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panda-noosh · 7 years ago

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Action!{P5}{Lance x YouTuber!Reader}{AU}

Words: 6,945

Summary: Being a YouTube guru is hard enough without the added stress of living with Lance McClain, the man who insists on bombarding into every YouTube video you try to film. His viewers love him, and so do you.

Pairing: Lance McClain x YouTuber!Reader

Notes: p1 - p2 - p3 - p4 - p6 - p7 ; someone take my laptop away from me this hurt.

The vlogging camera felt oddly heavy in your hands as you held it above your head for the first time in nearly two weeks. The LA sun shone down on you, illuminating the fresh make up look you had applied for this night in particular – a smokey eye with dark brown lipstick, skin looking smooth and untouched, free of blotches that were hidden beneath a thin layer of foundation.

It made a difference, you had to admit. Your skin care routine had been abruptly neglected after you had left your apartment, meaning your acne prone skin had started breaking out all over again. It was nice to finally look at yourself and not see an emotional mess.

“Welcome to the vlog!” is the first thing you say, doing a small twirl at your hotel room window. You can hear Emma giggling in the background, watching you with fond eyes and a bright grin as she applies her fourteenth layer of mascara onto her already-perfect-length eyelashes.

You grin, looking out at the view of LA. Even though your body felt numb and you wanted nothing more than to take off the tight dress you had pulled on over your body, you could appreciate a good view, and you could appreciate a good day. Today was Emma's day, and you were determined to make it as drama-free as you possibly could.

“So, everyone, I am back vlogging,” you continue. “And what better way to restart this channel than with a vlog celebrating one of my bestest friends in the entire world finally making her dreams come true!”

You turn the camera around, pointing it at Emma who now stands up straight, revealing her entire outfit with her make up look finally complete. You have to look at her in awe – she wears a skin-tight, emerald green dress with a matching necklace that you and Samuel had bought for her for her 20th birthday. You had never seen it around her neck before, with her insisting that it was only to be worn on 'special occasions.'

Her make up was done up perfectly and her hair was styled in it's usual, bouncy do that took so much time to style, and yet Emma always seemed to wear it as if it was no big deal. It was perfect. She looked perfect, and for the first time in five days, you were able to finally smile a genuine smile, a swelling feeling of proudness erupting in the pit of your stomach.

“You're battery isn't gonna last long if you keep it recording like that,” Emma chuckles, and it is only then that you realise you had frozen in your spot with the camera still rolling.

You grumble incoherent words and shut the vlogging camera off, hoping that the editing can make the footage look less choppy and messy.

“I'm a little rusty,” you mumble. “Anyway, you look gorgeous, Emma. You're gonna make a perfect first impression.”

Emma grins. “I hope so. I've never been so nervous in my entire life.”

“You have no reason to be nervous. Everybodies gonna love the art work you have to show them, and you're gonna wow the crowd with your amazing personality.”

“I honestly think it's the necklace.”

You chuckle, taking the emerald in between your fingers and twirling it slightly. “No. This is all you.” You smile. “When are we meeting the boys?”

Emma sighs, pulling her phone out of her bag to look at the time. “In about ten minutes, but no doubt Samuel will already be there. He hates showing up late with the wheel chair.”

“Poor kid.”

“I'd show a little bit more sympathy if he stopped dragging my ass out of bed ten minutes early just so I can watch him do wheelies in the parking lot.”

You had never been to a professional art show.

Museums, the odd opening in your home town but never anything serious. Never anything that consisted of real, authentic art where the artists were walking around like nothing was a big deal. By the time you had walked from one end of the car park to the other, you had seen around 4 world-class artists who were here for the art show opening – the art show opening that your best friend was opening with her own art work.

You weren't sure why you were feeling nervous. Every emotion within your body had been swelling ten fold the past few days, but this was on a whole other level. You were only an on looker, and yet your hands were clamming up as if you were the one due to be making the speech. Emma didn't look half as nervous as you, her head held high and her shoulders pushed back as she chatted away to the curator like a real business women would.

You and Shiro walked behind her whilst Samuel was lazily pushed, him too busy fighting with an oversized brochure to bother pushing his own wheelchair.

“So apparently there's only two disabled ramps in the entire building,” Samuel says as you follow Emma and the curator into the building. “But if my calculations are correct, there's more than two sets of steps in this place. Which means I'm suddenly offended.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, shaking his head at your friends comments. “We'll find a way to get you up the stairs, mate, don't worry.”

“I know you will,” Samuel grunts. “I didn't give you an option there, mate. All I'm saying is, there should be more than two wheelchair ramps. It's an insult to me and I've already been through enough today.”

“That waitress didn't mean to-”

“She wanted to see if I could feel the fork land in my lap. I know she did, and you cannot persuade me otherwise.”

Shiro shakes his head again, looking at you with a raised eyebrow as if to ask if Samuel was always like this. You could only shrug in response, not entirely sure how to reply. The man had been one of your closest friends for nearly seven years now, but he hasn't always been such an easily-wound up bloke. Before the accident, he was grinning all the time, did cross-country and boxing and skiied whenever he could.

After the accident, every little thing bothered him. Every little glance sent his way set him off because he truly believed everybody just saw his wheelchair, and his dead legs and the way he sometimes winced in pain whenever there really was no pain to be feeling.

