smiles. Snapping the photos, Jongmin gave sounds of approval.

"Ahhhh, nice! Nice!" He clapped loudly, making Dokyeom flinch.

"Okay, I got my pose in. Gather how you want and smile pretty." I told them with a smile. They gathered in a small pod and smiled just as brightly.

Click. Click. Click.

The photos flowed in with ease and the members gave their approvals. Then it was time to move onto to solo shots for this set.

"First member, let's start." I called out while looking at some poses we had preselected to try.

"Seungkwan, of course." Jeonghan pushed the youngest forward.

"Ah, hyung." Seungkwan whined.

"Alright, alright. I'll go first." Jeonghan recanted his suggestion and made his way in front of the camera.

"Jeonghan, look here once and just-" He smiled, looking straight at the camera before I could finish. "Yeah, that. You know the drill."

I took a couple shots of his portrait before giving him the thumbs up. He then moved into his different poses, however he wanted to pose. Hands in his pockets, one hand gripping the edge of his zipper, turned around, smiling, serious face, laughing. Jeonghan showed it all while the other members made a chorus of cheers.

"Woah, Jeonghan hyung looks really good." Seungkwan commented, standing next to me and looking over at the monitors.

"You guys are idols." I told him, "You always look good."

"You should see us when we first wake up then." Vernon said standing next to Seungkwan.

I glanced at him, an eyebrow raised, "I have. Though some of you don't look as bad as you think you do."

Removing the camera from its stand, I give more instructions, "Jeonghan, let's have you sit on the ground and lean back on your elbows." He followed my instructions smoothly and within seconds, I'm above him snapping photos as he smiles happily up at me.

"(y/n)!" Seungkwan called out to me making me pause the picture taking, "Hyung should hold this, I think it'll be cute!" He held up a bear with a plaid scarf tied around its neck.

I took in the doll and nodded, "Bring it over, Seungkwan." Then to Jeonghan, "You can sit up and just, well, hold the bear. Better: cuddle the bear."

"Anything you say, (y/n). I trust you." Jeonghan said taking the bear from Seungkwan.

I continued snapping Jeonghan's pictures but suddenly Seungkwan started yelling and laughing.

"Yah! Stop that!" He yelled, then laughed, "It was a good idea, you heard her. It'll look so cute with Jeonghan hyung!" More laughter, "Doesn't he look cute, hyung?" More giggles from the other members, "Aish, whatever."

I couldn't help the smile that made its way onto my face and Jeonghan caught it.

"Are we that funny?" He asked quietly.

"Seungkwan's just cute when he tries to defend himself against your teasing." I explained, looking back at Somin and Jongmin for approval on the photos. They simple nodded and gave me thumbs ups.

I brought the camera back up to my eye and continued to shoot Jeonghan and his bear prop.

"Oh, sit him on your head and hold his paws." I pointed above his head.

"It's a he now?" Jeonghan questioned but followed the pose.

I shrugged, "It kind of reminds me of Seungkwan a little."

"Seungkwan!" Mingyu's voice startled me, "(y/n) said the bear reminds her of you!" He laughed and turned to glare at him.

Seungkwan placed his hands, palms up, under his chin, "It's cause I'm cute." He stated with a very cute smile.

I smiled back at him, "Of course, you're the cutest one here."

His face instantly changed into shyness and his hands moved to cover his eyes as the members cooed behind him. But underneath his hands, his smile still shined through. Taking a few more shots of Jeonghan, I decided that we had enough of him.

Walking back to the camera stand, I replaced the camera and called out, "Next member!"

"Seungkwan." Seungkwan announced as he strutted onto the set.

"Ok, shoulders squared towards me and smile." I instructed, snapping a few photos once he was smiling. Nodding at the results, I give him the thumbs up for him to pose as he pleases.

"Good, good." I encouraged Seungkwan as he crossed his arms and turned from one side to the other, showing off both his profiles. "Oh, I like it!" I exclaimed as he gave two finger hearts and winked at the camera.

"AYEE!" Many of the members exclaimed from behind me.

"That's too much!" Hoshi accused.

"Seungkwan, sexy pose, sexy pose!" Seungcheol suggested causing Seungkwan to hide behind his hands for the nth time that day.

"It should be easy." Jeonghan added, "(y/n)'s behind the camera." Seungkwan bursted out laughing and I quickly snapped a few candid photos.

"Seungkwan, let's have you sit down and take some shots from that angle." I suggested, ignoring the members' teasing. I removed the camera and moved closer to Seungkwan to get the angles that I wanted.

"You good?" I asked as Seungkwna tried to compose himself.

He quickly nodded, "You're here so it's okay."

I winked at him, "You're pictures are turning out great so I don't think we'll need many more."

"That's a relief." Seungkwan sighed happily.

And that's how the rest of the day's shoot commenced. Different members came onto set and every so often the members would tease Seungkwan for being too close to me or helping me or doing just about anything near me. Seungkwan always complained about the teasing but his tone was never serious. He never cared for the teasing because at least he could spend time hanging out with me.

[serasvictoria]

Participated in the following challenge set by @mercurygray

Using one of my Central Casting generators or another random generator of your choice, pick an a name, and, if desired, the backstory given, for a new character. Write a short snippet or create a drawing/sketch that introduces them to the fandom property of your choice, and establishes them as a leading person worth paying attention to. (Bonus points if they play opposite to a canon character you don’t usually write. Blind dates for the muse, remember?)

My character is one Frances Elliott who is a USO performer based in Paris. And since she is in Paris, I went with the character that I absolutely cannot write one Richard Winters. So hopefully this makes sense.

Care to dance?

They came for Marlene Dietrich. They always came for her.

It didn’t surprise her really since the woman was stunning and magnetic. There was something about her that just demanded attention whenever she even as much as walked into the room. Every woman paled into insignificance next to Marlene Dietrich. Not that Fran thought that she wasn’t worthy, not at all, she just wasn’t Marlene. But since the Hollywood star was currently putting on a show in Rheims, the men would have to settle for her and the other girls tonight.

“Frances.” Looking up from her magazine, she watched mister Ward walking up to her and since he had a slightly pained expression on his face, she wondered what was going on. “You went to a conservatory, right?”

“Sure did.” Despite not knowing why he was asking her this, she beamed him a large smile regardless since she knew that he had said on multiple occasions that the girls should be happy at all times. “Studied at Ellison-White in Portland, sir. I can play the piano and other instruments too if you want me to.”

“We already have a girl on piano, no plans for any other instruments, but we don’t have someone to sing the solo tonight.”

“But Anna always does the solo whenever miss Dietrich is away.”

“She does, but she fell down some stairs and twisted her ankle so she won’t be able to make it tonight. You’re taking her place.”

“Okay.” The word came out a lot softer than she had intended, but she collected herself fairly quickly. “Okay, sir. I’ll do it.”

“I wasn’t exactly giving you the option to refuse.”

“I know you weren’t, sir.”

Frances Elliott had essentially been persuaded into joining the USO. Their search for pretty American girls who knew how to sing or had other talents had brought them to various colleges up and down the country and that was where they had found her. Apparently she had instantly impressed with her rendition of Smoke Gets In Your Eyes and the talent scout had practically begged her to join the USO. Her teacher, miss Silverstone, had really made it very clear to her what an excellent opportunity this was when she seemed slightly reluctant to take the offer.

“Just think of the millions of girls up and down the country who would love to be able to join the USO, but won’t even get a chance. And now someone has shown up and they want you and you’re unsure about whether you should take this opportunity or not.”

Fran hadn’t been treated to a speech of such magnitude since her mother had lectured her on the importance of finding herself a good husband. Her mother had naturally been ecstatic that her daughter was joining the USO, because it would be putting her in the path of single men, men in uniform even which seemed to be a step up from normal men, and surely she would find a good husband there. It was all her mother asked her about in letters as well. Because here she was, almost two years on and she still didn’t have a ring on her finger.

Truth be told, all that Fran wanted to do with the rest of her life was play guitar and write songs. Maybe get a job being a backing guitarist for a good vocalist or join a big band. Though the big dream was to be able to compose a song for a singer. Maybe this line of work would put her in the path of Helen Forrest and she’d be able to impress her enough that Helen would ask her to write something just for her. She knew it was a long shot, but that was one dream that she wasn’t willing to let go of just yet.

There were some plans between some of the girls to start their own act after all of this, but she had a feeling that it was all talk since most of the girls were perfectly content doing this. Singing, dancing and meeting men in the armed forces. Many of them ultimately fell for a man in a uniform despite rules clearly advising against it.

The girls should be lucky that they were a lot less supervised in Paris then they were back on American soil. She’d started out in a USO club back home and they wouldn’t have tolerated any of the things that the girls up to in France. She could name at least four girls who regularly accompanied service men back to their hotel rooms.

All Fran did was sing, dance, talk and write the occasional letter. And this evening she’d be one of the headliners and she had to do everything in her power to make sure that she was going to be as unforgettable as Marlene Dietrich.

*****

Her performance went brilliantly if she said so herself. She’d sung Cheek to Cheek and I’m in the Mood for Love and got an applause of a magnitude that was usually only reserved for the big names, not for some nobody from Oregon. When she made her way out into room, several men came over for a chat to compliment her on her singing and how entertained they had been.

During these talks she noticed that there was one man in the room who remained seated, looking slightly unsure of himself. Fran had never seen him before so maybe he didn’t know how it worked here. When she found herself otherwise unoccupied about twenty minutes later, she approached his seat and he looked up momentarily, probably thinking that she was going to be refilling his empty coffee cup.

“Care to dance?”

“I’d rather...”

“Every soldier that walks through these doors has to dance, sir.”

“Oh. Well, I... I had no idea.”

With a smile she extended her hand to him and he took it graciously, letting her lead him onto the floor and then awkwardly putting one hand on her back, taking care not to put it down too low. She looked at the badges on his jacket, having learned to recognise a few during her time here.

Airborne. Infantry. Combat infantry. She was positive that he was an officer, but she wasn’t sure about the rank. There were no bars, stars or oak leaves on his lapel and she didn’t know how to read the other pins on his jacket.

Her partner was quiet, but that wasn’t unusual in and of itself. She’d learned to do the talking for them, tell them what they wanted to hear. About how Marlene Dietrich’s legs really did look that nice up close. Believe her, she had checked. Or the time that she had seen Rita Hayworth from a distance and how fiery red her hair was. And yes, Bob Hope really was that funny and how hard he had worked to make them feel at ease, to make them laugh. Or how he was the same height as Clark Gable and how handsome mister Gable was, but not as handsome as the man in front of her of course. Tell them what they want to hear, but don’t make them feel inadequate.

“And what about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

His question took her aback momentarily. She hardly ever answered questions about herself. Instead always telling men about the big stars, because she was convinced that they’d rather hear her talking about them instead of the mundane life that she lived back home.

“Nothing special. Wouldn’t you rather hear more about miss Dietrich?”

“She’s not here. You are.”

“Well, I... I’m not sure where to...”

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Oh. Why thank you. I was just filling in for another girl, sir. She twisted her ankle and couldn’t make it.” Anna was far better at working the crowd then she ever was. “You should come back tomorrow to hear her sing if you’re still here, sir. Anna’s got the voice of an angel.”

“Your voice sounded beautiful enough.”

“Thank you, sir. Very kind of you to notice.” She could feel a blush begin to rise on her cheeks. She was used to being a chorus girl and blending into the crowd, not this. She found herself blurting out the only thing about herself that her mind could come up with to talk about on such short notice. “I-I’m from Salem, sir. Oregon. Not east coast Salem. Wouldn’t know anything about witches or anything like that, sir.”

He looked faintly amused and she briefly wondered whether he was on the verge of laughing at her before he opened his mouth.

“Lancaster. Pennsylvania.”

“Oh. I’ve never been there, sir. Nice?”

“It is. Why do you keep calling me sir?”

“Well, because you’re an officer, sir. I wouldn’t know about rank or anything since I don’t know how to read these,” she briefly brushed her fingers over the pins on his jacket. “But I know an officer when I see one. Officers carry themselves differently, sir.”

“You’re not one of my men. The sir isn’t necessary.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know what else to call you.”

“Dick. Richard Winters.”

“Dick.” She repeated his name once before telling him her own. “My name is Fran. Frances Elliott.”

“I don’t really know how this works, Fran.”

“You’re doing fine, Dick.” So he was new in town. Probably arrived that very day. “How long are you in town for?”

“Two more days.”

“Oh well, you have plenty of things left to see then! The Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame, Sacré-Coeur...” She stopped herself. Most of the men that came here weren’t exactly looking for culture, they were looking for entertainment. “Or if you... you know, were looking for a companion...” His face instantly went as red as his hair. “Oh! I wasn’t... I didn’t... not me!” And now her face turned a similar shade. “I just meant, that I know what district you can find that in. If you’re looking.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh thank god.” He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I didn’t mean to imply... oh god. This is awkward. But at least you’re smiling. No man is allowed to leave without a smile on their face.”

“I won’t. That one of the rules?”

“Yes. Mister Ward’s quite clear on that one. Not that you have to smile until your face hurts or anything. I’m pretty sure they don’t want to that to happen. No matter how handsome you are when you smile.” She bit her lip because of what she’d just blurted out. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. Anna tells me off about having no filter all the time.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Not just saying that to be nice?”

“No.” His answer was short and to the point and she found herself believing him. “So where should I go?”

“What do you mean? After leaving?”

“In Paris.”

“Oh. I’d recommend Notre-Dame. It’s a very beautiful building and there are some other places nearby that you could visit.” She loved spending time near the large church herself. “There’s a beautiful fountain nearby that should be on your list. Oh and a smaller 13th century church that you could visit if you like that sort of thing. A few squares. I could spend hours there without ever getting bored.”

“Do you give tours as well?”

“Well, I... Would you like one?”

“I’d love one.”

“Oh.” She started blushing again. She thought she’d been making an ass of herself, but he didn’t seem to share that sentiment. “I should probably...”

She moved him away from the dance floor and noted the relief on his face over not having to dance anymore. She wondered why, because he was an excellent dancer and should clearly be doing it more often. Leading him to the bar, she asked for a pen and a piece of paper and started writing on it.

“Here.” She handed him the bit of paper that she had just scribbled her address on. “Call on me at ten. I mean, if that’s a good time for you. Is it? A good time for you?”

“Yes.” He really wasn’t giving her a lot to work with here, cool as a cucumber this one. “See you tomorrow at ten.”

“Okay. Hope I’ll be able to sufficiently entertain you tomorrow.”

“I have no doubt that you will.” In a gesture that seemed like it might come from another age entirely, but was strangely apt for Dick Winters from Pennsylvania he took her hand and kissed the back of it quickly with a slight blush on his cheeks. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Fran watched him go and briefly wondered whether this was the start of something beautiful or if he was just being polite. One thing was for sure, he sure was a proper gentleman.

[springday-aus]

BTS’s Namjoon: Plus Two || part one

—

Fic Piece Written by: Admin Grandma of @springday-aus​

Moodboard Link: Created By Admin Grandpa

Character Pairing: Y/N and BTS’s Kim Namjoon (RM)

Other Characters: BTS [Hoseok, Taehyung, Yoongi (barista!yoongi), Seokjin - others are mentioned briefly], Hyerin (EXID), Suho (EXO OT12), Moonbyul (Mamamoo), Eric Nam, Tiffany (SNSD), Irene (Red Velvet), and Jackson (GOT7) - along with their respective group members, who are involved as planners, partakers, and guests 

Genre: romance, comedy, officer worker!Namjoon, wedding date!au, friends to lovers!au 

Type: series [two parts]

part one || part two

Word Count: approx. 21.6k

Plot Summary: getting older is never easy, especially with all the weddings Namjoon has been attending. Fortunately for him, a run in with an old friend of his, i.e. you, makes all these weddings a bit more bearable. 

⤷ Alternatively: you and Namjoon keep running into each other, ultimately becoming unofficial wedding dates. Once it’s official, a couple of things start to change... such as the old flame that Namjoon thought he put out. 

→ Inspired by: the movie called Plus One—hence the creation of Plus Two!

Warnings: lots of drinking involved and cursing 

A/N: this accidentally became a slow burn fic, considering that I stretched out Namjoon’s pining to 21k words. 

October 25th, 2019

Friday, 10AM 

Lee Corporations

—

The clicks of computer keyboards fill the dead silence of the office floor. Everyone’s buried in their own paperwork and files, concerned about finishing their workload before the work day is over. Namjoon sits in his cubicle, reorganizing his spreadsheets and double checking the numbers. It’s taking longer than he originally wanted, but then again, computer games are designed for distractions. He checks his watch. It’s only been two hours and he’s already bored. Sure, he’s got enough work, but does he really want to do it? 

No, not really. 

He rubs his eyes, which he inwardly hopes might wake him up from this nightmare. Curse him for being practical and choosing to be a business major. Had he chosen a different path, he might have turned out happier—at least, he has a stable paycheck. By the end of the day, that’s all that really matters in this lifetime. 

A chime from his phone interrupts his thoughts on his extinctial crisis. He grabs his phone from his desk counter, as he stands up from his seat. Might as well grab another cup of coffee. He heads to the break room and immediately navigates himself into the corner, where the coffee maker rests. After plugging it in, he unlocks his phone and clicks on the latest notification—an email sent to his personal inbox.

You’re invited to celebrate the union of Seo Hyerin and Yoon Jae Jung! 

Date: November 16th 

Time: 11:15am for the ceremony, 8pm for the reception

Location: Crossroads Cathedral and Sweet Dreams Event Hall 

Please RSVP at XXX-XXX-XXXX or respond to the email! We hope to see you there! 

Huh, he hadn’t heard from Hyerin for a while—last thing he remembered was that she was enjoying her job as a translator and she was in a wonderful relationship, which is now blossoming into marriage. 

Good for her.

He doesn’t mean for it to sound as sarcastic as it does. It is good for her. As one of her close friends (close enough to get her wedding invitation at least), he’s glad she’s able to find someone who wants to share her life with. 

But it’s also a reminder that Namjoon hasn’t managed to do the same. He shuts his eyes and lets out a long sigh. It’s going to be really sad that he’s going to be there without a date of some sort, while others are most likely going to be there with dates. It’ll be nice to catch up with some of his old friends, but it’s also going to be a pain to have all those pity looks and the ‘don’t worry, you’ll find someone soon’ speeches. 

By the time he realizes he’s lost himself within his thoughts once again, the coffee is reheated and his phone screen has turned black. He moves his mug and slowly pours the dark liquid in. Namjoon’s ringtone breaks the silence. The image of Hoseok’s dog, Micky, flashes on his screen with the words, Dancing King. 

“What’s up, man?” Namjoon asks, as he pours a packet of sugar into his cup. 

“Hey! How’s my favorite businessman?” 

“Hoseok, I’m the only businessman you know.” 

“No! Wonsik is also a businessman.” 

“He’s a CEO of his own music company—while there is business associated, he’s still deemed as a musician in my book.” 

There’s a bit of silence and Namjoon can practically see Hoseok’s lips pulling back in disappointment. 

“Same difference,” Hoseok says through the line. “Anyways, did you see the invitation yet?” 

“Yeah, I saw it,” Namjoon says. “I just can’t believe Hyerin is already getting married.” 

“I know. It’s almost like we’re adults or something.” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes from Hoseok’s sarcastic comment, even though he can’t see it. “Are you bringing anyone?” 

“It’s too soon to see, but I might try to find a date—it’s just another wedding.” There’s a pause, with some muffled shuffling. “If not though, would you do the honor of being my date?” 

“You know, I might just take you up on that offer.” 

“Bet,” Hoseok says. “Well, the others are starting to come back from break. I’ll talk to you later?” 

“You know where I’ll be.” 

“Only from 9 to 5.” There’s another laugh from him through the phone. “Alright, bye!” 

“Bye.” 

He sets his phone down, staring mindlessly into his coffee as he waits for the sugar to dissolve. 

Well, on the bright side, he has a date to the wedding now. That one task marked off the list. 

November 16th, 2019

Saturday, 9PM 

Hyerin’s Reception 

Sweet Dreams Event Hall 

—

“I’ve known Hyerin for such a long time,” Hani says. “And I have seen so many sides of her. Even today, she continues to reveal new sides of her that are surprising to everyone. She’s smart; she’s classy; she’s fun-loving and she’s cute. Sure, everyone here might know her as the crazy one in this group. But that craziness is part of her charm—which I’m sure Jae Jung has experienced at least once or twice by now.” 

The crowd laughs, as Hani tips her glass towards the couple. She gives another dazzling smile to them and continues. “Nevertheless, that craziness is what’s going to make life more entertaining for you. Some may say marriage doesn’t last, but I know you two will make it work. As one of Hyerin’s closest friends, I wish you two nothing more than a lifetime of happiness from one another. Congratulations, Hyerin and Jae Jung.”

There’s a light applause as Hani, the maid of honor, finishes her speech, which is followed by the taps of the guests’ champagne glasses. Hoseok and Namjoon’s glasses make a clink against the other, before they respectively clink their glasses with the other guests at their table. 

“Cheers.” 

“Cheers.” 

“Cheers.”

After taking a sip, Namjoon turns his attention back to his plate, which is cleared of food. 

“Hey,” he says with a nudge to Hoseok. “When did they say they were gonna cut the cake?” 

“I think they’re gonna cut it after a couple more courses.” 

“I’m so full.” Namjoon lightly pats his stomach. “I knew there was gonna be a lot of food, but I didn’t know it was going to be this much.” 

Hoseok lets out a laugh. “Hyerin’s got a bottomless pit for a stomach—you should have known she was going to have a lot of food.” 

Namjoon laughs with him. “Oh my God. How could I forget the buffet incident?”

Their conversation is interrupted by some feedback from the speakers. The crowd’s attention is turned back to the main table, where Hyerin stands with the microphone in hand and her new husband, Jae Jung, is trying to fix the veil that was caught on the back of her dress. 

“Hello everyone! Thank you so much for coming and joining us for this evening. Also, if we could give another hand to Hani for helping me arrange the whole thing—she really is the best. This night has been the most incredible.” There’s some more applause and, at the end of the main table, Hani stands once more with a smile and bows to the guest tables. 

Hyerin continues to talk once it dies down. “Um, we’re still coming around to the tables to properly greet and thank everyone for their support and gifts. The cake will be cut soon, but we still have two more courses left. Also, the bar remains open, if any adults need some more alcohol.” There’s a light laugh—Hoseok and Namjoon exchange looks of agreement to hit the bar after the meal. 

“And after the cake is cut, everyone is welcome to the dance floor.” She hands the mic to Jae Jung. 

“Hyerin and I will have our first dance and, after that, the party can officially start.” A guy in the back shouts a ‘woo’ and there’s scattered laughter. “Anyways, thank you again for coming in support of Hyerin and I. We hope you have a good time tonight.” 

There’s more applause and the couple resume to make their rounds to each table. The informal conversations begin once again as the guests wait for the next course to be served. Namjoon turns his attention back to Hoseok, who’s already engaged in conversation with a couple of people at the table. 

“So, how do you know the couple?” Minhyuk asks. 

“Ah, Hyerin and I went to the same dance academy,” Hoseok says. “We’ve been friends for, like, 10 years now. We all still talk so…” He gives a light shrug with an eased smile. 

Minhyuk looks over at Namjoon unexpectedly, who freezes for a bit from the eye contact, before answering. “Oh, I met Hyerin through Hoseok actually,” he says. “We had a couple of classes together and were in a couple of study groups together in college and…” He pauses. “Here we are. How do you know her?” 

“I was friends with her back in high school,” Minhyuk says. “A lot of people thought we were dating, so it’s a whole inside joke between us—especially since I got invited to her wedding.” 

“That’s funny,” Namjoon says. “But, wow. You kept in contact after high school?” 

“Yeah, thanks to the creation of cell phones and, as you already know.” He pauses. “Hyerin is very sociable, so it’d be hard to not keep contact.” 

“Speaking of which,” Hoseok says. “There’s a lot of people here. Their guest list is huge.” 

“I have a feeling there’s more of Hyerin’s friends than Jae Jung,” Namjoon says with a small laugh. 

“I’d place my bet on that,” Minhyuk says. His attention is diverted towards the servers that were coming out to serve the fifth course, making more conversation with the others at the table. 

“That’s a safe bet,” Hoseok says to Namjoon. “I’ve seen nearly everyone from dance camp.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” Hoseok takes another look around. “I saw Hyemi as we were coming in and Sanghyuk is just a couple of tables away.” He pokes his head up, sitting up straighter to get a more clear look around. “I should catch up with him in a bit.” 

“Maybe you two can meet on the dance floor,” Namjoon says with a laugh. “That’d be an interesting scene.” 

“Well, there is an open bar.” 

Namjoon can only give Hoseok a warning look, to which he gets a mischievous one in return. He can only sigh in response, but he can’t help to chuckle. He’s known Hoseok for so long that he knows he can’t stop one of his shenanigans. 

He resumes his attention back to his plate, where a small scoop of brightly colored sorbet sits in a little bowl. 

“It’s cute,” Hoseok says. “We get ice cream before the cake.” He does a little dance with his shoulders, beaming with his pearly whites. 

“First of all,” Namjoon says. “I think you’ve had enough sugar. I’m afraid of what’ll happen once the alcohol starts to take effect as well. Secondly, it’s sorbet and it’s supposed to refresh your palate.” 

“Ah, Namjoon,” Hyerin says. “Smart as always.” The entire table centers their focus on the newlyweds, who’ve approached them from behind. Light cheers erupt from the other guests and Namjoon gives her a big, toothy grin. 

“I was just wondering when you two were gonna get to our table,” Il Woo says from across the table. 

Hyerin laughs. “I’m trying my best to get to all the tables, but, in hindsight, we do have too many friends.” 

“To be honest,” Jae Jung says. “We had to cut down the list, like, twice.” 

“Finding a venue to fit everyone was easier than cutting down the list. Who knew?” Hyerin makes a face, which Hoseok responds to with one of his. The two start to go around the table, individually catching up with others and filling the guest’s glasses as they chat—eventually getting to Hoseok and Namjoon. 

“Are you two finally dating?” Hyerin teases.

“As much as I like Hoseok,” Namjoon says. “Seokjin is more of my type.” He looks over at Hoseok, who pouts. 

Hoseok turns away with bitterness. “That’s fine, I like Yoongi better anyways.” 

“It’s nice to see that you two haven’t changed,” Hyerin says. “Thank you for coming—the both of you.” 

“It’s no problem,” Hoseok says. “We’re your friends.” 

“We’re here to support you.” Namjoon says. 

“You two are just as sweet as I remember,” she says with a bright smile. She taps her glass with theirs. “Cheers.” 

“Cheers.” 

“Cheers.” 

Hoseok and Namjoon take their respective sips, while Hyerin drowns hers down. 

“Damn,” Hoseok says. “Your tolerance hasn’t changed since college.” 

“We’ll see with how tonight goes,” Hyerin says. “I think the others’ have lowered, so watch out when they all head to the bar.” 

“You mean like now?” Namjoon asks. 

“What?”

Namjoon points a finger towards the wall where glass shelves hold many colorful bottles of wine, liquor, and juices to mix with the alcohol. A bartender mixes the drinks to the best of her abilities to fill the four glasses set on the counter. Hyerin’s bridesmaids lean on the countertop, shouting “shots” repeatedly. 

“Oh dear God,” Hyerin says. She shuffles with her dress, grabbing as much of it as she can, and attempts to run over towards them. “Y’all!! Couldn’t you have waited until the elders left!?! Wait for me!” 

Jae Jung hurriedly follows after her. “Honey! Be careful with the dress, you could trip!” 

After they ran off, Hoseok and Namjoon could no longer hold in their laughter. 

“That’s one way to exit a conversation,” Namjoon says with another sip of his champagne. “They really haven’t changed since college.” He lets out another laugh. “Who else do you think is here?” 

“Honestly, knowing Hyerin,” Hoseok says. “I have no clue.” 

They get back to their plates and converse with the others at the table. Hyerin has made many friends after graduating, Namjoon notes. Then again, she’s always been very friendly with others, which is how Namjoon was able to easily get along with her. 

As the conversations go, the last course, along with the cake, is served and the dance floor is officially open. Once 10pm hit, Hyerin and Jae Jung led their first dance. Everyone slowly started to join in and then the songs were transitioning to a faster pace, in which the elderly started to take their leave. Good timing too because the alcohol started to set in and no one had any resistance left. 

Hoseok has officially abandoned Namjoon to steal the leftover party favors on empty tables (at this point, he’s openly stealing rather than sneaking them into his pockets). Namjoon remains at the, now, empty table and empty plate—observing the other guests who have made a home for themselves on the dance floor. 

Hyojin’s alcohol tolerance is officially met as she twerks on the dance floor. Hyerin and Hoseok’s dance friends, Hyemi and Sanghyuk, have officially engaged in a full-fledged dance battle. Meanwhile, one of the bridesmaids, Solji, has another, Junghwa, on one arm to pull her away from any physical object she could flirt with (to which Namjoon has been a victim) and, in the other arm, she holds a svedka bottle that’s already half empty. In another corner, from Namjoon’s table, Minhyuk has helped himself to the rest of the uncut cake with a serving spoon. 

Amidst the chaos, Namjoon stays at the table, taking in the atmosphere with the disco lights and fast-paced radio hip-hop songs. He nods along with the music, mouthing along with the lyrics. As much as he would love to join the others, he knows he would most likely break something of his, or someone else’s. 

He checks his watch and glances around, wondering as to how far Hoseok had gotten with the party favors. Just as he was about to start his search, Rihanna’s Umbrella starts to play and that’s when he hears Hoseok before he can see him. 

“BITCH! THIS IS MY JAM!” 

Namjoon has to close his eyes from embarrassment of being his date, but then something saves him. 

“BITCH, ME TOO. MOVE!” 

“HANNA AND (Y/N) IN THE BUILDING, EH EH EH.” 

Well, nevermind. 

The crowd parts like the red sea, allowing Hoseok and two familiar looking figures to meet in the middle—each person nodding along to the melody and waving their arms in the air. As if it was a karaoke meet, everyone sings aloud, along to the music. 

“You have my heart. And we’ll never be worlds apart. Maybe in magazines… but you’ll still be my star…” 

 Namjoon smiles at the sight. Hoseok and Hanna are doing their own thing, ignoring the little bags that fall out from Hoseok’s pockets that were, technically, stolen from the other tables. You blend into the crowd, swaying to the melody with Hani on one arm. 

“Because~ When the sun shines, we shine together. Told you I’ll be here forever. Said I’ll always be your friend. Took an oath, Imma stick it out to the end. Now that it's raining more than ever, know that we’ll have each other. You can stand under my umbrella… You can stand under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh…”

Namjoon makes eye contact with you. Your eyes widen, surprised from seeing him. With your free arm, you wave him over—to which he can only shake his head, passing up the opportunity of embarrassing himself in front of his old college friends. 

