#top left and bottom right are rainbow monsters

[mayperhapsbe]

Heehehheehheeheeeehhhhheheeehee

My creatures…….

[thedisabilitybookarchive]

Queer Disability in Horror

[ID: A poster. Large white text in the centre reads "Queer Disability In Horror". In the upper left corner, smaller black text reads "Disability in Books". The background is a wood grain pattern, with the top and bottom of bordered by a row of book tops. In the upper right corner, the logo for the Disability Book Archive. In the lower left corner, the disability pride flag in the shape of a heart, and the rainbow pride flag, in the shape of smaller heart slightly layered on top. In the lower right corner, a stack of cartoonish books. /end]

[ID: The same poster. The text and stack of books has been removed. The hearts and logo have shrunken in size. There are 5 book covers. From left to right, the covers are: "Camp Damascus" by Chuck Tingle, "Sorrowland" by Rivers Solomon, "Blackwater" by Jeannette Arroyo and Ren Graham, "Hell Followed With Us" by Andrew Joseph White, and "The Spirit Bares Its Teeth" by Andrew Joseph White. /end]

[ID: The same poster. The book covers have been replaced. From left to right, the covers are: "It Looks Like Us" by Alison Ames, "Into the Drowning Deep" by Mira Grant, "Deathless Divide" by Justina Ireland, "We Shall Be Monsters" by Derek Newman-Stille, and "Highway Bodies" by Alison Evans. /end]

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 [22 rainbow pride flag emojis]

A short list of 10 horror books featuring queer, disabled, and queer-disabled characters and themes!

Camp Damascus has been suggested on every single post I've made asking for queer-disabled horror recommendations, including the non-tumblr forums. To a lesser but equally persistent extent, so has Sorrowland and Into the Drowning Deep.

I've really tried to add different books to this list to make sure it wasn't the same as the one I put out for Halloween. The issue is that, I think maybe a grand total of three new horror or horror adjacent books have been added to the archive since then, so I was really strapped for recommendations. And I know it's shorter than the others, but I really appreciate everyone who has contributed a book to this list, or told me that I'd added the wrong one.

Hopefully next year I won't have to scrape the book forums to put another one together!

The books on this list are:

🏳️‍🌈"Camp Damascus"- Tingle, Chuck

🏳️‍🌈 "Sorrowland"- Solomon, Rivers

🏳️‍🌈 "Blackwater"- Arroyo, Jeannette. Graham, Ren.

🏳️‍🌈 "Hell Followed With Us"- White, Andrew Joseph

🏳️‍🌈 "The Spirit Bares Its Teeth"- Ames, Alison

🏳️‍🌈 "Into the Drowning Deep"- Grant, Mira

🏳️‍🌈 "Deathless Divide"- Ireland, Justina

🏳️‍🌈 "We Shall Be Monsters"- Newman-Stille, Derek

🏳️‍🌈 "Highway Bodies"- Evans, Alison

Some of the books on this list can be found on the Disability Book Archive. The rest will be added in the future.

Happy Pride Month!

[kiruliom]

gendermonster

a gender[thing] system where your gender just feels like a monster!

as per genderthings go, any gender under this must have the -monster suffix!!

please tag me if you coin any terms under this! id love to see it and will reblog it even >:)

template can be found here (link)

[ID: a pride flag for the xenogender system 'gendermonster'. dark purple waves lower into a lighter purple line, followed by a hot pink line. there is a lighter pink line with jagged lines similar to arrows, the line is finished by orange jagged lines. the middle line is pale yellow. the pattern repeats inverse, similar to how the transgender flag is with the blue and pink. the gendermonster symbol is over the flag. end ID]

tagging: @gendersystemarchive and @mogai-reblog :D

[ID: a rainbow glitter text that reads “please do not reupload anywhere unless credited and informed". end ID]

monster symbol coining under the cut!!

monster symbol:

a symbol for monsters, or general supernatural nonhumanity!! the diamond symbolizes having a body differing from the human norms, x on the middle is for the prejiduce monsters may face, top symbol is the first half of an hourglass, symbolizing monsters who experience mortality, the bottom symbol is the second half of an hourglass, symbolizing monsters who are immortal and monsters who have already passed. the left symbol is a yin, symbolizing benevolent monsters, those who do good in the world. and the right symbol is a yang, symbolizing malevolent monsters, those who thrive in chaos.

[atomicc]

ROUND TRIP - HAZARDOUS CHEMICALS LOCATED WITHIN THIS ENCLOSURE 2024 (CD, ALBUM) (MINT)

Fake album cover ^___^

Here's a version with black lines as well and an attempt at transcript which I'm not super confident on so if someone has advice feel free okay I love you

ID: Digitally colored drawing of a group of figures, none of their faces in frame. From left to right. An offscreen hand is drawing a black wolf with red hair. Below that is a man in a black t-shirt and black and white pants lays on its side, a small pink cat stuffed animal laying on top of it. Above it is a nintendo wii u gamepad. Next to it is a robot with an orange and pink t-shirt, dog collar with tail, and jeans, with a monster energy drink can in its hand, reaching to the figure below it to hand it the can. To it's right is the arm of an unseen robot, with pink and white stripes. Below it is the lower body of the trolls character john dory in basketball shorts, reaching up to the robot to grab the can of monster energy. A red demon tail is to his left. Text in the bottom corner, in large font, reads: Round Trip! Hazardous chemicals located within this enclosure. The background is blue and the lines are colored to be rainbow. End ID.

[turigirltoybonnie]

x x x / x x x / x x x

[gif descriptions: a three by three scenecore stimboard. the gifs are as follows, left to right top to bottom: someone dropping kandi onto a bigger pile of it, a shelf of various monster energy flavors, someone showing off kandi cuffs and singles with pride flag colors, someone teasing their black hair to give it more volume, a gif of the word "rawr" in varying colors flashing against a black background, someone showing off dyed blue hair by throwing back their head and then touching it, a closeup of someone wearing kandi, a shelf of different bang energy drink flavors, and a closeup of a big pile of kandi. below the stimboard is a banner with a glitchy rainbow pattern behind it that says "dni: terfs/radfems/transmeds, exclusionists, anti bi/pan lesbians, anti lesboy/turigirl." /end gif descriptions]

scenecore stimboard for @storm-of-feathers

[your-fave-is-crippled]

Frankie Stein from Monster High

is crippled/a cripple, supports cripplepunk and has a prosthetic leg!

Specifically referring to them in the gen 3 remake!

image one: [id: a dark grey flag with a dusty rainbow going from the bottom left corner up to the right, dark grey circles on top one in the middle of the other and frankie from monster high in the middle of the image giving the viewer an open mouthed smile and holding her detached left hand in her right. :end id]

image two: [id: a flag with a grey border around 7 vertical stripes ranging from left to right as dark green, seafoam green, light green, pale green, pale pink, pink and dark pink. on top of the flag is frankie from monster high in the middle of the image giving the viewer an open mouthed smile and holding her detached left hand in her right. :end id]

[en8y]

[IMAGE ID: three horizontal flags with nine stripes; each flag has an icon of flower from critterspace's head in the center. they are a rainbow flower with a large smile and no eyes. the middle stripe is twice as large as the rest of them, which are equally sized. the left flag has these top three colors: maroon, medium red, and light red. the middle flag has these top three colors: cool medium grey, dull seafoam green, and pastel blue-purple. the right flag has these top three colors: dull dark pink, medium grey-red, and light warm grey. each flag has these bottom six stripes: bright red-pink, off-white, orange-yellow, bright green, light blue, and bright purple. END ID.]

critterspacister: a gender connected to being a critterspace monster; this gender is connected to critterspace, aesthetics associated with the game, monster aesthetics, red-tinted forms of carricism, and nonbinary carrininity!

scritterspacic: a gender connected to being a critterspace scientist; this gender is connected to critterspace, aesthetics associated with the game, scientist aesthetics, blue-tinted forms of carricism, and nonbinary carrininity!

critterspacisite: a gender connected to being a critterspace parasite; this gender is connected to critterspace, aesthetics associated with the game, parasite aesthetics, purple-tinted forms of carricism, and nonbinary carrininity!

