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candywife333 · 7 months

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My Little Saesang (Part 1)

chubby reader x idol jungkook

Summary: Y/N had been a super fan for a while. Some would say bordering on saesang or creep level. She didn't think she was one, till she experienced an incident that made her stop being a fan. She had never thought that Jungkook or any of BTS ever noticed her, as she was part of the masses of obsessive fans. But they had. Especially, one doe eyed idol in particular. He never thought he would miss his fan, or shall we say saesang. Yet, he couldn't help but notice her absence. And he didn't know when her presence started to matter to him so much.

Disclaimer: The Jungkook represented in this fic does not reflect the true actions or thoughts of the real life Jungkook. Please treat this fic as exactly what it is, fiction

Triggers: Critique of fandom culture and kpop as a whole, identity crisis, eventual smut

Note: Not proofread. Slated to be approximately 4 parts or less.

"Y/N, what the hell are you still doing in that cafe? Didn't we come over here to spy on Jungkook at his house before he heads off to M-CountDown for his performance? I don't remember scheduling a pit-stop for you to have a second lunch", Kim-Hee glared down at me through her thick framed black glasses that honestly sort of made her look like a sexy principal. Anger at being diverted from her goal of catching the tan pop-star in his sweaty excellence seemed to cloud her vision.

I retorted back with a snort, "You know me very well at this point, after being my fellow saesang comrade in arms for close to 2 years girl. I am digesting my food baby as we speak and will soon be ready for delivery in that nasty garbage ass smelling toilet. I have a date with the shits, so to speak. Don't you see that my jeans are popped open and the zip down ready to go. I don't got the energy to chase this man today. Our stunt at New York was bad enough, don't you think"? Shaking my head at her idiocy even after knowing me for so long, I exclaimed, "Feel free to chase him in time for his ending fairy if you feel like it though. I am just not feeling it today".

Kim Hee, my bestie, stared at me with squinted eyes, black tiny eyes glittering in the harsh sun, "Girl, you were the one who had this all scheduled out a month back? How could you not bloody commit at the crucial time!!!! Our fucking junior fans are counting on your stupid ass". I waved my right at her in dismissal, ramen sauce covering my lips like a new Fenty lipstick that I just could not afford right now with my measly ass job as janitor at KBS.

I snarled back in irritation, "Tell those kids to go and study in college, that's more important than following his dumb ass anyways. He won't remember them for their troubles. At max, he will remember a few fans from their initial debut days , get married to a rich ass plasticky actress, have beautiful spoiled kids, and die a rich philanthropist. Saesangs don't get paid if you catch my point. Honestly, if it paid as a job, I would consider it. But I think I may have to retire". I patted my distended stomach in contentment, satisfied with the first proper meal I had in 3 days, stalking JK with my team all over New York and then catching a flight to Korea for his album showcase.

My bestie stared at me now in shock, with wide eyes, hands waving in the air, clearly confused at my statements, "Didn't you just say a week ago that this was all worth it? That supporting our faves, especially BTS, and the lord and savior himself , Jungkook, was a noble passion to pursue? Why have you suddenly done a 180 on us and him like this"? I flinched visibly at her reminder of what I used to be and who I used to be. The person she described felt foreign to me now. Ever since I opened my eyes and saw what fans, especially super fans like us, who didn't have a life outside of BTS suffered, I was a reformed woman. A reformed woman who had decided as of now to save all my money for some botox and a dental appointment, some clothes for mom and dad, and a hot meal for my younger sister. I was going to go from being a crysallis to a butterfly. In essence, I was going to woman the fuck up. That's what the fuck I was about to do with my life.

With this aim in mind, I slammed my fist against the plastic table, startling Kim Hee. "Bestie, you never got close enough to JK to see how much he hated it, okay? He hated us in those moments that we invaded his privacy. Remember that one time I snuck up on the set of them filming "Black Swan" to give him a godiva chocolate my mom had brought back from Sweden?" Kim Hee nodded in assent, clearly knowing how much of big deal it was for me to part with food of any kind, for any reason, for anyone (Even my own family). I loved luxury chocolate and food in general. Nobody could rip it out of my hands , as evidenced by Kim Hee and all our friends in middle school when I slapped a guy stupid and hit him in the nuts for taking a ferrero rocher out of my hands---the motherfucker.

I continued ,"Well I gave it to his hands while he was waiting outside at the entrance of the set. Even normies like me are allowed on that area, it was not a restricted filming area. I just left the chocolate next to where he was sitting, with a red bow (his name engraved on it) wrapped around it. He legit stared at me in confusion, like he had not seen me for the past 9 years, sneered at me, disdain in his beady black eyes and threw the chocolate in the dustbin like it was as figment of his imagination". Kim Hee stared at me in dismay, clearly knowing that what I considered the foremost cardinal sin in life was throwing away food, particularly expensive food.

I wrung my hands in the air, holding in my tears, "Bestie, it was white chocolate, do you understand? It was limited christmas edition. I could never afford that chocolate in my dreams , if not for one of mom's colleagues gifting it to her. Chili ,(my sister) was yapping about it for days, salivating, thinking she could bite into it. And I sacrificed it to an undeserving multi millionaire". I sat back down on the bench, numbly, tears streaming down my face. I was so done with him and the entire group at this point. I understand that what we do, Saesangs, stalkers, whatever they like to call us, is not correct. We should not be so invasive. But I always told the kids who followed in my footsteps that we could support them, but just not to the point that we impinged on their personal lives. I had done some fucked up things as a newbie army, but two years into their debut, I understood that limits were required.

The most I had ever done since then, was to gift the members things as a fan. Whatever I could afford. Whether that was their favorite convenience store snack left by us on the set of one of their music video shoots. Or a pack of gum or their favorite desserts when we attended fan meets. I and the girls who followed me on these adventures, as I used to call them, never snuck into HYBE. We were of the more benign variety, not on par with the crazies who took the same flight as them (not that I could afford that), or collected saliva, sweat, and urine samples. For goodness sakes, we didn't even run after their vehicles, we just waved politely and jumped up and down like rabid dogs that had treats waved in their faces.

The moment I was compelled to stop following my fave, or I guess my former bias as of now, was simply when he casually looked at the chocolate I had left next to him as though it were poison, and tossed it in the trash without looking back. That was when I knew, I was worthless in his eyes, along with the rest of the fans who tried so hard.

We shelled out money saved up from little jobs and pocket money accumulated for months together, to buy expensive albums, merchandise, and anything else they put out. We forgo the little luxuries like nicer shoes and warmer coats in winter to buy tickets for outdoor showcases and shiver in the cold wind to just catch a glimpse of one of their half smiles. We stream their music that speaks of love that we do not comprehend, love whose face is so unfamiliar in our youth that we would pass it by as though it were a stranger. When we don't have anyone in our lives to hug us and hold us and kiss us, to wipe our tears and pat us on the back when we are down and to tell us that everything will be alright, we stare at them in the tabloids extrapolating who they could be in love with, fantasizing about a love that could never be ours. We live our lives, living for them, living around them as though we are satellites caught int he orbit of a bigger planet, and now, it does not make sense to me anymore.

It may just be a chocolate, stupid worthless and insignificant to him. It may be cheap, a show of cheap love that he wishes to spit on. But it wasn't cheap to me. My love wasn't cheap. Food isn't cheap, especially food bestowed with love. And I was done giving my love away for free, as though it meant nothing. As though it were a cheap cigarette to be smoked and discarded, ground under the foot of someone who had finished using it for a fleeting high. Cheap and dispensable and convenient, that's what we were, what I had become.

I cringed internally as my gaze redirected towards Kim Hee. I croaked out in determination while chewing on the remnants of soggy ramyun, "We are done babe. I am through with this horrible, parasitic relationship. I am going to figure out how to make myself rich or get rich through marriage. I am done being stupid, falling over myself for a guy or a group of guys who don't see or appreciate me. They get rich on my desperation, and I don't wish to give them that power anymore".

#jungkook x reader #bts x reader #chubby reader #monologue #dramatic #angst #comedy #jungkook x curvy reader #jungkook x plus size reader #jungkook x chubby reader #bts x curvy reader #bts x plus size reader #bts x chubby reader

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mothric · 5 months

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hello my fellow autism havers I have a favour to ask

so I've discovered one of my special interests is "people in extremely niche video game communities with extremely specific skills who do insane things with limited technology that was not designed to do the insane things they're making it do"

FOR EXAMPLE:

the 13 year old kid who just beat Tetris by reaching its killscreen for the first time in 35 years of Tetris history

Tim Follin, who made ridiculously good video game soundtracks for the most mediocre NES, SNES, and arcade games that all pushed their soundchips to their absolute limit

the half-A-press mario 64 guy who talked about parallel universes, does anyone remember that guy??

the guy who used Super Mario World's code to overwrite itself with a fully playable version of Flappy Bird

the guy who made Pokemon Red (also fully playable) inside Minecraft

I do not understand what any of these people do or how they do it, and I have no interest in doing what they do. but every single time I find out about some absolutely bonkers hyperspecific accomplishment like this, 500 million neurons fire in my brain all at once and I am enveloped in such rapturous joy that I feel like I'm going to fold up and transform into a giant mech and blast the sun into smithereens. I love these people and their achievements so so much. I love trying and failing to understand the logistics of what they did.

so basically what I am asking is if anyone knows any more about ANYTHING like this - any pro gamer, speedrunner, ROM hacker, etc, who's devoted inordinate amounts of time and energy into breaking games, pushing primitive machines to their limits, setting records I didn't know existed, and accomplishing things that have very few real-world ramifications but are cool as hell within their respective communities. the types of things that make bystanders sneer "imagine if they put this much energy into curing cancer" but make ME go "yes! yes!!! I love you for achieving your deranged goals!!! do it more!!!!!!"

be it videos, articles, or your own infodumps, I'll happily devour any information you have. thank you in advance my compatriots

#BEGGING you all to come through for me on this. I know you've got information and I'm dying to have it #video games #tetris #speedrunning #genuinely I'm not sure how to tag this but I'm going to trust in tumblr just this once to pass something around for me #DON'T FAIL ME NOW. i need this. i cannot emphasize this enough #jan 2024

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sunshine-zenith · 1 year

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I have work tomorrow so I don’t have time/energy to bang out a full well thought out analysis, but have this — I was thinking about Raine’s storyline involving them faking mind control only to be mind controlled for real later, and I was also thinking about how when they were a kid, they had to attend events on behalf of their school even though they hated it because they’d lose their scholarship. And I thought to myself “what could this have in common with the rest of their arc?”

