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interstellarflowers · 4 years

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Professor Parker Ch. 1| Professor, Peter Parker x Student, Reader

a/n this fic doesn’t follow the marvel cinematic universe but assume that peter has been what he’s been through with the exception that tony lived, and bruce is still bruce, sorry but i just can't deal with endgame hulk/bruce rn emotionally or mentally. im sorry nat is still dead but dw i'll actually treat it with respect unlike endgame like goddamn where was her funeral, am i right? the stages of grief thing they did was interesting though. im sorry i digress, this is set in nyc (because heyo im a new yorka) and the avengers/stark tower is still a thing, peter is fucking traumatized and has turned kind of cold as a result. this fic may contain a smut chapter in the future? not sure yet, where this fic goes depends on the feedback, thanks for reading also sorry im not the proudest of this first chapter so ill probably edit it but promise itll only improve from here just not in the best mental state rn

University life wasn’t exactly everything that you imagined it to be. There was hardly time to do anything that people claimed was good about coming to university. The parties, the epic heartbreaks, and romances, they were just nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was nothing particularly extravagant about your experience thus far. You went to class, studied, and went to your internship. Your internship was probably the most exciting thing about your life at the moment, you were lucky to be accepted into the Stark Industries student internship, the company paid college tuition and only required around twenty hours of lab work a week, you couldn’t complain. Of course, the exciting part of the whole ordeal was the name attached to it, “Stark,” not that you had ever met him, but it was nice to have a unique feature like that in such an impressive student body.

So here you were on the first day of your third year of university. You lived off-campus, about a five-minute walk from the Stark Tower, but a twenty-minute subway ride to your campus. However, having an 882 square foot space to yourself was really nothing you could truly complain about despite the distance. The studio apartment being yet another benefit reaped from Stark Industries. Thank you Tony Stark, the unseen benevolent God in your life.

Typically you would start your mornings off quietly and in no rush, a shower, a cup of coffee, maybe some studying before heading off to your campus, but your phone had other plans for you today. Instead of your alarm going off like it was supposed to, you were woken up by the sound of a particularly loud car horn, and oh how grateful you were for that. As soon as you were jolted awake you shifted to grab your phone and turned it over to see an alarming 8:40am glaring back at you.

Holy shit. You were late.

You scrambled out of bed nearly face planting several times in your hurry to get dressed and only barely ran out the door with everything you needed at 8:47am.

By the time you managed to get to the subway and clamor onto the right train it was already 8:55am. Out of breath and panicking, you considered your options. You could explain after class, you could shoot an email, there were a plethora of things you could do but none of them seemed to justify being late as a third-year to a level 500 class. You had googled all of your professors while registering for classes as was common practice. You couldn’t find a RateMyProfessor on Professor...Parker? You were pretty sure it was Professor Parker, but you do remember seeing on the STEM department page that he was currently a Ph.D. student, so you could only hope that as a fellow student he would be at least a little understanding towards your lateness.

You stood outside of the lecture hall huffing and trying to catch your breath at 9:32am, psyching yourself up, you pushed open the door to the class and attempted to go unnoticed. The class was in a lecture hall despite being only composed of around thirty students, so if you were lucky maybe nobody would even see-

“Ms.(y/l/n), I presume?.” Shit.

“Professor Parker?” Shit.

“You are aware that class starts at 9am, and not 9:30am, would this be correct Ms.(y/l/n)?”

“Yes, Professor, it’s just that I had an emergency.” The lying route. Not exactly the highlight of your academic career.

“I regret to inform you that I only take valid excuses Ms.(y/l/n), please take a seat, and next time, don’t bother disrupting class halfway through the lesson.” Fuck. You mustered a quiet “ok,” and a small nod before escorting yourself to the back of the room, thirty-something eyes following you until you sat down.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the class, it was just too embarrassing, time moved forward but you couldn’t help but be stuck on what had just happened. For the first ten minutes after sitting down you felt like dropping out of the whole class out of sheer fucking humiliation. This was of course before you reminded yourself that this class was a requirement to graduate in your field of study. You quietly bargained with yourself before sighing quietly and settling on the conclusion that Professor Parker was just a dick. A dick who certainly didn’t deserve the satisfaction of you switching out of his class. If he wanted to be like that, you decided, you would simply return the favor.

“I know, Ms.(y/ln), why don’t you tell us DeBroglie’s equation?”

“With pleasure, Professor Parker.” Yeah, you’d return the favor alright.

“Ms.(y/l/n), you stay.” Fuck that. You looked the other way and feigned ignorance as you kept making your way towards the door. About to leave, the door shut on your face.

“What the fuck!” You jumped before turning around and you felt your face heat up.

“Ms.(y/l/n), please refrain from using profanities in my classroom.”

“I’m sorry Professor Parker. I was just startled.”

“Mhm,” he took his glasses off and laid them on his desk, “Just don’t do it in the future Ms.(y/l/n).”

“Of course. My name is (y/n), by the way, Professor Parker, you can just call me that, actually, I prefer that people refer to me by (y/n).”

“Rest assured, I’m aware of your name, Ms.(y/l/n). My name is Peter, but you can continue to call me Professor Parker.” You could have sworn that you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips. He knew what he was fucking doing, asshole. You held back from rolling your eyes into the back of your head.

“Of course, Professor Parker.”

“As you know, Ms.(y/l/n), I did request that you stay after class.”

“Oh? I sincerely apologize Professor Parker, I really didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sure, Ms.(y/l/n).” Fucking. Dick.

“Well, what exactly did you want Professor Parker? I do have another class soon.” Professor Parker narrowed his eyes at you in obvious distaste before reaching behind himself into a bin underneath his desk and pulling out a stack of papers,

“These are the handouts you missed from the beginning of the class. Textbook requirements, syllabus...Crucial information to have if you care to succeed in my class Ms.(y/l/n).” So coldly, so maliciously, Professor Parker placed the stack into your arms.

“I take my work very seriously, Ms.(y/l/n), I do my part as your professor so I only have the simple request that my students do the same.” You nodded feeling your face heat up again.

