#gonna queue up some drawings while i’m gone at school!

[diabolicdetective]

don’t worry, he’s okay.

[jae-canikeepyou]

| muse | j.jh

pair: jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: art student!jaehyun + art student!yn

a/n: thought this on a whim whilst reminiscing my art portfolio, so we’ll see how you’ll like this with yuno in it. not the best i’ve written but hope you enjoy reading 💞😉 ~j

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with jaehyun, there were three things that happened uncontrollably. one was he caused your heart to skip; two, your chest to feel all giddy; and three, your stomach to capsize. why you may ask? it was his very presence in the art academy which had heads turning and lips to whisper words of awe. he was labelled and called a prodigy.

be it in any medium of art, he was blessed to have such a talent that his parents thought it’d be a waste if not enhanced or put attention to. even your professors favored him and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t jealous. despite his princely looks, he could sometimes be a total snob. he’d be in a good mood the first hour and then changed completely in the next. oh the duality, you couldn’t understand him at all.

though question marks continued to fill your head, let’s just say you had a tad advantage compared to girls who were overly thirsting for him; he was your classmate, a major in fine arts. sometimes you unconsciously found yourself sniffing his perfume each time he helped you with the shading of portrait drawings you worked upon. he was that close. as much as you loved seeing him almost every day, you hated at the fact you still didn’t know the ways to calm your loving facial expression towards him.

it was a funny sight —at least to your friends— that they could see how elongated your nose grew every time you deny your feelings for him. yet as time passed the possibility of your admiration might turn into romantic feelings instead. there wasn’t a need to prove to you since your friends have pointed it out already.

but you yourself wasn’t too sure about it.

“please,” hyejin popped with a huge round of an eyeroll at your oblivion. legs crossed as she chewed her bubblegum. “y/n, admit that you like him. it isn’t that hard to say out loud.”

other students, including your studio tutor held in their giggles in the midst of the silence within the room. true enough hyejin was the mood maker.

her words made you stop painting the colours that were meant to accentuate the highlights of the subject. “i’m not like you who’s very expressive in words.” you replied, taking few peeks at your surroundings in case anyone eavesdrop.

hyejin wasn’t supposed to be in the studio today. she was a literature student where writing poetry was her forte. but because your tutor appreciated her effort to promote the visual arts department in the school paper, her going to the studio with you became a normal thing.

“it doesn’t have to be in words. like, i don’t know? paint some canvas and pour out your feelings through colours? yellow’s joy or purple’s dazzling or red is love-” she stopped as you gave her an annoyed gaze. “i’m sure he’ll get it. he’s not called a prodigy for nothing.”

“painting is not done on a whim, hyejin.” you emphasised, not noticing the stress put upon your work. “it takes time and thinking and creativ-”

“yeah yeah,” she made her bubble burst, which by the way irritated you since it gave off the impression that she wasn’t listening to you at all. “abstract seems so random though. no thinking there.”

you pointed the brush at her, yet careful enough that it doesn’t touch her nose. if another word comes from her mouth, you wouldn’t hesitate staining it. “sis, shapes are used instead of virtual reality, so abstract still needs thinking. you just express it differently.” hearing this, hyejin paused for a while before deciding which reaction to give, and with that you were satisfied into silencing her for a while. “now you know how i feel when i don’t understand shakespeare’s ‘love looks not with eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged cupid painted blind’.”

she let out a scoff, “pfft, you’re the cupid in that quote. you can’t even see that you like mr. prodigy so much.”

jaehyun gently opened the door and handed a paper slip to the tutor, which apparently was a doctor’s certificate. due to his arrival, hyejin elbowed you so hard that its force caused you to jolt in your seat then knocking two of the glassed jars placed on the narrow deck of your easel.

the tutor looked at your direction, and lowered his specs at the noise. flustered than you ever were in your entire life, you took the dust pan. you tried your best to not match eyes with jaehyun who was now smiling from second hand embarrassment. at farthest decibel your ears could handle, you could hear hyejin sneering with huffed laughs.

“i’m gonna kill you.” you mouthed from a table away and gave her a warning look. you gestured the phrase, followed by a scowl to refer her teasing tongue.

“i’ll help, y/n.” jaehyun offered, but you assured him it was fine. “what’re you working on?” he asked as you both walked back to the tables, he took out his tools and unfinished work.

this time was the season of cramming hours into a tight schedule, there were many initial stages/assignments due and portfolios to be completed. you guessed it was natural for you both to update each other regarding progress. “just giving more highlights and tweaks, then i’ll start on the portraits.”

he only pressed a smile, a breathy chuckle as a response while he focused on his art. “do you still need my help on shading?”

“i think i got the hang of it. thanks.” you damped the brush with water.

“alright, if you need me, i’m just here.”

your eyes shot down to your pockets, quickly answering the phone to quiet down the “supposedly” soundless vibration. and you wished you didn’t fished out the device if you knew that the message was from hyejin.

[18:45] hyejin: damn it y/n, confess already! 🤪

[18:45] you: if you could shut up maybe i will?? i could hear your voice haunting me 🙃

[18:46] hyejin: if there’s no progress today, i’m so gonna take action & tell him myself 😌

[18:47] you: ugh anything but that pls 😣

the thing with being associated with the arts was that time immediately had gone passed when you’re so concentrated. everything else faded away and in that momentum, it was just the art and you. jaehyun felt this once he picked up his brush or pencil. voices in his head whispered and guided him what to do with the creativity still yet to be shown in the world.

among all the students he bonded with, there was one whom perked his interest..

you.

as mentioned, his current surroundings blurred whilst he was sucked into another dimension of concentration. but you went there with him and appeared clear. seemed a scene out of an alternate reality in his perspective, or dramatic to some people. he was intrigued.

since knowing you, he expected to sought this mutual interest deeper. if he was the beautiful, detailed canvas everyone saw in an exhibition, you were the opposite; abstract, unpredictable and rough, someone who was overlooked because others couldn’t understand the depths and entirety of you.

finishing the last layer of the painting, you stretched to sooth the numbness. the professor reminded about the last few minutes before wrapping up the class and, he handed the room keys to you. for this tutorial, students have the choice to stay behind or leave. hyejin left with the others, leaving you alone with jaehyun. whether she did that on purpose, she’d do anything to let you be alone with him.

“oh? you’re done with yours?” jaehyun shifted sideways to take a better view of your work. he looked satisfied with the way his dimples hollowed. “hm. my advise is effective.”

“yeah, you’re a life saver.” you sighed as you looked at how completed the artwork was, then trailing your eyes to him again.

“i’m proud of you.” he winked, only to blush afterwards when his stomach growled. “i wish you didn’t hear that.”

coincidently, you tossed your wallet in the air. “good timing, i’m just about to head out to the cafeteria. want anything? my treat because you helped me.” you extolled with your mood in completely positivity. jaehyun became your inspiration and for now you weren’t able to bring yourself to tell him that.

hopefully soon though— when you have the courage.

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the sleepiness in your eyes only needed ten percent more to push your lids down, the queue was unexpectedly long at this hour. it was only until minutes later had you known that another department organised a party nearby. the wait for the order would be troublesome; that’d be in the fact there were girls right behind, their gaze burning into your skin as if you were an enemy of theirs. and somehow you knew,

they might be jaehyun’s admirers.

they whispered to each other, words audible enough for your hearing and you pretended to be listening to music.

and how you wished you should’ve.

“do you know why jaehyun took fine arts?” one asked.

an intrigued response caught you walking on a tight rope. this can’t be good. “sounds like you know the reason.”

“it’s been spreading around recently..” there was a pause that had you wondering even if you knew you shouldn’t believe in any of rumours from them. “i heard the studio has this session to draw the human body and the figures. like y’know.. no clothes?”

sigh, there wasn’t even any classes for those this semester, you thought.

few giggles were heard before they spoke again. “you’re saying he’s perverted?”

“maybe? i wouldn’t be surprised if it were true.”

“isn’t that kinda hot? his eyes starting into-”

you nearly dropped jaehyun’s food and trip over an extension wire hearing that. breathing slowly and steadily, you convinced yourself that what you heard was false. he wasn’t the type of guy they assumed he was.

as much as you wanted to prove them wrong, it wasn’t your place to speak out when the friendship you have with him was not to the level of best friends. so you rushed back to the studio, not noticing your blown-away hair and burning face. what was amusing after hearing the tea, you didn’t know why you reacted in that manner. did you leave because you couldn’t stand eavesdropping any longer? or did you run due to the fact the fantasies they had were about to enter your mind?

the door was opened with a force that jaehyun looked up from his work, smiling at your quick purchase. “whoa careful there. you didn’t have to run.” he chuckled and went to your table. he took his favourite spicy cake and placed it on top heavily. the force he exerted with his hands was the total opposite to when he dealt with art. somewhere in you, you’d say it was a 0.1 percent a turn-off.

“hey, it’s food. handle with care, it’s a blessing.” you said, munching on your share of the dishes.

jaehyun clasped his palms together, bowed his head and closed his eyes. he faced you and you sat there with a confused look. “thank you y/n, you’re an angel for treating me.”

soon after, you received a message from your professor about taking out some of the tools needed for tomorrow. holding the sandwich wrap between your lips, you took a closer look at the right keys before unlocking the storage room, opening the door afterwards.

it was at least the size of two toilet cubicles, not even close to a room’s walk-in closet. the thin cabinets against both sides of the wall were two feet, and the remaining space in the middle could fit a person’s leg, stretched out. the new set of canvases were placed on the top shelf. for someone like you, it wasn’t possible to reach them on tiptoes. you grabbed a chair and stacked two tins of paint for your feet to stand upon.

if you still couldn’t reach them.. eh, bummer. disturbing jaehyun who was enjoying his meal would be rude. you weren’t that type of person to suddenly feel as if you were already close to someone. the icky and dusty feeling on your fingertips nearly had you gagging.

“jaehyun?” you called out, apparently you’ve given up in trying another attempt. “i need a hand.”

there was a long pause as to why he didn’t respond immediately. maybe you should’ve have disturbed him? but you soon rolled your eyes when a mannequin’s hand was thrown to you. his snickers was supposedly an adorable thing to hear, this kind of wasn’t, because you desperately needed help now. “jeong jaehyun!”

he hummed right after you mentioned his name the second time. “i’m just messing around. but does that mean you’ll treat me again? i helped you.” his voice sounding with excitement.

you nodded, your anger long forgotten but he could tell there was conflict in your head. “i’ll consider it, so help me before i smack you with this plastic hand.” your tone slightly straining since you didn’t feel him entering the room.

“yeah. coming.” he said, giggling at your impatience. as you tried to reach out for the canvases again, the light behind you slowly dimmed.

that was weird. “hey, it’s getting dark in here.” you said.

before he could say anything, the door slowly closed and that made you raise a brow. he noticed this too and looked into your eyes when the light within the room soon disappeared. “ah sorry, i must’ve kicked the door stopper.” even in the dark, you could tell he was flustered from his actions. “i’ll open it.”

however his groans and vigorous sounds from the door knob stated otherwise. “what?” you heard him raise his voice.

“what’s wrong?” you hopped off the tins and grabbed the knob, twisting it clockwise then anti-clockwise. “it’s jammed.”

you both panicked because the night wasn’t getting any younger. there were things to finish and deadlines were drawing closer. before, you thought of procrastinating even when necessary. but procrastinating like this wasn’t part of the plan.

how was it possible for the knob to be jammed? the door wasn’t closed in an impact that would cause its components to be broken. sure jaehyun was reckless and couldn’t control his strength but that really wasn’t the issue here.

the actual issue was that you were going be stuck with him for who knows until when. stuck in a sense there were just enough space for two people. jaehyun fumbled his pockets in search of his phone, an annoyed groan told you it was bad news. “call someone. my battery just died and my powerbank’s outside.”

quickly you fished out your phone, only to find that it had the same fate. “ugh i have 10% left.” you slumped your sides to the shelves like there was no hope. “i’ll try to text hyejin.”

“hm i hope she’s not too far from the campus.” jaehyun leaned against the shelves opposite from you, his expression definitely amused with your reaction. a scoff of disbelief escaped your dry lips, sliding the phone to the shelf as you put your hair on one side. “that doesn’t sound good. what did she say?”

for all the things hyejin could do to help you get out of there, she’d rather sit and tease every single nerve of your body. “she said ‘you both just made your own seven minutes in heaven! i’m laughing out loud right now.’”

and for the things you thought jaehyun would disagree with your friend, he didn’t. it surprised you when his held-in giggles came bursting out from his chest. “it’s exciting. don’t you think?” he chuckled. “this is something you see in movies.”

“okay. tell me, what’s exciting about being locked-”

“we can ask each other questions. or any topic you’d like to talk about. i wanna know more about you.” he suggested, shutting you up because if he didn’t, you’d be quite a complainer. jaehyun bent to a squat, later stretching his legs until the soles reached the sides of your hips. “i rarely get the chance to talk to you properly and i guess this is the day, so scoot over.” he gestured you to move aside a little.

“gee i wonder why?” your voice came out sarcastically. “i don’t ignore people unlike a certain someone.”

“just sit down, will you?” jaehyun seemed to take the fact to heart.

you complied and sat exact the same as he did. the tiled floor sent cool to your legs but it didn’t really matter. jaehyun began by asking how you got into art; what motivated you to choose this field. “it’s just a childhood dream of mine to keep expanding my creativity. i wanna teach kids the joy in paint, that we’re not limited to using tools. i started painting with my hands and fingers when i was five.”

“really? i’m the same, except i was three when i painted.” his dimples deepening.

though you did answer him, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him the whole story. you were just par in the arts, an average joe and always felt like your professors tied your wings together to express what you really wanted. every proposal you presented were rejected. if lucky, it still wasn’t good enough. not enough to reach jaehyun’s standards and world.

his shoes hit your hips again, the nudges were light and made you look to him. “your turn.” he said.

your eyes wander the dark room, the thin light from the sides of the door showing the outline of his face. “is it good? being called something you never wanted to be? did you know you’re gifted as a kid?”

“do you want my honest opinion?” he brought one leg to his chest, forearm resting on it as he start to ponder. hearing the soft shuffles from you in agreement, he gulped his dry throat to say the one thing he longed to say.

“i don’t like it.”

beyond speechless. you thought maybe he’d like the feeling of being center of attraction, or praised to have a skill that was out of this world. while you’d like to know what it felt like, it already told you enough that he wouldn’t want to be referred to as a prodigy. “not even a single bit?” alarmed, you squinted your eyes and he shook his head.