Control, power, and calculates trade offs of one for the other

As a teenager, Raine had to make a school they didn’t even like look good, for the sake of their education. The fact that their scholarship relies on them making the school look good and not their academic performance (as made clear with how they lost it after publicly rebelling against a leader figure, even though the leader figure praises them for it) is pretty messed up when you think about it.

On the other hand, they’re clearly passionate about Bard magic, and even though it seems like their peers don’t respect Bards, St. Epiderm is presumably a prestigious school. Having attended it would probably look good on whatever the Demon Realm’s equivalent of a resume is.

As an adult, they spent months faking being under a mind control spell, even though it clearly costs them emotionally — not only do they have to push Eda away, they can’t reach out to Hunter, an obviously mistreated child, because that would blow their cover. Their fellow BATs spend months imprisoned before they can bust them out, too, something that probably caused them no end of guilt. And they had to endure Terra’s condescending attitude throughout it all — she talks to them like they’re still a child, and a child she enjoys manipulating at that.

In return, they remain part of Belos’s inner circle, and they’re able to make plays to take him out from within, all while doing what they can to keep their loved ones safe in the long run.

Now though. Now, they have nothing to sacrifice, no power to gain or lose, no control at all. Before, they were able to make the best of a bad situation and had plans to come out on top. They’ve essentially been treated like a puppet for several parts of their life. And now they are one

#raine whispers #cy meta #the owl house #spoilers #broke 100 #broke 500

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pocketramblr · 5 months

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For the AU ask game, what about a roleswap between Izuku and All might?

Fun fact: a role swap does not necessarily mean an age swap. It really depends on what roles are being swapped.

1- The Symbol of Peace, Dekiru, has been the Number One Hero for a few decades. Happy, bright, and always moving, his smile is the only part of him not covered by his lucky green rabbit costume. Toshinori was a few years out of college when he was rescued in Dekiru's debut, and sometimes when he's sad or needs motivation, he goes back and watches videos of it. Which is why what he's seeing is impossible:

2- Dekiru's mask torn off, revealing a child's face, still round and freckled even with the pale skin and dark eye bags. Toshinori would think he was just a kid cosplaying the hero, except that kid definitely just saved his life from the villain now knocked against the wall, and even as the kid is passed out on the ground too, a thin layer of smoke is flowing from the neck of his costume, trying to obscure his face, too late. When Toshinori gets closer, black tendrils flip out from his arms and stand threatening over him. Toshinori holds up his hands, "I just need to check your pulse and airway" and he's allowed closer to do that. The kid wakes a few minutes later, and in a crack of green lightning, they're dashed away to the roof of a nearby building, the kid panting. Toshinori asks what's wrong, how can he help?

3- Dekiru sighs, and then tells Toshinori everything. He was created in a lab by a villain trying to get a very specific quirk. He couldn't wait however long it took babies to manifest, and he didn't want to deal with adults, so Dekiru has always been a child. But even then, the villain would not get the quirk he wanted. Dekiru escaped with some help- don't ask- made pro hero, made number one hero, and went and killed that villain a few years ago. However, doing so weakened him- he used to only need one hour of sleep a day to reset and get 23 of quirk usage and crime fighting. Now he only gets two hours of energy from each hour spent asleep, though he really does try to push it. Hence, just passing out now. He's swaying on his feet now, actually. Toshinori offers to carry him to his agency- he could throw his bright yellow suit jacket over the kid and carry him on his back, without the mask no one would realize who he was, just assume he's taking his kid home. Dekiru says it's fine, actually, and flies them both off the roof- only to fall the last few feet. Bright red, he agrees, though he tries to use float to be as light as possible as Toshinori's back. Not that it's needed, the man isn't as fit as he was when he was younger, but he's still plenty tall and strong.

4- except, ah ha, you know how they kinda left the villain from earlier there? Whopsie attack number two a few minutes later, and Toshi just puts Dekiru down behind him and grabs a pipe to fight back with. With the villain defeated, Dekiru looks up at Toshinori, and asks if he wants his quirk. He'd make a great hero, and probably would be able to do more with it than Dekiru can, since he'll only need to rest more and more over time. Toshinori accepts, walks Dekiru back to his agency, and gets a number to talk about it later.

5- later, Toshinori asks what will happen to Dekiru when he gives up his quirk. The kid is evasive, and Toshinori is pretty sure he'll lose his repowering speed even more until it goes away. He asks if Dekiru has ever done anything besides sleep and fight. Dekiru hasn't, and Toshinori ties his acceptance of the quirk to the fact that Dekiru has to gain something too. A normal life, friends, school, something. Toshinori suggests UA- they changed their rule to allow quirkless students, so Dekiru could get his license that way and prepare using support gear, have a second run at a real career and life instead of giving it up all to Toshinori. Dekiru admits that Nedzu was one of his fellow lab rats kept by the villain and would probably be all too excited to approve of this, but don't expect not to end up owing Nedzu a favor after this. So, Toshinori begins training physically again, this time to receive a quirk, and Dekiru begins studying, since he never needed school before and has several years to catch up on if he's going to be ready for high school in a months. Toshinori gains a provisional licence in the winter and can get a full one after a year at an agency, which Nedzu insists be UA. After sending Dekiru off to the entrance exam with a good luck and double checking all his support gear, Toshinori gets invited to watch, and almost has a heart attack when Nedzu stamps "Accepted" on the paperwork as Dekiru dismantles a giant robot, sliding the stack over so that he can see that on the top of the boy's form, his name is listed as "Midorya Izuku" and for emergency contact, "Yagi Toshinori (Uncle, legal guardian)"

#Izuku has effectively been frozen at 14 but will actually start to grow once he no longer has ofa #and will basically have normal teenage developments now that he's being socialized with other kids #well this is fun because like. the roles of predecessor and successor are swapped #but the roles of father and son aren't #so there's a lot of teaching each other. a lot more at least i should say.#fun #pocket talks to people #anon #ask game

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jbaileyfansite · 4 months

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Interview with Interview Magazine (2024)

Before he was known as the dashing Lord Anthony Bridgerton or Tim Laughlin, the character in Fellow Travelers for which he won a Critics Choice Award earlier this month, Jonathan Bailey caught the attention of Phoebe Waller-Bridge with his confident, self-possessed audition for her show Crashing nearly a decade ago. “You came in like a fireball,” said the Fleabag star on Zoom with Bailey, recounting how, while reading for the role of the sex-obsessed Sam, Bailey asked permission to lay his script out on the floor in front of him like a rainbow. “You had no embarrassment. You didn’t actually refer to it again, but you took those few seconds to just completely set up what you exactly needed for that audition, and then you were so free.” In the years since, with roles in Bridgerton, the Showtime drama Fellow Travelers, and the upcoming Wicked movie adaptation, Bailey has become one of the most sought-after actors in the business, capable of generating sparks with whoever’s on screen with him. Waller-Bridge attributes this to the 35-year-old’s distinct understanding of tension. “You’re like a chemistry machine,” she gushed. “There’s this incredible erotic energy that people are so excited about.” Last week, from a hotel room at Claridge’s in London, Bailey talked to Waller-Bridge about longing, orgasms, frosted tips, nostalgia, Shakespeare, and his very first role: playing a raindrop in a stage production of Noah’s Ark.

PHOEBE WALLER-BRIDGE: Hi.

JONATHAN BAILEY: Hi.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I’m taking my glasses off. Now I can be real.

BAILEY: I’ve just had a gin and tonic, actually. I had a meeting and he really wanted a glass of Whispering Angel, so I was like, “Well, I’ve got to dive in.”

WALLER-BRIDGE: What’s the time there?

BAILEY: Oh, I’m literally around the corner from you. Literally, I’ve come into Claridge’s Hotel and checked in for an hour just to have a Zoom.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Oh, god. That’s so chic. Jonny, I want all of your secrets.

BAILEY: I feel like you’ve got quite a few of them already.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I do, actually. And we’re not going to talk about any of those. But I did also get to do a little bit of research on you.

BAILEY: Oh, god. What have you got?

WALLER-BRIDGE: Jonathan Stewart Bailey, I’d like to jump straight in with the fact that the first professional job you had was playing a teardrop, or a raindrop?

BAILEY: There were teardrops, but yeah, I was playing a raindrop.

WALLER-BRIDGE: You were a crying raindrop.