“Of course, Professor Parker, it won’t happen again,” you said with a tightlipped smile.

“Mhm,” Professor Parker turned around and began shuffling around some paper and without giving you a second glance said, “You are dismissed.” You nodded and hurriedly made your way out of his classroom. Of course, you had lied. You didn’t have another class until late in the afternoon. So you called your coworker instead,

“Hey, Harvey.”

“(y/n).”

“Wow, okay, don’t get too excited.”

“Sorry, just woke up.”

“Tsk, the early bird gets the worm, Harvey.”

“I don’t want a worm.”

“Fuck you. I’m headed to the lab, can I expect you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You had been working with Harvey for around four years now, he was quite the impressive specimen, having attended MIT and graduating Summa Cum Laude at age 20 was no easy feat, he was closer to Tony Stark than you would ever get, he was quite personable, and you couldn’t deny that he was quite good looking. You’d never tell him that though, he didn’t need another ego boost. Besides, you had some connections of your own.

“Hey, (y/n).”

“Banner!”

“Can we expect Harvey today?”

“Honestly, not sure.” You both knowingly smiled at each other before you made your way over to what he was working on,

“Do you ever get bored here?”

“With you and the other idiot always running around? How could I?” You laughed,

“No, seriously, like wouldn’t you rather be doing nerd shit with Tony or something? Isn’t it a little tiresome babysitting us?”

“Tiring? Maybe sometimes, but not nearly as tiring as doing ‘nerd shit’ with Tony. He’s exhausting,” Bruce smiled at his own joke, “I don’t mind playing babysitter at all kid.” He fiddled with the handle of a mug that read, “Don’t be so Na Cl,” which you had gotten him a year back as a joke, but he still used it.

You really loved Bruce for all he was. Since losing your family back in 2012 during the battle in NYC, you didn’t really have any familial figures. But since landing this internship you found yourself with a parental figure again, and you would never be able to put into words how much it meant to you, so you didn’t. Besides, you didn’t want him to feel pressured about it, especially after everything he had been through himself. Frying half your body and losing the love of your life in such a short span of time was really nothing less than horrifying. Yet, here he was, smiling, laughing...You loved him for it.

“First day of junior year? How was that?”

“Shit.”

“Huh?” Bruce stopped tinkering with the device in his hands and looked over at you, “I’ve never heard of a course being too hard for (y/n) (y/l/n), what is it? Aerospace? Quantum?”

“No, just one giant dick.”

“Pardon-”

“My professor, he’s a fucking asshole.”

“Ah, I see. If he’s really harassing you (y/n), I don’t mean to overstep, I really think we should alert administration, what’s his name?” Bruce took a sip of his coffee.

“Professor Parker,” Bruce choked on his coffee, “Oh my God, Bruce, are you okay?”

“Yeah-” he said, still coughing, “Just a little too strong.”

“Okay, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce caught his breath, “What did he do kid?”

“He’s just a dick that’s all.”

“You sure you don’t want me to do something about it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, I don’t know what you could do anyways. Thank you though.”

“Actually, you’d be surprised.”

Sitting at your desk stressing over school work at 3am, it was nothing out of the ordinary for you. Everything appeared ordinary. The ordinary cup of tea, the familiar glow of your computer, and a morning chill creeping through your window. It was all so breathtakingly normal until there was a rap on your window. You took an earbud out of your ear, certain you were just hearing things, you looked to your window. Holy shit.

You opened your window wide so that he could crawl in.

“(y/n)?”

“Mr.Spiderman.” Still too in shock to fully process the situation you started to take in the scene in front of you,

“Please, it’s just Spiderman.”

“Oh-Oh my God, what happened?” Head to toe the suit seemed to have blood seeping through, tears in the body of the suit revealed gashes and a bullet wound.

“Bad guys. I know this guy-said he knew a medical student close by, you are (y/n)? Right?”

“Y-Yeah, but I’m really just a student, I’m not really a prof-”

“This guy, he said you might as well be.”

“I don’t know Mr.Spiderman, really, maybe I could take you to the hospital though.”

“-Spiderman, it’s just Spiderman, listen, (y/n), you know I can’t go to a hospital, it would ruin this whole secret identity thing I got going on here, and this guy, he’s probably the smartest guy I know, so if he says you can handle it, you can.” You swallowed and nodded,

“Yeah-” you wring your hands together, “Yeah-Sorry, let me go get my first aid kit.”

#tom holland x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland #spiderman #spiderman x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #bruce banner #tony stark #iron man #idk #sorry #ill prolly rewrite this seven times

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drabbles-of-writing · 4 years

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Since Luz and Amity are sort of frenemies in your beta AU I assume that the realisation that they have feelings for one another would be interesting to say the least. Is there anything you want to share about that? I can only imagine that there would be a good amount of denial and thoughts along the lines of “oh no! How did this happen? why me? why her?” going on.

They go through the five stages of grief.

Amity, like in canon, is the first. At first she doesn’t even realize it’s a crush bc like,,,girl out here never having real friendships for a long time n then she takes a second look at how she views Luz n she just “,,,,,shit” Amity is internally shrieking before she kicks over her stuff and is tugging at her hair like “OH GOD,,,,WHY,,,,,,,,W H Y,,,,,,,,,,” and has an existential crisis over the matter. ‘You went from Boscha to THIS?? what are you?? a dumbass?’ She calms down eventually and relents to just Ignore It. But that’s like,,,really difficult when she hangs out with Luz everyday and she does the most mundane things that set Amity’s heart to go Flutter. N she sitting in angsty lesbian vibes like “aw shiet,,,,,,im really in it now. goddamnit what did she even DO-” but then she sees her smile, her unwillingness to back down from Boscha, how much she tries, and her actually caring and unafraid to show she does n Amity is just “...oh.”