“i used to like it at first.. now i don’t,” jaehyun admitted but his face had changed the moment you asked him the one thing he never wanted to look back. “..because i was set apart from kids my age and they view me differently, nor have they ever treated me like every kid in the block.“

he continued how parents would tell him he was ‘inspiring’ or ‘i wish i had a kid like you; dedicated, and talented’. the claim have made him proud, yet this caused insecurity to most of his friends, and they distanced themselves from him. what was once the same ground they stood upon, it had quaked the earth and caused a wide gap. jaehyun hated the feeling of isolation by the will of others. though he had tried many times to reach out to them..

the gap continued to widen.

“there’s not much of a difference now.” he whispered yet audible enough for you to hear. ”i still have less friends. countable with fingers.. on one hand.”

probably the reason why he looked like a snob then.

“i see. so am i?.. part of your ‘friends’?” he heard you ask when reality hits you that you shouldn’t have said your thoughts out loud. closing your eyes for a bit, you heard the shift in his weight, he didn’t answer right away. it was as if he was still finding the words.

but he sat right beside you. “you’re already one when we both entered this classroom. i had a hunch you’ll be one i’ll treasure.”

if anyone was told the way he did just now, it would definitely make them smile. that was his honest opinion and you couldn’t help but smile at his words. he seemed to notice this too and let out a chuckle that was always music to your ears. “should we try to open the door again?” you changed the topic to avoid the awkward smile creeping your face. your hands gripped the knob and jaehyun tugged the hems of your jeans.

“y/n, if you do it further we’ll be damned if hyejin couldn’t open from the outside.” he stood that he was already behind you. “i’m not stopping you from trying though.”

“f-fine.” you leaned against the door, soothing your legs that experienced paresthesia. jaehyun pat your head like he always did whenever you unintentionally embarrass yourself, be it art or not whatsoever. “i just can’t seem to stay still.” oh gosh i don’t know what i’d do if i’m alone with him.

“yeah clearly.” he shrugged.

you had a scowled face and glad he didn’t see it. “the place’s so cramped-” you continued, walking to the chair you once stood on, only to lose balance when the shelves you held for support gave in to collapse from the weight it carried. with weight, the whole furniture wobbled to fall.

in a split second you felt yourself being lifted off the ground, a strong arm wrapping around your frame and saw yourself at the opposing side of the room. jaehyun closed into you as he managed to stop the some items from falling. the entire body of the cabinet covered and trapped you both in a tight place. the furniture tilted right behind him. one small move, the items could injure two and he didn’t want to risk that.

he could feel your breath touch his shirt and with the way you held his clothes, you definitely didn’t see this coming. “are you okay?” he thought there was a possibility of squishing you.

“uncomfortable, but i’ll manage.. somehow.” you honestly replied because there was no point in lying to him.. physically speaking, he’d know what you feel since he himself was also in discomfort. anyway, with your answer, this marked the third silence as there was another one creating yet another gap in the conversation.

okay y/n. you told yourself. you made everything awkward than before. first was you asked whether you were friends, which you already were. second was your stupid and careless behaviour that led to the position you’re both in now.

“what about you?” you asked after seeing the huge frame towering over both of your bodies, mostly onto his. so maybe that was another unnecessary question to ask.

jaehyun gulped and fixed his one of his palms that he gripped on the shelf behind you. you could see his adam’s apple move up and down, struggling to breathe. he pushed backwards to be able to see your face. tilting his head down, that movement alone made you look up. “uncomfortable, but i’ll somehow manage.” he smiled even though you knew he wasn’t.

“you know you’ll earn zero marks if you copy my answer.” you giggled, remembering the professor’s words at the beginning of the semester.

he flicked your forehead as he agreed with the obvious statement. “i heard him. anyway, it’s my turn to ask.”

“are we really playing the game now? can we at least try to figure how to get out of this position?” you began to whine and threw your head back where you hit your head, and you didn’t care how shameful you felt. you knew you wouldn’t stand any longer, your legs started to weaken because of stress— stress from everything jaehyun managed to make you feel, that included the little smiles and especially his hand around your waist.

jaehyun didn’t know why he put his palms behind your head before the incident happened but he knew he had to, with the way you flustered so much. he figured that you weren’t used to situations like these.

however a memory slipped into his mind that you were always your usual self with other guys around. he noticed how you held or hiccuped a breath whenever you both conversed. you and him weren’t particularly close to begin with, just enough to pass as friends and maybe it was his love for art that brought that gap closer to you.

right now? perhaps too close. literally.

“why not? it gets more fun.” he tried to hide the smile creeping his lips; at the sight of how irritated you were beneath him and he actually considered your plead to get you both to safety. but maybe he’d like to enjoy a little bit before doing so. “besides, there’s no way we can move properly with a lot of things blocking our surroundings.”

on both sides, the two of you were encased with large items and materials that were affected by the impact. “tsk.” you tilted your head to avoid looking at him. “at least try to push the huge cabinet?”

he did as he was told and from the grunts and exhausted voice, jaehyun gave up trying. “i don’t think i can. something’s probably caught in the gap between the wall and the furniture.” he tried to look over his shoulder to see if he was right.

“i thought prodigies don’t give up.” your voice sounded challenging to him.

“within the spectrum of our skill, we don’t. but outside our gift, we have the choice to.” jaehyun flicked your forehead again. “we get tired too.”

there was less force against your torso, he was trying to push the furniture again and you bubbled out a giggle. “wow you aren’t as cool as i thought you were.”

jaehyun wanted to hit you as you were being too playful at the wrong time. but as he brought his hand up, you closed your eyes shut to brace for the sharp impact. he sighed and his stomach growled in the most embarrassing way yet. “ugh, it’s because i haven’t eaten enough. i don’t have any strength left.” his stomach then growled louder.

maybe it was due to your bodies against each other’s and the heat starting to roam around the room. jaehyun clicked his tongue at the continuous mimicking of yours. “c’mon y/n i can’t be the only one doing the work here. help me push this heavy thing behind me.”

“uh no? do you think i could even help? don’t make me uncomfortable than i’m already am.” you moaned at the pain starting to grow along your spine. arching your back to avoid the discomfort from the shelves wasn’t really a good idea.

“ah you’re uncomfortable?” he implored with a smirk, his voice quite menacing as he leaned in to squeeze you between the cabinet behind you and himself.

for the whole time jaehyun knew that you didn’t mean whatever you said. he loved how you surprise him everyday and tonight he found you quite cheeky, and adorable too. by quite, it meant that you were like a child wanting to go home. a huff from him felt like the gust of wind. “‘i don’t have any strength left’.” you copied his words. seeing his lips pout, it was alright to give in. “will you treat me food if i help?” you returned the question because you treated him.

“you’re lucky you’re cute.” he suddenly said, with a soft chuckle, you knew he was smiling. it had gotten you speechless that it was hard to tell whether he said knowingly or not. “we can buy what the other wants after we get out of here, okay?” his attempt to get the wood off him yet again failed.

you clapped your hands quite hyperactively and squealed as if he asked you out on a date. “oh yay! okay. i wouldn’t want to be rained on for another hour anyway.” you teased, in which he exhaled heavily from his nostrils.

“i’m not that sweaty.” he grumbled, almost vibrating with the exertion of his energy.

“just perspiring.” you added.

he hit your head with his, for sure you’ll have a prominent bruise and that would make you a victim for hyejin for the next few days. or tonight, if she would get you both out. “that’s the same meaning.”

it took less than two minutes to take the weight off his back. jaehyun saw everything in slow motion— he was falling backwards and you, frontwards. “whoa!” for a moment you thought you hit yourself on a wall. that was for a brief second before the impact was replaced by a warm hug.

you checked if he was okay, he became your safe fall and again he saved you when you didn’t ask for it. “i didn’t expect.. i’m sorry.” you pressed your lips realising you were in between his legs.

he hissed at the pain and sat tiredly on the floor, using all of the fabrics of his clothes to wipe the sweat. “it’s okay.” he patted your back.

“right.. this is awkward. i better get off..” you chuckled and dusted your clothes awkwardly but what he said next really caught you off guard.

“do you want to do it?” he queried, taking you back as your head shot up and hit his chin with your forehead.

you blinked several times. “d-do what?” is this another question i won’t be able to answer?

there was a shaky grip on your waist, your heart hammered and you were afraid that he would hear it. “y’know what i’m talking about.” he put the hair strands away so he would be able to see your face under the lines of slim light.

“i don’t?” you choked on your own saliva. what was he talking about?

jaehyun’s breath made you freeze on the spot, along sudden silence. he giggled softly. “such a waste, you even have a perfect body.”

then the conversation from the two girls at the cafeteria entered your mind right when you thought deep. hold on, the rumours can’t be true..

he stood up shortly, cornering you by the door and the lights revealed his eyes, smiling shyly. “you have perfect proportions.” as of now, you were a little nervous. you couldn’t process what you were hearing from your crush’s lips and looked away where you could see hyejin’s figure closing the studio’s door.

finally hyejin’s here. i have to tell him. “uh jaehyu-”

“can you be my model?” he held your hands.

oh shoot it is true?

“i need someone to pose for my next art portrait and you’re the only one i can ask.”

‘well aren’t you quite the deep thinker~’ you could imagine hyejin’s voice telling you off at the back of your mind. you shook your head and shut your eyes for her imaginary presence to go away, making you miss seeing jaehyun’s expression turn to a small pout.

suddenly you felt like your soul left your body. what were you thinking y/n?! erase the thought! cleanse your mind from what you heard from the girls!

now you stopped being an embarrassment, you looked at him. however, before you could answer, the door swung open, causing you both to fall over and adjust to the lights above you. hyejin looked down at the two of you, her bubblegum popping with brows raised. “girl, i texted you back and said i’m opening the door. didn’t you see- oh, did i come at the wrong time?”

jaehyun quickly got on his toes, ears turning red while you covered your face in embarrassment. “this is a misunderstanding hyejin!” he stuttered and fixed his collar. you dug for your phone to check the message, but it died long before.

she blew another bubble and popped. “mhm, i can see that.” she winked at the both of you and turned to leave.

“hyejin!” you whined and clung on her legs.

“i’m leaving!” she singsonged and shook her ankles like you were a bug. “i’m giving you more alone time with your muse!”

“oh my g- you!” you chased her down. “quiet!”

she laughed cheekily and managed to exit the studio, sticking out her tongue and pointed behind you. ‘walk home with him!’ hyejin mouthed, and you couldn’t be more annoyed with her because that was indeed true. what was once a wishful thinking became reality. she knew you more than you did yourself.

as you sighed heavily, it got you hitching a breath that jaehyun might’ve heard and saw the whole thing. you turned around and he was packing his stuff, yours included. the artworks were left untouched since you both would be back here tomorrow. he gave your bag and you chose to not talk because you didn’t have the audacity to do. “so, uh. what were you saying earlier?” you hoped he would forget what he just saw.

“oh y-yeah. lemme just-” he took a deep breath and looked into your eyes. “..rephrase it- wait i’m your muse?”

of course he wouldn’t forget, it just happened. damn you, hyejin! you slouched on a nearby chair and wore your hood. “i was hoping you wouldn’t find out so soon.”

“i’m flattered. thanks.” his dimples hollowed. “i was asking if you could be my reference for my next art piece..” he trailed off recalling that you declined. “..though you shook your head quickly than i thought.”

“huh i did?” your voice affirming. “oh gosh i think i did.. i’m sorry i was hearing hyejin in my head when you said that.”

jaehyun’s eyes widened when all he heard was pure honesty from you. “so will you do it for me?”

“as long as i wear clothes while at it.” you consented with your arms crossed and began to feel heat spread your whole body at the thought of the rumour.

walking along the hallway, only the sounds of shoes grazing the carpet echoed the area. you didn’t know what else to say. he brought you to the nearest convenient store where the campus’ one was closed at the hour. the food you bought turned cold and you couldn’t afford to get sick because of it.

he pulled the chair for you to sit on. “you heard them as well.” he placed his bag down. he was aware of the rumours found around and was shocked to know you knew them too. “they’re not true.”

you propped your chin as he went back to the topic. “i know.” you agreed to his words. “they don’t describe you at all.”

jaehyun sat comfortably, a smirk appearing. “me being your muse fits the description-”

this guy.. “please don’t bring that up.” you pleaded with hands clasped.

“i’m teasing.” he chuckled. “i don’t mind if you refuse want to be my model.” he said. “but i assure i’m not like other artists who paints their naked model. i have a better plan for you.”

he was trying to convince you into his world and you were slowly getting into it. “that’s like saying you really want me to.” you took your wallet and he followed suit.

“what’s wrong with wanting to paint my new muse?” he slid his chair closer to the table; closer so he could see your reactions to his honesty.

when he said that, you never turned away so fast in your life. your chest never thumped so loudly and your eyes fluttered while he continued to press onto his question. 

an assuring smile showed on your lips and he mirrored it, already knowing your response. “nope, nothing wrong at all.” you shyly accepted his request.

jaehyun then stood to get the orders, his fingers warning you that the late dinner would be on him. your heart experienced blossoms and giddiness you hoped it’d stay forever. who knows? maybe being each other’s muse could turn into something more after tonight.  

[lunetheaveragefan]

one day...

Finally, Chapter 5 is here! It’s been so long lol. I know I said it would be out last Monday, but finals week and the new semester were crazy and I kept forgetting to queue it up! This chapter does deal with some more serious topics, so please be mindful of that (more info in the warnings down below). Anyway, here it is! I hope you all like it! (Also I think I’ll be posting chapters once every other Monday, so hopefully I’ll remember to stick to that!)

A Sander Sides high school AU

Pairing: Prinxiety and some background Logicality

Summary: Virgil is used to being alone. He only has one friend, Logan. But when Logan makes a new friend, things begin to change as two more join their group. Roman, a boisterous theater kid, seems determined to destroy Virgil’s lonely, average life. How much will Virgil’s life change?

Warnings: Bullying; homophobia and homophobic slurs; description/scene of a panic attack; and swearing. (If there’s anything else, let me know!)

Word Count: 1678 words

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CHAPTER FIVE

Virgil expected it to be a normal day. 

There were no signs that it was going to be important, so why would he think that it would be anything other than ordinary? Ever since Roman had joined them at the cafe, things had been going on as normal except for how he and Roman were actually talking now and then. And even that he’d gotten used to.

The day before, Roman and Patton had come to the cafe again, and Virgil was actually glad they did. Patton was still a ray of sunshine, but Roman seemed to be getting better. Or maybe he had been better all along, and Virgil was just now realizing it. Either way, things were changing, but not much and not necessarily in a bad way.