You pull yourself away from the crowd and head towards his direction, eventually taking the empty seat next to him. Without a word, you reach over and grab a champagne glass from the other side, drowning it down in one shot. 

“Ahh,” you breathe out. You point to his glass and the remaining alcohol that glistens from the disco lights. Without another word, Namjoon hands it over to you. He can only watch, as you drown down that glass as well. 

“Well,” he says. “It’s nice to see you too, (Y/N).” 

“Sorry,” you say. “That glass looked too appealing.” 

He lets out another light laugh with a shake of his head. “Seriously though, it’s nice to see you.” 

You hum. “How long has it been? Couple of years?” 

“Yeah, it’s been a bit of time,” Namjoon says. “Glad to see you haven’t changed too much.”

“Glad to see you haven’t either.” You pause, looking back at his, now empty, glass. “Still have a low tolerance?” 

“You already know the answer to that, so why bother asking?” 

“Just ‘cause it’s fun to hear you admit you’re a little baby when it comes to drinking.”

“Ugh, this is just because you were able to build a tolerance from all that bar hopping.” 

“We both did that bar hop.” You scan him with a glint in your eyes. “Something clearly went something wrong.” 

You both laugh. With another nudge towards him, you speak up again. “How’ve you been? Still working at the office?” 

“Yeah, I’m officially a manager.” He rubs the back of his neck. 

“You still making music?” 

“Every now and then,” he says. “Whenever I get the time, I do.” 

You let out a little laugh, grabbing another glass of champagne. “I remember all those tracks you made. Shame that your mixtape never released.” 

“Oh my God.” Namjoon has to close his eyes. “Please never bring that up again.” 

“Why not? They were great.” You take a sip of the glass. “I still have your Soundcloud page bookmarked.” 

Namjoon rubs his face with his face becoming more and more flushed, but he can’t hide his growing smile. “Oh my God, (Y/N).” 

You give him another teasing one in return. “Remember when you used to try to promote yourself on the quad—” 

“Oh my God, (Y/N)—”

You let out another laugh from his red face. Namjoon shuffles his feet and his eyes dart around, trying to find a drink for his, suddenly, dry throat. As if you read his mind, you tip your glass towards him—offering him the rest of your drink. He takes it and takes a small sip, clearing his throat afterwards.

“Anyways,” Namjoon says. “What have you been up to?” 

“Oh, you know. Same old, same old.” You pause. “You act like you didn’t like my Instagram post two nights ago. You also DM me memes, dude.” 

“Yeah, but that’s different from actually talking to you and catching up.” Namjoon rests a hand on his chest, in mock-hurt. “I’ve been sending those since college and you still don’t appreciate them?”

You roll your eyes but it’s with no malice. “For your information, more is not less. Less is less.”

“Is this your way of telling me to lessen the meme content in our messaging?” 

“Yes.” 

“Damn, that’s harsh.” 

You let out another laugh as he pouts in his seat. “Sorry, Joonie.” 

Your conversation is interrupted, as Hyemi shouts your name from across the room. “(Y/N)! I’M PUTTING ON BRITTNEY, BITCH.” 

“AYY!” You immediately get up from your seat, dancing your way over back to the dance floor. As Hyemi pulls you away, you look back towards Namjoon and give him a little finger wave. “I’ll see you sometime, okay?” 

He smiles back with a small nod, just quick enough for you to see, before you get pulled into the crowd once again. 

December 3nd, 2019

Tuesday, 6PM 

Shoreside Condos

—

Another chime comes from Namjoon’s email. He continuously types, re-organizing and triple checking the calculations of his spreadsheets. 

He sits on the couch with multiple sheets of paper which lay on the unoccupied space of the table and couch, in some type of clean mess. In the background, his flat screen plays a film from some movie channel that he stopped paying attention to a while ago. His only company, Rapmon, lays on the carpet near Namjoon’s feet—practically blending himself into the white, soft texture. The keyboard clicks continue for a couple more minutes, before he decides to check his email. 

Hello Mr. Kim, 

How are you this evening? I am sending this email to let you know there are some adjustments that need to be made to the reports. Below, I have some attachments for you to check. 

Please let me know once they are completed. Have a good evening. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. 

Sincerely, 

Bang Sihyuk 

-- 

Head Manager of the Big Hit Management Team 

Lee Corporations 

Namjoon lets out a sigh. Guess it’s more work for him. Jokes on Bang though—he didn’t give him a deadline. Loopholes are a wonderful thing. 

He shuffles with the papers on the table, trying to find the remote. Once it’s spotted, he lowers the volume. He looks at the overall mess, ultimately deciding it’s better to clean it up, somewhat. As he pushes some of them back into their manila folders, he hears a whine. 

With a scratch behind Rapmon’s ears, Namjoon gives him a little kiss. “You hungry, baby?” Namjoon gives a small smile, as Rapmon pants. “I’ll get some food for my good boy.” 

He lifts himself from the sofa, already abandoning his clean-up attempt. Rapmon bounces alongside with him and they head into the kitchen area. Opening one of the lower cabinets, he easily pulls out the dog food and puts it into the doggy bowl.

Leaning on the countertop, he looks down adoringly at his pupper. “I should probably get something to eat too.” He pats his stomach. “It’s been empty.” 

He pushes himself off and shuffles over to the refrigerator. However, a white card, decorated with lace, catches his attention. He sighs, plucking the card off the refrigerator magnet. 

Join us for the union of Minyoung and Junmyeon! 

January 11th, 2020 @ 5PM

Location: Sowon Temple 

—

Black tie dress. 

Reception to follow! 

See you there! 

Namjoon lets out another sigh, but from the migraine that formed. He’s gonna have to text Taehyung—maybe they can go wedding gift shopping together. Considering how much Taehyung spends, Namjoon is sure to balance out that…. Taehyung-ness. 

He grabs out his phone, sliding it open to his messages. 

Namjoon: yo, did you get a present for Junmyeon yet? 

The reply is nearly instant and comes all at once. 

Tata: oh shit 

Tata: i forgot 

Tata: shall we go shopping soon ? 

Namjoon: you read my mind 

Tata: it’s like we’re soulmates 

Tata: :) 

Namjoon: …. okay 

Tata: i love you :*

Namjoon: and you have now made it weird 

Namjoon: but ily too 

Tata: i’m screenshotting this for the groupchat

Namjoon: and goodbye

He shakes his head, silently laughing at Taehyung’s responses. He’ll make those plans later, once he’s got some more time. It’ll be fun to spend some more time with Tae. It’s been a couple of weeks since they’d hung out. While their time at the ice rink was fun, they spent more time struggling than skating together (well, at least Taehyung was the one struggling). 

But, right now, he’s got more work dumped on him. And he’s hungry. 

Rapmon looks up at him as Namjoon looks down at him. “Don’t look at me like that.” Namjoon opens the fridge without breaking eye contact. “This is for me. You got your bowl, buddy.”

January 11th, 2020 

Saturday, 7PM 

Junmyeon’s Reception 

Enchanted Evenings Restaurant 

—

“Although I am the oldest of our group,” Minseok says. “Junmyeon has taken care of me ever since I became friends with him. I’m sure that everyone in this room, who knows Junmyeon, knows that he has this thing where he cares more for others rather than himself. He’s the mother figure that everyone wants in their lives and we were lucky enough to have him as ours. But now, he’ll finally have someone to care for him this time around, for the rest of his life.” 

He turns to the main table and raises his glass. “I would like to dedicate this toast to Mi Young, on behalf of the exo boys. Thank you for putting up with all of us.” The crowd chuckles. “ And congratulations to the both of you, for finding someone who will faithfully look after you no matter what. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.” 

Everyone respectfully clicks their glasses together, taking a sip and going back to their meals and their own little conversations. Namjoon looks up from his glass, seeing Taehyung across the table—chatting away with the other guests. Tae fits well with the others, despite looking out of place in his patterned suit (“It’s Gucci. I have taste,” Taehyung said, when he was picking up Namjoon).

Namjoon glances to the right… where you are seated. You happily drown your glass down, letting out an exhale from the refresher. 

You turn to him. “Do you think I’m allowed to drink more?” you ask. 

“(Y/N),” Namjoon says. “I think it’s better for everyone if you didn’t drink more.” 

You pout. 

Namjoon tries not to stare. 

“You, my friend,” you say with a point of your finger, poking his chest. “Need to loosen up.” You shake your empty glass at him. “What better way than with alcohol?” 

“Have you become an alcoholic? Is that what this is?” 

“Haha, oh so funny as always, Joonie.” 

“You know I try,” he says with a grin. 

He sets down the glass, turning his attention back to his plate—on it lies a pile of chopped lobster topped with little scraps of gold, which is paired with fresh caviar and foie gras sauce on the side. Everything looks so good that it practically glistens in the chandelier light coming from above the table. 

While there are many guests, the venue is actually very spacious. Each table has a good amount of space that the chairs don’t bump into one another when pushed out. And yet, there’s still a large amount of space dedicated to a multicolored dance floor (which has Baekhyun and Jongin written all over it, Namjoon notes). 

Even without the tables, anyone could tell it’s decorated tastefully. Above each table, there’s various lights that provide a nice atmosphere for the guests. The ceiling itself is painted plain white, but if anyone looks close enough there’s little specks of gold that shine against the light. In contrast to the ceiling, the walls were covered with wallpaper. The wallpaper is also white with gold accents, but there are also pearls that popped out of the walls—quite literally popped out. The kids who came with their parents have been feeling up the wall for the past hour or two. 

Namjoon knew the wedding would be boujee, since it is Junmyeon’s, but he’d almost forgotten about how loaded Junmyeon’s family actually is. 

“Who knew my most expensive meal would come from a wedding?” Go Eun says, from your other side. You let out a laugh. “It’s the Kim family, what more did you expect?” 

“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe something corny.” 

“Honey, we’re past corny when we walked through those balloon arches.” 

Go Eun blinks, slowly nodding along as she comes to the realization. “Ah, I guess I never got over the whole senior-junior view I had of him in school.” 

“He’s got that vibe; he seems like a chill mentor.” 

“But realistically speaking,” Namjoon pitches in. “We know that’s far from the truth.”

“Considering how he dances to any Sistar song like (Y/N) to Hit Me Baby One More Time,” Go Eun pauses. “I think all of the guests here know that.” 

“Damn,” you say. “You really had to attack me like that, huh?” 

She gives you an innocent smile that feels not-so-innocent. “Hyerin’s reception videos circulated. What else was I supposed to do with their information?” 

You give her a teasing one in return, before returning to your plate once more. 

There’s a moment of silence at the table as everyone is starting to dive into their meals, except for the silverware that taps the plates and bowls. As the plates start to get cleared, the chatter picks up once more—especially as the newlywed couple makes their way around with Junmyeon holding the train of Minyoung’s dress. Taehyung stirs up the commotion as he sees them making their way over. 

“Here comes the lucky couple!” 

From the sudden, informal announcement, everyone cheers with their glasses—both empty and full—for the newlyweds. 

Junmyeon tucks a strand of Minyoung’s hair back with one hand and, with the other, he holds a glass filled with champagne that’s already lost its bubbles. “Thank you for coming, everyone. We really appreciate your presence here.” 

“It’s no problem,” Namjoon says. “We’re glad to be here.”

“We hope you like our presents!” Taehyung practically yells. “If you don’t, then deal with it because we lost the receipts.” He gives them one of his boxy smiles. 

Everyone gives a light-hearted laugh at Junmyeon’s face. 

“Is everyone okay?” Minyoung asks. She stands behind you and Namjoon, laying a hand on your shoulder. “Is the food good?” 

“Minyoung, this one plate is about the equivalent of my first year tuition,” Yeri says, looking at her. “The food is more than just good.” 

“Don’t worry,” you say, giving Minyoung’s hand a pat. “Everything is great.” 

She lets out an exhale. “I was just a bit concerned because Junmyeon decided the meals without me.” 

“Honey,” Junmyeon says. “The meals turned out great. (Y/N) agrees.” He turns to the rest of the table. “You guys are going to love the dessert.” 

“What’s for dessert?” Yunho asks, from one side of the table. 

“It’s a Golden Opulence Sundae,” Junmyeon says with a beam. 

“It’s got edible diamonds and a sugar forged orchid,” Namjoon whispers to you. “It was super trendy a couple of years ago, but it doesn’t mean the price went down.” 

Your eyes widen. “Goddamn,” you mouth to him. 

“Yeah, he went a bit overboard,” Namjoon says. 

Junmyeon pouts at Namjoon’s words and Minyoung pinches his cheek. Minho makes a gagging noise and Yunho has to hit him to get him to stop. 

“Anyways,” Minyoung says, pouring another glass for you and Namjoon. “Let’s enjoy the evening with a drink—cheers.” 

“Cheers.” 

“Cheers.” 

Around the table, everyone respectively tap their glasses against one another—Namjoon with you and Minho, you with Namjoon and Go Eun. 

“We would love to stay, but we need to get to the other guests,” Junmyeon says. 

“But,” Minyoung says. “Stay as long as you would like. Desert is coming and the cake will be cut soon after. So, please enjoy yourselves—at the table, on the dance floor, the pool out back—” 

“There’s a pool?” Heechul asks from the other side of the table. 

“Yeah, the doors will officially be open after thirty minutes or so,” Minyoung says. “Anyways, mingle and have fun. We’ll be around.”

“Enjoy yourselves, okay?” Junmyeon says with another smile. With his hand on her lower back, he guides her towards the other table behind yours. 

“They’re so cute,” you say with a pout. “I’m glad to see Minyoung with someone good for her.” 

“Same,” Namjoon says. “I haven’t seen Junmyeon this happy since…” He tries to think. 

“Since Sehun paid that one time for dinner?” 

Namjoon’s eyes light up. “Yeah!” He takes another sip of his glass. “I almost forgot about that.” 

“I couldn’t,” you say. “You don’t ever forget it if Sehun pulls out his wallet for you.” 

“Yeah, he only pulls out his wallet for Vivi,” Namjoon notes. “Big mood though.” 

You laugh. 

Everyone gets back to their plates, which now has the dessert and the reception goes on. The conversation flows, between all the guests—at their assigned tables, along with the other tables. Siwon visited Namjoon’s table on many occasions, just because of Yunho and Minho’s seats. Although, Namjoon will admit that their conversations are very impressive (many topics related around politics and social injustices in modern society, which was very impressive to be honest). 

The time continues to pass, but it’s hard to tell with all the conversation going on. While Namjoon is more introverted, he has been very engaged in many conversations with others—especially with you. It had only been about a year or two since you two had actually talked, caught up and all that good stuff. 

You two originally met in college, in one of your classes together—after all, the study group that suffers together, stays together. While Namjoon majored in business, you had actually studied what you wanted. Your drive and extrovertedness balanced with Namjoon’s realism and introvertedness, which created, what you believe to be, an iconic duo on campus (at least with your friends). 

While it is inevitable for people to lose touch after college, you were easily able to keep the connections. With the help of social media, you reached out and managed to keep contact with your close knit group of friends—including Namjoon and many others from college (and probably high school). 

Unfortunately for Namjoon, this also means reminders of the uni days—both good and bad (as previously mentioned: the mixtape promos on the quad)... 

“Expensive Girl was a fucking bop and you know it,” you say, scooping another spoonful of your ice cream. “What did you do with all of those CDs anyways?” 

Namjoon groans, wiping his face as if it’ll get rid of the embarrassment from the olden days. “Honestly, they’re probably in a box somewhere and collecting dust.” 

“Come on,” you say. “You have to admit that those songs were actually really impressive.” You smile at him. “You were really creative. What happened?” 

He sighs, setting down his, now empty, wine glass. “Nothing happened, (Y/N).” He pauses. “Real life just got into the way and… next thing I knew, I stopped making songs.” 

The look in your eyes softens. “Namjoon, you’re one of the most creative people I know,” you say. You lay a hand on his that rests on the table. 

His eyes land on yours. You continue. “You should do what you enjoy, while balancing out the realistic picture.” Your other hand pokes his chest once more. “You, of all people, should know that. Remember what happened sophomore year?” 

Ah, sophomore year. From what Namjoon remembers, you originally came into college undecided. It wasn’t until the beginning of sophomore year that you figured out what you wanted to do. (“Seeing you so driven about your music makes me more driven towards what I want to do,” you said to him. “Even if I suffer to the destination, my happiness afterwards is the most important to me and my future.”)  

Namjoon sighs once more, but it’s more of frustration towards himself rather than exhaustion. He can only say one thing. “Being an adult is hard.” 

You laugh at his statement—your hand unmoving from his, another thing Namjoon tries not to focus on, but he can’t because of the warmth of your hand. Yes, while the two of you are friends, if he said he never had non-platonic feelings for you would definitely be a lie. 

The tap of the mic interrupts his thoughts and the conversations start to simmer down once more. In the front, Junmyeon and Minyoung stand side by side. Minyoung is in a different wedding dress but it’s been shortened and paired with some white flats. Junmyeon’s jacket has been removed and his tie is loosened. 

“Hello?” Minyoung says. “Can everyone hear me?” Her smile grows, as she meets everyone’s eyes and nods. “While people have been able to enter the pool area, it’s officially been thirty minutes since dessert was served.”

“With that,” Junmyeon says. “The pool is officially open, along with the dance floor. We’re allowing song requests, along with karaoke mics. So, go wild.” 

“YEAH!” Chanyeol, Baekhyun and Jongdae simultaneously shout. 

Junmyeon immediately retracts his statement. “Not too wild!” Despite that warning, everyone knows it’s already too late. 

Jongin, Taemin, and Ten are the first ones to enter the dance floor as the music starts. Everyone easily joins in to circle around them and chaos starts to ensue, making space for the elderly to start to leave. As the other guests start to migrate towards the colorful tiles on the dance floor, the younger ones are more on the antisocial side—Yeri joins the table with Mark, Renjun, and her other university friends that were invited as well (considering that most of them can’t legally drink). Meanwhile, Yunho, Minho and Siwon continue their political conversations in another corner as their glasses are consistently refilled by the servers. 

At some point, Sehun simply puts on his sunglasses and holds a bright yellow floatie in one arm (“Sehun, we’re indoors,” Luhan says. “Your point?” he retorts). He walks past your table, saying something about how he needed the hot tub and a bottle of bubbly after this chaotic week—although, the nearly empty strawberry flavored vodka in his hand said a lot more about his lack of current sobriety. 

Meanwhile, you were long gone to the dance floor, being pulled in by Yuri and Hyoyeon. Go Eun was right; something just flips when Hit Me Baby One More Time plays. Namjoon remains at the table, watching the others continuously mingle and dance, as he engages in conversation with Jaebum and Taehyung. 

“You two came together?” Jaebum asks. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “We went shopping together for Suho’s gift and he had no choice because he can’t drive,” Taehyung jabs a thumb towards Namjoon, who’s jaw drops. 

The audacity. 

“I suddenly miss Hoseok as my date,” Namjoon says. 

“It’s nice you all kept in touch,” Jaebum says, ignoring Namjoon’s pettiness. “It’s hard to do that nowadays.” 

“It really is,” Namjoon responds. 

Jaebum and Taehyung nod alongside him in response. At this moment, Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Jongdae are walking past them with black buckets to which splashes could be heard with each movement. 

“Hey guys!” Taehyung calls. 

Baekhyun turns towards the table and the three make their way to Namjoon and them. “Hey, Tae! Long time no see,” he says. “Nice to see you two again, thanks for coming,” Baekhyun says to Namjoon and Jaebum. “Did anyone wanna come to the pool?” 

Namjoon and Jaebum shake their heads. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” Namjoon says. 

“Same,” Jaebum says. “I forgot about it.” 

“Okay, good,” Chanyeol says. “Because you won’t want to swim in it later.” 

“What?” Jaebum asks. 

“We’re dying it pink,” Jongdae says. Their eyebrows raise in curiosity, but no one dares to ask. “Although, I think Kyungsoo has been catching on.” Jongdae’s eyes dart around, trying to catch sight of the short, but frightening man. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaebum says. “Not to be that guy, but, where’s your wife?” 

“She passed on the wedding invitation, so she’s at home with our daughter,” Jongdae says. His head tilts to the side and his eyes narrow. “Why?” 

“Just trying to understand why you left the house without your impulse control,” Jaebum responds with a smile. 

Jongdae pouts, but it’s ignored. 

“Wanna join?” Baekhyun asks. He has an innocent smile on, but his eyes are full of mischievousness. 

“I'll pass,” Namjon says with a raised hand. “But thanks for the offer.” 

“Same,” Jaebum says. “I don’t plan on messing with Kyungsoo.” 

“I’ll go with,” Taehyung says. “It’ll be interesting to see how all of this’ll unfold.” 

He waves the other two goodbye and points to Namjoon. “Text me if you want to leave early, but I’ll be at the pool, okay?” 

Namjoon nods. “Please be careful.” 

“Always!” 

Jaebum waits until they’re an earshot away. “I have a bad feeling about this.” 

Namjoon can only shrug. “But can you stop them?” 

“You got a point there.” 

From the other side of the venue, there’s a crash, followed by a splash, coming from the pool area and a yell louder than the music (which could only be Kyungsoo). 

“YOU BRATS!”

“Well,” Namjoon says. “They lasted longer than I thought.” 

Jaebum checks his watch. “Two minutes?” 

“Exactly.” 

No one is really sure of what happened with the dye (except for those who were actually in the pool). But it’s hard to concentrate on that when, out of the pool area, Jinki and Kibum emerge from the door with pool noodles, attacking one another with them with unnatural, pink frosted tips. Kyuhyun and Johnny are attempting to separate them, but are seemingly failing to do so. Jinki’s pool noodle hits Johnny, knocking him into a vase—luckily, he manages to catch it before it falls. 

… That is until Ten knocks into him as he shakes his ass along to Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie. 

“Oof,” Jaebum says. “That’s… that’s rough, bro.” 

“Hopefully, no one notices?” 

“Hopefully.” 

Another server comes around, silently filling their glasses once more. 

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you.” 

They clink their glasses together in a silent toast and take a sip. Jaebum sighs, leaning back to his (well, your) seat. He takes another glance at the dance floor, spotting Heechul and Momo dancing their asses off. You would think that as dates they would be dancing together, but it looks more like they’re competing. Eventually, he spots you with some of the others. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t come here with (Y/N),” he says. 

Namjoon’s eyebrows raise. “What? What’d you mean?”

“I just mean..” He pauses. “It’s not bad that you two are friends,” he starts. “But, I was betting you two would be together… or, at least, in college.” 

Namjoon doesn’t know what to say, but Jaebum continues. “You two just had a lot of chemistry, and still do!” He pauses. “Not a lot of people can say that.” 

He nods. “Yeah, you’re right.” Namjoon looks out, easily spotting you from the crowd. It’s hard not to notice you as you twirl and dance around with some other guests—especially since someone managed to get you into a duck floatie. 

“I think it’s (Y/N) though,” he continues to say. “(Y/N)’s just sociable and… that outgoingness just makes people surround (Y/N).” 

“Is that what led you to (Y/N)?” 

From Jaebum’s question, Namjoon’s lips automatically pursed. “I-I guess it is.” 

Before Jaebum could say anything else, Give It To Me by Sistar starts to play and there’s a shout. 

“YES!” 

Before anyone could stop him, Junmyeon shimmies his way past the guests and towards the center—loudly singing along and doing all the dance moves. 

Without either one of the boys noticing, Minyoung stands behind them with another champagne flute that’s half empty. 

“Why hello, Mrs. Kim,” Jaebum says, looking rather cheeky. 

“Hello boys.” 

“So, Mrs. Kim,” Namjoon says. “What are you going to do about that?” he asks, pointing to the monstrosity that’s happening underneath the multi-colored disco ball.

“Uh, I don’t know,” she says. She swirls her glass and drowns it down. “Because I suddenly don’t know him anymore.” 

They laugh. 

“Well, that’s your husband now,” Namjoon says. “That’s all on you.” With those words, he tilts his glass towards his mouth, emptying it out once more for the night. 

January 27th, 2020 

Monday, 8AM 

The Roasted Bean

—

The sound of chatter and the smell of coffee fill the air as Namjoon steps into the familiar coffee shop. While some of his fellow co-workers sit at separate tables, typing away on their laptops and drinking from their espresso cups, they all collectively ignore his presence—too preoccupied with their own matters. His body automatically places himself in line; his head poking up every once in a while to get a glance of Yoongi behind the counter. 

Since it is early and they are located in the business district of the city, Namjoon expected for the line to be fairly long. As the time continues to pass, Namjoon quietly hums along to the songs that play on the morning radio, occasionally nodding along with the beat. He gets closer and closer, eventually giving a smile at the frowning barista. 

“How are you doing that?” Yoongi asks. “It’s, like, dawn.” 

“It’s eight in the morning,” Namjoon points out. “Not exactly dawn.” 

He brushes the comment off. “You’re here earlier than usual. What happened to 9 to 5, Dolly Parton?” 

“Nothing really,” he says with a shrug. “I just have some extra work to do and I should be able to leave an hour earlier.” 

Yoongi makes a face with nothing short of disgust. “I still don’t understand how you’re able to just go to work like that.” 

“You’re at work though.” 

“Okay, but here, I get free coffee.” 

“Isn’t that stealing?” 

“Not if I mess up,” he says with a wink. “Speaking of messing up orders, how can I mess up yours?” 

“The usual is fine,” Namjoon says. “Thanks, Yoongi.” He gets a grunt in response, so he takes that as his cue to head over to the side where the stirrers, creamers, and sugar lay. As he absentmindedly fiddles with the sugar packets, he goes back to humming along with the songs. 

A tap on his shoulder interrupts his thoughts. A familiar grin greets him. 

“I thought that was you,” you say. 

His smile mirrors yours. “Hey, (Y/N). I almost didn’t recognize you in the daylight.” 

“And I almost didn’t recognize you without alcohol in my system.” 

Namjoon laughs. “What are you doing here?” 

“You’re asking me what I’m doing in a coffee shop?” 

He gives you a look. “You know what I mean.” 

You let out a laugh of your own. “Well, I just was visiting my friend, who works down the street, and I heard this place has the best coffee.” 

His eyebrows raise. “Well, consider me pleasantly surprised.” 

“Thanks?” You let out another laugh, smiling as you move yourself towards him, along with the sugars and creamers. 

You both end up fiddling with the little packets, nodding along to the music together silently. Namjoon glances towards you, eventually nudging you to get your attention again. You hum in response. 

“You still prefer the french vanilla creamer?” 

“Yes, sir,” you say. You pluck it from his hands with a twinkling look in your eyes. 

He glances over again, catching your eye. He lets out an awkward chuckle. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you sing. “I just can’t believe you still remembered that.” 

“Considering how we spent most of our college years over-caffeinated,” he says. “It’s safe to say I remember it.” 

“Over-caffeinated?” You think for a moment. “Sounds about right.” You pause for a moment. “Oh!” 

Namjoon slightly jumps from your random shout, which you do apologize for. 

“Sorry.” You put a hand on his arm with a not-so-innocent smile. “I just remembered: are you going to Moonbyul’s wedding?” 

He thinks. It had been a while since he received the invitation, but he definitely remembers getting it. “Yeah,” he says, after a moment. “Yeah, Jin and I are planning on going together.” 

“Still can’t drive?” you ask with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. 

“You know what,” he says. “I can’t and there’s no problem with me not having a license.” 

“I didn’t say there was.” You sniffle your laughter, as he pouts. 

“Don’t license-shame me.” 

“Not a thing, Joonie.” 

Before he can reply, he’s interrupted by Yoongi, who calls for him. 

“Namjoon!” 

You give him another smile, before heading back to the line. “I have to get back in the line. I’ll see ya. Thanks for the creamer.” 

Before he heads back to the main counter, he gives you a little nod.

He tries to ignore Yoongi’s cheeky grin. “Don’t say anything.” 

“Okay,” Yoongi says. “I’ll ask instead. Who was that and why do you look all slap-happy?” 

Ah, semantics. They were going to get him some day. Namjoon sighs. “That was (Y/N).” 

“From college (Y/N)?” 

“College (Y/N).” 

“Ahhhh.” He smirks. 

“Can you not?” Namjoon groans.

“Didn’t you tell me you used to have a crush on (Y/N)?” 

“Can we not?” 

“Not what?” 

“Elaborate.” 

“Oh, okay. So,” Yoongi starts. “From your exact words: (Y/N) is technically your first love, but you never confessed out of fear—of both ruining your friendship and also rejection, which is only natural. You thought you had a chance at graduation, where you knew the ties could or could not be severed. And yet…. you still didn’t confess and, now that you’ve run into your old flame…” His eyebrows raise in question. “How are things, ‘Joonie’?” 

Namjoon’s eyes narrow at him in speculation. “You remembered those details rather vividly.” 

Yoongi shrugs. “My therapist says I have good listening skills.” 

“You really have an answer for everything,” Namjoon mutters. 

“And yet, I’m the one who’s a high school dropout.” 

For once, Namjoon blanks, before deciding to change the subject. “I thought you said my order is ready.” 

“It is.” Yoongi sets the large cup onto the counter and gives a bright smile that is filled with sarcasm. “Bone apple tea.” 

“Thanks?” 

“It’s lingo,” he says. “Keep up with the times, man. You’re younger than me.” 

Namjoon groans, but he can’t suppress his grin. “Have fun with the morning rush. I’ll see you later, man.” 

“See ya.” 

On his way out, he gives you another wave goodbye, to which you wave back.

As he officially leaves the cafe shop, he makes his way back to the office. While his mornings are rather shitty, Yoongi does tend to make them brighter—but seeing you, on top of that, might have given him more energy than the coffee does.

February 14th, 2020

Friday, 8:30PM 

Moonbyul’s Reception

Celebration Ceremonies Wedding Hall 

—

“I think we can all agree that Moonbyul has a stronger image,” Hyejin says. “Despite the more masculine stereotype she’s categorized in, Moonbyul is a very loving, sweet, and tender person.” She pauses. “Although, Heewon probably already knows this.” 

She turns to the rest of the guests. “People say that love is supposed to make you feel nervous—your heart will pound and the anxiety will make you sweat. But, I think, love means sharing yourself with another person and you’re willing to work together to build that life with one another. Byul is someone you can share anything with—she makes everything feel more comfortable. Rather than making you nervous, she makes you feel at ease.” 

She pauses. “Heewon, you’re very lucky to have someone so dedicated and hardworking by your side. And, while I may not have known you for very long, I know you’ll take great care of her. Congrats to the MoonWon couple and may your marriage be blessed for all eternity.” 