Meanwhile Luz at first is just “yeah, I like fangs n the growly shit, that don’t mean anything. Amity just does it all the time” n then Amity is purring once (1) while curled up beside her n Luz is still in denial but then literally anyone else shows fangs or purrs in her presence and she realizes that it has a Different vibe when Amity does it and she’s staring at her ceiling n just “,,,uh oh” Luz is a nervous wreck around Amity for a while as she’s processing all this and insists that she wouldn’t be the type to fall in love with a rich asshole. And when Amity’s being snappy, she continues to assure herself of that. But then she’s reminded of the sweet moments, the softer side of Amity. The protectiveness, the loyalty when things get Real,,,,,n during a soft moment where Amity helped them out during a disaster and checked up on Gus to make sure he was okay....n Luz realized “oh. that’s who I fell for.”

Doesn’t mean there’s still not a lot of torment as they gotta deal with this, though.

#asks #beta au #beta lumity #beta luz #beta amity #luz noceda #luz #amity blight #amity #lumity

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wastelandcth · 4 years

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best years - cth

summary: dovey and calum go through a rough patch, leading dovey to believe she gave up her best years.

author’s notes: hello everyone...this is angst and part one out of two. good luck! inspired by this tik tok.

warnings: angst and sad overall

masterlist || request || more doves

I’ve got a million reasons to hesitate and baby a million more are added every day.

Dovey had always been there for Calum. She'd been there through the drama that came along with being in a well-known band. She'd been there through the highs and the lows, through the rumors and controversies. Dovey had stuck through everything and every day it seemed like more and more came into light, like the man she had fallen in love with became a stranger. Suddenly, Calum was no longer her best friend who would tell her everything, he was the stranger in her bed who hardly was around.

The fight hadn't been intentional. Most of the time, the Doves would talk anything out. Whether it be a disagreement over something small like where the pillows on the couch should go or whether it was something big like how their lives would be affected by the latest album release. This time, it was different, stubbornness and yells meant that Dovey found herself in a lonely bed while Calum locked himself away in his office. And with only a few days left before Calum left for tour with no plan on when or if Dovey would join him, the Doves went to sleep in different beds.

It had started when he'd left for tour. Usually, Dovey would drive him to the airport and stay until the band's flight was called and she had given him one last hug until they were reunited again. This time, Calum had suggested saying their goodbyes at home that it would be the best since there would probably be a lot of fans at the airport. Although she wasn't too please with their break from tradition, Dovey found herself hugging him on their doorstep, whispering a soft I love you before the man she loved stepped into the car that had been waiting.

The next time Dovey realized something had changed, she had been on facetime with him. He'd seemed distant, his eyes drifting off from the screen and his interest in whatever conversation he and Dovey were having being torn away at some joke Michael had told. Dovey thought he might've noticed something was off when she had hung up on the call, hoping he'd call her back and she could claim it was an accident, but her phone never rang again that night. It felt like the harder Dovey tried to connect with the man who was an ocean away living his dream, the more she realized exactly how disconnected they were becoming.

I spent so much of me on you I forgot who I became.

The longer that Calum was away on tour, the more Dovey found herself. Days that would've been spent alone in a foreign city while Calum was in a radio gig were now spent with friends in the city she'd learn to call home. Mornings, where she’d usually wake up in a cramped bunk next to a grumpy Calum, were spent taking Duke on a hike and clearing her head.

One day after she'd gotten home from the grocery store, a pang in her heart threatened to ruin the good mood she'd been in when she saw Luke's partner post a picture of them all in front of some monument miles away. But with a shake of the head and a double-tap on the screen, Dovey put some music on and danced the tears away. It wasn't until later that night when her mind was awake that she clicked on the picture again, finding those brown eyes she'd fallen in love with two years ago staring back at her. She could tell something was different, that the smile he had on didn't reach his eyes and his eyes didn't shine like they normally did when he was having the time of his life. But things were different now, and Dovey wasn't going to let her life revolve around him as she did before. If he wanted to talk to her as much as she wanted to talk to him, he would've called. He had her number and for some unknown reason, had decided to not use it.

Finally found a reason to walk away.

The final straw had been a picture. Dovey had been used to seeing fan meetings on her social media, smiling fans grateful to have been able to meet Calum and talk to him for even just a second. But the second a video of him had started circling around the internet and made its way onto her screen, Dovey had just about had enough of the stupid shit Calum had been putting her through the last two months. She understood being too busy for at least a phone call or text. Touring was hard work and Calum was known for pushing himself to the limit. She understood wanting space from one another that maybe this tour was something Calum needed to do on his own in order to clear his mind and think about what their relationship meant to him. But the one thing Dovey wouldn't stand by his side when he was the one that had been telling people she was the one who hadn't wanted to join him. She wasn't going to stand by his side while he told his bandmates and the rest of the world that she hadn't wanted to join him because she was being dramatic. If Calum wanted drama, Dovey could be dramatic.

The house that I built you made it a mess.

Dovey had been out of their house, the house that had been filled with memories of them and their love, for about two weeks now. Duke had joined her in the passenger seat of her car that sunny afternoon when she had stuffed all her belongings into the back seat and rode off out of the city. Her parent’s house that brought along the comfort and warmth she had been craving for months was a few hours away and far enough away that any reminders of Calum could be put aside. The small town she had left all those years ago brought her peace and gave her the space she needed from whatever waited for her back in LA, if anything even did wait for her.

Her mother had met her in the driveway, a tight embrace and promises of better times made Dovey's heavy heart lighten up as she saw her childhood home still pretty much the same as the day she had left it. The living room still had candles everywhere and the tv was playing the same movie channel her mother loved to watch on her days off from work. The kitchen was still stocked with snacks and fruits that seemed too real to be fake. And the backyard was still a playground for any and every dog Dovey had brought home, even Duke who had settled on laying in a sunspot to nap.

Her bedroom had brought on a new set of challenges, the posters on the walls and the albums on the shelves brought tears to her eyes as she saw those brown eyes looking back at her. He'd be back in their house soon. Dovey wondered how he'd react to find himself in an empty house. What he would think of when he saw the letter she had left him on the kitchen counter since at that point any attempt to call or text him was met with radio silence. He'd probably try to call her at that point, she hoped, but only to see where Duke was or he'd get Ashton to do it for him. Dovey wasn't too sure about anything when it came to Calum anymore. She wasn't sure if he would even care that she had left the gold band on the counter next to the letter or that she had left her keys to the house in the little ceramic tray they had painted on one of their dates so many months ago.