Yes, things were going good in Virgil’s world. 

That morning, Virgil got up at 6:45, right on time, and dressed in black jeans, a Panic! shirt, and his favorite sweatshirt. While checking his phone, he walked downstairs for breakfast. He ate his cereal and then went back upstairs to brush his teeth and finish getting ready. After making sure he had everything he needed for the day, he headed out, his mom’s voice telling him to have a good day from somewhere in the house. He drove to school without incident, although his usual parking spot was taken, so he had to park a few spots farther away. Logan was standing by his locker when he got to school, like usual. Just like every other day, they walked to class together, and afterwards, parted their separate ways: Logan to chemistry and Virgil to art. 

Things went according to the norm, following the routine that Virgil knew well. Life could’ve been a little more interesting, but then again, he didn’t find it entirely unpleasant. Even when Tommy and Timmy Wallace started making fun of him, it wasn’t that out of the blue. They had taken Roman’s place as the local asshole when he stopped being a bully at the beginning of high school and were set on making Virgil’s life hell.

Virgil’s standing at his locker, digging through his stuff, looking for a folder when Tommy sneers, “Oh, look, Timmy! It’s the emo cock-sucker.” Behind him, he hears Timmy laugh. Heaving a sigh, Virgil turns around, slamming his locker shut, only to find the twins almost nose-to-nose with him. Well, they would’ve been if Virgil wasn’t a whole head shorter than them.  

Glaring at them, Virgil says, “Get out of my way.” He’s carefully controlling his anger, making sure that he doesn’t explode. That would do no good.

“Aww, is poor baby Viwgil getting angwy?” Timmy mocks in a baby voice. He jabs his twin in the side, laughing. Tommy jabs him back. Unconsciously, Virgil’s hands ball into fists. You can’t get angry. You gotta relax. C’mon, Virgil. He grits his teeth, but because he was frustrated at himself, not angry at the twins.

Unfortunately, Timmy notices the actions and points it out. 

“Ahah! Are you gonna fight us, Virgil? Think you can win? Huh?” Timmy is up in Virgil’s face, so close, Virgil can see his spit flying everywhere when he talks.

Ignoring them, Virgil pushes past and starts walking down the hall. I can’t win. It’s a shot at his pride to walk away, but there’s no way he can beat the two star football players in a fight. I just have to ignore it. Virgil’s had a lot of experience being made fun of, but it never gets easier to face. It just gets easier to ignore.

“Hey!” A hand grabs Virgil by the elbow. It whirls him around so he can see the twins’ smirking faces. “Where you going, faggot? Thought you wanted a fight. Huh?” Heart racing, breath quickening, Virgil feels the panic building in him. Keep it under control. 

“Leave me alone,” he tries to say. Nothing comes out. Virgil can’t tell his body to move. Or walk away. Or do anything. The things running through his brain are going too fast. There, then gone. No, is the only thought that sticks.

Virgil sees their mouths moving, but can’t hear what they’re saying. Everything else is too loud. The pounding of his heart. His breaths, coming much too fast. Students talking, yelling. Lockers slamming. No. No. No, no, no no no nononononono. Why can’t the world just slow down. People bump into him. Every time, he flinches, drawing inward. Just have to make myself smaller. Timmy and Tommy are still talking. Virgil still can’t hear them. 

“Timmy! Stop!” a voice calls. This, Virgil hears. A hand reaches out to turn the boys away from Virgil. The only thing visible is wavy brown hair and tan skin. The twin’s shoulders block out everything else. He doesn’t know who it is. Doesn’t care who it is.

In four, he thinks, breathing in deeply. Hold 6. Out 7. He lets the air out in a cascade. Before he can begin hyperventilating again, he repeats the exercise. The noise of the hallway is too loud. His breathing won’t slow down. Come on, Virgil! Goddammit! Get it under control! 

The twins are still wrapped up in their conversation with Roman Princeford. He must’ve been the voice. But Virgil doesn’t have time to wonder why Roman stood up for him. Not while tears are flooding his eyes. Not while he’s fighting them back. Not while the din of the hallway is crashing around him. Not now. 

Virgil hurries out of the main part of the hallway and stands by the door to a janitor’s closet. The walls turn, forming an indent around where the door is, and feels almost like a shield. Trembling hands pull his headphones from his bag and slide them on his head. Tears blur his vision and his fingers shake as he fumbles for the video he’s trying to find. 

Finally, he finds it. The soothing sound of pouring rain fills his head. Soft piano drifts in the background. Dropping his phone on the ground and closing his eyes, Virgil pictures the rain streaking down a window. Slow and soothing and familiar. In 4, hold 6, out 7. Little by little, he starts to calm down, heartbeat returning to its normal pace, breaths slowing until the dizziness goes away.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he sat on the floor, but there’s a gentle tap on his shoulder. When he opens his eyes, Roman looks concerned. Pulling his headphones around his neck, Virgil begins to stand. 

“Are you o—Are you doing better?” Roman asks, looking almost awkward. Even though Roman helped him, Virgil almost scoffs. Of course I'm not okay, dumbass. He does have to give him credit for switching his words, though. And some part of Virgil doesn’t blame Roman for being so awkward. It’s a strange situation to be in. One Virgil wants to get out of. And fast. 

“I’m fine. I need to get to class,” he responds, voice tense and snippy. The bell hasn’t rung yet, but it will soon, and Mrs. Bartleman’s classroom is far away from Virgil’s locker. He slings his bag over his shoulder and leans down to grab his folder. 

Papers spill out over the ground, and Virgil realizes, too late, that he grabbed the folder on the bottom. Dropping to his knees to pick it up, he grits his teeth in frustration. A groan slips from his throat.

“What are you doing?” he snaps at Roman, who’d bent down to help. 

“Picking your things up,” Roman replies, looking at Virgil, seeming puzzled. Refusing to look at him, Virgil reaches out to grab more paper. He is sorry for being so rude to Roman just now, but his annoyance at Roman constantly trying to be the knight in shining armor combined with his embarrassment at what happened earlier doesn’t help his temper.

“The bell is going to ring soon. You’re going to be late for class.”

Roman must realize that Virgil’s trying to get him to leave because he stands up, leaving his stack of papers on the ground.

“Right. I should be going.” There’s something almost like hurt in Roman’s voice. Virgil looks up on instinct. Roman’s face is crestfallen, mouth turned downward, eyes sad. Guilt pangs through Virgil’s chest yet again when he sees. He almost takes his words back, but Roman turns away before he can. The metallic sound of the bell echoes throughout the hallway. 

“Fuck,” Virgil mumbles, reaching out to finish picking up.

Once the rest of the papers are back in his folder, Virgil stands up. He stares at Roman’s back, far down the hallway, distance increasing the longer he waits. The regret and guilt swirl into a knot in his stomach. Biting his lip, he takes a chance.

“Roman!” he yells, jogging down the hall. Roman turns around, and Virgil stops, even though there’s still a few feet between them. “Why did you stand up for me?” He steels himself for the worst. What if he blows you off? What if he says that he only did it to draw more attention to you? He takes the small amount of anger he still has left and directs it at the doubt. The thoughts, thankfully, shut up.

Roman scratches the back of his head and says, “It’s kind of a long story…” He looks up at a clock on the wall, frowning. After a second, his face lights up. “You have A lunch, right?” Virgil nods. “I’ll tell you then. My class is switching so we don’t have to go to lunch right in the middle of our test.” 

“O-okay,” Virgil stutters out, still wondering if he’s going to regret this. He’s still unsure if Roman actually means well, or if it’s just a long ploy that will end in Virgil being hurt. But I suppose it doesn’t hurt to ask why he stood up for me. 

And the crooked smile Roman gives Virgil right before turning and jogging away to class makes the risk almost worth it.

[somekindoftuber]

vld youtuber AU (klance, part 5)

(I apologize if the tense changes all over the place, I’m writing this as a sort of stream-of-consciousness thing because I care more about getting the idea out than writing something that’s grammatically perfect. I’ll probably clean this up and make it an actual fic once it’s all done. Thanks for reading!! :D)

part one | part two | part three | part four

There is a definite shift in Keith’s demeanor after Lance’s last visit.

They play Overwatch a few times a week, and while Keith goes into stern-leader-battle-mode when the game is going, between matches he’s loose, candid. He laughs at Lance’s jokes and makes casual conversation about his job, the garage, tells funny stories about Kosmo. Lance tells Keith stories about the customers he has at the cafe. It’s nice to hear a softness in Keith’s voice that Lance hadn’t heard before.

Keith shows up in nearly all of Lance’s Overwatch videos, even if his mic isn’t recorded. They sort of fall into a rhythm, meeting online every Tuesday and Thursday night to search for servers.

“Y’know,” Keith says one night while they’re in queue. “I wouldn’t have figured you for a sniper type.”

“Eh?” Lance is in his Widowmaker menu at that moment, flipping between two skins to see which one he likes more. “What d’you mean?”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” Keith clarifies, and it sounds like he’s smiling. “You just seem like more of a Mercy or a support or something. You’re really…” he pauses. “Generous. Always helping people. Then you get in here and you turn into a cold blooded assassin.”

Lance laughs. “I’ve always played a sniper, though. Gotta have balance somewhere, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

.

They text a lot. It’s all small stuff, like pet photos or memes (which Keith doesn’t understand 90% of the time and Lance finds that kind of adorable). But it’s nice. Occasionally they’ll both have an early shift, and Lance will text Keith photos of the ancient espresso grinder, captioned “this thing wants me dead” surrounded with skull emojis. Keith’s sense of humor, Lance learns, is dry as cracker juice. He gets a photo of a broken rubber floor mat with the question, “what sound does a floor mat make when it splits right before a fitness class?” Before Lance can answer, he gets another photo of the same mat, this time with Keith’s middle finger pointing soundly at it. “That sound,” says the caption. Lance laughs so hard that his boss yells at him for being on his phone during a shift.

August comes to an end, and Pidge prepares for her final term. Lance helps by assisting in an apartment clean out, getting rid of literal clutter to ease Pidge’s impending mental clutter. Lance tries not to think about how this might be their last few months in this apartment together. He’s really enjoyed living with Pidge - he wasn’t exaggerating when he said she was like a sister. Pidge is an extension of his family, ever since they met at space camp all those years ago. She’d been a tiny, fluffy, indomitable ball of pure snark and Lance loved her immediately. Since then, they’d stuck together, seeing each other through some of the hardest times. Lance had cheered his lungs out when Pidge was handed her high school diploma, and in a few months, he’d see her walk across another stage in a cap and gown to receive her bachelor’s degree in Robotic Engineering.

It made him a little misty-eyed to think about it.

Pidge is playing Stardew Valley one afternoon (how the hell did she manage to make such an insanely profitable farm before the end of year one?) when she casually brings up one of Lance’s favorite fall events.

“You gonna go to the Founder’s Fair this year?”

Lance doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Uh, is the Pope catholic?”

“Good.” On the screen, Pidge’s character gives a bouquet to Penny. Dating everyone but marrying no one: the Pidge method. “Hunk is coming in for it.”

“Sweet.”

The Harborville Founder’s Fair was the highlight of every autumn. Right as the summer was fading away and the air was showing a hint of a chill, Oceanside Park would explode into three days of carnival rides, food trucks, fireworks, and everything in between. It was also the best time of year to surf - they didn’t get much in the way of waves here, but there would always be just enough in late September to rent a board. Lance had put in his time off request a month ago, buttering up his boss with the ‘this might be my last September in Harborville’ sob story. Which was sort of true, even if he wasn’t quite ready to face that reality yet.

Lance felt like he was getting closer to Keith. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was the case, but if nothing else, Keith seemed to finally be relaxing around him. There were one or two times when Lance could almost swear Keith was flirting, but he quickly shoved the thought aside. Nope, don’t go there. That’s assuming things. Assuming is dangerous.

.

The fair is in a week and to make up for missing work on what will be one of the busiest weekends of the year, Lance is working at the cafe nearly every day. He has more steam burns on his hands and wrists from making lattes than ever, and he thinks if he hears the word “pumpkin spice” one more time he might lose it. He hasn’t played Overwatch all week, too tired from extra shifts to do anything other than zone out to Netflix when he gets home.

He’s got two hours left in his Thursday morning shift, then he’s free for the whole weekend. He can practically taste the funnel cakes now - and the Rancho Alegre food truck, the only decent source of Cuban food in the entire state, will be there. God, he’s going to eat until he can’t move.

The morning rush has come and gone and the afternoon crowd isn’t here yet, so Lance is cleaning up the mess of coffee grounds and cinnamon around his work station when the bell on the cafe door sounds. He doesn’t look up as his coworker/supervisor Romelle greets whoever walks through, too preoccupied with wondering how the hell almond milk ended up underneath the grinder.

“Hello,” says the customer and Lance totally knows that voice. He stops wiping sour milk and looks up.

It’s Shiro. And right behind him is Allura and - oh shit. It’s Keith. He’s here, he’s here in the cafe and Lance had no idea he was coming and he probably looks like shit, overworked with bags under his eyes and his face breaking out from stress and he didn’t even shampoo his hair this morning because he was running late --

But then Keith smiles at him and wow. His hair is down and he’s wearing this black and red leather jacket and it should be illegal to look that good. Especially when Lance is such a mess.

“Hi,” Lance says, hating how his voice cracks. “What are you guys doing in town?”

Shiro is pulling out his wallet with his left hand. “We came for the fair. It was always one of my favorite things about going to school here.”

“Oh,” Lance squeaks.

They’re here for the fair. Lance might get to spend time at the fair with Keith. He forces himself to focus on the present before a dozen fantasies of ferris wheel rides and sharing cotton candy can take over his brain.

They all order drinks and Lance claims them before Romelle can even finish ringing them up. Shiro gets a hazelnut americano, Allura orders a tuxedo mocha, and Keith shyly asks for a latte. Lance can tell he doesn’t go to coffee shops often and makes the drinks carefully. He can’t embellish Shiro’s americano, but he uses chocolate sauce and extra foam to draw a bow tie in Allura’s mug. For Keith’s latte, he sends a prayer to the coffee gods to grant him latte art prowess. It works, and Lance is rounding out rings of coffee and foam, pulling through to form a perfect heart.

He slides the mug across the counter to Keith, who’s eyebrow shoot into his hair. He breaths a little “wow” and blushes, taking the mug and smiling. He’s wearing fingerless leather gloves. Lance’s heart flip-flops in his chest.

The three of them find a table near the window and sit, chatting and drinking their coffee. They’re too far away for Lance to hear what they’re saying, and even if he could, he’s on the clock, and the lunchtime regulars are starting to trickle in.

