#He was easier to get to move the masses and win them over because he's charming and a performer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asthmark · 4 years

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❝ only us ❞, n.jm

summary → it was obvious to anyone that you guys had practiced this various times. or maybe it was just natural chemistry? jaemin isn’t sure what’s worse.

request → “could you write about bestfriend jaemin getting jealous when he sees you kiss jeno for a play at school that you're in” (anon)

word count → 3k

a/n → this request made me so incredibly happy because all the knowledge i acquired my musical phase finally came in handy!! also i haven’t listened to dear evan hansen since i downloaded the illegal bootleg on my laptop like last year so i don’t remember much abt it :( i just kind of described it really vaguely lol anyway hope u enjoy ;)

jaemin dropped his backpack carelessly onto the floor of the crowded cafeteria. he set his plate down on the lunch table, not even glancing at you as he eagerly dug into his food.

“sorry i’m late,” he says to you, eyes concentrated on the orange citrus in his hand. his fingers skillfully begin peeling off the skin. “i had to stay a couple minutes after history class as punishment for eating during the lesson.”

you roll your eyes, an amused smile on your face. “disappointed but not surprised.”

at hearing this comment, he glares at you. “hey, i didn’t have breakfast today and my stomach was growling like, really loud! seriously, it sounded like a whale mating call or something.”

“and who’s fault is that?” you ask, tucking your hands beneath your chin.

he frowns as he pops an orange wedge in his mouth. “mine, i guess. but it’s only because coach told me i should eat less if i wanna play better. something about less body mass making it easier to move around the court.”

“well, i’m pretty sure he didn’t mean skipping out on entire meals, doofus,” you retort. “breakfast is the most important meal of the day, isn’t that what everyone says?”

“true.” suddenly, his eyes light up. “so, you’re gonna start bringing me breakfast in the morings?”

you raise an eyebrow. “i’m sorry, when did we decide on that?”

he flashes you one of his infamous na jaemin smiles. “just now.”

“yeah well, tell your coach you’ll be losing that weight because there’s no way i’m going to wake up at the crack of dawn just to get you a mcmuffin.”

“but it would make my mornings so much better,” he whines. “having basketball practice so early sucks but with my cute little cheerleader there it would be totally worth it... the mcdonald’s is a bonus.”

you can’t help but laugh. “sorry nana, but i prefer sleeping in over watching a bunch of sweaty guys toss a ball around at 6 a.m.”

“fine... buy me a coffee after school and i’ll let you slide.”

“maybe tomorrow, i’ve got theatre today.”

“well, after that then,” he suggests.

you shake your head. “but then you’d have to wait and we’re doing a full rehearsal today.”

he shrugs. “i can wait, i don’t have practice.”

“yeah but i know how you are, na jaemin. you have the attention span of a goldfish.”

“not when it comes to you. you always have my attention.”

you’re about to laugh at what you assumed had been a purposefully cliché one-liner on his behalf but there’s no sign that he was joking. his devilish smirk and teasing eyes that usually appeared when he flirted with the girls on campus were nowhere to be found. instead you’re met with a straight face and his glimmering eyes that seem almost expectant, concentrated on you only. it takes you by surprise. was he being serious or something? the thought alone has your heart beat steadily increasing.

“okay fine, fine. anything for you to stop staring at me like that.”

he tilts his head to the side, resembling a lost puppy. “staring at you like what?”

“like—“ you pause, debating on whether or not you should say it. “like you’re in love with me or something.”

he only chuckles. “you have no idea.”

you almost choke on your sandwich. before you have a chance to ask him what in the world he meant by that, one of his teammates from the basketball team appears behind him, stealing his attention away.

“hey jaem,” donghyuck greets as he ruffles the younger boy’s hair. “coach just called a team meeting.”

“right now?” jaemin asks, displeased.

the brunette nods, folding his arms over his chest.

jaemin suppresses a groan as he stands and grabs his belongings. “sorry y/n. i’ll see you later for your rehearsals, okay?”

you nod. “see you later, nana.”

“bye jaemin’s girlfriend!” donghyuck exclaims receiving a punch in the arm from your ‘boyfriend’ although he doesn’t deny.

“i’m excited,” comments jaemin later that day. he has a bright grin on his face as you make your way through the hallway to the multipurpose room where you usually went for theatre club .

“oh really? i didn’t know you liked musicals.”

“well not really. but i like you.”

for the second time in one day, jaemin catches you off guard. you kick yourself for letting his shamelessness get to you. after all, wasn’t he like that with every girl? he had always been a charmer, you knew that before you had even met him.

na jaemin—point guard and certified flirt.

the only reason you had grown closer was due to him being in critical need of academic help and your teacher seeing you as a fit tutor. at first everyone found it amusing; the classic popular guy and quiet girl cliche. nobody had expected that you two would become practically glued by the hip. especially not you. maybe that was why you were so opposed to jaemin flirting with you. you were best friends but you knew how he was: not interested but never one to turn down any kind of attention. there was just no way that among so many girls you would be an exception.

“well, i hope you can like me for two hours because that’s probably how long this is gonna take,” you say, trying to move the conversation forward.

“i already told you, i have nowhere to be!” he exclaims. “besides, when would i ever turn down an opportunity to stare at you for a couple hours?”

you can’t help but roll you eyes, playfully. “please refrain from using any of your cheesy pick up lines on me while we’re there.”

“why?” he whines. “are you embarrassed of me?” when you turn to look at him he’s making those ridiculous puppy eyes that he knows you find hilarious.

you snort at seeing the familiar face. “when you do that, definitely.”

“alright fine. i’ll try to be on my best behavior in front of your little theatre friends.”

“thank you.” despite not believing a word he says, you still push open the door leading to the multipurpose room.

before you even get one foot in the door, your cast mate is already in your face.

“y/n, finally!” he says, looking beyond relieved at your presence. “i thought you’d never come! c’mon, you gotta change into your costume so we can start.”

“it’s not even opening night, jeno, calm down!” you say, laughing. “and i’m only a couple minutes late, it’s fine.”

he frowns. “you know how anxious i get. everything needs to be perfect.”

“yeah i know, sorry renjun.”

jeno makes a face, showcasing his disgust with your comment that compared him to your strict director. “shut up, you’re gonna summon him.”

“summon who?”

speak of the devil.

you shake your head at renjun who has appeared besides jeno. “not important.”

he smiles sarcastically, brushing his blonde bangs out of his face. “oh good. so can we move on to the actually important things now? like how you’re 6 minutes late?”

you sigh. “i had to wait outside jaemin’s class that’s on the other side of campus, sorry.”

but renjun doesn’t seem to care about your apology. instead, his attention has shifted to jaemin who stands behind you, hands stuffed into his pockets and eyes curiously observing the interactions between you and your friends.

“hello there.” your director moves past you, extending his hand towards your best friend which he takes awkwardly. “pleasure to meet you. you’re on the basketball team, right? i heard you scored the winning touchdown at the last game. congrats!”

“um, it’s just called a point in basketball but... thank you.”

renjun ignores jaemin’s correction. “is it your first time visiting the theater club?”

the brunette nods.

“oh, that’s wonderful! do you plan on coming to see our play on the 15th of this month?”

jaemin scratches the back of his head. “um... to be honest, i didn’t even know you guys had one coming up.”

renjun laughs, harder than usual. “that’s quite alright. it’s called ‘dear evan hansen’. it’s about the trials of high school life for a depressed teen who’s caught in a huge lie.” his hands fly around wildly, using them for emphasis as he dramatically explains the plot to jaemin. “you should come support us!”

“well, i would love t—“

“great! entry is $10.00, cash only. and definitely invite the rest of the basketball team!” with that, renjun rushes off, shouting something about how that was ‘exactly how to sell tickets for the play’ to the rest of the staff.

jaemin gives you a confused stare. “what just happened?”

you chuckle and give him a pat on the back. “you just experienced firsthand what we call here at the theater club the huang renjun effect. never fails to suck somebody into buying tickets for our shows.”

“well, now i kinda wanna buy one.” he turns to you, his eyes widening so big it’s comical. “wow, he’s good.”

“he’s more of a salesman than a director, that’s what you always say, right?” you turn to jeno who nods at the statement. “oh, this is jeno, by the way. he’s one of the few people around here who is not crazy.”

jeno waves at jaemin who smiles weakly at him, too busy observing his physique to say anything. his costume consisted of a blue polo shirt that made his biceps and veiny arms much more prominent. the shirt was pretty tight as well, making his toned chest and torso visible to just about anyone. the khakis he wore were fitted and his thick thighs were impossible to ignore. jaemin can’t help but wonder what a guy with his body was doing in a theatre club when he could be such a useful player on the court.

he looks up at his face, his cheeks curved into a smile that reached his squinted eyes. he would admit, he was a good looking dude. he then glances at you and realizes—you spent almost everyday with jeno. he feels guilty for it but he can’t stop himself from feeling slightly threatened by your cast mate.

jeno clears his throat, trying to ignore the awkward silence that has settled upon the three of you. “um, it was nice meeting you.” he shifts his attention to you. “i’m gonna finish getting ready.”

once he has left, you let out a giggle that you had been holding in during the entire exchange. “what’s the matter? you got all choked up just now. look, i know jeno’s hot but you gotta keep your cool just like the rest of us, okay?”

he frowns as he folds his arms over his chest, your last comment only fueling his feelings. “quit teasing me.”

“aw c’mon, you know i gotta give you a hard time,” you say, knocking his shoulder with yours. “it’s my duty as your best friend.”

before he can even respond, renjun’s voice is heard, being amplified by the megaphone in his hand. “rehearsals will start in 15 minutes instead of 5 because y/n wants to chit-chat with her friend instead of going to hair and makeup!”

you scowl at having been called out. “alright, i’ve gotta go get ready. please enjoy the show, though, okay?”

jaemin nods, smiling at seeing the genuine glint in your eyes. “of course.”

you were reaching the half point of the musical and jaemin had already cried twice.

with the looks he was receiving from the stage crew and even some of the cast members up on stage, he could tell they hadn’t expected him to be as emotional as he was but he couldn’t help it. the play was incredibly sad and he found himself not even knowing who to pity.

there was jeno’s character, evan hansen, who was stuck in a hole he had dug himself into but there was still a bit of him that was innocent and so helpless.

then there was connor murphy played by a kid named park jisung, who had only been around for a couple of scenes since his character was so tormented he had taken his life at the beginning of the play.

there were many other supporting roles, such as family members or friends and they all seemed to have their own issues but the character that truly got to him was yours.

you were playing zoe murphy, connor’s sister who was grappling with the death of her brother the entire musical, not sure whether to mourn him or remember him for the abusive person he was. in fact, your performance had tugged at jaemin’s heart strings so intensely that your solo song was the reason he had cried the first time around.

your acting skills had impressed him and your vocals left him stunned. all the times you and him had carpooled and sung the songs on the radio at the top of your lungs, he had never noticed your heavenly pipes. now that he had, he could feel himself becoming even more into you, if that was possible.

he sat on the edge of his seat, eyes focused intently on you and jeno as the 10th song began. as soon as the sound of the soft piano begins, jaemin prepares himself to shed tears once more but to his surprise, it seemed to be taking a more romantic turn.

he could only watch as you and jeno sang about being together and not letting go of each other... basically saying everything he wanted to tell you. he knew it was all a part of the act but seeing a guy as perfect as jeno pour his feelings out to you as you watched him with heart eyes and sang about how mutual it was proved to be incredibly tough. it made him feel like all his shameless flirts and stares that were too long to be just friendly were useless. why couldn’t making you his be as easy as jeno was making it seem?

before he can beat himself up for it anymore you and jeno lock lips. it isn’t just a quick peck, either. your hand tangles itself into his gelled back hair and his hand ends up on your waist as your lips move against each other, rhythmically. it was obvious to anyone that you guys had practiced this various times. or maybe it was just natural chemistry? jaemin isn’t sure what’s worse. all he knows is that he can’t take another second of watching you two engage in your passionate kiss when all he wishes is that he were in jeno’s shoes.

so, without a second thought he gets up and rushes out the door. he doesn’t look back at you because he doesn’t want to see the confusion and disappointment that will surely be on your face. he doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of his childish actions. he doesn’t stop running until he reaches the gym and takes a seat in the bleachers. he doubles over, head in his hands as he pants heavily in an attempt to catch his breath.

shortly after, much to his surprise, the door swings open and there you stand.

“what are you doing here?” he asks, sitting up straight.

“me? what about you, jaemin?” you approach him, slowly. “you just ran out of the room, for god’s sake. everyone’s worried, i’m worried.”

he feels another wave of guilt wash over him for interrupting your rehearsal and going against the one thing he said he was going to do: behave. “please go back. i’m fine, y/n. just needed a breather.”

“oh no,” you say walking up the stairs to the top row of bleachers where your best friend sits. “don’t ‘i’m fine, y/n’ me. you are most definitely not fine.” once you reach him you take a seat to his left, making sure to leave a generous space between you and him. “what happened back there? i swear, if renjun said anything to you i’ll personally make sure he never looks in your direction again.”

“no, it’s not that.” he pauses. “you and jeno were just—“ he trails off, his throat going dry.

you carefully place a hand on his arm, letting him know you would wait for anything he had to say.

“you were just really convincing.”

“well, isnt that a good thing?”

“it was... too much for me to see,” he confesses.

“so, what you’re saying is it’s too unrealistic? do we need to tone it down a bit?”

he nearly groans in frustration. “it’s not that! i wanted to be him, y/n! i want to feel your lips and hear about how much you want me!”

you retract your hand from his arm. “are you serious right now?”

he shoots you a harsh look and you notice how his eyes are glossed over, confirming just how serious he was. he gets up to leave, accepting his rejection before you grab his arm again and yank him down. he lands back on the bench and stares at you, visibly puzzled.

“if you would have waited a second longer you would know how badly i want those things too, you goldfish.”

the tears in his eyes fall but he still shoots you a toothy grin, showing he was anything but unhappy. you bring your hand up to his face, your thumb softly rubbing away the wet stains on his cheek. he unconsciously leans into your touch, never once breaking eye contact. once he’s had enough of delicate touches, he pulls you into his chest and you breathe in his scent—peppermint and coffee.

“i’m sorry.”

“for what?”

“for basically trading spit with jeno right in front of you.”

“it’s alright, baby... let me be the only person you practice that kiss scene with and i’ll let you slide.”

“deal.”

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chickwiththepurpleguitar · 3 years

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JatP Masterlist— Updated 9/2/22

I think I finally have enough work posted that I can warrant making this. Ao3 here. Askbox and DMs are always open for prompts/hcs/conversation!

Stand-Alones

a crack in the ceiling (trace it back to my heart):

There was not one winter while Luke was alive where he didn't get sick. Now that he's a ghost, he's not even sure if he can, but he's going to do everything in his power to make sure he doesn't.

But then, when Julie gets sick, not even Luke's concerns over his own health can keep him away.

Previously titled "This Time Around."

Chapters: 4/4

Word Count: 9,030

my healing needed more than time: (part 7 of Parenting Verse Series)

Trevor Wilson emerges through the curtain into the backstage area, the thick fabric muffling the roaring of the crowd in the concert hall at his back as it falls closed. The second he crosses the threshold, the mask falls away and Award-Winning Rockstar Trevor Wilson becomes Bobby, twenty-three-year-old high school dropout who can barely hold a conversation with another human being after spending all day appealing to the masses.

It doesn’t help that he’s got a cold. — Or, Bobby’s sick on tour. Ray and Rose move heaven and earth to make sure he doesn’t have to suffer alone.

Chapters: 2/2

Word Count: 10,388

as long as i’m here (no one can hurt you): with thessalonike

For some inexplicable reason, it was Bobby that Reggie pulled aside after rehearsal a few weeks ago and said, “Hey, man, so… my folks are going out of town? And it's the first time they've ever left me alone, they think I'm gonna mess it up, and I've got my kid brother to look after...”

And before he knew it, Bobby was being talked into house sitting, babysitting, and Reggie-sitting all in one fell swoop.

He has no idea what he's getting into.

Chapters: 8/8

Word Count: 45,922

let’s make a map of what matters most: (part 8 of Parenting Verse Series)

A snapshot into two Father's Days in the life of Ray Molina.

Part One: Father's Day 1995: Bobby Part Two: Father's Day 2010: Carrie (ft. Trevor and Julie)

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,050

used to the turbulence i wore long sleeves:

Usually, Luke would rather die than lounge around in long sleeves—they make him feel trapped and constricted, make his arms feel itchy and uncomfortable. He likes his limbs to be free, likes to feel the air on his skin, likes to be able to stretch and move and get messy without ruining his clothes.

But on nights like this, when he just needs to feel like something safe and warm is giving him a hug without having to actually go and hug somebody, he puts his dad’s flannel on.

Because sometimes, Luke wants to be held without actually having to be touched. When he’s scared or upset and hands feel like they burn on his skin, sleeves are safe. Sleeves help. — Or, 5 times Luke wore sleeves when he was uncomfortable, and 1 time he wore them when he wasn't.

Written for JATP Big Bang 2021.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 6,364

Featuring amazing playlist by @sunsetcurvecuddles

i’d ask for my time back (i’d want you to know that):

All this to say—Carrie sits in on their rehearsals sometimes and judges Luke’s clothing choices, Triple Threat has their very own Instagram page, and Alex may or may not be taking weekly dance lessons from Dirty Candi.

And when he mentions all of this to Willie, paired with an offhand comment about how it’d be a lot easier to hang out at Carrie’s house if he didn’t have to deal with her dad all the time, Willie frowns and says, “And… remind me what your beef is with that guy?” — Or, Alex tells Willie the whole Bobby story. And Willie.... doesn't get it.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,461

Mrs. and Mrs. Schaefer: wedding gift for @sunsetcurvecuddles and @where-you-go

Luke tugs gently at Mr. Schaefer’s sleeve, silently begging him to do something before this turns into an all-out altercation. Slowly, his boss steps forward, hands raised calmingly. “Now, ladies, I’m sure we can all work something out in a civilized manner. Can you start by telling me just what this is about?”

The women both turn to him and speak in perfect unison: “I want to ask for your hand in marriage.”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 3,501

the most difficult and meaningful work we’ll ever do: birthday gift for @joyandthephantoms

Slowly, Julie closes her textbook and scans her room for any sign of disturbance. Everything appears to be in order, nothing out of place, but there’s something in the air—a chill, a warping, a presence.

Julie doesn’t know if she should be scared. She wouldn’t know how to recognize Caleb Covington even if she tried, much less defend herself from him. She hopes she won’t have to any time soon, so without a whole lot of other options, she says into the ominous silence, “Willie?”

Her curtains flutter, like there’s a breeze even though the window’s closed. Julie scrambles to lay her notebook open on the bed, her pencil in easy reach, and then she sits back with her hands in her lap and watches in wonder as the pencil lifts itself and starts to scrawl across the page.

Hey, firecracker.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,555

come on and make me feel alright again: (my) birthday gift for @pink-flame

Luke’s smile is wide and genuine, with none of the tightness it sometimes has when he’s forcing it. For once, there’s no sadness behind his eyes, no secret hiding on the back of his tongue. He says he’s okay, and Bobby believes him.

“Great.” Bobby’s voice is barely a whisper. Luke’s face is so close to his. His eyes are bright in the darkness, and his lips are right there. Bobby swallows. “We should… we should probably go to sleep now, huh?”

“We could,” Luke agrees, those damn lips curling into an infuriating smirk. “Or we could…”

So, like a lot of nights have in the last few months, this one ends with Luke and Bobby cuddled up close together in Bobby’s bed at four o’clock in the morning, not quite kissing but pretty fucking close. Luke falls asleep with his face buried in Bobby’s neck, their legs tangled together beneath the blanket, his breath warm on Bobby’s skin.

Bobby doesn’t sleep a wink.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 3,060

life is not a love song we can try: with sunsetcurbed

“Are you guys done flirting, or can we get back to rehearsal?”

“We’re not—we’re not flirting.”

Written for JATP Ficstorming Server Buddy Event.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,660

i’m starting to think i like the sound of you:

“Sorry,” Alex says right away, his shoulders up at his ears, his gaze trained resolutely on his shoes. He’s not wearing his usual hoodie and cap, just a thin yellow t-shirt and jeans, his bangs hanging over his eyes. “I know it’s late.”

“You rang the doorbell at the crack of dawn,” Bobby reminds him, and then regrets it immediately when Alex’s shoulders stiffen. “Dude, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

Alex straightens up, finally meeting Bobby’s gaze, his expression scarily neutral. “‘Mfine. I just… I’ve had a really bad week, and I… I needed to get out of there, and… Can we just go somewhere? For the weekend? Please?”

Written for JATP Fic Raffle 2021.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 3,781

fixed on a moment just out of focus: birthday gift for @arolou

Luke’s laughing, despite himself, as he waves them out the door, but as soon as he turns back to face the studio, the grin drops off his face. Because Bobby’s still sitting perched on the arm of the couch where he’d been during rehearsal, his guitar balanced on his lap, chewing on his thumbnail. His eyes are a little glassy, a little unfocused, trained somewhere in the middle distance. As Luke watches, he moves his hand, and a bead of crimson forms on his thumb before splashing onto the body of his guitar.

“Shit,” Luke says from across the room. “Bobby, you’re bleeding.”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,032

wouldn’t you love to love him:

It’s just then that the Green Room door bursts open, making all three of them jump, and Reggie stumbles in, his guitar case flying behind him.

“Sorry, guys!” he gasps, doubled over as he catches his breath. “I—I lost track of time.”

Luke stares at him. Reggie’s flushed an ugly red, panting like he ran a mile, even though their first-floor motel room is literally next door to the club. His clothes look rumpled, his bass barely zipped into its case, and when he straightens up, his apologetic grin contains significantly less wattage than usual.

Most concerning of all, though, is that Reggie’s hair lies limp across his forehead, unstyled and slightly damp, and Reggie hasn’t immediately sought out a mirror to fix it.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 5,054

i’ve been asking everyone, “how long do you think the ache will last?” (they don’t know yet):

Luke swallows, ducks his head so he’s staring directly down at the dizzying concrete below, and breathes, “Hi, Bobby.”

“Luke,” his voice responds after a brief pause, low and gruff and so familiar it sends shivers across Luke’s skin. “Good to see you’re talking to me again.”

“Who said I was?” Luke snaps, turning his head but stopping short of actually looking at Bobby. “I’m still pissed at you, man.”

“And yet you told the guys you’d talk to me today.”

“I told—I said I’d think about it.”

Bobby doesn’t say anything for a really long time; all Luke can see of him is his hands, splayed out against the tiles, and the dark denim of his jeans. Luke doesn’t let the quiet get to him, doesn’t let himself feel guilty or jealous or annoyed.

He’s right, he knows he is. The fact that Bobby’s here in the first place has got to be proof of that.

Written for JATP Ficboard Challenge.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,570

Featuring amazing moodboard by @a-tomb-with-a-view

ain’t it something how we manage on the line: (part 3 of Parenting Verse Series)

He’s got two options here. He could lie, for no reason other than to defuse the situation as quickly and cleanly as possible, and there might even be a chance Bobby would believe him, because as much as he hates to admit it, Ray is a really good liar when he wants to be. Or, he could tell the truth and admit that he’s been reading and buying psychology books to try to understand the mental illnesses Bobby definitely has.

He really doesn’t want to lie. But he also doesn’t want to make things worse.

Before he can make a decision, Bobby picks up the book again. He holds it open with one hand, his thumb and pinky finger bracing the bottom of the page, and places his other hand gently on Ray’s knee. “I know,” he says, even though Ray never actually told him anything. “Did you have any luck?”

Now it’s Ray’s turn to be confused. “Luck with…?”

“The book.” Bobby doesn’t look away from the open page, and his expression is hard to read again. “Did you find a way to fix me?” — Previously titled "pain is something how we manage on the line" because I can't process song lyrics to save my LIFE.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,610

it took a lot of time and all my powers of persuasion:

“Your stalker’s here,” Alex notes, peering through the curtain at their audience for the night. “I think she made you a cake.”

“Ooh, really?” Reggie pushes past to stick his head out of the wings. Sure enough, Lydia’s standing in the front row in a low cut dress the color of Reggie’s bass, holding a big Tupperware container in the size and shape of a sheet cake. Reggie grins, hoping it’s chocolate flavored, then belatedly remembers to add, “And she’s not a stalker, she’s very nice.”

“She is a little creepy, Reg,” Bobby offers from behind them, sounding like he already regrets contributing to the conversation at all. “I’m pretty sure she figured out where you live.”

“She did not.” Reggie turns around to glare at him, hands still fisted around the curtain leg to hold it open. “I told her where I live, there’s a huge difference.”

“Oh my god, you’re going to get yourself kidnapped,” one of his friends mutters.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 3,312

you speak your mind and you cannot take it back: with foundfamilyvevo, weneedglitter, RadioFreeHayden, and thessalonike

Five authors wrote 500 words on the same prompt: Julie and "unexpected joy." The challenge for you, lovely readers, is to guess which author wrote which chapter!

Chapters: 5/5

Word Count: 2,600

something felt so wrong here (so i prayed):

The tradition begins exactly seventeen days, fourteen hours, and thirty-seven minutes after Rose Molina’s death. It takes almost that long for Carlos to stop crying, for Julie to speak more than a few polite words at a time, and for Ray to step foot inside his late wife’s studio.

And even then, he almost breaks down right there on the threshold.

But he promised himself—months ago, when Rose was first diagnosed—he promised himself and his sister-in-law and his kids that he would keep it together once Rose was gone. He would keep it together and keep his family afloat and not let anyone know how much he just wants to lie down and cry.

So he doesn’t lie down and cry. He takes a deep breath, swallows it all back, and prays. — Or, 5 times someone prayed to Rose Molina and 1 time they didn't.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,674

a second chance to take it slow: birthday gift for @thatbitchmabel

The bell above the door chimes, signaling someone’s entrance, and Julie and Luke both freeze, their heads snapping toward the front of the café. Julie has barely registered Emily Patterson when Luke’s breath catches next to her, and she grabs his hand before he can even think about poofing out.

“Over here, Mrs. Patterson!” Julie calls, raising a hand, and when Emily turns to look, Julie sees the blood drain from her face.

If the murderous grip on her hand is any clue, Luke is looking much the same.

Julie’s heart beats fast, but she doesn’t let herself back down. This is for the best. This is for Luke.

Emily slowly approaches their table and sits down next to Julie without taking her eyes off her son for a second. She hangs her purse off the back of her chair, takes her coat off, swallows, and whispers, “Hi, Luke.”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 840

your sums and pieces are enough to make you whole: end of year gift for @wr0temyway0ut

“It’s just that not that much has changed,” Willie finally admits in a voice quieter than Alex has heard it in a really long time. “Even after everything… I still can’t shake the feeling that he’s going to come back, that I’m going to look over my shoulder and he’ll be standing there waiting for me. I can’t stop feeling like he’s going to call for me at any second and that I won’t have any choice but to follow.”

“But he won’t,” Alex insists. “He can’t, Willie, he’s gone, you know that.”

“I know. And when I’m with you and your friends, I remember that, I promise, it’s just… when I’m alone… skateboarding or screaming in museums or any other thing I love to do, I can’t help remembering that I loved to do them then too, that he never stopped me, he just called me home to the club as soon as I was done. He threatened… a lot… to take it all away from me, but he never did, and… I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. But I just can’t do that stuff anymore. It’s all too… the same. If I’m gonna believe, really believe, that things are different, then I need them to be different."

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,146

who knows where it’s at:

It takes a little over an hour for Luke to realize he’s made a mistake.