BAILEY: A crying raindrop in Noah’s Ark.

WALLER-BRIDGE: And how old were you then?

BAILEY: I think I was about 5 going on 29. I was really upset because it didn’t rain. The bitch that played Noah, she forgot the cue for the rain to come. So my dance didn’t make it, but at the end of the show they allowed me to do it once everyone had applauded.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I asked you that specifically because you’ve also said that your grandmother took you to see a production of Oliver in London and that’s what changed everything.

BAILEY: Yes.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So was the raindrop before or after that? I am getting to something, I promise.

BAILEY: I think it was probably afterwards. I was really young when I went to see Oliver.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I’m interested because I read that seeing it made you decide you wanted to perform. Can you tell me the specific thing that made it click?

BAILEY: I’ll tell you, the most bizarre thing is that I had three seasons at the RSC under my belt by the age of nine. There was a moment where I played Prince Arthur, the kid in Shakespeare who gets his eyes gouged out and has to escape a turret. I remember doing that production and thinking I was aware of the power of words, if that makes sense. You’re so porous at that age, I think. It is such a gift, isn’t it, to be shown what iambic pentameter is.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you still feel passionate about Shakespeare now?

BAILEY: I do, actually. It’s my dirty, filthy habit.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Your dirty little habit. I know what you mean, though, how if you come to it quite raw, and it’s not something that you’ve had shoved down your throat at school, there is nothing more epic and spectacular.

BAILEY: And being around people who are just so committed to their vocation, whether they’re writing or creating. The smell backstage at the RSC at the Barbican was like cigarettes, stage makeup, Joe Fiennes, and hope.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s a lot of beautiful smells you’ve got going on there.

BAILEY: I know. Talk about top notes and bottom notes. I was like, “These men, these titans of theater!”

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s extraordinary that you were exposed to that kind of level of professionalism. Because you are consummately professional, and I remember that. You have this incredible ability to be completely live and spontaneous and wild at the same time as being so incredibly professional, and that’s why working with you felt totally safe. I know that I’ve got a professional actor coming today, but I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen because you still managed to keep that spontaneity and danger.

BAILEY: I suppose it’s sometimes dangerous. Today I had to do an interview. Crashing came up and I described working with you as being on the constant edge of an orgasm and also hysteria.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It did have a kind of wild, beautiful energy.

BAILEY: There’s a chemical alchemy when you get the right group of people led by the right people.

WALLER-BRIDGE: I haven’t had that in quite the same way since, where everyone has equal importance in the story. That’s the thing that feels quite rare, actually, there’s like six of you and they’re all as fucked up as each other. I remember your audition. You came in like a fireball and you already felt like you had a Sam energy. You sat in your chair, took out your script from your bag, and then you were like, “Give me a second,” and you laid out your script around you on the floor. You had no embarrassment about what you needed or in front of you. You didn’t actually refer to it again, but you took those few seconds to just completely set up what you exactly needed for that audition, and then you were so free. And I just wonder if you’ve felt that particular type of confidence your whole life?

BAILEY: That’s a really good question. I’ve got three older sisters and I wonder if they are a structure. I’ve definitely been in environments where I don’t feel free, and then you give the worst performance of your life. What I’ve found in the last few years is that, of course, you have to adapt so quickly to work out what you need in order to be able to be free. I think if I don’t have the equivalent of that on the floor, I panic or get really scared.

WALLER-BRIDGE: There’s something about that, which is being able to play dangerously in a safe environment. I feel like that’s got so much to do with an understanding of tension, which I think you have. You’re like a chemistry machine. Obviously, with Bridgerton and then in Fellow Travelers, there’s this incredible erotic energy that people are so excited about.

BAILEY: I really think it comes from Crashing.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It doesn’t come from Crashing, it comes from you. I think you’re the king of tension. I think you understand what that is.

BAILEY: I think you can give yourself butterflies, can’t you?

WALLER-BRIDGE: Is that what you’re looking for, the butterfly all the time?

BAILEY: Yeah, I’m always looking for my butterfly farm. The misty, slightly smelly greenhouse full of butterflies.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s your tummy?

BAILEY: Yeah, that’s my tummy.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Did you always dream of playing leading man roles growing up?

BAILEY: Not at all, no. I never thought I would be able to.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Why?

BAILEY: I’ve realized that I’m completely in awe of other people and performances and creative endeavors. I go to the theater and I love a performance and I’m like, “How do they do that? I can’t see the seams.” So therefore, I feel like I must be driven by that. And when something comes my way, there’s a fear that it won’t work.

WALLER-BRIDGE: What’s really exciting to me is when I see palpable dynamics between characters, which you have done multiple times, like the relationship between Tim and Hawk. There’s so much opportunity for intimacy and that kind of danger. And when you get to play those sorts of roles, when you know that you can stand in front of each other and you don’t really need to do anything because it’s giving you something, it must’ve just been a joy walking into this world because it’s like a banquet of stuff to play with, right?

BAILEY: Totally, and it feels sort of vital and sexy. I do remember this one memory, which I guess I’ll share with you now. I did play and there was a tiled wall,at eye level with a mirrored border around. And there was a guy, we were into each other, and I remember just looking up in the middle of a conversation and he was looking at me in a reflection. And I was like, “This is what life is about.” Anyway, I think that it must have something to do with feeling the most alive in that.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you know Esther Perel?

BAILEY: Yeah, I love Esther Perel.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So she’s written about how she believes that your next orgasm begins at the very end of your last one, which is basically our whole life just building up to our next orgasm.

BAILEY: That’s just fantastic. It’s just so positive and hopeful—

WALLER-BRIDGE: And so beautiful, isn’t it?

BAILEY: It is.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Everything that you encounter in your life, every conversation that you have, is in some way building up to the next euphoric physical experience. Every single character has to have that inside them one way or another, because every human does. And I think with Fellow Travelers, because you long for them so much as an audience and you want them to have everything that they want from each other, but they’re also brutal to themselves and to each other, there is something so extraordinary seeing characters in that time portrayed in the way that you guys have portrayed them.

BAILEY: One thing that we’re all born with is the sense of longing. Longing comes before anything else, doesn’t it? Whoever you put on the wall, laminate the poster or whatever, it’s there. And actually, if you long for someone, more often than not you don’t think you are worthy of it. And that, to me, is a way into characters.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you remember your laminated poster longing person?

BAILEY: I think I had the Simpsons, which was obviously me trying to disguise myself as much as possible. Lucy Liu was a big one for me, too.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Well, I can see that.

BAILEY: I suppose there’s the laminated wall in my literal bedroom and then there’s the laminated wall in my gay—

WALLER-BRIDGE: Mind.

BAILEY: Who was yours?

WALLER-BRIDGE: You know what? It’s really interesting, because I was the eagle in the Rescuers Down Under. That wasn’t necessarily a sexual longing, but it was a romantic idea, that overwhelming sense of watching the Rescuers Down Under and being able to run out of the back of my house on my own, age 10, and jump onto the back of a giant eagle and he’ll fly me around. But in terms of just a hottie that I really fancied, I think it was probably Leo [DiCaprio].

BAILEY: Oh, yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Are you a nostalgic person?

BAILEY: Yes, I think so. I think a lot about my younger self. I’m always like, “Guys, remember this?” It’s slightly annoying, but I’m always drawing a line between the past and now for sure.

WALLER-BRIDGE: That’s how you measure your life, by remembering the time that’s gone by or what 11-year-old you would think of what you were doing?

BAILEY: I think I’m probably more romantic than nostalgic, if that makes sense.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Go on.

BAILEY: Well, I just think I’ve fully committed to the idea of everything being brilliant and then I work backwards from there.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Well, having starred in two hit period dramas and also being a huge part of the fact that they are a hit, that’s why I wondered about what your relationship is with the past and history, and how much you actually knew about McCarthy America?

BAILEY: Oh, no. Have you got a quiz?

WALLER-BRIDGE: I actually don’t. Do you want one?

BAILEY: No, that would be the worst.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you enjoy historical novels? Do you live in the past in any way in your mind? Or you are kind of like, “We’re here and we’re moving forward?”

BAILEY: I do think I’m here and moving forward. I really struggled with history at school, I could not take in information about the past. When it came to exams, I would remember the page where things were written but I couldn’t stitch together epochs and eras and kings.

WALLER-BRIDGE: It crashes my brain, too. I have a friend, and you can say to her, “June 24th, 1999,” and she can tell you pretty much what she was up to.

BAILEY: That’s amazing.

WALLER-BRIDGE: You can see her go into the diary in her mind. She has a very different wiring of her brain. But speaking of longing, are there any fictional or real life couples, gay or straight, that captured your heart over the years?

BAILEY: Oh my god, what a question. What about Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling in Blue Valentine?

WALLER-BRIDGE: I think Morticia and Gomez Addams were the most romantic couple.

BAILEY: Yeah, I see that.

WALLER-BRIDGE: They understood it. They got it all.

BAILEY: Also maybe Ryan and Marissa in The OC.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Any gay male couples that you ever looked up to or were romanced by?

BAILEY: Well unfortunately, there just weren’t that many were there growing up.

WALLER-BRIDGE: So wild.

BAILEY: But I met Matthew Rhys recently, who I just love. And I was thinking about that relationship in Brothers and Sisters. And then there was Queer as Folk. Russell, T. Davies changed the game. So many people owe so much to him just purely for visibility. There is no Tim and Hawk to a 2023 audience without Queer as Folk.