Would it be gauche to text his evening shift coworker and bribe him to come in early so Lance can leave?

Lance thinks Romelle can tell he’s pouting by the way she sides up to him.

“Hey,” she whispers. “Is that the guy?”

He follows her gaze and sees that it lands firmly on the table where Keith is sitting with Shiro and Allura. Keith looks up at Lance, and smiles a little before turning back to his brother.

“Yeah,” Lance whispers back, feeling his face heat up. “The one with the long hair.”

Romelle lets out a low whistle. “Quite the catch,” she says, waggling her eyebrows. “What about the girl they’re with?”

“Allura?” Lance thinks. “I don’t know her very well, but she’s nice.”

“She single?”

Lance rolls his eyes and starts on the next drink. “No idea, you should ask her.”

It’s slower today and Lance is thankful for it. With Keith in the room, he can’t focus on anything - it’s a miracle he doesn’t catastrophically screw up the drinks he’s making. There’s a break in customers and Romelle comes over to Lance where he loading a portafilter with espresso and waves her phone.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she says, and he does not like that voice. That’s her Supervisor Voice. “I’ll call Ryan in an hour early if you get me Cute Girl’s number.”

Lance puts the tamp down. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He looks over at the table where Keith is sitting. They’ve all finished their drinks and will probably be leaving soon.

“Romelle,” Lance states. “You are an evil super villain and I love you. Consider that number yours.”

Fifteen minutes later, Ryan Kinkade is walking in and he doesn’t look particularly thrilled about it. Lance takes off his apron and motions at the jar of cash by the register.

“Ryan, you’re a lifesaver and my tips are yours. Thank you!” Lance clocks out before anyone can argue and walks over to where Keith and Co are sitting. He’s very much aware of how he probably reeks of coffee and looks like garbage but does his best to smile anyway.

“My shift is over, did you guys have any plans?”

Shiro smiles and stands. “I think we were going to head to our Air B&B and check in, actually. We could use a breather after that drive. We can meet up for dinner later, if you want.”

Inwardly, Lance lets out a sigh of relief because this means he’ll have time to take a shower and make himself presentable. “That sounds good! Any place you want to go?”

Shiro shrugs. “Is Vinnie’s still open?”

Lance lights up. “Oh yeah, still as good as ever, too! Want to meet there at, uh - “ He checks his phone, it’s barely 3pm. “Around five? We should beat most of the dinner rush that way.”

They all nod and the plans are made. They walk outside together and Lance watches the three of them get into a very nice Chrysler sedan - maybe Allura’s, given how she goes for the driver’s seat. Once they’re gone, Lance heads for his car and books it home. He immediately washes and exfoliates his face, then applies an anti-inflammatory mask and works at cleaning up the apartment. It was already fairly clean since Hunk will be crashing on the pull-out sofa bed for the weekend, and he has no idea of Keith will ever even see this place, but Lance doesn’t want to take any risks.

He shoots Pidge a text to tell her about their plans in case she wants to join. Hunk isn’t due until tomorrow morning.

Apartment clean(er) and his face mask dry and itchy, Lance hops in the shower and scrubs himself sore. Keith is here and will be spending the weekend here and Lance is equal parts ecstatic and terrified. He meticulously goes through his whole grooming routine, moisturizes, swabs, trims his eyebrows, even files his nails. He checks his reflection once he’s done and thankfully his face is less red, the stress acne barely noticeable.

There’s still about 45 minutes until he needs to be at Vinnie’s so Lance takes his time picking out clothes. He settles for a low cut tank top that shows off his collarbones and a beige button down over it with the sleeves rolled up, finishing it off with a pendant necklace and grey skinny jeans. He examines himself in the mirror and frowns a little. Does it look too much like date clothes?

He doesn’t have time to change because then his phone pings and it’s Shiro, saying they’re heading to Vinnie’s a little early. Lance all but throws himself out the door.

.

Vinnie’s is starting to get crowded, Lance can already see the line forming when he parks. He spots Shiro and Allura easily, their white hair making them stand out. They’d managed to claim a patio table - no small feat - and were chatting happily.

Lance joins them and it’s amazing how welcome he feels in this group, the way Shiro half-pulls a chair out for Lance. Keith is sitting to his right, his jacket draped over the back of his chair, the black t-shirt he wore stretching nicely over his chest. And if he didn’t know any better, Lance could swear he saw Keith’s eyes sweep down his neck and linger.

They ate and laughed and ate more, drinking fancy gourmet sodas. They make loose plans for the weekend - beach tomorrow, then the fair on Saturday, and maybe brunch before they leave on Sunday. Lance educates Keith in the ways of the garlic knot, the most sacred food item on earth. And when Keith shrugs and says they’re “alright,” Lance feigns offense, gasping and clutching his chest.

Pidge joins them later, looking utterly spent from a long day of classes. Lance gives up his seat so she can collapse into it. He kneels beside the table instead, passing Pidge the last of their pizza and appetizers. Keith gives him a look, then scoots over to one side of his chair, patting the other with his hand.

Lance short circuits, looking from the empty side of the chair to Keith’s face several times.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Get up here. That,” he points to where Lance is kneeling, “Is super bad for your knees.”

“Oh?” Lance slides into place, and it’s sort of uncomfortable with half of his ass hanging off the chair, but he can feel heat pouring off Keith’s body with how close he is. “You care much about my knees?”

Keith goes super red. “I’m a physical trainer,” He said, suddenly very interested in his soda. “It’s my job to care. Doing stuff like that will ruin them.”

“Right.”

Lance glances over at Pidge, who had a garlic knot halfway to her mouth and giving Lance the most predatory grin. He glares at her to shut down whatever evil plans she might be formulating.

They finally finish the food and decide to stop taking up a table, bussing it themselves to save the staff some work. Instead of a bar, they decide to head over to Lance and Pidge’s apartment to chill - half because Pidge isn’t 21 yet and wouldn’t be able to join them at most of the bars in town, and half because Vinnie’s was so loud that they’re all craving some quiet.

Lance is so thankful that his past self had the sense to clean a little more. They all sprawl out over the living room, Lance going to pull a chair from the kitchen to sit on so the guests can have the nice couch and Pidge can curl up in the easy chair. Lance offers up the ice cream sandwiches from the freezer and everyone takes one; Allura seems to be examining hers with great interest, like she’s never had one before.

Shiro talks a lot, mostly about what Harborville was like when he and Matt were in college. About their first apartment that should probably have been condemned, the dogs he’d walk between classes for extra cash. Eventually Lance’s cats come out of hiding to investigate, and Keith goes starry-eyed at Batou’s big green eyes and plush grey coat.

Pidge falls asleep in her chair just after nine. Everyone takes a second to coo at how cute she is before Lance bends down to scoop her up.

“Lemme put sleeping beauty here to bed. If she stays there she’ll be sore and cranky when she wakes up.”

He takes Pidge to her room and sets her on her bed, then wrestles her sneakers off her feet, setting her glasses on the bedside table and draping a sheet over her. When he goes back into the living room and sits in the chair he’d removed Pidge from, Allura gives him a fond look.

“You’re very sweet to her.”

Lance shrugs. “She’s pretty much family. Also, I have to do that all the time. I’ve found her face down on her homework out here more times than I want to count.”

They talk for another two hours. Lance feels a little lonely with Keith sitting on the side of the couch furthest from him, but then again, if he was closer, Lance isn’t sure his brain would work. Allura yawns wide.

“I think it’s time we turned in,” she states. “I’d like to get some rest before the weekend starts.”

Shiro agrees. Lance ends up seeing them off in the parking lot, waving as they drive away.

.

Hunk arrives just after 10am the next morning, armed with bags of groceries to pack a picnic for the beach. He puts Lance and Pidge on an assembly line in the kitchen, making pork sandwiches, vegetable rolls, hummus wraps, crab and radish tartines, potato salad, and chocolate-dipped clementine slices. He’d picked up a package of Lance’s favorite lemon cream cookies and Lance could almost kiss him for it.

With their precious picnic food carefully packed in an ice chest along with plenty of drinks, Lance shot a group text to Keith, Shiro, and Allura to ask if they were ready for the beach. He got confirmation quickly, and they agreed to hit the north shore near the lighthouse, where the sand was rougher but the tourists tended to be a little thinner.

Parking is a bitch but they find a spot, then wait by the trunk for Keith and Co to arrive. About ten minutes later Lance sees Allura’s Chrysler pull in to a spot. They walk over to meet them and Lance is practically bouncing, because 1) he gets to go to the beach, 2) he gets to go surfing with Hunk, 3) he gets to spend time with new friends, and 4) Keith is here. Everyone is in shorts and light shirts, Allura has this big floppy sun hat that is absolutely precious on her, and Keith’s face is shiny with sunscreen. Lance bets that fair skin of his will still be red by the end of the day.

They find a spot that’s decently clear and set up. Hunk, Keith, and Lance tackle the portable canopy that will hopefully keep them all from becoming completely sunburned while Allura and Pidge set out the sand blanket and arrange their stuff to keep the wind from blowing it away. Once they’re settled, the ice chest is opened and sodas and juice are passed around. The wind is strong today but not enough to be a problem for their canopy, and the waves are large and plentiful. Lance eyes the surfboard rental shack a quarter mile down the beach.

Once they’ve had enough of snacking and chatting, Lance gives Hunk fingerguns and they almost take off down the beach together, making a beeline for the surfboards. Rolo is working it as usual and after some searching they find the perfect boards and duck into the changing tent to get into their springsuits. Lance has the white and blue suit up over his hips and was about to pull it the rest of the way on when he remembers that Keith is sitting out there. Ever since Lance learned he was a Crossfit trainer, he’d started running and working out again. He wasn’t in as good a shape as he was when he’d been swimming competitively, but thanks to months of regular exercise, he at least sort of looked the part again. And maybe he wanted to show off a little. So Lance left the top of his springsuit open and hanging from his hips as they went back to the group with their boards.

“Showoff,” Hunk accused while they were still out of earshot of everyone else.

Lance subtly flexed his chest. “So? I worked hard for this.”

When they got back to the canopy, Lance did his best to act nonchalant as he set his board aside and started pulling his springsuit up over his chest. Keith was definitely looking at him. Mission accomplished.

His flirty nature satisfied, it was time to surf. Lance missed this so much, the first step into the ocean water was like heaven. He and Hunk paddled out until the water was smooth, then sat on their boards and waited. They didn’t have to wait long, Hunk caught the first good wave that came their way, riding it out and away. Lance caught the next one, and it was a crazy high. It just felt so good, cutting through the water with his board, turning, riding through tunnels of blue-green. The waves tossed him, wrecked him, dragged his body against the sand below. But every time, Lance would surface, shake it off, and paddle out for another go.

His legs finally started to shake, so Lance hauled his board back to the shore. Hunk was already sitting under the canopy again, changed out of his springsuit and sipping on a juice box.

“I was gonna give you ten more minutes before I dragged you out of the water,” Hunk said.

Lance didn’t reply, chest heaving as he caught his breath. His board hits the sand and he all but collapses onto the sand sheet, his ears ringing.

A water bottle appeared in his periphery. Lance looked up enough to trace the hand that held it back to Keith, who was wearing this cute little smile. Lance smiled back and took the bottle, downing half of it in one gulp.

Pidge starts pulling out food and Lance blindly eats whatever is handed to him, too exhausted to care what it is. It’s all delicious but with how many calories he burned surfing, he could probably be eating stale saltines and they’d taste like a delicacy. He leans back on the sand sheet and basks in the post-surf euphoria.

Lance notices everyone starting to get up. Allura is holding several frisbees with a gleam in her eye, and most of the group is rising to join her. Keith stands and, after fiddling with the collar of his shirt for a second, reaches back and pulls it over his head, letting it drop to the ground.

Lance is instantly awake because holy shit. Keith is ripped. He’s all tight skin and perfect muscles and - oh.

He’d been wrong when he’d assumed Keith’s tattoo was a wolf. It’s actually a lion, roaring fiercely, emblazoned in dark red ink over his left hip.

Keith takes a hair tie off his wrist and uses it to pull his hair up high on the back of his head. He shoots Lance a loaded glance before walking out into the sun to join everyone else for a game of frisbee tag. Lance memorizes the muscles of his back as he goes.

“Good god, you’re so loud.”

Lance sits up and turns to see Pidge, sitting in the center of the sand sheet in her shorts and green rash guard, with her phone in one hand and a cookie in the other.

“I didn’t say anything!” Lance protests. Pidge just cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Not with words, anyway.”

Lance frowns, then dares to look back out at his friends, finding Keith and tracking his movements across the beach.

.

They empty the ice chest of food and drink and, after several more hours of beach fun, they decide to pack it in and head out. Lance is going to remember this day for the rest of his life - the image of Keith glistening wet as he walked out of the ocean had finally taught Lance the meaning of the phrase “looks good enough to eat.”

Lance is so, so tired. Surfing wore him out but he still played a round of beach volleyball after that, and then swam some more. He’s going to be so sore tomorrow. He drives himself, Hunk, and Pidge back to their apartments to shower and change before they head over to the Air B&B where Shiro, Keith, and Allura are staying. Lance decides on a regular shirt and his favorite jeans, only bothering to put a single layer of moisturizer on his face.

The Air B&B turns out to be a whole house, with a yard and a little deck where they all gather around faded patio furniture as Shiro hands out beers. He gives Pidge a look as she takes one for herself.

“What?” She says as she twists off the top of the bottle. “I’m gonna be 21 in a few months, I’m in safe company, and I’m not driving.”

Shiro just sighs and sits down.

They talk and laugh for hours. Pidge only has one beer before switching to sweet tea, and Lance is a little relieved. He has no idea what drunk Pidge would be like and he’d rather not find out this weekend - he would be cash money that she’d be ornery as hell. Hunk orders some delivery from their favorite noodle place when Lance isn’t paying attention. Keith looks happy as a kid on Christmas with a giant bowl of pho in front of him, and Lance learns that Vietnamese food is his favorite.

They move inside once the sun goes down to keep from bothering the neighbors. Lance settles into a corner of the faded couch, and is too tired to panic when Keith sits next to him. Hunk launches into a story about his last term at school when he almost blew the breaker for the entire engineering building and Lance tries to pay attention, but he’s worn out and Keith is radiating heat like a furnace. Combine that with his full stomach and a couple of beers and he’s so, so sleepy.

Someone is calling his name and Lance inhales sharply, eyes fluttering open. It was Hunk, who’s smiling at him from across the coffee table. Lance is leaning on something warm and solid. He rubs his eyes and looks up.