Rehearsal starts out really well. Luke, Alex, and Reggie get a head start on a new song Luke’s been working on, and the bassline Reggie comes up with is just brilliant, and Alex helps Luke tweak the lyrics a bit so they’re not too similar to his last song, and it just feels good, the music feels right. And Bobby even helps (usually, he doesn’t bother), offering supportive commentary and trying out the chords that Luke throws out cause he’s too lazy to pick up his guitar. They write a whole song in, like, thirty-five minutes, and they only have to play through it once for Luke to be convinced it’s their best one yet.

He almost manages to forget he’s hiding something altogether.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,626

haven’t you heard what becomes of curious minds: based on We Found Wonderland by ICanSpellConfusionWithAK

She shoots awake in a cold sweat, her heart going a thousand miles an hour. The dream is already fading from her memory, but her fingers still tingle with the remnants of Luke’s warmth, and alarm bells are ringing loudly in the back of her mind, pushing against her common sense with the knowledge that Luke—that Luke, the Luke of her dream—was one hundred percent a ghost.

And in all of the timelines, all the realities Julie’s lived in… She’s never been able to touch Luke when he was a ghost.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,878

when the sun came up you were looking at me:

Monday morning, Bobby’s not in first period English.

Now, there are any number of reasons why this could be the case. He could’ve forgotten to set his alarm and overslept. He could’ve decided to skip school because his dad went out of town and he wanted to enjoy having the house to himself while it lasted. He could just be running late because his car broke down and he’s stranded on the side of the road until roadside assistance can reach him.

That last one’s not exactly reassuring, but Alex’s brain presents it as an option.

But the most likely reason for Bobby being absent is the one Alex can’t stop thinking about.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,297

climbed up the rough side and got tough at times:

For a moment, lying there in bed listening to her husband breathe, Emily can almost convince herself it was all a dream. That her son is still missing. That she’s still doing everything in her power to avoid mourning him. That Alexander Mercer and Reginald Peters are still alive.

But the shock blanket that the police brought Luke home with is still sitting on a chair across the room. The knitting Emily abandoned when she saw the flashing lights out her living room window is piled on the dresser. And she’s never been a particularly imaginative person—she could never come up with a nightmare as awful as last night’s reality.

Now, she has to face the morning, whatever it entails. She has to be strong. For her husband, for her son.

And for the boy Luke brought home with him.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 3,840

cause sometimes to stay alive you gotta kill your mind: with weneedglitter

Bobby doesn’t know if it’s seconds or days before something finally breaks the quiet of the Dark Room other than his own labored breathing. At first, he’s too confused to recognize it—he looks around, expecting some form to appear out of the black—but the longer he sits there, his head spinning, the clearer the distant voice becomes.

And with it, music. Music he knows better than he knows himself. Music that he owns, but that doesn’t belong to him.

He thinks it’s Luke singing, up until the moment the ground drops out from under him. — Bobby dies in 1998 and appears in a teenage girl's bedroom twenty-one years later. Julie Molina just lost her mother, and she's the only person who can see him.

Chapters: 7/9

Word Count: 27,858

i’ll try something that i’ve not before (and like myself a little more now): birthday gift for @joyandthephantoms

She can’t deny, she has noticed a difference in Carrie’s personality in the last few months. Dirty Candi didn’t break up, supposedly, but each of its members has started exploring her solo career, and their front woman has been suspiciously absent from the spotlight since Julie and her Phantoms played the Orpheum. It’s been months since Flynn or Julie was accosted in the halls or teased in class. Julie has been grateful, of course, but she can’t say she’s thought much about Carrie’s personality shift beyond that.

Which, honestly, she feels kinda bad about. They did use to be friends.

“Jules?” Flynn prompts gently, nudging Julie’s foot with their toe. “Are you mad at me?”

Julie nudges them right back. “Hey, no, of course not. In fact…” She lets out a (probably overdramatic) sigh. “What’s Carrie doing tonight? You should invite her to join us.”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,647

it’s strong and it’s sudden and it’s cruel sometimes: with A_Tomb_With_A_View

He gets little inputs of sensation—a soft towel squeezing the rain out of his hair, squishy antibiotic cream and cheap plastic Band-Aids being pressed to the cuts on his face and knees, voices of varying pitch and levels of concern sifting in and out of his periphery.

Finally, Nick feels something press to his lips and cold, clear water explodes over his tongue. He reaches clumsily for the cup and tries to tilt it back farther, but a voice murmurs, “Chill out, man, you’ll make yourself sick. Small sips,” and he doesn’t know how to disobey.

The water helps Nick get some of his bearings back, though he thinks that might be his brain lying to him more than any actual restorative effects. He opens his eyes to find his vision has finally steadied itself. He’s sitting up against the arm of a couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and there are four boys around his age crouched in front of him: the tall Asian guy who met him at the door, and…

“You’re supposed to be holograms,” Nick says stupidly to the three other members of Julie’s band.

A voice in the back of his head corrects, They’re supposed to be dead.

Written for JATP Big Bang 2022.

Chapters: 7/7

Word Count: 26,448

Featuring Nick/Bobby moodboard and Nick&Carrie moodboard by @emeraldrain55

don’t get too comfortable (next time you turn around):

Two and a half songs later, the door attached to the house swings open, and Bobby finally appears at the top of the small flight of stairs. He’s got his guitar, and he says, “Sorry, guys,” the second Luke signals for Alex and Reggie to stop, but there’s definitely something off about him. The years-old bags under his eyes that he tells fans are eyeliner stains are even more pronounced than usual. He’s still in his pajamas, a housecoat and slippers thrown on like he’s eighty. He moves slowly down the stairs and slings his guitar strap over his head with a wince. Luke’s skin crawls with worry.

But instead of expressing concern like a good friend, or even like a normal human, Luke says, “Where the hell were you?” and it comes out harsher than he meant it to.

Written for JATP Big Bang 2022.

Chapters: 9/9

Word Count: 50,000

Featuring Nick moodboard, Lukebobby moodboard, Chapter Two art pieces, Chapter Six art piece, Luke moodboard, and Bobby moodboard by @sunset-bobby.

dreams aren’t found, they’re made: birthday gift for @whenweremarried

“You okay?” Alex says softly after a few minutes of them sitting in silence together. “‘S late.”

“I like the nighttime,” Willie assures him.

“Two a.m.’s barely even nighttime any more,” Alex says sleepily. “‘S like. Pre-morning. Special sleep time.”

“Oh, yeah?” Willie teases. “As opposed to regular sleep time?”

Alex holds him a little tighter and nuzzles his face into their back. “Exactly, you get it.”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 671

All Too Well Series

i might be okay but i’m not fine at all:

In the Dark Room, Luke doesn’t let himself think about everything they left behind. A line of fans crowded outside the Orpheum, sure—he definitely doesn’t let himself think too hard about them—but also his mom and dad, still praying he’ll come home one day, or Mr. Schaefer from the Music Store, who buys Luke lunch three times a week and ignores the Missing posters with his face on them splattered across town and agreed to pay him in cash and not ask for his real name, or Bobby.

More than anything, Luke doesn’t let himself think about Bobby. — Or, Bobby might have been "that vegetarian" to Reggie and "our rhythm guitarist" to Alex, but to Luke, he was an integral member of Sunset Curve, and Luke's best friend.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 59,411

Featuring amazing gifs by @pink-flame

it reminds you of innocence (you can’t get rid of it):

He doesn’t look at Bobby. Because he hasn’t really looked at Bobby, hasn’t really let himself, since they had their last big fight, since Luke shoved aside his own wants and feelings for the sake of the band and pushed Bobby away, gave Bobby up. Luke plays for his cheering crowd, through one song and then another and then a whole rocking set, and he doesn’t look directly at Bobby once. — Or, Bobby has an allergy attack during a show, and Luke's the only person who knows how to take care of him, even if he and Bobby don't do that for each other anymore.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 5,026

i walked through the door with you:

He always has secrets these days, from everyone but himself, and he likes Reggie, even if they don’t spend a whole lot of time together without Luke there to act as an over-enthusiastic buffer. He likes that Reggie knows when to joke and when to be serious, that he means everything he says even if what he says is a little silly, that he’s quick to love, slow to judge, and treats Alex’s anxiety as an emotion to curb and not a problem to fix.

Reggie is one of Alex’s best friends, just as much as Luke is. Alex likes Reggie, loves Reggie even (though he is very much decidedly not in love with Reggie), and he trusts Reggie—or at the very least he wants to.

But none of that changes the fact that Alex doesn’t know what possesses him to say, “Reg, I think I have a crush on Luke.” — Or, Alex comes out to Reggie first.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 6,781

autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place:

It feels so stupid to say out loud, when none of them have before. So stupid that Bobby feels his face flush hot no matter how hard he tries to stop it. But he’s not an idiot, and he’s not blind. The only reasons he’s in Sunset Curve at all are because he had an open garage, because his guitar playing doesn’t totally suck, and because Luke fought for him. Because Luke is Bobby’s friend.

Alex and Reggie… aren’t. — Or, Bobby gets to be Alex and Reggie's friend as a treat.

Chapters: 3/3

Word Count: 6,357

check the pulse and come back swearing it’s the same:

Weeks go by, and despite Julie’s gentle nudges and not-so-subtle hints, Luke just can’t get himself to suck it up and go talk to Bobby.

Not because he doesn’t want to—not really, anyway—or at least, he doesn’t think he doesn’t want to. If he’s being honest, he’s been going back and forth with himself about it, ignoring Reggie’s worried looks and Alex’s judgmental sighs. He wants to fix things—wants to clear the air, absolve himself of guilt, get his friend back.

But nothing he says or does can undo the last twenty-five years. — When Bobby’s alarm went off, the morning of July 22, 1995, he almost didn’t get out of bed. He just lay there and thought about what would happen if he called the boys up and said he was sick or something and couldn’t play. He thought about what would happen if he punched a wall and broke his hand so that he actually couldn’t play. He thought about what would happen if he just locked his bedroom door and pulled the covers back over his head.

But eventually, he shoved his feelings down and dragged himself out of bed. Because his boys needed him. They might not all want him. But they needed him. For the music.

Luke had made that perfectly clear.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 12,500

All Too Well Splinterverse Series

cause there we are again in the middle of the night:

Only a few moments later, though, Bobby nudges Luke’s side with his foot and says into the darkness, “Hey, but seriously, bro, you doing okay? I see you’ve got your sleeves on.”

Luke opens his eyes again just so he can glare, first at Bobby and then at the annoyingly telling sleeves of the brown plaid flannel he’d put on after rehearsal only because he kept shivering in just his tank top. “I’m not upset about anything,” he promises. “Just wasn’t feeling good.” — Or, Luke gets sick while living in the studio. Bobby does everything he can to help. They're both just a little bit in love with each other and don't know how to admit it.

Takes place within the universe of i might be okay but i'm not fine at all, but can technically be read as a standalone.

Chapters: 7/7

Word Count: 28,422

Sleeping at Last Series

build a new silhouette in the skylines up ahead: (part 1 of Parenting Verse Series)

Rose drinks her coffee and rubs soothing circles into Bobby’s back, feeling the too-thin, too-cold planes of his shoulder blades. A shudder runs through him that might be from the cold, the touch, or something else entirely. Rose meets Ray’s gaze over the boy’s head, sad and sympathetic and more worried than either of them has any right to be at 21 and 23. They may be older than Bobby, but they’re practically still kids themselves, and yet somehow in the last month they’ve taken this frail, broken boy under their wing, and sometimes they don’t know how to help him, don’t know if they can, but other times, like this, just being there for him is enough.

Title from i'll keep you safe by Sleeping at Last.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,273

to believe in the ghost of unbroken love: (part 4 of Parenting Verse Series)

Ray whispers a litany of Spanish reassurances Bobby doesn’t understand as he holds him close and rubs his back. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t ask Bobby to explain or apologize, and yet somehow the words come out anyway, Bobby somehow able to say them with his eyes closed and his face hidden in Ray’s shirt, words he hasn’t even been able to think to himself yet, much less say out loud.

“I think I’m in love with both of you.”

Ray’s hands still on Bobby’s back. And then Ray doesn’t laugh at him. But he kind of laughs at him. — Or, Bobby's not bisexual he just has mommy issues.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,714

i’ll take my heart clean apart (if it helps yours beat): (part 6 of Parenting Verse Series)

Ray catches sight of him the second they pull onto the right street, Rose’s headlights illuminating the cluster of people huddled on the side of the road. You’d think this was the party, all these B-list celebrities in their designer clothes drinking beer and God knows what else out of plastic cups, if it weren’t for the bright pink Porsche sitting crushed-fender-first in the ditch next to them.

And right in the middle of the crowd, lounged back on the dewy grass like he’s tanning, is Bobby. Sunglasses on. Drink in hand. Blood drying along his hairline. Laughing and flirting with his friends without a care in the world. — Or, Bobby is struggling. Ray and Rose are just trying to help.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 3,065

Life Series

definition of perfect: (part 11 of Parenting Verse Series)

His voice is rough from overuse, and a little shaky from the effort of speaking after such an emotionally draining day of meetings with the label, where he had to put on a happy face and be not just put together but Full Celebrity Material. Rose tuts a little, leans in to undo the top few buttons of Trevor’s dress shirt, like that’ll help him feel a little less choked.

“Ray just left to pick them up from Jim’s,” she explains, patting his chest until he drags in a deep breath. “They wrote a song together that they wanted to show him. But they’ll be home soon.”

Trevor nods, resists the urge to go to the window and watch until Ray’s car pulls into the driveway. He trusts Ray with his life, and with his daughter’s, every minute of every day. Schaefer’s Music Store is less than ten minutes away, off of back roads that don’t receive a whole lot of traffic. They’ll be fine. They’ll be safe.

He just won’t be able to completely relax until they’re home, that’s all. — Or, Trevor comes home from a long day, needing quiet and calm. His family provides it for him.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,600

there is so much to tell you: (part 16 of Parenting Verse Series)

Julie glances up at him, musters up a shaky smile, and takes the remote to switch on Mulan. There are any number of things she could say to him, or to Alex and Reggie—thank them for the honor of choosing the movie, tell them why she thinks they’ll like this one in particular, invite the other boys to join her and Luke on the couch before he gets the idea to stretch his gangly legs all over everything. But she feels like her heart is in her throat, like her voice box isn’t working, like she’s back in Ms. Harrison’s music class staring down at her own hands on the piano but physically unable to sing.

She can’t talk. She doesn’t know why. She just… can’t. — Or, the boys are a lot. Julie's trying her best, but she can't quite figure out what's bothering her. Can be read as a standalone.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 4,061

as your heart measured in mountains fell and climbed: (part 14 of Parenting Verse Series)

Carrie’s words fail her for a moment, something that almost never happens.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

She clears her throat, sniffles, croaks, “Hi, Papi.”

“Carrie?” Ray Molina’s tone shifts from confused to concerned immediately, his voice coming in clearer like he’s holding the phone closer to his mouth now. “What’s going on, baby girl? Is everything okay?” — Or, Carrie's sick, and her dad won't answer the phone. So she calls her other dad instead.

Chapters: 2/2

Word Count: 9,296

we were changed in an instant: (part 10 of Parenting Verse Series)

Rose isn’t sure what it is about today, but it’s only 11am and she thinks it’s been a long day for all of them. Carrie’s just had so much energy, even more energy than usual, and she’s gotten it out by running in circles around the house and screaming at Rose and Julie over nothing and generally just being a temperamental three-year-old. Julie’s been on the verge of tears all morning. Rose is exhausted, and she doesn’t know what to do.

All three of them look up at the sound of keys in the door, and Rose frowns, checking her watch. Ray should still be at work, and Trevor said he’d be in the studio till late, so who could that be?

The door opens, Rose hears a painfully familiar raspy cough, and Carrie shouts, “DADDY’S HOME!!”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 4,974

if things had been different Series (with foundfamilyvevo)

so i got wasted like all my potential:

Sometimes Bobby feels like he’s tricking them, because he’ll remember some fact about birds Ray told him three weeks ago that Ray himself doesn’t even remember reading, or he’ll pull out trivia he learned from hearing the boys talk about music all the time, and Rose will say, “How do you know all that? You’re so smart!” And he’ll say, “I’m really not,” but she won’t believe him.

It’s not a big deal, though. Bobby has no interest in going back to school the fall after he loses his boys, so as long as he’s working a good enough job to pay rent, it doesn’t matter that he’s too stupid to read more than a few words at a time and he can’t spell to save his goddamn life and he never finished high school.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 5,900

you could say it’s my fault (stubborn like a deadbolt):

James throws the door open, fully prepared to berate his husband for his inconsiderateness, and… freezes, the words, Next time I’m just gonna leave you out in the cold, Steven, dying on the tip of his tongue… because there’s Steve, all right. Standing on the front step, bruised and bleeding from the boxing ring, just like James expected him to be.

What he did not expect is for Steve to also be slumped over, unconscious, and being all but held up by one Bobby Shaw.

“Hey, James!” Bobby says, high-pitched and strained as he struggles to keep Steve balanced with just an arm looped around Bobby’s shoulders and his own limited strength. “Little help here?”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,500

to some fortune i should have found:

He must fall asleep for real at one point or another, because the morning sun shining through the window wakes him up for good. Whatever weird anxiety-grief was plaguing him last night seems to be gone now, but in the aftermath, Bobby sort of feels like he’s been hit by a bus.

And he’s freezing, which is never a good sign for him, in Los Angeles, in June.

This, right here, is the stupidest thing Bobby has learned about himself in the last three years. After nights when he can’t sleep because he’s panicking or paranoid or can’t even close his eyes without sinking into a nightmare, he always wakes up feeling worse the next morning, cold and achy and drained, usually with a mid-grade fever to match. It’s all psychosomatic—he’s not actually sick—but he might as well be for how much it sucks.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 6,332

a dream into a chore:

At first, Rose has no idea that anything’s the matter.

Sure, maybe Bobby’s a little quieter than usual, offers less snarky commentary as he watches her putter around the kitchen making breakfast, but that can easily be explained by the early morning and a late shift last night. His eyes are half closed as he chugs a cup of black coffee.

And sure, maybe he doesn’t perk up once the caffeine’s hit, like he usually would; the three of them sit down to breakfast and he pushes his food around on his plate instead of eating it, mostly just nods when Ray directs the conversation his way instead of participating.

But Rose doesn’t worry about it, because Bobby gets surly when he’s tired, and sometimes days just find him a little stuck in his head, and she knows better than to try to push him to talk about things if he’s not ready to. Just because he seems a little low on energy doesn’t mean something’s wrong with him.

Until, about halfway through breakfast, Bobby puts his fork down and twists in his seat, his expression crumpling before he buries a harsh sneeze into his elbow, and then two more. — Or, Bobby's sick. Ray and Rose would love to take care of him, if he'll let them.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 3,152

The Shaw Siblings Series

cause i clutched your arms like stairway railings:

As Luke excitedly bounces into a chaotic and confusing explanation involving a club owner’s four-year-old daughter, tube socks, and a transaction Bobby’s pretty sure would legally count as bribery, a hard rock forms in the pit of Bobby’s stomach. With his lunch money lost to the L.A. county sewer systems, he’d been planning to get through the rest of the day on just the toast and jam he’d had for breakfast and then snack when he got home, but if Luke’s questionable managerial skills have gotten them a gig for tonight, Bobby’s “ability to eat without making himself sick during the show” clock is already ticking. If he doesn’t eat soon, he’s not going to be able to at all until after they’re done playing, and that could be hours from now.

As if his day wasn’t shitty enough.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 4,724

cling to what i know like a golden safety net:

But today, Ray and Rose are both working, and Bobby called out cause he’s got a stupid cold and got less than no sleep last night cause he was too stuffed up to breathe, so he’s the only one in the apartment when there’s a knock on the door. He almost doesn’t answer it—he’s been having a really great time drinking tea and watching Ghostbusters, he doesn’t want to ruin his day off by talking to people—but for some reason, he gets the sense that whoever’s shown up at 7pm on a Friday night is there for a good reason.

So, he shuts the TV off and takes one more sip of ginger tea before placing his mug on the coffee table. On the way to the front door, he grabs a handful of tissues from the box on the kitchen counter and blows his nose so that he won’t sound like such a weirdo if he actually has to hold a conversation with someone.

But then he pulls open the door, tissues still held over his face, and freezes. Because it’s not one of their neighbors standing on the doorstep, or a friend of Rose’s sent to check on him, or a traveling salesman.

It’s all four of his younger siblings, none of whom Bobby’s seen in over a month, with no adults in charge of them to be found.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 7,629

After the Orpheum Series

far away from hurt is where healing occurs:

Julie and the Phantoms play the Orpheum on a Saturday.

On Sunday, Julie hovers in the doorway of Ray’s home office, hands hidden in the sleeves of her hoodie, and says, “Papi, I have to tell you something.”

Ray immediately looks up from the spreadsheet he’s been fighting with. He’s been fielding calls all morning from record labels and news agencies, trying to get ahold of the band—mostly, he’s been sending them to Flynn, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to organize the relevant information at least a little bit. His children are more important, though, so he pulls off his reading glasses and frowns at his daughter, and says, “What is it?”

Julie hesitates just long enough for Ray to cycle through a nice long list of worst case scenarios. She doesn’t look particularly upset, though, or hurt in any way. If anything, she just looks… nervous. And yet, Ray can see Carlos bouncing on the balls of his feet in the hallway behind her, grinning like he’s standing in line to turn in his winning lottery ticket. It sets off a different kind of red flag in Ray’s head, because there are very few scenarios in which Carlos is happy about something that makes Julie nervous, and none of them are any good.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 12,298

hold my hand but please don’t touch me:

It’s a slow and painful process, bringing Trevor Wilson back into their lives again.

Ray starts with dinner, just him and Trevor and the kids. Even the ghosts are banished to the studio for the night, and Ray lets Trevor’s personal chef come over and cook for them because that’s the best way he knows to ensure Trevor eats, and it goes all right, considering the circumstances… but it’s awkward. Julie smiles politely and shovels gourmet food in her mouth. Carlos turns his shrimp into a modern art piece. Carrie picks at her food and taps her fork against the table and checks her phone when she thinks Ray and Trevor aren’t watching. It’s nothing like how it used to be, when they were all a family. In the kids’ defense, Ray’s not sure any of them really remembers when they were all a family.

And the empty place they set for Rose sits between Ray and Trevor like a blazing beacon. Trevor keeps looking at it.

It’s uncomfortable, to say the least, but when Ray calls Trevor a week and a half later to invite him over again, Trevor agrees.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 3,437

i was fine until it was time to feel:

Alex wakes up before the sun has risen, stares at the vaulted ceiling of the Molinas’ garage from the air mattress Ray set up in the loft for him, and feels his body.

It’s become something of a routine for him since he and his bandmates came back to life. Being a ghost made him feel like he was floating, sometimes, like a particularly strong gust of wind could make him blow away. Now that Julie’s brought them all back to life somehow—even Willie—now that Alex needs food and sleep and oxygen, and his heart beats strong in his chest, and his arms bruise when he knocks them against a doorframe by mistake, he likes to take stock every morning of his own physical form, likes to remind himself that this is real. That he’s real, and solid, and something, not just music and air.

It’s only because he’s made himself so aware of his body in the last few months that he notices something today is off.

Written for International Fuck with Alex Day 2021.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 6,029

say what you want (but it’s hard when you’re young):

He’d told himself it was just anxiety, because Ray’s been planning this trip to Florida for weeks now, ever since Reggie told him he’s never been to an amusement park and, even though Anaheim’s less than an hour away, Julie insisted that Disney World—the one in Orlando—was the place to go. And Alex, purely just because of his nature, has been helping Ray with the planning, doing research and reading park maps and making itineraries and packing lists and to-do lists upon to-do lists, and yeah, it’s been stressful, and yeah, Ray’s told him he can just sit back and enjoy the vacation like the rest of the kids, but it actually makes Alex more anxious not to be in control of things, so he insisted on doing a bunch of the prep work anyway, even if it left him sick to his stomach with nerves the night before their trip.

He’s not so sure it’s nerves anymore, after he threw up twice, spent the better part of an hour dry-heaving, and then tossed and turned the rest of the night alternating between hot flashes and cold spells.

Written for International Fuck with Alex Day 2021.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 7,822

Just This Once (Everybody Lives) Series

who would’ve known it would start with:

“Hi, have we met? Rose Molina.” She sticks a hand out for the new guy to shake and he takes it without hesitation. The kind, almost cocky grin he’d been shooting Ray doesn’t fade, just changes directions.

“Willie,” he returns, nodding at both of them. “Sorry I was taking up so much of your boyfriend’s time. I was just telling him what a handsome couple you two are.”

Wary interest sparks in Rose’s expression and she glances once at Ray before turning back to Willie. But then Willie continues, “You know, Rose, if I were dating someone as good-looking as your boy Ray here, I’d never let him out of my sight,” and Rose’s smile turns genuine again—genuine and way too excited.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 3,000

maybe i’m not so alone (or maybe we’re alone together):

Rose gives it a week.

She doesn’t want to—she wants to call the second she gets home from the hospital, just to make sure they all got home safely. She wants to call the next morning, in case they need her to bring some food over, or pick up any of their prescriptions, or just provide another friendly face. She wants to call every day after that, but Ray takes the phone number scribbled on a cocktail napkin out of her purse and doesn’t give it back until it’s been exactly seven days and thirteen hours since Sunset Curve played the Orpheum.

And then she calls.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 8,901

such a hopeful eve:

Ray’s awoken in the middle of the night by a warm breath on his face, ice cold fingers on his arm, and a soft, scared voice whispering, “Ray? Wake up, please?”

His eyes blink open, and Willie swims into focus—knelt up on his side of the bed in his checkered boxers, hair falling out of its braid, pale and shadowed in the late night darkness. Ray doesn’t know what time it is, but he can tell something’s wrong.

—

In Bobby’s dreams, the paramedics tell him he’s too late.

I’m so sorry, but your friends didn’t make it. I’m so sorry, they were dead on arrival. I’m so sorry, but they’re gone.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, the image of Alex’s glazed eyes and gaunt face imprinted in his brain like it was branded there. Not even the sight of the actual Alex in bed next to him—sprawled on his stomach with his arms wrapped around his pillow, not too thin or too pale, visibly breathing—calms Bobby’s racing heart beat, loosens the fist around his lungs, or stops his brain from telling him it wasn’t just a bad dream.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,000

aspen st apartments, 4b Series (with foundfamilyvevo and weneedglitter)

of pillow case blue:

Bobby’s not usually a worst-case scenarios type of person, but he has to admit he’s starting to get a little worried. Reggie never misses school. Reggie loves school. Reggie’s a fucking weirdo like that. And with the way things have been at Reggie’s house lately—not nearly as bad as they are at Alex’s house, but not great—the idea of Reggie being home, a place he hates to be, instead of here, a place he loves to be, is just… disconcerting, to say the least. Bobby spends the better part of the morning thinking about what Reggie might be doing, and where Reggie might be, and if Reggie’s okay, and very little time paying attention to his classes, which he’s sure will come back to bite him at some point, but for the moment, he can’t quite bring himself to care.

Finally, just as they’re sitting down for lunch, Bobby’s phone buzzes, and he scrambles to pull it out of his pocket. “It’s Reggie!”

“What’s it say?” Alex demands immediately.

“How come he texted you back and not us?” Luke grumbles.

Bobby ignores both of them, all his focus trained on his phone, where Reggie’s message reads: sick :(

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,536

i’ll wear my bad decisions on my face:

Alex stirs out of sleep as soon as the bed creaks.

He breathes a little sharply, his fingers curling tighter around the edges of his pillow. But he doesn’t roll over off his stomach, or sit up, or open his eyes. He just stays still and listens.

He’s very good at listening to people move around his room while he’s supposed to be asleep.