You and Emma had stayed by him, though. If there was anybody with a right to feel paranoid about people staring, it was Samuel.

The museum that the art show is held in is a big one. Halls made of marble with massive stone sculptures of Greek gods sat upright in the middle of it all. Signs were bedazzled with specs of gold that you run your fingers over loosely, admiring how cold the stones feel against your fingertips. Paintings are hung up on walls, special ones covered in a thick box of glass whilst some had simply been hung up by a nail and a frame.

The building was yet to fill up with people. You had to arrive early with Emma due to her having to go over her lines with the curator, but you could admire the empty scenery whilst it lasted. You weren't entirely sure how you were going to react whenever the place started to fill up with people. Perhaps you would hide in the back. Perhaps you would chatter amongst people, get their opinions on Emma's art work for later reference. You knew feedback would be something she'd appreciate.

It felt nice, you noticed. Standing in the middle of this massive, spacious, marble room with only the sound of the curators soft voice in the background. It was peaceful. Your mind wasn't working at one hundred miles an hour at the moment, and that was something you could appreciate.

A hand lands on your arm, startling you. You gasp, spinning around only to be met with the soft eyes of Shiro, who stands behind you with the smile he had been wearing all day still plastered on his features.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you,” he says, stuffing his hands in his blazer pockets.

He cleaned up well for somebody who worked part-time in a coffee shop. He wore a baby blue dress shirt underneath a thin, black blazer, the first couple of buttons undone to reveal a hint of what looked like a well-worked chest.

“It's okay,” you reply. “Is everything okay?”

Shiro blanks for a moment, opening his mouth to speak before abruptly deciding against it. Instead, he lets his eyes trail off to look over at Emma, who busies herself with the canvas she is currently messing with. Samuel is at the side of her, guiding her through what to do with rough yells of “Are you stupid? To the left!”

“They get along,” you say. “Samuel's just a bit-”

“No, I understand,” Shiro assures, turning back to look at you. “I'm having a good time. I'm glad you guys let me tag along.” “Don't act like you didn't have plans made before we invited you. You've gotten quite popular since high school, so I've heard.”

Shiro crinkles up his nose, a playful smile playing at his lips as you two are suddenly thrown back to the world of high school which you suffered through together for seven years. You had been far from popular back in your high school days, though you were happy to say that you weren't alone in that aspect. Shiro had his fair share of hard times during high school, and you vaguely remember him being the kid with the book. The kid who was never spotted without a 500 page novel in his hand, slumped against the lockets with it balancing on his knees, engulfed in the story that he was reading.

He had worn glasses back then and had been bullied for it quite a bit. You remember rushing to your next class, scared of being late, and overhearing the popular kids talk about Shiro like he was a joke for having bad eye sight.

Shiro was basically the scrawny kid – a large difference to what he was like now. His high school self had brought on awkward smiles and bad haircuts that consisted of choppy bands that barely reached his eyebrows. His eyes were constantly swollen from lack of sleep and his lips were always chewed up from hours upon hours of mindlessly ripping the skin off of them.

Now he had muscle. Now he wore contacts. Now he was an adult, and it takes this moment for you to realise just how much the two of you had changed and just how much of Shiro's growing process you had actually witnessed in your years of friendship with him.

“Did you expect things to go this way back whenever we were in high school?” you blurt out before you know why.

Shiro looks down at you, his smile fading in confusion. “What do you mean?” You sigh, pulling your hands around yourself. “Like, did you expect me to become a YouTuber? Did you expect me to look this way? Because I certainly didn't expect you to glow up in the way you have done.”

A blush creeps upon Shiro's cheeks which he fails at covering by itching at his face. “I mean, I knew you would be something big, I guess. Even though you were fairly quiet, I always saw the potential in you, the creativity you had. Maybe it was because I spent my days reading books in the hallway, but I can spot a good brain from a mile away, and you had it. Even if you didn't show it off like you should have.”

He was right. You had always been the creative type. Not in the way where you could pick up a paintbrush and make wonderful masterpieces like Emma. Not in the way Shiro could write out words like his life revolved around beautiful prose and pulling at heart strings – you had the skill of making things come to life on your own. All you ever needed was a camera, some make up and a good enough video idea and that would be you set for the rest of the week.

You smile at the thought. The memory of your 10 year old self setting up her first camera and talking to it like it was an old friend.

That ten year old certainly had no idea she would be where she is now – two million subscribers down the road, living her best life.

Stood in the middle of a marble room, her heart completely broken with a fake smile pulling at her features.

You push the intrusive thought out of your head and look back up at Shiro. “I think we've done well for ourselves, Mr Shirogane.”

Shiro chuckles, reaching an arm out, gesturing for you to loop your own through his. “I think we have done, Miss L/N.”

“People take these things seriously,” Shiro tells you as the two of you stroll through the slowly-crowding room you had been locked in for the past hour. People were beginning to arrive - people in suits. People who looked like they could retire at the age of 24 and still have money left to put in a will after they died.

“I can see that,” you mumble, referring to the way people formed such neat little circles around the art work. Back in your home town, whenever an art show was being hosted, all of the art work had to be specially guarded due to the amount of teenagers who made it their lifes goal to put their fingers on them. These people were being respectful, and it was odd to see.

“Have you ever been into art?” Shiro asks.

You shake your head almost immediately. “Not really. I never liked Art and Design at school-”

“I remember.”