@radiomogai @liom-archive @obscurian @drowntowns @kimeditive @j-t-k @plutobie

[mogai-sunflowers]

darkbowquoteic!

darkbowquoteic-

a quotegender related to the quote "even the brightest of rainbows have the darkest of colors."

[Image ID: A flag with five equally-thick diagonal stripes centered on a mid red background. From left to right, they are white, neon yellow, neon green, medium orange, and deep indigo. The white stripe is extended into a triangle shape along the top and left side of the flag, surrounding a triangle portion of the white background with a magenta quotation mark symbol in it, and the deep indigo stripe does the same but for the bottom and right side of the flag. End ID.]

term and flag by me, requested by @monster-fucker-moss-jonathan​ ! tagging @radiomogai​ and @quotegender​ 

[starchbean]

Squish Collection

Left to right, top to bottom:

Baby Squad: Peter the Pig with the 2024 Easter print tummy 8 inch Lune the Loch Ness Monster Clip Lune the Loch Ness Monster 7 inchDottie the Sea Slug

Atop the tree of Gondor alone sits 5 inch Antjuan the Sea Monster

By my bed are 8 inch Kenny the Dragon and Maggie the Stingray, also known as Lil Grandpa and Lil Grandma, since they share my maternal grandparents' names.

Confined to their prison cell are 8 inch Bethuna the Mystical Creature and Umberto the Clown.

Below them dangle most of my clips: Theotto the Cthulhu Yekaterina the Bigfoot Clown 2024 Valentine's Eden the Bigfoot Noro the Cthulhu (The mushroom and plague doctor are not Squishmallows and do not have names, but I still love them <3)

Up in the net are some 5 inch flying friends: Gabourey the Flying Squirrel 2023 Valentine's Baiden the Dragon 2023 Edition Gio the Gargoyle

5 inch Capri the Grapefruit gets a hexagon shelf of her own. Officially, Squishmallows says she's an orange. I overrule them, she's a red grapefruit :P Orin is the real orange Squishmallow end rant.

8 inch Tonya the Boar feels safest hiding in the greenery near our entryway.

Jayden the Beluga Whale Squishville lives up on Tiny Shelf with Azurill and other non-squish creatures.

And finally, the Pastel Rainbow Squad lives under my Hythlodaeus poster: 7.5 inch Leonori the Winged Lion Micromallow Cleary the Strawberry Cow Squishville Risa the Cat 7.5 inch Noe the Sea Bunny Squishville Thekla the Polar Bear Squishville Naya the Fox 5 inch 2024 Valentine's Cyrena the Bear (with custom embroidery)

[my-plastic-life]

Time for a new banner collage! February is all about love, so I thought the perfect banner would be showcasing something I love - Japan! We've got Hatsune Miku, the maneki neko (beckoning cat), sushi, karaoke, Hello Kitty, cherry blossoms, kimonos, etc. And the prominent pictures are Kenleigh taking a selfie in front of Mount Fuji and Kiku embracing both modern and traditional beauty with sakura and a torii gate.

Large photos: Kenleigh taking a selfie in front of Mt. Fuji, and Kiku showcasing the modern and traditional beauty with cherry blossoms and a torii gate.

Top row, left to right: Monster High Draculaura Shibooya, cat cafe, Rainbow High Lila Yamamoto, Hatsune Miku, maneki neko, sakura princess, Bratz Kumi with sushi bar, and Momoko in front of a tea house.

Bottom right, left to right: Bratz May-Lin (part of the Tokyo-A-Go-Go series despite her Chinese name), Hello Kitty, shrine maiden, Disneyland Tokyo otaku, Monster High Kiyomi Haunterly, Generation Girl Mari singing karaoke, Licca-chan (the Barbie of Japan) in school, and strawberry milk lover

[silverior968]

In honor of reaching 200 followers on instagram (and desperately needing to update my old meet the artist), here’s a brand new version straight off the grill (click on image for better resolution)

[Image ID: A Meet the artist -drawing with a light green background. The upper right corner has the text “meet the artist” in big, dark green letters, with a branch on the left side and a lily-of-the-valley on the right side. Below them is the text “Silverior968 18 any pronouns”. On the right side of the drawing are paint smears in the colors of the asexual, demiromantic, and genderfluid flags. The light green text boxes with darker green borders and text in the middle of the drawing have the following contents: “Fave artists: Radical Face, First Aid Kit, Of Monsters And Men, Fleet Foxes, Manchester Orchestra, Sleeping At Last, Kiltro, Saint Motel, Madeon, Porter Robinson”. This text box has the finnish and danish flags sticking out from under it. “Interests: Marine biology, botany, folklore, animals, genetics (especially cats), ghosts, the sea in general, languages and cultures” This text box has a few stars adorning it. “Hobbies: Draawing, animating, writing, kayaking, hiking, reading, researching obscure topics, philosophy, listening to tunes” this text box has flowers adorning it, and below it is the final text box “Fave pieces of media: Arcane, Skulduggery Pleasant, Children of the Whales, Moomins, Hilda”. Near the bottom of the drawing is the text “Fave characters” with four small simplistic portraits under it. The first is of Anton Shudder from Skulduggery Pleasant in front of a purple background, the second of Larrikin Fetter from Skulduggery Pleasant in front of a yellow background. The two portraits are set up so that the two are smiling at each other. The third portrait is of Viktor from Arcane in front of a blue background, and the fourth is of Snufkin from Adventures in Moomin Valley in front of a red background. On the left side of the drawing is a drawing resembling a photo of the back of the artist’s head, with a prominent scar on the back of their head and neck. The picture’s caption reads “ Brain surgery scar” The background of the picture is beige and the artist’s shirt is dark blue. Next to the picture, near the bottom is a rainbow infinity symbol with the text “autism + ADHD” under it. Near the top of the photo is the chiari malformation awareness ribbon, a purple ribbon with a zipper on it. To the left of it is a golden star-shaped pendant with a golden chain. The star’s middle is made of glass, with flowers inside of it. The text “fave accessory” is written next to the pendant with an arrow pointing towards it. Above them is a drawing of a death’s head hawkmoth with the label “fave moth”. In the middle of the drawing is a drawing of the artist, with the label “166cm, 5′5 ft”. The artist is a white teenager with light brown hair and moles/freckles on his chest and face. Their eyes are gray and they have gold-rimmed glasses. Her outfit consists of chunky white sneakers, blue cuffed jeans, a black top and a blue jacket with funky geometric patterns on it. They are smiling and looking at a camberwell beauty butterfly perched on their finger. The butterfly has the label “fave butterfly” above it. To the right of the artist is a drawing of a smiling chocolate tortoiseshell cat, with the label “me, but kitty” over it.  /End ID]

[its-lukarian]

Ink! Sans

the Guardian of all Alternate Universes.

Ink is a skeleton-looking monster wearing painter's clothes, being a little shorter than its fainted variants and considered the great protector of all AUs.

Ink has black paint/ink on his right cheek. His eyes are usually a blue circle in the right eye socket and a star in the left, However, whenever he blinks, the color and shape of his eye sockets change, He dons a long-sleeved, white undershirt with a small brown jacket over it. His pants are overalls with the tops tucked into his waist. The legs are very wide at the bottom, with creases around the legs. He also has no shoes, instead, he goes barefoot with a pair of leggings.