But it’s just Bobby, getting ready for work like he does every morning, always too early and on too little sleep. He’s moving more slowly than usual today, punctuating every few seconds of early morning silence with sniffles and stifled coughs. Alex waits, and listens, and only when Bobby lets out a muffled sneeze, stumbles into the pile of suitcases he and Reggie use as a nightstand, and mutters a raspy curse does Alex sigh into his pillow and push himself up.

“Hey,” he says, gruff but quiet, even though Luke and Reggie can sleep through a hurricane. “Feeling okay?”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,478

what will it take to dream awake:

“Can I get you anything else?” Her waiter bounces on the balls of his feet any time he’s standing still, she’s noticed. It should be annoying, but he got her complicated pancake order right on the first try without needing to write it down, so Julie’s more impressed than anything. “Coffee, or…? I make a mean milkshake if you’re into that kinda thing.”

Julie hides a smile behind her hand. “I’m okay, thanks,” she says, handing over her empty plate. “Just the check? I’m not getting anywhere with this anyway—” She gestures with her songwriting journal. “So I might as well get out of your hair.”

“No rush.” With her reading glasses on, Julie can’t read his nametag while he’s bouncing like that. Something with an L, she thinks. He balances her plate on one arm but doesn’t head back to the kitchen. “Can I ask what’s giving you trouble?”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 4,357

we got no place to be on time:

None of them know why Luke gets like this sometimes—muted and limp, all of his usual bouncy energy nowhere to be found, unable to work or eat or even get out of bed—but the last thing any of them would do is make him feel bad about it. They’ve all had bad days, all the more frequent in the years since they ran away from home.

“Staying home today?” Luke checks, voice muffled by the pillow.

“Yep.” Bobby hugs him a little tighter. “We’re staying home.”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,616

you can leave, you can run (this will still be your home):

“Ay, lindo, estás enfermo?” There’s suddenly a hand on his arm, steadying him, even though Ray was definitely standing a good twenty feet away a second ago. “Come inside and sit down before you faint.”

Bobby’s head doesn’t stop spinning until he’s sitting on the Molinas’ living room couch with a blanket and a mug of tea. He tightens his grip on it in search of warmth, a little unsure of how he got here. That seems to be a trend with the Molina family. Bobby never quite knows where he stands until he’s sitting down.

Ray crouches down in front of him, spreading a warm hand across his forehead. “You do feel warm,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “How long have you been sick?”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,892

Movie Theatre AU Series (with foundfamilyvevo and weneedglitter)

only thing that’s burning when the nights grow cold:

Autumn was hard enough, keeping everyone fed and warm through the wet days and cold nights, but winter thus far has been downright brutal. Alex has been putting all his energy into making sure Luke and Bobby don’t get sick, because as hard as it was for all of them the last time, at least then they had real houses and their parents’ health insurance. Luke might not survive pneumonia in the Stella if he gets it again. Bobby almost definitely won’t.

It’s only the 15th of December, and Alex has lost so much sleep worrying about how he’s going to get his friends to March that he almost doesn’t notice when he wakes up feeling a little more run-down than usual.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 4,571

for once you let go (of your fears and your ghosts)

Ray is already thinking about Reggie, and trying not to worry about him, when there’s a knock at the door.

Ray frowns and puts down the pot and dishcloth he was working with, glancing only briefly at the clock above the stove. He’s not expecting anyone, and Julie or Carlos would’ve texted him if they were returning to the house to pick up anything they’d forgotten. It’s too late to be a solicitor, isn’t it? He sure hopes so, he really dislikes solicitors.

It’s not a solicitor. It’s Reggie, bouncing on his toes on Ray’s front porch with his hands shoved in the pockets of his ripped jeans. The same jeans he was wearing the first night Ray met him, if he’s not mistaken.

“Hi, Ray!” he says brightly, only the slightest nerves in his smile. “Sorry to just drop in on you like this, am I interrupting anything?”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,924

Prep School AU Series (with foundfamilyvevo)

if you kiss me i’ll hit the ground:

In the universe’s defense, Alex takes a different route home than usual. And actually before that, Luke ends rehearsal early so that he and Reggie and Flynn can go knife-throwing or something equally stupid, and they invited Alex to go with them, but Alex actually has a smidge of self-preservation so he politely declined, but he didn’t want to go straight home because he kinda hates being home, so he decided to take the long way through the nicer part of town.

So, really, it’s Alex’s own damn fault that he stops to tie his shoes in the middle of the sidewalk a few blocks away from David Lawrence Preparatory Academy for the Performing Arts and thus gets bowled over by an idiot walking backwards and not looking where he’s going, but Alex prefers to blame the universe.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,350

i don’t wanna need your love:

There’ve been way worse dinners. There’ve been way worse dates. It’s just that she’s so churchy, and yeah, that’s the point, but where Alex would’ve been able to suck it up and deal with it three months ago, now he doesn’t want to. Cause now he has a boyfriend. And Jessica Hartman is taking up precious time that Alex could be using talking to said boyfriend. About things that aren’t which Biblical figure would you most want to have a theological discussion with.

This is not the kind of girl he’d be able to trust with the truth. Every word out of her mouth proves more and more to Alex that if he went along with this set up, he’d be stuck in it, forever. He’d date Bobby in secret and Jessica at church, and the more he thinks about that, the more frustrated he gets, and the more frustrated he gets, the tighter he grips his fork, and then despite seventeen years of careful lies and painstaking control, he can’t take it. He physically can’t sit there a second longer and pretend he cares.

So when Jessica says, “Alexander, are you going to the dance at the church next weekend?” the words that come out of Alex’s mouth are, “Yeah, actually, I was planning to take my girlfriend.”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,270

Loners Series (with foundfamilyvevo and weneedglitter)

you weren’t built for backing down:

An hour or so out of town, Michelle gets hit with an almost incapacitating wave of oh my god what have I just done.

Her phone’s been ringing off the hook since she left Seattle; about forty miles back, she finally remembered she could turn the sound off. At some point, she knows she’s going to have to answer her brother’s calls, because if he doesn’t shut up and listen to her for once, he may end up calling the cops on her, and while a week ago, a short stint in the local clink for the sake of justice wouldn’t have been much more than inconvenient, now she has some real incentive to stay out of trouble. And that incentive also happens to be the exact reason why she might get arrested in the first place.

“I guess I kinda stole you, huh?” she says aloud with a short, slightly hysterical laugh. The werewolf curled up on a pile of blankets on her front seat raises his head, ears pricked intelligently. He gives a low whine, and Michelle corrects herself, “Kidnapped you. I kidnapped you, didn’t I, Reggie?”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,740

Lonely Luke Series (with foundfamilyvevo and weneedglitter)

though the whole world seems to rage and scream:

“I saw you play tonight,” Luke blurts out before he can stop himself, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You guys were… just—freaking amazing, man.”

“You played too, right?” Reggie says, nodding at Luke’s guitar. Recognition dawns on his face. “Hey, yeah, you’re in that garage band, right? What are y’all called? Ancient Moonlight? You rocked, dude!”

Luke’s face feels like it’s on fire. “Oh, w-well, thanks.”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,402

sounds like a damn good life Series (with foundfamilyvevo and weneedglitter)

this world ain’t half as bad as it looks:

“What’s going on?” Luke’s voice drifts up the stairs. The front door opens, letting in whistling wind and voices, clearer now.

Reggie and Willie’s voices, Alex recognizes after a moment or two. And they’re shouting his name.

Alex doesn’t waste a second. He vaults out of bed and throws his coat on over his pajamas, bursting out of his room just in time to meet Bobby halfway down the stairs. He doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed that Bobby’s seeing him in his nightclothes—urgency and adrenaline have overtaken him, leaving his heart racing but his mind clear. Something’s wrong, and nothing’s supposed to go wrong in this town.

“It’s Jelly,” Bobby says simply, and Alex takes the steps two at a time.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,308

RWRB Series (with foundfamilyvevo)

you saw me start to believe:

The day begins like any other.

Ray wakes up before the sunrise and sits on the living room floor of his two-bedroom apartment in gray sweatpants and no shirt, his Morning Meditation playlist softly serenading him from a Bluetooth speaker on the mantelpiece. He does twenty minutes of yoga, and then two hundred push-ups, and then another twenty minutes of yoga until his heart rate settles enough to match the pleasant throbbing ache in his muscles.

He takes a long, hot shower and gets dressed for work in a simple brown suit, complete with his lucky socks—bright pink around his feet but brown up his ankles so they look presentable with his shoes on. He brushes his teeth and combs his hair neatly into place, then chews on a protein bar while he starts a pot of coffee. Five minutes later, he’s settled at the kitchen table with his latte and the morning paper. It’s a day like any other, and Ray breathes in the satisfaction of everything going according to plan.

Down the hall, a door opens and shuts. Ray’s heart stutters in his chest.

Chapters: 2/?

Word Count: 4,252

Rags and Riches Series (with A_Tomb_With_A_View)

calm waters if that serves you best:

Ray and Rose are late.

Willie checks their phone again, just in case they missed something, a message or a call or a notification saying sorry, your clock got fucked up somehow and actually your brand new boyfriend and girlfriend aren’t standing you up, all better now!

Willie’s been pacing the length of her bedroom for the last thirty minutes, tugging at her hair that’s just starting to get long enough to piss off her dad again and staring at her phone, and there’s been nothing. Their dad’s out of town on a business trip that Willie thinks might not be entirely legal, and Bobby’s away for the weekend at a track meet, and Ray and Rose were supposed to come over to keep Willie company, because this is all very new, and they haven’t had much time alone together, but they’re not here yet and Willie hasn’t heard anything.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,207

Gold, Silver, or Bronze Hold No Value Here (Where Work and Rest are Equally Revered): with A_Tomb_With_A_View

Chapter One: I Woke Up So Worried That The Angels Let Go

Bobby does have to admit, when he thinks about it for too long, this all feels like stereotypical rich kid dramatics.

He figures that it’s maybe not too bad—at least he’s not drunk-driving or stealing things or beating people up—even though there’s a voice in the back of his head that insists he’s being insufferable and entitled.

The voice sounds an awful lot like his dad, though, so he ignores it as much as he can.

Chapter Two: i choose to believe i was made to become a sanctuary

The second time, he swears it’s an accident.

Track and field is over for the season, and Destiny Records is closed for construction, which means Bobby’s dad is home a lot, which means Bobby tries not to be.

It’s easier than it once was, at least. A year ago, he’d have had to make up some excuse to hang out at Willie’s—studying or a movie Willie just had to see, or, when Bobby and Willie’s girlfriends were getting particularly insufferable, “totally platonic and heterosexual kissing practice.” Now, firmly out of the closet and in not just one, but three less-than-heterosexual relationships, Bobby doesn’t have to lie or exaggerate to spend time with his partners. He can just call Willie, or Ray, or Rose, and say, “I need to get out of my house.”

And lately, getting out of his house has entailed sneaking around town in the middle of the night to graffiti historical monuments.

Chapters: 2/2

Word Count: 4,124

standing on the edge Series

every word you shouldn’t say will come bubbling out of your throat:

The lacrosse team starts a winning streak everyone attributes to a sudden rise in Nick’s aggression as a team captain. (Carrie doesn’t go to the games.) Kayla, Stephanie, Lulu, and Rachelle try out for the dance team since “Dirty Candi’s sort of over now.” (Carrie doesn’t try out with them.) Nick starts a band with a few of the theatre guys, and they open for Julie and the Phantoms at Prom, and Nick takes Julie as his date, and they win King and Queen by a record-breaking landslide.

(Carrie doesn’t go to Prom, because she doesn’t have a boyfriend anymore, and no guy asks her, and the girls she thought were her friends go as a group without her, and social functions make her mean, so it’s easier to just stay home anyway.)

For eight months, Nick ignores her, and her band gets bored of her, and Julie shoots her awkwardly polite smiles in the hallway that Carrie lets herself return, but they don’t really talk.

Cause after everything, Carrie doesn’t know how to be nice anymore.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,340

i hear your heart play its broken beat:

Willie doesn’t know what he’s waiting for.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing here at all, really—it’s not like there’s a shortage of other things he could be doing. He could be hiding. He could be celebrating. He could be tracking down the hundreds of freed souls displaced when the Hollywood Ghost Club went down.

Instead, Willie is sitting on the windowsill of a hospital room, watching Nick sleep.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,548

i woke up with some scrapes on my arms and a mouthful of hell:

Willie, with a startled yelp, flips backwards, board over helmet, off the curb and lands flat on his back, hard. The sound that leaves his mouth following the tumble is one Nick has unfortunately come to be all too familiar with: the scream of someone in unimaginable pain.

“W-Willie?” Nick tries, but it’s like the words get stuck somewhere between his stomach and his throat. He tells himself to step forward, get down, make sure Willie’s okay—he could be bleeding, or something could be broken, he’s not a ghost anymore, he could be hurt—

His feet must not listen to his brain, because the next thing he knows, he’s stumbled back a few steps, and then he’s on the ground, curled up on the sidewalk, and Willie’s whimpering, but Nick’s vision is starting to white out at the edges, and then—

Then he’s trapped in a memory. Trapped, like he was for the eight months before Willie and Julie saved him, in his own mind.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 5736

i don’t know what i have seen (but the puzzle is carved into me):

Nick comes back to himself in May.

His doctors tell him he’s spent the last two weeks in a coma that none of them can determine the cause of.

His dads tell him he was missing for six days before then, that he left for school one day and never made it to first period, that it took the cops forty-eight hours to care and another ninety-six to find him, unconscious, bleeding, and bloated from near-starvation amid the rubble of an abandoned hotel in downtown L.A.

Only Willie tells him the truth: that for the better part of a year, Nick’s body didn’t belong to him.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,052

i’d be tangled up without you (like a nightmare and an empty bed):

Today has been rough, and it’s not even noon yet. Nick’s been fighting off a migraine since dinner last night. He had a nightmare that he doesn’t even remember, but it set off the shiver-spacey feeling Carlos Molina good-naturedly dubbed his “ghost tinglies” that makes it impossible for Nick to get warm for a good thirty-six hours. He forgot the word for blender at breakfast this morning, and his dads got so worried about him he forgot how to speak at all.

He just wanted to hide out in his bed under a weighted blanket and try again tomorrow, but routines are good for him, and he couldn’t stand the idea of Britney looking at him all disappointed. So here he is, on the Wilsons’ front porch, desperately hugging one of Willie’s sweatshirts around him and wishing he could still stomach wearing his letterman jacket.

Carrie opens the door, which makes Nick huff out a little sigh of relief, because he doesn’t think he could handle talking to her dad right now. She looks him up and down, and up again, and says, voice all icy-still like it gets when she’s trying to be casual, “Quiet day?”

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,508

i thought i was damned to watch life through my hands:

There are places Nick can’t go now.

The Hollywood Ghost Club is an obvious one—or that whole part of town, he should say, since he no longer has the unwanted privilege that possession once afforded him to be able to find the place. Others are harder to explain—the lacrosse field, the alley outside the Orpheum, Carrie Wilson’s balcony.

(Julie’s house was impossible to even look at, until Willie introduced him to the studio like a feral cat to its bed. Now he’s more comfortable there than in his own home. But he still politely declines when Julie or her dad invites him into the house proper.)

But of all the places Nick can’t go now, the one that poses the most inconvenience, the one hardest to avoid, the one most likely to send Nick into a dissociative panic and make him forget where he is and who’s in control, is anywhere—everywhere—with a mirror.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,178

500 Followers Tumblr Prompt Fills Series

no time to waste on another pretty face: for @where-you-go

Prompt from tumblr: Lukebobby fluff "This isn't what it looks like."

Previously titled "Dartboards and Post-It Notes."

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 658

i want your midnights: for @pink-flame

Prompt from tumblr: Lukebobby fluff, "Don't read the last line."

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 839

show me how you do that trick: for @willexxmercer

Prompt from tumblr: Willex and banana

Alex needs to hold onto something when his anxiety gets bad. Willie provides.

Previously titled "Hold My Hand."

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,055

time flies by in the yellow and green: for @epicmusicplays (part 1 of Molina Family Game Night Series)

Prompt from tumblr: the whole gang and board games

Previously titled "Molina Family Game Night."

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 882

something about it felt like home somehow: for @queenmolina (part 1 of All Too Well Splinterverse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: boggie and "can I hold your hand?"

Takes place during i might be okay but i'm not fine at all but can be read as a standalone.

Previously titled "home somehow."

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,790

glitter on the floor after the party: for @panickosdisordr2 (part 1 of Ot3 Glitter Series)

Prompt fill from tumblr: one or more of the band members hates glitter.

Previously titled "the sand of the craft world."

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 538

i’m happy for them, but then again, i’m not: for @sunsetsandcurves (part 1 of Ot3 Farmers’ Market Series)

Prompt fill from tumblr: Willex and kangaroo.

Previously titled "Farmers' Market Shenanigans"

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,209

try your sad style on somebody else: for @sunsetcurvecuddles

Prompt fill from tumblr: bobby and anyone + clothes sharing

Previously titled "share a piece of me."

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 960

all the lovely memories your heart’s been holding: for @sunsetcurvecuddles (part 2 of Ot3 Farmers’ Market Series)

Prompt fill from tumblr: reggie and/or alex and stargazing.

Previously titled "show me the stars."

Sequel to i’m happy for them, but then again, i’m not.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,513

nobody gives a damn about the day that you were born: for @fighttoshine

Prompt fill from tumblr: grumpy Bobby

Previously titled "happy happy day."

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,357

you’ve kept me sleepless every night: for @sunsetcurvecuddles

Prompt from tumblr: lukebobby and the song "Last One" by the Aces.

When Luke can't sleep, he climbs through Bobby's window. Bobby has to pretend not to like it.

Previously titled "Last One."

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 819

am i allowed: for @cfsprings (part 1 of Flarrie Fake Dating Series)

Prompt from tumblr: flarrie and fake dating

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,130

another clever word: for @sunsethimb0s

Prompt from tumblr: an Alex "......okay" moment.

Previously titled "okay"

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 772

something changed in the atmosphere: for @queenofthequillandink (part 2 of Molina Family Game Night Series)

Prompt from tumblr: board game part 2

Previously titled "playing the game."

Sequel to time flies by in the yellow and green.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 3,763

a flicker in the dark again: for @burntchromas

Prompt from tumblr: lukebobby and "I couldn't stand to leave you alone."

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 904

searching for the answer buried in his heart: for @conversationaltreestump

Prompt from tumblr: Bobby has a job in high school where he teaches guitar to kids and Emily and Mitch mistakenly sign Luke up for lessons (Bobby just doesn't sound like a teenager on the phone)

Previously titled "guitar lessons."

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,276

i just can’t get too much of you baby: for @teenagedirtbag-dot-jpeg

Prompt from tumblr: lukebobby and "please don't go"

Previously titled "never enough"

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 543

life’s too short to take it slow: for @pink-flame

Prompt from tumblr: Lukebobby eating spicy food, idiots in love.

Previously titled "guess that makes me an idiot too".

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 912

i hope your dreams are amazing: for @pink-flame

Prompt from tumblr: Luke/Bobby, falling asleep sitting up.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 500

come meet me at my treehouse: for @pink-flame

Prompt from tumblr: Willex and "Are you up for an adventure?"

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 529

when you laugh (i forget that it’s about me): for @where-you-go (part 2 of Ot3 Glitter Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Luke/Julie/Reggie Glitter Fic part 2 featuring a glittery Taylor Swift-style guitar.

Previously titled "sparkle like the sun"

Sequel to glitter on the floor after the party.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 708

every imperfection is a lie: for @lieutenantkim

Prompt fill from tumblr: Ray is convinced he's being gaslit because the fridge is always open.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 664

i’ve been watching you waltz all night: for @burntchromas

Prompt from tumblr: platonic Reggie and Julie dancing like idiots

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 913

i like the way i can’t keep my focus: for @malecacidd

Prompt from tumblr: Rebuke sickfic. Luke is sick and Reggie and Bobby try to take care of him but then Reggie gets sick and all that's left is a grumpy Bobby who is tired of their dumbassery.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,520

to look at her like that: for @burntchromas (part 2 of Flarrie Fake Dating Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Flarrie Fake Dating part 2!

Sequel to am i allowed.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 917

so casually cruel in the name of being honest: for @strugglingatart (part 3 of All Too Well Splinterverse Series)

Prompt fill from tumblr: He makes a mental note to give Bobby a talk later, when he’s feeling better, about hiding stuff like this—and then maybe he’ll give Luke and Alex (and himself) a talk about whatever they did to make Bobby feel like he has to.

Or, Reggie yells at his friend.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1,817

better to leave it unsaid: for Anonymous

Prompt from tumblr: willex + the band (and flynn carrie and nick) road trip, maybe them getting together w/willie falling asleep on alex.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 580

when the heat comes, something takes a hold: for Anonymous

Prompt from tumblr: willex with “hold me tighter, it’s cold”, some sitting in lap cuddles

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 347

i’m never lost when i’m with you (except i know that isn’t true): for @strugglingatart and @angelofarts

Prompt from tumblr: Alex/Willie/Reggie. Reggie doesn't know how to use chopsticks. Willie teaches him.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 566

take your fears and let them go (make the world a little colorful): for @angelofarts

Prompt from tumblr: The band finds Aurora (a real dragon) and have to figure out how to take care of her, Alex freaks out because FIRE and NO INSTRUCTION MANUAL.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 692

love’s not a three way street: for @starlight-17011-a

Prompt from tumblr: The boys watch the musical Rent and cry.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 703

all that i want (is to wake up fine): for Anonymous

Prompt from tumblr: willex and "tired," modern AU.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 341

let’s do it all again real soon: for @thegirlfulloffandoms

Prompt from tumblr: Reggie and Julie freak out about the wiggles fruit salad song.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 509

maybe the universe is giving us a sign: for Anonymous

Prompt from tumblr: Willex mutual pining: they’re flying out for a band thing or something and their friends rigged the plane seat tickets so they'd sit next to each other, in hopes that maybe they’d FINALLY confess.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 743

maybe we got lost in translation: for Anonymous (part 4 of All Too Well Splinterverse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: rebuke hurt/comfort.

Sequel to so casually cruel in the name of being honest.

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 3,646

30 Day Girls Challenge Series

nowhere else would sting as sweet: for @arolou (part 16 of Parenting Verse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Julie + treehouse + Parenting Verse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 856

sweetheart, you are the only one who knows how to rip me up: for @starlight-17011-a (part 19 of Parenting Verse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Carrie + fallout with Julie + Parenting Verse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 826

are you still the same soul i met under the bleachers: for @jmrothwell

Prompt from tumblr: Flynn + “Don’t mean to be jealous” + canonverse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 332

whisper with a voice that i can’t outrun: for @jmrothwell (part 3 of standing on the edge Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Carrie + "I'll play nice" + standing on the edge

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 576

if you leave the light on for me: for @jmrothwell

Prompt from tumblr: Julie + "What did you do?" + canonverse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 551

the law pulls up and you won’t get in the car: for @arolou (part 1 of Rags and Riches Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Rose + graffiti + Rags and Riches

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 510

there’s a side to you that i never knew: for @arolou

Prompt from tumblr: Flynn + setting stuff on fire + canonverse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 750

i know i’m not unique (but i’m a drama queen): for @arolou

Prompt from tumblr: Carrie + speaking in code + canonverse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 620

i’m just tryna play it cool now: for @suhnseok

Prompt from tumblr: Julie + lifeguard Julie/Carrie + College AU

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 581

you can’t do her any favors (she’s doing fine): for @innytoes (part 15 of Parenting Verse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Carrie + hugs + Parenting Verse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 875

holding the weight of someone else’s habits: for @a-hart-fulloflove

Prompt from tumblr: Julie + Sunset Curve’s inside jokes + canonverse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 759

how’d i get here (it’s out of my control): for @honeycrisp-lesbian (part 2 of Parenting Verse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Rose + Mercer garage sale + Parenting Verse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 629

there’s not a day that i won’t try: for @starlight-17011-a

Prompt from tumblr: Carrie + accident + canonverse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 524

one day i’ll watch as you’re leaving (and life will lose all its meaning): for @joyandthephantoms (part 6 of standing on the edge Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Carrie + asleep on the couch + standing on the edge

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 774

but i’m here right now (just sitting in a cloud): for @joyandthephantoms

Prompt from tumblr: Julie + fainting + canonverse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 378

nothing can hold me like you do: for @joyandthephantoms (part 4 of Softverse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Julie + homesick + Softverse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 410

my home is yours to settle in: for @joyandthephantoms (part 2 of handcrafted by confusing love Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Flynn + soft pajamas + handcrafted by confusing love

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 422

every single thing to come has turned into ashes: for @joyandthephantoms

Prompt from tumblr: Flynn + ambulance + canonverse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 391

i’ll kidnap all the stars and i will keep them in your eyes: for @joyandthephantoms (part 11 of Parenting Verse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Rose + the marching ants song + Parenting Verse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 714

thought you said that you would always be in love: for Anonymous (part 2 of Softverse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Julie + going to the beach at night + Softverse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 796

she’s got your heart inside her hands: for @queenofthequillandink (part 14 of Parenting Verse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Rose + Julie and Carrie’s friendship + Parenting Verse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 462

did you ever think that it was hard for me: for @jmrothwell (part 4 of standing on the edge Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Flynn + “Why would you help me?” + standing on the edge

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 790

feel the fresh air (my heart is on wings): for @innytoes (part 10 of Parenting Verse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Rose + her dorky husband + Parenting Verse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 390

we’re made up of the same blood: for @bbreaddog (part 9 of Parenting Verse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Rose + baby Julie meeting baby Carrie + Parenting Verse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 635

i wanted to see the world through your eyes (until it happened): for @innytoes (part 18 of Parenting Verse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Carrie + Ray + Parenting Verse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 598

and i’ll try not to think of the distances between us: for @sunsetcurvecuddles (part 1 of Foster Care Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Rose + Alex + Foster Care

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 776

get it off my desk (in that lavender haze): for @a-tomb-with-a-view (part 3 of Softverse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Flynn + ultraviolet + Softverse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 761

dirty knees and honey bees: for Anonymous (part 2 of Loners Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Flynn + bumblebee + Loners

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 523

i know that you tried your bestest (but i’m gonna keep doing it): for Anonymous

Prompt from tumblr: Victoria + peony + Homophobia

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 556

maybe this time i’ll say something: for Anonymous (part 1 of Softverse Series)

Prompt from tumblr: Emily + phone call + Softverse

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 478

Feels Like I’ve Opened My Eyes Again Songs

Songs from Feels Like I’ve Opened My Eyes Again by ICanSpellConfusionWithAK. Lyrics by @pink-flame Music by @chickwiththepurpleguitar

Luke’s Little Song (Chapter Two)

Won’t Be the Same (Chapter Six)

Luke’s Other Little Song (Chapter Thirteen)

Now or Never Part 2 (Chapter Sixteen)

Speaking a Different Language (Chapter Twenty-Five)

Stronger Together (Chapter Thirty-Four)

Home (Chapter Forty-Five)

We Found Wonderland Songs

Songs from We Found Wonderland by ICanSpellConfusionWithAK. Lyrics by @pink-flame Music by @chickwiththepurpleguitar

Late Last Night (Chapter Six)

Echo (Chapter Fourteen)

If All I’m Dreaming Is You Songs

Songs from If All I’m Dreaming is You by ICanSpellConfusionWithAK. Lyrics by @pink-flame Music by @chickwiththepurpleguitar

Headed to You (Chapter Ten)

Original Songs

Revelry (from Livin’ in Paradise: A JaTP SMAU by @willexxmercer) -- with @sunsetcurbed and @fireflyingaway

Through the Wall (JATP Big Bang 2021 art for Through the Wall by whycantwe)

if I tell you the truth (JATP Big Bang 2021 art for Ask Me Now (And I Won’t Hesitate) by ikeameatballs)

I’m not lonely when you’re around (JATP Big Bang 2021 art for just off-key of reason by finkpishnets)

i’d give up the ocean (from and when it’s time (I’ll leave the ocean behind) by more1weasley)

Present (from i envy the cup of coffee that kisses you every morning by sunsetcurbed) -- Lyrics by @sunsetcurbed

Find the Thread (JATP Big Bang 2022 art for find the thread that reconnects (tie it strong enough to last) by tillstarscollided)

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfiction #my fics #i might be okay but i'm not fine at all #all too well verse #we found wonderland #feels like i've opened my eyes again #singing #music #this time around #cause there we are again in the middle of the night #lukebobby #lobby #juke #jukebox #sleeping at last series #if things had been different verse #life series

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multifandom-girlie · 4 years

Text

𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

Imagine requested by @theshyprincess: Your his girlfriend and he is trying to train you to be a hunter but the sexual tension becomes too much

Pairings: Jeremy x Reader

Warnings: Smut

Do you know what it's like to have a undeniably good looking, incredibly strong vampire Hunter boyfriend ? No. Well let me explain it. It's like that sweet boy you date in highschool that's had sex alot but still asks if your okay continously all through out having sex with him. Yes it's sweet but it get's a little annoying after a while. That is what me and Jeremy are like. He's the sweetest guy on the earth but he's so overprotective. I mentioned the fact it was a little irritating him being so protective all the time and luckily it went well for me.