“-but I’ve always appreciated it, I guess. I definitely appreciate it more now that I’m friends with Emma, because I really do love the art work she produces. It’s just - never really been a skill of mine.”

Shiro purses his lips, nodding as the two of you make your way over to one of the smaller crowds that had gathered around a painting of a sunset. It seemed so generic to you - a painting of a sunset. That was all it seemed to be, but the crowd that were gawking at it seemed to think otherwise, pointing out the tiniest of details and talking about how each blade of grass in the field painted corresponding with the orange glow of the sunset.

It made you think of Lance. This was the kind of thing he did. He took every little detail of everything and made a deal out of it, nothing forgotten. You couldn’t watch a movie without Lance coming up with fifty different conspiracy theories in the first ten minutes, because everything had a meaning to it when it came to him. Nothing could ever just be as is.

You bite down on your lip and turn back to Shiro. He’s gazing at the painting with his head tilted, a small frown playing at his lips. You had barely even realised your arm looped through his still, the feeling of his muscular arms pressed against yours becoming so familiar that it died down after a while into nothingness.

“Do you mind if I vlog this?”

Shiro doesn’t even hesitate. His eyes don’t leave the painting and his expression of confusion doesn’t waver as he nods at you - such a casual response to something that most people cringed at.

You stifle through your bag and pull the camera out of your bag. It’s only small, hidden easily by the palm of your hand if you managed to hold it just right, but you still look back ways before pressing record, and even then you keep the device at a low angle and speak to it in a hushed voice.

“We arrived at the art show, everyone,” you whisper, making Shiro choke on the laugh he is attempting to hold back. “There’s a - uh - sunset in front of me right now, and I’m trying to figure out what the fourth blade of grass on the second row means.”

Shiro nudges you gently, covering his mouth with his free hand in an attempt to fight off his bubbling giggles. You smile to yourself, darting your eyes around the room once again before looking back down at the camera.

“I’m with Takashi, by the way. You guys don’t know him, but he’s a good guy.”

Shiro smiles, waving numbly at the camera and you can’t help but giggle at how awkward he seems in front of the lens. And yet he makes no attempt to cover it like most people do. He simply smiles down at it, his tongue peaking out between his teeth as he plays along with the game of ‘hidden vlogging’ you had suddenly started up out of nowhere.

In all honesty, the only reason you turned the camera on was to fight back the thoughts which were threatening to break the surface. You were making it your goal for tonight to be a good night. Lance was in the past. You had had your moment of emotional breakdown with that subject, and you needed to move on. Needed to get a fresh start, and restarting up the business you had left behind in your emotional rollercoaster the past five days was the best way to start.

And so you and Shiro continue to waver through the museum, finally escaping the confines of the large, marble room and broadening your surroundings by going into the different rooms - the less crowded ones. One thing you and Shiro had in common was your lack of social skills.

Every painting was vlogged, you still keeping your voice down as you spoke into the camera about the most random of topics. Shiro kept his arm wound through yours, playing along with the game, keeping his own voice down on the rare occassion he actually spoke up.

You two played a game of Eye Spy before being told off by a curator for holding up the guests who actually wanted to gaze at the art. Shiro had patted the mans chest before you two ended up sprinting away from the scene as if you had just been caught for a crime you had commited.

You weren’t entirely sure why you were having a good time. The museum was quiet bar the soft murmerings of the on-lookers and the soft sound of music trickling quietly through the overhead speakers. You should have been acting mature, and if you felt any other way, you probably would have done so. But you felt numb. You had felt numb, meaning the idea of getting told off wasn’t that big of a deal to you at this moment.

By the time 7:00pm struck, you and Shiro were laughing as you stumbled out of yet another overcrowded room and into the hallways which conjoined said rooms. Shiro had looped his arm around your waist, leaning against you as he caught his breath from the laughing you two had not paused for the past ten minutes. Everything was suddenly funny. Everything was suddenly a distraction, and if there was one thing you learned from living with Lance McClain for three years, it was that distractions had to be humorour or else they weren’t doing their job right.

“God, we really are gonna get kicked out,” Shiro chuckles, pressing his forehead against your cheek.

You shake your head stiffly, hiccuping back to reality. “I nearly knocked over the damn sculpture of Julius Caesar.”

Shiro chokes, immediately being thrown back into a fit of laughter. You watch him as he pulls his head back as he laughs - a move Lance used to do.

No, Y/N. Not now.

You search for another distraction, soft giggles escaping your lips as you feel your disguise of happiness slowly melting off of you as the night draws on and the distractions become scarcer and the reminders of Lance become more and more prominent around you.

“I don’t think the sculpture was of Julias Caesar, Y/N,” Shiro continues. “I think it was your bloke from the underworld - Hade’s? Hates?”

“Heather. Big Heather from the underworld,” you say. Shiro laughs louder this time, wiping at his eyes.

“I’ve never remembered you being so hyper before, Y/N,” Shiro says. “See, life isn’t all that bad. I knew you could have a good time.”

You force a smile on your face, nodding at him slowly because it was better for him to believe that than to think otherwise. The last thing you wanted was for him to look at you and see that you were only keeping up this humourous act for your friends benefits - you had sworn to them that tonight would be a good night. A night to forget about troubles. A night to forget about the past five days. You didn’t travel all the way to LA to mope around and make everybody else upset with your own sadness.