WALLER-BRIDGE: But did you feel frustrated?

BAILEY: Well, speaking of history, I was doing media studies with an amazing teacher and I decided that I was going to do my dissertation about the representations of Hutus and Tutsis and the Rwanda genocide, looking at Hotel Rwanda and Shooting Dogs. And then Brokeback Mountain came out and I was like, “Hang on, how can I possibly create a world where I can go and have a free pass to go to the cinema to watch it 10 times?” I’m really proud of my 17-year-old self, I wasn’t necessarily out, but I changed the topic to representation of homosexuality in Brokeback Mountain and I watched that film 10 times. And this amazing teacher, Dr. Brunton, who probably had an idea of what was going on, was just like, “This is brilliant, keep going, keep going.” And I think it was the best mark I ever got.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Do you still have it?

BAILEY: It must be on a hard drive upstairs in the attic. And obviously, that completely changed me, something chemical happened there. But it’s funny, I’m not clear on memories. And I do think it’s a common thing for a lot of people, growing up and having to survive and be basically in fight or flight, there’s a murkiness to how I recall.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Of course, because you couldn’t be truly present because you weren’t being completely yourself.

BAILEY: Totally, yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: When you look back and start unpacking it, do you feel overwhelmed with sympathy for how hard you were having to work as a 16-year-old, coming up with excuses to see the movie that you wanted to see?

BAILEY: Yeah. But I spent more time trying to be sympathetic towards the people that were around me who didn’t support or couldn’t help. I look back and I go, “Hell.”

WALLER-BRIDGE: Yes. But you are representing that and living that for so many people now. Your speech at the Critics Choice Awards the other day was so sublime and beautiful and straight from the heart. You are so electric as a human being and that is the most important thing. There aren’t many people in the world that can do that, that can stand there in front of people and speak from their heart about what it means to them to be given this opportunity. And I know that your career is just going to be the most extraordinary journey. When I first met you, I remember sitting with Josh [Cole], who was the producer on Crashing, and we were like, “If we get this guy, it’s going to be the game changer for the show.” And I know that every single person now wanting you on their project is feeling the same thing.

BAILEY: I definitely feel overwhelmed by that, but it’s lovely to hear.

WALLER-BRIDGE: Can I just ask you one question which I couldn’t remember about Crashing?

BAILEY: Yeah.

WALLER-BRIDGE: The frosted tips were your idea, wasn’t it?

BAILEY: I had this conversation today. I think it’s in the script. But my reference picture was Justin Timberlake in double denim.

WALLER-BRIDGE: No, I don’t think it was [in the script], because Sam’s a character that I hold closest to my heart because, in so many ways, he represents how I feel about maybe my inner life. I just love him so much, and your ability to play every single little corner of him that I dreamed of.

BAILEY: Maybe that’s the answer I was looking for when you asked if I was drawn to any romantic couples? No, it was just about wanting bleach blonde hair.

Source

#jonathan bailey #phoebe waller bridge #jonny bailey #interviews #interviews:2024 #interview magazine #interview magazine interview #fellow travelers #crashing #NEW!

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katyswrites · 11 months

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i think about summer, all the beautiful times

a ‘tis the damn season story

SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff (like, tooth-rotting fluff), Smut (18+), smoking, alcohol use, no use of y/n, just two crazy kids in love

Wordcount: 2k

Author's note: So... I felt like writing a blurb. And, that blurb ended up being in the 'tis the damn season universe. I was inspired by summer and the 4th of July, so here you go! Please note that this takes place between the "now" (Winter 1988) and "later" (New Year's 1989) in the original fic. It's just a little glimpse into Steve and the reader's lives a bit into their real relationship, so enjoy, and happy 4th of July to my fellow Americans :)

LATER, Summer 1989

The day is hot. It was the kind of heat that you can’t escape from, no matter how hard you try. The humidity is brutal, settling around you like a thick, wet blanket you can’t pull off of you. It feels like it seeps into your very bones. The only option is to be in the shade, or the pool. Which is where you find yourself now, blissfully submersed in the water. Music plays through the radio, right behind where Steve’s dad is flipping burgers. Steve’s mother sits with the other moms, including your own, sipping sangria and gossiping as they look on at the scene before them.

The Harringtons are hosting their annual 4th of July barbecue, much to your delight. Not that you are particularly fond of Steve’s parents - but, you couldn’t say no to the enticing idea of the pool. Besides, it was tradition. As kids, you and Steve would play Marco Polo, or see who could make the biggest cannonball with the other neighborhood kids. You would play for hours, until your fingers were pruny and your nearly boundless energy completely spent. Now, of course, things are different.

“For the lady,” his voice says behind you. You turn, squinting up at the boy through the sun. Steve has a beer bottle in his extended hand, which you accept with a grin.

“Poolside service? Lucky me!” you joke, turning fully to face where he stands on the patio. He sits, letting his legs hang over the edge and submerge in the water. Without hesitation, you rest your head on his knee.

He gazes down at you, eyes soft with a big smile on his face.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says. “You just look really pretty right now.”

“Ugh,” a voice says not-so-subtly behind you. You whip around to see Dustin mimicking a gagging motion, with Max rolling her eyes behind him.

“Can you guys, like, not do that here?” Max asks, crossing her arms under the water.

“Says you,” Will chips in from where he sits on the opposite edge of the pool. “The other night you and Lucas were -”

Before he can finish, he’s met with a facefull of water as Max splashes him.

“Hey!” he yells, reaching down to splash her back. She disappears under the water before he can get payback.

You giggle, turning back to Steve.

“Remember when they were actual kids?”

“Yeah, well, they’re heading off to college soon enough.”

You groan, taking a sip of your beer.

“Thanks for reminding me,” you grumble. “We’re old.”

“So old,” he agrees.

You lift your head from his lap, placing the bottle on the edge and swimming backwards, staring up at him mischievously.

“You coming in, Harrington?” you ask sweetly. “I’m all by myself in here, you know.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s up, pulling his t-shirt over his head and quickly discarding it. You laugh as he backs up, shielding yourself as he runs to jump in. It’s no use - you’re covered in water, shrieking as Steve re-emerges a few feet away.

“STEVE!” you cry, wiping some of the water off of your face.

“What?” he asks innocently, swimming over to you. His normally voluminous hair is slicked back now, his toned arms cutting through the water until he reaches you.

“You know what -”

He doesn’t let you finish, pulling you by the waist and into him, kissing you gently.

Your bare skin brushes against his, you bathing suit-clad bodies leaving little between you two. Your fingers find their way into his wet locks, earning a sigh from him against your lips.

Steve just is summer, you’ve realized. Yes, there’s always a part of you that will be fond of him in his winter coat, rosy-cheeked with snowflakes in his hair as he holds his scarf in your hand, at a loss for words illuminated in your front porch light. But really, he’s sunshine and chlorine, late-night dew and sunscreen, his skin tanned and hair lightened. He tastes a bit like beer as you kiss him, his sun-soaked body warm against yours.

“Gross,” another voice calls - Robin. You pull away from Steve, rolling your eyes at your friend where she stands on the pool’s edge. You stare at her over his shoulder, your hands draping around the back of his neck.

“Piss off, Robin,” you say playfully.

Sometimes, Robin jokes that she liked it better when you and Steve weren’t speaking - usually after a get a room comment. You know that even she doesn’t believe she means that, though.

“Look out!” she cries. Before you can stop her, she’s jumping in, showering you and Steve in her wake. It soon devolves into a fit of giggles, the three of you soon joined by the younger gaggle of teens in a war of splashes.

*****

There was one problem with days like these. As the afternoon wore on, you started becoming more impatient. Because, all through the hazy afternoon, no amount of jumping in the pool or eating Mr. Harrington’s soon-to-be famous hamburgers could stop you from wanting to touch Steve. Seeing his broad back, tanned under the sun, droplets of water running down his chest… it was driving you mad. Other than a stolen kiss here and there, the pair of you were on relatively good behavior - how could you not be? Under the watchful eye of your parents, neighbors, friends who had known you since you were children, you had almost no other choice.

No even in the dark of night, when a game of Flip Cup started with the older teens on the lawn did you dare try anything. For one, you were competitive. Across the makeshift folding table, sticky with spilled beer, you stared at Steve with determination as you matched up cups.

“I’m gonna kick your ass, babe,” he said playfully.

“I’d like to see you try, Harrington.”

You ended up beating Steve three times in a row, outdrinking him and earning whoops and cheers from your team, Robin throwing her arms around you and shouting suck it, Harrington!

But, you just found yourself staring at Steve, whose eyes were locked on you. He was smirking, as if to promise payback later.

The rest of the evening is everything that comes with the 4th of July - s’mores, hot and saccharine as they stuck to your fingers, Steve wiping errant marshmallow off of the corner of your mouth; fireworks, visible in the distance over the hill, illuminating the sky with dazzling bursts of color; and, a late night bonfire. You had thrown on one of Steve’s sweatshirts over your now-dry swimsuit, your hand entwined in his as you sit side-by-side in lawn chairs.

The party is winding down, with most of the stragglers being on the younger side. Robin sits across the fire, chatting with Max as Lucas is engrossed in a conversation about Dungeons & Dragons with Eddie Munson. Eventually, though, they leave too, thanking Steve for having them and something along the lines of see you soon.