4 Months Ago-

“Jer ?”

“Yes baby ?”

“I just wanted to talk.”

“Okay..?”

“It's nothing bad, don't worry.”

“Okay. Stopped worrying, what's up ?”

“You know we promised when we first started dating how we would always be honest with each other about how we felt ? Even if it's how we make eachother feel ?”

“Yes..? Y/N, have I upset you or something ? I'm starting to worry again.”

“Jer, stop..it’s nothing bad. It's just that your really overprotective.”

“Well yeah, I know I'm a little protective over you but that's just cause I love you and I would do anything for you.”

“No Jer, you don't understand. Your too protective, sometimes yes it's very cute. You know when you get protective in front of other men but when you stop me going out the house after certain hours or how I always have too be around you. You literally stand outside the door when I'm peeing. I'm not saying I don't appreciate, I do. It's nice to know someone cares so much, but sometimes it's too much. I need my own space. You know I love being around you but I'm going crazy Jer.”

“That was alot to hear. I'm sorry Y/N but I didn't know I was so bad. It's just I care about you alot and you know why I'm so worried all the time. I'm a Hunter you know I can protect myself, you can't.”

“Well how about we make a deal ?”

“It depends.”

“If you let me have my own space, you know let me hang with people who aren't you all the time and dump my curfew....I will train with you, like you wanted me to months ago. I will activate my Hunter gene.”

“You promise you'll actually train ? Your won't just say this, so you can go for girls night or hang with Stefan ? You will actually train, if I back off a little ?”

“Yes, of course not and yes.”

“Okay. Deal.”

“Deal, I love you Jer !”

Present Time-

So here we were in the woods, getting ready for another session. We’ve been having 4 hour sessions with 3 five minute breaks...everyday for the last 4 months. I'm glad we are sticking to the deal. You know he has backed off, I've been for a year's worth of girl's nights already and me and Stefan even went on a road trip and couple times, without Jeremy.

The only down side to sticking to the deal though was we weren't really as lovey dovey as usual. We haven't had many dates or movie nights. All our conversations are either us arguing-which although is very rare, it still happens-or it's talking about our sessions or what he's going to train me to do next. Also I think I'm going crazy. I love him for doing all this but god I'm so frustrated. We haven't had sex in 4 months and it's bloody killing me.

I'm just glad that our anniversary is approaching because I'm hoping he will halt for one day. I guess we'll see.

Anyway so last session there was a bit of a problem when we got home yesterday my pants ripped as I was putting them on...so I had to wear an old pair of joggers, let me tell you now it was scorching. It was not good, so after our session I showered and headed to the mall with Caroline. Who helped me find some new gym wear that wouldn't rip because my ass and hips were to big to fit into my bloody pants. I also decided to get a new sports bra aswell because my other ones too tight anyway.

Yesterday-

“How are you and Jeremy then ? Are the sessions going well ?”

“Yeah they are actually but that's the only thing that is.”

“What are you talking about ? Oh sweetie, no, I can smell the frustration all over you.”

“I haven't had sex in 4 months Care.”

“Omg sweetie. Oooo, I know what we can do. Get the sexiest gym wear we can find. See if that will make him lose concentration. If he doesn't even flinch, you need to tell him. There's no way he can look at you and not want to shag you.”

“Shag ? Care I think you've been hanging out at the Mikaelsons too much.”

“Shut up.”

15 minutes later-

“This is perfect !”

Present time-

I changed into my new outfit I got. I'm going to be so pissed if he doesn't take the fucking hint.

I went outside to the car and we drove off. Jeremy didn't even spare me a glance. God he's lucky if I don't “accidently” punch him today. We got out the car and he immediately go into position. I jogged over. Nothing.

Obviously I'm not going to make the cut for Baywatch anytime soon.

We walked towards eachother and I threw a punch only for it to be dodged. He grabbed my wrist and span me around so my back was to his chest, I elbowed him and jumped on his back surprising him. He fell on his stomach but lifted himself up, even with me straddled on his back. He flipped so I was on my back and held me down. At this point I knew he was distracted, he could taste the tension just as much as I could but I was determined to win this. So whilst he was admiring how submissive I most likely looked under him.

With my knees bent, I flattened my feet on the ground. My hand gripped his hips and I thrusted my hips upwards. He flew forward and caught himself by propping his hands up above my head. I still had a tight hold of his hips and I twisted my own, so I could thread my knees in-between his legs. I wrapped my legs around him and rolled us over, so I was now on top.

Now I couldn't hide the smirk on my face, showing I was proud of myself. He had a proud grin on his face, that was the first time getting out from under him-minus in bed-and it wasn’t using a technique he taught me. I just thought it was a logical solution.

His eyes projecting his admiration and mass of lust into mine. His hands reached up to cup my face and pulled me down into a loving kiss. As I pulled away, he caught sight of my breasts peeping out my bra. I felt one of his hand loosen on my hips and trail up my body. I grabbed his wrist pushed it away and walked to the car. As soon as I was about the open my door, I was grabbed and pushed against the back door behind mine.

My breath caught in my throat, a little surprised at the action. He leaned down and kissed me on the lips ravenously. I wrapped my arms around his neck whilst one of his were raising my legs from the ground. I clenched them around his waist and tangled my feet together. Now above him a little, I continued to kiss him whilst tugging on the short locks of his mousy hair.

He still had a strong hold of me as he stepped back and felt around the door for the handle. When he found it he jerked the handle and opened the door with ease. He gently laid me down in the back seats and got in closing the door.

I hoisted myself up and perched on his lap. He leaned in but instead of kissing my swollen lips again he bombarded my neck with sloppy kisses. He directed his mouth to my collar bone and starting sucking slightly aswell as kissing. I threw my head back in pleasure and huffed quietly. He then moved to my boobs and started to kiss the tops of them and down my cleavage before peeling my bra off and circling my nipples with the tip of his younger and gradually enveloping them with his mouth.

I felt that he wasn't undressed enough for my liking so I lifted his shirt off his body over his head and threw it beside us. I will never get enough of this man's body. Damn. He placed his hands on my ass but a couple seconds later pulled away from my boobs.

“When di-how is it th-woah.”

I giggled a little and started blushing a little.

“It’s thanks to your workouts.”

He grinned and tugged the waistband of my pants but struggled to slip them off my ass. I pulled them off myself, since I knew he didn't want to break them. He saw my white thong and groaned whilst throwing his head back. I giggled and pulled down the elastic waist shorts he had on. I palmed him through his boxers, earning a slight puff. I smirked and pulled down his boxers, down to his ankles.

I kissed up his thigh closer to his thick cock. A slight breath brushing his member. My lips hovering around the tip of cock and gradually wrapping around them, gently tightening the grip.

The moisture of my lips making it easier to inhale is big member. The nib of my tongue orbiting the head of his penis and whilst doing so gathering the pre cum, he'd let discharged. I continued this action for a couple of minutes before driving his whole cock down my throat. I did this repeatedly for a minute or so. The head hitting my throat with every jolt.

He was getting closer and closer, I could tell because of the giddy pulsation his cock was performing in my mouth. He couldn't help but nudge his hips in my mouth a little more so I could finish him off. After he started that process my little hand began to pump the base of his cock whilst my tongue was toying with the tip. Instantaneously, a smooth white liquid shot down my throat.

I lifted myself up a bit and let him taste himself on my lips. He ripped the white thong I had on but apologised straight after. I giggled and kissed him lovingly again. I raised myself a little and positioned myself comfortably on top of him. His pink tip stroking my clit in upwards motions before seeking my entrance and slipping himself in.

I bit my lip and threw my head back in pleasure. Whereas his head fell into my chest and groaned. I started to raise myself and rapidly force myself back down again. Once he was fully encased in side of me, I hoisted myself up and forced myself back down getting faster and faster with every movement.

Steam painting the windows. The heat compelling us to break a sweat. The moans, groans and slapping of skin the single things to be heard for miles. My own pace was becoming moderate, I didn't know how long I could keep going for especially since the work out we did not 15 minutes before. He could undoubtedly sense that I was lacking energy, most likely because of the early start each morning too. So to murder the sense of guilt he was feeling, he grabbed a tighter hold on my hips and rammed his hips in an upwards motion. Pounding into me relentlessly.

“I’m so close Jer !”

“Go on baby.”

I promptly delivered my juices at a rapid speed. They drizzled down his dense cock and chased his second orgasm down. It didn't take long before he unleashed his orgasm. We sat there for a minute or two.

“I love you Y/N.”

“I love you Jer.”

Nothing could be more perfect in that moment.

Except that was truly wrong.

No protection.

He didn't pull out.

We are both human.

Shit.

MASTERLIST

#Jeremy Gilbert #jeremy gilbert smut #jeremy gilbert imagine #tvd imagine #to imagine #imagines #caroline forbes #Stefan Salvatore #jeremy x reader #the vampire diaries

584 notes · View notes

morfinwen · 3 years

Note

OC Name: Ian, Lauren, Q, Niner, and Ash.

Wow, this one's old! But answered at last.

Ian

Something really awesome he can do: His coworkers are certainly amazed by his ability to remain in Lauren’s presence when she’s in a temper, let alone how he can talk to her without getting murdered, or even -- sometimes -- calm her down.

A person, creature, or thing he adores: Squirrels. Growing up, he named all the ones he saw in his backyard, and would watch them for hours. He’d love to do the same now, but as an adult with bills he doesn’t have the time. He does have a bird feeder out in his yard specifically for the squirrels.

A secret he’s hiding: No secrets -- Ian wouldn’t be able to keep one if he had it.

Something he truly fears: Something bad happening to his parents.

A fond memory of his: The first time his parents drove to visit his mom’s parents on the Tennessee/Kentucky border. It’s a cozy memory of scenery passing in a blur, what seemed like a continuous stream of snacks and juice boxes, switching between CDs of his and his parents’ favorite music, and listening to his mom and dad tease and flirt with each other (subtle enough to fly over the head of a seven-year-old who still thought kissing was icky).

A place or item which gives him strong feelings: The sanctuary of the church where he grew up. It’s where he was baptized, and where he played guitar during some very moving services.

A dream or ambition for the future: Perform on live TV.

An angsty fact about him: He and Lauren had a falling out in their second year of college. I hesitate to say it was over Protestantism and Catholicism; it was, at least to some degree, but it was also about worldview, the nature of God, the role of tradition and conscience, and perhaps most of all it was about what we owe to people we disagree with. They’d argued about religion before, but it wasn’t until then that they actually understood enough to do more than rebut “Pastor Andrews says” with “Father Vernon says”, and for it to matter enough to them to blow up as much as it did. It took months for them to reconcile, partially because of stubbornness and uncertainty of how to fix things, but also because schoolwork and practice meant they didn’t have the time to figure it all out.

A domestic fact about him: Ian almost always keeps most, if not all, of his windows open. Even when it’s cold (for Tennessee) or raining. It can make things cold, and the smell isn’t always great, but he insists it’s too stuffy otherwise. Lauren is pretty sure it’s a psychosomatic thing.

A random other fact: He once had a dream where he was a dog, Lauren was a cat, and they escaped from their owners to travel the world together. It would’ve made a good movie.

Lauren

Something really awesome she can do: Play Chopin’s Fantaisie-Impromptu (Op. 66) completely from memory.

A person, creature, or thing she adores: Not sure if “adore” is quite the right word, but one of the most important people to Lauren, outside of Ian and her immediate family, is Father Vernon from her family’s parish. He’s known her family since before she was born, listened to their confessions, counseled her parents, baptized her and her siblings. Every weekend she drives the couple hours it takes to her hometown so she can attend Mass at Father Vernon’s church.

A secret she’s hiding: She’s written songs … about fictional characters. She even composed a suite of music for a pair of fictional characters’ wedding.

Something she truly fears: Permanent damage to her hands. Her music teacher once mentioned a friend of hers who couldn’t play the piano anymore after something heavy fell on his hands. If Lauren was the type of person to have nightmares based on things she heard, that certainly would have given her nightmares.

A fond memory of hers: Her grandparents would have a picnic sometime in June, every year. It wasn’t always enjoyable, between the long car drive there with all of her siblings jammed into a cramped place, and the potential for bugs, sunburn, and bad weather, but the park was beautiful, there were so many other kids around that there was always someone to play with even if everyone else had annoyed you, and when it got to be evening they would all gather around, play music, and sing.

A place or item which gives her strong feelings: Mrs. G’s music classroom at the elementary school. In addition to band during school weeks, it was also where Lauren had her piano lessons with Mrs. G on the weekends.

A dream or ambition for the future: She doesn’t think winning a Grammy award is out of the question someday.

An angsty fact about her: From first grade until she graduated college, she believed herself to be her parents’ least favorite child. Even now, it’s not so much that she doesn’t believe it as she doesn’t think it’s worth it to spend time and energy thinking about it.

A domestic fact about her: In order to have room for a keyboard in her apartment, she gave up on having a dining table, so she eats all over the place. She’s good about taking bowls and plates back to the kitchen, but there’s constantly cups and silverware lying around the living areas.

A random other fact: She hates her middle name. “Eleanor” sounds like an old lady name, not least because she’s named after one of her mother’s great-aunts, who is quite old, and has the kind of personality that suggests she was born gray-haired, wrinkled, and talking about “in the old days”.

Something really awesome he can do: He is trained in the use of multiple types of swords. It was a quid pro quo with his aunt and uncle: Q spoke to his politically-connected buddy from boarding school and got the ball rolling on an exemption from some nasty tariffs, they arranged for sword fighting lessons for a year. He never participated in any tournaments or anything (too much publicity), but he can say without undue pride that he got to be pretty good.

A person, creature, or thing he adores: “Adore” doesn’t really describe how Q feels about anything.

A secret he’s hiding: He’s not exactly hiding it, but he isn’t open about precisely how rich and powerful his aunt and uncle are, or how many famous (or in the case of some of his cousin’s criminal friends, infamous) people he knows through them.

Something he truly fears: Just the idea of being buried alive freaks him out.

A fond memory of his: He’s got some good memories of some summer holidays during his time at boarding school. Occasionally Q got invited to tag along with someone, a friend of his cousin or a fellow classmate, on their vacation to some super rich resort in some beautiful, exotic location. He’d still hear from his aunt and uncle regularly, and he always had to be well-behaved, but it was less than when he was at school -- at his age, just hanging out with rich and influential people counted as “networking” to his aunt and uncle, so they’d call in to check on him regularly but otherwise left him alone, and in a less formal setting than school “well-behaved” was an easier standard to meet. While parts of those summers were genuinely enjoyable for him, years of living hand to mouth a hairsbreadth away from sleeping on a street corner has added a much rosier shine to those days sleeping in five-star hotels and eating haute cuisine.

A place or item which gives him strong feelings: The family pile. It was where his dad spent his summers, so spending his own summers there growing up was one of the few times he felt connected to his parents. He’s also spent a significant number of holidays and family parties there, so it’s also associated with the exacting standards of his aunt and uncle and the strain of Keeping Up Appearances.

A dream or ambition for the future: He likes to imagine his aunt and uncle getting taken down a peg (or two, if he's particularly angry with them; sometimes he dares indulge the thought of three), though he struggles to imagine a scenario where that happens without notable repercussions.

An angsty fact about him: Virtually all of his t-shirts are band t-shirts, including bands he doesn’t listen to, bands he’s never heard of, foreign bands, fictional bands, and bands with potentially offensive names or symbols (though he usually only wears those at home or when he can be pretty sure he can keep his jacket closed all day). During his time in LA, one of his roommates asked if he wore them because, as an orphan who grew up in boarding schools, it was the closest he got to feeling like he belonged to something. The precise wording was kinder than that, but it still kickstarted a realization that rocked Q’s world for a couple days.

A domestic fact about him: He’s kind of weird about household chores in general. Despite his best efforts not to be as dismissive as his aunt and uncle, he still grew up in an atmosphere of "The Help does that," and it led to a steep learning curve when he moved out after graduation. He’s on top of dishes now and has a good handle on laundry, but sweeping and vacuuming require active thought, he barely registers that mopping is an actual thing, and unless "swipe hand over surface then brush hand off on pants" counts, he has never dusted.

A random other fact: Thanks to growing up outside the occult community, Q is unaware of the various taboos and 'bad words' within the community, and more than once says something offensive. Fortunately, this never creates any real issues for him, as everyone he does it to or in front of is aware he's not doing it maliciously. In fact, to most of them it's more like a small child 'swearing' because they misunderstood or mispronounced something, or saying something offensive out of innocent ignorance. Q is not best pleased when he finds out: being unintentionally offensive is one thing, being unintentionally adorable is worse.

Niner

Something really awesome she can do: She’s very good at mental math -- basic arithmetic, conversion from metric to imperial or types of currency, multiplying large numbers. Most people are more impressed with this ability than Niner herself is: she’s never had to work at it, and for most of her life it hasn’t been terribly relevant.

A person, creature, or thing she adores: Niner has a lot of younger siblings. She adores them all. Around them, she will drop the pretense of caring about nothing, and show full enthusiasm for anything they like.

A secret she’s hiding: She hasn't told anyone about the abusive relationship in her past.

Something she truly fears: For werecats, the threat of getting caught by animal control and getting euthanized or ending up as somebody’s housecat is about as probable as your average person getting struck by lightning, but few werecats are completely immune to fearing it. Niner in particular finds it horrifying.

A fond memory of hers: Her last year hanging with her parents and immediate siblings was a pretty good one. Since their kids were all on the verge of striking out on their own, her parents allowed them more independence than they ever had before, but there was still the safety net and companionship of family. They also made a point of visiting some places that they’d talked about visiting for years but hadn’t gotten to. It was basically a year-long vacation, and made Niner more aware of her independent spirit.

A place or item which gives her strong feelings: An alley behind a bar in Atlanta, Georgia. It’s where her relationship with Marrow ended. It’s also where one of her recurring nightmares, on the rare occasions she has one, takes place.

A dream or ambition for the future: Werecats travel a lot, but they tend to remain in the same country, and after their roaming days as young adults, they tend to remain in the same geographic area. Niner’s roaming days might be over, but she wants to visit another country. It won’t be easy, considering that she lacks money, a birth certificate, and a general idea of what other countries there are out there, but Niner can be dedicated when she really wants something.

An angsty fact about her: Tied in with her desire for independence is a belief that she needs to rely solely on herself, that other people can’t be trusted or that asking them to bear even part of one of her problems is infringing on them.

A domestic fact about her: Niner’s favorite place to sleep is Q’s windowsill. It gets a good amount of sunlight, and the size is just perfect.

A random other fact: She once worked as a cashier. It was just for a single shift, she got paid under the table, and frankly she was terrible at it, but the hot dog stand guy was desperate, and Niner really needed the money.

Ash

Something really awesome he can do: Ash can make a vegetarian version of just about anything. He considers it a gift. To others in the household (particularly Connie) … it’s amazing, but not in a good way.

A person, creature, or thing he adores: A crocheted frog that ‘lives’ on a shelf in the kitchen. It was a gift to his great-aunt who owned the house before him. It’s not what most people would consider cute, it’s probably older than he is so it’s got some noticeable wear and tear to it, but to little bitty Ash it was a benevolent spirit watching over the kitchen, smiling kindly to everyone who entered, and never telling on the small boy sneaking cookies before dinner.

A secret he’s hiding: It’s not quite a secret, more a deeply personal family matter that Ash is aware of but doesn’t share with anyone. His aunt Lily isn’t technically his aunt. She’s a half-dryad who, because of complications tied to her conception and birth, is bound to a tree on his grandmother’s property and traveling too far from it is painful for her. Obviously this isn’t something they can share with normal people, but it’s a sensitive enough situation that no one outside of Ash, his mother, grandmother, and aunts knows the details.

Something they truly fear: Ash is a naturally patient person, but he is not inherently non-confrontational or easy-going. And he is not the kind of person to just stand by when something makes him angry. He’s not exactly scared of losing his temper and doing something he regrets, but he is concerned about someday ending up on a slippery slope and reaching a point where he wouldn’t regret it.

A fond memory of his: He and Danae took a lot of walks in the country when they were in high school, usually by themselves, but sometimes with one of his aunts or one of her siblings. One especially beautiful summer evening, they sat by a lake for a couple hours and talked about their dreams for the future -- not just what they were likely to do, but what they really wanted to do with their lives.

A place or item which gives him strong feelings: The abovementioned lake. He spent a lot of time there growing up, and there’s good and bad memories tied to it. Mostly good.

A dream or ambition for the future: He has a lot of plans for the house. He’s not sure yet whether he wants to try to turn it into a school for enchanting, or turn it back into a bed-and-breakfast type place for occult people. The former is more appealing to him personally, but the latter works better considering that there’s already a bunch of different occult types staying there.

An angsty fact about him: Ash is the least angsty person in the household, honestly. He’s very grateful for that.

A domestic fact about him: He hates dust. Dishes can stack up for a meal or two, laundry gets done mainly because otherwise he’d have no clothes, mopping only happens if the floor is sticky, the fridge is cleaned out on a schedule, but dusting happens every day.

A random other fact: He’s watched several YouTube videos trying to learn how to yodel. It’s gotten put on the back burner, now that there’s people in the house who could hear him no matter how tightly he shuts the door or how quietly he tries to do it, but he still hopes to learn how someday.

Thanks for asking!

#ask #answer #ian grayson #lauren winston #q free #niner #ash jackson #OCs

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Never The Same, Always Together (Diamond Chaney) - pureCAMP

A/N - Well, this started as a fic challenge entry but very quickly veered off in a different direction so I’ll have to see if I can make something else for that. In the meantime, here’s around 12.3k words detailing two average Scottish gals.

CW for mentions of body image and body shaming, although fairly brief

Summary: Lawrence and Ellie from the start, and the story of how they came to be.

“How did you know she was the one?”

It’s mid-September. The last dregs of summer are still clinging on, far from ready to abandon ship, and although the leaves on the trees around the edge of the playground are starting to turn brown, sunlight still warms their bare arms as they run with blue cardigans tied around their waists in loose knots.

Lawrence is a proud five years old in comparison to some of her classmate’s barely four years, an advantage that makes her feel powerful. Adults often describe her as “a right little character”, but her young mind has yet to realise that they mean bold, talkative, and still untouched by the childish nervousness that claims many of her peers. She is, in essence, blissfully unaware of what the world thinks of loud little girls with accents so thick they question her coherence.

There is another little girl sitting on a bench. It’s the friendship bench, Miss Darling told them, where children can sit when they feel lonely and upset, allowing other children to invite them to play. No one really sits on it because nobody wants to waste their precious play time sat down when they could be running like the wind and making up stories.

The little girl is crying, very quietly. She has blonde hair in two neat plaits, tied off at the end with pink checkered ribbons, and she’s wearing one of the school summer dresses with a little patterned collar. Lawrence’s mum didn’t want to pay the extra money for a patterned collar, so she’s immediately a little jealous that this girl has one and she doesn’t. Her cardigan is all rumpled, falling off one shoulder, the sleeve over her hand which she uses to wipe her face dry every so often. She has clean white socks pulled up mid-calf, and black patent shoes on her feet, dangling in the air as she’s too little to touch the floor.

Lawrence is tall for her age. She can reach the floor with her feet when she sits on the bench.

As yet unaffected by the aforementioned nervousness, Lawrence bounds her way towards the crying girl. The girl looks up, teary blue eyes meeting tactlessly wide ones, and wipes her nose with her sleeve.

“Why are you sitting on the bench?” Lawrence asks, too young to know better than to speak bluntly. Subtext is a skill for older children, one that she will one day wish she had never had to learn. Life is easier as blatant, honest children.

The girl sniffs. “I’m on my own.”

“No you’re not.” Lawrence tells her, arms folded across her chest. “I’m here, so that’s not true. Why are you crying?”

“My brother’s in the other class and they won’t let us be in the same class and he’s playing with the boys and not me,” The girl explains, still crying but less so, pointing a shaky finger across the playground.

Lawrence follows her gaze towards the big stretch of field that, for now, they’re still allowed to play on, soon to become banned once the slightest hint of autumn rain hits and turns it into a mud puddle treacherous to school uniforms everywhere. A group of boys, scruffy and dirty, are kicking a foam football around, running like crazy, shouting at one another. She counts carefully, finding six in total. More than five and less than seven. One of them is blonde and little, like the girl.

“What’s your name?”

“Ellie.”

With little patience left in her small body, Lawrence grabs Ellie by the wrist and pulls her up off the bench. “Right. You’re the princess and I’m the big scary monster, you have to run away or I’m going to catch you! Rarrrrr!”

Ellie screams, tears her wrist away, and starts running as quickly as she can, little legs moving at a million miles an hour. Lawrence chases her, growling and biting behind her to let her new friend know how close she is. For fifteen minutes, though to their five and four year old selves it could have been days, they are a flurry of squealing, yelping, monster snarls and giggling.

When the bell rings, Ellie stands behind Lawrence in the line - she takes the front, unafraid to lead her peers back to the classroom, where Miss Darling is waiting to teach them about ai and ay. She sits next to Lawrence on the carpet, both cross-legged, her tears of separation from her brother quickly forgotten. She giggles as Lawrence is told off for her wandering attention span and chatty nature. At lunchtime, she plaits Lawrence’s hair the same as her own, and though it looks bad, they see it as the same perfect standard of Ellie’s mum’s handiwork.

Birthdays are the most specialest days in the world ever. Something about them is just magical. It’s the way that Lawrence goes to bed in her house as normal and when she wakes up, there are banners and balloons everywhere, diagonal on every door, above the fireplace, even on the letterbox. Presents neatly wrapped that seem to appear from the middle of nowhere, hidden expertly well and then piled in the living room ready for eager hands to tear open and play with. A day where no reasonable request can be refused, and silly hats can be worn.

Silly hats make both adults and children laugh, and Lawrence loves to be the centre of attention and making everyone laugh. At seven - no, eight now, eight today - she has been labelled a “class clown”. This, supposedly, is a bad thing, but it depends on how you look at it. Classmates and friends love class clowns, invite her to play their games because she’s funny, pay little attention to her big height and chubby body because she makes them laugh. Teaching assistants like class clowns, they laugh at them when they should be chastising them, and gently warn them to tone it down a little with kind smiles. Teachers, like Mr Macpherson, don’t like class clowns. They put them in time-out and shout at them.

But Lawrence doesn’t care, and Ellie always laughs.