He has a work belt crossing his chest, with rainbow paint vials (which have heart-shaped tops) on it. When Ink drinks the vials, he gets artificial emotions. On his back, he possesses his most powerful tool, an giant Inkbrush that he named Broomie.

"Let me explain how things work around here!"

He is a Sans variant created by Comyet (aka Mye Bi). He was a conceptional Sans from a conceptual AU that never got off the ground. He’s the first and only character with a true soul; yet despite his best efforts to improve and interact with the inhabitants in the AU, they never responded or showed any kind of reaction to his attempts. In a fit of despair, he destroyed his soul; accidentally causing him to stumble into the blank void. There he became an emotionless being alone in the vast space of emptiness, Becoming like the inhabitants of his old universe, but now alone.

Eventually, an ink brush along with different kinds of paint from an unknown artist fell into the blank canvas, each color imbuing him with feelings different from the last. After some time without color, though, he would revert to his emotionless self. Ink fixed this problem by filling vials with the colors that were splashed on him. It allowed him to pretend to have a soul so that he could feel it. Gradually, Ink used the colors from the creators to create the Doodle-Sphere, where his home would now be.

Eventually, he stumbles upon a portal that leads to the source code where all of the paints and colors go. It doesn't take long for him to discover their true purpose; to imprint the Creators' Emotions in the forms of Undertale Fan work (AUs, Fan arts, etc.). Seeing this he concluded that, for him to remain in this fulfilling emotional state, He have to encourage the creators to keep making and maintaining their creations so that the paint keeps flowing through the doodle-sphere itself. Thus, to keep a steady supply of emotions for him to harness, he dedicates himself to being the Muse of the Undertale Creative Community, while he protects their creations from those who wish to harm them; be it vandals or any other off-scripted out!codes, An example of a threat would be Error! Sans, maybe his greatest enemy.

"I can fight for you too!”

Ink supports all kinds of art, like painting, literature, dance, music, etc. He is very passionate about art and likes to motivate characters and creators, He is friendly and extremely witty and can hardly be put down, His memory is extremely random and he can remember things from millennia of years ago or simply forget some things that were said seconds ago, sometimes stopping mid-sentence to try and remember what he just said a few seconds before. This is why he takes notes on his scarf, in fight, he approaches enemies carefully. He will never try to attack them first, but will mostly focus on trying to discover their motives and talk them through it. Although he does come off as a jerk on first impression, he does know what to analyze to understand the issue so he can brush people the right way and hopefully have them listen. Ink in general acts wittily, optimistic and provocatively.

That is until the ink in his vials runs out..

If he ends up unwilling or wanting to let his bottles empty, he will be left without his emotions and just be someone empty, cold and cruel, without feeling any empathy and only doing what is for his own sake and objectives, And no, he doesn't mind hurting someone for that, fighting much more offensively or defensively, depending on the situation, they think he would even be a psychopath, but what do you expect from a person without emotions and souls?

"After all, there are thousands of alternative versions. Thousands of timelines in their own universes. Why even worry about a small fraction affected..?"

Ink is somewhat athletic and a martial fighter, being fast, agile, strong and skilled, as well as being extremely acrobatic and resistant, using his brush as a bat, using it to attack and thrust with the bottom of his inkbrush, which is made of sturdy wood along with his punches and kicks, His powers consist of all those of Sans but with a higher damage rate, so he can summon bones, blasters, telekinesis, blue and orange magic.. Along with his additional powers!

Ink Mimicry: Ink can manipulate the ink around him as he pleases! If you fight him, be prepared for a lot of ink in the arena!

Ink Hopping: Ink can appear everywhere in any AU of his liking from any kind of liquid. He uses them as Ink portals

Ink Bones & Others: Ink can solidify its ink to create things from it, creating bones or any other thing that, after using them, can reuse the ink from attacks for other attacks!

Ink Blasters: He can create Gaster Blasters that shoot a very hot ink that while burning the enemy, pushing him away, and can solidifies on contact.

Script reading: He can read the scripts of all of the Undertale AUs in existence, and thus knows the fate of all of its inhabitants, Of course, if the universe isn't an Undertale AU, he can't read

Ink can also use the ink on your body to transform his body into a human! He can have different colors and shapes!

And that's it! I hope you'll have fun if you want to interact with this silly boy!

Oh! And please read my RULES!

[thedisabilitybookarchive]

Queer Disability in Science-Fiction

[ID: A poster. Large white text in the centre reads "Queer Disability In Science-Fiction". In the upper left corner, smaller black text reads "Disability in Books". The background is a wood grain pattern, with the top and bottom of bordered by a row of book tops. In the upper right corner, the logo for the Disability Book Archive. In the lower left corner, the disability pride flag in the shape of a heart, and the rainbow pride flag, in the shape of smaller heart slightly layered on top. In the lower right corner, a stack of cartoonish books. /end]

[ID: The same poster. The text and stack of books has been removed. The hearts and logo have shrunken in size. There are 7 book covers. From left to right, the covers are: "We Shall Be Monsters" by Derek Newman-Stille, "We Are the Ants" by Shaun David Hutchinson, "Unlicensed Delivery" by Will Soulsby-McCreath, "Tarnished are the Stars" by Rosiee Thor, "Rebuilding Tomorrow" by Tsana Dolichva, "The Prey of Gods" by Nicky Drayden, and "The Outside" by Ada Hoffman. /end]

[ID: The same poster. The book covers have been replaced. From left to right, the covers are: "On the Edge of Gone" by Corinne Duyvis, "Once Stolen" by D. N. Bryn, "Odder Still" by D. N. Bryn, "Izzy at the End of the World" by K. A. Reynolds, "Borderline" by Mishell Baker, "Into the Drowning Deep" by Mira Grant, and "Highway Bodies" by Alison Evans. /end]

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 [22 rainbow pride flag emojis]

A list of 14 science-fiction books featuring queer, disabled, and queer-disabled characters and themes!

If fantasy is the second biggest genre category on the archive, science-fiction-fantasy is definitely the second biggest fantasy subgenre. The overlap is ridiculous. I tried to get mostly different ones from the ones I used on the fantasy list, but it was difficult.

This list was partially co-created with my cat, who is insistent upon being within a whisker length of my keyboard. /j

The books on this list are:

🏳️‍🌈"We Shall Be Monsters"- Newman-Stille, Derek

🏳️‍🌈"We Are the Ants"- Hutchinson, Shaun David

🏳️‍🌈 "Unlicensed Delivery"- Soulsby-McCreath, Will

🏳️‍🌈"Tarnished are the Stars"- Thor, Rosiee

🏳️‍🌈"Rebuilding Tomorrow"- Dolichva, Tsana

🏳️‍🌈"The Prey of Gods"- Drayden, Nicky

🏳️‍🌈"The Outside"- Hoffman, Ada

🏳️‍🌈"On the Edge of Gone"- Duyvis, Corinne

🏳️‍🌈"Once Stole"- Bryn, D. N.

🏳️‍🌈"Odder Still"- Bryn, D. N

🏳️‍🌈"Izzy at the End of the World"- Reynolds, K. A.

🏳️‍🌈 "Borederline"- Baker, Mishell

🏳️‍🌈 "Into the Drowning Deep"- Grant, Mira

🏳️‍🌈 "Highway Bodies"- Evans, Alison

Information on all of these books and more can be found in the Disability Book Archive.

Happy Pride Month!

[agirlwhoisaphantom]

To Build a Home - Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Reader

To Build a Home - Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Going baby shopping should be a great idea? Right? But things take a turn. You share a cute moment with Bucky as you read the pregnancy book he claims he bought for you. This ends with a moment with you and Bucky in the baby room.

Word Count: 3400

Warnings: Fluff, also a hint of insecurities and thinking about the past. Pregnant!Reader

a/n: This is Part 2 to my one shot. Read part one “Turning Page- Bucky Barnes x Reader” Anyhow, Part two will be taking place when you are 6 months pregnant. You and Bucky get a little bit of help from some friends. Also, I would like to apologize for the first section of this, it might hurt a bit.