I’m left with broken pieces can't help how I ran out of tears.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since the tour had ended and Dovey hadn't heard from any of them. She hadn't heard from Calum since before she'd left the house almost a month ago and she hadn't even gotten a text message from Luke, who would update her on what had been going on during the tour. It was been one week since Dovey had run out of tears. One week since she had decided that leaving was the best option and that she had made the right choice.

It had been a week since she realized just how much of herself she'd given away to Calum only to have nothing left for herself. It took her two weeks to realize that if he had wanted to talk to her, he would. If he had wanted to see her or even Duke for that matter, he would've driven to where she was. So when her tears were dry and the pain in her chest was nothing more than a dull pressure whenever she thought about him, she began to fix whatever broken pieces she could.

It began when she packed away all the old posters that hung on her wall, the smile on every single one leaving her breathless like it always would when she saw it in person. The sparkle in his eyes bringing fresh tears to hers, tears that she would blink away and continue on with taking him out of her life. By the time her childhood bedroom was nothing more than the furniture and bare walls, Dovey felt lighter than she had in months. It didn't last long. As sleep called her name and her eyes closed, Dovey was brought back from whatever dream she was about to enter when the buzzing noise went off next to her head.

I'm sorry.

I lost all my best years just missing my best years. past love burned out like a cigarette im free now baby all I regret are my best years.

Sitting in the living room, watching back old family movies and nursing the drink in her cup, Dovey couldn't help but feel like an idiot. She'd given Calum the best years of her life. Gave him all the good times and shared the most wonderful moments with him all for him to leave her with silence and no explanations. She'd gone through the stages of grief, had tried to make her new life without his work, and then he had shoved his way back in with no warnings in the middle of the night.

The text message hadn't been the only thing Calum had sent, no matter how hard Dovey had wanted it to be. He'd sent her a voice note, a five-minute ramble where his accent had gotten too thick for Dovey to try and decipher what he was saying through the tears and sniffling. He'd apologized for the silence, apologized for the lies, and even apologized for forcing the silence he'd caused from the rest of the band. But Dovey wasn't going to just let him into her life so easily, she wasn't going to let him in after the months of silence and heartbreak. She'd lost all her best years and she needed to find herself again before she could ever consider letting Calum have more of the best of her.

taglist: @hoodhoran @finelliine @moonlightcriess @dinosaursandsocks @mxgyver @calpops @karajaynetoday @notlukehemmo @calumrose @devilatmydoor @lyss-xo @lowkeyflop

#calum hood blurbs #calum hood imagines #calum hood fics #calum hood oneshots #calum hood x reader #5sos blurbs #5sos imagines #5sos fics #5sos oneshots #5sos x reader #calum hood #5sos #5 seconds of summer #gemma writes

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we-always-hit-our-ass · 4 years

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Heyyyy uh I love your stuff and I had an idea that wont let me sleep 😂 What if like the reader was mia or something and everyone was really upset and nervous and cobb kept saying how you were dead until doc roe just has enough of his bullshit and just punches him. (Feel free to change the character i just thought doc losing his composure was an interesting concept) bonus points for romantic connection? Im sorry if this is horrible im vry vry tired

Taglist: @radiantcade, @deldontplay, @thatsonefishyboi, @noneofurbusinez, @meteora-fc, @hufflepuffpancakes

yo i can totally get why this idea wouldn’t let u sleep. its because its damn good-

lovely anon, this one is for you ;))))

also italic means past events-

words: 2.8k words (aww srry if its shorter than my other fics)

warnings: some violence, cursing, ANGST and sadly no resolved or happy ending :’((((

btw thank u @radiantcade for tellin me to make a taglist, major kudos to u ma’am. btw if you want to be added just hmu, no worries ;)))

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder (Eugene Roe x Reader)

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“Aw, Genie! Don’t look at me that way!”

“Looking at you like what?”

“Like you’re mad! C’mon Genie, it was only a joke! Y’know I didn’t mean to make you upset by taking your morphine-”

Gene shot you a look which seemed to look like a mix of exasperation and annoyance. He stiffly grabbed the small packets of morphine that were being held in your grip. Eugene then quickly stuffed them in his pocket before walking away from your position with his signature blank look.

“I’m not mad.”

“Hey! You are! I can tell by your face.”

You followed after him, desperate for him to accept your apology, or at least for him to give you a smile. You desperately tried to keep up with him, his brisk pace making it a challenge for you to walk by his side.

“Well, this is the face I got.”

He walked faster, seemingly trying to avoid or lose you. He walked through buildings, dove straight forward into crowds of people, or even going as far as to tell someone to block you. You still made haste though, and in no time were already hot on his heel.

You grew tired of it and reached out to grab his hand. After you had his hand in yours, he stopped immediately and turned slowly to face you.

“For someone who’s mad, you’re acting awfully childish.”

“(Y/N), for the last time, I’m not mad. I can never get mad at you”

“Then what are you?”

You stood in front of him with one eyebrow quirked up and your hands on your hips. You tapped your foot on the ground as you waited for an answer.

You were left shocked as he pushed by you. He was only a couple steps away from you until he turned with a small smile and gave you a shrug before heading back to the Med Bay.

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It was that day, the day that Eugene Roe realized how much he cared for you.

It’s been four days since you disappeared from Easy Company. Four. Fucking. Days. Everybody was extremely worried and your absence has made everyone tense.

If someone as lovable and skilled as you was missing, then they certainly wouldn’t stand a chance.

The men weren’t the same and it took a significant toll on every single one of them. But it especially took a large toll on the Cajun medic. Eugene couldn’t believe it. He refused to. He refused to believe that you weren’t there with them for four days.

Where the fuck were you? That was the thought on everyone’s minds.

Eugene couldn’t comprehend it. It felt like only yesterday that you were there right beside him, making him turn as red as his nose and making his heart pound like a drum.

Memories of you were still fresh on his mind, and they always seemed to taunt him.