“We should probably get to the next room,” Shiro says after a moment of calming himself down. “What time does Emma’s exhibit start?”

“8,” you reply.

“Plenty of time to look around a bit more. Maybe we can get something to eat at the food court?”

You nod, but you don’t move. Shiro takes a step forward, clearly expecting for him to follow you, but something catches your eye. You aren’t entirely sure what it is - it was merely a whisp of colour in your peripheral vision, darting past the marble barriers holding up the ceiling, but it was something that peaked your interest more than you could ignore.

Shiro reaches behind him and tugs at your hand. “Hey. Everything okay?”

You swallow thickly. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. I just need the rest room, I think. I’ll meet you at the food counter, yeah?”

Shiro seems unconvinced, and for a moment you’re almost certain he’s going to ask to accompany you to the rest room. But after a moment, he gives you a light smile, nods and walks off.

Immediately you whirl around, silently cursing yourself for getting trapped inside your own brain again. You assured yourself over and over again that it was normal for somebody to feel curiosity, that it was normal for somebody to be reminded of somebody they missed shortly after losing said person. But you knew, deep down, that you were just being paranoid. You knew that all the things you wanted to say to Lance were whirling around in your brain for a reason, and no amount of distractions and laughter and buddy buddy friendships would get rid of them.

You march down the marble hallways in the direction of the streak of colour you had seen. Because why not? Because if not now, then when?

Your heels click against the floor and sound out in echoes as the crowd slowly disappears the longer you walk. Your eyes dart through everyone, but they don’t need to linger for very long. These people were very different from the person you were looking for. These people held their heads high and they walked with such grace with frowns tugging at their lips as they inspected the art work which surrounded them.

You were looking for the bouncy, bubbly guy with the wide grin and loud voice.

You take a sharp turn whenever you’re finally on your own. The crowd had completely disappeared, leaving only you to wade through the halls on your own. You weren’t even sure if you were allowed this far into the museum without permission, but you didn’t stop yourself.

You took the turn and immediately came to a stop. As did everything else in the world, it seemed, because standing before you was exactly who you craved to see, but at the same time wanted to avoid at all costs.

You finally realise exactly what you had just done - you had just followed this man down these halls even though he had ripped your heart from your chest only days prior. You had trailed after him like a lost puppy, made yourself look more like a joke than the interview he had done did.

But you can’t move, because the questions and the anger and the confusion are bubbling at your system as you look at him now. Wearing a tight, black blazer, head ducked down, forearm resting on the wall in front of him as he takes deep breaths, back facing you.

He hasn’t seen you yet. You could easily walk away and leave him, don’t let him know that you had seen him at all, but your feet are rooted to the floor. Perhaps it’s the three years worth of memories that keep you there, looking at him in his very clearly distressed state. Perhaps it was the instinct to help him that you couldn’t exactly get rid of in the space of three days.

Whatever it was, it was activating now, because even though he had hurt you and even though you were furious with him, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny tinge in your gut at the sight of him now. Leaning his head against his forearm, clearly trying to catch his breath, perhaps willing himself not to cry. What he had to cry over, you were unsure about.

You take a step forward, your heel echoing off of the floor. Lance immediately stiffens up, his head snapping up before he whirls around.

His face falls, his shoulders going limp and his hands falling to his sides. He looked pale. He looked sick. His usually vibrant, tanned skin had been dulled to a pale ivory now, and the bags under his eyes were deep, purple rings that made no effort of making themselves subtle.

He swayed slightly on his feet and you were almost certain he would fall over at any given moment. Whether it be from shock or the sleep deprivation he was very clearly suffering from, you had no idea.

Neither of you speak for a number of seconds. You simply stare at each other, your hand clutching the material of your dress as if it was the last thing you would possibly hold onto. His eyes beam into yours, him never being one to shy away from eye contact.

And then he speaks, and the sound of his voice is so excrutiatingly painful that you nearly double over at the sound of it. He doesn’t sound like himself.

“Y/N.” It’s only your name. A simple word that used to come so naturally between the two of you suddenly sounds like poison, like he’s spitting acid at you instead of speaking.

His voice cracks. He sounds like he hasn’t used his voice in weeks.

You swallow thickly and nod. “L-Lance.”

He purses his lips, his own eyes fluttering closed as you speak. He sways on his feet once again, even stumbling a little as he does so. You step forward, ready to grab him but he raises his hands, stopping you.

You don’t understand why you stepped forward. You were meant to hate him. You were going to hate him. You had to. You had to stop having such a soft spot for him. You thought you were making progress. You thought you were-

“What are you doing here?” you finally ask.

Lance opens his eyes and lazily smiles. “I came here with the ticket Emma gave me. Thought I would - uh - support a friend.”

“She’s not your friend.”

Lance shrugs, your words skimming right over his head. “But it seems like somebody else took my space in the little group. Which sucks, to be honest. I thought I was quite unreplaceable.”

He’s slurring his words. Is he drunk?

You raise your brow, your gut telling you to move. To turn and leave him stranded here, leave him to deal with his own mess that he caused, but you continue to stare at him.

You want to say it has nothing to do with emotional attachment, that it’s just morals that are keeping you standing here. He’s clearly in no shape to get himself home, to be on his own. You may be hurting, but you’re a nice enough person to not leave somebody in need behind because of your own reasons.

At least, that’s what you assure yourself.