Five months later

Blue, Pink, Red, Purple, you could see every color of the rainbow on all four store walls.

Steve thought it was a great idea for you, Wanda, and Bucky to go to a baby store. You and Wanda were so excited to go and look at baby items. Meanwhile, Bucky's face was blank as a ghost. Even though it has been five months since him finding out you were pregnant, it still catches him by surprise that he'll be a dad in a couple of weeks.

In the store, Bucky and Steve were together looking at furniture since they were the 'strong one' out of the group. Meanwhile, you and Wanda were looking at baby clothes, plushies, blankets, and decorations. Without hesitation, you gravitated more towards the boy section than the girl section. Even though you and Bucky wanted to wait until they were born to find out their gender, deep down, you knew they are a baby boy. The first thing you get is a pair of suspender top and bottom set that came with a bowtie. The shorts were the color khaki and the shirt was light blue. You turn to Wanda to show her what you found. "Look what I found for him." your heart filled with joy and happiness. You had a soft smile on your face.

Wanda grabs the piece that you were holding and places it against your stomach "he is going to look handsome" she smiled and scrunched her nose. She was truly happy for you and glad that you picked her to help you throughout this journey.

Across the store, where the furniture was located, Bucky and Steve were looking at furniture. Bucky was tense; he wasn't sure if he wanted to be there looking at baby items. He stared at the same baby crib for the past 3 minutes when Steve notices that he wasn't doing anything "hey, is everything alright?" he pauses to place his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I know this is new to you and something you least expected to happen. But you deserve this."

Bucky started to shake his head, and slowly tears form in his eyes "are you sure about this, Steve?" his voice gets small and shaky. "Just a decade ago, I was murdering people without my own will. Do I deserve this happiness? What if they don't like me because of my past?" His lips were trembling as if he were to let out a sob- but he never did. His nose twitched as his mouth suddenly became agape, and he drew in a breath of air sharply, turning his neck towards the entrance. He started to pull on the sleeve of his left arm, trying to cover his metal hand. "I can't do this. I need to get out of here" He rushes out of the furniture section towards the store's entrance.

Wanda notices that Steve and Bucky were walking fast out of the store. Steve gives her a look and holds up a finger. She tried reading his mind to see what was going on, but all she caught was "give me a moment to calm him down, he had a panic attack" she had a concerned look on her face, but she knew Steve would be able to handle it.

You notice that Wanda had a concerned look on her face as she wasn't paying attention to what you were saying. "Wanda, are you okay?" a frown formed on your face as you were looking around the store looking for Bucky. He was gone. "Where is he?" you raise your voices a bit. "Wanda, where is he?" you were demanding her to give you an answer. She points towards the entrance. You gave her the clothes that you were holding. You sped walk towards the door.

Outside of the store, Bucky was sitting on the floor, knees by his chest, heavy breathing, hiding his face from the outside world. You could hear Steve trying to calm him down, telling him things that would usually calm him, but this time it was different. Steve notices that you were there and gets near you to hug you. He leans forward "are you sure about this? I tried everything I could. He hasn't been able to calm down," he whispers into your ear. Letting go of his hug, you have a brief smile and a nod. He walks back to the store to find Wanda and let her know what is happening.

You kneel, placing your hands on his knees. You were now able to hear how heavy he was breathing. “Bucky?” you slowly move your thumb against his knee, trying to calm him down “what’s wrong, my love? What’s going on?” he lifts his head and looks at you, his face red and his eyes puffy from the crying he had been doing for the past couple of minutes. Moving your hand from his knee, you place it on his cheek, wiping the tears from his face using your thumb. “hey, hey, Bucky, it’s okay” Your eyebrows knit together. You hated seeing him like this.

“I don’t deserve this happiness, not after everything I’ve done” his lips were quivering, his voice became small “they aren’t going to like me. I’m just a monster.” tears falling down his cheeks. He pulls you in, holding you, wrapping his arms around you. He was sobbing on your shoulder. Now the material of your shirt was soaking wet. “I’m sorry. I’m so-“

You interrupt him. “James, what you did. That wasn’t you, that was never you. One thing I’ll tell you is that you deserve every little inch of happiness; you deserve to be happy.” You take a pause holding him tighter and trying to stop your voice from being shaky. “I know this is scary. I’m scared as well. But one thing I know for sure is that even though we will try to be the perfect parents in the world, we aren’t going to be, and that’s okay. They are going to love us and our imperfections” you gently pull away, still holding him in your arms, you softly press your lips against his forehead to calm him down.

You held him for a couple of minutes. You wanted to make sure that he was okay. There was silence between the two of you, but you didn't mind. Within minutes, his heartbeat slowed, and he started to breathe normally. He turns his head, giving you a brief kiss on your cheek. “I appreciate you so much, doll” he takes a big gulp before continuing talking. “Should we ditch them and go somewhere else?” a soft giggle escapes his mouth. “I’m kidding. Let’s go and pick things for our little one.”

With your sleeve, you wipe the tears from his face. He grabs your wrist and stops you from continuing. He brings the palm of your hand and softly kisses it, then he lets go of it, so you can continue.

As he was getting up, he helped you get up as well. He was grabbing your hand and pulling you upward. Every little move that he has done with you, he has tried his best not to hurt you.

You both stood outside holding one other for a couple of minutes until you were able to notice that Bucky’s face didn’t look like he had been crying for the past couple of minutes.

Once you walked into the store, it was fast to locate Steve and Wanda, as Steve had a pile of clothes over his shoulder, a mixer of girl and boy clothes. And Wanda with a cart full of baby items. “Are you sure we are having a baby and not them?” you and Bucky were in synch “jinx, no, you jinx.” you both said that once again. This caused you and him to laugh out loud. Wanda turns around and rushes with the cart in your direction. She seemed like a little kid showing their parents the toy she had just found. Steve was getting the clothes that were on his shoulder, placing them all in his arms.

Once Wanda was near you, her face lit up as bright as a firework. “I and Steve both agreed that for this trip, we are buying all of this plus whatever you guys want.” Wanda was breathing heavily, trying to catch her breath “consider this as an early baby shower gift” she starts pulling out items from the cart and showing you her favorite items. Once Steve got to where you all were, he dumps the pile of clothes in the cart. “Steve! I was still showing her thing” she rolled her eyes, and this made Bucky and Steve laugh.

Steve looks at Bucky. “I’m guessing you are feeling better, aren’t you” Bucky gives him a brief smile and nods.

You grab Bucky’s hand and start to walk towards the furniture section. You pointed at a white three-in-one convertible crib “Honey, We should get this one” your voice was small yet soft with sparkles in your eyes. A smile formed on his face, and he nodded in agreement. Anything that you liked, he would usually like it as well.

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

What a long day today was, you thought to yourself. You were now home resting. Wanda, Steve, and Bucky made sure to put everything away in the baby room. 

Every little chance that Bucky gets, he can't keep his hands off of your stomach. He wanted to be there for everything, the first kick, the first movement they ever make. He didn't want to miss anything.

You were sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, reading a pregnancy book that Bucky decided to buy for you. He bought it for himself since he wanted to be prepared for everything that might happen. But he is too stubborn to admit it, so he bought the book for you. 

Bucky was sitting right next to you, laying his head on your right shoulder, trying to read along to what you might be on. His right hand placed on your stomach, moving in a circular motion.  

Page 34

Around 18 weeks of pregnancy, your little one hears their very first sounds. By 24 weeks, those little ears are rapidly developing. Your baby's sensitivity to sound will improve even more as the weeks pass. 