The night is cooler now, but the blanket of humidity still cloaks the air. The heat of the fire is almost too intense, but a welcome warmth. You already know that Steve’s sweatshirt is going to smell like campfire smoke tomorrow, which makes you only want to hang onto it for a little longer.

You’re starting to get a bit sleepy, satiated and exhausted from the heat, barbecue, and booze-filled day. Steve’s thumb is circling your knuckles.

“You okay?” he asks you softly.

“Mm hm,” you respond noncommittally, the fire lulling you to sleep.

“Good,” he whispers, the sound of his voice much closer now. You feel the warmth of his lips press against your temple, and you sigh contentedly.

“You know - we’re really good at holidays,” you comment.

“Mm - the best. I think we should just celebrate a holiday every day.”

“Agreed.”

He chuckles softly, kissing the crown of your head before leaning back in his chair. Some comfortable silence falls, the space filled with the crackling of fire, cicadas, and the distant boom of fireworks - summer.

Soon, though, there’s a different kind of sound - a distant rumble. You blink your eyes open blearily, groaning.

“Please tell me those are more fireworks,” you say, squinting over the treeline. Then, a flash in the sky, and a crack.

“Shit, a storm,” Steve says, jumping up out of his seat. “We should get inside before -”

Another boom. And, in cruel irony, the skies open up. The thick heat of the day finally breaks, rain suddenly pelting down on you in heavy drops.

“Oh shit -”

“C’mon!” you cry, taking his hand and booking it to the back door, running through the downpour until you’re in the house. The cool air conditioning hits your now-wet body, and both of you are practically giggling like children. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re both still slightly drunk, or that you’re tired and starting to get loopy, but it soon devolves into the two of you falling into a fit of giggles in Steve’s kitchen.

“Shhhhhh!” you whisper, betraying yourself with another fit of laughter. You lean on Steve for support, laughing into his shoulder.

“You shhh,” he counters, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly.

He holds you like that for a moment, the two of you rocking and swaying in the empty kitchen. The storm rages on outside, rain pattering against the roof accompanied by the occasional rumble of thunder.

“Steve?” you mumble into his shoulder.

“Mm?”

“I love you,” you murmur.

A pause, and you can swear you feel him physically relax beneath you.

“Love you more,” he replies, soft and sincere.

“Not possible.”

He chuckles quietly. Then, he stops and pulls back, staring into your eyes like you’re made of stars.

“What?”

Instead of answering, he tilts your chin with his fingers, and begins kissing you softly. You sigh into the kiss, pulling him closer. Soon enough though, what had started as sweet becomes heated, Steve groaning as your tongue finds its way into his mouth. It’s becoming just a bit sloppy, Steve’s fingers gripping your shoulders so hard you’re afraid they’ll bruise.

“Steve -” you breathe into his mouth.

“Mm - yeah - baby -”

“Can we take this upstairs?” you ask, voice heated.

“Yeah, but my parents are asleep… we need to be quiet -”

“With you, Harrington? Not a chance.”

Before he can respond, you’re turning to the stairs and running up them two at a time. You don’t even need to look back to know that he’s following you every step of the way, just as he always does in everything.

And that night, as Steve touches you and makes you see stars, it dawns on you for not the first time in your life just how lucky you are. Now, Steve is a part of you, half of a whole. He always has been, in a way, for as long as you can remember. As you make love, you remember all of those summer and winter nights spent in his room doing exactly this, discreetly and “as friends.” How gentle he was your first time, taking care of you like you were the most important thing in the world. You remember how you broke his heart, how you told him you loved him for the first time, and everything in between. As he’s kissing your skin, and whispering sweet nothings and praises down your body, you realize that you can’t be without this boy.

It’s afterwards that you finally ask the question, hands intertwined in the dark under twisted bedsheets.

“Come to New York with me,” you whisper through the darkness. A leap of faith.

He pauses, and for a moment, you’re terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing. That is, until he pulls you into a fierce kiss.

“Okay,” he breathes. “You and me, babe. Always.”

Author's note: I know it's short and sweet, but I hope y'all liked it. Let me know your thoughts in the tags, replies, reblogs, etc. Happy 4th of July to all who celebrate!

#ttds fic #'tis the damn season #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington/fem!reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington/you #steve harrington/reader smut #tis the damn season fic

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weebsinstash · 1 year

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So, hear me out, but; what if y/n was totally aware that Miguel is into them? It's flattering, having this huge, incredibly dangerous man that's really obviously weak in the knees when you give him doe eyes, or lean over him and press your chest up against his back to point at something on his screen. You never treat it seriously, always flitting in and out of Nueva York and in and out of Miguel's reach. Teasing, flirting, but never going further than that, simply enjoying the attention and warm fuzzies that come with making a man break the mug he's holding because you stretched and your shirt rode up enough to expose your belly.

And it's not like he's gonna do anything bad! It's just flirting, and he's a fellow Spiderperson! You're all good people here... Right?

This is kind of different but similar but, I find myself drawn to Reader inserts/characters that like, maybe if they don't hate themselves, are like inherently incapable of even considering that someone might like them romantically, like you're not constant gloom and doom but you find the concept of someone loving you romantically outright wacky crazy

Miguel throws a lil tiny experimental flirt towards Reader to test the waters, and Reader flirts right back because they think he's JOKING. Miguel takes that as a sign and starts giving you more compliments and little flirtatious remarks and you just think this is like, platonic teasing, that he's ribbing you, you think Its Like A Friend Thing Like A Gimmick, and it takes him a while to notice you have absolutely no idea he's being 2099% serious when he makes those corny comments about how he gets lost in your eyes, saying shit like he's the hunky male lead from a telenovela or something

Combine this with the alternative dangerously risky concept of "Reader who jokingly says foul/raunchy shit" which is also a Val/Reader concept I've had. But like. Idk. Miguel sees you slurping a soda or sweet drink or idk even smoking and he jokes like "wow those are some lungs" and without blinkijg before you can even consider the consequences you hit him with "yeah I can suck dick like this too" and he chokes on his own food in shock, red as a tomato. Or Reader jokingly slaps his butt like some real football locker room go team shit or maybe you're teasing him and telling him he's "fat" and he has to excuse himself while the skin is still stinging because, oh my GOD did you just give him the biggest hard-on and it's about to EXPLODE--

Just accidentally making him totally crazy about you because you're literally too doubtful of him potentially having feelings for you or being interested in you in any capacity besides platonically that you accidentally act your unhindered full charisma self. You're too doubtful of him loving you to be self conscious and embarrassed of anything you say or do and think he just sees you as like, a sibling. Someday you'll learn to regret all those times you jokingly kissed him on the cheek because you thought it would gross him out or the time you got too drunk on spiked eggnog at the Christmas party and kissed him right on the mouth, but like, almost as you would a brother or a cat, as you coo how handsome he is, hes such a pretty boy, and "why hasn't he found himself a wife yet-- wait shit I am so sorryyyyyyyy i forgot 😥" because. You know. poor guy. But also. Gotta love the dilf factor

Ughhhhhh there really are a lot of us feeling the "baby trapping" energy from this man. Miguel who pokes holes in condoms because the second you get pregnant "oh, in that case well, I'll take responsibility and marry you and we can raise the baby :)" which I mean, considering his losses that's its own significant undertaking for him, that entire process and line of thinking is some sort of combination "healing" while getting ten times worse. Not to say he doesn't adore you or the thought of having kids with you, just... he might not be considering the most noble of methods anymore, for anything really. Getting drinks with you and biding his time until the alcohol slowly loosens you up and he gets you alone and you're too tipsy and sex hungry to stop and realize he isn't using protection until he's, you know, finishing inside of you. He'll use a drunken one night stand to try and weasel his way into dating you, if you're not already pregnant from that one night. I mean shit he's just so like large and imposing and just, God, he's hot though, I feel like it would be so hard to not visibly be flustered at the very least, and he'll use any reactions you make as cues for what he can try next. Even just suddenly grabbing your hips or waist or sides and making you suddenly squeak and he can tell by the look on your face that he's totally getting you hot even if maybe you're embarrassed and might not inherently want to act on anything (yet? Imagine wanting that Thick Dilf Dick and being physically attracted to him and respecting him and so you legitimate pursue him if only hust for sex and somehow you Accidentally Unlock The Crazy In Him)

One day you think he's just a harmless coworker, the next day you're finding he's got extensive stalker ass records for you, pictures, videos, just surveillance things, and he's not quite as Charming and Valiant to you anymore. In fact you're just about starting to realize all those comments he made that made you swoon before are now starting to make your skin crawl, but hey, just like you stumbled upon his secret, he stumbles upon you and catches you red handed, and well, he's sorry you found out this way but he was going to confess to you more seriously eventually right? Is THIS enough of a clear signal for you yet?

#valentino telling you you have rough ass hands and youre just like let me jerk you off i can exfoliate your dick like a pumice stone #vox just HOWLING with laughter #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere spiderverse #yandere stuff #sinprompts #also i hypothetically have a miguel draft possibly two maybe only one will see the lifht of day we shall see i promise nothing

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babybluebex · 1 year

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long lost love: before | joseph quinn x fem!reader

summary: part one of two! on your first day at the london academy of musical and dramatic arts, you meet a sweet boy, and you quickly grow close. two years of dating go by, but, when you suspect that joseph is cheating on you, you make an irreversible decision. pairing: joseph quinn x fem!reader (rpf - don't like, don't read) tags: accusations of infidelity, smut (MINORS DNI) - p in v sex, mentions of blowjobs - jealousy, lots of cute joey, wes makes several appearances, lots of suspect behavior from joe , a poor understanding of how LAMDA operates author's note: hi babes! thanks for reading this fic, and i don't have much to say other than enjoy! only one more part after this!