He’d think of scenarios of you not being missing and how’d it was all just a big stupid joke or dream. Your face was all he could think about and his heart clenched every time.

It was soul-crushing, and he despised it. Eugene couldn’t focus since the day you were reported gone. Of course, he was fine after a few days, but the feeling of unease and tension grew with each passing moment. It gnawed on him continuously, but he couldn’t stop it.

(E/C) eyes and (H/C) hair was what he only wanted to see. But then he would see those beautiful eyes of yours dull and void of life, your once soft hair then greasy and matted with dried blood. Eugene would wake up in a cold sweat, the beating of his heart deafening him.

Everyone noticed his changed demeanor. Eugene got more cold, a little more distant and stand-offish. His personality mirrored everybody else’s after they got the news. But he was the one that was most affected. That was a fact.

Eugene was spacing off more than what was necessary. He was constantly in a daze and of course slower in his work. It was only when someone was injured that he was moving fast. But even then, he still wasn’t focused.

The spark of life in him was extinguished and that affected his work. He’d sometimes forget what he was doing, causing one of his patients to scream at his ear.

It wasn’t the first time it happened. As the days went by, the more Eugene got caught up with his thoughts on your being.

It caused him to get a nice chat with Winters on why he was acting like this.

“Roe… I know that it just might be nothing, but I noticed that you aren’t the same. Like something’s been bothering you. May I ask why you’re acting like this.”

“Sir, I think you already know of (Y/N) being MIA.”

Winters immediately looked down, as even someone with such authority like him was distraught about you. Winters quickly looked up and cleared his throat, eyes full or sorrow like Gene’s.

Eugene straightened his back and he gripped onto the fabric of his pants.

“Of course… It’s been affecting everyone. I just wish that she was back with us. Do you still believe that she’s alive, Roe?”

“Of course, sir. I’m sure that she’ll turn up. Someday.”

“Maybe, Roe…” Winters nodded towards Eugene with a tight smile. “Dismissed.”

Eugene was being hit with numerous waves of anger, sadness, and worry. All five stages of grief were being experienced at the same time. He walked away, and even if he was supposed to be used to it by now, he couldn’t muster the courage to do so.

Images you being held prisoner and being tortured by the German Army scared him. Then images of you lying on the ground, fresh bullet wound on your head, the crimson liquid running down your face and onto the ground to create a morbid halo flashed afterwards.

Eugene did nothing but drown in his thoughts underneath a tree nearby after that.

-------------------

“Gene?”

“Yes, mon ange?”

“Why do you always call me that?”

“For starters… You are one.”

“One of what?”

“An angel. ‘Mon ange’ means ‘my angel’. I also call you that because… Like I said, I am sure that you are one yourself. I wouldn’t believe you if you said you weren’t.”

The sun beamed down upon the two of you as you sat upon the grassy field. Your eyes were on the lush green trees in the distance, Eugene’s eyes, however, were fixed upon your face. You seemed oblivious to it, fortunately for him.

You smiled and you turned your eyes to meet his, and you reached your (S/C) hands to intertwine with his bigger ones. You turned back to set your gaze on the forest, but the dark-haired man’s look never averted.

“Gene…”

“Hm?”

“You really think that?”

“Of course I do. God forbid the day I stop calling you mon ange.”

You rested your head on his shoulders, as the sun set over the horizon. Eugene tensed up momentarily before he relaxed, taking in your warm presence and happy demeanor. You tightened your hold on his hand and a smile crept on your lips.

“Je t’aime, mon ange…”

“I love you too, Genie.”

------------------

It had been more that a week since any sign of you. Some of the paratroopers had already seemed to have given up hoping for you to magically come back. No one dared to mention you, it was already too much to handle. Some of the privates that you knew couldn’t say your name without tearing up.

Eugene felt like that too, but he was too cold to let anybody see him that way.

Most of Easy Company still held on to their feeble thoughts and dreams however. Eugene was one of them.

He waited for a sign. Any sign. No matter how insignificant or small, he wanted one. He just wanted a sign that reassured him that you were indeed fine and well.

Eugene of course waited patiently for it. His nights were spent praying for you to return to them. Most importantly, to return to him.

By then he would make sure that you would always be by his side. By then he’d also make sure that he won’t take those fleeting moments he spends with you for granted.

Eugene already did that too much and those were one of the many things he regrets. If he ever sees your face again, he’ll make sure to make you his the moment he lays his eyes on you. That was exactly what he was going to do.

For the time being, Eugene and a few of the boys from Easy Company were lazing around in their bunks, and some already sleeping. They were practically waiting for anything. Orders. An attack. Maybe even you returning...

Moments like these passed uneventfully. That was what Eugene always thought. The soft rumbling and muffled sounds of German artillery hitting something didn’t surprise them anymore.

“Why are you all so quiet?”

A familiar annoying voice rang out through the room and most heads turned towards the culprit. Eugene mildly disliked Cobb, he was annoying sure, but he didn’t really do anything to make Eugene’s blood boil. Others ignored him, seemingly thinking that dealing with Cobb just isn’t worth it.

Cobb had a different plan. As soon as he saw that nobody paid attention and answered his question, he opened his mouth and crossed the line that no man in Easy Company has ever dared to step over.

“Are you guys still thinking about (Y/N)?

The air immediately grew stagnant and sour, and the men of Easy turned to face Cobb, who had a very shit-eating grin on his face. Eugene was one of the men who turned to him, and he glared hard at Cobb.

“Oh come on, she’s clearly dead.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Cobb.” George snapped at Cobb, who didn’t seem to listen.

The air was full of tension and every man in the room wanted to throw Cobb into a fucking fire. Eugene then turned away, anger gnawing at his mind. Some of the men were clearly in discomfort, one of them even excusing themselves from the room.

“Just think about it, a girl, like her? She’s clearly gone, I mean she’s been missing for what? A week? Take a look at people who’ve been missin’ for a day. Look where they ended up. They ended up dead.”

“Do you not know when to shut your fucking mouth?”

“Well all of you are really stupid for believing she’s going to come back! She’s fucking dead, get over it. What’s so special about her anyway, huh?”