"Did you know that he can hear you already?" you asked. You were looking down at him, and his ocean blue eyes were looking back at you. You pointed to the location where it stated that they were able to hear at certain weeks. 

With a small smile on his face and his left eyebrow risen "he? I think they are a girl" he giggles a little "but if my baby girl says we are having a boy, then I believe it's time for me and him to have a one-on-one talk" he leans in forward to kiss you on your cheek. 

He slow removes the blanket that was covering your stomach and kisses your stomach, placing his right hand on your lower stomach. “hey, I don’t think mommy can hear us,” he was whispering while looking up to you. You had a smile on your face while you shacked your head. “I can’t wait to have you in my arms, little Leo” he pauses for a moment and has the biggest smile on his face, “When you grow up, I’m going to tell you so many stories about my adventures with your uncle Steve and uncle Sam. I can’t forget about those stories with your beautiful, strong, amazing mommy” He looks up at you with a smirk on his face. You started running your fingers through his hair, feeling how soft it was. “Leo, could you believe it that right now, the world is a crazy place to be at? But at this moment, you are safe in there. Mommy and daddy will always keep you safe. No matter what happens, we will always protect you.”

He moves back to where he was resting his head on your shoulder, not moving his right arm from where it was located. “How was your talk with baby-“you pause for a moment, trying to process what just happened. “Leo?”

Bucky looks at you, slightly shaking his with left eyebrow rose. It looked like he had a soft disappointed face. “Doll, you weren’t supposed to listen to me and him having a boy talk” he stops shaking his head, and gradually a smile on his face started to form. “Yeah, Leo. I’ve always liked the name Leo” he paused, and a small frown started to show. “You don’t like it. If you don’t, we can-“

Pressing your lips against his forehead, you interrupt him. You knew what he was going to say “No, I love the name, Leo.” It seemed like he had read your mind. That was the name that you had a plan on naming your future baby boy. Removing your lips against his skin and a soft giggle escapes your lips “so are you planning on telling him about your little rolling over with Sam that one time?”

Bucky looks up to you, and he had an offended look on his face. “I’m certainly not telling him that,” he pauses to place his head back on your shoulder. “There are things he doesn’t need to know, and that is one of them.”

Out of a sudden, you can feel a sharp pain on your lower stomach where Bucky’s hand was placed. This caught him by surprise. “Did Leo just kick?” you can feel the excitement from his voice. You giggled a little in agreement “he kicks hard, aww, he is a strong boy. Just like his daddy” his voice went high pitched as he was talking towards your stomach.

Minutes pass by from the last time they kicked, and Bucky felt every little kick they did. It pained you but seeing him and the reaction he had on his face. The amusement written all over Bucky’s face was worth it, the pain they caused you. You have always thought of naming your baby girl Rebecca. You have liked that name for years. Also, you knew how close Bucky was to his sister, and you wanted her to be named by someone he holds dear to his heart.

You take a deep breath, unsure if you wanted to say anything. “Honey, if we have a baby girl. What are your thoughts on the name Rebecca?” you tense up a little, not knowing what other words to say. “I know how much your sister meant to you, and I just thought that-“

Bucky looks up at you and places his hand on the back of your head, pulling in you. Pressing his lips against yours, he gently and carefully kissed you. Pulling away from your lips, he had the biggest smile on his face. “Doll, I love that” He moves his hand from the back of your head to your lower stomach once again. “Rebecca isn’t allowed to date until she is 30,” he laughs, scrunching his nose. He loved that you considered naming her Rebecca. Bucky never thought about naming her that. He slowly moves his hand in circular motions. “Our little princess is going to be such a beautiful little girl, just like her mom.”

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

“Come on, cyborg, use your metal arm. You have it there for a reason.”

“Do you think that most of the time I remember that I have a metal arm? I’m fucking right-handed, Sam, not left-handed.”

“I swear to god if you guys wake her up. I am going to quit. Buck finish building the crib, and Sam paint the wall.”

Suppose the walls couldn’t be any thinner. You could hear Sam, Bucky, and Steve arguing in the room next door. You lay in bed for a couple of more minutes just listening to them. You were covering your mouth, trying your best not to burst into laughter. Before getting up, you took big breaths trying to control your laughter.

As you were opening the door, you notice Steve leaving the baby room. “See what you both idiots did? You woke her up” he sounded annoyed and irritated. He walks into the kitchen, grabbing his cup of coffee that he left on the counter. “Good morning, did you sleep well last night?” He takes a sip of coffee, placing his full attention on you.

You had the biggest grin on your face, and you tried to compose yourself, making sure you didn’t laugh. “I slept great. What are you guys doing at 9 am” you walk to the kitchen opening the fridge and gathering the ingredients to make a sandwich.

“What do you mean what we both did? It was all- oh” Bucky notices that you were awake preparing yourself food. He gets near you and wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer so he can give you a brief kiss on your head. “Good morning, doll. I’m sorry if we woke you up” he takes the sandwich that you prepared and takes a bite out of it.

Watching him take a bite from the sandwich you had prepared yourself made you a bit upset. You crossed your arms and walked away with the sandwich he just bit. “First, he wakes me up, and then he takes a bite of my sandwich.” you thought to yourself. You had a frown on your face.

Steve looks in Bucky’s direction continuing drinking the last bit of his coffee with his eyebrows lifted. Then it clicked to Bucky that he had messed up, so he quickly turns around and prepares another sandwich. He opens the fridge and grabs your favorite chocolate, and speed walks in your direction. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken a bite” he hands you the sandwich he prepared and the chocolate “here you go, doll. I’m going to go finish up the crib.” He points to the direction of the bedroom.

Before he could walk away from you, you grab his wrist “can I come help with whatever you guys might be doing” you knit your eyebrows together and push your bottom lip forward, making a pouty face. “Please” you knew that he couldn’t say no to you when you did this facial expression.

He takes your hand and starts walking to the bedroom. You see Sam on a ladder with a paint roller in his hands “sorry, we woke you up” you go near him and hand him the sandwich that Bucky made for you “thank you, you didn’t have to make this for me.” he gave you a brief smile.

Bucky had a blank stare, and his facial expression read ‘really.’ You giggled a little “I didn’t make it. Bucky did,” you whisper and placed your hand on your cheek, trying to cover your lips and from what you were going to say next “so if it tastes bad, that’s why,” you whispered and scrunched your nose.

“I heard that” Bucky sounded annoyed and had a frown formed on his face.

This made you and Sam laugh for a couple of minutes.

You walk towards Bucky wrapping your arms around him and getting on your toes to kiss him on his chin. “You know I’m just messing with you.” Still pressing your lips against his skin, “You are an amazing cook, and your sandwiches are always going to be my favorite” a little smile formed on your face while your lips were still pressed on his skin.

You walk towards the dresser where a bag full of baby clothes was at and you start organizing them by pajamas, formal, underwear, casual category.

Sam and Steve both left to take a mini-break. But Bucky, he stayed with you, he wanted to make sure that you were safe, and if you needed anything, he would be there for you. Looking through the bag, you found the pair of suspender top and bottom set that came with a bowtie. You turn around to showed Bucky the little outfit. “Honey, look, Leo is going to look so adorable in this” you place the outfit against your stomach.

He had a smirk on his face and nodded. You couldn’t wait till the day comes where you can hold them in your arms.

[catharrington]

It HAS to be #4 for thst prompt list. Kill me with it!

4/ We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair.

Maybe a little different than requested but like here is a thot I’ve had for a while.

We’ve got tonight.

Hopper pushed the metal door closed behind them with a shove, the hinges creeking. He leaned against it, face twisted up in a grimace, and reached to run his hand over his brow in exasperation but couldn’t. One hand occupied locking the door, the other braced around Billy Hargrove’s forearm, his knuckles hitting the handcuffs binding the teen’s wrists.