When you first saw him, your heart nearly stopped.

You didn’t know who he was; nobody really knew anybody else here. It was only orientation, and the room was full of hopeful young musicians and actors that were waiting for their education. The energy in the room was anxious and electric, and your eye was drawn to nearly every person that walked in, wondering what their aspirations were. Maybe some wanted to be directors or producers or music engineers. It was usually easy to spot the real talent in rooms like that, the kids that would really make it far, and you suppose that’s why you saw him almost instantly.

He wore the little badge with his name around his neck, looking cute and sweet with a nervous little smile on his face and a shaggy dark blond hairdo. Eighteen years old; when you thought back to him and looked at old pictures, you wondered if he ever regretted that hairstyle. He wore thick black glasses over his dark brown eyes, a small black earring in his left ear. He was cute, maybe even hot, but there was something about him, something magnetic, and you couldn’t help but wonder what his deal was. You could tell, just by his energy, that he was one of your fellow actors, and you looked at the seat beside you, empty and awaiting someone. Maybe he would sit by you and you could talk to him. Although, knowing yourself, you would be too shy to really talk to this cute guy.

The sweet and cute shaggy-haired boy spotted the empty chair quickly, and he scooted past other people in the row to get to it. He threw you a quick smile— braces on his teeth— and, in a soft voice, asked, “Is this seat taken?”

“No,” you told him quickly, moving over a little bit on your own seat to show just how empty the chair next to you was.

“Thanks,” he said, and your heart slammed in your chest as he sat down. He smelled good, like expensive cologne that he probably got when he graduated from secondary school, and he gave you that smile again before he said your name.

“Huh?” you asked. How did he know your name?

He pointed at the badge around your neck, the one with your name and “ACTING ACADEMY” printed on it, and he said your name again.

“Oh, right,” you chuckled, and you looked at his own badge. “JOSEPH QUINN: ACTING ACADEMY”. “Do you go by Joseph, or, like, something else?”

“Really only my mum calls me Joseph,” he said. “My friends all call me Joe.”

“Joe,” you said. “Looks like we’re gonna be classmates.”

“Looks like it,” Joe chuckled. “What dormitory are you staying in?”

“Umm, I’m not,” you said. “I’m actually from London, so I live with my family.”

“Oh, cool,” Joe said. “We have something in common!”

“Do we?” you smiled, and you pushed your hair behind your ear nervously. “That’s cool. Where are you from?” Before Joe could answer, you added, “Wait! Can I guess?”

“Go for it,” Joe laughed. “Only if I get to guess where you’re from.”

“You’ll never guess right,” you chuckled.

“Oh, I’ll try,” Joe laughed.

The whole day, your conversation never stalled, not even once orientation started. You whispered to each other and giggled like children, even after you were fussed at by the orientation leader, and Joe just smiled and tried to keep his laughter down. Finally, the day ended with Joe stuttering out a request for your phone number. “Really?” you asked. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “I think you’re… Well, I think you’re fit, and you’re really funny, a-and, yeah… You don’t have to, but I thought I’d ask—”

You leaned in and placed your lips on his cheek for just a moment, just long enough to feel the warm blush he had, and, when you pulled back, his blush had invaded his whole face, even up into his hair. “Sure,” you told him. “I’d love to do that.”

“Cool,” Joe said, and he tugged his phone out of his jeans pocket and passed it to you as he took a deep breath. “That’s cool… Umm, I’ll text you.”

“Sounds good,” you said. “I’ll see you at class, Joey.”

“Joey?” he repeated. “Nobody really calls me that.”

“Well, now I do,” you told him, and you bit your lip and smiled. “Bye, Joey.”

What you didn’t know was that, when Joe got home, he immediately told his mother about the awesome girl he had met. What you didn’t know was that he told his best friend since childhood about you, sighing and saying, “Wes, I met her.” When Wes asked “Her?”, Joe rolled onto his back and imagined your smile and said “Her! My girl, the one I’m gonna be with forever! I met her today!”

What Joe didn’t know was that, when you got home, you told your own mum about him, and you said, “He’s gonna do great things someday. I know it.” When your mother asked, “How do you know?”, you shrugged and said “I just do. Good things come to good people, and Joey… He’s gonna do amazing things.”

It didn’t take very long for Joe to ask you out. You had talked every day, sharing most of your classes, and he was a great friend, funny and smart and loyal. It was hardly two weeks into the term when he stopped you after a lecture one day and said, “Hey, umm, my friend and I are gonna go to the movies tonight, and I-I was wondering if you wanted to come with us.”

“Really?” you asked. “That’s nice. I’d love to go.”

When Joe picked you up at your house that night, he seemed nervous. His friend, a blond boy named Wes, was in the backseat of his car, letting you ride in the passenger seat, and the three of you talked up a storm. You had fun with them, but the real heart-pounding fun started once the lights went down in the theater.

The movie was fine, suspenseful but predictable, but Joe’s hand kept lingering over to yours before withdrawing, like he didn’t mean to keep touching your hand. You wondered if he would make up his mind— will he or won’t he?— and finally, he committed and held your hand properly. It was adorable how nervous he seemed, and your lips tingled. You wanted to kiss him.

Towards the end of the movie, the darkness around you seemed encroaching suddenly, and you took the opportunity to clutch to Joe’s arm, squeezing his hand. He looked at you and smiled softly, and he leaned in and whispered, “Are you scared?”

“No,” you mumbled. Your face went hot, though, and you added, “Maybe a little.”

“I’ll protect you,” Joe chuckled softly, and he removed his arm from your grasp to sling it over your shoulders, drawing you right up against his warm body, barred only by the armrest between you. He rested his cheek against your head, holding you close as the movie finished, and you caught Wes’s smile as the lights came up.

“Y’know,” Wes started as you waited for Joe outside the restrooms. “You’re all he talks about.”

“Really?” you asked. “I mean, I think he’s pretty cool, and I talk to my mates about him a lot too…”

“He’s been dying to make a move on you,” Wes told you, and the heat returned to your face. “But he’s also kinda a pussy when it comes to asking girls out; I’m surprised he even managed to ask you to the movie. Basically, all I’m saying is… Don’t count him out.”

“I’m definitely not,” you told Wes. “In fact, I… I was planning on kissing him tonight.”

“Good luck,” Wes said. Then, his eyes flicked behind you, and he added, “Shit, here he comes, act cool.”

You laughed as Joe approached the two of you, and Joe asked, “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, umm, nothing,” you giggled. “Wes just made a joke.”

You could feel Wes’s gaze on you as he lingered behind you and Joe as you walked to the car park, Joe’s pinky finger nudging yours every so often. Carefully, you captured his finger with yours, linking you together, and Joe adjusted his glasses as a pink blush filled his face.

The ride back to your house was quiet, all things considered, the tension between you and Joe so thick that Wes could have swam in it, and the tension only snapped when Joe offered to walk you to the door. “Oh, you don’t have to,” you sighed, even though you knew what that meant. You had seen plenty of romantic movies— if Joe walked you to the house, you would exchange an awkward but pleasant conversation before he tried to kiss you. Your heart thudded in your chest as Joe shrugged, and he said, “It’s not a bother.”

In the electric buzz of your mum’s porch light, Joe took your hands and laced your fingers together, and he mumbled, “Alright, so, I’m sure you’ve figured out by now how much I fancy you. And it was nice of you to, like, hold my hand and let me put my arm around you and shit, but you-you don’t have to pretend or anything.”

“Who said anything about pretending?” you asked. “Joey, I’m an actor, but I’m not that good of an actor. I really fancy you too.”

“Do you?” he asked, his eyes rounding with hope. “Do you really?”

“I do,” you said softly. The pounding of your heart was getting overwhelming, and you squeezed his hands. “I really do.”

“Awesome,” Joe chuckled. “Umm, c-can I kiss you? Before I leave?”

“I…” you started, halfway embarrassed about this. “I’ve never been kissed before.”

“That’s okay,” Joe told you. “That’s not something to be ashamed about. Do you want me to kiss you?”

“I… I’d like that a lot,” you told him carefully, and Joe gave you a relieved smile. Slowly, making sure not to move too quickly and scare you, he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes slipped closed as your arms moved to swing around his neck, and he held your hips tightly as he titled his head and deepened the kiss just a bit. His lips were soft, and he tasted like cherry Chapstick, and you sighed as you pulled away to break the kiss. As far as first kisses went, you considered it a pretty damn good one, and you laughed softly as you looked down at your feet.

“Thanks, Joey,” you told him. “Umm… Do you wanna be my boyfriend? Y-You can say no! But I just really fancy you and—”

Joey kissed you again to stop your blathering, smiling against your lips, and, when you pulled away, his glasses were a little bit askew. “I’d love that,” he said. And that was it. Easy peasy.

From then on, you and Joey were inseparable. You hung out between classes, had dates every Friday night, stayed over at each other’s places for the weekend. It wasn’t long before Christmas holiday came, and you kissed your first boyfriend at midnight as the new year rang in. Joey was your first everything: he was your first boyfriend, your first kiss, the very first boy you ever loved.