Her party is at the big play warehouse, and the whole of Primary 4 have been invited, because they all wanted to come. Everyone is wearing baggy jeans and colourful leggings, racing down the rainbow slide, throwing balls from the ball-pit at each other, climbing through the foam structures with cherry-red faces and sweat dripping from their wet foreheads. Everyone is sectioned off into their little groups, playing as they see fit, exploring every inch of their veritable wonderland.

Lawrence is with Ellie, at the very top. Ellie is still seven, and as such, a bit scared of the great height that comes with the rainbow slide. Her sparkly unicorn t-shirt says “go, girl!” in swirly pink letters, a sentiment that she enthusiastically repeats to her trembling friend. They are sat in the very middle, classmates whizzing down on either side of them, building up the courage together.

“It’s too high! I can’t do it!” Ellie pleads, her eyes huge. Her cheeks are bright pink, play exertion written all over her, but her energy still not depleted. Lawrence is raring to go, but has learned the art of tact, kindness, and helping a friend.

“We’ll go down together, Ellie Bellie!” She proposes, an idea that makes Ellie pause and consider it. “I’m bigger than you so if you hold onto me we’ll get to the bottom super fast and then it’ll be over, and when you see how fun it is we can go again and again and again!”

She chews her lip. “What if you let go?”

“I won’t!” Lawrence assures her. “Look, we’ll hold hands all the way down, and then I’ll race you back to the top. Bet I’ll win.”

Ellie gasps, affronted. “Will not!”

“Will too!”

“Will not!”

“Only one way to find out, Ellie Bellie!”

They grab hands, sweaty and gritty from playground rubber and climbing on all fours. Ellie screws her eyes shut as Lawrence starts them off, and before they know it, they’re zooming down the techicolour mountain at speeds hitherto unknown, records unbeatable, aided by the slippy fabric of pink leggings and purple capris. Their hands remain linked the whole way down, until they stumble into the netting at the bottom and break apart. Ellie flops down in breathless laughter, euphoric at both defeating her fear and discovering a new sensation.

“You did it!” Lawrence squeals.

Ellie’s eyes are wild. “We have to go again!”

They race to the top. Ellie wins the first time, Lawrence the second. The third time, they tie, and bicker about who won all the way down the slide and back up again, after which Lawrence claims another victory. Each time, they go down hand in clammy hand, fall over themselves laughing, and carry on.

It repeats until a little jingle plays, and all of Primary 4 race in a mass exodus towards the special party room, where they have buffet lunch and drinks. Lawrence guzzles her paper cup of orange cordial like her life depends on it, a dehydration like she’s never felt gripping her throat, and Ellie laughs at her so much that she chokes on her blackcurrant cordial, leaving Lawrence’s mum to run for paper towels to clean her up.

Lawrence wears a gold cardboard crown as her classmates sing Happy Birthday, Ellie sitting at her right with a lopsided paper tiara slipping off her head but in pride of place nonetheless. They eat chicken dippers smothered in ketchup and party rings and a slice of cake, and Lawrence ends up with a big ketchup splodge on her lilac t-shirt that, while making her mum go spare, makes Ellie hysterically giggly.

“Oh, Lawrie, what are you like?” Her mum fusses, smiling and shaking her head all at once. “How you and Ellie can be so different yet so close, I’ll never know. She’s all nice and neat, see?”

Ellie beams up at what is essentially her second mum. “I think she’s funny!”

“She is!” Her mum agrees. “Funny little madam, aren’t you?”

Little madam is another turn of phrase that Lawrence will come to learn has other meanings attached to it that previously she had not considered, but as a happy eight year old at the world’s best birthday party, she pays it no mind.

Ellie ends up with white birthday cake frosting in her hair, so she’s not really as neat as Lawrence’s mum suggests. It doesn’t matter that Lawrence is the one who put it there.

The first year uniform is ugly as sin, no matter how much Lawrence’s mum fawns over how smart and grown up she looks. It’s a white polo shirt with the school logo stitched on the right hand side, a heavy black blazer with white piping around the cuffs and lapel, a tie with your house colour, and black trousers if you’re Lawrence, or a black skirt if you’re Ellie.

Lawrence and Ellie are both in the green house, sporting their forest-coloured ties with fat knots and rucksacks at the ready on their shoulders. They’re in the same form, too, a stroke of luck that is appreciated by both of them. Most of their primary school went to another local secondary school, leaving the two of them to start elsewhere and forge their new identities as awkward tweenagers thankfully with each other side by side.

Their mums insist on a million photos outside in the driveway together, right up until the bus is about to pull up to the bus stop and they have to leg it to catch it in time. The photos, though awful, will come to be treasured by Lawrence one day, sweet innocent memories to be stuck inside albums, frames and on walls and mantelpieces.

Form is first thing in the morning, a group of thirty terrified first years headed by Mrs Buchanan. She’s an older lady, fifty or so, and not nearly as kind and gentle as they’re all used to, thus requiring a bit of getting used to. But they’re in secondary school now, so growing up quickly and adapting into a new way of learning and being is critical. Lawrence makes sure there’s space for Ellie to sit next to her, and as their timetables get handed out, she squeezes her friend’s hand under the table. The worry is soon alleviated; they have all classes together for the whole year.

Over time, the friendship group expands, even as Lawrence and Ellie remain firm best friends, ever the duo within the circle of new people. Aurora’s string of three-week maximum boyfriends earns her the nickname A’Whora, and she brings Tayce along with her, who brings Asttina. Ellie befriends Tia who brings Veronica. Bimini just appears out of nowhere and slots right in, and they have a designated little collection of people to spend all their time with.

Secondary school is rough. Mean-spirited girls and overconfident boys poke fun at Lawrence’s weight while having the audacity to laugh at her jokes, and Ellie’s girly nature is picked on and mocked as if there’s something wrong with just liking the things you like. Together they ignore the hurtful words, shake their heads in silence, stand up strong and pretend endlessly that it glances off them. Truthfully, it’s an unnecessary stress on two girls just trying to figure out who they’re going to be one day, but they’re glad to have each other.

They’ve learned to thicken their skin, at least. Lawrence can hardly believe the difference in shy little Ellie from Primary 1 to now, third year, virtually prepared to throw hands in defense of her best friend.

It’s PE, fourth period, right before lunch. The changing room is in a bizarre L shape, and Lawrence likes to change behind the bend, increasingly aware of how her body differs from the girls around her and conscious of it in a way she never has been before. Sometimes her eyes unwittingly fall on Bimini, in her bright pink M&S bra, or on the smooth slim back of a girl changing opposite her, but she just tears her gaze away and doesn’t dwell on why it ended up there in the first place. She usually changes red-faced, embarrassed of herself, having mastered the art of not removing any uniform until the sports one is safely on top of it.

A girl across from them watches Lawrence’s fail-safe method of changing and laughs cruelly, nudging her equally-bony friend. She pretends not to notice, swallows hard, fights the angry blush.

“Look at the fuckin’ size of her!” She overhears, a whisper not really meant for disguise, quiet enough only that the teacher won’t hear, but Lawrence will. It’s a deliberate trick to damage her self-esteem, and it works exactly as intended.

Besides her, Ellie bristles. Lawrence touches her arm, then takes her hand away, feeling weird about a platonic touch when they’re half undressed. “Ignore em, Ells. They’re just catty bitches.”

Ellie herself isn’t the waif of a girl she used to be - she’s tall, now, and not quite stout but sporting a thick athletic build, tied in with a girlish waist and a strong physique. Her fists clench at her sides.

“Get fucked!” She calls across the changing room, shocking even Lawrence. A hush descends over the girls, a mixture of dread, horror and excitement for drama looming over them. Undeterred by the silence, she continues, “Nasty wee cows, commenting shite like that. You’re mad because she’s got tits and you haven’t, and you’re mad because you’re built like a netball goal post. Embarrassing.”

Somewhere around the corner, Lawrence hears A’Whora, Tayce and Bimini stifle a burst of unexpected laughter, Bimini carefully styling it out as a cough that fools absolutely no one. The two offenders look bewildered, as if no one has ever taught them not to bully, and as Ellie’s words dawn on them, hurt flashes across their faces, visible even beneath the orange foundation. It’s a glorious moment right up until-

“Ellie Diamond! How dare you speak like that? Girls, what on earth is going on here?”

Miss Brown, the PE teacher, rounds the corner with a furious glare, which Ellie shrinks down under and swallows nervously. Her hands sit on her hips, demanding, waiting for an explanation that Lawrence knows Ellie can’t give. She’s lost her bottle, all of it used up on telling the girls not to be so vile, and now she’s left floundering under the inevitability of a detention no matter what her story is.

Well, Ellie just helped Lawrence, and she’s never been one to wait upon a debt.

“Miss, they were calling me fat and Ellie had just had enough of them being horrible bitches, treating her like the bad guy is a bunch of shite. She did nothing wrong.”

It’s carefully calculated; a defence of Ellie so that her anxieties settle down, and a cleverly thrown-in swear to ensure she gets nailed with a detention of her own. It works like a charm, of course, Ellie and Lawrence scheduled for Tuesday evening and the thoroughly humbled arseholes scheduled for Thursday.

Lawrence always takes goalkeeper in netball, so Ellie takes goal defence. They stand together at their third of the court, the entire game happening at the other end, rubbing their arms to keep warm.

“You didn’t have to do that, Loz. Now we both have detention.” Ellie complains, though she doesn’t sound upset. Lawrence knows she’s grateful, but saying so would just make it weird. Subtext makes up most of their conversations now, a series of vicious bickering and ridiculous jokes that convey you’re my best friend of course I had to do that in a language that only they can decipher.

Lawrence shrugs, unbothered. “Think about it, hen. If I don’t have detention and you do, I have to sit alone on the bus. If we both have it, we can walk home together, grab a couple of Monsters from the shop and have tea at mine.”

“You’re a fuckin’ genius,” Ellie grins, bumping her shoulder. “They didn’t hurt your feelings, did they? Once Brown’s not around, I’m not above smashing their noses in with a netball.”

Lawrence is fourteen years old. Breathing in her direction wrong hurts her feelings - comments about her physical insecurities and inferiorities are completely soul-destroying.

“Nah, babes.” She brushes it off, smiling at her best friend. “I mean, watch this.”

The game progresses into their third. The goal scorer for the other team is pretty good, tall enough to reach the hoop and rail thin, but Lawrence herself is tall and stocky and provides the perfect obstacle to scoring a point. She intercepts, lobs the ball as hard as she can in Tayce’s direction, and it ends up back in the opposite third once again. They score another point, and Ellie whoops at their victory.

“Fuckin’ smashin’ it, hen. A skinny bitch could never.” She gloats, chest heaving, beaming with pride.

Ellie’s hair is pulled into a high ponytail, the neat plaits of her past long forgotten. Over the game, little wisps have fallen out to frame her face, which is pleasingly pink and flushed with effort. She has a neat wing of eyeliner and mascara that makes her look like some kind of Disney princess, and as the nightmare of puberty goes on around them, Lawrence notes with an entirely unselfish happiness that her best friend is going to be really, really pretty.

She sort of already is.

Bimini’s sixteenth birthday comes with a party. She’s never one to go halves - her mum is thirty two, a fact that makes A’Whora and Tayce elbow her that she needs to get busy to continue the family tradition - and since the weather is uncharacteristically Mediterrean for the middle of May, up comes the gazebo, on goes the hot tub, and out come the drinks.

Lawrence and Ellie have a bottle of summer fruits rosé between them, two straws poking out of the top. Ellie insists on holding it because she doesn’t trust Lawrence, in case she decides to do something stupid for a laugh and spills it onto the grass. It’s not like it matters, because Bim’s mum will provide them as much as they like so long as they’re safe in the garden, but she lets Ellie take control anyway, because it makes her smile and her smile makes Lawrence flutter a bit.

She’s been realising some stuff recently. Sixteen feels like the right age to be realising stuff.

Ellie got braces when she was newly fifteen, prompting months of merciless teasing from Lawrence. She still has them now, at sixteen, a pretty pale pink colour that matches her Pretty Little Thing dress that she ordered on her phone with next day shipping at Lawrence’s house last week. Her smile is radiant, her glittery lipgloss only highlighting it, though over only a few years her makeup has progressed so far that Ellie paints herself like she belongs in a museum.

Her face is a work of art full of meanings that Lawrence could spend a lifetime pondering. Sometimes, alone, late, she wishes it was a viable career choice.

It’s only nine o’clock, but everyone’s completely bladdered and quite happy about it. Lawrence passes Tia, who can’t stop repeating “Oh my god I’m so drunk” to anyone who’ll listen, and finds A’Whora and Tayce leaning on each other for support, sloppily humming stripper tunes as Bimini wiggles down her ASOS dress to reveal the bikini underneath. She winks at them both, announcing “Bimini’s swimini is now open for business!” and hops into the hot tub, half of the party rushing to join her. Tia, A’Whora, Tayce and Asttina all follow Bim’s lead, stripping down and settling into the bubbly water with excited giggles and shrieks.

“Come on, Lawrence! Get in, join us!” A’Whora urges, gesturing wildly with a wet hand that splashes drops of water all over the porch.

Tayce nods eagerly. “It’s lush, babes! Come on!”

Lawrence snorts. “Fat fucking chance. If I get in, the water will get out.”

Everyone roars with laughter at her joke. It’s something of an ego boost, especially when she hears Ellie a little way behind her, giggling.

“Aww babes, please?” Bimini calls out, rising up out of the water so that she’s in up to her waist. “I’ll show you my tiiiiiits……..”

For show, she shimmies her shoulders, the whole garden erupting into wolf whistles, scandalised giggles and outright cheers. Lawrence rolls her eyes playfully and sticks two fingers up at her, internally wondering how and when Bimini figured it out. Still, her drunk brain doesn’t want to dwell on it, so she forces it away and stumbles back towards Ellie for another sip.

As the night grows darker and the girls grow drunker, the cloud of sleepiness starts to descend onto them. Bimini’s mum had set up the gazebo with a Tetris-like arrangement of sleeping bags and air mattresses in it, cleverly keeping her house from being infested by a bunch of pissed fifth years while still able to keep an eye on them. As usual, when Lawrence claims hers, Ellie claims the one next to it.

“Bloody hell, it’s like you two are attached at the blumin’ hip!” Tayce comments, an offhand observation that’s perfectly spot on.

Ellie is a bubble of pure light and laughter. Her face brightens at the acknowledgement of their friendship, her ponytail swinging from side to side as she lifts her head to look up at Tayce. She bumps hips with Lawrence and bursts into a fit of giggles, nodding her agreement.

“Look who’s talking, hen,” Lawrence teases, nodding towards A’Whora. “Attached clit to clit, eh babes?”

A’Whora splutters her indignance. “Oh my god, you’re vile! Shut your fucking hole, Loz!”

“I will when you stop Venus Fly-Trapping Tayce with your fanny,” She shoots back, high-fiving Ellie and dissolving into identical hysterics.

An empty can of something is lobbed at Lawrence’s head, but thanks to A’Whora’s shitty aim and however many drinks she chucked down her neck, it misses by miles and rolls off into the grass, never to be seen again. She considers throwing something back, potentially waging a fight of epic proportions amongst the girls, but one glance at Ellie reveals an undisguisable tiredness in her gaze that influences her otherwise.

Ellie always gets this tired look before she actually sleeps. It’s not something Lawrence can tangibly describe; it’s just a heaviness behind her eyes, a sort of barely-there serenity wiping her mind clean of anything other than its purest, most unfiltered thoughts and inclinations to sleep. A sweet, lazy smile crosses her lips and she starts to speak quietly, softly, like raising her voice is too much of an effort for her body to keep up with. Year after year after year of sleepovers has well-equipped Lawrence for an exam in all things Ellie Diamond, one that she’s certain she could achieve an A in without any revision at all.

They settle down in their sleeping bags, and muffled sleepy conversations float out for a short while. Bimini, drunk as a skunk and high on the birthday bliss, lays in the middle of everyone, doling out nicknames that ensure the night will live on in their memories long after the morning has broken. For years to come, Taycegarean - a strange bastardisation from Game of Thrones - will crop up in group chats and pub meetups seemingly out of nowhere, and the entire night will be fondly remembered.

Lawrence herself will remember it for a multitude of reasons. Good reasons, all of them happy and positive, but they will warm her heart at one stage of life and in another, sting like gentian violet on grazed knees.

She hunches down on her side and feigns sleep for what feels like hours, until a symphony of heavy breathing around her suggests that everyone is finally asleep. Once she’s sure, she shifts onto her back and laces her fingers together, just letting all her thoughts run wild in her head in the hopes they’ll eventually tire her into slumber.

Evidently, she’s not careful enough, as within minutes, a soft voice whispers, “Lawrence? Are you awake?”

Nevertheless, she can’t help the smile that crosses her face. “Yeah. Are you?”

Ellie snorts. “Nah, hen, I’m asleep.”

“Stupid question, stupid answer.”

“Stupid bitch.” Ellie quips, Lawrence acquiescing and laughing.

There’s an open flap in the top of the gazebo, right above Lawrence’s head. It’s not the most practical thing in the world, given the very real possibility of a downpour of Scottish rain soaking them to the skin, but the night sky is clear and Bimini’s house is just enough out of the way of the city that the stars are visible. She remembers reading somewhere that Sirius was the brightest star in the sky, but that can’t be true when Ellie’s eyes could rival the entire Milky Way.

Neither of them have anything to say; they lie side by side in a comfortable silence, connecting patterns between the tiny dots of light above them, content to just be. Still, one thought of Lawrence’s jumbled up brain won’t stop tugging on her vocal chords, begging to be freed, so she decides to give in and just let it have its own way.

“Ells,” She whispers, rolling onto her side to face her best friend. “I got something to tell you.”

Ellie mirrors her without even realising, turning onto her side and even resting her face on her hand the same way Lawrence has. It’s a testament to just how connected they really are, and it swells a little balloon of confidence and hope in her chest that this is definitely the right time to do it.

“Go ahead, chick. I’m all ears.”

“I’m gay.”

The night is quiet. Nothing rustles, nothing moves, the air itself is still and silent as if holding its breath at Lawrence’s coming out. She waits, both terrified and exhilarated, for the person she cares most about in the world to react to the news.

It’s a snorty giggle, well-intentioned and free of malice, that follows a few seconds of silence. “I could’ve told you that, hen.”

She’s a cheeky shite, always has been and always will be. Lawrence grins, shaking her head.

“Hey, bawbag, this is a big fuckin’ moment for me!”

Even without makeup - Lawrence made sure Ellie took hers off to save her skin, ever the helpful best friend - Ellie’s a Renaissance beauty, her expression a picture of adoration and warmth. “Aye, I know. I’m really proud of you, Lawrie. Thanks for trusting me.”

With the gentlest of smiles gracing her lips, Ellie reaches out a hand and softly rubs Lawrence’s cheek. Her fingers are bitter cold on Lawrence’s flushed skin, but the gesture is so tender that she would endure the sensation for a thousand lifetimes before she would utter a complaint about it. Their usual way would be a joke, a mocking statement with subtext of support and gratitude, but now feels right for a fleeting moment of sincerity beneath the stars.

“If I can’t trust you, Ellie Bellie, I can’t trust anyone.”

Ellie snuggles down into her sleeping bag. “You can always trust me.”

Sometimes it’s baffling how quickly time flies. Lawrence crosses off days on her calendar as an old habit her mum passed on to her, and before she knows it she’s in her sixth year, exams on the horizon, the enticing glow of study leave calling her name in just a few short months. There’s an acceptance letter for the University of Edinburgh sitting on the desk in her bedroom, slightly crumpled and splashed with coke and scribbled on with pens she wasn’t sure worked or not, but nonetheless taking pride of place.

Poor Ellie is never out of the art block, slaving away on her twenty hour final piece that Lawrence just knows is going to look amazing. While she’s busy, Lawrence sits in the common room with A’Whora and bitches about stressful teachers, irritating students and the impossibility of having ever been as annoying as the current first years are.

Lawrence maintains she was never that short or that childish.

Every weekend, Ellie pops over to revise English, although it usually deteriorates into we hate the English why are we revising this shit again and turns into an excuse to hang out separately from the group. There’s a weird stigma about only inviting some of the group somewhere ever since A’Whora and Tia’s big falling out in fourth year, but it never really seems to apply to Lawrence and Ellie. It’s just a given that they can branch off at any time and no one’s being left out, it’s just their time.

It’s nice.

At present, Ellie lies flat on her back on Lawrence’s bed, legs hanging off the side, groaning loudly about how much work she has left to do. She reckons it’ll be done in two months, but only two months of hard graft with no social life, no sleep, and no eating.

“You better fuckin’ let me see it when it’s done, for all you’ve fucking moaned about it,” Lawrence tells her, spinning on her desk chair. “I deserve compensation of that at the very least, if not more.”

Ellie blows a raspberry. “How about I give you a blowie and we call it even?”

It’s one of those jokes that makes Lawrence laugh and blush at the same time. They’ve become increasingly common as of late, but as a far cry from her former bluntness, Lawrence masks with a disgusted face, a forced retch, and some exaggerated mimed vomit.

“You’re gonnae make me throw up, hen. I know you’re just gagging for a taste of the old Chaney to confirm your bisexuality but at the very least I expect to be taken for dinner before that,” She shrugs.

Ellie sits up, sticks out her tongue, and rolls her eyes. “I’ve paid for enough of your lunches, thank you very much! I feel entitled to it at this point.”

“Fuck me. Anybody’d think you actually wanna be with me.” Lawrence teases, one eyebrow raised.

In the last few weeks, Ellie had taken to drawing these tiny pink hearts underneath her eyes, a ridiculously cute addition to her already perfect makeup. It was only last week that they crammed themselves into Ellie’s mum’s bathroom and dyed her hair pastel pink to match Lawrence’s vibrant purple, and she’s since curled it, where it now rests prettily on her shoulders from the signature Ellie Diamond ponytail that she just can’t let go of.

Something unusual flashes across Ellie’s face, something Lawrence recognises with a jolt but hasn’t seen in years. Nervous Ellie feels like a thing of the past, but it’s definitely that - a moment of hesitation, a spike of courage followed by a drop. Ellie’s nervous about something.

She swivels her chair around to face Ellie properly. “Ells?”

Ellie coughs. “My mum always says the person you date should be like, your best friend. ‘Cause no one knows you better and understands you better than they do.”

Lawrence’s hopes shoot up before she can warn them not to, and she’s sure her face says it all, much to her embarrassment. “Aye, I’ve heard that before too. Interesting idea, don’t you think?”

“Very interesting.” Ellie agrees. Already she looks calmer, and Lawrence prides herself on her ability to always soothe Ellie’s fears, years down the line. She would argue it’s her only natural talent, but she’s big enough to admit that she’s also hilarious, great at sewing, and the fastest at chugging out of the whole group.

For the first time, she allows images previously forbidden to enter her mind. She imagines going with Ellie to the formal at the end of the year as her date, dancing close to something slow and sweet, dancing even closer to some Whitney Houston once the real bops start playing. She imagines how Ellie’s cherry lip-balm will taste, how it’ll feel to thread her hands through Ellie’s hair in a real, proper embrace. She imagines Ellie Diamond as her girlfriend, a sentence both weird and wonderful to think about.

“Ellie, darling! Your mum’s here!” The voice of Lawrence’s mum from downstairs interrupts them.

Ellie stands up. Lawrence doesn’t move.

“You need to pass your fucking driving test so you can stay here longer.” Lawrence states. Glaring subtext: I like you.

“Booking my test next week. Hoping I don’t kill any primary kids or drive over a roundabout.” Ellie grins back. Glaring subtext: I like you too.

“Fat fucking chance of you passing first time, Dirty Diamond. You’ll probably bowl over a pensioner.” You’re my favourite person in the world.

“You’ll visit me in jail though, right?” I know. I feel like I’ve always known.

“I’ll smuggle you some lipstick, hen, but don’t be asking me for fuckin’ Morphe palettes.” I’m willing to try.

“What else could I ask for?” What else could I ask for?”

Ellie smiles, and the room lights up. “Just a second, I’ll be there!”

The twenty seconds that it takes for Ellie to gather her books into her bag are excruciating, and Lawrence sits full of frenzied energy, fingers tapping on her knee as she tries and fails to play it cool. This is new territory, previously unexplored land, and she has no idea how to navigate it, nothing to fall back on except the cushion of thirteen years worth of friendship. It dawns on her that it’s an exceedingly soft place to land, should she fall.

As she makes to leave the room, Ellie stops right by Lawrence’s swivel chair, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright. With one hand, she turns the chair in her direction, and the other caresses the side of Lawrence’s face. Then she leans in for a brief kiss, eyes fluttering shut, and pulls away looking as if every bit of love in the world is concentrated into one beautiful girl.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Lawrie.”

Monday, they hold hands in the common room. Ellie’s feet rest on the table, her legs extended, and Lawrence leans her head into the crook of her shoulder, exhausted from a late-night History essay she’d totally forgotten about it (too busy texting her girlfriend, not that she’ll ever admit that). No one bats an eyelid, the conversation focused on Joe Black’s completely against the dress code and yet fucking amazing new facial piercings. It’s not like this sort of affection is unheard of between them, anyway. It’s definitely not enough to cause a stir.

Just for shits and giggles, Lawrence plants a casual kiss on Ellie’s cheek. The room goes dead silent.

“You! Fucking whores! As if! You two!” Tayce splutters, whacking an equally astonished A’Whora on the arm, as if she could have somehow missed the spectacle.

“What the fuck! You just- Babes! Oh my god!” A’Whora squeals.

Bimini whoops obnoxiously, then flips the bird at a disgruntled group of fifth years giving them dirty looks. “Oh, piss off with your negativity, we’re celebrating young love, you should try not being a bunch of miserable virgins!” She calls over, before turning back to them. “Aww, bless yous!”

Ellie flips her hair and smiles. “Fuck out of our business, you nosy shites.

Lawrence ignores the funny feeling in her chest, dismissing it as a reaction to the sudden change of all their friends knowing about it, and deciding that it’ll go away once she’s used to it. She kisses Ellie again, just for fun, and wills it to settle down.

The art classroom has to be one of the weirdest spaces in the school, though Lawrence quite likes it. In one of the corners, there’s several twisted models of human bodies, contorted and stretched in a way that makes her back ache just to look at, all splattered with paint. Elaborate pencil drawings and smudgings of chalk hang from the ceiling, and everywhere she steps seems to be a hazard to someone’s work.

Ellie stands tucked up against the wall, a huge canvas in front of her. Lawrence remembers something about the art brief she’d come up with, a commentary on prejudice and hate represented in a way that conveys - okay, she doesn’t remember much. She likes listening to Ellie’s art rambles, but they tend to go in one ear and out of the other.

It’s okay, though. Ellie knows this, and she chats away happily anyway.

Two months of work have shaped the piece nicely; it distinctly shows two embracing figures from afar, and upon further inspection reveals thousands of carefully printed words to make up the image. The darkest parts read negatively, homophobic slurs and hatred and bullying, and as the colours lighten and transition into softer, prettier shades, the words themselves soften, becoming love, light, companionship.

Apparently, Ellie’s art teacher had predicted her a grade B for her efforts throughout the course. Lawrence thinks she should easily get an A*, but then what does she know? She always thinks Ellie deserves the best.

Ellie deserves the best. Her stomach twists just thinking about it.

“Lawrie!” She greets, arms flinging upon for a hug before freezing and pushing her away. “Oh my god, forgot about my paint shirt. Sorry, no hugs. Can’t have this all over your clothes,” She gestures at herself, her everyday clothes covered by a big white t-shirt that Lawrence suspects is her own, not Ellie’s.

“What the fuck is this, then?” Lawrence jokes, her sarcasm sharp as ever, arms folded as unimpressed.

Ellie immediately shoves her away and laughs, grabbing her forearm to stop her from going too far away and pulling her back in. “Hen, shut it! What do you think?”