He was leaning on Keith.

Lance’s eyes bug out but Keith just looks down at him with this tiny smile and a blush on his cheeks. Lance suddenly feels like the room is a million degrees as he carefully sits up.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pass out.”

Keith laughs softly. “It’s fine.”

They all start to wrap up their stories and conversations. Lance doesn’t know what time it is but it feels late, and since they want to hit the fair tomorrow, they should all get some sleep. Hunk offers to drive home and Lance hands him the keys as Keith, Shiro, and Allura wave goodbye from the front porch.

He almost falls asleep again in the ten minutes it takes Hunk to drive them back to their apartment. Lance helps set up the pull-out sofa, then goes to brush his teeth. He’s practically nodding off at the bathroom sink when Pidge comes up to him and pulls out her phone.

“Thought you should see this,” she says, holding it up.

On the screen is a photo of Keith, and, with his head resting on Keith’s shoulder dead asleep, Lance. Keith is looking down at him and definitely blushing.

The toothbrush stills in Lance’s mouth as he swipes the phone from Pidge’s hand, using his thumbs to pull and zoom. Keith was smiling.

“Please send this to me immediately,” Lance tells her, words muffled from the toothbrush still hanging from between his teeth.

He’s in bed setting his alarm when he gets the text from Pidge with the photo attached. And if Lance hugs a pillow and kicks his feet a little at the sight, who could blame him?

.

Continued in part 6!

[dykedteach]

another prompt from this list, this time it’s a Silverflint coffee shop au that started as a drabble and turned into a 3k fic accidentally?

“Not you again...”

The midday lunch rush was just finishing up, and James had been keeping his eyes on the clock, waiting for his own break. Only twenty minutes left now, and then he would be free to take his bagel and tea and book to go and sit on his favourite bench overlooking the river. With the shop getting quieter and no queue, he took a second to actually breathe. It had been a rather busy morning. In fact the whole week had been particularly hectic. It was the start of September, and students had started going back to school, and while the local college provided him with plentiful business, he’d be lying if he said he’d enjoyed serving masses of dead-eyed youths, or even worse, the chipper ones who tried to make conversation with him. Plus there was some kind of modern art exhibition open in town that had been drawing crowds in from afar, leaving the local establishments buzzing with activity.

He poked his head into the small kitchen to find the chef whistling over a sizzling pan of scrambled eggs.

“Billy, I’m going to head out when Eleanor gets back, could you prep my lunch bagel now it’s gone quiet out here?” he shouted back.

Billy tossed the eggs in the pan, flipping some into the air and catching it again mid-fall. “Sure thing, boss. Glad it’s slowed down, anyway.”

James nodded at him and returned to the counter. He leaned against his work station, arms folded as he looked over the shop. Most of the tables had been occupied early in the day by students with laptops and notepads, and he had been steadily refilling drinks all morning. Just as he had tricked himself into a false sense of tranquillity, the arrival of his worst nightmare was signalled by the sound of the shop bell tinkling.

The man bounced straight up to James, grin spread wide across his face as he drummed the fingers of two heavily tattooed hands on the surface of his counter. The fucking hipster.

“For fucks sake, not you again.” James groaned, unconcerned about decorum and customer service. This guy didn’t deserve it, anyway.

“You’re gonna really hate me today.” the man said with a laugh, producing a crumpled list from the back pocket of a pair of incredibly tight, and incredibly paint-splattered, jeans.

“More than I already do, you mean?” James scowled, eyes darting over the man and finding all the more reasons to despise him. He had his hair in a bloody man-bun of all things today. The combination of the messy bun and the facial hair (with a little waxed moustache above the beard, no less) reminded him of every barista twat he’d encountered and interviewed when he had tried to open up a small shop in London. Most of them had been smug and overly-friendly, too. It was one of the reasons he liked having Eleanor as a barista so much. Sure, she took extra long smoke breaks and swore at most of the customers, but she was no-nonsense. Also, was it James’ imagination, or did the man even have more tattoos dotted over his forearms than when he had come in the day before? Impulsive little shit.

“Ohh no. Yesterday and Monday were just warm-ups. Today, we’ve got all of the artists in.” tattoo-twat said with a heavy sigh, squinting at his own handwriting. The last two days, he had come in just after the lunch rush with a long, complicated list of drinks to-go, including concoctions that James was sure he’d made up on the spot, before leaving with a wink and no tip. “You’re gonna want to write this down.”

James snorted, reaching into his own back pocket for his pen and notepad. He tapped the pen on the paper, raising an expectant eyebrow at the offending man. Tattoo-twat took a deep breath.

“Right, so. A mocha with whipped cream, three spoons of sugar and two shots of cherry syrup, a black coffee with two shots of hazelnut syrup, a matcha latte with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles- here, I’ve got the matcha powder for you, ‘cause I bet you don’t have any.” he said, stopping to pat his pockets down before yanking out a thin packet of green powder to hand to James, who merely glared at him. “An Earl Grey with just a smidge of soy milk and a slice of lemon, another black coffee but with an extra shot of coffee and also as hot as you can possibly get it, so maybe save that one until last?”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you save it for last on the list.” James growled, already growing impatient.

“Because they were all just sort of yelling at me and I kinda just went with it? I don’t know? Anyway, a caramel latte with two extra shots of coffee and almond milk, also the caramel has to be sugar free or else Idelle will crash halfway through our afternoon sketching, peppermint tea with one shot of coffee and one of vanilla-”

“That’s not a thing. I refuse to believe that’s a thing. You’re reading it wrong.” James said, leaning over to snatch the crumpled note from the man’s hand. Halfway through the list, black messy scrawl had switched to various colours of inks in all kinds of handwriting, all much clearer than the first few bullet points. Unfortunately, tattoo-twat had read it out right, and now James was condemned to make the monstrosity, along with a handful of other incredibly weird drink combinations.

“Creatives, eh? Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.” The man laughed awkwardly, leaning forward onto the counter. His shirt, dark and loose and embroidered with little stars, lay half open, giving James a perfect view of a tanned chest and dark nipples. He had been determined not to look down the man’s shirt, but a glint of shiny metal drew his eye downwards to where a piercing went through one hard bud. James coughed, turning around with the piece of paper to start making his order up.

“They decide halfway through that you probably weren’t listening then?” he asked casually, getting to work and ignoring the slight flush he could feel creeping up his neck. He decided he’d rather not look at the man if he could avoid it, lest he find that damned nipple winking back up at him again.

“Nah, I just sort of threw the list to the new collaborators while I sorted out my shit. Too much to do, not enough time or caffeine.” he said chirpily. He hadn’t divulged any details to Flint over the last two trips, seeming content enough to watch Flint work while he glared at the man.

“Oh, so you’re not just the tea boy then?” James asked, unable to resist getting the jibe in. He heard the man scoff behind him, and gave in to the urge to turn back around to see his reaction. His still had that stupid lopsided grin on his face, although now it seemed all edges and teeth.

“No, I’m not just the fucking tea boy. I’m the project manager, actually. I’m more than a pretty face and a great ass, you know.” he drawled, shifting to lean sideways onto an elbow. James frowned, turning back towards the drinks. He swore he could feel his gaze running along his back as he had turned away.

“Project manager, hm? Some hipster start-up, no doubt. Funded by daddy’s bank account.” he said conversationally. Not that he gave a fuck about what the man did, of course. But he was admittedly a little curious.

“Well, ‘daddy’ had nothing to do with this, trust me. And no, it’s a modern art exhibition, actually. Some of the best talent in the country, mixed mediums, all that jazz. I’ve got to keep my team happy, hence...all this.” tattoo-twat said, gesturing to the list that sat limply on James’ counter. Ah, yes. That modern art exhibition. “Don’t worry, though. You’ve only got two more days of me, then we’re gone, and my pretty face and great ass both disappear into the sunset.” he said, the smirk apparent even in his voice as James looked away.

“Why here?” James asked brusquely, changing the topic sharply. “There’s at least three coffee chains within spitting distance of this shop, why the fuck did you decide to come here?”

“One of our guys stopped off last week when he was scouting out our location, took a shine to your blonde barista. He was told in no uncertain terms into which orifice he could shove his offer of a phone number, so naturally he swears that she and him are meant to be. Made me come here on Monday to see if I could swing her opinion, and quite honestly? She is terrifying.” the man laughed, still propping himself up on the bar and clearly quite content in his role as storyteller, a natural. Flint chuckled to himself, shoulders shaking.

“He wasn’t the dickhead with the long hair, was he? Tall, tight clothes, abs you could probably grate cheese on, attitude problem?” James said, biting down another laugh. Eleanor had spent an entire afternoon shift last week moaning to James about the man, calling him every name under the sun, before telling Flint exactly how, in her words, “unbearably fuckable” she had also found him. Flint’s war against Eleanor’s shit taste in men was one he had long known could never be won.

“The very same. Charles is an arse, but he has his uses.” the man said with a shrug. James snorted.

“Charles. Jesus, doesn’t sound much like a Charles. Thought all you artsy types would be called like...” James bit his lip, thinking as he measured out syrup shots. “I dunno. Rainbow. Magenta. Bear. Pineapple. Chrysanthemum. Salome.”

“Salome is biblical, that doesn’t count as an artsy hipster name.” he interrupted, expression turned almost serious. He looked more earnest than James had seen him look all week. “If he didn’t look like a Charles because you think he’s artsy or whatever, I’m curious. What do I look like?” tattoo-twat asked, frowning up at James from his slumped position on the counter. His hips were pushed out behind him, and James was irked to see a table of young girls sat nearby paying more attention to his tight jeans than their textbooks. He raised an eyebrow at the man.

“Do you really want me to answer that question?” Flint said, the corners of his mouth tugging up a little as he fought against appearing too smug.

“Oh, come on. You’ve got to have thought of me as something in that pretty little head of yours. Asshole-coffee-man, That Guy With All The Hair, Pineapple...” he chuckled, imitating Flint’s raised brow.

James ignored the ‘pretty’ comment, and decided against telling tattoo-twat exactly what terms he’d been thinking of him as all this time.

“Which one is yours?” he asked the man while juggling two jars of frothed milk.

“The cherry mocha. I’ve got a sweet tooth.” the younger man said, giving him a wide, toothy grin as if to drive the point home. Was this guy fucking serious?

“Sweet tooth? You’ve got roughly the sugar consumption of a seven year old for a week in this.” James sighed, shaking his head in disappointment at himself, the tattoo-twat, the entire coffee industry, and the universe as he pumped two shots of cherry syrup into the mocha. It already smelled sickeningly sweet to him, but whatever kept this man-child happy. “Anyway, now I can think of you as cherry-mocha-man. Happy now?”

“Actually, it’s Silver. Oh, and can you pass me the really hot black coffee and the hazelnut one separately when you’re done? I need to finish them off.” tattoo-twat-cherry-mocha-man-Silver, who was now reaching into his waistband, said. He lifted up the hem of his shirt, exposing a toned waist and a hipflask tucked against his side.

“That cannot be comfortable.” James stated shortly. He watched as the tattoo-tw- Silver. He watched as Silver put the metallic flask on the counter, its contents sloshing around inside, and shrugged back at James.

“It was the least conspicuous place for it. You joke, but these aren’t even the tightest pair I own. Anyway, you still haven’t told me your name yet.” Silver said, that cocky grin fixed back on his face.

James wasn’t used to this amount of attention from customers at all. His regulars knew him well enough by now to understand that he wasn’t one for small talk, he knew for a fact that he intimidated his younger customers for whatever reason (Good, he thought.), and even when he did get chatty ones, they usually read him pretty quickly and gathered that they’d have as much joy and ease trying to get a conversation out of one of the leather sofas he’d placed by the windows. But then clearly, this man Silver seemed to think that because he was artsy and charming and attractive, he could spend however long he liked chatting up his barista.

“It’s James. Which is an actual name, oddly.” he replied. If he was going to participate in an actual conversation with this guy, he might as well try and get the upper hand if possible. It would certainly make the next two lunch shifts interesting, although James was already considering swapping his lunch break with Eleanor’s so that she would have to deal with his orders instead next time, God help him.

“So is mine.” Silver said. “First name is John, which I’m not actually sure anybody could argue isn’t a real name to be fair. Biblical, too.”

James checked over the drinks, making sure he hadn’t missed anything out. He was fairly certain he had met every single one of the group’s ridiculous demands, all he needed to do now was top the ones that needed cream, and do the stupidly hot coffee that Silver needed to spike with booze. “You don’t look much like a John either, if I’m honest.” he said while grabbing a can of whipped cream from the fridge.

“Hmm. I get that a lot.” Silver sighed, watching James as he finished the drinks. “So, the angry blonde. Is she your girlfriend, or...?”

James snorted suddenly, a high-pitched almost-giggle that seemed to alarm Silver slightly, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline.

“Eleanor? God, no. You were right, she is fucking terrifying, that one. She can be a laugh, though. Fun to drink with, too. But neither of us would ever.” he said, putting the cups into two cardboard carriers. He paused, trying to decide whether or not he should add the extra comment, before his tongue got the better of him. “It helps that I’m gay, anyway.” he said, slightly quieter as he ducked his head down to check the lids.

John Silver straightened where he stood, expression unreadable as he blinked back at James.

Silver hummed, breaking the moment of silence. “Well, that does make things easier, at least.”

James looked at the man, frowning in confusion. He felt the skin on the back of his neck begin to prickle, and he shifted on one foot under Silver’s gaze.

“Really? What’s that?” he asked gruffly. Silver’s mouth hung slightly open, his eyes wide and unfathomable as they stared at each other.

“Makes it easier knowing that when I ask you out for dinner at the end of the week, you might say yes.” Silver said, voice soft.

The continued prickling along his neck confirmed his suspicion that, at least subconsciously, part of James had been expecting that this was where the conversation would arrive at. He also knew that he could have been much more blunt to the tattooed man, ignored him completely while he made his order to go, told him in no uncertain terms to fuck off. Yet he hadn’t, for whatever reason. He had entertained Silver, kept the conversation flowing, uninterrupted.

He realised that he had been motionless, staring at Silver who was now biting his lower lip between his teeth, something akin to nerves playing around his features. James hummed.

“That’s what you think, is it?” James teased, quite enjoying drawing this out. He tried to resist smiling, but felt his mouth tug up against his will. Ducking his head, he made his way over to his till to ring up the dozen drinks. “Ah well, you see, I’m an optimist at heart. That’s a whole two coffee orders away from now, so who knows? I could grow on you by then.” Silver said, fishing some notes out from the obscenely tight jeans to hand to James. He chuckled as he accepted the skin-warmed cash.