Light applause is given throughout the room and Hyejin makes her way back to her seat at the main table, with the other bridesmaids and immediate family members of the two brides. 

Light conversations begin once again at each of the guest tables—Moonbyul and Heewon remain seated at their table, having greeted the guests earlier as they entered the reception hall. In the background, classical music plays softly (although, live music will continue to play after the cake has been cut). 

It’s been calm so far, but who knows what will happen once the bar’s open. 

Namjoon takes another sip from his water glass, listening as Seokjin rambles on about the perfect ramen. Next to Jin, there’s Hani and Yura, who look half confused and half-amazed at how much he knew about food. On the other side of Namjoon, Junghwan and Myungsoo are eating away at their plates, practically cleaning them with their utensils as they scrape the food off (despite that, Namjoon swears he heard both of them ask if doggy bags were doing to be given out). 

“There’s this cute little shop that Namjoon and I used to go to all the time. Remember, Namjoon? It had that seafood theme with the cute decorations?”

Namjoon’s head turns from his name being mentioned. “Yeah?” He blinks, recalling the cute fish tanks they had along the wall. Granted, the restaurant also sold sushi and he always felt guilty whenever he ordered the sashimi platters. “We should go back there sometime. They really do have the best ramen there. You should give it a shot, if you get the chance.” 

“I’m always up for food,” Hani says. “I’ll take the girls with me someday since you’re giving it such high praise.” 

“Well,” Namjoon says. “Maybe when Hyerin gets back from her honeymoon.” 

“Very true.” 

“It does sound like a cute date spot,” Yura adds. “Maybe I’ll get lucky enough to find someone to go with here.” 

“Ooh,” Seokjin says. “I’ll share the address with the newlyweds too. They can go on cute dates together!” Seokjin turns back to Namjoon with a pout. “We don’t go on any dates anymore.” 

“I’m busy at work, you know this.” 

“You can still try to make time like you do with Jimin, at least.” 

“I didn’t know you were dating,” Hani says, glancing between them. “Have you been together long?” 

Namjoon nearly chokes on his food from the laugh that escapes his throat. 

“We’re not dating,” Seokjin answers. “Namjoon’s got his eye on someone else.” Namjoon gives him a questionable look, which he ignores. “As a little birdie has told me.” 

Damn Yoongi and his big mouth. 

At that moment, there’s some microphone feedback coming from the front. 

“Hello?” Yongsun and Jaehwan stand on the stage and Yongsun carefully taps the microphone in her hand. “Hello, everyone. Can you all hear me?” 

“Yes!”

She smiles. “Well, I hope you’re all having a good time. We're just about to cut the cake, but, before that, Jaehwan and I have prepared a duet for the new couple for their first dance! I hope you all enjoy it and another congratulations to our brides.”

Jaehwan gives a thumbs up to the DJ in the corner, who gives another in return and starts to play a soft melody. The lights dim and, from Namjoon’s line of vision, he sees Moonbyul stand, bowing to her wife with a hand out to invite her to the dance floor. The two make their way to the middle and slowly start to sway together. Others start to join in too, listening to the soothing music provided by Yongsun and Jaehwan. 

Namjoon nods along to the song, along with the many others who stayed at their tables. He takes a glance around, spotting some of the other guests and that’s when he sees you with Wheein and Eric. An automatic grin appears on his face as he sees you. The three of you are holding hands and slowly swaying to the beat with bright, proud smiles as you all look at the lovely couple. 

He glances to the side, only to see Seokjin with a smug face. He feels the heat creeping back up his neck and towards his cheeks. Namjoon clears his throat, shifting in his seat from his friend’s eyes. “What?” 

“I think you know what.” 

“No, I don’t.” He clears his throat once more, feeling it dry up. “Stop staring at me like that.” 

“Staring at you like what?” 

“Like what?” Seokjin tilts his head in a mocking manner. 

Namjoon sighs as he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You know what I mean.” 

“No,” he says in a singsong tone with a higher pitch. “I don’t~” He gives another look to Namjoon, speaking up again, back in his normal tone. “That’s what you sound like right now. You can’t lie to me and you know it.”

Namjoon lets out another sigh. He does know it; he really can’t lie, especially to one of his best friends. Because of this though, he’s going to be teased endlessly. “Do you remember (Y/N)?” 

“Of course I do,” he says. “How could I ever forget the person you pined over for the entirety of college and afterwards?” 

“Can you please not mention that part?” 

“How could I not, though?” Seokjin tilts his head with a little smile that’s nothing short of mischievous. “You never confessed too, so that just added onto the secondhand frustration I had whenever you two were together.” 

“Oh my God,” he mutters. “I’m just gonna stop talking altogether.” 

“No, no, no,” Seokjin whines. “Please continue, I’ll be quiet.” 

“Okay,” Namjoon says with a sigh. “I may… or may not, have ran into (Y/N) a couple of times at some other weddings and the coffee shop—” 

“Which is where I got my info—” 

He gives him a look, which shuts him up. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Proceed.” 

“(Y/N) is also here—” 

Seokjin squeals, clapping his hands together—unable to contain his excitement. “Where? Where? Where?” 

“(Y/N)’s with Eric and Wheein right now.” 

“So? Go join them; talk to them, chat ‘em up.” 

“Dude, you’re a great hype man,” Namjoon says. “But, not that great. (Y/N) seems busy, I shouldn’t interfere with that.” 

“What you lack, my friend, is the confidence.” He pauses. “Do you need some of mine? Because I’d be happy to rub some onto you.” 

“No, thank—” Even though Namjoon (halfway) rejected him, Seokjin is already rubbing his hands onto Namjoon’s face and, at that, with a bright smile as he smushes his best friend’s face. 

After a couple of seconds, Seokjin pats Namjoon’s face, admiring his ‘work’ for a second. “There. You are set.” He gives Namjoon a little push. “Now go.” 

“Now?” 

“Of course now; they’re starting to cut the cake and (Y/N)’s gonna be alone.” He makes a shoo-ing motion with his hands. While Namjoon would rather let his anxiety take over, Seokjin’s got a point. Yongsun and Jaehwan have finished their duet; Moonbyul and Heewon have already moved on to cutting the cake, which have taken most of the guests’ attention—even Hani and Yura have moved themselves towards the front (granted, anything with food will draw them in). Better now than never. 

Namjoon stands up, straightening out his shirt and tightening his tie. Seokjin gives a thumbs-up and a pat on the butt, before Namjoon sets off towards your table. 

He takes long strides with, little to some, confidence. By the time he gets near your table, he stops behind you and lightly taps your shoulder. 

You turn around, greeting him with a bright grin. “I knew you’d be around somewhere!” 

“You were looking for me?” He tries not to look too shocked. 

“Considering how you said you were going to be here… Yeah, I kind of was.” You turn back to Eric and Wheein. “Scootch over, y’all. Namjoon’s got a seat next to me.” 

“Don’t even worry about it,” Eric says. “We’ll be out of your hair in a second.” 

“We’re gonna go get some cake and then we’re gonna go to the bouquet toss too,” Wheein says. “I also have to stop Hyerin from running into the kitchen to get more of the food. Don’t worry though, we’ll be back.” 

They both get up, waving you both goodbye, and catch up with the rest of the crowd. 

Meanwhile, you turn back to Namjoon. “So, what brought you over?” You lean your chin on your hand. “Was it my sparkling aura you felt the presence of?” 

He laughs, responding with a teasing tone of his own. “What else could it have been otherwise?” He shifts in his seat. “Are you having fun?” 

“You know me, Joonie,” you say with a laugh of your own. “I’ll find a way to have fun.” You eye him. “Are you having fun? Or are you planning on being anti-social again?” 

“Again?” His eyebrows raise. “How dare you. I am an introvert, not anti-social. I came to you this time.” 

“Uh-huh,” you say with crossed arms. “This time being the key phrase. Don’t you have other friends?” 

“I have other friends.” He pouts. “I came here with Seokjin.” 

You gasp. “I haven’t seen him in so long. I need to catch up with him; I miss him.” You poke your head around towards the dance floor, waving to Seokjin—who is currently doing his infamous traffic dance underneath the disco lights. 

“Wow. Really feeling the love here, (Y/N).” 

You turn back to him with a teasing smile and poke your finger into his dimple that he doesn’t even bother to try to swat away. “I’ve missed you too, Joonie.” 

He quickly takes your hand off his face, hoping you didn’t feel the heat that rises to his face. 

“We can make plans too,” you say with a nudge. “You know, instead of meeting at all these weddings.” 

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “That’d be a lot easier.” 

“Give me your phone.” 

Namjoon reaches into his pocket, easily pulling out his phone and hands it over to you. He lets you tap around on it, until he realizes something. “Wait, what are you doing? I have your number.” 

“I’m checking your schedule,” you say. “Makes things easier to plan.” You look up from the screen. “Especially since you’re an important businessman.” 

He closes his eyes, in an attempt not to laugh at the ridiculous statement, but the grin on his face gives his emotions away. 

You scroll through his calendar, before landing on a date. “I’m free for lunch on Wednesday.” You dangle the phone in front of him. “Think you can make some time for me?” 

“(Y/N), I can always make time for you.” He really hopes that didn’t sound as desperate as it did. 

However, he doesn’t think you care—as he spots the large grin on your face. 

“Great,” you say. “It’s a date.” 

Namjoon is unable to say anything, as he’s sabotaged by his own friend. 

Seokjin dances his way over, pulling him onto the dance floor. “Need to borrow him, thanks! I’ll catch up with you later, (Y/N)!” He gives a light push to Namjoon, who’s trying to keep up with Seokjin’s dance moves. “How’d it go?” 

“We set a date?” He tries to collect his thoughts, but he’s having issues with processing it. “I think?” 

“See what happens when you have a little confidence?” He interrupts before Namjoon can answer. “You’re welcome.” 

“Oh my God,” he mutters with disbelief. Sometimes, he really can’t believe the amount of confidence that this one man has. 

“Now keep dancing, that’s how we’re gonna make our way closest to the bouquet. I’m catching that and no one can stop me.” 

“Seokjin, why are you like this?” 

“Oh hush, you love me.” Seokjin does a little body wave to skim past the other guests. “Y’all better watch out ‘cause the king is coming!” 

February 19th, 2020

Wednesday, 12:30PM 

Emerby Eateries 

—

Namjoon’s fingers tap against the table, checking his watch for the time once again. He takes another sip of from his water glass, oddly feeling the anxiety hit. Does this count as a date? You did say it was a date, but… is this really a date? 

Before he can linger too long on the thought, the seat in front of him is taken—by you. You’re slightly out of breath and, from the sight of your hair being slightly out of place, he can assume you did a small run on your way here before you were any more late than you already were. 

“You’re late,” he says with a singsong tone. He picks up the menu, pretending to glance over the options. “You really haven’t changed since college.” 

“Tsk, tsk, Joonie.” You brush off his statement with a wave of your hand. “You’re just too punctual. I was just a couple of minutes late.” 

“More like ten minutes late.” 

“Potato, potato.” You grab your menu, glancing through the appetizers. “Time’s an illusion anyways.” 

He tries to stop his laughter, but one look at you and he breaks his fake anger. 

“Did you order anything without me?” you ask. 

“Of course not,” he says. “I figured you would want to share anyways, so you can decide on what you want.” 

“And jack the bill up? I’m not that type of person.” 

“Stand down,” he says. “Not what I meant.” 

You chuckle. “I’m just pulling your leg. But, seriously, is there anything you’ve set your heart on ordering?” 

“Well, the sandwiches look good.” His tongue clicks as he contemplates on his order. “I usually get those whenever I’m here, so I’ll probably get one. Do you know what you want?” 

“Not really, I’ve been stuck on the appetizers. Did you want to split one?” You set your menu down, but your eyes don’t leave it. “They got fried pickles and I kind of want to try them. They also have those cheese balls that those mukbang youtubers eat.” You look up at him. “I kind of want to try those, not gonna lie.” 

He smiles at the way your eyes sparkle at the thought. “I’m not stopping you, you know.” 

“I know, but will you eat it with me? I’ll even pay for them.” 

“Damn, (Y/N),” he says with a hand on his chest. “That’s how I know your love is real.” 

You let out another laugh at his words and Namjoon couldn’t help but admire how carefree you look. While the two of you were a chaotic duo, the chaos was more drawn out from your side—not really chaos, it was more of your impulsiveness. But, it doesn’t mean he didn’t enjoy those memories with you. In fact, he cherishes them the most from his college memories. 

He still can’t believe he let you convince him of breaking into the campus gym’s pool. There was also that time when you two were drunk and you told him you wanted to try rock climbing—at the end of the night, you took an hour to climb up to his top bunk, declared success, and passed out once your head hit his pillow. You also broke into a classroom with him, to explain your theories on how birds work for the bourgeoisie (while the theories were insane, he had to admit you had a really convincing argument, which was probably due to all those essays you had to write). 

“Do you know what you would like?” 

The server’s question makes him snap out of his thoughts. He looks at you expectantly and you do him the solid by answering first. 

“We’re gonna need some more time for the entrees, but could I get a couple of appetizers first?” 

“Of course, whenever you’re ready.” 

“Okay, so we’re going to start with the fried cheese balls with some fire sauce on the side, along with some fries.” 

“Anything to drink?” 

“I’m good with water.” You look to Namjoon. 

“Uh, me too. Water’s fine.” 

You both thank your server before she leaves and turn back your menus when she’s out of sight. There’s a moment of silence as you both deliberate on what to get. Namjoon’s already figured he would just get what he usually does a while ago; his menu is shut and left on the side as he waits for you to figure out what you want. He can only shake his head; you’re still just as indecisive as before. 

Light pop music plays in the background and his fingers tap along with the beat. He moves his focus to the window where people continue to pass by on the busy city street. It’s lunchtime, so he expected the foot traffic to pick up a bit (and it did)—which was why he wanted to go a bit earlier. After another moment, he turns back to you, only to see you already looking at him. 

“Having fun?” you ask with a quirk of your lip. 

“Always.” He leans back in his chair. “You figured out what you want?” 

“Yeah, it took a bit but I figured it out.” 

When the server comes over again, the appetizers are served and you both order the entrees. You and Namjoon split the appetizers, nearly finishing them until the entrees were ready. Between all this time, you two actually catch up. It’s more than just the casual conversations you’ve had at those weddings—you’re both taking more time to listen to one another (in a more sober conversation) and actually talk about the things you didn’t manage to get to. Next thing you knew, it’s already been nearly an hour. 

“Can you believe that we’re actually adults living in this capitalistic society?” You set your glass down. “We’re doing things like paying for bills.” 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s called responsibilities.” He lets out another laugh at the face you make from his word choice.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting. Don’t make me choke.” You take another sip of your water. “You know one way of knowing there’s the transition from childhood to adulthood is attending more funerals than weddings.” 

“It seems more like the opposite for us, don’t you think?” 

“Oh my God,” you groan. “You’re so right though. The amount of weddings I’ve been attending…” You shake your head, as if to convince yourself the number is lower than it actually is. “It’s kind of ridiculous. Don’t get me wrong, I love all of my friends, but Jesus Christ, it’s like they all had a pact to get married around the same time and decided to leave me out.” 

Namjoon sighs, playing with the leftover sauce on the side. “I’ve been to, like, five last year and I’m pretty sure it’s going to keep coming.” 

“I really feel you, Joonie. I really do. I have a couple more I have to go to later.” You let out a sigh. “Curse me for being so friendly with others.” 

“Haha, this is what you get for being popular.” 

“I am not popular; I just happen to be a bit more extroverted than you.” 

“More like a lot,” he says. “You definitely used to be a popular kid in high school.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. What’s wrong with a couple more friends?” 

“No, no, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a compliment: people enjoy your company and that’s how you managed to keep the ties you still have…” He pauses. “Like me.” 

You give him another teasing smile. “Glad to know you enjoy my company.” 

“It’d be awkward if I didn’t, considering I decided to have lunch with you.” 

“Oh, yeah, by the way, how long are your lunch breaks?” 

“Since I’ve moved up to management, I get more time, so about an hour or so—give or take.” 

Your eyebrows raise. “Wow, look at you.” 

He tries to suppress the blush from the look you give him. 

“And despite all of this,” you continue to say. “You still don’t have your license?” 

“Why are you bringing this up again?” He groans. 

“It came up organically when I was with Seokjin,” you say. “You know... After he managed to steal the bouquet from Sunmi’s hands.” 

“So,” he says with a glint in his eye. “You did talk to Seokjin that night?” 

“Yeah, I did. Found out a little bit about what you’ve been doing after college.” 

“So you talked about me?” 

For the first time today, the blush starts to creep up your face. Namjoon raises an eyebrow at the sight; for once, he seems to have the upper hand. You clear your throat, before taking another sip of your near-empty glass. 

“Don’t try to change the subject,” you say. “You still don’t have your license.” 

“I-I just never had the time and the office is close to my apartment…” He tries to find the words (excuses, if he’s really being honest). “All of my friends have their licenses, so I don’t see the appeal of getting one.” 

“So, what I’m hearing is, you have a uncommitted chauffeurs.” 

“Oh my God, (Y/N),” he says with a laugh. “I don’t have that much money yet.” 

“Yet. That’s the word to focus on.” 

You both laugh again. 

“Well, I would love to be your chauffeur anytime,” you say with another grin. “That is if you pay me for gas money.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. “Thank you for the offer though.” 

“It’s no problem.” You let out a sigh, but it’s more relaxed than tired. “I’m serious though. If you need a ride, you can always ask.” 

“I know, I know,” he says. He swirls his glass, trying to distract himself before he lets out his next words. “I know I can count on you anytime.” 

The sparkle in your eyes returns and Namjoon has to stop his heart from skipping a beat at the sight. 

March 10th, 2020

Tuesday, 4PM 

Shoreside Condos

—

Hey! Just a friendly reminder to RSVP to our wedding! 

We’d love for all of you to join! 

See you then! 

- Anna Young and Eric Nam

Namjoon squints at the email and its neat, curly font. If he didn’t have Eric’s email saved, he definitely would have thought it was some type of subscription he signed up for and completely forgot about from the words alone. 

He makes a mental note to dry-clean his fancy suit before the time comes. Although, realistically speaking, he has more than enough time to do so. He can probably (and most likely will) procrastinate on it.

As he tries to make the mental arrangements, in the background, the television plays on another generic movie channel that doesn’t play anything remotely worth paying attention to (he might make an exception for The Hunger Games though). Rapmon sits on the couch, next to Namjoon, with his front paws and head laying on Namjoon’s legs. One hand pets Rapmon softly and the other hand hovers over his laptop’s keypad as he quickly RSVP’s for the wedding and reception. 

Namjoon easily fills it out with one hand, humming along as he taps the individual keys. However, he realizes that there is a problem after submitting the form: he has no ride. From what he can recall, the others probably aren’t going, considering these were two separate friend groups—so there’s no point in asking anyone for a possible ride. Then again, he could always get an uber or carpool with someone else. 

He sucks in a breath, praying someone he knew would be on the guest list. Going back to his email, he looks over those who were sent the same email.

While he is acquainted with over half of the people, there isn’t anyone close enough he could ask. Jackson’s most definitely going with his long-time partner and there is no way Namjoon wants to be between the two of them. On the other hand, Amber is probably going with a group of people and he’s not really up for a conversation with a bunch of people he’s unfamiliar with. On top of all that, Eric is very sociable, so there are bound to be guests from all sorts of places (considering the unknown names from the email). 

Although....there is another option. 

He quickly picks up his phone, scrolling through his contact list. His finger stops as he hovers over your contact. He taps on it, but can’t find the courage to hit any button. The contact photo of you, smiling with a bundle of puppies (from that time you wanted to pet a bunch of puppies at Petco), is what his eyes linger on the most. 

While the rational side of his mind knows you would be ecstatic to go to Eric’s wedding with him, the irrational side tells him that he shouldn’t bother you. What if you think he’s just using you for rides? Are you just going to drop him off? Should he invite you as a date? But, most of all, what if you just flat out reject him? 

Rapmon senses his master is upset and tilts his head up at Namjoon as his paws start to pat him—at least, his leg—to make him feel better. Namjoon can only smile, patting his head in response as a silent thanks for the attempt to comfort him. However, because of that… 

“No!” 

One of Rapmon’s paws hits the call button and Namjoon can feel ten years of his life being shaved off as the tone starts to ring. 

“Ahhh!!!” 

Out of panic, he drops the phone quicker than a hot potato. Luckily for him, it lands on the soft carpet below. He looks to Rapmon, who looks around, panting—without a care in the world, as if nothing was wrong. 

But right now, everything is wrong. 

Before Namjoon could even pick up the phone, nevertheless hang up, the ringing tone stops and there’s a soft response. 

“Hello?” 

He stumbles around, trying to grab the phone, but hitting the coffee table with his foot and falling on his ass. “Oh shi—” 

“... Hello?” 

“Sorry!” he shouts aloud. He quickly puts himself together, sitting back on the couch and leans down to grab his phone. He clears his throat, before speaking. “Hello?” 

“Hey, Joonie.” He can hear your grin over the phone. What’s up?” 

“Oh, nothing much..” He lets a small exhale, trying to calm himself from the embarrassing situation. “Um, what’s up with you?” 

“Nothing really?” He hears some clutter as you are shifting the phone on your shoulder. “I’m just at home. You know, doing this and that.” 

“Oh, oh. Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you—” 

“Namjoon, you can never bother me,” you say. “What’s up though? Not that I mind you calling me a bit out of the blue.” 

He opens his mouth, unable to really find the words. “So, uhm… This is kind of stupid.” 

“More stupid than you cutting that onion?” 

“That was one time.” His eyes close, trying to repress his laughter and the embarrassing memory. “Let it go!” 

There’s a laugh on the other side of the line; your laugh is infectious, causing Namjoon to burst into a laughing fit as well. 

“Um, okay,” he says. He lets out a sigh. “This is, like, way earlier than I originally intended.” 

“Come on, Joonie. Spit it out; it’s just me.” 

That’s the problem though: it’s you. But he can’t say that without it sounding weird. His lips twist to try to find the right words. “Do you remember Eric?” 

“You mean the guy I met at Moonbyul’s wedding?” 

“Yeah, him.” 

“Yeah, I remember him. Why?” 

“Well, he invited me to his wedding…” 

“Oh, good for him.” 

“Yeah.. but I was wondering…” Maybe he shouldn’t ask, but he does anyways. “If you could give me a ride?” 

You let out a small laugh. “Of course I can give you a ride.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, when is it?” 

“It’s in April, which is, like, a month away, but—” 

“Considering how I can’t even plan the next day, I’m sure I’ll be able to give you a ride, like, a month later.” 

“Well,” he says. He can feel his shoulders tense a bit. “It doesn’t just have to be a ride…” His fingers absentmindedly toy with a decorative button on his couch. “Did you… did you want to be my plus one?”

There’s a bit of silence and Namjoon can only swallow, feeling all the moisture in his mouth. 

“... It depends.” 

“On what?” 

Your response is a bit softer from the original teasing tone you had before. “It depends if you really want me there.” 

He relaxes, easily leaning back onto the couch. “Of course I want you there, consider it a trade deal.” 

“A trade deal?” 

“I get a ride and you get free food?” 

You hum a bit into the phone. “I like that preposition, but could I refer to this as a favor?” 

“Considering that it is a favor,” he says. “Sure—I owe you one.” 

“I’m gonna hold onto that against you then.”

“I’m completely fine with that, (Y/N).” 

“Okay, just keep in touch and text me the details when you get the time.” 

Before you can hang up, he speaks up once more. “Hey, (Y/N)?” 

There’s a bit more shuffling, but it stops. “Yeah?” 

“Thanks.” 

“It’s no problem, Joonie. You can count on me anytime.” 

He smiles into the phone for the nth time and looks down at his feet, feeling the blush return. “I know.” He pauses. “I’ll-I’ll text you.” 

“You better, Joonie. I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Bye.” 

“Bye!” 

His phone screen turns black for a second, before returning back to your smiling contact image. His grin grows and he slumps back further into the couch, practically beaming once his body is bully molded with the couch. He turns back to his fluffy boy and plays with his fur, giving him thorough pets. “Such a good boy. I shall retrieve you a treat soon.” 

Rapmon barks happily at his spot, continuing to pant as he moves his eyes on the television screen. 

Meanwhile, Namjoon gets back to his spreadsheets, minimizing his personal email tab. He manages to do his tasks much happier now that he’s got something to look forward to. 

April 3rd, 2020 

Friday, 7:30PM 

Eric’s Reception

Bright Rings Event Venue 

—

“Anyone who knows Eric,” Eddie says. “Knows that he’s very easy-going. He’s able to get along with anyone, which is how he’s able to meet so many people and make so many friends. So, when I first introduced Eric to Anna, I thought this was nothing more than another just friends situation. Little did I know was that I would be standing here… as the best man for their wedding.” 

He moves himself closer to the main table, where the bride and groom are seated. “As Eric’s brother—and manager—I did not think that he would be married before me.” The crowd laughs light-heartedly. “Don’t worry, I’m not bitter about it. I’m glad Eric has found someone who’s willing to spend their life with him, especially after getting to know him.” He lets out a small laugh as Eric pouts from his seat. 

“Anyways, Anna—” He raises his glass. “This toast is for you. Consider this your official welcome to the Nam family.” 

The guests click their glasses with the others, exchanging pleasantries along the way. Namjoon comfortably smiles at you, and vice versa, before drowning a mouthful of the bubbly champagne that you two had previously cheered with. The chatter picks up once again as Eddie sits down next to his date at the main table with the newlyweds. Everyone resumes their conversations, slowly building up to, nearly, maximum volume. Birds of a feather flock together—Eric’s loud personality attracts many other eccentric personalities. 

Namjoon takes a look around, taking note of the other guests. There’s a wide variety of people; while some are from college, from what he could recall, most of them are unfamiliar faces and unrecognizable place settings. Although, he should thank Eric for his place setting—many of those at this table are faces he does know. 

Jackson and his long-time girlfriend and recently engaged fiance, Hua Yi, were seated (luckily) on Namjoon’s left side and you were placed to his right. On your right, you sat next to Amy Lee and Amber—who were like Eric’s non-biological sisters. You were making easy conversation with the other guests, both familiar and non, as per usual. Maybe it’s due to your presence, but Namjoon has been able to easily converse with others as well. 

Jaehyung, another close friend of Eric’s, is currently at the front of the stage to provide entertainment with his guitar. He sings a sweet melody, contributing to the light atmosphere—above all the chatter and light conversation happening. 

“You know, I’ve always wanted to play the guitar,” you say, leaning closer to him. “Maybe I should’ve joined the band kids in high school to pick up a little something.” 

“Well, I did band…. kind of.” His face contorts, remembering the piano lessons he was forced to participate in due to the school’s curriculum. “But, trust me when I say that it did nothing for me.” 

Your eyebrows raise. “Nothing?” You lean in closer, with an elbow propped on your knee. “You almost became one of those famous soundcloud rappers. I think you should give yourself some more credit.” 

“Yeah, well, I can only play chopsticks,” he says. “So, were those four years really worth it?”

“Is anything from high school really worth it though?” 

You both chuckle as the old memories from high school started to occupy your minds. To think that Namjoon had really spent four years, not knowing what the hell he was doing—only to study for four more years to survive life and work a stable job with a stable paycheck... Time really does just fly. 

“Oh my God,” he says. “High school was awful.” 

“College was fun though.” You let out a relaxed sigh as you lean back and your eyes nearly sparkle from the fond memories you’d made way-back-when. “That’s the time period anyone would go back to.” 

“I would prefer the experience without the debt though.” 

“Thank God for scholarships.” You give him a little nudge. “Am I right, Mr. 148-IQ?”

Namjoon rolls his eyes at your words in a playful manner.

Before he can respond back, microphone feedback plays through the speakers, causing most to wince at the sound. Eric and Anna have entered the stage area, nearly blocking Jae—who simply waves at the crowd with his head poking out from behind the couple. 

“Hello?” Eric says. “Can everyone hear me okay?” 

There’s a collective murmur and he speaks up once more. “Okay, we’re good. Before anything, let’s give another round of applause for Jae!” 

There’s a light round of applause for Jaehyung, who gives a big smile and wave. Eric continues to speak after it dies down a bit. “Thank you all for coming once again. We both really appreciate that you took the time to be here for us.” 

“Right now, we’re going to have our first dance,” Anna says. “So, we’re gonna slow things down with the musical accompaniment of our very own Ailee!” 

Next to you, Amy raises from her seat and makes her way to the stage. You, along with Namjoon, clap for her—cheering her on as she walks towards center stage. She chats a bit with Jaehyung as the two of them start to set up. After a bit, she does a bit of harmony with Jaehyung and, shortly after, the sweet, soft melody of the guitar starts to play. 

Anna guides Eric towards the middle of the dance floor, who’s got a grin the size of the entree plates; she places his hands on her waist and hers on his shoulders, leaning into him as the song continues to play. Other guests slowly join them as well, including Jackson and Hua Yi. 

In a couple of minutes, you and Namjoon are the only ones left at the table. You two continue to chat for the time being, even as the music changes and time continues to go by. The other guests come and go by your table (even Mark came by, but the thumbs-up he gives Namjoon made him quite flustered); some had left a bit sooner because of prior engagements they had arranged for the next day. 

By this point, it’s past three hours—the cake has already been cut and the bar is officially open for the rest of the evening. The loud personalities had just gotten louder as the night got longer. 

Yongsun’s alcohol tolerance has been hit as she swings on the stipper pole with a plate of cake in her hands. On the other hand, as the songs started to get more upbeat, Amy abandoned her post at the stage and headed towards the bar—where she’s been doing her own personal wine tasting (and karaoke session). Amber had briefly joined her, before deciding to lead an impromptu concert that may or may not have resulted with her currently crowd-surfing. Jackson is with Peniel… doing whatever they usually do (although, Namjoon definitely recalls Peniel holding very tightly onto a Naked smoothie bottle; something about getting naked at the reception). 

The chaos goes on, even with the two of you in your own little bubble. The only difference though… is the alcohol intake as the time had passed. Considering how many glasses you had drowned, along with the ones Amy kept recommending to you and the ones brought by other servers, Namjoon is starting to remember how good your tolerance is. Despite that, you are definitely starting to feel it hit hard all at once. Meanwhile, he’s suffering silently from a mere three glasses. 

You drown another glass of your white wine. “Ahh.” You lean back in your chair with closed eyes. “My guy, I definitely cannot drive for a while.” 

A giggle spills from his lips as the alcohol starts to flow throughout his system.  “I can’t drive at all.” 

You laugh along with him; his giddiness is contagious. “Are you drunk?” 

“Nope.” He pops the p, giving you a wide beam that showcases his perfect, shiny teeth.