“How much have you drunk since you got here?” you ask. “The bar wasn’t free for guests as far as I know. I hope you left yourself money for the taxi.”

“Harsh,” Lance mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know what else is harsh? You flirting with Mr Tall Guy right in front of my face.”

Your breathing hitches. Anger spirals through you. You regret not walking away. You regret having started this conversation. You regret having followed him at all because you know that this conversation will bring nothing but pain for you that you will have to heal from all over again.

“I get it, you know,” Lance continues. He sways on his feet, catches himself on the wall. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m a piece of shit. But at least I’m not walking around flaunting my new relationship five days after I broke it off with somebody else. That’s just cold.”

“Are you being serious right now?” you seethe. “Lance, answer my question. How much did you have to drink?”

“Not enough, clearly,” Lance grumbles. “I’m still not blacked out. But maybe I did drink enough - I persuaded myself to actually come here. That must have taken plenty of alcohol.”

You grit your teeth, running your hands through your hair, ignoring the fact that it had taken nearly an hour to do. “I think you should go.”

“What? No!” he exclaims, and the volume of his voice takes you by surprise. He tries to move, tries to make his way towards you but his feet stumble and he has to crumble against the wall again to stop himself from falling over completely. “Y/N, no. Let me - I didn’t mean it. I know you wouldn’t date Shiro. You two barely know each other, and you wouldn’t do that to me. You wouldn’t - We love each other, right?”

Your heart aches. It feels like it’s being ripped out of your body through your rib cage, and there’s nothing that can stop it now. You want to reply with a snarky comment, but seeing him go from frustrated to desperate so quickly makes you shudder and no words come out.

All you can do is watch him as he clambers against the wall, trying to make his way towards you but his feet aren’t doing him any favours and you’re almost certain he will fall if he detaches himself from the grip he has on the wall.

“Say you do,” Lance continues, his voice taking on the edge of a plea by now. “I know I fucked up. I - I fucked up really badly and I destroyed what we had, but please tell me I meant enough to you that you haven’t thrown me away in the space of - how many days has it been? Five?”

You shake your head, biting your lip to fight back tears. Not today, Y/N. You promised.

“I just need you to get yourself home, Lance,” you choke out. “Or else you’ll end up getting kicked out and arrested for public intoxication.”

“You take me home,” Lance says. “I haven’t - I got an Uber here, but we can - we can walk. I don’t know where my hotel is, but-”

“I’m not leaving with you,” you say and you feel yourself physically break at the sight of his face falling. His swollen cheeks have turned red and bright, his nose rosy and his soft brown eyes flooding with unshed tears that you persuade yourself only the alcohol can induce upon him.

He’s too drunk to know what he’s saying. He won’t remember any of this in the morning.

“But why? We live together,” Lance slurs. “Not right now, obviously, but we still share an apartment, and you still have a home with me, right? Because - Because I don’t have a home if you’re not there with me. You know that, right? Tell me you know that.”

“Lance, please don’t make me call security to get you out of here. I don’t want this to be bigger than it needs to be.”

“If you didn’t still like me - love me - you wouldn’t even be here right now. I’m surprised you haven’t pushed me down a flight of stairs yet.”

“You’ll end up falling down the stairs if you don’t get yourself home,” you hiss. “Now please-”

“But I miss you,” Lance says, and his voice comes out as a whine, a desperate plea for you to just listen to him. “Keep this between us, but the only real reason I actually showed up to this bore-fest is because I knew you’d be here with the others. I needed to see you.”

You shake your head again. His words have an impact. They slam into your chest, winding you but he’s drunk, and you have to keep reminding yourself of that fact. You have to keep your head out of the gutter and keep yourself strong, because he means nothing he is saying and he will remember nothing at the end of the night.

“Please, Lance,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Just get yourself home safely, alright? There’s - There’s nothing more for us. Nothing we can make out of what we had. Not now. The best thing for both of us to do is to just forget about one another.”

Lance gurgles, slumping forward. “You don’t mean that.”

You turn on your heel, using up all of your strength and everything in you to just get away from here. Leave on a decent note. You don’t need to yell at a drunken man - you don’t even need to associate yourself with him any further. Just go. Leave him.

“Y/N, don’t walk away. What are you doing?” Lance cries and you flinch at the volume of his voice but continue to walk. “Y/N L/N, get back here! Please! I miss you! I - I love you, for crying out loud! Y/N, are you listening? Can you even hear me? Y/N!”

He’s too drunk to run after you, and you’re too numb to turn back and look at him.

You reach up to your cheeks, expecting to wipe away tears, but all you feel is the dry foundation on your face.

You chuckle light heartedly, wrapping a loose arm around Emma’s shoulders as the two of you finally escape into the confines of the night.

The only light that illuminates the bright smile shining off of Emma’s face right now is the street lights that shine down on her like the spot light she deserves.

“You absolutely killed it!” Shiro cheers, wheeling Samuel, who had fallen asleep, down the disabled ramp of the museum. “God, they were all absolutely in love with you, Emma!”

Emma smiles brightly, wiping at her tired eyes. “It was fun. Easier than I thought.”

“You always had a way with words when it came to your art work,” you say, patting her arm and giving her a soft smile. You were proud of her. She had done her first night as an art show host and had absolutely blown everybody away with the art work she showed off. She had introduced a few world-famous paintings, but the paintings which stole the show were definitely her originals, which people pushed to get good views of.