Liebgott sprung from his seat and walked to stand face to face with Cobb. Eugene begged for Cobb to shut up for once. The dark-haired man narrowed his eyes at Cobb, his lips pursing as he sat tense in his seat.

You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to disappear and to be talked in this way by a man who had the same brain capacity as fucking rock.

Eugene clenched his fists as he looked down on his lap. It took all of his will to not strangle Cobb right then and there.

Cobb’s pestering voice kept ranging out throughout the room, the men were trying their best to make him stop his bullshit. It was like a buzzing mosquito next to Eugene’s ear, and he wanted it gone.

“(Y/N)’s dead, you fucking idiots. All of Easy Company would be way better without her anywa-”

“Shut up. Shut up!”

Eugene lunged from his chair, the creaking of the wooden air on the cold ground rang throughout the air. But it wasn’t the harsh creaking that made everyone silent. It was the fact that Eugene Roe, the cold medic who kept to himself, snapped. Immediately everyone’s eyes widened as they eyed Eugene.

The Cajun man felt nothing but pure, unfiltered rage as he looked straight into Cobb’s eyes. He couldn’t tell, but Eugene was shaking. His clenched fist raised up in the air to direct itself into Cobb’s jaw.

A sickening crack was heard as Cobb fell into the floor and Eugene only looked in indifference.

Cobb fell down on the floor as he cried out, the eyes of the men in the room only widened further as they looked to each other for any sort of answer as to what came over Eugene.

Everyone knew that you and Eugene were close, rumours were even spreading around that you two were dating, which turned out to be true.

They weren’t anticipating Eugene almost knocking out Cobb though. It was bound to happen, anyway. Eugene couldn’t let you get insulted by Cobb, he didn’t stand up for it. The angry red feeling was intense as it coursed through his entire body as he opened his lips to speak again.

“Do you even hear yourself, you selfish bastard? You only care about yourself and you never take into consideration what's going on, do you? If (Y/N) is dead, so what? She’s still a better soldier and person than you are.”

Cobb sat still as Eugene went on his rant, his hand clenching his aching jaw and head. Eugene was seething beyond recognition and everyone just looked in shock.

“-I don’t get it! How come she gets to die while you stay here with us? How come it isn’t you in her place? How come you’re the one here instead of her?”

Harsh words flew from Eugene’s mouth, each syllable was laced in venom and his accent making each word hurt more. Eugene pointed at Cobb repeatedly as he raised his hands. During his anger-filled speech, the photograph he kept with him fell to the ground.

Eugene fell silent as he went up to pick up the picture. It was a photograph of you. You were smiling with not a care in the world. You were wearing your uniform proudly as you showed off your jump wings to the camera. You were beautiful...

But most importantly, you were still there with him. As reality dropped down upon him like a pile of bricks and he hurriedly shoved the faded photograph into his pocket.

His eyes fell upon a shaken Cobb and his anger was only fueled more. He stood up straighter and his eyebrows furrowed more.

“She deserved it way more than you! (Y/N) didn’t need people talking about her behind her back! (Y/N) didn’t need to be separated from us! So tell me, why on Earth are you not gone, but she is? Give me a good reason!”

Cobb stayed silent as he mumbled angrily under his breath while clutching his jaw, his eyes were narrowed at Eugene who stared back.

“Get the fuck out.”

Immediately Cobb git back on his feet, his hands grabbing the wall for support before stumbling for the door to outside. Cobb threw one last glare at Eugene before opening the door and heading out of the building.

The slam of the door echoed in the building, and heads turned towards the medic. Eugene stood in his spot, eyes glued to the closed door where Cobb had just left.

His chest was still rising up and down heavily, and exasperated breaths were pulled from his mouth. George slowly brought up a hand to go onto Eugene’s shoulder, but Eugene pulled away before he could.

“Eugene?”

“I’m going outside…”

His deep voice was menacing, but they held deep amounts of pure and utter despair. The boys decided to let him go as they saw his state. Heavy footsteps were heard as Eugene walked to the door.

He hesitated for a moment before heading out in the cold, biting air. Eugene gingerly took the photo from his pocket and he held it by his fingertips as he lovingly gazed at your smiling face.

He sat on the debris near the stone building, but it was hidden from sight, giving him time to himself. The medic looked at the photograph with a melancholy expression, another tight smile was brought on his face.

The world was cruel, Eugene knew that, but he never experienced it this hard. The pain from losing a patient or friend in his hands was incomparable to the pain he felt at this moment. The snow fell on the ground, a calm and serene sight. Which was a complete opposite of Eugene.

Soft yet clear sniffles were heard as fresh tears dropped on the snow below. He tried to choke back tears, but they ran down his cold cheeks.

Eugene brought his hands to wipe them away, but they were quickly replaced. His lip quivered and Eugene attempted to stay as quiet as he could. He stifled more cries and whimpers and he leaned his head back.

That photo taunted him.

Your smiling face in the photograph only brought him temporary relief and happiness, but he needed the real you. Eugene loved you so much. Maybe a litte too much.

But you would never know the extent of his love… Your fate was unknown, but his hopes were crushed as soon as those dreaded words left Cobb’s lips.

Eugene Roe, the now dazed and distant medic of Easy Company, has finally broken.