You raise your eyebrows, but don’t say anything. You can’t focus on anything from seeing how red his face is. You can’t resist yourself and lightly tug on his ears—which are also a similar shade—to pull him a bit closer to you. “Joonie, you’re so cute when you’re drunk.” 

He feels the blood rush more into his cheeks, but he can’t help his smile growing from the compliment. Even as you’re squishing his cheeks together, he doesn’t pull away from your touch. 

“AYO!” 

Both of your heads turn towards the stage. Anna’s clearly had her fill of alcohol too. Her hair is in loose curls from the tight updo she previously had. She currently stands on the stage, the mic in one hand and her bouquet in the other; her wedding dress was already ripped—but it looks as if it was chopped with some basic kitchen knife—to a shorter length. 

“It’s time for the flower toss!” She waves it around, dangling it in front of the crowd. “Anyone who wants this can come and get it!” 

A small group of people start to push their way towards the front as Anna turns her back towards them. 

You divert your attention back to the man in your hands. “I’m gonna go.” 

“Will you be back?” 

“Very soon.” You look dead serious. “Swearies.” 

He nods his head (to the best of his ability, considering his face is literally in your hands) and watches on as you head towards the crowd, easily fitting in with the others. He leans his chin into his palm, watching you engage with a bunch of people, who are literal strangers to you. It’s amazing how you can easily and naturally insert yourself into a group of people. He knows he probably looks like some type of idiot, but, right now, you are the only thing that matters. 

Back at the stage, Anna counts, leaning back little by little with a swing of her hands. “3! 2!” 

Just as she tosses the flowers over her head, Mike yells. “Yeet!” 

“Mine!” Peniel calls. 

But Matthew gets there first. 

“Interception, bitch!” 

He knocks the bouquet from its original path. It was almost like a high school basketball match from the way it happened.

Next thing you know, a couple of grown ass men were starting a brawl over an overpriced floral arrangement. Jamie interferes the two, squeezing herself in between the two idiots and easily whacking them, effectively getting them to stop. 

“Not the tiddies!” 

“Shut the fuck up!” she yells. “This isn’t about you!” With each word, she uses the flowers to hit each of them. 

While everyone’s distracted, Jackson rips the flowers from Jamie’s hands. He makes his way over to Hua Yi, easily getting down on one knee. Before he says anything, Hua Yi rips the flowers out of his hands and yells. “We’re already engaged, you idiot!” There’s no harm in it, considering how wide her grin is and the blush that’s apparent on her cheeks. 

Eric, eventually, takes over the stage once more—his tie loose and tossed carelessly over his shoulder. Despite it being his wedding, he looks like he’s  seen some stuff happen. He stands next to Anna with the mic, which he definitely had to pry out of her hands, and simply sighs as he watches the chaos. “This is cancelled; y’all are banned—I’m calling the police.” 

Of course, everyone ignores his empty threat and continues to brawl over the flowers. 

Namjoon’s attention is taken away from the scene, as you move past the chaos, and head back towards him. You arrive back with a pout, immediately slouching back in your seat. He rests his chin on the table, inching closer to you with eyes that sparkle like an anime character. 

“I didn’t get it,” you whine. 

He pouts with you, feeling your pain. “I’m sorry.” 

You let out a sigh and proceed to take another shot. A drop spills from your lips, trailing down your neck and Namjoon’s eyes unconsciously follow it. 

“Joonie,” you say. 

His eyes go back to yours. “Yes.”

“I need ice cream.” 

“Ice cream?” His eyebrows furrowed together in concentration and thought. “They only have cake.” 

“Then we need to go to the ice cream, Joonie.” 

His eyes widen in a comedic size reeling you’re correct. He snaps his fingers, lifting himself from the table, and pointing directly at you. “You are a genius.” 

“I fucking know, bro.” You pause as you realize your predicament. “I can’t drive.” 

“Neither can I.” 

“Not like that,” you say. “I’ve had like…. more than five glasses.” 

“Really?” His mouth gaps open. “I lost count after the tenth one.” 

“Ten?!” You gasp. “Did I really drink that much?” 

“I don’t know, (Y/N). I said I lost count.” 

You blink at him, slowly coming to the realization of how much alcohol was actually in your system. “Oh my God.” Your pout returns. “But I want ice cream now.” 

He hums, rocking a bit in his chair, like an old man out on the front porch, to find some way out of the complication. His eyes finally met yours. “I think I have a solution.”

Friday, 11:45PM

After Eric’s Reception

Midnight Munchies

—

Your giggle overlaps with the sound of the bell that rings as you two walk into the late-night dessert shop. The workers greet you cheerfully, which you both respond back to. You are looking at the glass that showcases all the different flavors, whereas Namjoon tries to read the menu to the best of his ability—but his squinting shows how bad his vision is at the moment. 

Back at Bright Rings, after some common sense had slowly started to come back, you both searched up ice cream places nearby. Luckily, Namjoon found a place that served ice cream at this hour and it was close enough to walk to—resulting in an improvised, evening stroll which was just the two of you laughing at dumb jokes along the way (he may or may not have used some of Seokjin’s dad jokes along the way). 

Due to the lesser amount of drinks in his system, he sobered up a bit… On the other hand, yours still remained. But nothing can’t be fixed with a little bit of ice cream (at least, that’s what you said).

“Do you know what you would like?” 

Your attention has been turned to the server behind the counter. “Uh, not me.” Scooting closer to Namjoon, you give him a nudge. “Joonie, do you know what you want?” 

“I’m not sure,” he says with a slight frown. “What’d you think I should get?” 

You let out a small hum as you think, before pointing to the fruit flavors in the middle. “You like fruit flavored ice cream, and you definitely need to try something new, so I say you should get the melon.” 

“Okay,” he says with a nod. “I trust you.” He turns to the worker. “Can I please get a scoop of the melon ice cream?” 

“Would you like any toppings?” 

“Uhh.” He turns to you. “Should I?” 

“If you want some, then get some.” 

He hesitates a bit. “Strawberries?” 

The worker raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” 

Turning back towards the counter, he answers. “Yes.”

He receives his ice cream, waiting as you order yours and pays when you’re done—despite your protests. You two thank the staff and add some change into the tip jar, before heading out to go back to the venue to sober up a bit more. 

For a bit, you two are enjoying your ice cream in silence as you walk side by side. You both walk for about a block—his footsteps match yours and yours matches his. 

You’re the one who speaks up first. “Thank you for the ice cream.”

“It’s just ice cream, (Y/N),” he says. 

“Still,” you start to say. “Considering I practically pushed you into inviting me out—” 

“You didn’t push me. I wanted to invite you.” 

You look to him, simply giving him a small smile. “Thank you.” 

The two of you continue your walk back to the venue, but you abruptly stop and tug on Namjoon’s sleeve. 

“What’s up?” 

You point to an open park and, with another hand, you lightly shake his arm like an excited child. “Let’s go in there.” 

He smiles at the sight. “Okay, let’s go.” 

Your eyes gleam at him and you’re practically wiggling with excitement, before you sprint over towards the park gates like a child. 

He shakes his head with a chuckle as he follows behind you. By the time he’s caught up with you, you’re already settled underneath a nearby tree with a view of the lake. He heads towards you in long strides and silently seats himself next to you. 

You’ve already finished your ice cream—its remains left on the side. Namjoon manages to finish his, which isn’t hard considering how it’s half melted and less cold. White noise plays as you two sit back and relax. There’s a couple of bikers, dog walkers, and other couples that occupy the public space. But, for most of the time, it’s just the two of you in silence. 

It’s broken once you let out a loud breath and fall back onto the grass. You shift a bit, trying to make yourself comfortable, and tap the empty space behind him. “Come on, Joonie. It’s just me.” 

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Just give me a sec.” 

He leans back, feeling the prickly grass brush against his neck, and rests his hands behind his head. You frown from the distance, easily pulling his arm and resting your head on it, scooting closer to him. 

His breath gets caught in his throat from your proximity, but he doesn’t move away—almost in a near frozen state as you continue to lean on him. Right now, all he hopes is that you can’t hear how hard his heart is anxiously beating in his chest. 

Instead, he tries to focus on the clear evening sky. It would have been nice for the stars to be out, but this is just as fine (although, the view can be done without all the red helicopter lights that pass by). 

You let out a sigh, feeling a lot more sober compared to before. “Time is weird, huh?” 

“What’d you mean?” 

“It’s just—” You pause. “One moment, we’re just college students messing around and now we’re adults, doing things like jobs and going to the post office or something.” 

He chuckles. “The post office?” 

“Ugh.” You lightly hit him to get him to stop laughing. “You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh of his own. “I get it. It’s just… we’re grown ups—” 

“Ew, please don’t say that.” 

He chuckles again. “Look at us though. Could you have even imagined telling your younger self that the most eventful thing you’ve done this week is go to a wedding?” 

“Weddings can be fun,” you try to defend. “There’s free food and good music.”

“Good music?” 

“Better music than all those cringey ass middle school mixers.” 

“You’re right about that,” he says. “I think I’ll die if I hear another remix of a top 40 hit song again.” 

“You know which remix I hated the most?” 

“Which one?” 

“Love You Like A Love Song club remix.” 

He lets out a hearty laugh from your answer. “I didn’t know that was a remix.” 

“It is and it’s absolutely terrible. They did Selena so dirty.” 

“Did they now?” 

“Absolutely, Joonie. It’s a fucking monstrosity.” 

You look dead serious, which is probably what makes him laugh even harder than before. His laugh dies down to a chuckle. There’s another moment of silence afterwards, the two of you focusing your attention on the calm atmosphere from the silence of the park and the calm waters that lightly splash from a safe distance. 

The silence is interrupted as your phone goes off. Namjoon watches as you simply take the phone that was placed next to you. The light of the phone shines against your features briefly before you turn it back off. 

You make eye contact with him and he has to turn away, clearing his throat from being caught. “What’s up?” he asks. 

“Nothing really,” you say. “I just got a reminder for another wedding I have to go to.” You wave your phone, despite the blank, black scene. “I have to RSVP later… at some point.” 

He hums, understanding the situation. Suddenly, you sit up as you shake him lightly, causing him to sit up as well. 

“What?” he asks with apprehension. 

There’s a glint in your eyes that Namjoon is unsure as to whether or not he likes. 

“Remember that favor you owe me?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You wanna come to my friend’s wedding with me?” 

He leans back with a hand on the grass, contemplating whether or not he should. Would this count as a date? Nevertheless, an unofficial third date? 

He does owe you a favor too… 

So, it makes sense for him to accompany you to return the favor. 

He finally looks to you, whose head is tilted towards him in curiosity with a smile that shines brighter than the sun and eyes that sparkle more than any star in the sky. 

“Come on, Joonie. It’ll be fun.” 

“Count me in,” he says. “Consider it a favor being repaid.” 

Your smile turns into a beam before you settle back onto the grass with your eyes closed. “Let’s stay here a little longer.” You sigh. “I’m going to keep you for a bit, before I have to share you again.” 

He lets out a sigh of his own, but you don’t hear it. 

He’s already yours for the taking.

April 18th, 2020 

Saturday, 9PM 

Tiffany’s Reception 

Rosey Pink Palace

—

“I’ve known Tiffany for over ten years,” Jessica says. “I’ve lived with her, worked with her, and that meant learning a lot about her, as a person and a professional. She’s someone who finds the balance between idealistic and realistic. She has been looking forward to finding her Prince Charming and now she gets to have her fairytale ending. I have never seen Tiffany as happy as I’ve seen her with Kaun Yin.” She pauses, looking at the two. “So, let’s raise a glass to congratulate the Pink Princess for finding her Prince Charming.” 

The other guests give a light round of applause for Jessica, who gives another wave and smile—before she takes back her seat at the main table. Conversation is sparked once again amongst the guests. 

At your table, Namjoon makes small talk with some of the others at the table (mainly those who he’d previously met at Junmyeon’s wedding). Despite the fact that this is your friend’s wedding, which is filled with literal strangers and acquaintances, he’s managed to mingle fairly well without your guidance. But that’s also the reason why he’s been dragged into a conversation with another table—i.e., the table behind him. 

“Tiffany and I went out for ice cream once and she basically shamed me for not getting sprinkles,” Evan says. “I’m betting her cake is going to be the most colorful thing in the venue.” 

“The pinks aren’t colorful enough for you?” Nichkhun asks with a teasing smile. 

Namjoon lets out a laugh. “It’s called the Pink Palace, what other color did you—could you have expected?” 

“I thought maybe Kuan Yin would convince her to other colors,” Evan says. He lets out a sigh, swirling his wine glass. “I blame my optimism.” 

“If you know anything about Tiffany,” Nichkhun says. “Then you would know that no one could convince her out of something once her mind is set.” 

“How long have you known her?” Namjoon asks. “I bet it’s been some time now.” 

The handsome man ponders for a bit. “Probably about half a decade now,” he says. “Another one of my friends knew her and… we’ve been friends ever since.” 

“That’s a long time,” Evan says. “I’ve only known her for a couple of years. She helped me out with some of my Youtube videos.” He sips on his glass. “She did a makeover for me once.” He turns to Namjoon. “How long have you known her?” 

“Oh, I’m just a….” He tries to think of the word. Technically, he’s a date, so he should say date…. right? Something inside stops him from saying so though. “I’m just a plus one.” 

“Oh?” Nichkhun says with a tilt of his head. “Of who?” 

At that moment, you take back your seat next to Namjoon. You easily settle back in, giving him a smile, before noticing the other two. “Sorry, there was a line at the bathroom. Did I interrupt something?” 

“Not really,” Evan says. He points to Namjoon. “Is he with you?” 

“Yeah,” you say with a smile. “He’s my date.” 

He nearly chokes on his water at your words, but your smile just grows when you look at him. Before he can respond, the conversations come to a bit of a pause as the newlywed wife gets up from her spot, stealing the crowd’s attention. 

Tiffany makes her way up the main stage with a bedazzled, pink microphone in one hand and her dress in the other; Kuan Yin follows behind her with a hand holding the rest of her train, making sure she doesn’t trip on her way up the stairs. 

“Hello?” She taps on the microphone to double check. “Everyone, thank you so much for coming. We’re so glad you were able to make it. Let’s give one more round of applause for the maid of honor!” 

There’s another round of applause for Jessica and, once it dies down, Kuan Yin speaks into the microphone that remains in Tiffany’s hands. “She’s done a lot for us this past month and we’d like to thank her again for her hard work.” 

“Right now, we’re preparing for the cake cutting!” she says with a giggle. “Our wonderful servers are getting the cake ready and it will soon be out!” 

More light applause breaks the silence once more and, in a second, the two servers emerge from the kitchen with a rolling cart. 

On top of the cart is a three-tiered cake, various shades of pink are dotted around and smeared to look like a sophisticated art palette. Edible, at least what Namjoon thinks, glitter is decorated along the side and sparkles in the light. White frosting is decorated on the edges and sprinkles top them off. 

Well, Evan was right about one thing; it is colorful. 

You lean over towards Namjoon. “I’m betting there’s glitter inside the cake too.” 

“I’m willing to get into that bet too,” Nichkhun says. 

Namjoon and Evan laugh. 

On the other hand, Tiffany and Kuan Yin are already cutting the cake and passing it to the servers, who are immediately placing it on trays to serve to the other guests. You let out a little cheer once yours arrives. Next to you, Bora takes pictures of the slice that sits on her plate, showing them to both you and Na Eun, who’s sitting at her other side. 

“I’m glad she got the red velvet,” Bora says. 

“Yeah, it fits the aesthetic,” Na Eun replies. “And it definitely screams Tiffany.” 

You pick at yours a bit, splitting the cake to see the rest of the batter. “I totally called it. I knew there was gonna be glitter inside!” 

Namjoon just shakes his head, before grabbing a hold of his fork and diving into his dessert. 

As the cake is cut and distributed, the conversation builds up again and the sugar has started to hit. Your plate is cleared, but Namjoon can’t get past all the sprinkles (which is why they’ve been abandoned on the side of his plate and you took that chance to poke some fun out of him). 

In the midst of all the chatter, the newlyweds return back to the stage, along with Jessica, after the cake-cutting—with Taeyeon behind them, who has begun to set up the stage. 

“I would just like to thank all the guests, once more, who are here to support Tiffany and Kuan Yin,” Jessica says. “Right now, we have Taeyeon, another bridesmaid, who will be singing the song to their first dance!” 

Another round of light applause is given as Taeyeon gives a smile and wave. Meanwhile, Tiffany and Kuan Yin have arrived in the middle of the dance floor, looking at one another with so much love. Namjoon couldn’t help but be a bit envious. 

“Congratulations once more to the happy couple,” Taeyeon says. “This song is for you—I hope your happiness will carry on for the rest of your lives.” 

The guitarist starts to strum to a soft melody and Taeyon’s soothing voice starts to move throughout the venue. Other guests start to make their way to the dance floor as well, joining the slow dance. Namjoon moves his head along to the calm tune, swaying to it with his eyes closed. 

He hears your chair move and he peaks an eye open, only to see you standing with a hand out to him. 

“Would you like to join me for a dance?” 

“I thought we agreed I should never be dancing,” he jokes. 

You pout, putting your hand down. “We’ve been to so many weddings and haven’t danced once.” You put your hand out once more, wiggling your fingers underneath his chin. “Is little Joonie afraid?” 

“We both know I’m not the best dancer.” 

Your pout deepens and you take your hand away again. He has to stop himself from leaning back to your touch. 

“That’s your insecurity talking,” you say. “Besides you don’t know until you try.”

He lets out a sigh, hiding a smile, and wordlessly puts out his hand for you. “Okay, (Y/N). I trust you. Please lead the way.” 

Your pout turns back to a smile, easily grabbing his hand and leading him towards the bright tiles where the other guests are dancing. 

Taking the initiative, as per usual, you put his hands on your waist and lightly place your hands on his shoulders. He hopes you don’t notice how shaky his hands are, or how much more sweaty his palms have gotten. His heart pounds even harder in his chest from the close proximity.

He let out an exhale, trying to keep it under his breath to avoid hitting your face with his glittery cake breath. Despite being friends for the longest time, Namjoon can’t remember a time he’d been this close to you. There had been a couple of times when you would drunkenly cling to him or the time you asked for a piggyback ride… But he’s never seen you like this upclose. 

Under the sparkling lights, he can make out your features. Your eyes shine with excitement and anticipation, but he can’t tell from what. The way the slope of your nose dips is pretty, he notes—he’s never noticed. Your lips… they practically mock him. 

He can feel his throat feeling dry again. Where are the champagne flutes when he needs them? 

Even as he tries to avoid eye contact, your eyes don’t leave his face. A teasing smile appears when you take notice of his darkening cheeks. 

“What’s wrong?” you jib. “You’re doing good. Are you focusing all of your brain cells into your dancing?” 

He rolls his eyes at you, but it’s without malice. “Haha,” he says. “You know I didn’t have that many to begin with.” 

“You have 148 IQ.” 

“Let it go, (Y/N).” He sighs. “Let it go.” 

This time you roll your eyes at him, giving him a light shove. “You’re literally so smart. You need to embrace that more.” 

“Don’t get too cocky on my behalf,” he says. “I think I got burnt out by the time we graduated.” 

“Everyone gets burnt out,” you say. “Whether it’s emotionally, physically… Life has a way of doing that to you.” You lean a bit closer, settling your hands on the back of his neck. “What you choose to afterwards is how you decide its impact on you.” 

He straightens up a bit, but doesn’t necessarily move away from you, putting himself in a more comfortable position. “You don’t ever seem burnt out,” he says. “I wish I had that endless energy. I might actually be able to do something productive with my life.” 

“Hey,” you say. “You’re doing it again.” 

“Doing what?” 

“Downplaying your abilities.” You let out a sigh. “You did it, not even, two minutes ago. You haven’t even stepped on my foot; you’re going just fine.” 

He feels the heat on the back of his neck, hoping you don’t say anything about it. “Not yet, at least. Have you forgotten that tango class I accidentally registered for?” 

You grin from the memory. “Considering that we were able to grow closer from it and it was required, not accidental… I have not.” You tilt your head at him. “But did you forget?” 

“Forget what?” 

“How much you improved by the time the semester ended.” 

“I don’t know, (Y/N),” he says. “I didn’t get worse and that was all I was aiming for.” 

“Sure, you weren’t perfect, but you were pretty good by the end of it. Admit that, at least.” 

“Fine, I was pretty good at it.” He looks directly at you. “Satisfied?” 

“Not really, but I’ll take it.” 

The two of you sway for a bit, listening to the music and enjoying each other’s company. At some point, you lean against him with closed eyes. He smiles to himself, subconsciously pulling you closer and breathing in the faint scent of your shampoo. Letting out another sigh, he can’t help but think of himself that he could get used to you in his arms. 

April 28th, 2020

Tuesday, 4PM 

The Roasted Bean

—

“Do you want to come to China with me?” 

You choke on your tea. “Shit,” you manage to cough out with. 

Namjoon scrambles to pass you the napkins and can only look at you with concern as you continue to cough. He waits for you patiently, expecting this kind of response from you.

When you had agreed to meet up with him for coffee, Namjoon said to himself he was going to plan what he would say to you… cut to the day of and he had planned nothing except, well, that. 

Damn, procrastination really doesn’t stop. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. You dab the corners of your mouth, trying to wipe off the remains of the tea that spilled from your lips. Your hands settle on the table as you look at him incredulously. “Did I hear that correctly?” 

“In hindsight, maybe I should have provided some context.” 

“A little would have been nice,” you say with a slight shrug. 

He lets out a sigh, shifting in his seat. “I’m going to Jackson’s wedding,” he says. “... which is located in Hong Kong. I made the reservation awhile back, so I took a couple of vacation days to go to it and join them in the festivities. I even got Jungkook to dogsit RapMon, but, then again, that could easily go downhill. But, I thought, you know, since we’re, like, wedding buddies, you might want to go with me?” 

“Wedding buddies?” you ask with a raise of your eyebrow. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.” You take another sip of your tea. 

“It’ll be fun?” he says with an awkward smile. “Besides, you know Jackson.”

“I’ve met him a couple of times, yeah.” You take another sip from your cup. “I obviously wasn’t close enough to get an invite, but I know him.” You try to think, as if you were pondering the pros and cons. “I do know some people who were going to be in the wedding too.” 

“You do?” He shouldn’t be surprised, but couldn’t help the curiosity. 

“Yeah, there’s Mark. There’s also Jinyoung and Youngji.” 

“Even if you didn’t know anyone,” he says. “It’s not like you won’t make new friends.” 

You give him a shy, but proud smile in return. “I do adapt well.” Your eyebrows round from a realization. “Wait.” You give him a confused look. “You were originally planning on going to China…. by yourself?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks with a slight pout. “Is it a bad idea?” 

“No,” you say. “Rather the opposite.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“How do I say it?” you mutter, more to yourself than aloud. “I guess—it might just be because I know what you’re like.” 

“... Elaborate.” 

“It’s not supposed to be a bad thing. It’s just that—I say this with affection, okay?” You clear your throat a little and lean back into your seat. “You don’t really leave your comfort zone, which isn’t a bad thing—it’s just a bit surprising that you are willing to leave the comforts of your home.” He doesn’t get the chance to respond; you continue to talk. “But, another thing I know is you’re fierce loyal, so it’s not necessarily that surprising. Even then, it’s a good surprise because this might be good for you.” 

There’s a brief pause as he thinks to himself, absentmindedly swirling the remains of his coffee from his glass. You’re right (with both of your points). It’s not that he’s offended, or mad. It’s just that… you’re right. That’s it. 

He knows he’s more of an introvert, which isn’t a bad thing—he just takes a bit longer to adjust to new surroundings and unfamiliar people. He’s very self-aware of it rather than self-conscious about it. To be honest, he really didn’t think things through all the way; he couldn’t say no to Jackson, especially considering how close they are with one another. The thought of brushing up on his Chinese also crossed his mind momentarily, but this trip is really more about supporting Jackson and Hua Yi. 

“Namjoon?” 

He freezes, snapping out of his thoughts. “Sorry, I just, like, spaced out.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, just lost in thought.” He clears his throat. “What were you saying?” 

“Nothing of that much importance, but—” You pause. “I just think this would be good for you, you know? You’d get some time off from work, get together with your friends, explore a new place, etc.” 

“It’s just a week or so,” he says. “It’s not much, but… it’s something.” 

“Yeah, but you never know.” 

He hums, agreeing with you, as he taps his fingers lightly against the table. The tapping stops. “Wait, you never answered my question.” 

“Wait, what was the question?”

  He chuckles. “Did you want to accompany me to Jackson’s wedding in China?” 

“Well,” you drag out, fiddling with your napkin. “I would need to see all the details, figure out a couple of things, but, overall…” You practically beam at him. “I’d love to.”

May 13th, 2020 

Wednesday, 9AM 

East Asian Airlines

Incheon International Airport

—

You nearly elbow him as you try to settle into your seat. Your neck pillow barely hangs on your shoulders, as you reach over to adjust the incline and decline with one hand and manage your downloaded playlist on your phone with the other. 

“Whoa,” Namjoon says, trying to escape from your flailing arms. “You know this isn’t an overnight flight, right?” 

You let out an exasperated exhale that’s far more dramatic than it needed to be. “Joonie, comfort is always a priority.” 

“I didn’t say anything was wrong with comfort,” he started to say. “I’m just saying it’s a bit much for a four hour flight that you’re 100% going to fall asleep on.” 

Your jaw drops. “The audacity.” 

“Am I wrong?” 

Your jaw promptly closes at his words, your lips twisting to the side. “No,” you mutter.

He lets out a laugh, patting your head as some type of reconciliation—messing it up a bit. “Sorry, I only speak the truth.” 

You grumble in your seat once more, playfully glaring at him with a petty look in your eyes. Without breaking eye contact, you lightly slap his hand away and start to fix the mess he created on your head. “Says the man who told Taehyung he looked handsome after his home haircut, but okay. Pop off.” 

His eyes narrow at your sarcasm, but he doesn’t say another word. 

While you fiddle with the light and air conditioning functions above, he plucks out an airline magazine from the seat in front of him—in an attempt to ignore the numbness of his long legs due to the small, cramped area he’s been provided. 

Curse this capitalistic society and the stupid economy seats. 

He flips open a page, glancing through. Most of the pages are promotions for products that no one really needs. There’s also an absurd amount of pillows that they were insisting to be sold. Who needs a pillow that can work as a lap-desk? Or a bendable neck pillow that can be twisted into a hugging pillow? There’s also a pillow that can be folded into a miniature pillow. These are all awful, he thinks. 

As he inwardly questions and critiques each product, he fails to notice that you’ve finished settling in, tugging on his jacket to get his attention. 

“What’s up?” he asks without looking up. “Finally settled?” 

“Say all you want, Joonie, but when I’m napping like a champ, you’ll be restless in your spot like a chump.” 

He stifles his laughter, raising his eyebrows from your words, flipping through the pages without actually looking through them. “Okay, (Y/N). Whatever you say.” In his peripheral vision, he can see you pouting from his lack of reaction. 

You lean back in your seat, taking another deep breath. “You know, I think this is the first time we’re traveling together, isn’t it?” 

“I think it is.” He looks at you. “This is our first trip together.” 

“Well, first overseas trip.” 

“First overseas trip,” he says with a hum. “You think there’ll be more?” 

You smirk. “Only if this one is a success. But, for now, we’re just wedding buddies.” 

“Wedding buddies?” He lays a hand on his heart in mock hurt. “We’ve known each other for years and this is what our relationship has come to?” 

“You defined it first,” you say with a poke of his chest. “If anyone is to blame, it’s you.” 

His lips are pulled back—half frustrated at himself and half disappointed. Before he can retort, the bell has been rung and the attendant’s voice comes on over the intercom. 

“All passengers, please take your seats as we are taking off at 9AM sharp.” 

Another bell rings and the seatbelt image flashes on. The attendants go around, checking the seatbelts and others begin to start the safety procedures. Namjoon tries to remember it all, but eventually finds himself accidentally tuning out the information. Sensing his panic, you remind him that it’s also in the same pocket he’d been grabbing magazines out of. 

After a little while, the plane starts to ascend. Both you and Namjoon wordlessly look out the window, taking in the view as the buildings get smaller and smaller. Once the captain had announced that passengers are now allowed to roam about the cabin (with reason, of course), you lean back in your seat and plop in your other headphone. 

“Wake me up when we’re descending?” you ask. 

He nods, letting you play your music and close your eyes. About twenty minutes pass and you’re already asleep, But, your neck pillow is still barely hanging on your shoulders. He manages to adjust it comfortably for you, without waking you up—he’d call that a victory for his clumsy ass. 

To pass some time, he goes through some more magazines, eventually getting bored of them. He should’ve downloaded a playlist or something; granted, you did nag him a bit to do so at the terminal gate because you didn’t want him being bored on the plane. 

As usual, you were right. 

He looks over at you once more, before deciding that he should nap too. 

If he’s being honest, he was too nervous last night to get any sleep at the thought of spending, nearly, an entire week with you… in an unfamiliar country. He really didn’t think these things through. On one hand, it’s normal to invite long-time friends on trips and go to events together, platonically. On the other hand, he technically had feelings for you. But, he also thought those feelings had died down… until he actually started to talk to you again. 

Deep down, he knows the feelings never really died but that’s a conversation he’s not ready to engage in. But, he’s also aware that he’s stupid and lacked the brain cells to even think of the possible cons that would come when he invited you to an overseas wedding...

Sleep, Namjoon thinks. Sleep is great for avoiding problems like these. 

He lets out a long sigh, settling into his seat with a close of his eyes. 

Yes, sleep is the best solution. 

...

Ding. “Passengers, you will need to return to your seats soon as we are close to our destination.” Ding. 

As Namjoon starts to regain consciousness, the light from his window that shines on his face stirs him awake. He lets out a sigh, lifting his head from yours as he rubs his eyes. You remain asleep on his shoulder with your headphones still intact, but your neck pillow sits uselessly in your lap. 

He’s suddenly awake and aware of your current position. He unconsciously clears his throat, instantly feeling thirsty, causing you to shift a bit closer to him. 

The intercom comes on once more. “Once again, passengers, if you could please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts, we’re going to begin to descend soon.” 

From the announcement, he lightly shakes you. “(Y/N),” he whispers. 

When it doesn’t work, he shakes you a bit harder. “(Y/N).” 

You let out a groan from being awoken. “Ten more minutes.” 

He shakes you again with a bit of a laugh. “You don’t have ten minutes.” 

“Give me ten minutes then.” 

“No, wake up.” 

“No.” 

“(Y/N),” he whines. “Wake up.” 