“You better have a good explanation for this, Jim!” Murray hissed- fuckin hissed, jabbing a finger right into the middle of Hopper’s chest.

“He ain’t!” Billy scoffed. Earning him a yank on the arms that only made the teen snarl in return. “You ain’t!” He repeated this time towards Hopper.

“Just cool it, Billy!” Steve finally snapped at where he was standing farther down the hallway. Running his hands through his hair in a panic, panting like he just got finished running, looking wide eyed at how the three others turned to face him.

Murray took a step towards Steve, tilting his head to the side. Steve wanted to show his teeth in a little hiss, but he didn’t want to come off the same energy as Billy. So he bit the bottom of his lip. Placed his hands on his hips and cocked them to the side.

“And you must be...,” Murray asked slowly.

“I’m Steve,” Steve said letting go of his bottom lip. Flicking his eyes to the wall and back.

“Oh, you’re Steve,” Murray instantly melted into knowing laughter, eyes glimmering with an inside joke.

Steve opened his mouth to snap back what the hell the older man meant by that- but Murray was already turned back to face the door.

“And that mullet and attitude just gives you away! The infamous Billy Hargrove?” he announced, clasping his hands together manically.

Hopper rolled his eyes, frowning and groaning, while Billy perked up. Stepping towards Murray with a confident shrug only slightly ruined by the handcuffs pulling taught. “Didn’t know I had a fuckin reputation to keep up with-,”

“Shut your trap, Hargrove!” Hopper interrupted him. Pushing Billy so he faces the wall. Legs spread and hands in front to brace himself as best as he can. Steve glances away.

“As cute as this all is, sheriff- Chief! Hopper. Why, oh why, have you shown up at my humble abode with two teenage boys at 2 in the morning?” Murray says with a forced fondness. “Explain, please?” He snaps when Hopper takes a second too long to think.

“Alright, alright,” he purses his lips, rolls that thick mustache around.

“We need a place to spend the night.” Steve pipes up.

Murray turns to him with a grimace. “I’m not a bed and breakfast, Steve,” he mocks.

“Well,” Steves got his hands on his hips still, knows the kids would roll their eyes at him. But he’s way too tired at this point. “If you give a flying shit: we’ve been kinda running for our lives from Russian super soldiers and parallel universe demons all day long. We’ve wrestled a smoke monster out of Billy’s mouth that was so not something I wanted to see, thanks, and I haven’t eaten or taken a shower in way- way too long. So if you don’t mind?”

Hopper and Murray had matching frowns, if that was possible. It might have just been the facial hair. While Billy watched Steve with a cross between fondness in his eyes, and complete debauchery in the rest of his face. Licking across his fat bottom lip while he raked his eyes over Steve. Up and down. Making no effort to hide it.

Steve scoffed at him, pursing his lips and turning away. He didn’t see the way Murray looked between the two of them. His eyes flicking left and right as if trying to calculate across a page.

“I’ve got a fold out couch that would be cramped, but it’s nicer than it looks.” He suggests.

Steve wanted to whine, complain, lament about why he had to get bunked with the guy who only ‘most likely’ doesn’t have a demon inside of him anymore. But Steve felt tired. And if the bags under Hopper’s eyes that are dark as, and seem to droop down just as low as, his mustache have anything to say; he’s tired too.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve nods back, “that sounds good.”

“Showers first door on the left, couch is just down this hall into the living room. Can’t miss it.” Murray says with a sniveling smirk that sets Steve’s teeth on edge. He doesn’t even care, just rushes past to head into the shower first.

And that’s how Steve finds himself, laying across a fold out couch that smells like pipe smoke and vodka with one arm draped across his hips and the other bent holding his top half up to watch Billy come out of the bathroom. He makes it one step before Hopper is there with the handcuffs. Slapping them back in place with a shiver inducing clicking noise.

“I’ve got my eyes on you, Hargrove,” Hopper warns, threatening even in a button up Hawaiian shirt, “don’t think for a second-,”

“Have you ever known me to think, chief?” Billy snaps back. Makes Steve’s eyes roll. The blonde with hair still curly and dripping wet gives Hopper a two handed salute before walking away backwards towards the living room.

“Goodnight, Hop,” Billy sings.

It’s three in the morning by the time the lights are off and both boys are laying down. Billy’s turned to his side. His hands forced together by metal up and clutching the end of his lumpy pillow. Steve’s laying on his stomach, nuzzling into his own pillow before turning ever slightly to look at Billy.

He watches as Billy softens when he sleeps. Those long eyelashes fluttering closed. His cheeks dusted with freckles more apparent this close. The closest they’ve ever been. Even in basketball when Billy presses right up to his side. Even in the showers when he leers and gets right into his face. Hell, even only hours ago when they had Billy strapped down to a hospital bed in a lava hot room as he begged to be let go, snarled, whimpered, and Steve had to lay across his shoulders to stop him from ripping the heavy leather restraints, this is the closest Steve’s thinking he’s ever been.

Or maybe it’s the closest he’s ever been without a fight. Without some immature school yard excuse to admire those long lashes and cute freckles.

Steve twists himself to get a better look. Both boys laying on their sides. He feels a smile grow across his face as he drops his eyes closed.

In the morning, light is much different in Murray’s sealed fortress of a house. It filters through newspapers he has glued up, gives the light a stuffy orange glow that makes the whole place cozy. Not intentionally, Steve figures, as he wakes up and blinks his eyes into focus, just as unintentionally as he finds himself still next to Billy.

But in the same way, he finds it lovely. The way the orange light filters through the rotting newspapers to cascade down across Billy’s tanned skin and alight it in coppers. Catches each and every wild curl made messy with sleep. Litters them with strands of spun golden thread.

His freckles are dark, still too many shadows, but they are there. Steve is close enough to see how they move when Billy wrinkles his nose in sleep. How his eyes shift to make those long lashes flutter.

Steve’s not thinking. He’s in some orange tinted twilight zone as he reaches forward. Stretches out his long fingers to inch ever closer.

He’s always wanted to touch. Always found some alternative for it. But maybe now, maybe in this orange-

Steve curls his fingers over the back of Billy’s neck. Burrows his fingers into soft gold hair. Rubs his thumb across copper skin covered with freckles. Sighs out loud when his skin makes contact because Billy’s warm, so warm, like a California beach. Just like he imagined.

“Pretty boy,” the words are tired, slurred, only just awake. Billy’s eyes open slowly. His blue darkened to navy. Pools of shadowed water just before the break of dawn. Promises of a rainbow colored sky.

Steve bites his lip because he wants to pull away, but he doesn’t. Not this time. He swipes his thumb again and again. “You know it’s a joke, you calling me pretty boy when you look like this. Really such a dumb joke. Have you looked into a mirror?”

Billy scoffs. Curls up one lip in disgust as he lifts his head to nuzzle farther into Steve’s hand. Blinks once, then twice, before focusing his half open bleary eyes on Steve’s own. “Only lookin at you, pretty boy.” He mumbles.

The handcuffs jingle as Billy lifts them to pet across Steve’s forearm the same way Steve can’t stop petting across Billy’s sleep warmed skin.

Neither boy hears Murray making coffee in the kitchen. They have their eyes closed again by the time the man walks into the living room to watch with a cocky smile buried into his mug. Steve’s got his legs tangled with Billy’s, touching as much as he can without any good excuse.

[artificialqueens]

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

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

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

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

“How did you know she was the one?”

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The girl sniffs. “I’m on my own.”

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

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

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

“What’s your name?”

“Ellie.”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie gasps, affronted. “Will not!”

“Will too!”

“Will not!”

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

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

“You did it!” Lawrence squeals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She sort of already is.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie snorts. “Nah, hen, I’m asleep.”

“Stupid question, stupid answer.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Go ahead, chick. I’m all ears.”