“It’s fuckin’ brilliant, Ells, it’s really really good. I told you you should believe in yourself, look what happens when you do!” Lawrence cheers her on, the facade not worth keeping up.

She should kiss her. Ellie’s her girlfriend and they’ve been together for two months and this beautiful piece of art that she’s been working on forever and consuming all of her time is finished and looks absolutely fantastic. Lawrence should kiss Ellie and tell her how proud she is, show her how proud she is, love her the way she deserves to be loved.

She can’t. She doesn’t.

Instead, Lawrence clears her throat awkwardly and steps back, taking in the canvas again. “Yeah, yeah, really good that. I like it a lot.”

They perch on the table, legs swinging for want of something else to do. Not that anything extreme should be happening, but they’re completely alone and Lawrence thinks to herself that love isn’t meant to be this awkward, this uncomfortable, this unsure. No one is watching them and yet it feels like an invisible set of eyes is there, and they’re performing for someone or something.

Ellie reaches for Lawrence’s hand across the table, neither of them making eye contact - the safe zone is the canvas, and that’s where they remain. Their hands link for a few seconds, but both girls pull away at the same time, an uncomfortable energy claiming the should-be romantic moment.

“This is fucking weird,” Lawrence mutters.

“I- yeah,” Ellie agrees, sighing. “I’m sort of glad you said it because I don’t know if I would have been able to.”

Something sinks; the anchor falls from somewhere in Lawrence’s chest and the weight crushes down on her, pinning her in place. Every decision feels like the wrong one, every direction blocked off in an endless route of diversions that leads nowhere. Going back the way she came seems impossible, but forging ahead can’t be done either, and every alternative route is full of brambles and obstacles and ultimately doesn’t exist.

“I don’t really know what to say.” Lawrence shrugs. There’s about four inches between them physically, but the emotional distance could be miles. Lawrence and Ellie are in the same room, but on different planets. Solar systems apart, even.

Ellie coughs, hesitating, horribly unsure of herself. “I think,” She laughs, though mirthlessly, empty, “Maybe mum meant the person you date should become your best friend, not start off your best friend. ‘Cause this is weird.”

Heartache is at once cold and hot, it freezes and burns simultaneously, a sensation that Lawrence can’t properly register or explain. On one hand, this is exactly what she’s been thinking about, the only real cure for the weirdness that taints the air around them. On the other… she doesn’t even know.

Pretending to be unaffected, Lawrence is conscious of her face tightening and forces herself to relax, injecting a casual note into her voice. “You think?”

Ellie starts chewing at her fingernails; out of habit, Lawrence gently takes her wrist and pulls it away from her, before dropping it like hot coal and going red. Why does everything require so much forethought now? Why can’t they just sit with their legs hanging off a friendship bench until the world rights itself with brutal honesty and a complete lack of tact? Why now does Lawrence have to consider feelings and implications that never used to exist?

“I mean, I dunno,” Ellie shrugs eventually. “We were more affectionate before this, honestly. We’re just thinking too much about it and it’s making things weird. Kinda liked it better before.”

It stings, but at the same time of the sting, there’s a wash of relief. It’s not to say that the two feelings cancel each other out into a calm neutrality - no, Lawrence feels both concurrently, at once nauseous and healed, not sure where she stands. All she knows is that it’s ending and it’s probably a good thing, definitely a good thing, and it’s what she wants, and she also doesn’t want it at all.

“Yeah. Yeah, same.” She manages, mustering strength enough to agree.

“Well!” Ellie perks up, claps her hands, dispels the tension in the air as much as possible. “We gave it a go, it didn’t work, and now we know. I count that as a win. Thanks, Lawrie.”

She pulls Lawrence into a side-hug, mostly just wrapping her arms around Lawrence’s neck and shoulders and squashing her face into Ellie’s chest. At least they’re both in-tune enough to know how they should pretend, Lawrence fooling even herself into thinking she feels fine as she plasters a smile on her face and wriggles away again. On a surface level, everything seems fine again, and they’re both grateful for it.

“Love you,” Ellie tells her, eyes sparkling. “God, it’s nice to be able to say that without it being weird. You’re my best friend in the whole wide world.”

Lawrence raises her eyebrows, laughs, masks everything behind her funny friend demeanour. “Oh fuck off with that lesbian shite. Love you too, Ells, now don’t ever talk like that again. Best fwend in da whole wide wowld.”

Ellie laughs so hard she collapses, head on Lawrence’s shoulder, shaking with giggles. Once her fit comes to a stop, she pulls herself upright and grins sincerely, the very weight lifted off her chest happily deposited in the pit of Lawrence’s stomach. Ellie deserves the best and I just can’t be that for her.

“Anyway,” Lawrence starts, smacking her hands down as she hops off the table and makes to leave, “Your art is fab, you’re gonna nail this assessment, I’m glad all your whining was worth it. See you tomorrow, hen.”

It takes roughly an hour and half after receiving the news that it amicably ended for their friends to start making jokes the following day. Lawrence, as the funny friend, is at the heart of everything, firing off quips about how everyone makes mistakes and relating everything to silly miscalculations and swears that with each laugh, her heart heals itself just a little faster. She even convinces herself everything is fine, and it’s better this way.

Her sole relief is that her friendship with Ellie remains unchanged through it all.

University is an utter shitshow.

Every second of it is awful, nothing like she’d hoped, assignments that she consistently fails and snobby students with weekly budgets higher than her entire student loan and flatmates that she fucking hates. Worst of all, she hates her course, hates the professor, hates that she decided to do this while still freshly eighteen. Worst of the worst, she’s further away from Ellie than she has been since the first day they met, Ellie off in fucking Manchester of all places having the time of her life on a beauty course while she’s hating her life in Edinburgh.

Ellie doesn’t need a beauty course, anyway. She’s naturally beautiful and naturally good at enhancing it on herself and others. Ellie radiates beauty so much so that even the ugliest people seem to be that little bit more attractive when Ellie is around.

It’s not that Lawrence hates Edinburgh, anyway. The city is stunning, somewhere she could happily see herself spending the rest of her life. It’s a hub of culture and art and life, a niche suited to everyone somewhere within it. Edinburgh is gorgeous, but Lawrence feels like she’s wasting herself at this university being so miserable.

Not a single person she’s met so far laughs at her jokes. She desperately needs someone to laugh.

She ends up in a smoky little bar one night, some dingy little place that hosts proper comedians during the summer and vaguely funny wannabes for the rest of the year. On a whim, she writes down her name on the amateur volunteer list for a slot doing some stand up and chats some shite on stage mostly pertaining to the comments she’s gotten on all of her failed essays. Mercifully, people laugh.

Being the centre of attention is something Lawrence knows she’s always thrived at. Even when Ellie was her sole cheerleader, the one little pest who stuck by her side and always loved her, Lawrence was good at commanding favour from others purely from being a right character and a little madam and all of the rest of it. She’s bolshy, loud, unafraid to call people out in the name of a laugh. Stand up is enjoyable, and she wonders what it’ll be like when she has time to actually prepare real sets.

The logical next step is to drop out of university. It’s the best decision she’s ever made. Lawrence works shifts at the big Tesco and volunteers all her off time telling stupid jokes on a little stage until she’s eventually handed a small paying gig, not quite enough to stop scanning eighty-five year old Barbara’s fem-fresh on the weekly, but enough that she feels like she’s progressing. Life finds a way, she thinks. Then she tears her mind away from the hope that it really does find a way.

Hopefully Ellie visits from Manchester soon.

“Aye, alright then, what’s your name? No, not him, you in the fuckin’ heinous orange shirt and green khakis like a fucked up Oompa Loompa. You, what’s your name?”

Lawrence is twenty two years old. She’s known for a couple of things - the colour purple, her offensively Scottish accent, and being the most highly recommended local comedian in the entire city. Sure, there are bigger and better stars in the world of comedy, but as far as a fairly cheap night that doesn’t require booking months in advance, Lawrence’s stand up is a sought-after night for anyone visiting the area.

The fact that people book tickets for the nights she’s working now rather than stumble upon her and have a bit of a laugh at the glamorous fat girl ripping the piss out of the audience before them - that’s shocking enough. Weekends always need booking a couple of days in advance, and she even manages to sell out on weeknights now. It’s slightly less fabulous than it looks, her sparkly purple outfits a stark contrast to her shitty flat, but she loves everything about her life.

Loneliness is a slight issue. Everyone is busy all the time, except at night, when Lawrence is working, and she misses everything. The group chat is most active when she’s on stage; messages go unanswered when she’s sitting at home just writing. But she’s learned to be okay with it. She hardly even misses El- hardly misses everyone anymore.

Adults naturally drift apart, sometimes. Life is busy, and no one knows that better than Lawrence.

Besides, she’s hardly been in the mood for socialising, this week. It’s nearly Ellie’s birthday - that’s not why, just a fact that has been burned into her brain - and she’s finally been booked somewhere else, a much better venue than she’s ever worked in before. It’s bigger, more well known, and when the list of comedians that have performed their sets on there is revealed to her, she nearly faints.

But walking inside in a purple glittery pantsuit, hair all done, makeup slathered on, she feels like this is who she’s meant to be and what she’s meant to be doing. She’s rehearsed her new set endlessly, could recite it in her sleep, drunk, backwards, in alphabetical order, anything and everything. Most importantly, she doesn’t feel nervous. She can just play it by ear, read the room, and the idea of not having a totally solid plan doesn’t terrify her.

Lawrence trusts herself to make the room laugh no matter what. No bad for twenty fucking two.

The orange-shirt man laughs and mouths his name. He likely shouts it, but Lawrence can’t hear, so she lipreads.

“Sta- did you say fucking Stanley?” She teases him, frowning in horror. “I’m sorry, you’ve thrown me off, who the fuck is called Stanley in this day and age? I’m assuming Albert and Brent were already taken? Your fuckin’ brothers or some shite? Jesus Christ, you’re called fucking Stanley.”

The laughter is uproarious; someone near the front row has this god-awful titter, snorting and high-pitched and breathy, but the fact that they’re so entertained that they can’t control their ugly laugh makes Lawrence feel like she’s killing it.

She walks across the stage, shaking her head in disbelief. “I mean, we were on the topic of mistakes, weren’t we? Fuck me, your mum made one fucking hell of a mistake naming you Stanley, I’ll tell you that one for free.”

Stanley shouts something inaudible.

“Eh? Shut up, you lot, I’m communicating directly to Stanley now. This show isn’t about you anymore, pipe down and let me bully him for a bit.”

The audience cackles and goes quiet. Stanley repeats himself, “My mum’s dead!”

A ripple of gasps and laughs emanates from the audience, waiting for Lawrence’s reaction. She’s good at this - faking it while knowing exactly what she’s doing. She pretends to pause, freezing in place and sucking her teeth as if this has thrown a spanner in the works, and then shrugs.

“Killed by your dad for giving his son such a stupid fucking name, I imagine.” She replies flippantly, the thunderous laughter that follows evidencing a job well done. “Mistake after mistake. I’ll tell you, though, not to worry Stanley, or the rest of you lot I guess. I’ve made tons of mistakes.”

She launches into a favourite crowd-pleaser. It’s the perfect set up, an emotional moment of her life, the build up to telling her mum a crucial bit of information about her life, and them wham- she imitates her mum, screams “Niiiiick! Your daughter wants to tell you she’s gaaaaay!”

It’s the perfect intersection of a joke well told, a slightly sensitive topic, and a haha gay is funny moment that always ends with howls of laughter from her audience. Maybe she’s slightly overconfident, but being this good at twenty two feels like a fucking achievement, and she’s seriously proud of herself.

Her next story has been told so many times she hardly thinks about it anymore. It hurt at first, the first few times she told it, the chuckles just solidifying the idea of having fruitlessly attempted something that would never work, but by now it’s just a cringey look back on the past and a good opportunity for some pity, relatable laughs.

It’s not like it matters, anyway. They text sometimes, every few weeks probably, but Lawrence hasn’t seen Ellie since she came home for a week in her second year of uni. The ache is virtually gone, and she’s always had a knack for finding the humour in pain.

“See!” Lawrence finishes, spreading her arms wide. “Making mistakes is fine, hens! I haven’t seen her in about two years but that’s in the fine print and we all know no one fucking reads that. It totally won’t destroy the things you love if you take a risk!”

She grimaces as if grinning in pain, feigning a heartache that has long since left her. Lawrence is at peace with everything life has thrown at her thus far, something that has taken patience, hard work, and plenty of distraction techniques.

“Edinburgh, as always you’ve been fuckin’ amazing, I’ve been your favourite fat bitch Lawrence Chaney and this has been a waste of your time. Goodnight to you all!”

There’s something she’ll always find funny about naming her show A Waste Of Your Time. It’s so stupid and yet so perfect.

Once she’s off stage, she disentangles herself from the microphone and reaches for her water and her phone, both parched and interested to see if anyone has tweeted about her in the five minutes they’ve had leaving the venue. Instead, she glances at the screen and her heart drops.

Ellie Diamond [20.04pm]: Hiya slag!! Good luck with your show tonight, keep an eye out for a familiar face in the audience ;) xx

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Lawrence tears through the dressing room, out through the little back door, aware of venue technicians probably gawking at this flurry of purple sequins and panicked yells. She all but races out of the fire exit and frantically scans every passing figure on the street, her stomach churning and twisting horribly.

“ELLIE!” She shouts, more than conscious of how ridiculous she must look. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. ELLIE! ELLIE DIAMOND!”

She legs it further down the street. It’s Scotland, it’s night, and it’s fucking freezing, but Lawrence ignores the cold. The streets are mostly full of people ready for their nights out, heels clicking through puddles illuminated by orange street lamps, and here is Lawrence barrelling through everyone, desperately hoping to see a flash of pink amongst them all.

Her heart feels like it’s beating at a mile a minute, thumping so hard it could burst right out of her chest. In some sick way, she hopes it does, hopes to see the wet muscle glistening and bleeding on the pavement before her in the hopes that Ellie, dependable Ellie, always there for her Ellie, will rush to her aid and help fix everything.

Why would she, though? Why would she when she’s just sat and listened to Lawrence slander their poor attempt at loving each other and shrugging it off as if they’re better apart, distanced, no longer joined at the hip? It’s all a lie, it’s all a fucking lie constructed for stage that Lawrence has foolishly duped herself into believing until now. She really had herself convinced that loving Ellie was a thing of the past, and that she thrived best on her own, when in reality Ellie held the key to everything that Lawrence considered good and right and beautiful about herself.

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie. Where the fuck is Ellie?

In the midst of her blind panic, it hits her that Ellie hasn’t moved home yet, meaning she will have gotten the train into Edinburgh for the show. Pushing down the wave of guilt that engulfs her at the thought of Ellie’s endless support, she dashes across the roads, dodging buses and running like her life depends on it towards the station. She’s lucky it’s not too far from the venue, but there’s still no guarantee she’ll find her before the train sweeps her away back to Manchester or wherever the fuck else she decides to go to get away from her shitty excuse for a friend.

Everything that happens next feels like it’s solely fuelled by adrenaline, panic, and sweat. Lawrence vaguely remembers squinting at little digital times and place names until she found one that seemed right, her eyes so frenzied in their search for the correct platform that it’s a wonder she’s not arrested or phoned an ambulance on suspicion of too many hallucinogenics.

On her way down the steps to the platform, she’s going so fast that her foot slips and she crashes all the way down, embarrassingly unhurt besides the humiliation and a bruised arse, but it makes such a commotion that everyone on the (thankfully almost deserted) platform turns to look at her.

Including a tall, pretty girl with pastel pink hair tied in a curly high ponytail, big pink heart earrings dangling from her ears, and a surprisingly not pink, but lilac, minidress.

“Oh my god,” Ellie murmurs, just as Lawrence swears, “Fucking OW, Jesus in a fucking minivan!”

She looks hurt; perfect eyeliner smudged in the corners, as if she’s been blinking tears away, but in spite of that she giggles. “A minivan?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Lawrence curses, dusting herself off and huffing at what’s now an uncomfortably wet trouser suit and a myriad of bruises from arsecheek to thigh. “My life just flashed before my eyes.”

Ellie extends a hand to help her up. Lawrence takes it, and doesn’t let go.

“Lawrence,” She says uneasily, “I- my train’s in five minutes–”

“Fuck your train.” She responds, too achy and upset for nuance. “Ellie, I’m so sorry, you have to let me explain–”

“You explained yourself quite well on stage, hen.” Ellie cuts her off, sniffing. “You were very eloquent. It was funny.”

The flatness in her voice is agonising to hear. Lawrence thinks she might burst.

“You- I- I mean, fuck me. You must- you must know when I’m bullshitting, right? Hen, I’ve been telling this narrative for years trying to make myself believe it but you always could tell when I was lying about something,” She rushes out, terrified that Ellie’s train will arrive and she’ll disappear forever.

Ellie’s face crumples. She pulls her hand away from Lawrence’s grasp and as she sobs, hides behind her palms, as if her shuddering shoulders and heartbroken cries will vanish along with her face. The loss of contact is felt sorely, Lawrence feeling as though a piece of her is suddenly missing, and reasoning that a piece has been missing for a long long time, and she’s only feeling the excruciating loss now that she almost had it again.

Lawrence has never known what to do what someone cries. It just hurts and feels awkward and she’s terrified that this will be another day in the art classroom, hiding feelings behind smiles and waiting uncomfortably for something else to happen.

“I know,” Ellie gasps through tears, surprising her. “God- Lawrence, I- I knew you were lying but it fucking hurts that you’d give me this stupid hope that something could happen when we already know it’s the shittest idea either of us has ever had-”

Ellie’s still talking, but Lawrence tunes out completely as the two glowing eyes of the train approaching glare at her with a malicious intensity. Times up, Chaney. Life doesn’t always find a way.

Fuck that, she thinks. Fuck relying on life to fix everything. Life didn’t hand Lawrence her comedy job. Life didn’t hand her Ellie on a friendship bench. Lawrence applied for the job. Lawrence approached Ellie. She’s in control, she can take control back, and she fucking will.

The train draws closer.

Lawrence kisses Ellie.

Both of them are crying - the kiss is uncomfortable, salty, wet. Lawrence didn’t even know she was crying, but she’s so close to Ellie slipping through her fingers that it’s no surprise her emotions have run away with her. It’s been too long without her best friend, too long suppressing and ignoring and laughing it off, and if this is another mistake then she’ll add it to her stand up routine and move on, but she’s never been more sure of anything in her life.

The rest of the world disappears in the moments following the kiss. Their foreheads touch, and the only sounds are Ellie’s shaky breaths, the only smell is her sweet perfume, the only sensation is her skin against Lawrence’s. There are no trains, no passengers, no cold draughts sweeping through and chilling them to the bone.

There is just Ellie Diamond and Lawrence Chaney.

Reality, eventually, floats back in - just as the train pulls away from the station. Ellie looks at Lawrence.

“You made me miss my train home.”

“Hen, y’already are home. This is home, us, me and you. I’m shattered from pretending like that’s not the case.” She pauses. “No, actually. I’m fattered. Fat and shattered.”

Ellie laughs, and her eyes fill with tears. “Christ. Lawrence. I’ve missed you so much.”

Lawrence wakes up feeling suffocated. Upon closer inspection - she’s being suffocated.

She groans, low and tired. “Ells. Ells.”

The monster slumbers on.

“Ellieeeeee,” She groans again. “Move off me, you fat bitch.”

That one works. Ellie yawns, stretches, and slides back onto her side of the bed, rather than on top of her girlfriend.

“Rude,” She replies, voice thick with sleep. “I thought I told you not to mention the stone I’ve put on over Christmas.”

Lawrence snorts. “And I agreed not to, but you were crushing me to death. No more mince pies for you.”

Ellie buries her face in the pillow. “Yeah, ‘cause you scoffed them all.”

“Get fucked.”

This is her favourite kind of domestic bliss. They will never be able to hold a conversation without delightfully destroying each other’s characters, but as they do so, Ellie wriggles the covers back over them and cuddles up to her back like a warm little leech, hooking a leg over her and pulling her close. Christmas is a flurry of making sure everything’s done but Boxing Day has time for slowing down, sleeping late, giggling against one another’s skin.

Lawrence isn’t sure how they made it work, what they did different, but they’re four years strong and hosting their friends for Boxing Day dinner to make up for the family fiascos that Christmas inevitably brings. Somehow, they just found their way, and now they’re here. Wrapped up in bed in matching Snowman pyjamas (thanks to Ellie), having some kind of family of their own.

Ellie flips over, lying flat on her back, and groans. “Lawrie, I can’t be arsed to cook.”

“Well I’m not cooking an entire fucking roast for everyone by myself, you lazy bawbag. We’re in this shit together.” Lawrence tells her.

Ellie shakes her head. “No, think about it. What if we ordered one of the readymade ones from that place up the road and then just stick it in the oven to pull out when whoever gets here first gets here?”

Lawrence stretches, enjoying the satisfying pops and clicks. “You mean, when Bims gets here? Tayce and A’Whora will be late, we all know that.”

“Yeah. Like, ta-dah, we cooked this, no one’s any the wiser, Bob’s your uncle’s fanny or whatever.”

“Bob’s- Ellie, what the fuck did you just say?”

“I am very, very tired.” Ellie defends herself, as Lawrence howls with laughter. “I’m not sure what language I’m even speaking hen. Can we just order dinner and be done with it?”

Lawrence is a weak, weak woman.

The prepared meal smells amazing, a fake chicken absolutely smothered in all the goodness of a Christmas roast, veggies all neatly packed together, everything steaming and hot. Ellie turns the oven on to keep everything warm and they high-five one another a job well done before scrambling to get ready.

Everything goes according to plan. Bimini, predictably, is on time, and A’Whora and Tayce show up late, flustered, apologies spilling from their mouths as soon as the door swings open. Lawrence tries to play housewife and reveal her perfect roast from the oven, but burns herself on the tray and sits swearing next to the cold tap while Ellie, smartly equipped with oven gloves, takes it all out instead.

“Oh, this is lush!” Tayce clinks her glass with Bim’s, the Bucks’ Fizz freely flowing. “Absolute bang up job, gals, just brilliant. And the atmosphere too, so cosy! Love the candles. Especially love the distinct lack of pointed homophobic stares.”

A’Whora laughs. “Oh my god, don’t even. Yesterday was a disaster.”

Lawrence frowns. “I’m sorry, are my looks not reading as homophobic? They were meant to. I’ll work on it, don’t you worry.”

The table is merry; Bimini asks if every dish is vegan despite being told in advance that everything was, Tayce and A’Whora rant about their nightmare families, and Lawrence basks in the warmth of having a real family gathered at her table, deciding it was worth the effort to get them all to come.

Plates cleared, Bims grins. “Ellie, you’re not one to forget, make sure you thank Gosling’s down the road for this roast. Easily a ten out of ten.”

Bimini, Tayce and A’Whora all burst into laughter. Ellie gasps, Lawrence folds her arms.

“How’d you know?” She demands, certain their ruse was foolproof. Bimini points at the bin.

“The delivery bag’s sticking out, babes. Also, neither of you can cook worth shit. Not a joke, just a fact.”

Lawrence smacks Ellie’s arm. “You fucking twit! Didn’t even hide the bag!”

Ellie yelps. “Lawrie! Abuse! Abuse!”

A’Whora simpers. “Aww, I love it when you two get all cute and affectionate like that. It’s such a classic romance.”

Four simultaneous middle fingers, though great for getting their point across, make the perfect bait for a night of teasing to fill the rest of the evening. These girls are absolutely rotten to the core, and Lawrence loves them to death.

“How did you know she was the one?”

It takes a moment for Lawrence to flip through her rolodex of memories that contain Ellie; god knows there’s millions, and though she maintains that thirty five isn’t old, she has to admit at least privately that her memory isn’t as quick as it used to be. Tayce gives her the time to think about it, eager to be sure as if she’s not one of the most cautious people regarding relationships that Lawrence has ever met.

The café is in the middle of the city, yet tucked away behind the high street. It’s become something of a sanctuary, somewhere for her to relax, to write, or just waste the hours where going home feels too far but staying feels too close. Tayce has been visiting as a show of support, but undoubtedly her second motive was a factor in it too.

“Hen, there’s not a moment I could tell you. It’s just a feeling, you’ll know. I think you know, but you wanna know if I knew the same way you know.” She answers, feeling like a bit of a cop-out, but unable to muster the mental energy to come up with something better.

Tayce sips her latte thoughtfully. “Yeah, I mean…” She pauses guiltily, but continues, “the thought of doing what you’re doing - I feel like I couldn’t, but then I know that if it came to it I absolutely could.”

Lawrence nods. “Right. When you have to, you just do. You don’t think about.” She smiles, internally focused on what happened that made her so swoony and sappy after all this time. “Babes, when you’re ready, just do it. You don’t need me to tell you how you feel. The fact that you’re asking is enough.”

It’s pretty fucking sound advice, not bad for a university drop-out turned full-time comedian. What expertise does Lawrence have beyond her own lived experience? Certainly not enough to advise someone like Tayce, who still looks twenty five.

The woman in question looks down at her watch and sighs regrettably. “I’ve gotta go. Want me to walk you back?”

Lawrence shakes her head. “Nah. I know the way like the back of my hand, trust me. Go get your girl, get them invites out as soon as you can.”

They embrace tightly outside the café door; Tayce whispers encouragement in her ears, presses kisses to the side of her head, wills her to be strong. Lawrence watches her until she’s gone, then begins the same walk that’s etched into her brain, a groove of familiarity at this point. She even knows where the wind will whip through separations between buildings, when to put her hands into her pockets to stop the rush of cold from attacking them and when she’ll be shielded.

She knows the exact placement of each hand sanitizer dispenser so well that she can press each of them along her walk without stopping or fumbling. She knows roughly who will be on duty, whose smiling faces she’ll be greeted by. She knows that Ellie will be awake.

“It’s looking good!” Ellie informs her, mere seconds after she’s entered the room. “Just spoke with the nurse. No longer than a month.”

She looks tired, but she looks beautiful nonetheless; free of makeup, hair piled up on top of her head, dressed in a pink nightie that Lawrence had to run out and buy from Sainsbury’s since she didn’t need nor want one of the horrible hospital gowns. There are tubes and machines around her bed that Lawrence has grown to take no notice of, instead just leaning down to kiss her wife’s head before settling in the chair beside her and squeezing her free hand.

“A month? I like the sound of that.” She appraises, peppering Ellie’s fingers in kisses. “Plenty of time for us to get ready for Tayce and A’Whora’s wedding.”

Ellie squeals excitedly. “Stop it! Are they?”

She laughs. “Not right now, but any minute. Tayce just asked how I knew, as if I’d be able to answer.”

“Bitch.” Ellie sticks her tongue out. “Still not able to find a single nice thing to say about me?” She laughs at her own joke and then frowns. “Rude of Tayce not to tell me about her proposal plans.”

Lawrence rolls her eyes. “Hen, you were fast asleep. She wasn’t about to wake you up for random gossip.”

Ellie pouts. “Tell her I’m upset.”

“Will do.”

“And to reserve us the biggest slices of their wedding cake.”

“Oh, definitely gonna do that one. Knew I married you for a reason.”

Ellie beams triumphantly. “See! Stick that in your text to Tayce, having a wife is helpful.”

“I’d say you’re a handful more than you’re helpful, babes, but whatever you say.”

Lawrence promised years ago to love her wife in sickness and in health. She has kept true, and always will.

“If this DJ plays one more Lady Gaga song I’m going to fucking lose my mind.”

Ellie rolls her eyes, shushing her wife with a glare. “It’s the bride’s choice! You miserable old bitch.”

Lawrence looks at her, properly. She’s alive with light again, eyes like the starry sky, always complementing her prettily flushed cheeks with her pink hair and dress. Ellie bleaches her roots now to hide the encroaching greys, but Lawrence knows she’d be just as gorgeous with a full head of silver.