You let out another groan, reluctantly opening your eyes—immediately shutting them from the bright lights of the afternoon sky. “Are we there yet?” 

“Nearly,” he says. “Why did you think I woke you up?” 

“To torture me?” 

“I wouldn’t do that to my precious wedding buddy.”

“Damn,” you say. “Your sass levels are up.” 

He laughs in response. 

Your conversation is interrupted as the bell rings once again, the attendant’s voice filling the air. 

“All passengers, we are descending to our destination.” 

You let a small squeal of excitement from the official announcement, leaning out towards the window to take in the new sights. He can’t help but smile at your childlike wonder, moving himself out of the way for you to take in the scenery as the clouds start to part. 

“We apologize that there will be a bit of turbulence, so if you may all please fasten your seatbelts for your safety. Once again, we are starting our descent—passengers, we welcome you to Hong Kong. Thank you for choosing to fly with East Asian Airlines. We hope you’ve had a wonderful trip.” 

A/N: Thank you for reading the first part of Plus Two! Please do not ask about updates—you can check the upcoming page to check on the status of the second half! 

[supremeuppityone]

Written for Klaroline Valentine's Day Bingo 2020 @kcvalentinesbingo

Prompt: Casablanca

Author’s note: This was inspired by Ricky Gervais’ 2020 Golden Globes monologue, in which he thoroughly pissed me off.

Warning: Potential triggers; implied assault survivor

Please review here.

           Red. Everything was red. The rage sank into Caroline’s bones until nothing was left. From the uncomfortable murmurs of the rest of the audience, it was clear that she wasn’t the only one furious with Alaric Saltzman’s patronizing speech to open the Oscars ceremony.

           “If you do win an award tonight, don’t use it as a political platform to make a political speech. You're in no position to lecture the public about anything, you know nothing about the real world. So, if you win, come up, accept your little award, thank your agent and your God and fuck off.”

           There were so many things wrong with the washed-up comedian’s vile statement, that Caroline let out an audible gasp, not bothering to let her features settle back into a polite mask. Her agent was going to be pissed if the cameras happened to catch her now. But it was nothing compared to how pissed Katherine would be in a little while. As a nominated filmmaker, Caroline understood she was in a unique position to make a call for social change. And as one of the few female filmmaker nominees, it was her responsibility. She covertly took out her phone, typing a quick message to her staff, and then leaned back into her seat with a self-satisfied grin. Game on.  

           Her documentary focused on Congolese women who were taking back their communities torn apart by sexual violence. It was her honor to give voice to the warrior women who had created safe spaces for women — teaching them self-defense, providing legal representation, and fostering marketable skills.

           She toyed with the orange and red bracelet, hiding a bittersweet smile as she recalled the way some of the women at the community center had attempted to teach her how to make the rolled-up paper beads. It was the day she shared her story with them. Her pain had been her own for so long. She’d nearly punched Katherine for telling her the bracelet clashed with her designer gown and that she should instead go with the loan from Bulgari.

           The back of Caroline’s neck prickled as though she could feel the weight of someone’s stare. Casually glancing around the packed theater, her blue eyes widened when she realized Klaus Mikaelson was staring at her. Wildly famous, the dimpled British actor’s mantle must be overflowing with prestigious Oscars, BAFTAs and Golden Globes. Why was he staring at her? Again. Despite years in the industry, this was the first awards season her work had garnered enough attention to warrant nominations. And unwanted attention from A-listers.

            A few months ago, she’d attended the Directors Guild Awards, slightly starstruck and still in disbelief that her work was finally getting recognition. She nervously was sipping champagne when someone insistently tapped her shoulder. Familiar with many of the more heinous Hollywood Gropers, she whirled around, ready to shred some wrinkled, self-entitled balls. She stopped short when she realized it was a skinny teenager who somehow managed to look even more nervous than she.

           “Um. Hi! So, um I think you’re Caroline Forbes. Right?”

           Caroline softened, assuming his painfully earnest demeanor meant he was an intern or one of the stage assistants. Her smile was gentle as she said, “Yes, I’m Caroline. What’s your name?”

           Brown eyes went round with excitement as he took both of her hands in his, wildly shaking them up and down as he gushed, “I’m Henrik and I go to USC and we just studied you in my Defining the Feminine Narrative class!”

           Flustered, she could feel an enormous smile spread across her face. It was rare that she encountered someone who knew who she was. Now what? Offering to sign something or pose for a photo sounded unbelievably pretentious. “Oh, wow. Thank you,” she finally said, “I had no idea.”

           “I’m actually um, doing a research paper right now on your documentary about dowry-related violence in India,” he shyly confessed, hiding behind his long brown hair.

           “Seriously?! I just started cataloguing some additional footage; trying to decide if there’s another story to tell. If you want to give me your email, I’d be happy to share my research with you. Maybe it will inspire you to create something amazing.”

           Before Henrik could respond, an unexpected voice interrupted, “Impressive chat-up lines, little brother.”

           Klaus stood there with his sexy dimpled grin that always spelled box office gold. And he’d been poured into that tuxedo. Damn. “Klaus Mikaelson,” he said, as though she hadn’t watched every movie he ever made, “and I had no idea Henrik was such a fan.” He put a companionable arm around the timid boy, telling her, “Henrik’s the true talent in the family. Thank you, love, for noticing.”

           He eyed her with interest, and she immediately reddened, cursing her painfully white skin for making every emotion so obvious. “These ceremonies are so frightfully dull. Would you like to join us at our table, and then perhaps later, you and I could go for a drink?”

           Damn it. He was one of those guys. Now flushed with irritation rather than embarrassment, Caroline replied, “You should ask Tatia. It’s only polite — since she’s your date.” Lately, the gossip sites had exploded with headlines gushing about the whirlwind romance between Klaus and the stunning supermodel, Tatia Petrova. Even if there was the chance it was a clever ruse to garner media attention, there was no way Caroline wanted any part of that nonsense.

           Klaus flashed that dimpled smirk again, his accented voice amused as he said, “Tatia is more of an...inconvenience than a permanent fixture in my life. There’s only so much frivolous chatter I can tolerate. But I suspect that you would provide endlessly fascinating conversation, sweetheart. You’re starting to make a name for yourself with all those exotic travels and penchant for saving the world. There’s a light that shines in you; it sets you apart from the rest.”

           He was seriously giving her the ‘you’re not like other girls’ speech. Dick. “Pass,” she said flatly, already starting to walk away. “But thanks for adding bad pickup lines to my ever-growing list of atrocities I need to save the world from.”

            Thunderous applause interrupted her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. Where Klaus was still staring at her rather than paying attention to the clip they were showing from his nominated performance. His performance in the Casablanca remake had earned him the Best Actor nomination, with critics and media outlets proclaiming his work in the big budget production to be a crowning achievement in his stellar career. Despite her indifference to the original 1940s movie, she still eagerly went to see Klaus’ remake, and his performance as the expat Rick had left her breathless. His American accent had been impeccable, and she actually got a bit teary-eyed when he arranged for his onscreen love interest, Lisa, to board the plane to safety while he stayed behind.

           Caroline could feel the heat rising in her cheeks the longer Klaus stared at her, irritated at herself for paying far too much attention to the gossip sites that announced Klaus’ amicable split almost immediately following their disastrous first encounter. She did not have time for Hollywood fuckboys. Even the ones with dimples. She had a world to save. Lost in her thoughts of burying her stupid crush on Klaus, she completely missed that he’d apparently won and was being herded offstage.

           She leaned forward eagerly as her documentary category was called. Regardless of the winner, her documentary had garnered enough attention that a few months ago, she’d learned an anonymous donation singlehandedly funded the Congolese women’s charity for the next decade. It was rare that people surprised her. Maybe one day she’d learn the identity of the generous donor. While the vignettes played for each nominee, her heart giving a funny little tweak as she held her breath in anticipation.

           “And the winner for best documentary feature is...Conflicted Hearts: Congolese Women Fight Back, by Caroline Forbes!”

           The thunderous applause was deafening, and Caroline sat there in shock for several moments, unable to get her legs to move. When she finally managed to walk to the stage on shaky legs, she fervently hoped she hadn’t sweated through her Arcadius original. She cringed as Alaric grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him for a congratulatory kiss that she managed to avoid by jerking her head away. He should know better. Hazel eyes flashed as he angrily hissed, “Just smile for the camera and keep the whole ‘boohoo women bitching about a little flirting’ bullshit out of it. No one cares about your whiny politics.”

           She burned him with her gaze, the oranges and reds of her gown a perfect backdrop for her fiery rage. Not bothering to respond to his unspoken threat, she stepped to the podium, pleased to be bathed in the stage lights, drawing energy from their warmth. “I’ve now been told twice tonight not to get political. It’s stupid to think I’m going to start following orders now. We’re some of the most fortunate people in the world. We have an extraordinary platform that allows us to reach millions. And it’s our responsibility to use it. We live in this world too and we should be working just as hard as anyone to make it better.”

           The loud clapping sounded like vindication, and she hoped that the cameras were zooming in on Alaric’s face as it immediately purpled in anger. “My film is dedicated to the Congolese women who let me into their world, whose unparalleled strength gave me the courage to put into words my own trauma. They are warriors, and I hope that the anonymous donor who helped fund their women’s charity for the next decade understands the hope they’ve given to so many.”

           Her smile was a vicious blade as she announced, “Thriving in front of my bullies is sometimes the whole reason why I get out of bed. I just started a charity tonight because I know I can’t be the only woman who’s been told to keep ‘boohoo women bitching about a little flirting bullshit out of it’. My organization will help women speak out about sexual harassment and assault in the workplace, providing much-needed legal assistance and support to help them overcome the personal and professional consequences that make it difficult to speak out. It’s called ‘CARE’.”

           The standing ovation was immensely satisfying, but then she added, “And it stands for Condescending Asshats Refuse to Evolve’,” which had the theater shouting her name excitedly. Not a bad night.

           As Caroline was ushered backstage, she basked as so many warm smiles and enthusiastic handshakes congratulated her, pausing only once to catch Alaric’s furious expression. She held his gaze just as fiercely, pouring out every viscous word she wasn’t ready to speak. But one day she would be.

           Backstage, she nearly ran over Klaus. Flushed from his own win, he beamed at her while offering her a steadying hand. “Congratulations, love. Your win was well-deserved, and I don’t recall a more compelling speech. You’ve set a precedent tonight that undoubtedly will bring about much-needed change.”

           She blushed to the roots of her hair, wishing she hadn’t worn the intricately plaited hairstyle so she could give her hands something to do. “Uh, thanks, and you too. Your work in Casablanca was amazing.”

           “You saw my movie?”

           Caroline was taken aback by his hopeful, pleased tone. “I’ve seen all of your movies. Everyone has.”

           “I’ve seen yours too,” he confessed, ducking his head shyly. “Henrik is quite the fan and has all of your documentaries — even the one you created fresh out of film school where you exposed the hypocrisy of a ‘morality clause’ for beauty pageant contestants in your hometown.”  

           “Seriously?!” She gaped at him, unsure of what to say. She hadn’t thought about that in years. That documentary had gotten the attention of several groups, which eventually led to funding for bigger projects and more exposure to the causes that she was the most passionate about. “I had no idea that you’d...I mean, I’m flattered you took the time to watch my films.”  

           The tips of his ears reddened as Klaus replied, “Meeting you was a bit of a revelation for me. Your drive, your fearlessness at giving people a platform so their voices and stories can be told — it’s inspiring. It made me want to make some changes in my life, which I started doing several months ago.”

           “I had no idea. I’m, uh, glad to have helped. Can I ask about the changes?”

           “Maybe someday I’ll tell you,” he answered enigmatically. “In the meantime, I’d be honored if you would accept my donation to your CARE charity. I’m doing my best to be a reformed condescending asshat.”  

[inthroughthesunroof]

A Question Of Price

Yaaaaay Queen Calanthe! I badly wanted a different storyline, and I got it. :-) This is the story that the fourth episode of the Netflix show was based on - the one with the banquet where everyone’s fighting over who gets to marry the princess Pavetta and become the next King of Cintra. Once again the TV show follows the story pretty closely, though there’s one major, MAJOR difference at the end. Under a cut because spoilers, and also long!

Jaskier isn’t in this story. A random servant gets Gerald all bathed and dressed up. Boo.

The banquet guests are even more colorful and funny than in the show. There’s a dude nicknamed Coodcoodak, which I’m almost certain is a Polish onomatopoeia. @fthgurdy ? He got that nickname because he has a talent for imitating animal sounds. Which he does. At volume. Through the whole banquet.

“BRAAAK! Ghaaa-braaak!” roared Coodcoodak suddenly, to loud applause. Geralt didn’t know which animal he was imitating, but he didn’t want to meet anything like it.

:-D :-D :-D

This story isn’t as well written as some of the previous ones - everyone makes painfully long speeches. IMHO the entire story should have been about 2/3 the length. But anyway.

I don’t think Calanthe gets as much characterization as she does in the show, and unlike the show we haven’t met her previously as an older, wiser queen. The ‘burps louder than the boys’ personality/act isn’t present at all, though the story is still very clear that Calanthe is struggling to hang on to power because sexism, and the much gentler Pavetta doesn’t have a hope in hell of defying tradition and ruling in her own name. Calanthe is absolutely ruthless in doing what she needs to do, and the story portrays her as correct to do so (if sometimes misguided in her targets), and it’s awesome.

The one soft moment we get is when Calanthe refers to the deceased king as the ‘gentleman of my heart and bed’ in front of her entire court. I melted.

I’m curious about how y’all think the show did her dirty. Coming at it from the other direction, I don’t see it? At least not so far. In the show she tries to get rid of Duny by all means fair and foul, and at the end grudgingly resigns herself to not being able to fight fate. And also realizes that he’ll make her daughter happy, which isn’t the worst thing that could happen. In the story she seems to make a complete 180 and is thrilled about Duny by the end, which I didn’t really buy. She’s way too strong willed a person to change that quickly.

I don’t remember if they mention Pavetta’s age in the show, but the story repeatedly says that she’s 15. Duny has to be at least 30, which, ew. Though in a context where Pavetta is literally getting pushed by destiny to fall in love with him, coercion due to an age/experience gap is rather beside the point. I do wish the author had aged her up at least a few years, or at least acknowledged that she’s really young for this - if nothing else, pregnancy is very hard on a 15 year old body. And no, it wasn’t actually ‘like that back then’.

Watching the TV show, I was confused by the scene where Pavetta starts tearing the hall apart. What’s she trying to do? She’s already stopped them from killing Duny, she doesn’t need to keep going. Eventually it becomes clear that she’s never done magic before and she’s not in control of it. Two lines of exposition could have kept me engaged with the scene instead of going ??? I was amused to find that the story has those two lines, almost word-for-word what I thought was needed.

The one big change:

At the end of the TV episode Duny says he owes Geralt a debt, and Geralt tries to wave it off by asking for the law of surprise. I literally screamed “No you idiot!!!!” at the TV. The look of chagrin on Geralt’s face when Pavetta’s pregnancy is revealed is priceless. One of my favorite things about Geralt is how he’s destiny’s personal chew toy despite his attempts to wiggle out of it. I gather that this one turn of events sets up much of the rest of his life, despite his continuing attempts to duck out of his obligations to a child surprise, and I love it.

(As an aside, ‘child surprise’ sounds like the name of a dish offered at extremely dodgy taverns that you really, really shouldn’t order. Does it sound as weird in Polish as it does in English?)

In the story, we get a lot more exposition about how witchers are made. They have to be ‘born under the hand of fate’, or something like that, and it’s increasingly rare and witchers are perforce dying out. Geralt tells everyone that by asking for the law of surprise - which he himself was born under - he’s hoping to get a child surprise that he can then train to be a witcher.

Given that Calanthe was willing to murder Duny to protect her family and kingdom, announcing that he intends to take her firstborn grandchild and put them through an extremely painful and usually lethal process to turn them into a witcher seems like a very bad idea. If Calanthe doesn’t immediately start trying to kill Geralt, I’m going to be disappointed.

Loved this story. I think I prefer the TV show’s character interpretations, but still. I stayed up way too late reading this one and then stayed in bed way too long this morning to finish it. :-D

[timelock97]

Love Without A Name

Chapter Seven: Speeches, Laughter, and Family

Word Count: 3690

Masterlist

Warning: Language, and A Lot of FLUFF

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once the last picture was taken, Tom and I were loaded into a car to be driven to the venue. His hand was laced in mine the entire ride there, the two of us stealing glances at each other.

"There it is!" I squeal, leaning over to his side to point it out.

The venue had not been what I thought Tom would want. After going through some more fine-dining venues with large vaulted ceilings that looked over ponds, and others that had a much more city feel I had found myself at this one. It was an old barn, rejuvenated into the venue space that it is now, set up for that modern rustic feel. The room was vast, with high vaulted ceilings with long, old beams across them. The back and front doors were wide open, allowing people easy access in and out. Most of the tables for dinner were set up inside while the dance floor was set up outside under fairy lights.

I had been so sure, even though I loved it instantly, he wouldn't. But he did, and now we finally got to see the rest of our plans in place with our friends and family waiting inside.

"It really is something else." Tom hums, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to my temple before I sit back in my seat. "I'm glad that's the one we went with."

"It's even better in person." I state as the car rolls to a stop. The driver gets out to open my door and Tom hops out from his side, walking around the car to take my hand, tugging me along behind him to the main doors. Tom and I peek inside, seeing the DJ who gives us a quick thumbs up before lifting the mic to his lips.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is time that I gladly get to introduce to you, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas and (Y/N) Holland!" The applause and cheering are deafening as Tom and I enter, smiling at our family and friends. Tom lifts my hand in the air, almost as if he is holding a trophy, only lowering it when the sound of glasses clinking overpowers the cheers. He tugs me to him to press a kiss to my lips, the two of us melting instantly at the feeling of being so close after being so far away. The two of us pull away giggling, until a pair of arms are suddenly around my waist, curly, red-brown hair being the only thing I see and I hug the person back.

"Paddy," Tom laughs as he ruffles his little brother's hair.

Paddy of course only lifts his head to look at me with a bright smile, "Tom has told us so much about you, I was the most excited to meet you."

"Well, it's absolutely wonderful to meet you, Paddy." I state before hugging him a little closer and pressing a kiss to the side of his head. He wiggles out of my grasp before giving a bright smile and jogging away. I look at Tom who throws an arm around my shoulder to tug me further into the building.

Its beyond beautiful, with thin white banners that hang loosely from the ceiling. The tables are decorated with the flower arrangements from the church and long dainty candles. Along the walls are tables where the buffet was being placed, as well as the wedding cake and other desserts. Lastly, the table where Tom and I would be sitting was placed closer to the back of the room, by the open doors that led to the dance floor.

I sigh, leaning into Tom's side before familiar faces and unfamiliar faces come toward us. I can recognize his family as well as mine and then from what I can only assume more extended family (or friends) from his side. Tom greets his family first while I greet my own, my mother pressing a kiss to my cheek before passing me along to my father and brothers, who tease me per usual.

"What was with leaving the ceremony so early, pipsqueak? Thought you were gonna share your special day with everyone-"

"I did, we just wanted our first kiss to be more, one-on-one?" I shove Mark to the side so I can hug Quinn and Lucas.

"(Y/N), you look positively radiant," Quinn states as she pulls away from me.

"Thank you, Quinn!" I whisper, smiling at her brightly. "You do as well!"

"Love?" I turn my head and smile at Tom, who has a hand out for me. "Let me introduce you to my family."

"Yeah, especially since you already introduced yourself to mine. Which I have some questions about, but for another time."

Tom chuckles as he pulls me into his side, my family waiting patiently to the side, "This is my mum, Nikki, my dad, Dominic, the twins, Harry and Sam, and of course you already met Paddy."

"It's really nice to meet you all." I say shyly, squeezing Tom's hand gently.

Nikki face brightens with a smile, her hand coming out for me to take. "(Y/N), it is so nice to put and face, and well I guess a name too. Tom hasn't stopped talking about you since he told us you two were getting married. Is it okay to hug you? I mean you are my daughter-in-law now-"

"Yes, absolutely," I giggle, meeting her halfway. After I turn to her husband who just pulls me straight into a hug.

"It's nice to finally meet you, (Y/N). Welcome to the family, and feel free to call me Dom, Dominic is just too formal."

"Okay," I giggle before looking at the twins.

Sam gives me a small smile. "It's really nice to meet you, (Y/N)."

"Nice to add a sister to the family." Harry chuckles, before getting called by someone else. The two of them grinning at me before disappearing into the crowd.

Nikki and Dom begin talking to my family, already growing comfortable with their new in laws as Tom tugs me to walk further into the barn. However, within a few minutes, we both get separated, talking to people in our own lives. Between a mixture of 'how did you manage to get such a catch,' 'dude, there are literal celebrities here,' and 'how's it feel to be married?'

After a bit of mingling, I had somehow made my way to the back of the room where the bride and groom table sat. I smile at the decorations on the table, matching the decorations on the other tables besides the Mr. and Mrs. glasses. A pair of arms wrapping around my waist causes a squeak to escape, my hands flying to their wrists.

"Hey, love," Tom mutters into my neck, pressing a quick kiss against my cheek. "They want to do the little speech segment then we are going to have food. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," I whisper, turning in his arms to press a quick kiss to his lips. When I pull away, he leans forward again to connect our lips gently, smiling as he kisses me. Once he pulls away, I giggle at him, taking his hand and lead him to sit down.

The next half hour was filled with stories about Tom and I, some sentimental, some funny, and some just downright embarrassing. I couldn't count how many times I hid my face into Tom's neck when my brothers told some significant stories from our childhood. Of course, each person that came up had to introduce themselves, say who they knew, and how long they had known either Tom or me. By the time my Grandma had walked up to give her little pre-meal speech, everyone felt more comfortable. Our favorite people mingling together as if they had known each other all their lives.

"-Now, with that being said, whoever eats the fastest gets the most!" There is a small cheer from my family, and a few friends who know the phrase as my grandma passes the mic back to Hazel who lets everyone know that the tables will be dismissed by her and Todd after Tom and I have gotten partway through the line.

Tom places a hand on the small of my back, leading me to the buffet table. His head tilts toward mine until his mouth is directly next to my ear, "Whoever eats the fastest?"

"Gets the most, it's something my Grandma says at every holiday meal. It something she hopes will get passed on, and I honestly, I will be using it." I giggle, grabbing a plate and starting first with the abundance of food that not only will feed however many people we have here, but will also make sure there is at least something that everyone will like. Once halfway through, a few tables are allowed to come up to grab food, following behind us and talking together quietly. When Tom and I sit down, I take the time to look over the room at the people who have been sharing in our special day. I can see my friends from high school and college laughing together about something, my family talking with Tom's like it is natural, and our other guests happily chatting along with others.

The sound of clinking glasses fills the air again, making Tom chuckle beside me. "How many are we going to let them get for free before they have to start demonstrating?"

"One more, I think. Three for three, yeah?" I hum as he cups my face in one hand before pressing a gentle kiss to my lips.

"Aww c'mon, we know you have more in you than that, Holland!"

Tom cups his hands over his mouth to yell, "Shut up, Mackie!" Which gets the whole room erupting with laughter. He gives me a mischievous look before motioning to the DJ, who brings him a microphone. There as a small murmur of laughter until Tom brings it to his lips. "I'd like to make an announcement, for anyone thinking that just clinking their glasses to get my darling bride and I to kiss for the rest of the night, you are terribly mistaken." I can see people, mostly my cousins, looking at each other with sly eyes. "We are changing the rules a bit. If you want us to kiss, you will have to demonstrate it for us. I mean," he glances at me before shooting a wink, "We have just met, after all."

There is a familiar silence, the kind that happens when you are going to get pranked or something you know will happen happens. And of course, it does, and a loud laugh is falling past my lips as Tom covers his face, laughing as well when Robert Downey Jr. stands up at his table. The rest of the cast that is sitting at the table cheer, which only gets added to when he grabs his wife and drags her to the back of the room where we sit. He stands before us and with a fashion only Robert can pull off, winks at the two of us before gripping his wife's waist and dipping her. He kisses her passionately, so much so that I hide my face into Tom's neck for a few seconds while I giggle uncontrollably, hiding my blushing face. Once he brings Susan to a standing position, he looks at us with an amused smile. "How's that for a kiss, you two?"

I'm shaking my head, not able to comprehend what I just witnessed. Tom gives me a small smile before offering his hand to me. Standing, he pulls me so we are in front of the table and grins at Robert. "Actually, I will do you one better." Tom turns back toward me and places both hands on either side of my face before kissing me. It's slow, deepening softly before he moves a hand away from my face and to my waist, where it drags slowly until it is on the opposite side. Tom then dips me, causing my one of my arms to loop around his neck and the other hand to grab at the front of his dress shirt to keep me balanced. After a few seconds longer, Tom brings me back to standing before pulling away, his face as flushed as I feel. "How's that for a passionate kiss?" He whispers with a grin.

"You're lucky I love you." I whisper back, pinching his chin between my thumb and pointer finger. The room is hooting and hollering, with a mixture of people yelling for us to get a room, but Tom and I are smiling like love-struck kids who have fallen in love for the first time.

"Not bad, Tom. Not bad at all." Robert laughs, tugging Tom away from me to hug him and Susan smiles at me gently before pulling me into a hug as well, whispering a soft 'congratulations' in my ear.

"Now don't forget about me, Mrs. Holland." Robert jokes, motioning for me after letting go of Tom. I laugh and walk into his arms to hug him, him squeezing me to his chest before pressing a kiss to my temple. "You're basically one of my kids now too, I hope you know."

"Don't think I mind that." I laugh, pulling away from him softly, giving him a small smile before pulling away and grabbing Tom's hand to drag him behind our table again to eat. I grab the mic, lifting it to my lips. "I think we all would greatly appreciate if we could just eat, then you can tap your glasses if you really want us to kiss again." The crowd giggles, a few people nodding as I hand the mic back to Todd.

Tom leans into my side, his lips hovering over my ear. "I love you."

"I love you too." I whisper back, bringing a bite of food to my lips as he rests an hand on my knee.

Tom and I begin to mingle around, getting pulled away from each other more times than we wander together. After a while, the sound of someone tapping the mic pulls us away from our conversations.

"I think now is a perfect time to let our new couple share their first official dance." Todd smiles at the two of us from behind the DJ booth.

I see Tom smile across the room, slowly making his way to the dance floor. Once we are out of the crowd, he takes my hand, turning us until we are facing one another, Yours by Russell Dickerson begins to play, making me smile. I raise my right hand to place in his left, while my left falls to his shoulder and his right falls to my waist.

"Nice song choice, love."

"You said I could choose, and I chose sappy." I giggle, my forehead resting against his. He let out a content hum, bumping his nose against my own.

"You know, I think everyone is enjoying themselves. Haven't heard any fussing from anyone."

"Indeed, it's nice to see that everyone is having a good time."

Tom hums, leaning into me to kiss my lips gently, "I don't think I will ever get sick of this, of you. I love you, so much (Y/N)."

"I love you too, Tom." I whisper, leaning into him so my head rests against his shoulder, listening to his calm heartbeat and the sound of the song coming to a conclusion around us. Once the song officially ends, the DJ calls my father out onto the dance floor, beginning the daddy-daughter dance to Butterfly Kisses. He cries, but he assures me it's not because he is sad. No, he promises he is happy for me, he just regrets not being with me the last few months.

"I want to make up for it-"

"You already have, you're here after all."

When the song ends, my dad leads me off the dance floor so Tom and his mum can have their dance, the two of them laugh together, and I can't help but smile at them. The next hour consists of Tom and I roaming around, cutting our cake which led to him having frosting on his nose, and getting time to find Hazel and Todd who have been hiding since the announcement of the first dance and thank them again.

"Ladies, I think it is time to make your way to the dance floor, the bride is going to throw her bouquet!" Hazel calls out, smiling excitedly.

I giggle as my friends and family, as well as Tom's join me on the floor. It doesn't come as a surprise for me when the flowers land in Mae's arms, especially after her and her boyfriend, Anthony, have been dating for seven years. When it's time for Tom to get the garter, he jokes with me beforehand. Squeezing my ankle and muttering, "It's okay," before ducking under my skirt and dragging the piece of fabric down my thigh. Once in hand, he aims it straight into Anthony unsuspecting face. He and Mae blush wildly, but they go along with it, except only slipping it up her leg with his hands and not his teeth.

As one final hurrah, the DJ calls out one final group activity before he just plays songs for the remainder of the night. "Ladies and Gents, we are going to be doing the dollar dance with our lovely couple. The dollar dance is plain and simple, pay a dollar to each person's jar which are held by Hazel and Todd. Then you will get in line and have about a minute with these lovely people. Now, let's go."

I let out a laugh as Dancing Queen starts playing, Celine practically running to drop her dollar in the box first. However, Mark beats her to it.

"You think I would let you out of here without a dance, pipsqueak?"

"Nah, you'd drag my ass back in here just to get it."

The same continues on with friends and family, most of which just have general conversations with me. It doesn't surprise me when I start to get some of Tom's in the mix.

"You know, Tom did pretty good about coming and saying hello to everyone he knows but not about dragging you along with him." Zendaya laughs as she takes my hand and sways with me.

I laugh, "We kept getting separated from each other, figured we would eventually get around to everyone."

"That's true, when he made it over to our table, he went to introduce you to us, but you had gotten pulled away to some other people, and he was very confused."

"I would tell you who, but I honestly couldn't tell you. This is the most I have seen of both sides of my family since I graduated high school."

The two of us laugh, before someone clears their throat. "Daya, I think it's my turn-"

"Nope, I put in two dollars, I get another minute, Jacob." She laughs, causing him to laugh. "Anyways, I believe we should have a girl's day when I come to London next."

"That sounds like a good plan," I giggle, Jacob scoffing behind us.

"Don't forget about me."

The more people filtering through, the more I smile. I get to meet and talk to a lot of celebrities from the Marvel franchise (that's a miracle in and of itself). And every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of Tom dancing with someone I know, laughing and talking with them like he has known them his whole life. Finally, the last leg of the dollar dances is coming to a close, and the last person I have the privilege to dance with is Tom's best friend, Harrison.

"I hope you know when he first told me about this, about you, I was skeptical. But," his eyes scan the room as he sways us side to side, "I should have put more faith in him, you really made him happy when he really wasn't. I hope we can become friends too; I have plenty of embarrassing stories to share with you." He smiles mischievously at me, causing my head to fall back with a loud laugh.

"I cannot wait to hear those, and I can get where you wouldn't be too excited that he was meeting, dating, and marrying a stranger. I'm just thankful you stuck around."

"He's my best friend, I don't think I could leave him if I tried."

"I think we will both end up with a lot of fun stories to tell each other as life goes on."