He was also your first time, which was a point of contention. By the time the new term rolled around, you knew how impatient he was getting. He never would have admitted it to you and would have denied it to the ends of the earth had you asked him, but he was a, by then, nineteen year old boy— he probably had wanted to fuck you since the first day you met. But you were nervous, and kept postponing it. You had done little things to try to alleviate some of his waiting, rubbing him through his jeans and letting him feel up your shirt, but going all the way was daunting. You told him as much the first time he tried to get in your pants, and Joey was understanding. “We can wait,” he said. “It doesn’t matter to me, truly. I just want you to be comfortable.”

Finally, summer holiday came, and you decided that enough was enough. By now, Joe and Wes were renting a flat not far from campus, and you spent most of your time there, but now that you were unencumbered by classes, all of your time was spent there. You had practically moved in with them— you kept clothes in Joe’s closet, a toothbrush by the sink, tampons in the bathroom— and, one night, Wes packed a bag. “I’m staying at Liam’s for the night,” he told you when you inquired, and you childishly puckered your lips and made kissy noises at Wes as Joe cooed at him teasingly. Liam was Wes’s current boyfriend, and Wes had gushed to you about how he thought Liam was “the one”, and you poked at him absolutely relentlessly about it, but you were just happy that Wes was happy.

“Have fun,” Joe called as Wes left the flat, and no sooner was the door shut and locked than were you straddling Joe’s waist and kissing him. He grunted in surprise and grabbed at your waist as he kissed you back, and it was only once you broke the kiss that he asked, “Darling, what’re you doing?”

“I’m fucking done with being scared,” you told him. “I know that you’re good, that you won’t hurt me or anything like that, and virginity is such bullshit anyway, it’s not real, so who cares?”

“Love,” Joe said lowly. “Are you really sure? Because we can wait if you want, I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything, I’m okay waiting however long you want.”

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” you told him. “I want you.”

“Alright,” Joe sighed. “Okay. Fuck, all my condoms are old, I don’t—��

“I’m on the pill,” you told him softly. “Got on it just for you.”

“Oh, don’t say that, you’ll give me an ego,” Joe chuckled. “And a boner, but that’s already happening.”

“You’re so funny,” you told him, and you kissed him again. “Make love to me, Joey.”

That night, Joe did as you asked, and he made love to you for the first time. He undressed you slowly, taking his time to care for you and love on you, sucking on your skin and feeling you in his hands, and he laughed softly when you carefully took off his glasses and set them on the bedside table. “You look so handsome like this,” you told him, and Joe eagerly kissed you, spreading your legs to wrap around his waist.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking seen,” Joe told you, and you kissed him deeply.

Joey held your hands as he slid deep inside you, shushing you when you whined at the unfamiliar stretch and burn, and he rested his forehead against yours and watched you react to every roll of his hips. His eyes stayed locked on yours intensely, heightening every sensation, and each panted breath was met with a kiss. Before long, you felt that knot tightening in your belly, and you whimpered, “Baby, I’m gonna cum.”

“Me too,” Joe huffed out. “Want you to cum first.”

It wasn’t much longer before you were squeezing your legs around his hips and throwing your head back as his fingers met your throbbing clit, and you moaned as you came, the fuzzy feeling in your stomach invading your head and taking your breath away. He wasn’t far behind you, pulling out just in time to spill all over your stomach, and his reddened chest heaved with heavy breaths as he pulled himself out of bed and found a towel to clean you off with. “You alright?” he asked, wiping at the remnants of himself that laid on your belly and chest, and you threaded your fingers in his hair and pulled him into a kiss.

“I’m alright,” you told him. “I…”

“Yeah?” Joe asked expectantly.

“I love you,” you whispered to him, and the flush in his chest crawled up his neck to his cheeks and ears.

“You do?” Joe asked, his eyes big and round and hopeful. You loved his eyes.

“Of course I do,” you told him. “I’ve loved you for a long time, I’ve just been… I don’t know, too scared to tell you until now. But I’m not scared anymore. About anything”

Joey leaned down and softly kissed you again, and he mumbled, “I love you too.”

If you thought you were inseparable before, nothing compared to that summer. Most of your time was spent in each other’s arms, fighting off the heat in bed together. Now that every boundary had been broken down, you weren’t afraid or hesitant anymore, and Joe liked it. He was more affectionate than before, always trying to kiss you or hug you as you cooked dinner, dragging you into bed whenever he got the notion, and you indulged him every time.

Also that summer, Joe turned into a man. He invested in contact lenses during the break, got his braces off, cut the ridiculous mop on his head, and took out his earrings (you cried, because the earring was just so cute) and your boyfriend’s burgeoning maturity only made you want him more. God, he was the most handsome man you had ever seen. He was better than those stars in the movies that he took you to see on date night, and he was better because he was yours.

When the term started back, you noticed something about your boyfriend. Before, girls didn’t really take notice of him. Maybe the lone girl who giggled at him when he goofed off in class, but everyone knew that you and Joe were an item. You were the “it” couple at LAMDA, everybody knew you, but, with all of the physical changes that Joe made, came more competition. Suddenly, girls were trying to talk to him more often, pair up with him for breathing exercises or short film projects— you were almost twenty by now, you were an adult, but jealousy still flared in your stomach.

And Joe. Your sweet Joey never really saw it. He mentioned it off the cuff a few times, mostly joking when you were sullen after finding out that he had been asked out again by some girl— ”Aw, baby, are you jealous?”— but you never let him know the full extent of your jealousy. He didn’t need to know. You were just his girlfriend, not his controller. If he wanted to talk and flirt with other girls, that was his business; after all, he was fucking you and not them. You were never worried that he would cheat on you, because you knew his heart was good and that he would make reasonable decisions.

In retrospect, you both should and shouldn’t have been worried.

Just after your two year anniversary, weeks before Joe’s 21st birthday, an opportunity fell into his lap. “An audition,” he told you excitedly. You sat on the couch in his flat, legs drawn up under you as you read the email on his computer that he had presented you, declaring that a new BBC show was casting young men ages 18-25 for a role in their new period piece. “I got an audition.”

“Oh, Joey!” you crooned and put the computer aside, sitting up and hugging him tightly. “You remember our audition class last year? You aced it! You’re gonna do great, I know it.”

“I’m so nervous,” Joe admitted, rubbing your back as he buried his face in your neck. “What if I don’t get it?”

“But what if you do?” you asked. “Baby, you can’t discount yourself, you’re perfect for this! I always knew you’d do great things, and this is just the start. And so what if you don’t get it? The fact that you even auditioned is amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you so much,” Joe whispered. “Thank you for sticking by my side.”

“Of course,” you told him.

The next week was his audition with the BBC, and you fretted all day. You felt sick and called out from class that day to stay home and wait, and, when the door to the flat opened and Joe bustled in, you couldn’t wait anymore. “So?” you asked eagerly. “How’d it go?”

“Good,” Joe said simply, unwinding his scarf from around his neck.

“Just good?” you asked. “Tell me all about it! Who was there, what happened—”

“Well, love, I’m under contract, I can’t really talk about that,” Joe said, and you sighed.

“Yeah, but I’m your girlfriend, contracts don’t count when—” and you stopped yourself. “Wait, contract? What contract?”

Joe was quiet, but his smile was a mile long. “A BBC contract,” he said finally. “They offered me the role at the audition.”

You couldn’t help yourself. You screamed and jumped up, and you flew into Joe’s arms and squeezed him around his middle. “Oh my God!” you cried, kissing him all over his warm and pink face. “Joe! No way!”

“I have a job,” Joe said, proud of himself, and you kissed his lips before you laughed.

“What did I tell you?” you said. “Don’t count yourself out! Oh, baby, I’m so proud of you! What’s your character’s name?”

“Arthur,” Joe told you. “Arthur Havisham.”

“Arthur,” you repeated, and you kissed him again. “Oh, my sweet boy, I knew you could do it.”

To celebrate his accomplishment, you went out to dinner that night, leaned in, smiling and laughing together as you shared a bottle of wine. When you got home, the flat was empty— Wes was at Liam’s again— and you went down on Joe. His hands clutched your hair and he filled your mouth, and he reached down and kissed you, whispering “I love you” as you swallowed his spend.

The show, a quaint period piece called Dickensian, started filming in the new year, and you were excited for him. In the weeks preceding the shoot, he had costume fittings and hair and makeup tests, and you went with him to everything that you could manage while still attending your classes. He was the talk of the town at LAMDA— a third year acting student getting cast in a large-scale BBC production didn’t happen often— and everyone seemed to know him and, by extension, you. As much as Joe had a role to play, so did you: the supportive girlfriend. Of course you were proud of him and never said otherwise, but he was all anybody wanted to talk to you about anymore. “How’s Joe? What’s he doing? What’s it like on set?” You answered all of their questions and more, but, little did they know, trouble was brewing.

It started with little things. Joe would tell you that he would be home from set at a certain time, then text you minutes before, telling you that they were running late and not to wait up for him. Then, he’d lumber into the flat late at night, not even bothering to greet you some nights before he passed out asleep in bed. He would wake up early, for his call time was always fairly early in the morning, and he’d slip out of the flat without waking you to say goodbye.

One of the bigger incidents was when he flopped into bed one night, leaving his clothes on the floor, and, when you went to gather them, found red-colored stains on the collar of his shirt. “What is this stain?” you asked him, running your thumb over the stain.

“Why d’you care?” Joe mumbled, grabbing his pillow and shoving his tired face in it.

“I need to know if I need to treat it before I wash it,” you told him, then, under your breath, added, “Since I do the washing up around here, apparently.”