“I love you,” She says, the words slipping out before she can thinking about it.

Ellie smiles, and every problem in the world dissipates. “Sentimental old cow. I love you too.”

Fuck the brides. Lawrence kisses Ellie and promises she’ll dance to as many shit songs as the DJ will play. That’s just sort of what love is.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #uk2 #purecamp #lawrence chaney #ellie diamond #ellie x lawrence #a'whora #tayce #bimini bon boulash #lesbian au #tw brief body shaming

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normal-thoughts-official · 3 years

Text

The world keeps spinning (it really shouldn't)

Vance did it. He defeated Josephine, saved his grandpa and Elliot, and saved the town. Everything's fixed.

No. Everything is awful. He failed, and now his friend- now Tom is gone.

And he'd rather fight Josephine all over again, because it'd be easier than what he has to do now- tell Andy about it.

Fandom: It Lives (Visual Novels)

Relationships: Andy Kang/Tom Sato, Danni Asturias/Imogen Wescott, (dannimogen is background and very brief but i couldn't resist), Andy Kang & Ava Cunningham & Lucas Thomas & Lily Ortiz

Additional Tags: tom dies and everything is awful, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Friendship, for basic context im going with the version of ILITW that i got, which is that everyone survived and noah took jane's place, and then for ILB i did the version where tom dies obviously, (which is not the version i got), (everyone survived), (i feel the need to say this for my own ego), but anyway i was like what if tho. andy would be devastated, and then... this happened?, only difference from canon is that ILITW MC told everyone about noah a lot before, also like. imma be real with yall, im physically uncapable of giving my MCs serious names, so ILB MC was named That Bitch and i didnt want to give him a real name, cuz it felt like betrayal, so im just calling him vance for this one, is it his nickname? is he called vance vance? dont worry about it, Anyway that's it, Pining, you know. before the death part. it's mentioned, also we're ignoring the whole richard tries to murder MC thing, cuz i dont have time for that, so pretend ILB ended on chapter 17, Hopeful Ending, considering the theme i mean

Read it on Ao3

The city of Westchester looks exactly the same, but somehow feels a lot less wholesome, now. Vance walks in it and feels like a corpse among the living, like a ghost screaming to everyone that something's wrong. And being ignored.

It shouldn't look the same, without Tom.

But no one knows, yet.

He swallows, running a hand behind the nape of his neck. That's why he's here, anyway - they should know, they deserve to know, and he doesn't want to have the funeral without Tom's friends there.

Which is why he's going to tell Andy. Himself, in person. Because he might not know him very well, but he wants to do the right thing, and that's the least Andy deserves. He knows there's no one Tom loved like he did Andy, and from what he's seen of them together, the feeling was mutual.

He has to do this. But he feels sick, just thinking about that bond, and how it was ruined.

How could he let this happen to them?

He was so cocky, so stupid, so reckless... He thought everything would turn out okay. Assumed it would, even, because it kept getting him through it, to think that everything would turn out fine.

God. What a joke.

He walks into the little diner Andy had recommended. I'm sure you've heard of that place, Tom loves it, he had texted. We always went there to celebrate our wins back in high school. His stomach had churned, but he didn't say anything, because he wasn't going to tell Andy via text. He has to do this right. It's the least he owes him.

So he pretended that everything was fine, and agreed to meet him there. Woke up, and dragged himself to the place, trying to muster up the courage to face the world that seemed to not even care about his mistakes.

When he gets to the diner's door, he takes a deep breath, trying to ground himself for what he's about to do. Face his own mistakes. Face the pain he caused when he failed them both.

He walks in, and to his relief, and despair, Andy is already there. He smiles brightly when he sees Vance, and Vance wants to disappear.

"Vance! Nice to see you, dude. I heard about what went down in Pine Springs, glad you're okay," he says, not giving time for Vance to answer before continuing, this weird sense of calm and sympathy about him. "So, I assume you still need help with that ghost? From what I've seen in the news, it seemed like you handled it pretty well, but it's not like they are giving us supernatural updates or anything, so I figured there were still some loose ends to tie. Are the other guys coming? Where's Tom?" he looks over behind Vance, and Vance wants to die at the question. God, how is he going to tell him? He didn't really think about that, beyond the part where he has to. "I kind of thought you'd come together again. Bad move to come separated, Tom is always late to everything, I swear if it weren't for me he'd have been kicked out of the team for missing practice too many times. And I'm not the most punctual guy in the world, mind you, but I still had to drag his ass there so he'd be on time- is everything okay?"

Vance is a little shocked by the question. It's not, but what is he supposed to answer? "Andy," he says, a little careful, "things… went a little wrong, back there."

"Oh, shoot," he says, "I'm sorry, man, I kinda assumed, when I heard about how the flooding and the animal attacks were in full swing and then just stopped suddenly, that that was when you got rid of the ghost, you know? And seeing you all in one piece… I thought it was over already. Do you need help? I can round up the guys, and we can go-"

"No, Andy," Vance says, "the ghost is gone."

Andy looks at him, confused. "Then what's the problem?"

"Tom," he says, then winces when he sees all the color drain from Andy's face.

Andy waits for barely a second, then breaks into anxious questioning. "Tom? Why? What do you mean? Is he hurt? How bad is it? Did he have to go to the hospital? Where is he?"

Vance wants to cry. God. God. He can't do this. "Andy..."

Andy just looks at him, eyes wild, terrified, and it hasn't even hit him yet. "Vance. Vance. Please. What happened? Does Tom need me? Because if so, we need to go-"

"Tom's gone," he says, and it leaves him in a rush, a whisper, taking with it the last of his energy. He's empty, and somehow, it's still awful. "He's… he's dead, Andy."

Andy looks at him, eyes wide, unfocused, lost. "This isn't funny," he says. "If Tom put you up to this, knock it off right now. Tell him not to ever joke about-"

"Andy," Vance says, then swallows. "Tom wouldn't joke about that. You know that."

"No, he wouldn't, but..." His eyes begin to water, panic settling in, gaze darting across the room as if searching for him, "But… No. No. No, knock it off."

Vance starts crying before Andy does. "I'm sorry, Andy."

--------

Andy is in shock. He freezes in place, mouth hanging open, everything about him completely still except for his eyes, still so damn wide, still searching the place, searching Vance, begging for something, anything. Vance sits him back down on the table, gently, and Andy lets himself be handled back, eyes still not settling on him.

"I'm sorry," Vance says. "I… I promised you that I would take care of him. I tried, but… I'm so sorry."

"How?" he asks, "how could this happen? This isn't… After Redfield, when everyone survived, I just… I didn't think any of us could lose to another monster, I..." He shakes his head, vigorously, desperately. "This was supposed to be over. We were done, we were free, it was supposed to be over, we were all supposed to be safe, it shouldn't..."

"I'm sorry. It all happened so fast, I… If I had been faster, maybe..."

"Well, it's a bit late for that now," Andy snaps, and Vance bites his lip, not recoiling, because he deserves it. Then Andy stops, as if realizing what he had said, and for a second, his eyes seem clear again. He shakes his head. "No. I'm sorry. I… If there's anything I've learnt from everything that happened, it's that we can't point fingers when things get hard." He finally looks up at Vance, shaking, eerily still, nothing like the guy he was just seconds ago. He's wrecked, Vance thinks, and he wants to tear at himself in guilt. "What happened? Did he- did he drown, or… Did the ghost..."

"We were fighting monsters," Vance explains. "There were just… So many of them, and it all happened so fast, I..." he looks away, not daring to look back at the memory, not daring to remember the awful scene. As if he has to. Everytime he closes his eyes, it's back, punishing him. "We got his body," he explains. "Pine Springs is taking the victims to mass graves, but we wanted to give him a proper burial. I thought… You'd want to come."

Andy seems surprised, like that hadn't crossed his mind. "You haven't buried him yet?"

Vance bites his lip. "No. We're doing it tonight. We didn't have the time before, and… Well, I thought you'd want to be there. And I think he'd have wanted his body to be in Westchester, so..." He trails off.

Andy looks at him, hesitant. He bites his lip, looks away, then back at him. "Can I see the body?"

Vance does recoil, this time. He wasn't expecting this question. "I… You won't want to."

"What do you mean, I won't want to? I need to say goodbye to him, I-"

"Andy," he says, as gently as possible, because he deserves Andy's anger, all of it, but he won't let him do that to himself. "You won't want to remember him like that. His body…" He looks at Andy's eyes. He's still furious, livid, shaking, and he's lost, and Vance realizes that he doesn't get it, doesn't understand what Vance is saying, and this might be even worse than having to tell him Tom is dead. "It's torn to pieces, Andy. There's not much for you to see."

Andy freezes, for the second time that day. "Was he- oh, god," he looks at his own shaky hands, somehow even more in shock than before. "Was it… At least, was it quick?"

Vance starts crying again. He opens his mouth to answer. He can't. He chokes on the words, on his guilt, on his uselessness. "I'm so sorry, Andy."

------

Andy throws up. Once, twice. He doesn't insist on looking at the body. Obviously, he can't. Just imagining it- it's too much.

He tries to comfort Vance, because he- he's trying to do better, with his anger, with his impulsiveness, but all he can think about is how much he wants to destroy something, and honestly, the whole conversation is a blur. He punches the wall instead, once he gets home. And throws up. Again and again. Sends his friends a message, letting them know about the funeral. Cries. Punches the wall again. And again, and again, hoping that his hands will start to bleed, that he'll tear himself apart. His mom asks what's got him so angry, and he yells, "Tom is dead!". Her face twists in shock, and he can't look at it. He runs away.

Being back outside is almost worse. Everything- it should be in shambles. The whole town, the whole world should be on fire, fizzling, filled with screams and despair, like Andy is. He's never lived in a world without Tom before, never been away from him his whole life, and it shouldn't look like it's just the same. Everything should be gone, destroyed. And it is, but it doesn't look that way, and Andy wants to tear it all apart until it makes sense, at least.

He hates Westchester now. He hates it. God damn the stupid woods, and the stupid cult, and the fucking Power! God damn Andy for telling Tom about it, for letting him become this sort of- monster hunter, for believing that just because they overcame a ghost once, it would keep happening if they pushed their luck.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Tom can't be dead. It's impossible.

How can Andy still be standing, if Tom isn't here?

---------

He wanders like that the rest of the day, not noticing the hunger that builds up after going a whole day without eating, not noticing the passersby looking at him worriedly, not noticing the thousands of missed calls from his mom, not noticing anything but this awful despair. He knows the feeling of wanting to claw his chest off intimately well, but it's never been like that before. He wants to carve himself hollow. He wants to scream. He wants to run. And he runs from the all-encompassing nothingness, even though he has nowhere to go.

He goes from angry to empty, and then back to angry, all day long, and the day passes in a blur.

--------

Andy meets up with Vance and two girls from their crew. Their group was pretty small, he realizes. A lot smaller than Andy's was, all those years ago. Three years ago. Forever ago. Another lifetime. Just yesterday.

The cemetery is empty, but there's a grave with a black casket they're standing next to. "I thought all the cemetery crew was helping Pine Springs," he says, like he cares. Honestly, he hadn't thought about the logistics of this at all.

"They are," Vance confirms, serious. "You, uh… You know about Noah, right…?"

Andy nods. "Yeah, we, uh, reintroduced ourselves to him a little after you guys left." It was weird, to say the least. All that anger, all that betrayal, bubbling up again right when they had all started to move on from what had happened, to think that it was over… The urge to scream at him, demand answers… And then seeing all the hurt, and the confusion, and remembering that they had loved Noah, once, most of their lives, and that at the end of the day, the only one who had suffered from his actions was himself.

It wasn't easy to forgive. Not to Andy. Or Stacy. Or Ava. But they had been working on it. Maybe they couldn't forgive, much less forget, but at the same time, they couldn't get rid of that bond, either.

Still… "What does this have to do with… With Tom?" If Noah had anything to do with his death, Andy would kill him all over again. He doesn't care about his freaky powers, he'll die if he has to, but Noah will pay.

"He, uh, helped. Dig the grave and, uh, get a casket. That's how we got everything ready."

Oh. "I… I see," he says. "Is he here?"

"No. I told him you guys were coming, and he said it was better if he left."

"Oh," Andy answers. "I guess that's… Yeah. Still..." he raises his voice a little bit, in the direction of the woods. "Thank you, Noah."

He doesn't see or hear anything, not really, but still, somehow, he can tell that Noah is pleased. He can picture Noah's smile and that fragile little "friendsss..."

He sighs, suddenly exhausted.

Vance seems to notice, god bless his soul. "Are the others coming?", he asks, gently.

"Lily, Lucas, and Ava are," Andy replies. "The rest were out of town, and they… They won't make it."

"I'm sorry."

Andy kicks a pebble. "It's fine," he says. It's the kind of lie that's so absurd that it becomes true. Nothing is fine. It'll never be fine. So it doesn't matter at all, and it ends up being fine.

Vance seems to realize what's going through his head, somehow, because he looks unsure of what to say. Finally, he settles on, "uh, Andy. These are Danni, and Imogen," he says, gesturing to each of them, and Andy musters up enough energy to look at their faces while he does that, at least. Then, his eyes widen for a second, finally taking in what they look like.

"Wait, you're Imogen Wescott?" he says, a little dumbfounded. "When I heard that name, I kinda expected you to be, you know..."

"White and insufferable?" Imogen asks, a little smile directed at him, so gentle he can barely handle it. "Yeah. That's why I'd rather go by Genny, usually."

Danni frowns at her, slightly troubled. "You never told me that."

Imogen's smile turns a little brighter. "Oh, no, not for you, Danni. For you, I'd rather go by 'babe'".

Danni also smiles at her, and they squeeze each other's hands, and the edges of grief seem to turn just a little softer for them both. Andy can tell that things get just a little easier for them, just a little less grim, because they have each other. And he needs to look away, wants to run, because he and Tom… They could've… In a way, they were...

He feels like he's ready to run again. God, he fucked up so bad. What was he supposed to do now, how could he get better when the one thing in the world that always made him feel better was Tom? He lost him, he's gone, it's over, and somehow it hadn't hit quite the way it did at that moment, looking at that connection, that love that showed through grief. He averts his eyes, feeling wild and cornered, and turns back right in time to almost run into Lily - who looks devastated, and reaches out to touch his arm. Which feels crazy, because Andy is raw, and his whole body is bleeding, and rotting away, and who would touch him-

"I'm so sorry, Andy." She says, and Andy finds himself hugging her tight, and he feels like she should wither, die at his touch, suffocate, but she just hugs him back and pats him and Andy cries on her shoulder, and he's never cried in front of her before, much less like this. But he can't stop, he can't do anything, he's so heavy and dizzy and lost-

And Lily is stronger than they give her credit for, because she holds him, this endless weight that is him, even when he shakes and stains her sweater with tears, like it's nothing. She feels so solid, right then, the only solid thing in the world. She's got him, Andy knows, and it's like finally he ran into something he can take shelter in. He takes a deep breath, then another, and holds on for dear life.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing he says, maybe the only thing he knows how to say right now. Maybe this is how Jane felt, in the end - this endless spectre of regret, bigger than everything, than everyone, encompassing her and drowning her until it ate her whole and left her empty, with only the Power and its evil inside her.

He's so tired, but he's not empty, not yet.

He almost wants to be.

"Don't apologize," Lily says, so sad and sympathetic, and it takes Andy a moment to realize what she's even talking about. "I'm really sorry, I..."

It's only then that Andy's eyes focus enough to see Ava and Lucas standing a little after her, their faces twisted with sadness and bodies frozen in place. At times like this, it really is obvious that Lily is the bravest out of all of them, by far. Andy doesn't think he's ever cried in front of any of them, and Lucas and Ava look- completely lost.

Lucas is the first to talk, out of them both. His voice is very soft. "Andy, if there's anything you need..."

Ava interrupts, words leaving her way too fast. "We'll be staying with you tonight." She blinks for a second, frowning at Lucas. "Sorry, I, uh, hadn't realized you were talking." She looks like she just came out of a daze. She probably had been running that in her head for a while. Lucas puts his hand on her shoulder, and Ava runs a head on her neck, embarrassed.

"It's okay," Andy answers, even though her apology wasn't directed at him. "You don't have to, you know, watch over me or..." He trails off.

"We're not leaving you alone," Ava says, resolute. "You know the others couldn't come, but we all agreed that we should be… You know..."

Andy chokes on something he can't quite feel. He looks down at his feet, and he hasn't felt this small in years. "I… Okay."

Ava reaches out to him, hesitant, and gives him a little pat on the shoulder. Lucas starts rubbing his back soothingly, and, very awkwardly, they gravitate into a group hug. Andy can see the nervousness in Ava's eyes, the worry that she's doing this wrong somehow, like a hug is the most complex thing in the world, and he tries to muster up a little smile of encouragement to her, but he's forgotten how to do that. He doesn't know how to do anything, anymore.

Slowly, they separate, and all three of them still keep some sort of touch with Andy - even Ava, with her hand close to his shoulder - like they're trying to anchor him, but he drifts away anyway, lost in whatever it is that's left of himself.

Vance looks down at him for a moment, as if waiting for a signal, but Andy doesn't know for what, so he waits for Vance to figure it out. Finally, he says, "should we start?"

Andy frowns. "Wasn't there some other guy with you? Pork something?"

Vance, Imogen, and Danni all look at each other, uncertain, surprised, for a moment. It's Imogen who speaks up. "He… He left us."

Ava swallows. "Did he also..."

"No," she says, shaking her head, sadly. "He, uh, deserted the group."

"He what?" Someone asks, shocked, almost outraged, and when Andy sees the looks in everyone's faces, he realizes that it was him.

"He couldn't take it," Vance says, face twisted with sadness. "All the fighting, the monsters… He left."

Andy is shaking. Falling apart. About to explode. "When?"

Vance doesn't look at him. "Right before the final battle."

"He abandoned you when you were going up against the evil ghost?"

"He..." Vance begins, then finds that he has nothing else to say. "Yeah."

"How…" Andy begins, lost for words, and then it happens. He explodes. "How dare he!" He screams. "Tom was counting on him, he trusted him, he needed him, and he just left? He should have been there! He should have been there, he should," Andy looks at his own hands, in shock, watching them tremble and go out of focus, like there are tears blocking his vision, and he feels sick, on the verge of death, and he realizes that he's not talking about that guy at all. "He should have been there!" He slips from his own control, falling to his knees, covering his face, feeling shame, shame, shame, hatred, disgust. "He should… I should… Oh God, I just let him go alone..."

"Andy..." Someone says. Maybe Lucas. Maybe Lily. Maybe the Imogen girl. It sounds so sympathetic. He wants to claw at his own skin and hide.

"I should have been there, I shouldn't… I had experience, what was I thinking..."

"Tom didn't want you to go," someone else says, gently. "I was there when you talked, remember? You didn't abandon him. You said you were going to come, and he told you not to."

"Tom.. Tom is not my damn boss," Andy answers, still covering his face, feeling the tears stop spilling and start to drown him from the inside, and god damn T, the least Tom deserves is for him to be able to cry properly- "I-I should have… gone," he chokes, shaking.

The next one who speaks is Ava. "He wouldn't have wanted you to be at risk, Andy."

"I don't care. I don't care. I'm selfish like that, I'd rather it was me. I could have helped him, I could have saved him, even if I had to- to take his place..."

"Andy..." is all Ava says, sounding shaken, devastated.

"Fuck!" He screams, punching the ground beneath him as if trying to punish the earth for taking Tom. "He would have never left me like that, I could always count on Tom, I could always..." he feels his chest constrict, or maybe burst, with all the tears and horror inside of him, like he's cracking from the inside. "Always..." he can't form the words, can't find the air, and he falls in on himself, more, more, more, closing in, suffocating, "always..." he can't breathe. He can't breathe. He tries to draw it in, to keep himself steady, but every time he tries to bring it in, the air escapes from him again, further, abandoning him, and he wheezes, again, again, closing in further, suffocating, oh God, he's going to die…

"It's a panic attack!" Someone screams, then kneels beside him, putting their hands on his shoulders. "Andy. Andy. Focus on me. You need to breathe. Deep lungfuls. Come on. I'll count to four. Keep breathing in. 1… 2..."

"Can't," he wheezes. It's too strong, like there's something… Something constricting his chest, inside and outside, and then he realizes… "Binder." He sits down straighter, no longer closing in on himself, and that awful vulnerability gets even worse, but it's easier to breathe. He follows the person's counts… 1, 2, 3, 4… Then up to five, then to six, then to seven, then eight… Until finally he doesn't need help, and he opens his eyes and contemplates the absolute mess that he is, and Imogen's kind, relieved face just inches from him.

"Good, Andy, you did well… I have these sometimes, too, I know how scary they are, you were so brave..." Imogen keeps on saying, painfully understanding, and he nods, a bit exhausted to explain. He didn't take his binder off all day, didn't remember… And if he wears it for too long, he's more prone to hyperventilating, especially if he's stressed. Tom knew that. Tom would have known what was going on. Tom… Fuck.

"I'm sorry," he says, to everyone, and no one in particular.

"Don't apologize. We're all glad you're okay," Lily says, and he realizes that, somehow, she had also kneeled beside him and brought him into another hug. He hides his face on her shoulder, shaking his head, trying to breathe. Breathing. She pets his head, a little bit, and he can feel some more touch, too - little pats on his shoulder and back, all gentle, not crowding him, like he's some sort of wild animal they're trying to calm down.

God, what a mess.

He holds Lily tighter, wanting to hide from the world. She lets him, because it's the kind of person Lily is. He feels himself drift away, for a while, but Lily's still petting his head and he can't lose himself completely. He shakes his head, wanting to fight it, almost wanting to get away from Lily, but he can't escape the gentleness in her embrace. He still can't cry, but he feels his eyes water and burn anyway, and he shakes his head against Lily's shoulder. He just wants this to be over. Please, he's so exhausted.

His breaths even, despite himself, but Andy keeps shaking, and he keeps shaking his head slightly against Lily. He wants this to end, it has- has to be a nightmare…

"Shh, Andy, don't hold it in, it's okay," Lily says, slowly, sadly, and Andy shakes his head more vigorously. No. He can't be weak right now, it's only going to make it last longer. He needs to end it, can't be done with this until Tom has gotten his goodbyes.

It's the least Andy owes him, now that there's nothing else he can do.

So, he speaks up.

"We should go on," he says, suddenly feeling resolute. It's easier to do this if he has something to focus on. He needs to see this through the end, for Tom. If he thinks only about that...

"Are you sure?" Vance asks, hesitant.

Andy nods, forcing his vision to focus. "He needs to rest."

----------

Everyone's speeches go by in a blur. Vance talks about how good Tom's heart was, how he was willing to drop everything to go help a bunch of strangers, how everyone could always count on him. He cries, and he says he's sorry, and the girls put their arms around him, tell him that he did his best. Imogen brings up how kind he was, and Danni talks about his strength. They really loved him, Andy notices, and feels his heart settle just a little bit. He was loved till the end. Of course he was.

Lucas talks about how supportive Tom was, how he was always uplifting everyone around him and would let Lucas babble on about conservation for hours. Lily brings up how much he believed in her and supported her when she was making her videogames. Ava says that Tom was the only one who ever saw her looking up Westchester's history and cults and just… Sat down with her and helped, understanding that she needed this to feel safe, to feel ready, and sharing that burden of getting ready for a disgrace, just a little bit. Andy never knew that Tom had been joining Ava for research. He could've helped with that, too. He could have done a lot of things, if he had paid more attention.

He's left for last, and a part of him wants to be a coward, to stay silent, but that was never his style.

"When Tom had turned into a zombie," he begins, "Redfi- Jane made him hurt me. And I wasn't worried for myself. I was worried for him. I wanted him back, no matter what it took, no matter what happened to me," he begins, not looking at anyone in particular, because he knows most of them already know this story, but he's not going to- he's not going to deny Tom the chance to know how he felt about him, before he rests. It's the least Andy owes him.

So, he takes a deep breath and goes on, pushing himself into saying something that matters.

"Then our friends showed up, and they said that Tom was still there. That I had to reach out to him. So I tried. I talked to him about our childhood. About how much he had been supporting me… How he was my best friend. He was hesitant, but so… Scared. I didn't know what to do. Tom and I always got each other..." He loses himself a little, shaking his head, purging the thoughts that were keeping him from going on, "And then someone said, 'Andy's hurt. H-he needs help'." He loses focus for a second, and that can't happen. He takes a breath, tries to make himself talk. "And just like that… Tom came back.

"He extended his hand to me, and helped me to my feet, and suddenly there was color in his face again, and for a second he wasn't even confused as to what the hell was going on, he just wanted to make sure I was okay. He came back because I needed him. Because he couldn't bear to hurt me. He was always there for me, and I… I don't think I ever needed him more than right now."

He stops a minute, to look at the faces surrounding him. There's a grief in them that looks almost like… Pity.

And Andy isn't even mad about it. He feels pitiful.

"I'm not the best guy with words," he admits, "so I don't know how to express how much this meant to me, or how much Tom meant to me. No one understood me like him. Tom is… Was… No, is a part of me. Maybe the best part of me, because I loved him more than anything else about myself. I'll miss him for the rest of my life." He looks down at Tom's grave, carved out of anything else to say. "I love you, buddy."

It's not the greatest speech that's ever been given, but it's what he can say, and at least he's done it. He'll be able to do better, later. He'll come back to talk to him again. As many times as he can, for as long as he can. He swears on that.

Andy steps back from the grave, and doesn't look as they slowly fill it, covering the closed casket with dirt. He finally allows himself to let the exhaustion catch up with him, and is overcome by that blissful, blissful emptiness.

---------

He's fully expecting himself to drop asleep as soon as they get to Ava's place. They decided to stay there for the night, because Andy still doesn't want to face his mom, to see that same grief in her, for her to want to talk to him, to tell him that everything would be fine. He can't do that, not today. At least Lucas had enough foresight to warn her of where they are, so she should leave him alone for now. Lucas is very reliable in a crisis, Andy thinks, making a note to himself to thank him properly later.

But he can't sleep. He's too exhausted to even rest. And for some reason, even though he doesn't want to talk, that's exactly what he found himself doing for the past few hours. Vomiting up all sorts of memories and thoughts, ranging from funny moments he had with Tom to all of his regrets, and Andy's always been kind of a stress-talker, but it's never been like this. He feels like he's been skinned alive; there's nothing to hold himself together, to hold anything at all in.

He cries all the tears he didn't think he had left in him anymore, and he curses himself, and the guy who left them in the end, and Noah, and the Power, and the cult, and himself again. He scratches his own skin until Lucas gently takes his hands in his, stopping him from doing more of it. And he talks, through all of that. Talks and talks and talks.

The words make him drift through memories, through states of mind, and he knows he's so damn volatile today, it's like he can't anchor himself to a feeling, but his friends put up with him anyway.

Finally, he starts to settle into this sort of… Slowness, like his mind is clear, or maybe blank, even as he keeps on thinking. And he keeps talking through it, letting all the minor regrets have their turn after he's too damn done to keep dealing with the worst parts.

"I never told him I was in love with him," Andy says, staring at the three empty mattresses in front of him, because it's easier than looking at any of his friends, who are currently sitting right beside him, as he babbles on. "I was going to, you know? After R- Jane. I had almost died, so I figured, you know- yolo, and all that. And then I told myself, 'I'll wait until I'm out of the hospital.' And then I started to think… What if he didn't feel the same way? What if things got weird? What if I end up losing him? And I never told him," he looks at his own feet, "and now I lost him anyway."

They all just look at him. They used up all the "I'm sorry, Andy"s left in them a long time ago, he thinks. There's only so many platitudes you can muster up when you know they're worthless, when you're just repeating yourself.