Harrison laughs, "I think we might just get along just fine, (Y/N)."

As the night drags on, I start to get tired. The adrenaline and excitement of the day wearing off into contentment. Someone starts tapping their glass from across the room, and my eyes scan the crowd to find Tom, but come up empty handed. The clacking becomes louder, and I roll my eyes, finding Tom slipping through the crowd toward me, his eyes sparkling under the fairy lights. "I'm glad you are coming to me 'cause I had no clue where you were at." I laugh, my hand cupping his face as he leans down to press a soft kiss to my lips.

He smiles at me when he pulls away, "I was talking to Todd, he has our getaway car ready for us. Him and Hazel are packing up the cards and gifts and are going to send them to the Heart Haven office in London. You ready to head to the hotel? We have an early morning ahead of us."

"I'm ready when you are."

Our family gathers outside, sparklers in hand. The two of us jogging to the car and waving goodbye once inside. The cheering and excitement dying away as the car leaves. Tom's hand rests on my thigh as we watch the barn and our families fade in the rear window.

"What a perfect day," I whisper.

Tom looks over at me and smiles. "It was indeed, my love. It was indeed."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! I hope you have an absolutely amazing day! (And if you aren’t, that it gets better soon <3)

@revenantwriting | @bellagrayson-wayne | @jackiehollanderr | @snowxbarryxendgame | @let-me-luve-you | @mybitchborky | @linnyalou | @fanficscuziranout​ | @literallytrashhhhhh | @akweenbitch | @marveltomjunkie | @infinitycaprogers

(Forgot to add the taglist on Thursday, my bad)

[bernuviels-inspiration]

Mike Shinoda's show in Zurich, 17. March 2019

I had the amazing chance to attend one of Mike’s concerts of the last Post Traumatic Tour. And it was absolutely awesome!

You can read all about my little adventure under the cut. It’s pretty long though. xD

I was very surprised when Mike announced a show in Switzerland, since we did pretty bad in the „WeDemand“ campaign and I barely knew any other Swiss fans. But I was so grateful and excited – Zurich is only about 20km from my home! In order to help make the show a success I founded a Facebook group for it. On show day we had 90 members! I had also joined the Linkin Park Street Team a while ago and they sent me some posters to put up. And I printed 1'000 flyers and distributed them around Zurich with some friends from the group. I met so many nice people from all over the world thanks to that group: Finland, Denmark, Brazil, Spain, USA, etc. And even finally some fellow Swiss fans! We planned flash mobs, painted a flag and even had a little meet up the day before the show. It was so much fun! Thank you LP Family, I love you all dearly. <3

Since I'm an LPU member, I tried my luck with the Meet & Greet contest again. And as usual when it comes to random, luck-based things, I had none. But there was another contest by the host of the event. They wanted us to tell them, why we deserve to win a Meet & Greet. Both of my sisters wrote beautiful, heartwarming comments about my commitment with the FB group and advertising, but also how I coped with Chester's death by drawing all those LP artworks and how much this band (and especially Mike) mean to me. Even complete strangers said, that they think I deserve it most. That moved me to tears! At first the tickets were given away to someone else. But one of the winners got ill and asked the host to give the ticket to someone who really wants it. And they chose me! I couldn't believe it! That was so nice of all of them. Thank you so much. <3 And so the most incredible thing happened: I got to meet my hero! The 16 lucky winners were taken into the cool London bus of a local radio station. There we all got to meet Mike one by one. It was awesome, but unfortunately also very brief. Everything happened so fast, that I didn't really have time to realize what was going on. I just remember that the first thought that went through my head when I stood in front of him was: “He is so CUTE!”. I mean, I knew that before, but he's even more adorable in real life and up close. xD I was very nervous and probably talked too much, which is very unlike me. But I could finally give Mike the Post Traumatic artwork I drew for him, which means my biggest dream came true. And he signed the second one for me. In the picture it looks as if he wanted to say something about it, but couldn't because I was blabbering too much – damn! I'm so sorry, Mike. Oh, and the hat was a gift to him from one of my friends from the group. I almost started laughing, when I realized he wore a jacket with the exact same pattern – that's so Mike! And also yay, free fluff. :D

After the Meet & Greet we were even allowed to go into the venue first! That meant front row! I've never been that close to a stage before and was super excited about it. I'm usually not the “front row type”, since I'm quite reluctant and shy. While waiting there, I saw a crew member put our Swiss flag onto Matt's keyboard. I texted the girl, who painted it and she was super happy about it. We succeeded with getting the flag to the crew through the M&G – I was damn proud of us! xD Then the “opening act” started. Well, it was more of a last minute stand in, since the original one (a local rapper) got canceled without any explanation. And so a young “DJ” was hiding behind his laptop, playing one song after another without doing any DJ-ing. They could have just turned the radio on, but it was okay. We weren't there for him anyway. And finally, showtime! Mike, Matt and Dan entered the stage with lots of applause from the crowd. They even started the set with a song that hasn't opened any sets on this tour before: When They Come For Me. I love this song, it's so much fun! I was just hoping that my parents, who I talked into coming to the show too (yes, I did that with everyone I knew xD), didn't catch a certain word. I didn't want them to think badly of Mike. xD Following was the probably most well-known (at least in Switzerland) Fort Minor song Remember The Name, also unusually early in the set. Then Mike took the first little break and welcomed the audience. That was our signal for the first flash mob! It was a very spontaneous one, inspired by a certain video, he has uploaded just a few days prior. The front row was shouting: More cowbell! Mike started laughing and walked over to Dan, who indeed had a cowbell on his drum set. Mike said “Just for you guys.” and played a hilarious cowbell intro to Ghosts, which is a kinda funny song anyway, thanks to the sock puppets. I was so happy: Another success and we even made Mike laugh! :D

Next Mike talked about a tweet from the same day, where someone was analyzing the chances of a song being played in his set. He doesn't like to be predictable, so he decided to screw up the statistics and play some extra rare songs tonight. Thank you, spreadsheet guy! xD The first song that came from this, was the hilariously sarcastic High Road. It's in my Top 3 FM songs and funnily enough, he played it last year in Cologne too – one of only 5 times on the tour! The following song had a high chance of being played and I love it very much: The emotional Roads Untraveled. During the “and if you need a friend, there's a seat here alongside me”, Mike pointed at the crowd again. That's just so nice of him! Then Mike played something super rare again, it was actually even a tour debut: Kenji! I know how much this song about the tragic history of his family means to Mike, so it was a great honor to hear it live. Some fans (including me) even made the peace sign at the end of the song, like he used to. That was really moving. And he continued with songs I love dearly, starting with the PT bonus track Prove You Wrong. Even though the melody sounds kinda sad, there is something so uplifting in those lyrics. Mike also put it into his Instagram stories and you can actually see me singing along. I sang every song as loud as I could, forgetting about my shyness for a while. It was amazing! The next song in the set was the only one that got me emotional in a negative way (but only for a second). I was prepared for In The End and his speech, but I was not prepared for Nobody Can Save Me. For a moment I was back on July 20th, sitting in the darkness of my room and singing along to the One More Light album while crying. Luckily I managed to snap out of that quickly, because I actually love this song. It's one of the best Linkin Park has ever written, in my opinion, because it has such a great message. Nobody can save us – only we ourselves can. And Mike sang so beautifully... What an honor to hear that live! Another OML song followed (luckily not OML itself, I just can't take that one): Sorry For Now. Dan played an amazing drum solo in the bridge and Mike added the demo verse of Lift Off afterwards. He then even rapped the chorus of Step Up, a super rare and old LP song! (I could tell, because barely anybody knew the answer to “Who can rock a rhyme like this?” - I swear I shouted “Like this!” as loud as I could. xD) I love Step Up! Especially in the amazing rock-hip hop medley with Nobody's Listening and It's Going Down, that LP used to play in the Meteora days. Mike then also introduced Dan, who got a lot of applause from the crowd. Later he also introduced Matt, by asking him since when he's even been there. Matt answered: “The entire tour, but sometimes I take bathroom breaks.”, which resulted in Mike laughing about his British accent. These dorks! There was also another crew member, that Mike introduced to us: Photographer Chady. Some Swiss friends of his had invited Mike to eat Raclette (melted cheese that you usually put on potatoes, pickles and pearl onions – it's very tasty!). Mike joked that eating lots of cheese before a show is really good for you. xD The set continued with PTs lead single Crossing A Line, which inspired my artwork. I just love how hopeful it is. During the song, Mike threw some guitar picks into the crowd. I wasn't trying to catch anything, since I already had that awesome signature and thought other fans deserved it more. But I guess Mike had other plans... During the bridge of the song he plays on his drum pads for a moment and then throws the sticks into the crowd blindly. Well, he tried to kill me with it! xD (Luckily I put the phone away, just a moment before the drumstick hit my hand. Damned it Mike, that hurt! xD)

He then played another PT song, which I love dearly: Hold It Together. The lyrics are pretty dark, but there is something very fun about the melody. The first mashup followed: Waiting For The End / Where'd You Go. The crowd's singing sounded amazing, especially in the outro, which is a piano version of WFTEs first verse and chorus. Mike praised us: “You guys have beautiful voices. You should sing more often, it's good for you.” Matt and Dan left the stage and Mike started this calm piano playing and speech. Time for our second flash mob! We held up signs that said: “Music Inspiration Kindness Emotion”. This time there were even more signs than for the first one. (I spent quite some time inviting every fan to join our flash mob before the show and handing out the signs I designed.) Mike noticed them, curiously asking “What are those?” Then he realized it: “That's my name! That's very kind. Thank you guys very much, that's cool.“ He seemed so happy and both of our flash mobs were a success! He then continued with his speech, saying that he doesn't want these shows to be sad, but to celebrate Chester's life instead. The crowd cheered very loudly for Chester for several minutes! And then we all sang the beautiful piano version of In The End together. After that, Mike asked us if we wanted to sing another song. Is that even a question?! xD He started to play Heavy, but stopped before the singing part, because he thought the crowd would want another song more. I already got worried during the show and it really hurt me, when I saw all the hate the Swiss crowd got on social media from people who weren't even there... As if we wouldn't know the words to Heavy... It's the most played LP song on the Swiss radio! We would have loved to sing it! (Me especially, because my father was in the crowd and he really likes that song.) But Mike decided that Numb would be a better fit, maybe even to not make everyone too sad. Numb is my favorite Linkin Park song, because it's the one that made me fall in love with the band in the first place. And it was awesome to sing it with so many people. The Swiss crowd did a great job! Video: In The End & Numb (with Mike's speech & reaction to the second flash mob) They closed the main set with my favorite medley of the tour: About You / Over Again / Papercut. Even though it reminds me a lot of Chester (About You & Over Again are the PT songs that are most about him) and it's really painful to see Mike perform Papercut's bridge alone, I could also enjoy it. Everyone was jumping around and shouting during Papercut. That song is just so great! Mike, Matt and Dan then left the stage for the encore break. The crowd started to sing “lift me up, let me go”, but not as loud as in Italy a few days before. We are just a generally reluctant nation. The hall also wasn't as full as I hoped it would be. There were probably around 2'000 people. Hopefully we did well enough for Mike to want to come back to Switzerland. After a few minutes, Mike, Matt and Dan sneaked back on stage, hiding behind their instruments. As if we wouldn't notice them anyway! Such dorks. xD They played a beautiful instrumental version of Robot Boy, which really let their skills and teamwork shine. It's so sad to think that this is the last Post Traumatic tour. Matt and Dan have really grown on me and it's hard to see them leave. Mike then sang a beautiful PT song I haven't heard live before and that wasn't even originally planned: World's On Fire. I know he wrote it for his wife Anna (and his kids), who is a wonderful person too, but it was as if the crowd was singing it for Mike. It's true, when the world's on fire, all we need is him. I'm so grateful that he shared PT with us! He led us all through the grief and darkness that followed Chester's death. And that night it was obvious, that we are in a much better place now. Following was the beautiful, consoling Castle Of Glass, one of my favorite LP songs. And then they played the second PT single Make It Up As I Go. Such an amazing song and it always reminds me of those hilarious moth memes. xD Mike encouraged us to sing his part of the chorus while directly looking at me. I was singing my heart out! He smiled and shouted “yeah!” That was an awesome moment. I rarely felt so appreciated like on that day, not just by Mike but also by the other fans. The last mashup followed: Good Goodbye / Bleed It Out (including a drunken pirate who wanted to give Mike a kiss xD) and the crowd went wild! For Running From My Shadow, the last song of the set, Mike came down to the crowd as he always does. He stood on the barricade just about two meters away from me. It was great to see him have so much fun up close! Afterwards he high-fived the front row (including me :D) and returned to the stage. He smashed one of Dan's cymbals until the end of the song and then soaked us in water. When Mike left the stage, he stopped at our Swiss flag and blew it a kiss. I loved seeing that, because it gave me hope that we didn't disappoint him and he might come back someday.

I still can't believe all of this actually happened! I made new friends from all over the world. I met my hero and finally got to give him my artwork. I got to spend the entire show in front row, super close to Mike. They played so many amazing songs and had so much fun. The flash mobs worked out and our flag made it on stage. All my hard work payed off. I really enjoyed this concert, it was a once in a lifetime experience. Thank you so much, everyone! I hope I'll see you all again soon. ;)

[thinkofduty]

[ directive ]

“Alas, mine wretched brother! Stolen cruelly from me!”

The words ring through Orella’s ears with such force as she steps through to the tiring hall that she stops dead in her tracks. She has to search desperately for the speaker, who turns out to be a girl of barely twenty-five summers, if that, with her arms spread wide, face upturned and contorted with such raw grief that Orella herself can taste it.

“Take my offerings!” she continues, and if anyone notices Orella’s entrance, they do not comment on it. All eyes are upon the speaker, all ears drinking in the classical tongue of Garlemald, which to her disgust she recognises. “By the customs of our father, they were handed down for rites such as these!”

“Funerary rites,” one of the men watching her calls, and the girl spreads her hands, tilts her head thoughtfully as she considers how to work the word into the flow of speech.

“Take my offerings, which our father handed down for these funerary rites.”

The revision is accepted easily, and no more interruptions are to be had. She nods, repeats the line again, and spreads her arms wide once more as though beseeching the ceiling for divine providence. “Take them!” she cries, and the man that called out an interruption notices Orella’s entrance, and pulls a chair out for her.

Well, a chair is a chair. Orella sits, crosses her legs and watches the girl perform with the rest of them.

“Take them! Wet with my tears, take mine offerings! And for ever and more, brother, hail! Hail, and farewell!”

Scattered applause fills the hall as she drops her arms to her side once more, and Orella can see that her eyes shine, though not with any sort of grief she is familiar with.

“Brava!” calls the man she sits next to, who seems to be clapping the hardest. “Brava! Your talent soars ever higher with every day!”

The girl bows politely before she leaves the makeshift stage, no more than a clear space amongst the endless scattered plays and costumes and props on the floor, gesturing for papers to skim over her lines once again. Orella watches her accept a fountain pen, fancier than anything she’s seen before, and make some sort of correction.

“Hail and farewell,” the man beside her murmurs, and Orella realises he is speaking to her. “What beauty in those lines, no? Such emotion! You can truly feel the grief of the one who wrote it. I can only imagine…”

Orella, who does not need to imagine, simply shrugs. “I don’t recall the original sounding like that.”

“You heard the revision, yes?” when she nods, the man gestures to the many books spread out on the great desk that takes up most of the room. “We do this for ease of performance. It is one thing to stay committed to the original. It is another thing entirely to bring such works to people who do not appreciate traditional Garlean flow.”

Orella says nothing. She, like so many aan before her, had heard plenty of poetry during their time stationed in Ala Mhigo, none of it pleasant to the ear. She refuses to lend even a moment of time wondering whether it was simply the flow that turned her off to the arts.

Clearly, she stays silent for too long, for he inclines his head as he looks her over. “You aren’t Garlean, are you?”

“What gave it away?”

The dramaturge simply smiles. “Call it intuition,” he says, and then laughs. “Your accent, for one thing. And your skin…”

Orella raises a brow, unimpressed. She’d heard enough of that at the very beginning of the occupancy, before native Garleans had become used to the darker skin of the region they had invaded. Still, her expression seems to have been enough of a deterrent, for he spreads his hands and shakes his head as though it doesn’t matter.

“Forgive my impudence. Do you practise the arts? I was under the impression that Malla’s entourage was aboard for… other reasons.”

She refuses to be drawn into that discussion. Malla has given no indication what she has told the rest of the Prima Vista, and Orella hasn’t asked.

“... Practise might be the wrong word,” she allows after a moment. “There have been other matters more deserving of my attention. Ala Mhigan,” she says quickly, to head off his question, and he nods in understanding, eyes still on her skin.

Then, from across the table, another man she had barely registered, who must have been listening to their every word. “Could we hear some? Ala Mhigan poetry,” he clarifies. “I have wanted to add to my collection for some time.”

The expression on her face must speak volumes, for the dramaturge beside her laughs softly. “It doesn’t have to be poetry,” he says. “Nor even translated, though an understanding of the words would be… well,” and he drums his fingers on the desk, revisions forgotten. “There is a beauty to letting the music flow over you.”

It takes all of five minutes for both men and a lady, tall and slim, to combine their efforts and badger her into standing and taking a place on the makeshift stage. Silence reigns supreme as she wracks her brain for something, anything to say. The arts had never been something to concern herself with, even as only a girl. There had been no tomes in her childhood home to read cover-to-cover - and even if there had been, she would have turned her nose up in favour of the wooden sword she’d carried proudly everywhere - and no time in the capital for anything other than self-improvement.

The only thing she lands on leaves her unsure, but the faces watching her are expectant. “... I have no stories, but I do have a speech,” she offers, and the expressions are no less interested. “One of the many of the late Mad King.”

She has to close her eyes to remember the view from the very top of the Divine Audience. How it had felt with the Destroyer and the Ruiner at her back, overseeing the executions that had happened there. Her coat had been flapping in the breeze, ten paces from the king. Ser Zartosht had held the offender by the scruff, eyes fixed on Theodoric, waiting for the go-ahead. It must have been torture for the man to stand, knees knocking, eyes stinging from the salt spray listening to a madman put off his demise.

When she opens her eyes, she sees someone wearing red enter the room, and she meets Ingvald’s gaze steadily.

“Countrymen, lend me your ears! I come not to praise this man, but to bury him for his crime!”

Ingvald’s wince is all she needs to know she picked the perfect words for the actors.

*

For all her exasperation, Orella’s performance is applauded honestly enough. The attention fades from her quickly enough once she leaves the stage, and though she espies the dramaturge’s hopeful expression, she picks her way over to Ingvald.

“Having fun?” he asks cheekily, and she thinks momentarily about standing on his toes.

“Very funny. You’re the one been making nice with them.”

He only shrugs, which prompts her to roll her eyes. “What do you want, Ingvald?”

Anyone else might have mistaken his light tone for disinterest, or missed the way his eyes lingered on her before glancing over her shoulder. “Wondered what you were up to.”

She has been withdrawn since returning from the Snowfly Forest. The constant presence of the stone in her pockets - and she hasn’t told Ingvald of it, hasn’t met with Sylvan to talk about that leafy labyrinth, hasn’t even sought out Ashelia to demand answers she’s sure the girl doesn’t have - has been a heavy weight on her mind since coming back, and the knowledge of the ship and its crew being so thoroughly Garlean has her on edge. For the most part, she’s kept to her room, cramped though it is. Neither Garleans nor Riskbreakers have any reason to go out of their way to speak with her, and she has had no reason to do likewise. Ingvald, for his part, has taken her request seriously and shadowed Malla as much as possible, though he says nothing suspicious has come of it. She’s seen him make nice with one or two actors, too.

Well, he had blended in with their kind enough to be made pyr, after all.

“Sure. What do you actually want?”

He looks uncomfortable for a moment, eyes darting around to each of the actors in turn. Orella follows his gaze; the dramaturge has left his chair to join the group of actors, gesturing this way and that at them each in turn, and the other man at the table has called over a seamstress and is handing her scraps of fabric. Beside her, she can hear Ingvald shift his weight.

“I heard about what happened.”

***

Blood, cloying the air, too strong to ignore. A white sheet covering what could only be a body. The figure, motionless.

No one else had been in the room with her. She’d checked and double-checked before she’d pulled the sheet back to stare down at the body.

Metal and cermet married together with wiring, and a core, cold and dead. Inhuman. Monstrous. An inch between the neck and the chest, the source of the blood. With the sheet pulled back, the smell was worse.

She’d stared down at it, impassive, and pulled the sheet back over it. No use waiting for answers.

***

“Did you,” she murmurs back. “And?”

“Professional work,” he says, and she nods. They watch the gaggle of actors laugh over some shared joke, a world away from the one they inhabit. “Not one of ours?”

“I don’t know,” Orella admits. “I haven’t spoken with any, but after the lengths we went to, to get him here? I don’t think so.”

“So that leaves…”

Orella turns to look up at him, deadly serious. “Nine to choose from.”

“Nine? There’s more than that. You don’t think it was-?” and he jerks his head in the direction of Jenomis bas Lexingtale’s room.

She shakes her head. “Two children, and a middle-aged man too engrossed in books for that kind of workmanship. No. Nine.”

And as one, they turn to look over the Garleans.

[taronfanfic]

Crossed Targets: Dare To Return

Previous chapters here

Chapter 24

The last two days of the film shoot flew by and before you knew it everything had been wrapped up beneath the slowly fading summer light. Applause filled the air and people rushed off to get their cases packed before the cars arrived. The wrap party was being held in a grand hotel on the outskirts of London. You’d agreed to share a car there with a couple of the other girls from wardrobe, your relationship with Taron still somehow managing to stay hidden. All of that was about to change though, not that Taron knew it.

A casual wolf-whistle filled the air as you wheeled your case down the corridor towards your room for the night. You stopped and looked back over your shoulder, not surprised in the slightest to see Taron casually walking towards you.

“Where have you been all day?” He asked as he caught you up and took hold of your key card to see what room number you were in.

“On set shooting, obviously. We didn’t all get to finish yesterday!” You rolled your eyes back to him.

“Ha, unlucky.” He teased. “D’you think they’d upgrade our rooms if we asked nicely?”

“We could just tell them we’re happy to share and save them the extra cost.”

“Fuck that, they’ve already booked the whole place out. I was thinking more… bridal suite?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Like we’d get away with that!”

“I’m sure I can charm the woman on reception.” He winked as he turned to the room he’d been given and unlocked the door. You followed him inside and opened up your case to get your favourite little black dress and heels out. “Drink?” Taron offered as he crouched down to see what was in the minibar.

“You read my mind. Time to get this party started!” He threw you a tiny bottle of Vodka and sat down on the end of the bed with his own, laughing at the size of it against his hand.

“Shit, we’re getting so wasted tonight.” He mocked as you sat down next to him and clinked your bottle against his before downing the contents.

“It’s been way too long since we were last drunk together.” You replied before remembering how your last drunken encounter had ended. It made you feel suddenly anxious and you looked over at Taron to see if he’d picked up on your change in mood.

“Hey, don’t look so worried. I can get pissed and keep my dick to myself!... or at least save it for you.” He smirked cheekily despite being able to read you like a book.

“I know, this setting is just brining back memories…” You took in a deep breath as you tried to shake the fears from your mind.

“Then we’d better make some better ones to replace them with…I love you so much, Y/N.” His hand rubbed soothingly over your thigh as he kept his words to a minimum, giving you the space you needed to reorganise your thoughts.

“I do trust you, y’know that?” You placed your hand to his cheek, feeling stupid for feeling so worried when you knew how Taron felt about you.

“I know you do, and I get why this is bringing it all back. We’ve had the best time making this film and tonight it all ends. It’s like the end of our time at RADA, of course your mind is going to jump ship.”

“I know I’ve got nothing to worry about though.” You held his eye contact.

“Good.” Taron smiled softly. “I’m glad we could talk about it too, I never want it to be something you feel you have to avoid. If you’re ever worried, by anything, then just tell me and-” You cut him off with a kiss, feeling his lips slowly smile against yours. He kissed you again as you started to pull away and you just knew this night was going to be a special one.

“We need to get ready, there’s a free bar downstairs with our names on it!”

Whilst Taron was in the bathroom you started to get changed, putting on your black thong and bra that he’d picked out from your underwear last weekend. You pulled your dress on up over your hips and shoulders and then reached round to tug up the zip at the back, struggling with the last few inches. Taron’s hands fell to yours and moved them away so he could help you out, sweeping your hair round to the side and leaving a soft kiss to the back of your neck. As you sat at the mirror and touched up your makeup you had the perfect view of Taron getting changed into his tux behind you. He stripped down to his boxers first before slipping his arms into his white shirt. You started to play around with your hair, deciding whether to have it up or leave it down and you kept catching glimpses of Taron watching you.

“Up.” He said with a smile.

“Off.” You replied with raised eyebrows as he stepped one leg into his black trousers. He looked back at you and laughed as he struggled to hold his balance.

“We’ll never make it down to the bar if you set me off now, save it for later!”

“I can think of worse ways to spend my night, but ok, if you insist.” You flirted back with him as you tied your hair up. Selfies were taken before you left the room, your heels raising you up to the same height as Taron. His hand rested around your waist, his lips falling to your cheek as you smiled widely and took a few photos, sending one quickly over to Katherine with a wish you were here message.

The bar of the hotel was already packed out with the rest of the film crew and it looked like you and Taron were the last to arrive, missing fashionably late by quite some time. You let go of Taron’s hand as you entered the room and walked straight over to join Freya and Claire at the bar and grab yourself a glass of champagne.

“You two took your time.” Freya teased smugly.

“Hey, you! We’re not that bad. If we disappear early later on though you’ll know why.” You took a long sip of your drink and felt the alcohol tingle its way down to your legs.

“Can’t blame you… Taron can certainly pull off that tux with ease.” Freya commented as she looked lustfully over your shoulder.

“Well you can look but you can’t touch!” You warned back jokingly as you cast a glance in his direction and took in just how handsome he looked.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, it’s clear he’s only got eyes for you anyway.” Freya’s words left you with a grin on your face that you couldn’t remove. It was the last confidence boost you needed before you were about to go public and tell everyone here that you’d well and truly fallen for your co-star.

The director gathered everyone round and called you and Taron up to join him along with the scriptwriter and producer. He started off the long speeches, thanking everyone for their hard work and dedication to the project. By the time he’d finished you’d emptied your champagne flute and Taron had already managed to grab you another. The first glass had gone straight to your head and as the director handed the microphone across to you your mind went blank. There’d been lines floating around in your mind all day, never settling into a sensible order but you didn’t think that would matter. It was still better than your current situation!

“Hi…” You spoke softly as you looked across to Taron for help, but he wasn’t reading your thoughts, or lack of them, this time around. You still knew what you needed to say to him though so you took a deep breath and hoped for the best.

“I want to start by echoing everything that’s already been said tonight. This is the first film project I’ve been a part of and every single one of you has made me feel nothing but welcome and supported, so thank you. There’s one person I need to thank more than anyone else though.” You turned and smiled softly to Taron, watching him look to his feet as a gentle blush crossed his face. “On the very first day, when I was hungover and late to the script read-through…” You paused as a gentle laugh rippled around the room. “I genuinely wanted to punch him in the face. I walked in that room and he had you all eating out the palm of his hand. I’ve known Taron since drama school and he was exactly the same then, extremely confident… some say cocky.” You cast him a smug smirk as another laugh filled the room. “I was sure he was going to be a bit of a diva, he’d done all the super spy action stuff before. But anyway, I was the new girl on the scene who was late and hungover and everyone loved him. What a prick!... But as the weeks went on he slowly but surely changed my mind and won me over. Even when he left me hanging from a high wire!” You took a sip of your drink before continuing. “He’s been nothing but supportive, kind, caring… over-protective at times, but I wouldn’t have him any other way. He’s made this experience even more incredible than I thought possible. Totally unforgettable.” A round of applause broke out and you stood waiting, watching Taron’s face to see if he had any idea what was coming next. “My publicist is going to have a bit of a meltdown, so sorry for the future stress, but I know you’d have told me not to do things this way... In the last few weeks Taron has become more than just a best friend to me. He’s sweet, funny, romantic… sexy.” You stalled yourself as you felt your nerves starting to take over. “We’ve had the best time making this film, and tonight it all comes to an end. But as one door closes another one opens and from where I’m stood now a future with Taron by my side looks pretty fucking perfect! Taron, there’s only one thing I have left to say… and that’s, I love you.” Taron’s face was the perfect picture of shock and he shook his head in disbelief as a huge grin emerged. You stepped in and wrapped your arms around his shoulders as loud cheers and whistles filled the room. His hands held your back tightly, squeezing you in against his chest so you could feel his heart pounding. He raised his fist to his mouth as he pulled back from your embrace, looking out to the people who’d made up your second family for the past 10 weeks.

“Wow.” Taron added as he took the microphone from your hand. “I did not see that coming, not tonight anyway… I really don’t know how I can top that either… I don’t think I’m even going to try!” He laughed. “This girl means the absolute world to me, honestly. She stole my heart from day one. I know there are a few people amongst you tonight who knew of this little development but kindly kept it to themselves, so thank you, we owe you one!” Taron paused and looked at you in disbelief all over again. “I guess all that’s left for me to say is, Y/N, I love you too.”

“KISS!” Freya shouted from her position at the bar, making you both laugh. Taron simply raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘why not’ and you ducked your head down in embarrassment, resting it against his shoulder instead.

“Go on, just a quick one.” Taron whispered against your ear and you caved in, lifting your head and kissing him softly. More cheers filled the room but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Taron, your smile mirroring his as you stood there giggling at each other.

[khalilhumam]

Did the first virtual conventions succeed?

New Post has been published on http://khalilhumam.com/did-the-first-virtual-conventions-succeed/

Did the first virtual conventions succeed?