Even after the events of the night, you found yourself feeling genuinely proud of her.

The side walk is crowded with people emerging from the art show, getting ready to go home after a long night of enjoying themselves, drinking fancy champagne and examining art. You smile at the odd person, arm still wrapped around Emma’s shoulders-

Until Shiro’s own arm winds around your waist, taking you by mild surprise. You hadn’t realised you were standing still on the sidewalk until you were being pulled out of Emma’s grip. Emma looked at you for a moment, smirked before she waded off to be next to Samuel who was slowly waking himself up due to the sudden burst of noise that the outdoors brought upon him.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” Shiro asks once Emma is leaning safely against the wall of the museum, shooting glances up at you and Shiro before she is swarmed by a group of boys who want to ask her about her art work.

You raise a brow, pointing your eyes down at the hand he has wound around your waist. “I had a pretty decent time. What about you?”

“I loved it,” he replied. You can’t help but notice the slight gravel to his voice, a tinge to his tone that is either the work of lust, too much alcohol, or exhaustion. “I just wanted to thank you for being a good date.”

You splutter, eyes popping open. “Date?”

Shiro shrugs loosely. “I mean, the term is used loosely, of course. We’re just friends, but you kept me company in there. I don’t know how much of Samuel’s blabbering I can take, and Emma was far too busy with the art to actually talk to me. You made an effort.”

You blink hastily. “Right. Well, it was my pleasure, I guess.”

He nods. “What about that vlog you filmed? When will that be up?”

“Some time tomorrow, I’m hoping! I’m kind of filled with nervous energy at the moment, so I don’t see myself sleeping much.” Also known as, I have no idea if Lance got home safely and I hate myself for worrying so much but I can’t help it.

“Well, I’m excited to make my Y/N L/N Vlogs debut,” Shiro jokes, jostling your arm slightly. You rock against him, still taken slightly off guard by the way he loosely used the term ‘date’ as if it meant nothing.

Maybe it did mean nothing. Maybe you were just overthinking.

It’s Samuel’s voice, groggy and tired, that snaps you out of your daze. “Oh for the love of all that is holy, what is he doing here?”

Your eyes snap up, following Samuel’s gaze across the busy LA street you’re standing at. Almost immediately your stomach does knots, a sick feeling rising in your stomach as you see him - he had listened to you. He had left the museum, but he certainly hadn’t headed home.

He was stumbling around the corner, singing a song that you two used to sing together all the time as you cooked dinner - a Spanish song which you never understood the lyrics to, but you had heard it enough to know every single word.

“My God, he’s hammered,” Shiro breathes.

Lance stumbles around the corner, swinging his arms above his head before his eyes meet yours. You barely register it for a moment, the glare off of the street lamps making him seem a little more sober than he must have been. But one thing was for sure - as soon as his eyes met yours, his entire demeanour changed and suddenly, he looked angry.

You couldn’t be too sure, of course. It was very rare you actually saw Lance angry, but judging by the scowl which suddenly scattered his feautres and the way his gaze clamped down on Shiro’s hand which was wound around your waist, he was pissed.

You’re quick to step out of Shiro’s gaze, panic sweeping you. The streets were busy. Cars were zooming past at an unforgiving speed, and Lance was drunk and angry and on the other side of the road.

Nobody else sees it coming. Nobody but you. You step forward, wanting nothing more than to rush across the road and push him back from the curb, but nobody stops. No cars stop. Some drivers are even driving past on their cell phones at a speed which could knock down the side of a building.

But Lance doesn’t register that, and you see his eyes flicker the moment he yells out, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” to Shiro. Shiro’s eyes widen as you rush forward, shaking your hands in front of your body.

“Lance, don’t! Stay right there! Don’t even think of moving or-”

But your words don’t mean anything. Not right now. Not when Lance is blinded in a mad hot rage, consumed and fuelled by alcohol. You watch on in horror, a cry escaping your mouth as Lance steps off the curb, ready to fly head on at Shiro -

He doesn’t get that far. Not before a car has slammed into his side, knocking him to the left, blood spurting out of his nose before he’s even hit the concrete. You hear Emma yelling out for help, and you’re certain you hear yourself wailing but everything sounds dull, as if it’s being sounded through water.

Lance lands on the road with a thump, completely unconscious by the time he even hits the tarmac.

#voltron #voltron fics #Action!#Lance mcclain x youtuber!reader #Lance x reader #lance mcclain #lance voltron #takashi shirogane #shiro voltron #pidge gunderson #pidge voltron #hunk garrett #hunk voltron #keith kogane #keith voltron #voltron au #voltron scenarios #voltron headcanons

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bcnjaminollivandcr · 5 years ago

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Benjamin Garrick Ollivander + Questionnaire

trigger warning ; miscarriage & teen pregnancy

ORIGINS & FAMILY

Name:

Benjamin Garrick Ollivander III

Nickname(s):

Benny, Ben, Benji

Reason for name:

There have actually been two other Benjamin Garrick Ollivanders among his ancestors but Benjamin was his great uncle’s name and Garrick his grandfather’s name.