“How far away is your studio exactly?” he asked, his mind ticking over a plan, and he couldn’t quite yet decide if this plan was going to be the best idea he’d thought of all week, or his complete ruination.

“Fifteen minutes perhaps, if I pace. Overlooks the bay.” Silver said, checking the lids on the cups before lifting the two carriers. “I’ll manage with this, if that’s what you’re worried about.” he said, curling his arms up in turn and pretending to struggle with the load.

James hummed, trying his best to appear nonchalant as his eyes drifted to the clock on the wall of the shop. Less than five minutes to go.

“If you drop those off in time, get down to those benches over there, the ones overlooking the river, in the next half hour or so...” he said with a shrug, watching John’s brow crease as he calculated. “You might just catch me in a good mood.”

He watched the face of John Silver, the tattoo-twat who had forced him to make twelve increasingly fucked-up coffees, split into its biggest grin yet. Seeing James’ unchanged expression, he fought to get the smile under control, ducking his head.

“Right then. I should probably jog off then, shouldn’t I?” Silver said, spinning around to face the exit. The shop bell rang as the door opened, Silver not having quite reached it yet.

“Fucking hell, not you again.” Eleanor growled, barging past him with her handbag swinging. James snorted under his breath, hearing John bark a laugh as he left them.

She threw her handbag on the counter, pushing her hair back into place. “God, what a twat.” she sighed. “Anyway, you can go now.”

James clapped her on the shoulder, fighting back a smile.

“You’ve dated worse.” he said, handing her his apron and abandoning her to go and grab his bagel from Billy. If he walked quick enough, he thought he might even be able to get a chapter or two of his book read before Silver turned up.

[tgwltw]

Not Over You Too.

GUYS! I AM NEVER DOING A PART TWO TO ANYTHING EVER AGAIN lmao this had been one of the hardest thing I have ever wrote because I just couldn’t’ get everything to sound very smooth and I had all of these scenes and words in my head but trying to string them together beautifully had been a challenge.

This is back due to popular demand (lol, not really – you guys asked and initially, I wasn’t going to write a part two and this could probably be read as a stand-alone aka you don’t need to read part one to understand) and I honestly, hope you will enjoy this because this is over 2k words of I’m not sure what I was feeling when I was writing this! 

Thank you so much for your warm messages and responses to NOT OVER YOU. I would love to respond to all of your messages regarding NOT OVER YOU but I have a lot so I’m just going to respond to you here in one huge chunk of text: thank you so much for your kind words in regards to NOY and for the endless compliments you guys shower me with, I feel like I don’t deserve it but thank you so much!! Love you guys and thank you for the support!

MASTERLIST

Not Over You

  “Are you still feeling down in the dumps, Peter?”

Peter lets out a sigh, playing with his lunch, contemplating Ned’s question. Peter never thought there would come a day where he would not be able to see you, hear your lovely voice and even see that brilliant, dazzling smile of yours that more often than not made every man (and woman) swoon and Peter has already gone a little over a week without seeing you. He had not actually meant any and all of the things he has said to you before and Peter regrets it – if he could turn back the time, he would.

“I thought you would be happy now that Y/N isn’t bothering you anymore.”

Ned’s words cause Peter to startle and drop his spoon to stare at his best friend. “I – what are – I never said that!” Peter refutes him weakly as he continues to stare at his best friend with eyes wide and heart hammering against his chest.

Ned briefly looks up from his own food, chewing thoughtfully. He swallows and shrugs his shoulders. “You sorta implied it before though.” He points out and Ned watches as Peter seem to curl up in to himself and Ned is a little bit torn between wanting to be a really good friend to Peter and wanting to be a really good friend to you. Being the middle person sucks.

Peter sighs, shaking his head before looking back at his own food. Honestly speaking, Peter never used to think that Midtown High School is a big. He always used to think that it is quite alright (in size – but Peter has always gone to this school so he really doesn’t have much to compare it with) but ever since that very day, Peter has started to hate how big the school feels like. He hates how empty and dull the walls seem to look like and he hates how quiet the cafeteria can get whenever he eats. Most of all, Peter thinks he is slowly sinking in his own depression and heartbreak. Is this what you feel like every time Peter rejected you?

The school only seems bigger now than it had been before because no matter where Peter looks, he is never able to find you. It’s like you really go out of your way to stick to your words in making sure you will never cross paths with Peter ever again.  He also doesn’t actually hate how empty and dull the walls are – they are fine – but he mostly hates how nowadays, whenever he is in the hallway, surrounded by those walls, Peter looks over his shoulders quietly frequently, just in case you decide to come over to greet him like how you used to, almost every morning with a smile on your face without a fail.

The cafeteria is never quiet – it’s always so noisy and this is a fact. Peter knows the reason why he thinks it’s quiet; the fact that you aren’t there sitting with Ned and him, chattering mindlessly about the amount of paper work, assignments and extracurricular activities makes his lunch time unappealing and very lonesome. Even though Ned tries his hardest to cheer him up as much as he can, cracking jokes here and there, it’s just not the same to Peter.

Peter can’t seem to find the same comfort he gets from you whenever Ned speaks – it’s really not the same and it hurts to know that you probably don’t even want to do anything with him now. If only Peter stopped you from walking away that day – if only Peter had grabbed on to your arm and tell you of his feelings for you!

Peter feels like the fact that he had been extremely cowardly and blinded by his own fear is probably going to haunt him until he can actually mend his own heart, whenever that may be although not any time soon. Now that you are literally gone from his life, Peter finds the you-shape hole in his heart gradually growing bigger and it’s almost taking up all of the space in his mind too. He misses you and he misses you a whole lot.

The way you would often greet him with that cheerful tone and beautiful smile, the way you would talk to him despite probably having a million of things to do, the fact that despite how busy you are with your own commitments, you always take the time to talk to Ned and him and you have never treated them any differently even if you are more popular than the both of them.

Peter sighs as he stops playing with his food altogether. He picks up the tray, causing Ned to stare at him in surprise because he is still currently eating. “I think I’m just gonna go to class early.” He murmurs and Ned slowly nods his head because there really isn’t anything much he can do to help Peter. “See you later,” Peter nods his head weakly towards Ned and stands up to leave the table.

Your absence strikes him like a kick in the stomach. He loves you. He knows he does. Even if he has rejected you multiple times and probably broke your heart every single time he turned down your offer for a date or confession. Peter knows he loves you a whole lot and he is willing to do anything, everything he can to get you to understand that.

You, on the other hand, had just finished a meeting with one of the teachers when you spot Peter. You immediately duck in to a random, open and free classroom the moment you spy Peter walking down the hallway, looking downtrodden and forlorn. Your heart is racing against your chest and as much as you really want to go see Peter, you know you shouldn’t. You have made a promise to yourself; to try and move on and you are not the type to go back on your own words and promises.

“So,” Someone speaks up, causing you to jump and whirl around to face the person. MJ is sitting at some table, books scattered on said table and she is staring at you with an amused look on face. “How long are you going to keep this up?” MJ asks as she places her pencil on the table. This isn’t the first time she has seen you do this – in fact, during break, she had seen you taking a U-turn from heading to the cafeteria to a random bench outside when you spotted Peter queueing up in line with Ned. “Do you not like him anymore?”

You sputter for a few seconds, trying to find the correct words to answer MJ. Telling MJ that you no longer like Peter would be one of the biggest and hardest lie you might ever have to do and as much as you really want to tell her that you no longer like him, deep down inside, Peter is still pretty much occupying your entire heart, mind and soul. There has never been a day that would go by without you thinking about Peter – ‘has he eaten today?’ ‘I miss him’ ‘I wonder what Peter is doing today’.

“I think you know the answer to that.” You murmur, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. You blink a couple of times as you try your hardest not to think about Peter but it’s really as if the entire world does not want you to move on from Peter. Ever since that day, everywhere you go or turn to, Peter is always there. He might have missed seeing you for a little over a week but for every single one of those times, you have always seen Peter and it hurts you a lot to see him.

MJ shrugs her shoulders before she lifts up her sketchbook. You almost want to smile at the drawing she had made – it was, you assume, of Peter and you and in between, MJ did doodles too but you really did not want to entertain those thoughts anymore, at least not today. “He misses you, you know.”

You freeze slightly before shaking your head. “MJ, please.” You beg her and MJ quietly packs her things, placing them in to her own bag as she readies herself for class. “I just want this feeling to stop.” The tears that well up in your eyes fall down your cheeks – and you start to cry a little bit harder because didn’t you just break your promise of never crying over a guy?

“I just can’t breathe – it feels like there is a bag of bricks on my chest and shoulders.” MJ frowns as she hands you a couple of tissues and you quietly murmur your thanks as you try to dab away your tears. “Are you going to tell me about how stupid I am for crying over him again? Even though I told you before that I was going to stop liking Peter?”

MJ shakes her head, putting her phone away. “That’s your choice – not going to berate you for what you choose to do for yourself, Y/N.” MJ reaches over to awkwardly pat your shoulder and if you hadn’t been crying and feeling sad, you probably would laugh because MJ showing affections is a rare occurrence. “I just want to know why you didn’t listen to him.” MJ looks away from you, grabbing her bag.

“I was hurting a lot that day so of course, I didn’t want to listen to him. I guess, I just, didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t love me – what else was Peter going to say? I can only take so much rejection without feeling like shit, MJ.” Little do you know, Peter has heard every single word you have said to MJ and the frown on his face deepens. He loves you – even if it took a while for him to realize, Peter really loves you and he wants you back in his life for good. So Peter steps in to the room.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Y/N.” You blanch, stiffening as the blood drains from your face. Your eyes widen slightly when you realize that MJ must have told Peter where you are and that is probably also one of the reasons as to why she had been quite inquisitive about your feelings – the feelings that you have yet to open because you aren’t ready to move on. Narrowing your eyes at MJ, she simply pats you on the shoulder once more before mouthing ‘listen to him’ and leaving you alone in the room with Peter.

Tears well up in your eyes once more and you can feel your hands trembling, heart racing a mile a minute. “I haven’t been myself since that very day, Y/N.” Peter steps closer, pausing in his steps when he sees you tensing up. He wrings his hands nervously and looks down at his shoes.

Truthfully, Peter wants you to be happy to see him. He wants you to run in to his arms and he wants you to turn around so that he can finally look at you – so that he can finally be able to see your face once more. To him, you are everything he has ever wanted, the rest of himself.

Uncertainty is starting to build when you didn’t turn around to face him but that doesn’t deter him. The fact that you are still in this room with him must have meant something so Peter swallows the lump in his throat, deciding to simply do his best to convey his feelings to you. “That day – when – you said those words – that you will never cross paths with me again – I had something to tell you.” Peter steps closer and he is now standing directly behind you.

You flinch when you can feel his presence. You aren’t ready to face him just yet. You know the moment you see him, you are probably going to forgive him and forget about all the pain and heartbreak you have been through. You aren’t ready just yet – you still want to be mad and try your hardest not to give in to your feelings.

Peter continues to talk despite the lack of response from you. “That day – I realized something. I love you, Y/N.” Peter blurts out – there really is no way he is able to convey his feelings to you properly other than to tell you and show you.

You sway slightly at Peter’s confession: it feels as if a bomb had gone off inside your head and heart and you didn’t even realize you are crying until Peter slowly turns you around to face him. “I am so sorry.” Peter wipes away the tears from your cheeks, apologizing from the bottom of his heart – seeing you cry feels like someone has stabbed him repeatedly in the gut.

Peter knows he absolutely cannot fuck this up anymore. He has been miserable for the past week and judging from your state and what MJ has been telling him – God bless MJ for telling him these things even when she didn’t have to -, you have been suffering the same fate as him too.

“I should not have allowed myself to love you, Peter.” You cry out and Peter shakes his head before cupping your face with his palms, still rubbing his thumbs across your cheeks, wiping away your tears. You stare at Peter and as much as you really want to push him away, your feelings for him had only grown stronger and you know this crush isn’t really a crush anymore. “All I want right now is to be next to you even if you only make me cry.”

Peter shakes his head once again before he pulls you closer. He wounds his arms around you, cradling you to him softly as he lets you cry on his shoulder. Peter is washed with relief; the fact that you didn’t’ push him away meant that you aren’t disgusted with him or the like. He presses his lips against your temple, rubbing your back soothingly. “I love you, Y/N and I am going to keep on telling you this until you believe me. I love you.” Peter buries his nose in your hair. “I love you.”

[dr0wning-in-hell]

Southside Queen - Jughead

summary : Jughead Jones becomes intrigued with Y/N, once he saw just how much respect  she has over SouthSide High and how an abused girl, keeps herself together

word count : 2.1k+

warnings : Serpent!Jughead, self-harm scars, mentions of abuse, Bitchy!Betty, angst, sad!reader

pairing / characters : Serpent!Jughead x Serpent!Artist!Reader,  Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews, Veronica Lodge, mentions of Cheryl and Jason Blossom.

prompt : imagine - Jughead is no at SouthSide High, and no doubt are things between him and Betty were ending. You were Southside’s, queen, much like Cheryl was for the other school. Once Jughead saw you, he was intrigued, because how could someone with so much darkness, have so much poise?

A/N : omlll, I’m sorry but I am literal trash for Serpent!reader (partially because I feel like deep down I am a Serpent.) Anyways I kind of wrote this for myself ig?? There’s probably gone be a shit ton more of Serpent!reader soon. ;) anywayyyss, enjoy. p.s. you should read more under the cut.

masterlist | requests | prompt list | my wattpad

Jughead Jones was now part of the Serpents, not only at the high school, but with the gang itself. When Betty saw her beloved ‘soul mate’ as Veronica would put it, she knew things between him and her were going to end quickly. And I guess, that’s what naturally happened. The two distanced themselves from each other, hardly speaking to one another unless they caught glances in Pop’s.

Ever since then, Jughead has tried to move on, to try and make new friends at his new school. He was already quite popular, only because his dad was in jail for having been involved with the murder of Jason Blossom. From that first day when people surrounded him, made bonds with him, he knew that this was his new life. But he didn’t expect to see you in his new life.

You were what some would call ‘The Queen’ of Southside High, like they called Cheryl Blossom at Riverdale High. You would catch anyone’s attention when you walked into a crowded room, just by the click of your black, heeled shoes, and the leather jacket that was oh-so familiar to the town.

Jughead saw you walking down the hall one day, and seeing the familiar jacket, he followed you to wherever you were heading. To his surprise, it was the art room. Sure it wasn't the best art room, but for you it was perfect. It inspired you to create pieces of art that even the Mayor herself, admired.