“I’m gay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

Lawrence maintains she was never that short or that childish.

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

It’s nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie stands up. Lawrence doesn’t move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see you on Monday, Lawrie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She can’t. She doesn’t.

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

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

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

“This is fucking weird,” Lawrence mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

University is an utter shitshow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopefully Ellie visits from Manchester soon.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stanley shouts something inaudible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

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

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

She legs it further down the street. It’s Scotland, it’s night, and it’s fucking freezing, but Lawrence ignores the cold. The streets are mostly full of people ready for their nights out, heels clicking through puddles illuminated by orange street lamps, and here is Lawrence barrelling through everyone, desperately hoping to see a flash of pink amongst them all.

Her heart feels like it’s beating at a mile a minute, thumping so hard it could burst right out of her chest. In some sick way, she hopes it does, hopes to see the wet muscle glistening and bleeding on the pavement before her in the hopes that Ellie, dependable Ellie, always there for her Ellie, will rush to her aid and help fix everything.

Why would she, though? Why would she when she’s just sat and listened to Lawrence slander their poor attempt at loving each other and shrugging it off as if they’re better apart, distanced, no longer joined at the hip? It’s all a lie, it’s all a fucking lie constructed for stage that Lawrence has foolishly duped herself into believing until now. She really had herself convinced that loving Ellie was a thing of the past, and that she thrived best on her own, when in reality Ellie held the key to everything that Lawrence considered good and right and beautiful about herself.

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie. Where the fuck is Ellie?

In the midst of her blind panic, it hits her that Ellie hasn’t moved home yet, meaning she will have gotten the train into Edinburgh for the show. Pushing down the wave of guilt that engulfs her at the thought of Ellie’s endless support, she dashes across the roads, dodging buses and running like her life depends on it towards the station. She’s lucky it’s not too far from the venue, but there’s still no guarantee she’ll find her before the train sweeps her away back to Manchester or wherever the fuck else she decides to go to get away from her shitty excuse for a friend.

Everything that happens next feels like it’s solely fuelled by adrenaline, panic, and sweat. Lawrence vaguely remembers squinting at little digital times and place names until she found one that seemed right, her eyes so frenzied in their search for the correct platform that it’s a wonder she’s not arrested or phoned an ambulance on suspicion of too many hallucinogenics.

On her way down the steps to the platform, she’s going so fast that her foot slips and she crashes all the way down, embarrassingly unhurt besides the humiliation and a bruised arse, but it makes such a commotion that everyone on the (thankfully almost deserted) platform turns to look at her.

Including a tall, pretty girl with pastel pink hair tied in a curly high ponytail, big pink heart earrings dangling from her ears, and a surprisingly not pink, but lilac, minidress.

“Oh my god,” Ellie murmurs, just as Lawrence swears, “Fucking OW, Jesus in a fucking minivan!”

She looks hurt; perfect eyeliner smudged in the corners, as if she’s been blinking tears away, but in spite of that she giggles. “A minivan?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Lawrence curses, dusting herself off and huffing at what’s now an uncomfortably wet trouser suit and a myriad of bruises from arsecheek to thigh. “My life just flashed before my eyes.”

Ellie extends a hand to help her up. Lawrence takes it, and doesn’t let go.

“Lawrence,” She says uneasily, “I- my train’s in five minutes–”

“Fuck your train.” She responds, too achy and upset for nuance. “Ellie, I’m so sorry, you have to let me explain–”

“You explained yourself quite well on stage, hen.” Ellie cuts her off, sniffing. “You were very eloquent. It was funny.”

The flatness in her voice is agonising to hear. Lawrence thinks she might burst.

“You- I- I mean, fuck me. You must- you must know when I’m bullshitting, right? Hen, I’ve been telling this narrative for years trying to make myself believe it but you always could tell when I was lying about something,” She rushes out, terrified that Ellie’s train will arrive and she’ll disappear forever.

Ellie’s face crumples. She pulls her hand away from Lawrence’s grasp and as she sobs, hides behind her palms, as if her shuddering shoulders and heartbroken cries will vanish along with her face. The loss of contact is felt sorely, Lawrence feeling as though a piece of her is suddenly missing, and reasoning that a piece has been missing for a long long time, and she’s only feeling the excruciating loss now that she almost had it again.

Lawrence has never known what to do what someone cries. It just hurts and feels awkward and she’s terrified that this will be another day in the art classroom, hiding feelings behind smiles and waiting uncomfortably for something else to happen.

“I know,” Ellie gasps through tears, surprising her. “God- Lawrence, I- I knew you were lying but it fucking hurts that you’d give me this stupid hope that something could happen when we already know it’s the shittest idea either of us has ever had-”

Ellie’s still talking, but Lawrence tunes out completely as the two glowing eyes of the train approaching glare at her with a malicious intensity. Times up, Chaney. Life doesn’t always find a way.

Fuck that, she thinks. Fuck relying on life to fix everything. Life didn’t hand Lawrence her comedy job. Life didn’t hand her Ellie on a friendship bench. Lawrence applied for the job. Lawrence approached Ellie. She’s in control, she can take control back, and she fucking will.

The train draws closer.

Lawrence kisses Ellie.

Both of them are crying - the kiss is uncomfortable, salty, wet. Lawrence didn’t even know she was crying, but she’s so close to Ellie slipping through her fingers that it’s no surprise her emotions have run away with her. It’s been too long without her best friend, too long suppressing and ignoring and laughing it off, and if this is another mistake then she’ll add it to her stand up routine and move on, but she’s never been more sure of anything in her life.

The rest of the world disappears in the moments following the kiss. Their foreheads touch, and the only sounds are Ellie’s shaky breaths, the only smell is her sweet perfume, the only sensation is her skin against Lawrence’s. There are no trains, no passengers, no cold draughts sweeping through and chilling them to the bone.

There is just Ellie Diamond and Lawrence Chaney.

Reality, eventually, floats back in - just as the train pulls away from the station. Ellie looks at Lawrence.

“You made me miss my train home.”

“Hen, y’already are home. This is home, us, me and you. I’m shattered from pretending like that’s not the case.” She pauses. “No, actually. I’m fattered. Fat and shattered.”

Ellie laughs, and her eyes fill with tears. “Christ. Lawrence. I’ve missed you so much.”

-

Lawrence wakes up feeling suffocated. Upon closer inspection - she’s being suffocated.

She groans, low and tired. “Ells. Ells.”

The monster slumbers on.

“Ellieeeeee,” She groans again. “Move off me, you fat bitch.”

That one works. Ellie yawns, stretches, and slides back onto her side of the bed, rather than on top of her girlfriend.

“Rude,” She replies, voice thick with sleep. “I thought I told you not to mention the stone I’ve put on over Christmas.”

Lawrence snorts. “And I agreed not to, but you were crushing me to death. No more mince pies for you.”

Ellie buries her face in the pillow. “Yeah, ‘cause you scoffed them all.”

“Get fucked.”

This is her favourite kind of domestic bliss. They will never be able to hold a conversation without delightfully destroying each other’s characters, but as they do so, Ellie wriggles the covers back over them and cuddles up to her back like a warm little leech, hooking a leg over her and pulling her close. Christmas is a flurry of making sure everything’s done but Boxing Day has time for slowing down, sleeping late, giggling against one another’s skin.

Lawrence isn’t sure how they made it work, what they did different, but they’re four years strong and hosting their friends for Boxing Day dinner to make up for the family fiascos that Christmas inevitably brings. Somehow, they just found their way, and now they’re here. Wrapped up in bed in matching Snowman pyjamas (thanks to Ellie), having some kind of family of their own.

Ellie flips over, lying flat on her back, and groans. “Lawrie, I can’t be arsed to cook.”