Birthday: Fifth of June 2003

Gender: Male

Place of birth: Diagon Alley, London, England, UK

Places lived since:

Diagon Alley from birth

Hogwarts during the school year from age eleven to nineteen

A house in St Albans that he bought for himself and Skye MacDougal

Parents’ names, backgrounds, occupations:

Gervaise Ollivander - father - son of Garrick and Morgaine. He is a halfblood and Gryffindor alumni. He worked at Ollivanders Wand Shop since he was nineteen until his son was old enough to take over. He never done or wanted to do anything else - wanted, even needed, his oldest son to follow in his footsteps. He married Sophia in 2001 and has two children, Ben and Laurel

Sophia Ollivander (née Fawcett) - mother - daughter of Alaric and Ingrid. She is a pureblood and Ravenclaw alumni. She is a housewife but sometimes helps out at Ollivander’s Wand Shop with her son. She is married to Gervaise with two children, Ben and Laurel

Number of siblings: One

Laurel Ollivander

Relationship with family (close? estranged?):

Although Ben does not want to work for the family business, he and Gervaise have an okay relationship. It is only strained for Ben because he never told his father that he would rather do something else with his life. Otherwise, they have always had a decent bond and can have conversations about other aspects of their lives with no problems.

Ben has not told his mother, Sophia about what he actually wanted to do with his future but part of him believes that she knows. Sophia is always the one to change the topic when a conversation about the wand shop is brought up which he is eternally grateful for. Ben is a huge mama’s boy and would never let anything happen to her. He hopes to find a woman one day that loves him as much as his mother loves his father and vice versa (and he has).

Laurel is more than a younger sister to Ben. She’s his best friend, his shoulder to cry on. He’s her protector, her guide whenever she needs it. He believes that even if they weren’t brother and sister their souls would be entwined and they’d be destined to love each other in the way brothers and sisters do. He isn’t sure what he would do without her and would do anything for her. Even give up the future he wants for hers. His one goal in life is to see her happy, always.

Happiest memory: The day that Skye McDougal agreed to marry him and then when they eloped.

Childhood trauma:

Ben has lived a very happy life, with little trauma. If he were asked about the most traumatic event in his life, he would say when he fell down the stairs at age seven from his home above the shop into it. He broke two bones and was left with a nasty scar on his head, often hidden by his hair. He was in a coma for two weeks and suffered temporary short term memory loss.

Children of his/her own?:

Karina Ollivander-MacDougal (unborn) - Ben got Skye pregnant in his sixth year and she had decided to name her Karina. She had a miscarriage so she was never born but Ben still considers her his child.

Apolline Davies (pretend) - Ben is not actually her father but when Natalie Davies told him that she had gotten pregnant by a teacher, he volunteered to pretend to be the real father to protect them. Apolline is actually Ben’s goddaughter and he is very close with her. It is becoming more and more obvious that Ben is not the real father but he still keeps up the act.

PHYSICAL

Height: 6″

Weight: 190lbs

Build: Athletic, Incredibly Buff

Nationality: English - African & Filipino descent

Disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses):

Ben potentially has addictive tendencies. After his breakup with Gigi Perri and finding out Skye was betrothed to Jace Greengrass, he started drinking all the time. He cleaned up his act before it got really bad but given his partying past, it is likely he would have become a full blown alcoholic.

Though never diagnosed, Ben often experiences dissociation when going through traumatic experiences. This became prominent after his fall down the stairs when he got out of the coma. One prominent time that this happened was after Ben found out that Skye had had a miscarriage. It is usually only Laurel who can bring him out of these states.

Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birth marks): Clear

Hair color: Black

Usual hair style: Shaved

Eye color: Dark Brown

Glasses? Contacts?: 20/20 Vision

Style of dress/typical outfit(s):

While at work, Ben tends to wear fairly smart clothes; a nice shirt and black trousers, occasionally with a nice jacket as well.

When out of work, Ben simply wears jeans and a t-shirt. When he was younger, said t-shirts would have had funny slogans across them but now they re plainer.

If Ben wears anything in bed, it would simply be boxers but frequently he sleeps naked.

Health:

Ben is incredibly healthy. He eats well and exercises to keep fit. He rarely gets sick although he is prone to the occasional scars or broken bones from Quidditch and accidents.

Grooming:

Ben does not wear makeup. He goes for a run some mornings or evenings and usually showers after that. If he doesn’t run, he showers in the morning. He keeps his clothes clean and rarely wears any that smell or have stains. He does not pluck his eyebrows. He cuts his hair frequently to keep the shave close to his head.

Tattoos? Piercings?:

Ben has several tattoos but there are four very important ones: a blue, watercolor feathered wing on his left shoulder as seen in his Instagram profile represents Gigi (though he did not tell anyone that), a laurel wreath on the middle of his upper back to represent Laurel, a cloud to represent Skye on his left ankle and the Karina constellation on his upper left arm for his unborn daughter. He has no piercings.

Accent?:

Predominantly English.

Ben speaks broken Tagalog with a Filipino accent which sometimes breaks through when speaking English too.

Unique mannerisms/physical habits:

Ben runs a hand over his head, especially when stressed or upset.

He cracks his knuckles in anticipation before a Quidditch match or important event.

INTELLECT

Level of education (high school drop out, undergrad BA/BS, PhD, MD, etc.): Hogwarts Graduate

Gifts/talents/skills:

Ben was a beater for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team at Hogwarts and was considered an excellent player with the exception of one or two matches where he had been drinking beforehand.