The raven hair boy watched as you pulled out supplies after supplies, filling two desks full of pencils, markers, pens, watercolors, charcoals, and acrylics. He watched you sketch out the original drawing on a thin piece of paper, before sketching lightly onto the paint canvas.

You sensed his presence when you barley turned your head and saw him standing at the door’s entryway. You continued mixing your pigments as you spoke to him. “Need something, Jones?” You asked, calling him by his last name. He was surprised that you actually noticed him, instead of ignoring him like everyone else.

He coughed, stepping forward and into the dimly lit room. “I was uh- just, watching.” Jughead mentally face palmed at himself. He was making himself sound like a creeper.

Your laugh sparked something inside the boy, though. “Well if you wanted to watch my paint, you could have at least said so earlier.” You put the newly mixed pigment on a brush and began applying it to the canvas. From Jughead’s view, it resembled blood. Dark red, heavy substance. “But then again, you didn’t know I painted, did you?” Jughead shook his head in response. He walked closer to where you were, sitting a few feet away from you and your canvas.

“You seemed... intriguing.”  He said slowly. Your chuckle, and the wave of your Y/H/C waves, just drew him in further.

“Now I have been called a lot of things, but intriguing? That’s a new one.” You sat your paint brush down and turned to him. “Why do you find me so intriguing, Mr. Jones?”

Jughead shrugged. He had only been here a few weeks, so he really didn’t know much about you, but he knew he wanted to know more. “You just seem to have so much strength, so much poise, but you also seem to have a lot of darkness too. Just like the rest of the town.” He mumbled the last part, mostly to himself but you still heard him. 

You hummed in response. “All of those are very true. I do have a lot of strength, I had to have some if I was going to live on the Southside, go to this highschool, live in this town. Now the poise, that just comes naturally, much like the darkness. But everyone has darkness. It’s in me, it’s in the other students, it’s in you...” Jughead looked up, locking eyes with you. “That’s why you find me so intriguing, because you know that I share the same history, same future as you. A Serpent child.”

“I find you intriguing because you remind me of someone.”

“Yourself?” You rose an eyebrow. “The switching schools, living in foster care, being surrounded by people who only want to be around you because of your family, your past. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

Jughead was in shock. How could someone like you already have everything about him pin pointed so quickly? Maybe it was because he did see himself in you, or because you two did share the same fate.

The smirk that spread across your dark, pigmented lips only made his questions grow. You picked up your paint brush again and continued on with your work. “Swing by Pop’s at six, we can talk more if you’d like.” Jughead saw that as his queue to leave so you could work. He didn’t answer though, not saying if he’d go to Pop’s or not, he just left.

You were sitting at a booth near the windows, sketch book and pencils sitting in front of you. Even if Jughead didn't show up, you were going to stay. This was your place to draw, like it was his place to write.

Only three minutes later did the door to Pop’s open and set of the bell. You didn’t look up, not knowing whether it was going to be Jughead or just another customer. But when a pale skinned, dark haired boy sat in front of you, you knew who it was. Not helping yourself, you smiled and looked up at the boy sitting in front of you.

“You showed.” You smiled. closing your sketch book and pushing it to the side. “I didn’t think you would.”

Jughead shrugged, leaning against the cushioned booth and swinging a lazy arm around the top of it. “Like I said earlier- you’re intriguing.” For the first time in a long while, you blushed, and the sight made Jughead’s heart flip over and over.

You leaned forward, your hair falling in front of your face slightly. “So you gonna ask questions, or are we going to sit here all night?” You rose an eyebrow. Jughead chuckled.

“Alright, someone's eager.” He teased. “If we’re asking questions, I want to know what inspires your art.” The question made you a bit confused. “Don’t get me wrong everything you draw, paint, it’s all breathe taking, but it’s also dark. What inspires it? Inspires you?”

You sighed and slowly drew up the sleeves to your leather, Serpent jacket. On your wrists were scars. Varying from cigar and cigarette burns, to cuts, that looked a lot like self ham. Jughead’s voice caught in his throat as he looked at your scars. “I lived with an abusive father, to say the least. And a mother who was to scared of her own husband to protect her daughter. The fighting, the abuse, the burns, it turned my mind against itself and I began to think that I deserved what I was getting. I thought that he was doing this to me, to show me that no one would love me unless I did as told, kept my mouth shut, be an obedient daughter. It was so bad that I started to cut myself. I hit a major artery, one time which resulted in me going to the hospital. That’s when everyone found out about my situation. The Serpents were furious, the kicked my father out, turned him into an outcast, same with my mom. I was taken in by a much... friendlier family. They made sure I was happy, and I was.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “My past, my pain, my suffering, that’s what inspires my ‘dark art’ as some would say.”

Jughead sat there, speechless. How could someone do that to her? Sure, he hadn’t known her that long, but he knew that she didn’t deserve to be treated that way, especially by family. “I-I, didn’t know.” He stumbled over his words. You just shrugged.

“What’s done is done. I’ve kind of moved on from it. Now, Jughead, what inspires you? I know about your writings on Jason Blossom’s death.” Jughead rose an eyebrow. “Long story, but what does inspire you to write about such a horrible thing?”

“I guess it was the fact that so many people could have done it, could have taken his life, but to many things were missing from the story. I began digging with my friends, and we found the truth. In that truth we found the true Riverdale. A town of people, who were on either side of a war, and it was only going to get worse from there. We saw how dark Riverdale truly was. Maybe the darkness is what inspired me too.” When Jughead finished talking, the two of you both smiled. Neither of you had really ever had any friends that you could connect with on a personal level, but now you did. You had him, and he had you.

As he was about to ask another question, the door to Pop’s opened again and in walked his old friends Archie, Veronica, and Betty. Jughead’s eyes landed on Betty, who was eyeing him and the girl her was sitting with. You turned your head and saw the stares that the two of you were getting.

The trio walked over to you, obviously wondering what the hell was going on. No doubt they all saw the familiar marking on your leather jacket, which only raised their suspicion and worry.

“Juggy? What’s going on here?” Archie asked, looking between you and the raven haired boy.

“We’re just talking, Archie. Calm down.” He said.

Betty scoffed. Her eyes landed on your still exposed wrists. “What, about Heroine? That’s what those marks are from, right?” She said, looking down at you.

“Their cigarette and cigar burns from my father, actually.” You said, tugging your sleeves down. Veronica glanced over at her friend, but Betty said nothing. “And actually we were talking about his writing and my art, thanks for asking.”

Jughead gave you an apologetic glance from the corner of his eye. You just sighed. Veronica forced a smiled. “Well, I’m Veronica, this is Archie, and Betty.” She said. You only nodded. “But I’m guessing you already knew that.” She sighed.

Archie scratched the back of his neck. “We haven’t seen you in a while, Jug.” He said, obviously upset.

“I’ve been busy.” Was all he said.

Betty grit her teeth together. “With the Serpents?”

“Betty.” Archie said in a warning tone.

Jughead sighed. “Yeah, with the Serpents, Betty. I’ve been getting to know the people who have taken me in.” He said the last words to them, but he looked at you. You smiled a little.

After a few seconds of awkward silence you stood up and collected your sketchbook and pencils “Well it was nice meeting you, sort of... but I better get going.” You said. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, Jughead.”

The boy nodded. “Yeah, I’ll see you then.” With that you walked out of the diner and to your car in the lot.

Once you had left the three teens sat down. “Who was she?” Betty asked quickly.

“That was Y/N Y/L/N. She’s basically the Cheryl Blossom of Southside High, but she’s not a bitch like she is.”

The red head’s eyebrows knitted together. “Y/L/N? Why does that sound so familiar?” He mumbled. Betty was also thinking about your name, why it sounded so familiar. Then realization hit her.

“It’s familiar because her parents were the Serpents that were cast out of the gang, for nearly sending Y/N to kill herself.” She put her head in her hands. “She was the reason why the Serpents tale care of all their members children if something bad happens to them.”

Jughead huffed and stood up. “Yup. It was nice to see you guys again, but I have to get going as well.”

From that day forward Jughead’s feelings towards Betty had definitely changed, along with his feelings towards you. 

The Southside Queen. 

[redbootsthetimetraveller-archive]

Bea and I, With the Beatles Fanfiction Chapter 2

Same disclaimer as on the previous chapter.

About ten minutes later, this extraordinarily loud fart came from the back of the hall, halfway through the speech, and magnified because of the eerie quietness. It took two seconds for the entire hall to be laughing their socks off. There were even teachers trying to not die from not laughing up the front. The principal, though, was going a shade of purple with anger and embarrassment.

‘RIGHT! WHO WAS THAT?’ he yelled at the top of his voice, still going purple. The room fell dead silent, and I hid my book in case I was caught with it. Everyone was tense, and there was an air that we would be kept until someone owned up, and the person would not. But alas, a hand was held up, right at the back, and they immediately had every pair of eyes in the room upon them. ‘Jasper Kitchen. My office, at morning tea.’ Principal Summers snapped, and turned on his heel and walked back to the front. It seemed like every student wanted to burst into applause at that moment, but didn’t want trouble. Principal Summers went back to his dreary monologue.

‘He’s not in our year, is he?’ Paul whispered to me.

‘No, I think he’s a few grades below us or something. He’s no older than Arthur.’ I replied, also in whisper. Principal Summers finished his speech, and had still not turned back to a natural colour. A few announcements were made, and we were dismissed for first class. For Bea, Paul and I this was Geography, and for Ringo and John Mathematics, and George had English. We bid each other farewell until morning tea, and headed to different parts of the school. Rather than having Mr Putnam, we had a substitute called Miss Russel. She clearly didn’t know much more than us about it, and looking at her we could tell she was probably a sports teacher. She read out the roll and had trouble with my surname.

‘von Harreson… no that’s not right. Elizabeth von Ha…?’

‘It’s von Harrelson, Miss.’ I corrected her.

‘Rightcha.’ She said, and continued on with the roll. I began drawing in my book.

‘She might see that. She’s gonna be more observant than Mr Putnam.’ Bea said to me quietly, as she sat to the right of me. We had worked out how to write without bumping into each other; right-handed on the right, left on the left. And then switch hands when the teacher is looking, because if I don’t I’ll get the cane. Unfortunately, as I was pretending to write notes I didn’t notice that Miss Russel had turned around.

‘Miss von Harrelson, come up to the front please.’ She said while turning a page over. The room took a breath at that moment, and I paused before standing up and walking from the mid-back of the room to the teacher’s desk at the front. ‘Hold out your hand.’ I instinctively held out my right. ‘No not that one, the one you were using.’ She said, sounding slightly flustered. I did, and she hit me hard with the cane eight times. Eight has always been my unlucky number. I tried not to swear lest I get more caning.

‘Fuck she’s got a strong arm.’ I said quietly to Bea. ‘If she sees my handwriting she’d not be able to read it.’

‘Which hand?’

‘Either, they’re both illegible.’ I said slightly smirking. Class went on another long, boring fifteen minutes, and then we were released from that hell of a class. I grabbed out my morning tea of chocolate brownie, hiding my prized treat. It was the first thing I didn’t burn or undercook, which is why I don’t cook, but we needed morning tea this week and Amy was working. I put my coat on, and braved the cold with the gang.

‘Paul here says you got caned!’ Ringo said. ‘What for?’

‘Got caught writing.’ I replied.

‘I getcha. Bloody annoying, isn’t it? You two can’t help it.’ he said.

‘Hm.’ I replied, and tried to unwrap my brownie with my frozen fingers.

‘Hey, lemme help you with that.’ Paul said.

‘Err… thanks.’ I said, hoping he wouldn’t try and steal it.

‘Ah, lucky you!’ he said with a wink, handing it to me.

‘What’s she got?’ George asked. ‘Is that BROWNIE?!’ he exclaimed. George loves his food.

‘You’ve got brownie? You gotta share, man!’ John said.

‘No! My food!’ I said, trying to be serious, but failing and we all ended up wandering around the school. We were nearing the football pitch, and a few hardy souls were trying to have a match amongst the snowdrifts. Suddenly, one of them didn’t quite stop the ball and it came rolling towards us. I stopped it, and kicked it. It went quite far, but the goalie hadn’t really been paying attention and so didn’t realise until it was fractionally too late that the ball was actually going to go into the net. It hit the back net and bounced out again, and several people cheered, and I high-fived everyone. It was time to go back inside again, and the heaters barely heated the rooms, but we weren’t allowed to wear our coats. Bea and I had Sewing, my definitely least, and worst, subject. I would try and fix my gloves in this class, it wasn’t like I was going to finish the handkerchief set we’d been assigned to do anyway. That half hour dragged on for way too long, but it got slightly better because next we had English with Mr Wright, whose profession used to be an author until the war, but now he just settles on teaching English and making bad puns. His classes were always quite enjoyable, as the first twenty minutes were always reading, and the next forty minutes were usually interesting. He’s one of the more popular teachers. The next hour long class was Civics, which could be interesting but was generally boring. Once again, Paul was in our class for this. It was one of the ‘mildly interesting but boring’ lessons. As soon as we were released for lunch, we sprinted as fast as we could to put our stuff back and get in the queue for lunch. Fortunately, Paul, Bea and I got into line rather quickly, and got the measly ration of four fish fingers, fried bread, some chips and a bottle of orange juice, a rare luxury. We sat at our usual canteen table, waiting for the rest of the gang. George got in not too long after we sat down, and came to sit with us, but in silence as he was already eating. Ringo and John came rushing in two minutes later, and as they came over to sit down, Jasper Kitchen walked in, to immediate applause. John even went and patted him on the back. Turns out, he only got off with twenty cane lashes and extra homework for a week.

‘That’s not too bad for what he did, lucky bastard.’ John said as he sat down. ‘What’ve you got next?’

‘Well, it’s German for us, and then we all have Music until the end of the day.’ Bea said. ‘And I think George has Sport, and you?’