By Linda Peek Schacht In this era of COVID-19 both political parties faced an unprecedented challenge: adapting the traditional nominating convention, the basic format of which hasn’t changed much since the first in 1831, to the reality of the pandemic. So how did they do? There was a marked contrast in their technical approach. The Democrats produced television programming that served as a convention. By contrast, the Republicans produced a traditional convention that was televised and had the feel of a theatrical production. Democrats focused on character and compassion In the first virtual political convention, Democrats delivered a different kind of reality show: television about real people and their upturned lives in Trump’s America, starring a guy named Joe who understands and is ready to help. Hundreds of Americans made up the cast, supported by the party’s deep leadership bench of women and people of color, past presidents and first ladies, a Pulitzer-Prize winning historian, and several well-known Republicans. The producers, lest we miss the point, titled the program Unifying America, and with a “break the glass in case of emergency” urgency, called on viewers to vote to save democracy from a divisive president unfit to lead. At times it had the feel of a telethon (with the reminders to “text VOTE to 30330”) or the drama of a televised intervention trying to wrest the family business away from the crazy uncle who is driving it into bankruptcy. To the surprise of many, it worked. The Washington Post suggested an Emmy nomination. Baltimore Sun media critic David Zurawik proclaimed the convention a reminder of “the enduring power of one human voice speaking passionately from the heart to a camera.” “They successfully took a 19th Century genre (the political convention) into the 21st Century media landscape,” says Kathleen Hall Jamieson, author of Eloquence in an Electronic Age and over a dozen other books on politics and presidential rhetoric. Convention speeches interrupted by applause may momentarily rally the troops, she noted in an interview, but the Democrats used more personal political persuasion. “Television invites conversational, self-disclosive intimate narrative… It allowed for others to comment live and on video to show the different dimensions of Biden: his love of family, his faith, his experience of loss. They could show that he does understand what people are going through because he has gone through it too.” Speaking from the heart into the camera worked for standouts like Michelle Obama, who won the convention on social media, garnering five times the interactions (likes, comments, shares) of her husband at number two. It also worked for Bernie Sanders, who curtailed his bombastic style, and for Hillary Clinton, who mused ruefully from her living room that this cannot be another “shoulda, coulda, woulda” election. Jill Biden spoke from her old classroom using one of the enduring metaphors of the convention: Joe Biden can heal our broken nation just as he healed his broken family. And for Americans cooped up for months, Democrats provided a virtual road trip in the roll call. “Magical and inspiring,” tweeted one media critic. Jamieson points out that the roll call, usually a process of showing political hacks in funny outfits on a convention floor, was “transformed into a series of vignettes that made it look like Biden was being nominated by America.” When the narrative missed the mark, as with the 17-person keynote, the visual nonetheless relayed a party of young, diverse women and men. Some visuals did not work, as John Kasich’s long shot of a literal fork in the road or the wide shots of Kamala Harris speaking to an empty hall, which broke the intimacy of her message when talking into the camera. The moment of silence for George Floyd was awkward as the production moved from screen to screen. Julia Louis-Dreyfus’s comedy seemed off-key for a night deserving gravitas. And a few old-school politicians uncertain with the new format insisted on giving more speech than conversation and missed their opening cues. But those were minor complaints in four nights geared to the different ways Americans consume information. This was not only good television, it was good “social television”, a concept from scholar Donatella Selva, with TV the central stage where politics happens and the use of second screens provides a social ritual of “viewing as a shared event”.[1] Time will tell if it worked politically. Republicans harnessed the power of the office and focused on fear The Republican Party also was forced to bow to the pandemic even though President Trump tried to hold out as long as possible for a large in-person convention. Their solution was to televise a scaled-down, traditional convention in three cities: Charlotte, Baltimore, and Washington D.C. with the majesty of the White House and other federal sites as the stage. Not since Michael Deaver moved the first Inauguration of Ronald Reagan from the east to the west side of the Capitol, looking down the Mall to the White House and beyond to the monuments, have federal buildings been used so effectively for a televised event. The visuals were psychologically powerful, such as the Trump family launching the fireworks over the Washington monument, reinforcing the president’s acceptance speech line “We’re here and they’re not.” This was not a Rose Garden communication strategy where the president stays above the fray and surrogates do the campaigning. This was a merging of a Rose Garden strategy with direct presidential campaigning in official settings and showcasing presidential powers like pardons. This communication advantage could forever enhance the power of the incumbency. That power of incumbency also allowed President Trump the advantage of rebuttal and the opportunity to reframe. Just as the Democrats had warned of democracy’s demise under four more years of Trump, speakers warned you will not be safe in Joe Biden’s America. They reframed Biden as a Trojan horse of the socialist left and recast the Democrats’ message of light and darkness with mocking lines such as one about blackouts in California. A more traditional stage and podium require adjustments in delivery for the television audience. Some speakers were better than others. Melania Trump and Ivanka Trump struck the needed conversational tone. But Jamieson believes Donald Trump, Jr’s speech and delivery were “too hot” for television and even Fox News cut away from Kimberly Guilfoyle for the same reason. “Speaking too loudly, or in the case of Rudy Giuliani, growling and seeming on the verge of being overpowered by negative emotions, defeats the purpose of the message,” she told me. In other words, you want the audience to fear the opponent, not you. Jamieson has studied the power of fear in campaign rhetoric. “To the extent you are fearful, you are more likely to vote for the person who will reduce that fear.” There were repeated references to President Trump as protector of America from cancel culture, riots in the suburbs, and socialism. The president’s conflating of Black Lives Matter’s peaceful protestors with rioters, looters, and anarchists may be working. Support for BLM has decreased thirteen points in the battleground state of Wisconsin in last two months. As for Trump’s speech itself, Jamieson believes he did what he needed to do. Some called it flat. But a bombastic rally-style speech would not have worked, and while the speech itself was poorly organized, he stuck to the teleprompter and avoided being too hot for television. Social media and the second screen as a convention hall Each of the conventions got roughly 50 million social media interactions. First Ladies Michelle Obama and Melania Trump won their conventions with Mrs. Obama at 7.6 million interactions and 3.1 million for Mrs. Trump. The GOP had the benefit of President Trump retweeting every convention speaker to his 85 million followers. Both parties leveraged the power of local media. The Republicans provided download-ready B-roll to local stations, still an important source of voters’ news. Democrats pitched local stories on the Americans whose videos were chosen from the party’s crowdsourcing effort. Two starkly different versions of reality were on-screen Finally, let’s return to the visuals. Michael Deaver, known as former President Ronald Reagan’s vicar of visuals, knew that in television what you see trumps what you say. These conventions reflected two different pandemic realities: a Biden reality and a Trump reality. Visuals of masked Democrats socially distancing and talking to each other through Zoom in a mostly virtual convention vs. visuals of crowds in Charlotte, Fort McHenry and the White House south lawn, with few masks on an audience sitting close together. The visual contrast was stark—the pandemic still raging or the pandemic controlled and in the past tense. The visuals also presented two different realities of the movement for racial justice: riots in the streets of cities with Democratic mayors vs. peaceful protests in those same cities. And finally, the visuals showed two different realities of the economy: people thriving in a recovering economy vs. people without jobs and food, insecure in an economy brought down by bungled handling of COVID. But the reality that matters the most is the reality of the individual’s life. Campaign rhetoric may be mediated through the network a person watches, but more important is their own reality. And it is the reality voters live every day that will decide the next president on Election Day.

[1] Selva, Donatella. 2016. “Social Television: Audience and Political Engagement.” Television and New Media 17, no. 2: 159–73.

[isolationshepherd-blog]

CHAPTER SIXTEEN – SMOKE AND MIRRORS

(Some scenes may be upsetting to some readers - see notes at the end if you are worried)

Kelso, Roxburghshire

The journey back to Kelso was uneventful and Abby and Blake met up with Sinclair at the bridge close to the priory. Harper was with him and she smiled when she saw Abby.

“What is the news, Sinclair? Has Alasdair discovered Marcus is escaped?”

“Not yet, Abigail. He has not been down to the gaol. He has been busy arranging the site of the execution. There is a platform for Alasdair to sit on and view the proceedings and the gallows has been put into place. He means to have Kane brought directly to the market place.”

“That is good. He will be humiliated in public, then.”

“Aye, he will.”

Abby smiled. This was going to be a good day. Harper had brought a change of clothes for Abby and they left the horses with the men and ducked behind the wall of the priory. Harper shielded Abby as best she could while she quickly stripped off her dirty blue dress and stepped into the dark green one Harper had brought.

“It was the darkest colour I could find, Mistress.”

“You have done well. It’s not as if there is a dress code for attending an execution.”

Harper smirked, and then laughed and Abby joined in. It wouldn’t be funny at all if Marcus were really about to be hanged, but knowing he was safe allowed them a moment of pleasure, a chance to let go of the tension that had built up since he was captured.

“How’s my hair? How do I look?” Abby turned around so Harper could see her at all angles.

“Ye look like ye’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.”

“Oh! You had better fix it quickly.”

Abby crouched while Harper rebraided her hair with deft fingers. After she had done she appraised Abby again.

“That is better, Mistress.”

Abby looked at her reflection in the river. “It will do.” There was still some dirt in her fingernails but that was nothing new, and her boots were still wet and uncomfortable but no one would notice that except for her, and she could live with it for a while longer. They returned to the bridge.

“I will take ye to the market place now,” said Sinclair. “A crowd has been gathering all morning, and there is a surprise waiting for thee.”

“A surprise? What is it?”

“It is not a surprise if I tell thee, is it? I think ye will be happy.”

Abby couldn’t think what kind of surprise would make her happy on the day a man was to be executed, but it wouldn’t be long before she could find out. Blake took the horses to the stable and Abby and Harper followed Sinclair to the market place. It was a very different place to when she had last been here, when she had met Marcus in the stable. The stalls that were usually in the centre of the market place were squashed next to others lining the edges of the market. A raised wooden platform had been built with a tapestry hanging behind it and wooden chairs arranged on top. In front of this, in the middle of the cobbled square stood the gallows. It too was on a raised wooden plinth and had a trapdoor beneath. The noose hung down from the crossbeam, a thick knotted rope that was a dirty grey from overuse. Abby shuddered at the thought of Marcus standing there, a hood over his eyes so he couldn’t see the faces of the people who loved him, and the rope placed around his neck and pulled tight. The thought made her feel physically sick. There were a few people already seated on the platform. She recognised the Sheriff, and the Abbot from the priory. There was another person seated, and even though their back was turned, Abby recognised the blonde hair and petite frame of her daughter. She felt a rush of emotions. Joy at seeing her again, and concern, because this was hardly the place for a reunion.

“Told ye there was a nice surprise,” said Sinclair.

Clarke turned at the sound of his voice, and got up out of her seat when she saw Abby.

“Hello, mother.”

Abby rushed towards her and enveloped her in a hug, stroking her hair. Clarke didn’t like her being too demonstrative, and especially not since they’d disagreed over Blake, but this time she returned the hug. Abby kissed Clarke’s forehead.

“It is so wonderful to see you!”

“I don’t know why I had to find out about this from father. Why didn’t you tell me what had happened to you?”

“Oh.” Abby didn’t know what to say. Of course Alasdair had bragged to Clarke about capturing the Grey Wolf, and the whole tale would have come out.

“Oh? Mother, I asked you if you were hurt in the raid and you said no, and now I find out that you were abused in the most vile way. You could have told me.”

She put her arms around Abby again, and Abby let herself be drawn into the hug, but she was in turmoil inside. Clarke was upset for her, wanting to comfort her and Abby didn’t know how to tell her that there was no need. How could she say that Kane was innocent without giving the whole game away? She wanted to be able to trust Clarke, but this was not the time or the place, not with Alasdair’s humiliation imminent. Clarke would know immediately that Abby had betrayed him and there was no telling how she would react to that. She loved Alasdair, had no idea how he treated Abby because she had been shielded from it her whole life. She had to say something. Clarke had released her from the hug and was looking at her expecting an answer.

“I did not want to upset you, my darling.”

“I’m your daughter!”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted to forget about it.”

“Well at least he is captured now.”

Abby nodded, the sick feeling she had experienced when she saw the gallows was back, only this time she felt it every time she looked at her daughter. Clarke was going to feel so betrayed when she found out the truth, but Abby would have to tell her, no matter what the consequences. As soon as she had a date for telling Alasdair, she would tell Clarke.

“Are you going to stay for a while, Clarke? It would be nice to have your company.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Of course I do.”

“What about Blake?” She scanned the market place, looking for the groomsman. “Am I allowed to talk to him if I see him?”

Abby sighed. She couldn’t very well say no when only a few hours ago she was in the arms of her own unsuitable man.

“Very well.”

“Pardon?” Clarke looked surprised, as though she had been expecting a no, or another argument.

“You may speak with him if you see him.”

“I don’t understand. What has brought about this change?”

“Let’s just say I have seen another side to Blake recently, and he is a good man.”

Clarke frowned but before she had a chance to reply there was a commotion near the castle and Alasdair appeared, followed by Sinclair, Blake, and a large man dressed in a black cloak, the hangman. Abby shuddered at the sight of him. The hangman crossed to the gallows and climbed the steps to the plinth. Alasdair made his way towards them, a broad smile on his face. For once Abby didn’t have to force herself to smile back, it came easily to her, because she was thinking of what was about to happen.

“Clarke, my angel. How good of you to come and witness my triumph.” Clarke moved in front of Abby to give Alasdair a hug.

“I am here to support mother as well.”

“Of course, of course.” Alasdair looked at Abby. “Abigail. You look presentable for once. Are you ready for today?”

“I am more than ready, Alasdair.”

Alasdair nodded. “I am doing this all for you after all.”

“I am most grateful. It should be a wonderful day.”

She could feel Sinclair’s eyes boring into her as she spoke, but she didn’t look at him. He probably thought she was sailing close to the wind with her choice of words, but she didn’t care. Meeting Alice, seeing how broken she was inside, and then coming home and seeing the damage Alasdair had inflicted on Marcus while he was defenceless had changed something inside Abby. She no longer cared what happened to Alasdair. He deserved everything he got.

They took their seats. Blake was standing behind Alasdair, and Abby saw Clarke glance at him, saw him smile at her; he couldn’t hide his delight at seeing her, it was written all over his face. She knew that nothing she did could stop them feeling the way they did about each other any more than she could stop loving Marcus. Love was a powerful weapon, and when it hit you hard, it knocked you to the ground, and there was no getting back up from it.

“It is time.” Alasdair’s booming voice broke her from her thoughts and she watched as he nodded to Sinclair who went to the castle door and spoke to someone inside before returning to Alasdair’s side. He glanced at Abby. She gave him the barest of nods in return. It was all about to happen.

Alasdair stood up and addressed the crowds.

“Today, I have the great pleasure of bringing before you a man who has terrorised the Borders for far too long. He and his clan of thieves and murderers have stolen from every Border family, robbing us as we innocently go about our business, raping our wives, killing our men. The man who will stand before you today, the so-called Grey Wolf, is the worst of them all, not least because he was formerly one of us. He had a life of wealth and privilege, and he gave it all up to become a reiver, a low-life good-for-nothing, and why? Because he is bad to the core, an evil monster who preys on innocent people. He is a wolf indeed, but I have captured him, I set a trap and he fell into it, and now he must pay for what he has done.”

Abby listened to this speech with disgust. Sections of the crowd were applauding, because it was a rousing speech, making Alasdair seem like one of them, whilst at the same time being the only one who could capture the Grey Wolf.

The applause died down and then a silence fell while the crowds waited for the Grey Wolf to be brought out. Everyone was looking towards the castle door, including Alasdair. Abby’s heart was beating so hard it was making her feel light-headed. She clutched Clarke’s hand, and the girl squeezed it. Nothing was happening at the castle door, and murmurings swept through the crowd like a wind through a field of barley, whispers spreading, gaining volume.

Alasdair looked at Sinclair. “Go and see what is keeping them.”

Sinclair left and entered the castle. Abby waited. She was caught up in the atmosphere of the crowd, which was excited, and she half expected to see Marcus walk through the door, even though she knew he would not. Sinclair came back out and walked over to Alasdair. Abby did not envy him the job he now had to do. He whispered to Alasdair but she could hear it.

“He is not there, My Lord.”

Alasdair frowned. “What do you mean, he is not there? Of course he is there.”

Sinclair shook his head. “He was not in his cell when the guard went to fetch him.”

Alasdair grew red in the face. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. Abby folded her hand into a fist, stuck her nails into her palm so that she would not smile.

“He must be there. Search the castle!” His voice was raised now, and those of the crowd who were closest to the platform heard him, and a ripple of excitement spread through the market place.

“My Lord, a search has already been undertaken. He is not to be found.”

“Then search again!” Alasdair stood up. He was shaking with rage. He pushed Sinclair out of the way as he marched towards the door. “Must I do everything myself!”

Clarke tugged on Abby’s sleeve. “Mother, what is happening.”

“I think the Grey Wolf has escaped.”

“Oh, no!”

Abby squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, darling. He will be far away from here I am sure.”

“Poor father.”

“Yes. It is humiliating.”

Time passed but no one moved. The crowd gossiped and jostled for the best position but no one left the market, too eager to hear the news they had already guessed. Alasdair returned and pushed his way through the crowd back to the platform. He cleared his throat.

“The Grey Wolf has escaped.” A few cries went up, and some cheers and boos. “I promise you that I will hunt him down. No hiding place will be safe from me. He is as good as dead.”

With that he turned and walked back into the castle, Sinclair hurrying after him.

Clarke looked at Abby. “What are we to do?”

“I am not certain. Alasdair will not be in the mood to see us I suspect. Perhaps it is best if we go home.” She turned to Blake. “Will you accompany us to Arkholm?”

“Of course, Mistress. Is Miss Griffin going with you?”

“I am,” said Clarke. “I will be staying for a few days.”

“Very good, Miss.” Blake bowed his head, a smile on his face.

“Fetch the horses, Blake,” said Abby with a sigh. At least having to chaperone these two would keep her occupied for the next few days while Marcus recovered.

---

Arkholm Tower

Abby sat in her favourite chair in the kitchen waiting for Alasdair to return. Clarke was in the stable, grooming the horses, or so she claimed. Blake was probably there as well, but Abby didn’t have the energy to intervene. She hadn’t slept in two days and was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. The heat in the kitchen didn’t help, and she drifted away to the sound of meat sizzling on the griddle, the smell invoking childhood memories of the kitchen at her family home at Fountainhall, where the cook would fetch a stool for her to stand on so she could watch her prepare the meal. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that it wouldn’t be long before she would have to do such things for herself, and for Marcus.

She was roused from her slumber by the clatter of many pairs of boots on the wooden floor above. Alasdair was home; she could hear him shouting and stomping around. She rose from her chair, gripping the arms for support as her legs were stiff and sore from two days of near-constant riding. She didn’t get far before the door opened and Alasdair marched in, followed by Sinclair who was pale and sweating. Sinclair looked at Abby and grimaced.

“Get out!” Alasdair yelled to the cook and the maids who were preparing the dinner. They left in a rush, and Abby was left to face him with only Sinclair for company. She took a deep breath, and drew on the courage she’d spoken of with Marcus earlier that morning.

Alasdair paced the kitchen, shaking his head. He was red in the face and sweating as well. Abby had hoped he would have calmed down in the time since he had discovered Marcus had gone, but if anything he looked even more annoyed, as though he had spent the time working himself up into a fury.

“I don’t understand what the hell happened back there! That guard was paid good money to make sure nothing went wrong. You gave him the money, didn’t you?”

This was addressed to Sinclair, who nodded. “Aye, Sir. I did as you asked.”

“Then someone must have paid him more, but who? I can’t see that sorry clan of his getting enough money together.” He stroked his chin as he walked, fingers rubbing rhythmically back and forth over the stubble, over and over again like a child stroking a blanket. The action wasn’t calming him down, though. His breathing was heavy, and loud. “Who benefits from that Wolf being free?”

“Ye have many enemies, My Lord. Men who are envious of yer status and wealth. Perhaps they…”

Alasdair cut Sinclair off. “Perhaps, perhaps, but it feels more personal to me.” He looked at Abby.

“What do you think?”

Abby was startled at being asked such a direct question. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I. I do not know, Alasdair. Perhaps Kane has wealth of his own that he had hidden.”

“And live like he does? Why would he do that? No. Although…” Alasdair stopped walking and looked out of the window. “Perhaps he has sold something that he had in his possession. Something that belonged to me.”

He spoke quietly, as though to himself. Abby remained silent, having decided not to speak unless spoken to and to keep her answers as minimal as possible.

“Yes, yes,” he continued, his voice rising. “He has sold the papers, that must be it. But who has them? The Warden perhaps. Maybe Jaha has given them to the Warden after all. They have been working together all this time, fooling me, betraying me. Goddammmit!” He lashed out with his fist, hitting the window, the glass shattering around him, cutting his hand.

Abby went to him, her instincts to care wiping out any fear she had, and took hold of his hand which was dripping blood.

“Get off me, woman!” Alasdair flung his arm out to push her away, hitting her in the face as he did so, the blood from his hand splashing into her eyes, blinding her for a moment.

Sinclair rushed forward. “My Lady!”

“She is fine,” said Alasdair. “Leave us.”

“Sir.”

“I said leave us!”

Abby laid her hand on Sinclair’s. “I am fine. It is alright.”

Sinclair shook his head. “No, My Lady. I am not leaving thee this time.”

Alasdair had gone to the water bucket to wash the blood off his hand and Abby hoped he hadn’t heard Sinclair’s last words.

“I will be fine. Please, Sinclair.” She tried to tell him with her eyes and the pressure from her hand that he was not to mess things up now, not when they were so close. He was battling with himself, she could see it in his face, which was twisted with grief and indecision. At last he made his decision, and squeezed her hand before stepping back.

“I will be in the hall if ye need me, Sir.”

Alasdair ignored him. Abby wiped the worst of the blood from her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. Her face was stinging where he had caught her, but it had been a glancing blow, not as bad as it could have been.

She looked up to see Alasdair regarding her, his blue eyes looking her up and down, making her feel naked before him.

“This is all your fault,” he said in a quiet voice.

Abby went cold, a sick feeling settling in her stomach.

“Alasdair. How is this my fault?”

“This all started the day he had you on the road from Edinburgh. He’s been obsessed with this family ever since.”

Abby didn’t know what to say, but she didn’t like where Alasdair was going with this at all.

“What really happened in those rushes?” He moved closer to her, and she stepped back, hitting the edge of the table, nearly falling over onto it.

“I told you what happened.”

“No. You told me what you thought I wanted to hear. I want to know the truth.”

“It was the truth, Alasdair.”

He pressed himself against her. She was shocked to find him hard. He was enjoying this in some sick way she couldn’t understand. He was bound to want to take her, and she didn’t know how she was going to get out of it.

“I think the truth is you enjoyed it.”

“No, Alasdair.”

“Do you like it rough? Is that what I’ve been doing wrong all these years, treating you too kindly?”

Abby stifled a laugh. Kind was the last word she would ever associate with him. How deluded he must be, so full of his own self-importance that he had no idea how he treated her, or he didn’t care.

“I did not enjoy it.”

Alasdair played with the buttons on her dress, popping them in and out of their holes. “But he enjoyed you, didn’t he? He must have otherwise he wouldn’t be trying to get rid of me now. What did you do for him that you don’t do for me?” He traced the swell of her breasts with his finger, pressing a little too hard with his nail so that it drew a thin line of blood. Abby ignored the pain.

“Nothing, I told you.”

“You’re a bloody liar. Well, we’ll see how rough you like it.” He unbuttoned the front of his trousers, reached in to take out his member. Abby’s hands were behind her back, holding onto the table for support, and she felt around for a knife or anything that she could use as a weapon. She didn’t care what the consequences would be; she was not going to let him take her. There was nothing close to hand, and she began to despair until she remembered what Marcus had told her to say.  

“It is not the right time. I have my monthly blood. Ow!”

He had grabbed hold of her braid and pulled it so that her head snapped back. She tried to swallow the howl of pain that rose in her throat but she couldn’t, it hurt too much and tears sprang to her eyes.

“Your monthly blood. Yes, you always have that, don’t you? Every month for fifteen years. Disappointment after disappointment. Well, it doesn’t matter. There are other ways.”

He spun her so that she was facing the table, and pushed her forwards against it. He held the back of her neck, forcing her down so that her breasts were pressed painfully against the wood.

“Alasdair. There is no need for this. Let us go upstairs, to bed. I will do whatever you want.” She kept her voice as calm as she could, soothing, compliant. She had no intention of going upstairs with him, but she had to stall him, to give her time to think, or run.

“You really are a whore, aren’t you? How have I not seen this all these years?”

He was pushing her skirts up to give himself access when the door opened, banging against the wall as a gust of wind took it. Abby looked up. It was Clarke. She was standing in the doorway, staring at them open-mouthed, a look of horror on her face. Abby could feel Alasdair tucking himself back in, using her body as a shield so Clarke couldn’t see what he was doing.

“Father?”

Alasdair pulled Abby up from the table, patted her on the back. “It is alright, angel. Your mother and I… We got carried away. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Clarke frowned. “Mother?”

Abby couldn’t speak. Words just would not form in her mouth even though she wanted them to, wanted to reassure her daughter.

“Well,” said Alasdair. “I’ll leave you two to catch up. Just give us a moment, Clarke.” He waved his hand to indicate she should wait outside. She did as she was told but she didn’t go far, just to the other side of the threshold.

Alasdair dragged Abby to the far side of the kitchen. “You say a word to her and I will kill you. Don’t think I won’t. It would be a simple matter to have you fall off that damned horse and break your neck.”

Abby nodded, still unable to speak, and Alasdair left the kitchen. Clarke came running in as soon as she heard the inner door close.

“What has happened? Why do you have blood on your face?” She touched Abby’s face, fingers moving the hair out of her eyes where it had got matted with the blood.

“Clarke,” was all she managed to say before bursting into tears, and falling into her daughter’s arms. Clarke held her, rocking her as Abby had done to her to soothe her when she was a child. When Abby’s sobs had subsided, Clarke stood back, holding Abby at arm’s length while she studied her, taking in her face, the bruise on her cheek, her hair in disarray from where Alasdair had pulled it out of its braid.

“Has father done this to you?”

“That man is not your father.”

“I know, but, he has always been. Oh, he has done this hasn’t he? Why?”

“Why? He does not need a reason, Clarke.”

“You mean he has done this before?” Clarke put her hand to her mouth in shock.

“Not for a long time, but he used to. Often.”

“I did not know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You love him, and I did not want to jeopardise that. You needed a father, and despite what he has done to me, he has always been good to you.”

Clarke shook her head. “I appreciate that, mother, but there is so much you have kept back from me. The fact that the Grey Wolf raped you, that father has beat you. What else haven’t you told me?”

Abby breathed in deeply and slowly to try and calm her racing heart. This was the moment, she could feel it. She had to tell Clarke about Marcus because it was all going to come out soon and she would be devastated if she found out that Abby had lied to her now.

“Perhaps we should sit down. Would you like some wine?”

“I don’t want wine, mother, I want to know the truth.”

“Yes, and I will tell you everything, but first I need a drink, it has been a trying day.”

Abby poured them both some wine and they sat in silence while they sipped it. Clarke was impatient for Abby to talk and was tapping her foot on the floor under the table, but Abby needed time to find the right place to start.

“I have never been happy with Alasdair, you know that.”

Clarke nodded, took another sip of wine. “I knew you didn’t like him, but I didn’t know why. I thought perhaps it was because he wasn’t Jacob.”

“No one could ever replace Jacob, but it was not that. He is not a good man, Clarke. He has an air of respectability but he does terrible things, he hurts people, and he hurt me, badly.” Abby wasn’t sure how much to tell Clarke. It would be overwhelming to tell the girl everything Alasdair had done all at once. It had taken Abby months to come to terms with it; she could not expect her eighteen-year-old daughter to understand and accept it all. She was going to be devastated enough as it was. She decided to keep things as simple as possible.

Clarke held her hands out to Abby across the table, and Abby took them. “I am so sorry that he hurt you. I cannot believe that he is capable of such things.”

“No, and that is how he has got away with so much over the years, because no one can believe it could be true, but it is.”

“There have been times, when I have heard him shouting at you, but he shouts at everyone. I never thought it was so bad. I do believe you. Is there anything to be done about it?”

“Do you think I should do something about it?” Abby wanted to gauge Clarke’s feelings on the subject of bringing Alasdair to justice.

“Yes, but I don’t know what you can do. It is like you always say to me. You cannot live any other kind of life.”

“What if I could live another life? What if we both could?”

“What do you mean?”

Abby bit her bottom lip. There would be no going back from what she was about to tell Clarke. She looked around the kitchen to make sure that no one had sneaked in since Alasdair had left. They were alone. “I have been seeing someone. Another man.”

“Pardon?” Clarke was open-mouthed for the second time that day. “Who?”

Abby took a sip of her wine. Her hand was shaking. “Marcus Kane.”

Clarke’s face was blank for a moment as the name sank in, and then she opened her eyes wide. “The Grey Wolf?”

Abby nodded.

“The man who raped you, who father meant to hang? Did you help him escape?”

“He didn’t rape me, and yes, I helped him, but Clarke…”

Clarke had her hand to her chest; her breathing was rapid and shallow. Abby was worried she was going to faint. “How?”

“How did I help him escape?”

“No,” said Clarke in between deep breaths as she calmed herself. “How is it that you are seeing him, a man like him?”

“I was unhappy Clarke, but I didn’t realise how much until I met him. He showed me that there is joy in life, and love.”

“You’re in love with him! I don’t believe this.” Clarke stood up and went over to the window where Alasdair had stood earlier.

“Be careful, Clarke, there is broken glass.”

Clarke turned to look at Abby. Her eyes were wide, and fierce. “He’s a reiver, a thief. You surely don’t think you can be with him?”

Abby stood up as well, and faced Clarke. She held her hands out to her daughter but Clarke ignored them. Abby dropped them again. “We are going to be together. We have a plan to…” She faltered under her daughter’s stern gaze.

“You have a plan! How long has this been going on?”

“A few months.”

“A few months! So when I visited, and we went to Kelso, were you seeing him then?”

“It had just begun, yes. Listen to me, Clarke.” But Clarke was not for listening.

“I told you then that I was in love with Bellamy, and you told me it could not be, to find someone more suitable, and all the time you were seeing HIM, a man who has no money, no proper home, who is wanted for his crimes.” She put her hand to her head and paced up and down the kitchen. “I can’t believe you would do this to me.”

Abby put her arm on Clarke’s but the girl shrugged it off.

“Darling, you have every right to be angry. I was trying to protect you.”

“You were protecting yourself.”

“No. I only wanted what was best for you.” Abby was beside herself at Clarke’s reaction. This was going much worse than she had anticipated. She had expected Clarke to be angry, but she was furious, and devastated.

“You have betrayed father, and you have betrayed me.”

“Oh, no, Clarke!” Abby cried, desperate tears flowing down her face.

“You are not my mother. I don’t know who you are anymore.”

“Clarke, you do not know the full circumstances. I should have been honest with you sooner, I know that, but Alasdair was determined to capture Marcus and I didn’t know who to trust.”

“Oh, so I am not to be trusted! A thief and a murderer she trusts, but not her own daughter. This just gets better!”

Abby cursed herself for her choice of words. “No, I didn’t mean that I didn’t trust you.”

“Forget it, mother. I know where I stand now. I have to go and get some fresh air.” She headed towards the door, and Abby followed her. She put her hand on Clarke’s as she reached for the doorknob, stopping her from turning it.