Wandmaking is part of the Ollivander genes. Ben was taught how to from a young age by his father and despite not wanting to do it, he is good at it.

Ben was always a fan of music. So much so that he asked for piano lessons when he was younger which his mother arranged. He only sometimes plays now.

Ben is good at picking up languages. He speaks fluent English and Spanish and is learning Latin, French and Tagalog.

Shortcomings:

Extremely overprotective is one way that Ben has always been described. This may not sound like a bad thing but he would literally rather be unhappy than let those he cares about be unhappy themselves or get hurt.

Ben used to have serious trouble with commitment. He would give up on something when it got difficult. For example, in his first relationship with Skye, they were fighting so much that he just broke if off without trying to figure out the truth.

Ben is prone to drinking and partying. Less so now that he is working, married and trying to have children with Skye but when at Hogwarts it got to the point where it was nearly a problem.

Benjamin is allergic to nuts.

Style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.): Ben speaks articulately especially in a formal setting and he usually uses a strong and confident tone which reflects his personality. He speak less confidently when using other languages.

Religious stance: Agnostic

Cautious or daring?: Daring

Most sensitive about/vulnerable to:

Karina is one of the things that hurts Ben most to talk about. Not only because he’d lost a child but also because he didn’t know about it and gave up on his and Skye’s relationship the first time around without knowing the truth. Not many people know about it though.

Ben’s past relationships are also a topic of sensitivity for him. Despite his difficulty with commitment back then, he was very much in love with both of them and deeply regrets the mistakes he made.

Optimist or pessimist?: Optimist

Extrovert or introvert?: Extrovert

RELATIONSHIPS

Current marital/relationship status: Married to Skye MacDougal

Sexual orientation: Bisexual

Past relationships:

Skye MacDougal - Ben initially dated Skye when they were in Hogwarts. It was a near perfect relationship but when she fell pregnant and shortly afterward had a miscarriage, they started fighting and eventually broke things off. A few years later, they rekindled the relationship and quickly got engaged and then eloped.

Level of sexual experience:

Ben has slept with many, many people, male and female. During his years at Hogwarts, he was known to be a player when he wasn’t in a relationship due to his naturally flirty and charming personality. Known people he has had sexual relations with is Skye MacDougal, Gigi Perri, Aleksander Gaunt and Apolline Davies.

Most comfortable around (person): Laurel Ollivander, Skye MacDougal, Natalie Davies & Aleksander Gaunt

Oldest friend: Aleksander Gaunt

Pets?: Tabby cat named Laurie, after his sister

VOCATION

Profession: Manager at Ollivander’s Wand Shop

Past occupations: N/A

Passions:

Quidditch

Piano

Partying (formerly for the most part)

Attitude towards current job:

Ben does not like his job but he does not let that be known to anybody and just deals with it day by day.

Attitude towards current coworkers, bosses, employees:

Ben runs the Diagon Alley branch on his own as his dad stepped down from the job after his son graduated.

SECRETS

Phobias:

Arachnophobia / Fear of Spiders

Fear of Unhappiness / Being Unfulfilled

Life goals:

Ben‘s life goal is actually his sister’s. He wants her to be a successful professional Quidditch player and not get dragged into the family business like he did.

He wants to start a family. They have been trying to have children with not a whole lot of luck but are not giving up yet.

Greatest fears:

Ben’s greatest fear is 100% losing the people he cares about including his sister, wife, his daughter/goddaughter and closest friends.

Most ashamed of:

Finding out about Skye’s pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage after the fact and not trying to figure out why the fighting had started back then.

Compulsions:

Up until recently, Ben had a serious problem keeping his sexual desires in check. During his relationships, it was easier to control but before, after and in between, he could be reckless with the people he slept with. That might be why it was so easy for people to believe that he had knocked up Natalie Davies.

Crimes committed:

Ben has taken part in underage drinking & drug use but was never caught or convicted.

What he/she most wants to change about his/her self/life?:

He wishes he could choose a different career path but he knows that will never happen.

DETAILS/QUIRKS

Daily routine:

On weekdays, Ben wakes up at around seven and goes for a run on most mornings. He then showers and gets ready for work. He apparates to Diagon Alley opens the shop about nine and spends the morning serving customers, sorting wands and making them. He closes the shop for lunch between twelve and one and then does the same thing in the afternoon as the morning. He closes the shop at half past six. Usually he apparates home after that but occasionally he might stop for drink at the Leaky Cauldron or, if Skye is working a night shift, he might go and visit Natalie and Apolline in Hogsmeade before going home and going to bed.

On weekends, Ben’s plans can vary from babysitting his goddaughter, spending time with his wife, friends and/or Laurel, or possibly doing a weekend shift at the shop depending on the time of year.

Night owl or early bird?: Night Owl

Light or heavy sleeper?: Heavy Sleeper

Favorite food: Waffles

Favorite book: Quidditch Through The Ages

Favorite movie: Citizen Kane

Favorite song: Likes most music

Favorite color: Purple

Coffee or tea?: Tea

Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?: Crunchy

Type of car he/she drives: Does not drive and does not plan to learn.

Lefty or righty?: Righty

Cusser?: Definitely

Smoker? Drinker? Drug user?: Occasionally. Definitely. Rarely.

#tw: pregnancy #tw: miscarriage #sdhqtask1 #&& wandmaker #cd #tasks #what's wrong with a little queue

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