-------------------

-----------------

im not crying i swear-

btw sorry this is shorter than my other fics but i hope you liked what i did! im sorry if it didnt come up the way you would have wanted but hopefully you still enjoy it!

but this request got me fucked up and i sort of wanted to torture myself by writing angst-

anyways thank you sweet anon!😭💕💕

#band of brothers #eugene roe #band of brothers x reader #eugene roe x reader #gene roe x reader #band of brothers fic #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #gene roe #doc roe #band of brothers imagine #eugene roe imagine #doc roe imagine #eugene roe fanfiction #eugene roe oneshot #band of brothers oneshot #hbo war #hbo war fanfiction

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aurallyaddison · 3 years

Note

top five tallied halls

going to assume this means topf 5 tally hall songs, in which case i need to add a disclaimer: i love every single tally hall-adjacent song (that i've heard) and this list changes regularly. my least favorite song related to tally hall at all still fucks hard so if it's not here i still love it ok ok

1. out in the twilight. yes im biased because the amv in my head i made for it is awesome, but hoooh the synth and the chord progression is fuckin. dies

2. welcome to tally hall. why wouldnt it be here gihegg once again my hypothetical amv slaps and the song has a 50/50 chance of making me sing at the top of my lungs or go through the five stages of grief in under 5 minutes (also im learning the bass part and its fun as shit)

3. ruler of everything. i could not tell you why i love it so much i just do. weee time

4. haiku. this song is nothing short of absolute genius like. the verses are designed to be in haiku format, with the 5-7-5 syllable stuff. but. the majority of them are in 5-7-6, as the entire song is about how writing a good haiku, especially for someone else, is hard and the only verse really in 5-7-5 (probably? i think) is the one of rob singing gibberish just to get the syllables right. it's also a very sweet little song. and it creates a scene, like the band is playing in a crappy bar with a rude audience and they literally just make fun of themselves for being popular for like. banana man and only banana man. at the time at least. (theres a guy in the middle who just yells "PLAY THE BANANA SONG!!" its great) and the way the lyrics are distributed suggests that everyone is performing except joe, who plays the part of the drunk guy who gets up on stage to sing, only to be booed off, and then coming back later to scream part of the verse. also this is the funniest part of the song? because despite joe being implied to not be playing with the rest of the band there are very clearly two guitar parts which suggests hes just sitting there at the bar with a guitar and an amp for no justifiable reason. shit that went on too long moving on

5. taken for a ride. once again, brain amv also GJGHIEHGGS HSOHGGEH sobs

#&asks #feralcatman #oops haiku went on too long #anyway

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sadsapphicslut · 4 years

Text

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!!

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

Chapter One

A Dead Brother

I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

“Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

❈

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

“Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

It rang four times before he picked up.

“Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

“Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood – that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene. My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

❈

The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

#my writing #writing #original writing #original content #original fiction #creative writing #dark academia #tw death #tw drugs #tw mentions of sex #tw swearing #tw mental illness #tw medication #alo writes

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nnq · 5 years

Text

modern!au k(lance)

they're all in their 20's except for Shiro who's 30 and coran who's 50

first of all. miss me with that 'pining roommate' shit. I love miscommunication and making characters that r sexy bffs with one another

Lance meets Nyma through a Craigslist ad he put up saying he needed a roommate. the moment they met was a tragedy for everyone but them because they're that powerful and beautiful

lance with tousled hair, wearing a half-unbuttoned silk shirt and designer jeans, Michael kors sunglasses pushed up atop his head, arm wrapped around nyma: hi guys this is my roommate, nyma!

nyma, with her blonde 3-ft long box braids down her back, perfectly manicured red nails, bodycon dress and loubitons, hand on lances waist: hey

allura, shaking and on the verge of tears: STOP MAKING US LOOK POOR AND UGLY

Lance is in school for marine biology and Nyma works as a hairdresser and the both of them are small beauty gurus on YouTube that collab with one another

lance: hey guys we're going to be trying out the new anastasia pallete we got today :)!

nyma: and by got we mean shoplifted from sephora

lance: NYMA YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT

they're also insta baddies and both gender non-conforming baddies. Nyma is a nonbinary lesbian icon and lance is a nonbinary bicon.... those are like the fucking BEST senses of style

anyone with eyes can see that nyma is into and ONLY into girls but of course... heteronormativity.

rolo: I still don't get why you're dating lance. he's super annoying.

nyma: he doesn't bitch nearly as much as you even when he's got my cock in his ass

they do this thing where when people assume they're a couple they pretend they're some kind of kink couple and freak everyone out

which is why when hunk and pidge meet nyma they're like :eyes: but when nyma flirts with pidge lance doesn't even bat an eye and then lance starts pining about Keith's greasy mullet and his bags under his eyes and nymas got this look on her face that perfectly resembles a man who's lost all sense of normalcy and righteousness in his life and now sits in a bar every night listening to this dumb romance novel type shit and then pidge and hunk are like. oh. no they're just gay.

speaking of keith. he's one of those gays. one of the quirky emo gays that never sleeps and listens to 'coffee and cigarettes' on repeat and has like 3 strings of lights in his room and not only is an art major but ALSO a photographer. and yet somehow he still has the will to wake up at 5 am every morning and go to the gym like some kind of HEATHEN.

Lance knew Keith in high school for 3 years until he got expelled for fighting at the end of his junior year. He was also universally crushed on and was the bad boy jock of the school with a heart of gold so naturally Lance pretended to despise him so he could pine for him in peace

that all goes down the drain when Lance recognizes Keith in one of his classes and goes through the five stages of grief because a) he's hot and b) Lance is openly bi now so he doesn't have an escuse to not tolerate him

(He wasn't gonna do anything about it until he was put in a group with Keith a few weeks into class and he off handedly mentioned he went to Keiths high school, and Keith claimed he didn't remember him, and Lance was just a tad bit upset but was gonna leave it at that except after like 5 days of working together Keith slams his fists into the table and is like 'HOLY FUCK LANCE MCCLAIN?' And Lance is like. w. What.)

turns out Keith does remember lance. very vividly, actually. because he was the guy that everyone kind of had a crush on because he was so nice and charming to everyone he met, and Keith was SO gone for him. he just didn't recognize him tbh, which makes sense, bcuz in high school lance wore blue contacts and had straight hair and now he just wears glasses occasionally and leaves his hair wavy. Keith is gay and stupid don't blame him

keith, bursting into Shiro and Adams apartment at 2 pm: SHIRO HOLY FUCK

adam, bags under his eyes, underneath the covers of him and shiros bed: good fucking god not again

I'm tired of talking about ppl other than Lance and nyma though so I'm gonna talk about them for a bit because im love

as I said Lance has wavy hair and his actual eye color is brown but as he was growing up he was hella insecure about it that's why he wore blue contacts.... nyma caught him once trying to put them on again and put an end to All That Real Quick

nyma has brown eyes too and they're super dark, almost black, and that shits breathtaking bro. she usually has her real hair dyed blonde all the time and permed but she also likes to wear wigs and get braids too because she knows she looks damn good in them. everyone is jealous.