‘Well, I’ve got a free lesson, and I’m buggering off somewhere.’ John said. ‘But poor Ringo here has Science with Mr Gibbs!’ Mr Gibbs was this grumpy old shit of a teacher who was only still teaching because Principal Summers doesn’t want to lose his twin, or so the joke goes. We managed to get through our lessons, trying to work out how to swear in French (we’d already worked out German), or trying to work out how to get out of the class. One thirty came around, so Bea, Paul and I started running to Music, which is one of the only classes we ran to. Not many people were in the class, so the classes comprised of two grades. There was Bea, Paul, Ringo, George (who got special permission to join us, there weren’t enough in his grade), John and I, as well as Cyril Acker, in John and Ringo’s grade with Terry Garfield. In our year there was Belle Seward, Errol Hawkins, Graham Carpenter and Derrick Streets. Then the teacher, by far the best teacher in my opinion, and I guess the gang’s, and probably was the most qualified, Mr Eldridge. The class was in the new ‘Arts Wing’, which was much better than the shitty 1920’s classrooms of the ‘Academics Wing’ or the post-war slap-dash updating of the gym, and was actually not crap. Basically what happens in that class is we bugger around, doing stupid little songs and practicing for a gig or something, because we (I say we, because we sometimes go on stage with the boys and we’ve gone on one tour with them, over in Blackpool) were a band called the Silvers. It’s not the best name but it works.

‘So, what’s the lineup for Saturday?’ I asked, fiddling with my flute. The Silvers had scored a gig at the Cavern Club on my birthday.

‘So there’s a few songs…’ John showed me the list, as he was the band leader. He just was.

‘That’s not going to cover a night’s worth! You’ve gotta play for four hours!’ I exclaimed.

‘There’s one song we haven’t shown…’ Ringo started, but was glared at by George.

‘Y’know, if you’re short of songs, we could write some!’ Bea suggested.

‘That’s not a bad idea! Paul and I have already written some, so we’ve had experience, and you’re good at poetry, Lizzy, so it won’t be too much of a stretch for you, but I dunno about you guys though, just have a crack.’ John said, sounding slightly excited. ‘Use your books and rip it out later.’

We all sat with half the school’s guitars, three of them, and Ringo grabbed out his sticks, Paul tried to claim the piano but didn’t quite get it as Cyril Acker pushed him out of the way. John immediately began strumming away, George was experimenting with riffs and Paul began writing away. Bea also began busily scribbling. I put my pen to the paper, and soon started writing.

Some days, I hope to be far away.

Not right here or near, not today

If I stay here my mind might fray,

How I long not to stay.

‘That’s shit.’ I said to myself.

[hemcountry]

MEETING EMMYLOU, THE FRENCH SUN AND AN IRISH HARVEST!

I TALK TO NIAMH LYNN ON MEETING EMMYLOU, MELTING IN THE FRENCH SUN, AND LOOKING FORWARD TO AN IRISH HARVEST TIME!

With this year’s Harvest Country Music Festival drawing nearer by the day, one of the Irish stars who’ll be joining headline acts Nathan Carter and Miranda Lambert in entertaining fans in Westport and Enniskillen come the weekend of August 26th and 27th, recently melted the hearts of 30,000 country fans in France. As well as her own toenails for good measure!

Over the past couple of years Dublin-born songstress Niamh Lynn has been wooing fans the length and breath of Ireland with her traditional style of country, calling to mind for many a style that might best be described as old-fashioned. But old-fashioned in the best possible way. We’re talking a Patsy Cline kind of old-fashioned. And I’ll take that any day of the year. Of any year, in fact. Niamh’s debut album is the immensely enjoyable ‘An Old Fashioned Song’, and it was many of the tracks from this collection which Naimh and her band performed at the Rendez-vous Festival, where none other than Emmylou Harris herself also took to the stage.

Needless to say, when Niamh and I sat down for a chat last week, the memory was still quite vivid in her mind’s eye….

“I’m still buzzin’ from it, Anthony, it was absolutely amazing. There’s no words to describe it. From start to finish, from the moment I got there, the festival looked after me so well. We got in on the Friday, then on the Saturday went down and did our soundcheck at the venue, then had another little rehearsal in the dressing room, and went on-stage at 6 o’ clock. And the heat! I can’t tell ya the heat! Oh my God. The nail varnish on my toenails actually melted! Swear to God, it was just so warm. Where I was, it was like a suntrap because it was just a big black stage, ya know, and then at that time of the day and where the sun happened to be and everything. The heat was stifling. Even one of the lads was burning his fingers from his guitar, it was getting that warm, crazy. But we soldiered on [laughs]. And the reaction I got from the crowd was unbelievable, there was 30,000 people there, like. As soon as we started to play everybody started coming down towards the stage, and we had them with us for the full ninety minute set. We came off stage then and one of the promoters came up to us and said I needed to go with him, that there was a queue stretching around the corner waiting to meet me! And I was just like, ‘Me?!’ But it was fabulous. People wanted their hats signed, and they were buying albums, some girl even asked me to sign my name on her arm and said she’s going to get it tattooed on! Very bizarre! [laughs].”

How did Niamh come to be taking part in the first place?

“Well my manager, Declan Quinn, LCM Promotions, he’s been chatting with them [the festival organizers] for a couple of years. And when he finally put me forward for it, he sent over a couple of my videos and my album, and they took me straight way, that was basically it.”

Niamh is well used to performing in front of big crowds here in Ireland, with numerous festivals, big support slots, and award ceremony appearances behind her. But a crowd of 30,000 is definitely a whole new level for any artist to experience. I asked Niamh how she felt about it?

“Do you know what, I was coming up the ramp at the back of the stage to go on, and Declan was walking with me, and I said to him, ‘It’s grand, sure it’s just like Moynalty when I supported Nathan [Carter], it’ll be fine.’ Cos’ Nathan always has huge crowds, ya know. But I got up at the side of the stage, saw the crowd, and I was like woooah!! [laughs]. There’s video of me standing there, looking cool as a cucumber, but I was screaming inside, I can tell ya! But once you get out there, it’s grand. You just get on with it. I was just trying to make sure I was on the same page as the lads, and concentrate on things like that, and in that heat it was work! It was hard work, but at the same time we had a ball. I’d do it a million times over again. We had the crowd with us from the second song in, they all started coming down towards the stage, it was just unbelievable.”

Niamh with one of the best there’s ever been, or will ever be, Emmylou Harris.

And to crown a magical moment in her life and career, Niamh also got to spend some one-on-one time with one of the most famous country artists of all time, the wonderful Emmylou Harris.

“Yeah, I got to meet Emmylou afterwards, got a photograph with her, too. And there was security everywhere with her. I was in my dressing room, right, which was directly across from hers, and I got in after finishing my set to get my dress off, because of the heat it was soaking, ya know. And I heard Emmylou coming in. And as I said, before that, there was security all around her, you couldn’t get near her. So I said right, now’s my chance [laughs]. So I stuck my head out and I just asked her for a photograph! And we got talking, and she was asking me about my dress, and we got yapping away then. I was telling her about a song that I love her singing called ‘Goodbye’, which I heard about two years ago. And I was listening to it at the time because my grandmother was only after dying. And I never used to say goodbye to my nanny, I always used to say ‘I’ll see ya when I see ya.’ And I was telling her this, and why that song means so much to me, and she said she loved the song too and she was so sorry to hear about my grandmother. She was just so lovely. It happened so quickly, but I’d say I must have been talking to her for about five minutes. And nobody came near us. So it was just us talking about that song and the songwriter, and how she came to hear it, and then listened to it over and over again. So it might be one for my next album now, you’s never know.”

Harvest Fest Line-Up

And Niamh won’t have too long to wait for another big career milestone to come along, because the Harvest Country Music Festival is so close now you can almost hear the bands beginning to tune up! Is Niamh excited about her upcoming trips to Westport and Enniskillen?

“Oh I can’t wait, because I’ll have the same band with me as I had in France and the lads are brilliant. I’m really looking forward to seeing them again. And Harvest Fest is gonna be huge, two days, Westport and Enniskillen. I’m in Westport first, on the Saturday, then Enniskillen on the Sunday. I think. But I could be wrong, I’m shocking with dates! [laughs]. So everybody check that! [laughs]. I think it’s a forty minute set, too, so it’s gonna be great fun. And we had a photo-shoot with the Irish Independent for it last week, so that should be out sometime soon, a nice glossy magazine, should be good.”

Asked if there was is any artist in particular whom Niamh was most looking forward to seeing, and maybe meeting as well, her response was instant and definite!

“Charley Pride!! Of course! [laughs]. The big one, for sure. And Mo Pitney, too, I’m looking forward to meeting him. There’s gonna be so many great artists there who I’m looking forward to seeing. I’ll be wanting photos with them all, I think [laughs].”

Niamh with host of The Late Late Show, Ryan Tubridy

Now while Niamh has always known she could sing, and has always enjoyed sharing her gift with people, she hasn’t always been a country singer, per say. So what prompted her turn in this direction in the last year or so?

“I was in a variety group when I was about twelve, thirteen, until I was about fifteen, I think, and it was called the Joe Mack Group. We used to go around to hospitals and Nursing Homes and we’d all have our own act, and mine was Country Sounds with Niamh Phillips, that’s my maiden name. So that’s what I did, When I left that I came up with the idea of a gospel choir in school, we were called Saint Mary’s Angel’s Gospel Choir. And there was an end of school year mass coming up that we were asked to come in and sing at, and I said, yeah, but what if we do gospel instead, ya know, like something out of Sister Act 2, cos’ I loved Lauren Hill! [laughs]. So Brother John said to me, right so, well sing me a song. So I sang ‘Oh Happy Day’, and his eyes kinda went in spirals, and I think it set off some light-bulbs for him. He went off and he got a load of songs, and I ended up being in that choir for three years. We even ended up singing with Celine Dion, and on the Bibi Baskin Show (on Irish television), loads of things. And they’re actually known now as the Dublin Gospel Choir, and they’ve gone on to do great things. But I decided to leave them to join a band, a wedding band, because there was actually a good living to be made out of it, ya know. So I did that for a few years and then I went back to college. I wanted to study beauty because I loved anything kinda sparkly, make-up and stuff [laughs]. So I studied Beauty Therapy for a few years and then I worked in that industry for three years. After that I got married and had my kids. But then I said right, it’s time for music again, because I always wanted to go back to it. I was living in Cavan by then, and I’m still living there, and I could see how big the country scene was. So I started thinking maybe I could go back into country again, because that’s what I used to do in the Joe Mack Group. So that’s what I went back to doing, singing those old country songs that I love. There’s a niche there for it, I think, because nobody really does it anymore. And I think that was part of the reason for all of the attention I got in France, ya know, simply because nobody really sings those songs anymore. So I suppose you could say that I’ve just started up again where I left off once before.”

Niamh’s fab debut album, ‘An Old Fashioned Song.’

Niamh’s album is called ‘An Old Fashioned Song’, and I think that really sums up her love for traditional, ‘old-fashioned’ country, like Patsy Cline. What is it about that old-fashioned style of country that has always drawn Niamh to it?

“Well Patsy Cline, who you just mentioned, would be one of my favourite singers. And I think that’s where I get the tone of my voice. I’ve always loved singing her songs, and I’ve always felt comfortable singing those type of songs, too. They seem to suit my range and my tone. I don’t think it’s really a choice, to be honest. It’s more that country chose me, rather than me choosing country, if that makes sense?! [laughs].”

In action with Irish country star Johnny Brady on their duet, ‘A Love I Think Will Last.’

Niamh had mentioned her manager, Declan Quinn, earlier in our chat, and one of my favourite tracks on ‘An Old Fashioned Song’ is ‘I’m Missing You’, written by Declan. How important has Declan been in Niamh’s career?

“Oh listen…he’s the one who’s got me to where I am now, and in the direction I’m going in. I never knew which way to go myself. Just by chance I sent him my demos and they were country ones. He got onto me straight away and we set up a meeting where he said look, you need to get an image, you need to get a video, and you need to get a good song. And he asked me if I had any in mind. So I said yeah, and mentioned ‘An Old-Fashioned Song’, and he was like, yeah, good song! So he told me what I needed to do, and I went off and did it. So Declan knows I can come up with good ideas, with my image, and for the type of videos I want, ya know. Declan, to put it simply, has been a massive help to me.”

So Niamh is pretty hands-on with most aspects of her career then?

“Oh Yeah, absolutely.”

Niamh with songwriting great Phil Vassar

It’s often remarked upon that it’s much harder for female artists on the country scene than their male counterparts. I wondered if that had been Niamh’s own experience too, or what were her thoughts on this?

“I honestly think that for any type of work that a woman goes into, it’s gonna be hard [to be successful], so you have to push. With the country scene, I don’t feel that I need to be a b*t*h, as such, not to anyone. I don’t see it that way. But I do think you have to work that little bit harder alright for people to notice you. But again, to be honest, I don’t even really think about in that sense, female artist or male artist. I just think that whoever you are, you just need to work hard to get on in what you do.”

Before the year ends Niamh hopes to make it to Nashville, where she’ll be turning her attention to her songwriting.

“I’m in the middle of recording the first of my own songs now. I have loads of songs written, but I’ve never had the courage to do them before. And I don’t play an instrument so it’s harder as well. But there’s one particular song of my own that I’m in recording at the moment, and we’re back in there again working on that next week. So that’ll be my first self-penned song that I’ve recorded and am putting out there. With Nashville, we’ve been planning on going for the last few years but I kept saying no, I don’t want to go over there with nothing of my own to show. ‘An Old Fashioned Song’ is an album that gives people a first chance to hear me, see what I’m about and how I sound, but it’s not my own stuff. But my own stuff, when it’s out there, will be based on that old-time Nashville sound. That’s the way I want it to be, but with my own songs, ya know. So I want to go over there with something of my own done, because that’s what it’s all about in Nashville, songs and songwriters, and singer/songwriters. You can’t be going over there with covers! I’m pretty sure that would be frowned upon! [laughs]. So yeah, that’s the plan with Nashville. Please God, once I have everything in place, and I’m comfortable with what I have, we’ll be all guns blazing to get over there.”

And when might fans be able to expect a second album from Niamh, featuring some of her own songs this time?

“God, I don’t know. But I’m thinking next summer. Because I’m taking my time with it. I don’t want to be just throwing something out there, I want it to be good. I mean I could just get a few more covers, and write a couple, and throw them all in together, but I don’t want to do it that way. I want to do it right. And I tend to not look at what everyone else is doing, to be honest with ya. I go at my own pace, and do what feels right for me. You need to be committed to these things for them to work, and what I have at the moment is working nicely for me. People are getting to know me at a steady pace. I’m not throwing myself into a band here, then a band there, I’ve got a great band behind me. So I’m going to take it from here and take my time.”

* Niamh Lynn performs at the Harvest Country Music Festival in Westport [on Sunday!] and Enniskillen on August 26th and 27th. For more information on this event, go to aikenpromotions.com

** For more information on Niamh, check out her website, niamhlynn.com.

MEETING EMMYLOU, THE FRENCH SUN AND AN IRISH HARVEST! was originally published on HEM COUNTRY