“It’s, umm…” Joe started sleepily. He yawned, then said, “Makeup. They make me wear a lot of makeup.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, and Joe sighed.

“Yes, fuck,” he grumbled. “Let me sleep, love, I had a long day.”

Red makeup. Why would he be wearing red makeup? You swiped your thumb across it, and it came back a little waxy. Lipstick. You knew that he was lying, but you dreaded a fight, so you kept it to yourself. Lipstick on Joe’s collar; it made your stomach turn.

Another incident came on Joe’s birthday. He wasn’t filming that day, but he was still out all day. You were awaiting his arrival, tired and lonely and just wanting some time with your birthday boy, and you sighed when the door finally opened. “There you are,” you smiled, and you opened your arms for him. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Joe said, coming into your arms and kissing you gently. “Sorry, my mum wanted to take me out.”

“No worries,” you said as alarms went off in your head. You had called Joe’s mum earlier in the day to try to get her recipe for Victoria sponge so that you could make it for dessert after dinner (you had succeeded, and a completed cake sat on the counter in the kitchen), and, in the conversation, it came up that Joe’s mum regretted not being in London for Joe’s birthday. “I’m in Liverpool for the week,” she told you. “I guess we can celebrate when I get back.” If he wasn’t with his mum, where was he?

Finally, the nail in the coffin came. On a cold March night, your skin still rippling with the feeling of Joe’s tongue, your boyfriend asleep next to you, he mumbled in his sleep. He did it every so often, mainly when he was stressed or nervous about something, but it was usually little things, things that you couldn’t discern. But this was discernible, and it made your stomach turn. “Amelia…” Joe mumbled, and he turned away from you in his sleep.

You were awake all night. Amelia. Who the fuck was Amelia? The same girl who had left the red lipstick on his collar? The same girl he had spent his birthday with? You didn’t want to feed into delusions and jump to any sort of conclusions, but everything seemed so damning to you. You were scared and anxious and looking for any answers, and the girl’s name gave you an answer. Joe was cheating on you.

By the time Joe’s alarm woke him up at 6am (you even doubted his call time now; was he leaving early to see her?), you were up and packed. You lived with Joe and Wes now full-time, and you sniffled as you tried to think through your options. You could move back in with your mum until you found accommodations, or you could shack up in a hotel somewhere, or move in with a friend, or... Anywhere but here. Joe stumbled out of the bedroom to find you on the couch, jiggling your leg nervously, biting your fingernails down to the quick, your bags by your feet. “Darling?” Joe mumbled, scratching his blondish curls. “Wha’s’this?”

“I’m leaving,” you told him simply.

“Is everything okay?” Joe asked with a start. “Has something happened?”

“You know, I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you,” you said, your eyes narrowing as you held down your tears. “When we were eighteen, our first day at LAMDA, and you came and sat next to me, I’ve loved you since that moment. And I only thought that you felt the same way.”

Joe’s eyes nearly burst out of his skull behind his thin glasses. “I do!” he said quickly. “Love, what’re you talking about? Of course I love you!”

“Then, have the decency to break up with me before you start dating another girl!” you hiccuped. “At least spare me the heartbreak of hearing you say her name in your sleep.”

“What did I say?” Joe asked. “Darling, what name did I say?”

“Does it matter?” you asked. “It’s not mine, and that’s what matters. The lipstick on your collar was the biggest tip off for me, and I-I let you explain it away! I should have left you the very moment I found that shit!”

“Please calm down,” Joe begged you. “You can’t leave, you can’t, what am I supposed to do without you?”

“You should have thought about that before you went and cheated on me,” you spat. “I hope Amelia makes you really happy, because you’re all hers now.”

“Amelia?” Joe repeated. And he laughed. The bastard laughed at you. Anger ran hot in your chest, and you gnashed your teeth and grabbed the handle of your bags. “No, wait, darling, let me explain! Amelia isn’t— She’s my—“

“I don’t care who she is,” you told him. “I’m done being lied to and deceived. I’m just fucking done.”

What you didn’t know was, as soon as you left, Joe fell to his knees and wept. His heart pounded, and he clutched his chest, trying to dig his poor heart out. He was still on the floor in the living room when Wes came home from Liam’s, his sobbing still as heavy as when it started, and, when Wes too fell to his knees and asked what was wrong, Joe sniffled. “She left me,” he said. “Just packed up her things and left.”

What you didn’t know was that, the day you found the red makeup, Arthur had been beaten, and had reddish-purple bruises on his face, and some of the painted makeup had gotten on Joe’s collar. What you didn’t know was, when Joe spent his birthday out, he was at a jeweler’s, looking at engagement rings. What you didn’t know was that, at that moment, Joe’s heart was irreparably broken, and he clutched his childhood best friend as he sobbed.

When you first got home to your mother that day and told her what happened, she sighed and held you as you cried, and let you curse Joe’s name over and over. “I thought he loved me,” you sobbed. “I thought he loved me!”

Luckily for you, the end of term came while Joe was still filming, and he missed most of your shared classes. Word got around quickly that the "it" couple had broken up, and, while nobody asked you about it, you knew they were gossiping. But no matter. You had your own career to deal with, signing up for auditions and sending out self-tapes to anybody that was accepting. You got a role in a small teen sitcom on BBC 3, just a three-episode arc, and you were elated. Your first job, right out of school! You were proud of yourself, but the victory felt hollow; you had nobody to share it with.

You only saw Joe in person one other time, at your small graduation ceremony in the spring. He received special honors and was chosen to be class speaker, and you held back your tears as you listened to him talk about perseverance and hard work. “And, truly, I couldn’t have done it without someone special,” he said, and he locked eyes with you for just a moment, just long enough for your heart to soar, then he looked past you. “My mum.” You clapped with everyone else, and wiped away a tear.

He approached you after the ceremony, holding his diploma under his arm, and you shouldered your purse as he gave you a small hug, the most awkward show of affection in the world. Your hand nearly went to the nape of his neck, the way you knew he liked, but you stopped yourself. “Hey,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I’m still proud of you, you know.”

“I know,” Joe said. “I heard you got cast in something.”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just, umm, some stupid sitcom. Three episode arc, you know how it is.”

“That’s still cool,” Joe said. “I just wanted to… Congratulate you, I guess.”

You nodded silently, brushing off tears again. “Wes told you to come speak to me, didn’t he?” you said softly. “You didn’t wanna come talk.”

“You know me so well,” Joe said, with no hint of humor in his voice. “Be good, okay?”

“You too.”

At Christmas, just as filming for your show ended, you were flipping channels on the telly, looking for something that wasn’t A Christmas Story on a loop. You thought back to this time last year, pulling crackers with your lover and unwrapping thoughtful presents, and your heart hurt just as you flipped to the BBC, and suddenly Joe was on your screen. No, not Joe; Arthur. Arthur Havisham, incensed about something. You leaned forward closer to the television to try to get a better look, and you watched as his face pulled up in that way it did when he was trying not to cry, and he said, “Didn’t you hear him? I have no home.”

“Mum!” you called, and you clutched the throw pillow to your chest as your mother came from the kitchen. Your eyes stayed glued on the screen as it flipped to a different scene with different characters, and your mum asked just what was the matter to have you yelling halfway across the house, and you sniffled. “I hate him, but I’m proud of him.”

“Who, love?” your mum asked.

“Joseph,” you mumbled. “His show is on the telly.”

“Oh,” your mother said softly. “Well, turn it off, then.”

“No,” you said as he came back onscreen. He looked so handsome, his dishwater blond curls done just right, his eyes big and expressive, his lip trembling— you tried not to imagine what you would be doing if you hadn’t broken up. You probably would be sitting in his lap and kissing him silly every time he came onscreen, and he would be laughing and protesting even watching it in the first place. Wes would be at your side, maybe Liam too, and you would be one big happy family. But he had ruined that, ruined it with—

“Amelia Havisham.”

Your heart stopped. Amelia. The girl onscreen answered to that name, and you wanted to throw up. Amelia. Amelia was a character on the show. Amelia was Arthur’s sister. “Oh no,” you whispered. “What have I done?”

You grabbed your phone and dialed Joe’s number, and you waited for him to pick up. Only, he never did. The call rang for ten rings, then sent you to his voicemail, and you cleared your throat. “Hi, Joe,” you said softly. “It’s me. Umm, I just wanted to let you know I’m watching Dickensian, and you… You did a really good job. Well done. And Amelia…” You weren’t sure exactly what to say, and you gently added, “I’m sorry. Call me when you get this; I just wanna talk.” You hoped that he understood what you meant.

In your heart, you knew that you had done Joe badly, not letting him explain his point of view when you broke up, but, getting confirmation that he in fact did not cheat on you only proved to you how truly shitty you had treated him. And now he wouldn’t answer his phone when you called. He didn’t have an Instagram that you could stalk, and you were certain that even Wes would avoid your calls, and your heart seized up. You ruined it. Not Joe, you. You had ruined the only good thing you ever had. You had surely broken his heart, and it made you sick to think how badly you had treated the only person who loved you totally unconditionally.

Joe never called you back. You never saw him again— not in person, anyway. Every few years, you’d be watching television and come across him. A random role in Game of Thrones, a small part in a time-travel show, a not-so-small role in the BBC’s Les Miserables adaptation. Your heart never really healed, and every time you saw him only opened the wound a little more.

And then, one day at work, your world turned upside down. Literally.

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#joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn rpf

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