lance has tons of super light freckles. Enough said. nyma has a birthmark on her hip that's kind of shaped like a horse if you look at it from the right way

lance: you were a horse girl as a kid weren't u

nyma: how fucking dare. how fucking dare you say that. I really do have to laugh.......

nyma: obviously I was a warrior cats stan

lance's sense of fashion ranges from 'i went to California for a week once and now I can't stop wearing sweatpants and slides' to 'It's surprising I haven't gotten robbed at this point'. Lance is a scholarship baby so all the money he saved up through countless jobs and the one he already has at a coffee shop almost exclusively goes to clothes and kombucha

Nymas sense of style is definitely more on the eccentric side but since she looks good in EVERYTHING she gets away with it. think dollskill but with more neon colors and designer. she's the kind of person that never wears the same shade of lipstick for a whole month and has a box full of makeup palletes that are almost untouched and everyone who has seen it is both jealous and in wonder FENTYWAYS...

Keith goes over to lance's apartment for a project of sorts and immediately assumes that Lance and Nyma are a thing (they're very platonically affectionate, Nyma will kiss lance's cheek and they cuddle sometimes) which is disappointing but it's not a surprise considering Lance is so Lance and everyone else acts like they are dating so that must be the case, right?

lmao you thought.

nyma: holy shit. holy Fuck. God, allura is so hot. I would probably die if she brushed past me. I would die happily knowing I've been blessed by the touch of an angel.

lance: yeah haha she's really pretty.

keith, struggling to not choke on his coffee hearing All This at 9:31 A.M. in starbucks:

Keith asks if he can take photos of the two of them for his photography insta and they both jump on it so they can flex being sexy and afterwards Lance thanks him with a kiss on the cheek and Keith is sent REELING into gay mayhem.

lance: do you think that was like..... too much.

nyma: i think men are dumb that's what.

I mean u can't really blame Keith because Lance and Nyma are constantly joke-flirting with one another on social media and are in almost every one of the others photos in some way, or at least tagged, so by the time Keith actually works up the nerve to ask about that, it's been WEEKS since Lance kissed him and he's been miserably failing to ignore it

keith: so.... how's nyma doing?

lance: she's good! She's spent all day dying one of her wigs so she went for a coffee run lol. probably will hang with allura and shay later too

keith: and.... that doesn't make you jealous?

lance: LOL no.... they could never compete with me (talking about being Nyma's best friend)

keith: oh.... well, it's good that you trust each other a lot in your relationship.... you seem like a really good boyfriend

lance: wat the fuck did you just say.

as soon as lance explains that nyma is not his gf and they're just bffs Keith is like ohthankgod.jpg and almost accidentally asks lance on a date before he stops himself and is like.... dumb gay bitch calm DOOOWWWNN

after that it becomes very obvious that nyma and lance r just friends at least for Keith mostly through dumb shit they say to one another

lance, sitting with hunk, pidge, and Keith at the library: hey guys wanna see something cool.

pidge: go for it

lance, clearing his throat: she think she bad but I'm better, these bitches tryna play catch up-

nyma, coming out of nowhere: SHUT THE FUCK UP WHEN I'M TALKING LIL BITCH, PUT YO HEAD DOWN WHEN YOU TALK TO A PIMP-

Nyma and Lance have self-care nights every Friday, sometimes Allura or Shay will come, and very RARELY Keith if only to spend time with Lance. also? Allura and Shay are dating, die mad about it.

They do waxing, exfoliation, mud masks, moisturizing treatments, hair masks, painting nails.... need I go on. it's basically whatever they want to do that week and when Keith reluctantly agrees to participate one day Lance goes mental

lance: OK so here's what I'm thinking. it's obvious you haven't really had a self care day for a while, which is like, fine, you do you, but holy shit are your split ends bad. I was thinking maybe I could trim them and then we could do a hair mask? Oh! A face mask would be good as well, even though you've practically got perfect skin. I'd offer to wax but for first timers the pain is a bitch to handle on the face. I'm not sure if you'd be an acrylic kind of guy but I have some black nail polish that I could put on- wow, your hands are really big compared to mine, and they're so soft, haha, isn't that crazy? so what do you think?

keith, still reeling from the fact that lance is going to touch his hair, face, and hands in the next several hours: uh......yeah..... sounds great.

nyma, sitting on lance's bed in nothing but a bra and sweatpants, smoking a blunt and readjusting her sheet mask: *long exhale* christ

Shay got Lance into the whole healthy organic food thing and in turn he got Nyma into it so they're both the bitches who drink nothing but Fiji water and almond milk and will offer you a plate of sliced cucumbers and tomatoes as a snack. we Stan a vegan couple.

keith: these are actually really good.

nyma: we usually put them on our eyes, but go off I guess.

keith:

nyma: nah I'm just fucking with you, we have different cucumbers for that

by the end of the night Keith feels like he's been cleaned by a car wash and he's dizzy from all of lance's thoughtless affection and when lance says he can stay the night because it's already late, Keith mindlessly blurts out 'only if it's with you' and nymas like.... um. Wig.

keith, laying stiff as a board on one side of lance's bed: uh

lance: oh my God you gay bitch get over here and spoon me. also kiss me on the fucking lips bro.

Nyma owns a cat named Beezer that she stole from her old roommate (rolo) but calls her beebo because quote 'beezer is so fucking lame bro i hate men'. Lance owns a Russian blue mix called, you guessed it, Blue, that he found stuck in his apartments basement only a few days after moving in. Nyma and Lance are WEAK

lance: ohhhhh look at my pretty baby sitting on the table all cute and relaxed!!! look at that baby!!! fantastic stuff!

nyma, putting her head on beebos belly: You Are So Soft And So Chubby I Would Die For You

pidge would also die for the both of them

OK I'm tired and uninspired so I'll stop here but I MAY ADD MORE LATER

#klance #voltron #voltron tw #voltron au #lance #keith

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