God bless them for trying, though. They're sticking with him through their own- everyone's inadequacy to deal with what's going on. Andy can't thank them enough for that.

"He knew you loved him," Ava says, serious, and Andy frowns at her, doubtful. "He might not have known you were in love with him, but… He knew how much he meant to you. I'm sure of it."

Andy laughs, humorless, "did you finally get those mind reading powers you wanted?" he says. It falls flat, but they pretend it doesn't, for his sake.

Ava rolls her eyes. "Don't be an ass, Kang," she says. "No. I just… I can tell. Anyone can."

Andy bites his lip, looking away.

She presses on, as gently as she can. "Besides, you also know, don't you? Regardless of anything else… Tom loved you, just as much as you loved him."

"I still love him," Andy says, before he can think about it, and a weird kind of shame creeps up on him - for saying it, for not saying it sooner, for realizing that this… It'll probably never go away, even now that it's completely pointless, that it's just proof of his cowardice.

"That's… Normal," Lily says, fiddling a little with her sweater. "You don't forget someone just like that, just because something happened. I mean, look at me and Britney. It took me years to get over her, and even then, I had to have supernatural forces show me exactly who she was, first."

"She didn't deserve you," Ava says.

"Maybe not. It doesn't matter now," Lily says. "The point is… It's okay to still love him."

Andy hugs his knees. "I don't think anything is okay, right now."

"That's okay, too."

They stay in silence for a moment, and then Lucas speaks up. "I know 'it gets better' stories don't really help at times like these," he says, "so I won't tell you that, but… I know what it's like, to feel like nothing will ever be okay, ever be enough. So… At least you're not alone, in that feeling."

Andy's mouth does something. It's not a smile, but it's what it can do right now. "Yeah. At least it's not like last time," he says. "With Jane. We all fell apart, and… It felt really lonely, even though..." He chokes up. "I had Tom."

Lucas rubs at Andy's shoulder sadly, and Andy shakes his head.

"It's just that he didn't get it, you know? And I couldn't tell him, about what happened," he says, instead of thinking about how much worse this is, no matter how many friends he has by his side right now. "So I… Missed you guys." He finishes, ashamed.

"We get it," Ava says, solemn. "And we're sticking with you, this time around."

"Yeah," Lucas agrees.

"Yeah," Lily adds.

"Okay," Andy answers. "I… Thanks."

They hug him tighter. It's all they have to say.

#it lives #andy kang #tom sato #andy x tom #tom x andy #it lives beneath #ilb #it lives in the woods #ilitw #ilb mc #i feel like ive been editing this fic my entire life #also apparently i write deathfic now. thats uh. something #anne ways. have this

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

Text

One of the very last events I attended before the lockdown was a thing in Silicon Valley attended by many old friends, but the best moment of all was the chance to hang out with Kim Stanley Robinson, a friend and inspiration.

That's when Stan told me he had just finished a book that might be his last-ever novel, The Ministry For the Future, and that his future work would be nonfiction, starting with his long-planned book about the Sierras.

I was stricken. Robinson's novels are a lifeline for me.

The first Robinson novel I read may just be my favorite: Pacific Edge, a green utopian novel about a successful transition to a post-climate-emergency, just and stable world. Re-reading it is a vacation from all my anxieties, still.

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/01/15/pacific-edge-the-most-uplifting-novel-in-my-library/

My first novel, DOWN AND OUT IN THE MAGIC KINGDOM, wouldn't exist without Pacific Edge. That was the book that taught me that small disputes over beloved local treasures could be as dramatic as (and microcosms for) global conflicts.

I have been both dreading and anticipating MINISTRY FOR THE FUTURE, not wanting to read my last KSR novel but also wanting so badly to read this one, because it's the book in which he imagines the end of capitalism.

You've heard the phrase, "It is easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism," variously attributed to Frederic Jameson and Slavoj Žižek. As the author of a couple of postcapitalist novels, I have a real appreciation for the details of that truism.

It's actually not all that hard to imagine a postcapitalist society - but imagining the actual END of capitalism, the euthanasia of the rentier, the reversal of the doctrine of virtuous selfishness, the abandonment of the idea that some are born to rule, that is damned hard.

And while PACIFIC EDGE is my favorite KSR novel, my favorite KSR series is the string of books that starts with 2012's 2312 - a string of books that really leans hard into imagining the actual end of capitalism.

xhttps://memex.craphound.com/2015/01/15/pacific-edge-the-most-uplifting-novel-in-my-library/

2312 is set 300 years into postcapitalism. It's a novel of solar-system-scale civilization, riven by its own problems and contradictions, filled with tech marvels, a tale of natural wonders that showcase Robinson's incredible, John-Muir-grade genius for pastoral writing.

2312 was followed up by Aurora, one of the best space-exploration novels ever written, about the arrival of the first-ever generation ship at its destination world, and the hasty retreat it is required to stage.

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/11/02/kim-stanley-robinsons-aurora-space-is-bigger-than-you-think/

The book provoked a vitriolic reaction from science fiction's great reactionaries! I love a book that enrages the right people, and I was delighted to publish Robinson's rebuttal to their peevish complaints.

https://boingboing.net/2015/11/16/our-generation-ships-will-sink.html

From there, we move on to New York 2140, a novel of a pivotal moment in the transformation of capitalism and its relationship to the climate emergency.

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/03/18/new-york-2140-kim-stanley-robinson-dreams-vivid-about-weathering-climate-crisis/

These are like an artilleryman rangfinding a mortar, first overshooting his target and then walking his fire back, drawing closer to his bullseye. For Robinson, bullseye is the moment at which our society is transformed into one that can survive the coming emergencies.

It's telling that the 2312 books never got there. It is so fucking hard to imagine the end of capitalism.

But that is what The Ministry For the Future Does.

Sort of.

It's a novel about a specialized UN agency, chartered through the Paris Climate Agreement to represent unborn generations and the natural world in legal proceedings related to climate devastation.

Talking about this book, Robinson has described it as a kind of futuristic documentary, told in many voices, as a way of describing a phenomenon as vast as this global transformation.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/14/final_ver2/#ksr

Like many docs, it follows a couple of main characters, but weaves in dozens of other voices, some of whom we hear from only once or twice, recounting pivotal moments in which a moment calves away from our reality as we know it - moments of shear, giddy and terrifying.

Robinson is so good at this stuff. This is the book that he has been practicing for all his life. The vignettes are superb little jewels, mostly illuminating flashbulb moments in the lives of strangers met fleetingly.

But some of the most powerful moments don't even have characters: there's a transcript of the openng a fictional congress of global climate remediation groups after the crisis that is just an alphabetical list of countries and their associated projects.

This literally made me burst into tears of joy, bursting with hope at the thought that we could, as a species, spawn so many evocative and hopeful projects to save our world, our species, and our nonhuman cohabitants.

Robinson's versatility is on glorious display here: from long lists of hypothetical ecological projects, he veers into closely told moments of human endeavor in the natural world, showcasing his pastoralism with scenes so vivid you could reach out and touch them.

But all that said, the most interesting thing about this book is the stuff that Robinson couldn't or wouldn't put on the page. Robinson's hypothetical scenario for the end of capitalism is a baroque scheme of global cryptocurrency money-creation tied to carbon drawdown.

His technocrats trick capitalism into spending itself out of existence in a plan that is by turns brainy and daffy (as all blockchainism tends to be), with some pretty epic handwaving (especially when it comes to the breakup of tech monopolies).

But all of that would fail were it not for acts of absolutely brutal, ruthless terrorism. Robinson's transformation isn't merely about the carrots of double-bluff get-rich-quick schemes, it's heavily dependent on the stick of terror.

The aviation industry isn't (just) replaced by airships and rail because it's better and cleaner - but also because parties unknown use drones to bring down every private jet in the sky, and then commercial liners, until the aviation industry seizes up and dies.

And the world doesn't abandon beef because vegans win the moral argument or because greenies win the practical one - the decisive factor is drones that dart an unknowable plurality of the world's cattle with bovine spongiform encephalopathy.

There's more - pitiless, remorseless, anonymous. And while Robinson gets up close and personal with one traumatized individual who engages in an ecologically motivated, short-lived (and nonlethal) kidnapping, we never meet any of the terrorists or their victims.

The terror that begets the transition is recounted in the dry language of an encyclopedia entry, not dramatized like the pivotal moments of so many other characters.

It's a very telling omission.

My 2019 novella "Radicalized" is about an online community of men who, after watching their most treasured family members die slow, painful, preventable deaths because of insurance company fuckery, become suicide bombers who murder health execs.

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2019/05/who-says-violence-doesnt-solve-anything-a-review-of-radicalized-four-tales-of-our-present-moment-by-cory-doctorow.html

Writing that story was an intensely uncomfortable experience (and, judging from reader comments, it can be uncomfortable to read, too).

It's one thing to recognize that a systemic problem might not be solved without grotesque, mass violence, and another to put yourself in the shoes of either the perpetrators or the victims.

Robinson's end of capitalism is, superficially, a story of a transition, not a spasm, not a capital-T Terror. The lives we inhabit in this novel are people who are engaged in struggle, but not mass-murder.

But right there on the page is Robinson's uncomfortable and only partially elided conviction that we're not in for a transition, but rather a bloodletting, a reckoning commensurate with the ecocidal crimes that led up to this moment.

MINISTRY is a book that, on first consideration, feels like a utopia - not merely for the beautiful descriptions of people, animals and environments finding a way through the emergencies, but for the emergencies resolution.

But on closer examination, MINISTRY represents the dark fears of one of our brightest, most hopeful writers, that the world can only be saved by means that are literally too terrible to contemplate up close.

It's an uncomfortable read. It's a brilliant book. If it indeed turns out to be Stan's last novel (oh please don't let it be Stan's last novel), it will be a fitting capstone. But the subtext of this book is that we are past the point of no return.

Not only will rescuing our planet entail sacrifices of species, habitats, and coastlines - it will also entail sacrifices of the moral convictions that make vast spectacles of bloodletting unthinkable.

#pluralistic

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chaoticevilbean · 3 years

Text

Four In One : Chapter Three

Training went extremely well for the teens, though Shiro seemed to be slowly losing the will to live and Allura was confused at some of the more... interesting conversations that occurred. Coran wasn't there, busy keeping the ship running smoothly. Only one incident occurred, and that was when Keith underestimated how big Lance's steps were in the invisible maze and he walked right into a wall. After that, Keith was far more careful with his directions and began instructing Lance to slide his foot forward until told to stop, then move to stand in that spot.

Allura called for a break somewhere after Lance won his fourteenth game of lasertag, which was being used as "long-range training". Pidge told Shiro that it was really just a game of "see how long it takes for Lance to find you" after his third win in twelve doboshes. Apparently, flying made you an easy target, but so was having wings out at all, and hiding in one place made it easier for Lance to aim, but moving around made you stand out. The last game, Shiro was out in twenty-six ticks for taking to the skies and trying to shoot everyone down as fast as possible (Lance technically got the shot, but Shiro was out of it for a few doboshes because of the four lasers that hit his chest). Pidge snuck up on Hunk and hit him, but Lance had been scoping his best friend out as well and seen her, and took his opportunity to strike after she shot. Keith almost won, but Lance was actually just luring him in. The emo was supposedly too loud.

"Time for lunch, pala-"

"Lance, drop the gun! I will tase you!" Pidge interrupted Allura in order to rush out of the training room, with Hunk and Keith in tow. Space Dad™ was once again sacrificed for the greater good, otherwise known as the teens' benefit. Allura ignored Shiro's pleas for help and Lance, who was bearing down on his prey with a slightly manic grin in place, instead making a beeline for the kitchen.

Lance strolled in ten doboshes late, whistling a tune as he made himself a plate of pink and orange food goo that looked like bunch of Twixx yogurt. Shiro limped in after him a few ticks later, a haunted look in his eyes. The other humans ignored him, continuing to discuss where the f-bombs would go if they were used in the Lord of the Rings series, Extended Edition. Coran seemed intrigued as to what the story was about, especially since Alteans apparently are just like Elves. Allura was looking between Lance, who had joined in the conversation as soon as he sat down; Shiro, who was eating seemingly out of habit alone; and the rest of them, who were acting as if this was all normal.

Just to be clear, it wasn't.

Lunch came and went rather quickly, though Shiro took his time to finish, knowing that as soon as the group went to the training room, they would finish long-range practice. AKA Lance's dominion. AKA the time to say your prayers, write your will and die. But Coran's stern gaze kept him from taking too long, so the team was back in the hallways in under a varga.

"Alright," Shiro called out as soon as the final game ended. Pidge looked at him from where she had collapsed dramatically on the floor, relieved that they were done. Hunk and Keith both audibly sighed from their own 'death' spots, Lance's gun still trained on Hunk's chest. "Since we seem to be getting better, it's time for close-range fighting. Grab your weapons and we'll get the ring set up. Don't forget your new armor."

The teens rushed to grab their new weapons, those that had them. Coran had adjusted their armor's settings so they could switch to outfits that better fit close-range combat. With glee, each kid pressed the buttons to change.

Keith's armor became light, scale-like plates, layered on his shoulders and chest and back. His legs had similar plating but with smaller pieces. Armguards spread from just below his wrists to just before his elbows, scale-looking as well, but elongated and with more pointed ends near his elbows. His wrist guards connected to fingerless gloves and the armguards with more flexible material, something a bit like leather. The boots were sturdy, with thick soles and protected toes. All of the materials were colored to accentuate Keith's red-hued wings and were smooth despite the plating.

Hunk's armor was much thicker, meant for protection and strength. The chestplate was thick, covering his back, front, shoulders, and a little more on the edges. His legs were fully covered in only slightly lighter pieces, and his arms matched. The boots were thick and stocky, with grooves and near minuscule spikes to allow for better grounding. The armor looked like stone, brown except for a few gold and light brown highlights. Small spikes protruded from the shoulders, elbows and knees, an extra and probably unneeded defense.

Pidge's was far lighter than the others. Varying shades of green, made for quiet movement and small spaces, the material provided padding on the joints and chest. The gloves fit perfectly to her hands, thin enough for full movement but thick enough to give her some protection from sharp objects and heat. Her boots were padded on the sole, but as light as the rest of her armor. All of the greens were arranged in such a way it looked like the shadows of some foliage.

Shiro's armor was befitting his leadership status, black and white and gold. It looked like a modern version of what ancient knights wore on Earth, complete with a gold-embroidered black cape. The armor fit Shiro perfectly conforming to him easily despite the metallic material. A few spikes were strategically placed along his left arm, and his metal one was without any armor at all, though Pidge quickly began babbling about making an upgrade on the tech so it would match the color scheme at least.

Lance's armor was the one that gave them all pause, Pidge even stopping in her talk to stare at the change.

A cape of cerulean hung from his shoulders, attached to two straps that crossed in an X over his chest. Bands of a flexible blue metal wrapped around his biceps and forearms. Small rings of the same metal clung to his knuckles, slim-fitting. A thin material of an almost clear creamy color connected the bands and rings, patterned with small scales by light blue lines. Dark blue trousers cut off at halfway up his calves, the waistline melding seamlessly into the straps on his chest with a belt of chains sewn in to avoid jangling. No shoes formed on his feet; instead, there were bands on his ankles and toes, with the connecting fabric the same as on his arms.

"Where's your armor, Lance," Hunk asked, moving around his friend in a circle as if there would be more to the outfit when he did. Lance was just as shocked as the others, though one look at Coran's knowing smile and he could guess the reason behind his sparse clothing. Two down, five to go. Coran knows all.

"Um, Coran, are you sure this is a good idea?" Shiro looked at the Altean in concern. All of the outfits were both stylish and functional, but to those who didn't know what Lance's wings looked like, the Blue Paladin's armor was severely lacking in the functional department.

"Of course, Number One," Coran chirped, turning on his heel to swiftly walk over to the control room. "I'll start on simple simulation as a warm-up, and we'll go from there!" The words left no room for argument, and they all rushed to put on their helmets. Matching their armor patterns, Keith's was shaped to seem like a dragon's head, covering all of his head except his face. A thin transparent screen that was shaped like a small flame extended over his right eye, meant for transmissions. Hunk's helmet was similiar, though a bit thicker on the top and looked like a mass of stone and rubble mashed together. The screen was for him was shaped like a clip-art mountain. Pidge's helmet was a wreath of cording, wrapping around her forehead and clipping to her ears. The vine-like green pulled her hair out of her face, and a leaf displayed information. The back of her head had a bit more covering, 'leaves' adding protective surface area. Shiro's was as traditional as the rest of his armor, the helmet's visor was modernized with high-tech eye pieces that shined gold. Lance's helmet was more like a crown, a band of the blue metal on his arms encircling his forehead under his hairline. The scale-patterned fabric hung down in strips on either side of his eyes and all around his head, connecting with another band that Lance clipped on around his throat. A teardrop-shaped screen hung down from the top band, directly in front of his eye and looking almost like a jewel.

The simulation started quickly, a few gladiators rising from the floor. Most of them had swords, though a few had simple guns to test how well they could take down a long-range opponent via close-range attack. Shiro, Keith and Pidge had their regular weapons, while Hunk and Lance's bayards shifted the moment they switched to their armor to close-range. Hunk had a large club, meant to cater to his strength. Lance had a rapier, the blade perfectly weighted to his hands and light-weight to provide speed.

The team lunged forward instantly, taking down the gladiators with ease. The next level started once they finished, not giving them a breather. Shields were activated and deactivated as they attacked and protected each other. Lance noticed that the group was gravitating towards him as the levels passed, due to his armor, or lack thereof. As much as the sentiment was nice, he knew that they needed to stop and spread themselves out equally. He needed a plan to show them he would be okay, and when a large group of opponents rose a little ways away from the others, but close enough to him, he struck. With a large warcry, Lance charged forward, drawing the attention of everyone on the field. Ignoring the worried calls of his Space Flock, the teen cut through the gladiators, dodging their retaliating blows with his flexibility.

"Are you guys gonna fight like we did before or are you gonna keep worrying about my lack of safety? Cuz I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure I hold the record for most injuries regardless of attire!" Lance teased the others as he finished off the last two in the group, receiving only a small cut on his upper arm. He wouldn't even need a bandage. Hunk caught on first, slipping back into their normal routine easily. Pidge, Shiro and Keith promptly followed, Lance rejoining the team's formation.

Falling into the rhythm of battle was simple and effortless, and Lance found himself moving solely out of muscle memory as the robots used the Galra tactics they were programmed with.

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

Lance was nervous to finally join the Garrison. He was able to find his dorm room easily and had unpacked in a matter of minutes. Now, he simply waited for his roommate to arrive. Malosi Garrett was the other name on the little plaque, and Lance had been bored enough to translate the name. Apparently, Malosi was 'strong' in Samoan, but that told him little about the boy he was going to share a living space with. Was he called strong because he was bold, or because he was physically strong, or something else entirely?

The questions ground to a halt as the door suddenly opened, a large bag the first thing Lance saw. Right after it was a boy with a yellow headband and dark skin, broad-shouldered and tall.

"Oh, hi!" The boy hastily dropped his bags onto his bed, turning to face his roommate just as fast. "I'm Malosi Garrett! It's nice to meet you! Well, I mean we technically haven't met yet because I don't know your name, but I think this counts as meeting. Sorry if I'm rambling, you probably think I'm a dork. I'll just get to work on unpacking." Words tumbled from Malosi's mouth faster than water through a strainer. Lance was struck by how low this dude's self-confidence was and how much he reminded Lance of his brother Marco. He chuckled softly to himself, before standing and walking leisurely over to Malosi.

"Anything I can do to help, mi hermano?" Malosi looked over at him, and a beam was quick to overtake his features.

"Sure thing," he said, and that was that. The two of them finished unpacking after longer than Lance had taken, but less time than it would've taken Malosi alone. He had brought a lot of recipes and scraps of projects and medication for his anxiety. It was almost noon when they were done, and both of them decided to wait a bit before using the communal kitchen that they shared with three other rooms to make lunch.

"Thanks for helping me," Malosi told his new friend, pulling his phone out and staring at the screen, though his eyes frequently glanced back at Lance.

"No problem, mi hermano," Lance assured, using his new title for the other teen.

"But it wasn't 'no problem'," Malosi challenged. "It took a lot of time, and you didn't have to do it."

"Where's all this coming from, mi hermano?" Lance inquired. "You're definitely worth any effort, a hunk like yourself."

"I'm no hunk."

"Yes, you are. You're name is literally Strong. You have to be a hunk. It's like, the law or something." Malosi looked up from his phone in surprise.

"You translated my name?"

"I was bored, and I wanted to know what Malosi meant. But now I think I'll call you Hunk, so you know how guapo you are."

"You don't need to do that, loʻu uso," Malosi blushed.

"Too bad, Hunk. You, mi hermano, are no longer allowed to think so lowly of yourself. Confidence is key," Lance chirped to the newly dubbed Hunk. After a moment, Lance added, "What does loʻu uso mean?"

"It means mi hermano," Hunk grinned.

The two were inseparable after that, and Hunk asked Lance to groom his wings after only a week together, around the same time Iverson pulled him aside. Lance assured Hunk that his hidden wings was not distrust, but a different, private reason, and quickly suggested his roommate "groom" his hair. Hunk never pushed the subject, taking his friend's word.

Neither of the duo ever judged each other, not even when Hunk said he was going to grow his hair out so he could try braiding it, or when Lance asked his brother in all but blood to help him put on makeup. Their bond never strained or stretched, not over school breaks or when one met someone new and hung out a bit less. Pidge's presence only added to their bond as they both tried to add the other boy to their mini-flock, not that either would admit to doing so.

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

The last gladiator fell and a small bell sound rang through the arena, drawing Lance from his thoughts. Hunk was the one to swing the final blow, and Lance whooped at his best friend's success.

"¡Bien hecho, Malosi, mi hermano!" Lance crowed, dropping his rapier and jumping on Hunk's back with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, which is to say a lot. Well done, Malosi, my brother! Hunk's arms immediately came up to hold Lance's legs, now giving him a piggyback ride.

"Faʻafetai lava, loʻu uso e! Sa fai sina malie!" Hunk chuckled. Thank you, my brother! It was a little fun!

"Lo fue, ¿no? ¡Y eras muy guapo cuando aplastaste a ese robot!" It was, wasn't it? And you were very handsome when you smashed that robot!

"Anyone want to translate whatever that was?" Pidge butted in, her hand raised like she was a student in a classroom. Hunk smirked at the smaller paladin.

"Lance and I are bilingual and I taught him Samoan and he taught me Spanish, so we sometimes talk to each other in our native language. Usually we're alone, but I guess Lance got excited. Ain't that right, aulelei?"

"Yeah, lo siento, guapo." Lance rubbed his neck sheepishly, before turning to see the even more confuzzled looks of his companions. He sighed before translating. Yeah, I'm sorry, handsome.

"I congratulated Hunk, he said thank you, we said the training was kinda fun, and I told him he looked handsome. Aulelei means beautiful and guapo means handsome. We like calling each other that."

"What about Malosi?" Shiro asked. "That didn't sound like it was Spanish."

"It's not," Hunk confirmed. "My name is Malosi, whi-"

"Hold up, I thought your name was Hunk?" Keith all but cried.

"Yeah, and you thought my name was Taylor because that was my nickname in class," Lance quipped. The silence following caused him to turn once more to look at the Red Paladin, only to see him as red as his title.

"You thought his name was Taylor, didn't you?" Hunk deadpanned. Keith nodded as he stared at the ground. Shiro was attempting to hide his amusement, but Pidge didn't, instead full on cackling.

"But I guess since Lance has pretty much always called me Hunk, it makes sense that most people would think that's my real name," the Samoan continued, as though Lance wasn't currently dying of laughter on his shoulders. "Malosi is my actual name. It means 'strong' in Samoan."

"So you two call each other beautiful, handsome, strong and hunk?" Shiro clarified, brow furrowed. The duo affirmed this, before Hunk jumped back at the two Alteans that were suddenly right beside them.

"What is this Spanish?" Allura asked excitedly. "I thought humans were the only native sentient species on Earth?"

"We are," Lance spoke slowly, "but we have multiple languages because of we have multiple different cultures and countries. I'm from Cuba, so I speak Spanish as my first language, and Hunk is Samoan. The language that we all collectively use is called English, and it's the only one in the universal translator you aliens use. Hunk learned Spanish and a bit of Swedish because he likes IKEA stuff, and I also know Samoan, Italian, Korean, Japanese, Chinese, German, and I'm trying to learn Russian, Altean, and Galran. And maybe Balmeran, if I can get a communication to Shay."

"He's one of those super linguists that learn every language they can and therefore understand most people," Hunk interjected.

"I know Italian, too," Pidge huffed out, still catching her breath from the laughing she did.

"I'm Japanese."

"I know some Korean," Keith inputted, obviously trying to draw away from his younger self's mistake.

"Amazing," Allura breathed. "I didn't know humans were so diverse! And why is it you learned so many languages, Lance?"

"I learned Samoan for Hunk; Italian for Pidge; Korean for Keith; Japanese for Shiro; Chinese for the little Chinese place that's near my house in Cuba with the sweet family running it; German for my friend Sophia; Russian for Dominic, my sister's husband; Altean for Allura and Coran and so I can read some stuff in the library; Galran for Keith and missions; and Balmeran for Shay because we're trying to keep in touch." Lance ticked off the languages, seemingly unaware of the turmoil in all but the Yellow Paladin. The Cuban boy had always learned whatever he could to make his friends feel better, and Hunk had seen it firsthand when Lance had semi-successfully made a traditional dish he had heard his roommate mention when he was homesick. It wasn't the best, but it was enjoyable all the same.

The others had no experience with the Lance that learned his friend's language and made their favorite dishes as best he could and once helped Hunk figure out what his first tattoo was gonna be.

"Lance, I don't even know Galran," Keith mused, still wrapping his head around the fact that he was twice on the list and he was more Texan than Korean or Galran.

"But you're still part Galra, so I want to be prepared for when you learn it or when you need to translate something you find about your heritage."

"I'm done!" Pidge declared, walking away. "I'll be working on some coding before dinner! Come get me when Lance stops being so quiznacking good! First he finds a way to let us groom him, then he shows himself as a self-sacrificial idiot, and now he's somehow learned every language! When will it end?" Pidge kept loudly muttering to herself as she left the room. A few ticks after her absence, the team busted out laughing, Shiro and Keith leaving to shower and Hunk to start on dinner. Lance waited, gesturing for the Alteans to do so as well.

"What did you need, my boy?" Coran queried once the others were definitely out of earshot. Lance hastily closed and locked the training room doors, turning to face the advisor and princess nervously. With a deep breath, Lance pushed his wings out, spreading them just a bit. With the size of his wings, it was still easy to see all four of his wings when he stretched.

"Oh, Lance, those are beautiful," Allura gushed, calmly striding over to his side.

"They are indeed, my boy," Coran marvelled. "I don't fully understand why you would hide them."

"Well, they're impossible," Lance explained, beaming at the praise. "On Earth, some mutations are strange and not as accepted as others. Shiro's scales would be one, though it's rather small so people wouldn't make such a big deal. Pidge's and Hunk's would be considered beautiful more often than not. Keith's would definitely get people in an uproar. Wings like mine would make me an outcast in a tick. My town was accepting of me, and my family never once treated me badly, but I've heard enough stories of people with big mutations getting attacked to risk it."

"So, I take it you're planning on telling the others?"

"Yeah, and I was hoping you could help." The Alteans looked at each other, smiled, and turned back.

"How can we help?"

#voltron #wing au #lance #hunk #pidge #shiro #keith #allura #coran coran the gorgeous man #takashi shirogane #keith kogane #lance mcclain #hunk garrett #pidge gunderson #lance-centric #purple #klance

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