“Well I’m not cooking an entire fucking roast for everyone by myself, you lazy bawbag. We’re in this shit together.” Lawrence tells her.

Ellie shakes her head. “No, think about it. What if we ordered one of the readymade ones from that place up the road and then just stick it in the oven to pull out when whoever gets here first gets here?”

Lawrence stretches, enjoying the satisfying pops and clicks. “You mean, when Bims gets here? Tayce and A’Whora will be late, we all know that.”

“Yeah. Like, ta-dah, we cooked this, no one’s any the wiser, Bob’s your uncle’s fanny or whatever.”

“Bob’s- Ellie, what the fuck did you just say?”

“I am very, very tired.” Ellie defends herself, as Lawrence howls with laughter. “I’m not sure what language I’m even speaking hen. Can we just order dinner and be done with it?”

Lawrence is a weak, weak woman.

The prepared meal smells amazing, a fake chicken absolutely smothered in all the goodness of a Christmas roast, veggies all neatly packed together, everything steaming and hot. Ellie turns the oven on to keep everything warm and they high-five one another a job well done before scrambling to get ready.

Everything goes according to plan. Bimini, predictably, is on time, and A’Whora and Tayce show up late, flustered, apologies spilling from their mouths as soon as the door swings open. Lawrence tries to play housewife and reveal her perfect roast from the oven, but burns herself on the tray and sits swearing next to the cold tap while Ellie, smartly equipped with oven gloves, takes it all out instead.

“Oh, this is lush!” Tayce clinks her glass with Bim’s, the Bucks’ Fizz freely flowing. “Absolute bang up job, gals, just brilliant. And the atmosphere too, so cosy! Love the candles. Especially love the distinct lack of pointed homophobic stares.”

A’Whora laughs. “Oh my god, don’t even. Yesterday was a disaster.”

Lawrence frowns. “I’m sorry, are my looks not reading as homophobic? They were meant to. I’ll work on it, don’t you worry.”

The table is merry; Bimini asks if every dish is vegan despite being told in advance that everything was, Tayce and A’Whora rant about their nightmare families, and Lawrence basks in the warmth of having a real family gathered at her table, deciding it was worth the effort to get them all to come.

Plates cleared, Bims grins. “Ellie, you’re not one to forget, make sure you thank Gosling’s down the road for this roast. Easily a ten out of ten.”

Bimini, Tayce and A’Whora all burst into laughter. Ellie gasps, Lawrence folds her arms.

“How’d you know?” She demands, certain their ruse was foolproof. Bimini points at the bin.

“The delivery bag’s sticking out, babes. Also, neither of you can cook worth shit. Not a joke, just a fact.”

Lawrence smacks Ellie’s arm. “You fucking twit! Didn’t even hide the bag!”

Ellie yelps. “Lawrie! Abuse! Abuse!”

A’Whora simpers. “Aww, I love it when you two get all cute and affectionate like that. It’s such a classic romance.”

Four simultaneous middle fingers, though great for getting their point across, make the perfect bait for a night of teasing to fill the rest of the evening. These girls are absolutely rotten to the core, and Lawrence loves them to death.

-

“How did you know she was the one?”

It takes a moment for Lawrence to flip through her rolodex of memories that contain Ellie; god knows there’s millions, and though she maintains that thirty five isn’t old, she has to admit at least privately that her memory isn’t as quick as it used to be. Tayce gives her the time to think about it, eager to be sure as if she’s not one of the most cautious people regarding relationships that Lawrence has ever met.

The café is in the middle of the city, yet tucked away behind the high street. It’s become something of a sanctuary, somewhere for her to relax, to write, or just waste the hours where going home feels too far but staying feels too close. Tayce has been visiting as a show of support, but undoubtedly her second motive was a factor in it too.

“Hen, there’s not a moment I could tell you. It’s just a feeling, you’ll know. I think you know, but you wanna know if I knew the same way you know.” She answers, feeling like a bit of a cop-out, but unable to muster the mental energy to come up with something better.

Tayce sips her latte thoughtfully. “Yeah, I mean…” She pauses guiltily, but continues, “the thought of doing what you’re doing - I feel like I couldn’t, but then I know that if it came to it I absolutely could.”

Lawrence nods. “Right. When you have to, you just do. You don’t think about.” She smiles, internally focused on what happened that made her so swoony and sappy after all this time. “Babes, when you’re ready, just do it. You don’t need me to tell you how you feel. The fact that you’re asking is enough.”

It’s pretty fucking sound advice, not bad for a university drop-out turned full-time comedian. What expertise does Lawrence have beyond her own lived experience? Certainly not enough to advise someone like Tayce, who still looks twenty five.

The woman in question looks down at her watch and sighs regrettably. “I’ve gotta go. Want me to walk you back?”

Lawrence shakes her head. “Nah. I know the way like the back of my hand, trust me. Go get your girl, get them invites out as soon as you can.”

They embrace tightly outside the café door; Tayce whispers encouragement in her ears, presses kisses to the side of her head, wills her to be strong. Lawrence watches her until she’s gone, then begins the same walk that’s etched into her brain, a groove of familiarity at this point. She even knows where the wind will whip through separations between buildings, when to put her hands into her pockets to stop the rush of cold from attacking them and when she’ll be shielded.

She knows the exact placement of each hand sanitizer dispenser so well that she can press each of them along her walk without stopping or fumbling. She knows roughly who will be on duty, whose smiling faces she’ll be greeted by. She knows that Ellie will be awake.

“It’s looking good!” Ellie informs her, mere seconds after she’s entered the room. “Just spoke with the nurse. No longer than a month.”

She looks tired, but she looks beautiful nonetheless; free of makeup, hair piled up on top of her head, dressed in a pink nightie that Lawrence had to run out and buy from Sainsbury’s since she didn’t need nor want one of the horrible hospital gowns. There are tubes and machines around her bed that Lawrence has grown to take no notice of, instead just leaning down to kiss her wife’s head before settling in the chair beside her and squeezing her free hand.

“A month? I like the sound of that.” She appraises, peppering Ellie’s fingers in kisses. “Plenty of time for us to get ready for Tayce and A’Whora’s wedding.”

Ellie squeals excitedly. “Stop it! Are they?”

She laughs. “Not right now, but any minute. Tayce just asked how I knew, as if I’d be able to answer.”

“Bitch.” Ellie sticks her tongue out. “Still not able to find a single nice thing to say about me?” She laughs at her own joke and then frowns. “Rude of Tayce not to tell me about her proposal plans.”

Lawrence rolls her eyes. “Hen, you were fast asleep. She wasn’t about to wake you up for random gossip.”

Ellie pouts. “Tell her I’m upset.”

“Will do.”

“And to reserve us the biggest slices of their wedding cake.”

“Oh, definitely gonna do that one. Knew I married you for a reason.”

Ellie beams triumphantly. “See! Stick that in your text to Tayce, having a wife is helpful.”

“I’d say you’re a handful more than you’re helpful, babes, but whatever you say.”

Lawrence promised years ago to love her wife in sickness and in health. She has kept true, and always will.

-

“If this DJ plays one more Lady Gaga song I’m going to fucking lose my mind.”

Ellie rolls her eyes, shushing her wife with a glare. “It’s the bride’s choice! You miserable old bitch.”

Lawrence looks at her, properly. She’s alive with light again, eyes like the starry sky, always complementing her prettily flushed cheeks with her pink hair and dress. Ellie bleaches her roots now to hide the encroaching greys, but Lawrence knows she’d be just as gorgeous with a full head of silver.

“I love you,” She says, the words slipping out before she can thinking about it.

Ellie smiles, and every problem in the world dissipates. “Sentimental old cow. I love you too.”

Fuck the brides. Lawrence kisses Ellie and promises she’ll dance to as many shit songs as the DJ will play. That’s just sort of what love is.