“Clarke, I am sorry, so sorry. I love you, darling. Please don’t leave like this.”

“I am not leaving Arkholm, but I can’t be with you right now.”

Abby sighed. “I understand. Darling, I hate to ask you this.” She didn’t get to finish the sentence before Clarke interrupted.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell father, but only because I don’t want him to hurt you.” Clarke lifted Abby’s hand off hers, and opened the door.

“Thank you,” said Abby, but her daughter was gone. She sat back down at the table, put her head in her hands, and cried.

---

The Hundred Camp, Broad Law, The Southern Uplands

It took four days for the camp to be dismantled, moved and rebuilt. Winter had arrived; the first flutterings of snow settling on the ground as Kane surveyed his new surroundings. They had moved north and west, pitching camp deep in the forest at the foot of Broad Law in the Southern Uplands. It was further away from Abby, which was not ideal, but that also meant they were out of Alasdair’s reach, at least that’s what he hoped.

Raven helped him to his new dwelling. He was healing well but his stomach was still sore and his chest hurt when he breathed. He hadn’t told Abby because he hadn’t wanted to worry her but he thought he had cracked a couple of ribs during his beating. The bed rest had done him good, frustrating though it had been to lay still for so long, not knowing what was happening to Abby, what Alasdair was putting her through. Kane had wanted to get better as quick as possible so he had been patient, allowing Raven to cover him with potions and bandages, drinking the foul liquids Abby had prescribed. He had eaten better than he had in years, Raven catching pheasants and roasting them over the fire. He had recovered enough strength to be able to undertake the journey to Broad Law.

Now, as he stood in his new home, which was little different to his old one, he realised he was not ready for what was to come. He was ready for confronting Alasdair, it wasn’t that. He wasn’t prepared for Abby, for her being here in this humble dwelling, however temporary it might be until he had reconciled with his father. If Lord Robert wouldn’t accept him back, then this would be their permanent home, as permanent as it ever could be. He couldn’t expect her to sleep on that bed with its dirty furs and smelly straw mattress. There was nowhere for Abby to wash or dress or have any privacy. He went outside and called Raven to him.

“I need yer help.”

“What can I do for thee?”

“I need to make this hovel fit for a Lady. Do ye have any ideas?”

“That’s a tall order, Kane. It’s a fleapit.”

“Aye, thanks for pointing that out.” Kane laughed.

“Hmmm. What do ye want for her?”

“A proper bed…”

“Oh, I see ye have yer priorities right!” Raven laughed and Kane gave her a raised eyebrow in return.

“Ye didn’t let me finish. A proper bed and clean bedding, a table and a mirror, somewhere for her to wash and get dressed where she doesn’t have to put up with me staring at her all the time. I don’t know what ladies need. Ye’re the woman here, work it out.”

“Does she realise how different her life is going to be when she’s here with thee? There’s no bath and no maid, no nice clothes and fancy meat. She’ll be a peasant like the rest of us.”

“I doubt she has realised the extent of it, no, but that’s why we have to make it as comfortable as possible for her.”

Raven nodded. “I’m on it. I have an idea already actually that I’ve been working on. Something that will improve the cleanliness of everyone in the camp.”

“That’s my girl. Now, before ye put yer thinking cap on can ye get everyone together in the courtyard. I want to address the clan.”

Raven went around the camp banging on doors, heading into the mess and the medic’s hut. Kane pulled a cut log out from the pile and turned it upright so he could stand on it. It hurt him to bend down, and he had to breathe out through his mouth to ease the pain. When everyone was assembled he stood on the log and looked around. Most of the clan was here, even Murphy, lurking at the back with a scowl on his face.

“It’s good to be back with ye, and to still have my neck in one piece.”

Kane rubbed his neck as he said this and the men laughed.

“I know that many of ye were trying to organise a rescue after I was captured and sent to Kelso. I’m grateful fer that, even though I had help from elsewhere in the end.”

“Who helped thee, Kane?” It was Murphy of course, always ready with spoon in hand to stir the pot.

Kane ignored him. “Ye’ve probably all realised by now that I was betrayed by Jaha. I’m sure rumours as to why have done the rounds but I can’t tell ye about that just yet. What I can say, is that Jaha is not welcome back in The Hundred. As Second in Command, it is my duty to take on the leadership, and I am happy tae do it.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd as the men digested the news.

“So we’re a man short now,” said Monty. Do ye have any ideas as to who will replace him?”

“I want tae talk to ye about that. I want to make some changes to how we are run. I never knew why there had to be exactly a hundred people in the clan, and that is going to change. From now on, anyone wanting to join the clan can do so. The only stipulation, like before, is that they have to be in need of what we can offer, and that is support and shelter. Secondly, anyone who wants to leave, for whatever reason, can do so, without fear of reprisals. I only want people in our clan who want to be here, who need to be here. If ye don’t like it, ye know what to do.”

He looked at Murphy as he said this, and the boy looked back at him defiantly.

“Finally, at least for now, and this is perhaps the biggest change, I am allowing women into the clan.”

The men gasped at the same time as if they were one entity.

“I’m not talking about whores and such like. I mean any woman who, for whatever reason, needs to find safety, or shelter, or wants to live our life, will be welcome here.”

“What about girlfriends?” said Jordan.

“Ha, as if ye’re ever going to get a woman,” replied Green, jostling his friend.

“Any man who wants to share his life with a woman, well as long as he is willing to make his own dwelling or find somewhere offsite to live, then that is acceptable.”

“Women in the camp, Sir! Are ye sure this is a good idea? They only bring trouble.” Wells did not look convinced and many of the men were shaking their heads.

“It is not the women who bring the trouble, it is the men who cause it, with jealousy and fighting. We will call it an experiment. If it does not work, then we will think again.”

“Will ye be taking advantage of the new rules, Kane?” Murphy again. He was not going to give up.

“As ye don’t believe a woman could ever see anything in me, that would be unlikely in yer eyes, would it not?” He looked away from Murphy, and addressed the crowd again.

“One final thing. Fer the time being, I am naming Raven as my Second in Command. He knows of my plans for the clan and he will be talking to ye over the next few days. Ye are dismissed.”

Raven helped him down from the log. “Ye didn’t have tae do that, Kane.” She was smiling, though, beaming in fact.

“Ye’re the best man fer the job. Are ye going to tell them ye’re a woman, now that ye’re allowed to be?”

Raven shook her head. “Not yet. It’s a big step and I need tae think about it.”

Kane put his hand on her shoulder. “Whenever ye’re ready. I’ll be here for ye.”

“I know. I’d better get going. The new Heid of my clan has given me a lot of work tae do.”

Kane smiled, and then entered his dwelling. He took some carvings he had made while he was confined in the cave, and arranged them on the window sill. There were two wolves, which were his family symbol, but he had carved a male and female, and thought of them more as him and Abby. He’d also carved another tree, in case she had thrown the last one away when she was angry with him. They didn’t do much to brighten the room up, but they were a start. He was adjusting them into the right positions when there was a knock on the door.

“Enter.”

He turned, and was surprised to see Blake standing in his doorway.

“Blake? Is something wrong?”

“Not exactly, Sir, but I do have tae tell ye some news.”

“Come in, shut the door.”

Blake did as he was asked and Kane held a chair out for him to sit in.

“Can I get ye a drink?”

“I’m fine, thank ye, Sir.”

Kane stood behind the other chair; he was worried that if he sat down he wouldn’t be able to get up again, his ribs were aching so much.

“What do ye have to tell me? Is Abby alright?”

Blake sighed, and Kane’s heart skipped a beat. Something had happened to Abby and Blake didn’t want to tell him.

“C’mon, son. Spit it out.”

“She is well, but it is very tense at Arkholm and I am concerned about her. She keeps saying she is fine but I don’t think she is.”

“What has happened? Alasdair doesn’t suspect anything, does he?”

“I don’t know the whole story, but her daughter, Clarke is there. She was at the execution that never was and is staying at Arkholm. She told me that she walked in on Alasdair and the Mistress in a compromising position and that the Mistress had been beaten and she told Clarke about Alasdair’s behaviour, and about you.”

“Abigail had been beaten?” Fear and anger rose in Kane. That bastard! Kane had been worried Alasdair would take his anger out on Abby, but she had reassured him he would not. Kane cursed himself for ever allowing her to go back to that animal.

“Sinclair said it was an accident, that Alasdair lashed out and she was in the way and caught a blow to her face.”

“It doesn’t matter if it was an accident. And then what? He accidentally forced her into laying with him? That man!” Kane stomped around the room, ignoring the pain from his stomach and ribs. “At least she had Clarke as a comfort.”

Blake coughed. “Erm, well, not exactly. Clarke was not happy to find out about you and her mother, because, well, the Mistress has forbidden her from seeing me for a long time, even sending her away so we could not be together.”

“Oh.” This was news to Kane. He had no idea Blake and Abby’s daughter had anything to do with each other, and certainly not that Abby had forbidden Clarke from seeing him.

“Sir. I think ye need to come down to Arkholm. The Mistress isn’t going to survive much longer. He’s either going to kill her, or she’s going to do something she will regret. She told Sinclair she would have stabbed him if there had been a knife to hand.”

Kane put his head in his hands. What had happened over the last four days? Why did he let her go back? He had let himself get too far ahead in his thoughts, planning their victory celebration when the battle had not yet been won.

“I will come back with thee. Give me a moment to speak to Raven. There is food in the Mess. Ye are welcome to some while ye wait.”

Kane pointed the Mess out to Blake and then went to find Raven. She was standing near the stream that ran through the west of the camp.

“Ah, there ye are,” she said. “Wait ‘til ye hear this. Fresh water, piped from the stream, and sent up into a pail or something by using a footpump like my bellows. I’ll have tae think of a way of getting the water out slowly rather than in one go, but I think I can do it. There’ll be a wooden shelter around, so no one will see Abigail when she washes. What do ye think?”

She looked up at Kane, pride at her own ingenuity shining in her eyes.

“Ye’re amazing, Raven, as always. Listen, I have tae go. Abigail needs me. We’re going to have to confront Alasdair now.”

“Kane, ye’re not fit enough to face him. What if ye have to fight?”

“Then I will fight, and I will win, and then afterwards you and Jackson and Abigail can fight over who gets to look after me.”

Raven frowned. “I don’t like it, Kane.”

“She needs me, Raven.”

Raven breathed out deeply. “Of course. Shall I come with thee?”

“No. I need ye here to look after the camp, and prepare my house. She’s coming home, Raven.”

Raven gave him a gentle hug, careful not to hurt him. “We had better meet again.”

Kane smiled. “We will.”

---

Arkholm

Kane was resting in a house in the village of Arkholm that belonged to Blake’s family. Blake’s sister, Octavia, was fussing over him, bringing him hot poultices to lay over his chest and stomach. He wasn’t sure they were going to do much good in the short time he had to rest, but they were warming, and he needed something. The journey had been so painful he had thought he would faint more than once as they cantered along over the uneven ground. He hadn’t been able to gallop because the pain was too great, so it had taken them hours longer than it should have to reach the village.

“Can I get you anything, Mr Kane?” Octavia was hovering near the door, watching Kane. Everyone in Blake’s family had been excited to find the Grey Wolf in their midst. It was humbling to Kane to see the regard in which these people held him. He hadn’t realised until now how much the little help he was able to give to people was needed, and appreciated. An idea was forming in his head as he lay looking at the ceiling, trying not to breathe too deeply, or cough, or do anything to disturb his aching body. He needed to discuss his idea with Abby, see what she thought, but he suspected she would be thrilled with it, for it would give her a domain of her own, somewhere she could use all the skills she had developed but had barely used until she’d met Kane. He was looking forward again, getting carried away with the thought of a life with Abby and all the promise that held. They had the problem of her husband to deal with first of all. Raven had given Kane the papers she had found at Lightwater Castle but they weren’t in his pouch this time. He had copied one laboriously by hand while he was resting in the cave, and that was in his pouch as proof. The others were hidden under the floorboards in the bedroom he was currently lying in.

He realised Octavia had asked him a question and he hadn’t yet answered it.

“Do ye think ye could help me put my shirt on?”

Octavia shook her head. “Bellamy said I wasn’t to let ye leave under any circumstances.”

“I’m not going to leave. I just need to be ready, in case.”

Octavia hesitated, one foot over the threshold, the other outside. Kane decided to put the pressure on, which was unfair as she was only a wee lass, but needs must.

He looked up at her, made his eyes big and wide, the way Archie looked at him when he wanted a treat. This look had never failed Kane yet, just as it had never failed Archie. “Please, Octavia. I can’t manage it by myself.”

She sighed, biting her lip as she decided whether she should give in to Kane or obey her brother. Kane won, as he knew he would.

“Very well, but don’t tell Bellamy I helped ye.”

“I won’t.”

“I should refresh yer bandages first. If I pull ‘em really tight they might hold ye together better.”

“How do all ye Arkholm girls know so much about healing?”

“The Mistress shows Harper, and Harper shows us. Lots of us know how to heal.”

“Then do that, and I will be good as new.”

Octavia took the new bandages out of the poultice where they had been soaking. “Ye had better stand up. If I pull ‘em tight, ye won’t be able tae sit down again without loosening them.”

“I won’t be sitting down again for a while.”

She wrapped the warm bandages around him and pulled them so tight Kane could hardly breathe.

“Ye’re going to leave aren’t ye, without Bellamy?”

“I can’t lie here any longer, Octavia. Anything could be happening to the Mistress in that tower.”

“Bellamy won’t let anything happen to her.”

“He’s a good man, yer brother, but Alasdair is not an enemy to take lightly.”

“Ye don’t have tae tell me that.”

“No. Sorry. I know what ye went through.”

“I had a lucky escape. I hope ye get him.”

“I just want the Mistress out of there, and safe.”

Octavia nodded as she pulled Kane’s shirt over his head and tucked it into his kilt. Then she helped him slip into his jacket.

“There. Ye look almost human.”

“Thank you, Octavia.”

“I’ll show ye the quiet way to the tower.”

“No. I don’t want ye to put yerself at risk.”

“Kane. Have ye learned nothing about the Blake family? We don’t do anything by halves. I’m helping ye, and that’s that.”

Kane followed Octavia as she led him through the twisting alleyways and back streets of Arkholm village. It was early evening, but the streets were dark and empty, the snow lying a foot deep on the ground, deadening the sound of their footsteps as they approached the barmkin walls. Kane doubted the watchmen who were up on the high battlements would be able to see anything in the poor light.

“There is the main gate,” said Octavia. “Ye’re not going to get beyond here without Bellamy or somebody to help ye. Ye can’t climb over it, and there’s no other way through the walls.”

“Will ye be able to get in? Ask to see yer brother perhaps?”

“I have been banished from the tower. It would depend on who was on guard duty.”

“There’s no need fer that,” whispered a voice behind them. Kane jumped, and then relaxed when he saw it was Blake. “I told ye to stay put, and I told THEE to look after him.” He looked at Kane and then Octavia as he spoke.

“It’s not Octavia’s fault,” said Kane. “I forced her to help me.”

“Aye, I bet she needed a lot of persuading. Get thee home, I’ll take it from here.”

Octavia gave a thumbs up gesture to Kane, presumably as a good luck sign, and then disappeared into the darkness.

“I went to fetch thee, but ye had already gone,” said Blake. “It is time. The Master is in his study on the second floor and the Mistress is in the kitchen. I have told her ye are here. She’s waiting for ye.”

“Good.” Kane was ready in spirit, even if his body was slow to respond. It was time they put an end to Alasdair’s tyranny over Abby once and for all.

Blake opened the gate and slipped through. After a moment, he returned and gestured for Kane to follow him. They headed across the courtyard to the entrance. The tower loomed up above Kane, dark and foreboding. Blake opened the heavy outer door, and the iron yett that lay behind it. A set of stairs leading down were immediately in front of them and Blake descended. Kane followed and at the bottom of the stairs Blake opened a door into a room that was flooded with a warm light from many candles, and smelled of herbs and spices. Abby was sitting at the far end of a long table and she stood up as Blake and Kane entered. Kane walked towards her. He could see the bruise on her face, just below her eye. She looked so small and vulnerable to him. Her hair was down and she was dressed in a brown dress with silver brocade and sleeves that were made of some translucent material. Her face crumpled as he approached her, and he took her in his arms as her tears flowed, wetting his jacket. He hugged her tight, hardly noticing the pain it caused, so happy he was to have her in his arms.

“My love,” he said.

She didn’t speak, just sobbed, and he let her cry it all out. She needed to do it, so that she could then gather her strength for what was to come.

When she drew back from him he thought his heart would burst at the sight of her, face damp and eyes bright with tears. She looked at him with such love he was overwhelmed.

“I am ready,” she said.

“Have ye packed some things?”

“Yes. Blake has them hidden in a cart in the stable.”

“That’s good.”

She took his hand. “Let’s do this.”

Blake slipped ahead of them to go and hitch their horses to the cart, so that it was ready for them. Abby led Kane up the stairs to the second floor. They stopped outside the door, and embraced, “We’re in this together,” whispered Kane. Abby nodded, and then turned the handle. Abby stepped into the room first, with Kane close behind. Alasdair was seated at the far end, behind a huge oak table. He looked up at the sound of the door opening. He looked surprised to see Abby, and then his surprise turned to a frown, and then a look of pure shock as he recognised Kane.

“What the hell is this?”

“I think you know that this is Marcus Kane,” said Abby. “The Grey Wolf. He’s my lover.”

“He’s your what?” Alasdair’s face was turning a shade of pink.

“You heard me.”

Alasdair was so shocked he was rendered speechless. His mouth gaped like that of a fish gasping for air as it wriggled on the fisherman’s hook.

Kane stepped forward, and Alasdair stood up, feeling around his person for a weapon or something to defend himself. His belt with his knife hanging from it was slung over the chair on the opposite side of the desk. He looked at it but did not move towards it.

“I am not here to hurt thee,” said Kane. “Not unless ye make me.”

“What is going on, Abigail? What is this man doing here?”

“He’s here to support me. I want a divorce, Alasdair.”

Alasdair laughed. “You are in jest, surely!”

“I am not. I have been seeing Kane for months now, and I want to be with him. I want you to let me go.”

“What in hell makes you think I’m going to let you go, with him of all people? I bloody well KNEW something was going on with you!”

“I don’t care what you knew, or what you didn’t know. You’re going to let me go, or I’m going to tell the King and the whole country what you have been up to.”

Kane glanced at Abby. She was stood stock still, straight and determined. She had a defiant look on her face. His heart ached with pride. He had never loved her so much.

Alasdair laughed again. “What do you know about what I’ve been up to? Your lapdog here has already threatened me with this and I am still waiting for him to produce the proof.”

“Ye didn’t give me much chance to give ye proof when ye were beating me in the castle.”

“Shut the fuck up,” snarled Alasdair to Kane. “I’m talking to my wife.”

“I have proof,” said Abby. She reached in her pouch for the paper Kane had given her as they left the kitchen. “This is a copy of one of the papers. I have more, but they are not here. They are in a safe place. If anything happens to me, or to Kane, the people who are guarding them know exactly what to do with them.”

She held the paper out to Alasdair, who snatched it from her, barely glancing at it before he threw it on the desk.

“You’re out of your depth here, Abigail. If you go any further, you’ll drown. Step back now, destroy the papers, and we’ll say no more about this.”

Alasdair stepped to one side, so that the desk was no longer between him and Kane and Abby. Kane put his hand on his ballack knife, just in case.

“It is not me who is out of my depth, Alasdair. You have defrauded the King. I have the proof, and I will give it to the King if you don’t give me what I want.”

“I am never letting you go.” Alasdair’s words were almost a whisper. Kane had to lean forward to hear them.

“Why not?” said Abby. You don’t love me. You have never loved me.”

“I have always loved you. I loved you when you didn’t even know I existed, when all you could do was make eyes at my brother.”

Abby shook her head, a frown on her face. “What are you talking about?”

“You never noticed me. We were almost the same age but all you were interested in was Jacob. You should have been mine. Father promised me you would be mine, and then your mother died and left you an inheritance and suddenly you were good enough for Jacob, and not for me.”

Abby was flummoxed by Alasdair’s words, Kane could tell. “I never had an inheritance,” she said.

“Oh, you did. It was promised to my father if Jacob married you, and so it was.”

Abby turned to Kane, a look of utter shock and despair on her face. “Jacob loved me.”

Alasdair sighed. “Yes, he did, and that was the twist of the knife in my gut. Not only did he get a woman who loved him, but he loved her as well.”

“I cannot help it if Jacob and I loved one another.”

“No,” replied Alasdair, “but you could have tried to love me, once we were married.”

“I did try to love you, but it’s hard to love someone when they beat you, and denigrate you. How is that love? How was I supposed to know you loved me when you treated me like that?”

Kane didn’t like the way this conversation was heading. There was something Alasdair was holding back, he could sense it. He wanted to wrap this meeting up and be on their way. He reached out to Abby, touched her arm.

“Abby,” he said.

Alasdair came flying towards him, knocked his hand away from Abby’s.

“Don’t touch her,” he screamed.

Kane drew his knife, held it towards Alasdair.

“Marcus, don’t,” said Abby.

“Marcus, is it?” cried Alasdair. “I am not letting this man take you away from me, Abigail, not after everything I’ve done to have you.”

“What have you done to have me? All you’ve done is hurt me!”

“I have loved you!”

“No, you haven’t!”

“I have! I have! I have loved you so much.”

“Well, where is the proof of your love, Alasdair? Is it in the bruises you give me, the scars?”

“No!”

“Then what is it?” Abby and Alasdair were screaming at each other now, loud enough for the whole village to hear. The tension in the room was so thick Kane could hardly breathe.

“I killed for you, that’s your proof.” Alasdair was red in the face, breathing heavily. Kane couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Abby was open-mouthed. There was silence for a moment.

“What do you mean, you killed for me?”

Alasdair returned to his seat, slumping in it. “Jacob. I killed Jacob for you, so I could have you. My own brother. I poisoned him, slowly, so you wouldn’t suspect, and even after I did that you didn’t want me. You’ve never wanted me.”

Kane was so shocked he couldn’t speak. He looked at Abby. She was staring at Alasdair, her face pale, her eyes large. He waited for her to speak, but she was silent, unmoving, until suddenly she pitched forward, her hand reaching for the chair. She was going for the knife, but Kane realised it a fraction too late. She whipped it out of its scabbard, and lunged at Alasdair. She got his hand, stabbing the knife in and out of it in quick succession. Kane grabbed her as she raised the knife again, aiming for Alasdair’s chest, and pulled her hand back.

“Let me go, Kane,” she screamed.

He tightened his grip, dragging her away from Alasdair, the knife still held tightly in her hand. Alasdair was shouting for Sinclair, but in vain, because Kane knew the guard had made himself scarce long before.

“Abby. Ye dinnae want to do this. Don’t give him a motive to hang ye.”

“I don’t care! He killed Jacob.”

“I know, I know, and he will pay, but not like this.”

Kane pulled her into his arms, held her tight so she could not move. She tried in vain to escape him, kicking him, trying to punch him but he held her fast. At last she slumped in his arms, but Kane was not fooled. He had seen this tactic before. As soon as he relaxed and loosened his grip she would be away, and she would kill Alasdair, Kane had no doubt.

He turned to Alasdair. “Ye are going to let us go now, and ye are not going to come after us. If Clarke wants to come with her mother, ye will let her. If ye leave us alone, we will leave thee alone, even though ye deserve to hang for all the terrible things ye have done. My clan is watching thee. If ye hurt one more woman, do one more false deal, we will see it, and these papers will make their way to every Sheriff in Scotland and England, to the Wardens of the West and East Marches and to the King of Scotland and the Queen of England. Ye will be dead before ye know what is happening. Are we clear?”

Alasdair nodded. Kane looked at him, this fat, odious man, slumped in his chair.

“Ye disgust me.”

He kept a tight hold of Abby as he walked to the door, opening it and heading down the stairs on shaky legs. Blake was waiting in the courtyard. He blanched when he saw Abby slumped in Kane’s arms.

“Is it done?” he whispered.

“Aye. But it was a bad business. If ye need a refuge, ye know where to come. Sinclair as well.”

Blake nodded and opened the gate. Kane got into the seat at the head of the cart and Blake helped Abby up beside Kane. Her shoulders were heaving with silent sobs and Kane put his arm around her as they set off out of the courtyard, away from Arkholm, and towards their new life. The hope and joy he had felt earlier when he thought of this moment had gone. It was not triumphant; it was devastating. Alasdair had taken more from Abby than either of them had ever thought, and Kane wasn’t at all certain she would be able to come back from this. He wrapped a blanket around them and pulled Abby closer to him and headed north, towards home.

 Note: Trigger warning for domestic violence and attempted rape

[cardinalwrites]

Loosely based on a true story of my friend and his girlfriend during her college graduation and the rest of us just couldn’t stop awwing because GAH

Ao3

Castiel is graduating and Dean isn’t here.

It’s a horrible feeling, knowing his boyfriend isn’t with his family as he walks across the stage, but Castiel understands why, to a degree. Dean works the graduation ceremonies. He kinda needs to do that if Castiel wants  to graduate at all, but still...

Which leads to now, Castiel waiting with his fellow Arts and Humanities college graduates as the timer counts down to zero, at which point they will all walk out into the arena and sit down for about two and a half hours of speakers until they walk across the stage, have their name called, hear applause as they walk across, take the stage helper’s hand on the stairs to avoid falling, and walk back down to their seats as college graduates. It was routine at this point to Cas, he himself having been to enough of the rehearsals whenever Dean was working them to know what comes after what. He had thought he’d feel a little different when the graduation would be his own, maybe with his best friend cheering him on and congratulating him with a kiss at the end, but instead Dean will be somewhere else making sure the entire graduation runs smoothly as a Marshall or helping the vice presidents run errands or something else that he’s done before.

“Hey, don’t get too down on yourself. He’s still here, he’s just working is all,” Charlie poked Castiel’s shoulder, her own tassel falling and disappearing into her hair with it’s red hue. “He’ll still be screaming he loves you.”

“He picks what graduations he wants to do, though, Charlie,” Castiel found himself responding. “He says he has to work them all but he doesn’t really have to...”

“Hey, no,” Charlie poked his face hard. “You are not going through this on your biggest day of your school life. This is like your college wedding, and the bride does not feel bad on his wedding day.”

“Very funny, Charlie.” He still felt al title down, but count on Charlie to make him feel if only slightly better.

Charlie patted him on the back before one of the Marshalls handling the graduates called her name. After she left, Castiel felt his phone buzz.

Youre tassel’s on the wrong side, It was Dean. 

*Your, Castiel couldn’t help but shoot back first, and yes I am aware, Dean.

Thanks for the grammar lesson Mr. English. You graduated with the wrong major then. But History suits you

Castiel smirked. Yes it does, he wrote back.

Look to your left

Castiel frowned and cocked his head to the side before doing what he was told. Where Charlie had been sat Dean instead, a headset and radio strapped to him and fully decked out in his security suit. He would look the picture perfect image of a security guard if he wore sunglasses inside.

“Hey,” Dean smiled.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel found himself responding. 

“You’re gonna be one of the last to walk the stage, just so you know, but just, uh, make sure to not fall. That’s what the stage helper is for.”

“I am aware, Dean, but why did you have to work today? You could have had the shift covered,” Castiel hadn’t meant to say it, but he felt the pain behind the words and couldn’t stop himself in time. 

Dean stiffened but wouldn’t look Castiel in the eye. Before he could answer, the buzzer went off, signaling the start of the ceremony. Dean had to leave if he was going to make his place on time. 

“I’ll talk to you after, Cas. It’ll make sense, I promise,” Dean moved to kiss the top of Castiel’s grad cap before he reverted back to his work stance and began to usher everyone out of the venue. Castiel found himself dead last. His college didn’t go by alphabetical names when called, so it was entirely possible that Dean would be right that he would be last. It didn’t really matter. The last person always got the most applause anyway.

But that didn’t mean anything if Dean wasn’t the one clapping out there fore him.

Castiel found himself following the steps of the other eager graduates, his footfalls heavier than the rest as he made his way to the seat. He noticed the other marshals and graduation staff had taken their places, but he had little energy to look up and see where Dean had been placed, if he was even on the floor with them at all. The speakers were relatively tame, their speeches not exceeding attention spans and only lasting about twenty minutes a piece instead of forty five. They had a lot of names to cover, so that was probably why.

“Just a little longer now, Cas,” Charlie jumped beside him. The first few rows of graduate names had begun to be called as the audience filled with respective families’ cheers. It was endearing, really, but Castiel couldn’t bring himself to live in it. He vaguely registered that Charlie was trying to get him to look at something, but by the time he eventually did look up it was nearly an hour later as the last few lines were being called. Dean must be in the back somewhere and he won’t even be able to see Cas graduate in person because of his job. It made Castiel cold as he walked up the steps to give the announcer the card with his name on it. The crowd was already antsy since they saw no one was following Castiel. The ceremony was about to end.

“Castiel James Novak,” the announcer proclaimed, the cheers beginning to build as Castiel shook President Shurley’s hand and the graduates in their seats saw that they were almost truly done. Castiel found in him enough to smile at that. He could at least enjoy this part, right? Even if his best friend and boyfriend wasn’t there––

Castiel caught sight of him before it registered what he had done.

Standing just at the base of the stage where Castiel would walk off was the stage helper, only the stage helper himself was Dean.

He wasn’t just gonna see Castiel graduate; he was going to be the first person Castiel saw once he did.

Castiel found himself nearly stumbling to Dean as he reached the stairs, his hand already reaching for Dean to take to help him down.

“Y-you’re not in the back?”

“We have a lot of different jobs, Cas. I specifically asked for this one so I could give you this,” Dean grinned and pulled one crisp red rose from inside his jacket. He handed it to Castiel as the crowd continued to clap and cheer, the cameras catching the rest of why it was taking so long for the last graduate to get to his seat and off the stage. “What? You think I was going to miss my boyfriend’s graduation?”

Castiel stared at him, his smile now full and bright to see. The crowd continued to scream behind them, and if Castiel hadn’t felt that emotion to do what came next than Dean would have done it for him.

Dean took Castiel’s hand and pulled him hard into a kiss, the entire action caught on the jumbotron of the arena as Cas gripped the rose and wrapped his arm around Dean’s neck. “Congratulations,” Dean spoke once they broke apart. “Now I’m gonna have to ask you to get back to your seat. You’re holding up graduation, Novak,” He winked.

“You ass.”

“But I’m your ass,” Dean kissed him again before pushing Castiel back to his seat, the rose still firmly gripped in Castiel’s hand as he tossed his grad cap into the air and into a new chapter of his life, and through it all it was Dean that was cheering him on the most.