#is this what i sound like to others... is this my clone high jfk moment

[cutepastelstarsalior]

Clone high living blogging

Episode 2

Oh wow the second hand embarrassment is SO strong when Joan was asleep in class…..

……..Joan knows about Wiccan stuff AND she practices it?? I mean I guess that makes sense seeing as her clone mother was a French saint?

“Women just weren’t friends with each other like that” GIRL what do you mean?????? Like in context Joan is saying she wants friends. I know that the show had a very small character group but ?????? That didn’t mean girls didn’t have girl fiends???

Oh there breaking the 4th wall again…….i feel like this is gonna happen a lot.

Joan really said “im not like other girls”

Harriet and Frida give those vibes of girls who pretend to be friends with the outcast only to betray and bully them…I don’t trust them.

Nooooo jfk don’t have any guy friends because ponce is dead noooooooo :(

Ah hell yeahhhhhh the blue background bathroom are back!!!! :)

Nooooooo Joan had a new foster mom!!!! Cleo’s mom and toots are probably dead :(. Hmmm that makes me wonder, HOW do the clones feel about their family might be dead? Like to them it’s what, been a day? 2? Since they got unfrozen, so it must be so jarring to hear that their family might be dead or something. :(

NOOOOOOOOOO TOOTS IS CANOTICAaly dead :(

Oh no jfk learned out the internet/tiktok

Frida and Harriet murder someone….surprise but not really….

JFK and there getting into an internet battle? :/ ok…do those “correct grammar in arguments” things really happen??? Like in real like?? It feel very specific……

Episode 3

“My boy toy jfk”

Seeing the gang having anxiety is interesting….Lind of gives them characterization…

I feel like this season is very Joan-centric while last was Abe-centric. Mmmm if there is a third season will it be focused on jfk? Or Cleo?

Topher has a emotional support possum :)

It’s neat to see Harriet fear/anxiety of being a “basic wine mom”. I like to think that she just has a fear of motherhood, or like, Amatonormativity.

Them beat the heck out of the monster while saying their fears is so cheesy. Then them saying “oh it’s (insert celebrity name here) from (xyz) is soooo scoops doo like. It’s also cheesy.

Doc….why do your nipple look so gross?

Ooohhh 👀 the clones that got taken are mind controlled 👀

Episode 4

Weird….zombies??? Goblin??? Things

I feel like the reason Joan feels odd this season is because she actually feels very passionate about stuff? Like off the top of my head the only times I remember seeing her very emotional was over Abe, not being allowed to play baseball, anything with Cleo, and the snowflake day. Like, all those time where of anger or yearning so seeing Joan happy/motivated is…..odd.

I still can’t get over Cleo voice. It sound so…high? I’ll why but I keep remembering Cleo old voice as lower?

Oh! I’m right! Her voice WAS lower, (watch a video complicated in Cleo and compare it to her new voice) :/

Ha. Cha cha smooth parody.

Oh sweet! Finally some cool stuff on how the old clones interact with the new one. Aka Joan lie and say the coffe is made from child labor and everyone believes it. Hmm very interesting take on stuff! Like ughhhh media criticism and cancel culture and stuff. Idk man I can’t explain it…

…….. awww we could had have a Joan and Cleo moment were they bond and stuff :(

Did Abe and Cleo ever breakup or are they still a couple?

Hehehe valley girl accent <3

:0 homesteader Cleo!!! Joan did a backflip….neat

:( I just realized I laugh more/chuckled more in season 1 than in season 2. So far the only time I laugh is when slow float about to hit Joan. :(

God I hate Confucius outfit. Dude why are you a triangle??? Why do you’re legs not match you’re top??? Harriet outfit is fine, still an eyesore color wise but fine.

YAY MR B AND JOAN!!!!! Love their friendship :)

YES!!! YES!!!! JOAN AND CLEO FRIENDSHIP???? Or at least no longer enemies!!! Whooo!!!!!!!!

Episode 5

10 years non union internship…..damn. 👀 hmmm would that be a good job? Like if the pay is good and manageable hours then 👀

*looking up clone high Harriet because I was curious why Harriet wants to distrance herself from her clone mom* *see that in season 1 there was already a Harriet* ???????? What….what happened to the original clone? Was she not frozen and she died and Doc was like “yeah likes remake a new Harriet clone lol”

Yay musical episode :)

Oh wow they are good singers, mostly Harriet and Frida

OMG PONCE’s DAD IS BACK yippie!!! :)

I’m like 99% sure that’s not how Footloose works. Wasn’t the dancing ban happen because of a drunk driver or something in the movie?

:( the husbands don’t get along anymore :( Mr b is so catty now

“Abe can’t sing, can’t dance…” i don’t think he even knows karate? I don’t think he’s going make it/lyrics

✨ white guy confidence✨ …………….don’t drink Abe sweat….

Harriet being a pushover/not wanting to speak up against her friend 👀 (also side note it seems like Frida and Harriet stop hang out? Or rather Joan and Harriet are closer friends then with Frida??)

Oh gross they actually drank Abe’s sweat….

Harriet likes her play! It’s different from Joan’s and that fine! Love that Harriet stood up for herself and wants to do her own thing

Oh hey Vincent van go! :) he spoke!!

The said fuck! Literally the first time it happen on the show!! :0

The quiche medphor is nice :)

…..these nerd didn’t try a second time? Also Cleo can dance! She did it with Ashley angel (no pun intended) and she dance at prom????

“Practice makes progress” :) wise words Frida!

Harriet is a good singer

Oh no is jfk and Harriet going to get together???

Ok I think Harriet may be my favorite new clone…

NoOOOOOOOOO NOT THE DINNER !!!!! :0 it’s burning!!!!! Nooooooooooo

#clone high #my thoughts #long post #clone high season 2 #fandom

[princessnijireiki]

there is nothing like living in a place where people got a real pronounced accent to realize you also have a DIFFERENT but equally strong accent situation yourself... your past lack of self awareness literally hits you TANGIBLY, like oh my god have I been sounding this new york my whole life? I hate that for me 😭

#everyplace else i've lived the accents have either been easy enough to slowly assimilate to over time #OR were similar to accents or dialects i was already familiar with #but i've never been able to imitate new orleans accents despite having two grandparents with them #only now i'm IN NEW ORLEANS and my floridageorgia westmass secondhand newyorkness is GLARINGLY OBVIOUS to my ears rifp 💀 #it's hard i am suffering. every time i hear myself say kawfee part of my heart dies inside lmao #is this what i sound like to others... is this my clone high jfk moment #foah dinnah i would like the pahty plattah 😔

[thewildsophia]

.Hello, Teen Crisis Hotline. Clone High//Van Gogh x Reader

Depressed!Van Gogh x Reader

A/N: I use depressed a bit loosely in this one so there’s no trigger warning.

Word Count: 2357

~~~~~~~~~~

When Joan had come to you asking that you help her out with the Teen Crisis Hotline you couldn’t say no. You weren’t the closest of friends, but the two of you had an unspoken rule that if shit were to hit the fan, you’d have the others’ back. Or in this case, if one needed help with something, the other would do what they could to help. 

If you were being honest with yourself, you were thrilled when she asked you to help her out. You had always wanted to do something to help those who are struggling mentally since you knew how serious and overlooked mental health was. 

Joan had specifically asked that you help out with the hotline the day of JFK’s party, which you quickly agreed to. It wasn’t like you were going to that party. 

But you figured she probably was going, despite her saying she wasn’t, to try and get Abe to notice her. Seriously, she could do sooo much better. 

It was a little past 7pm when you had gotten the first call. It was a female talking about how difficult her school work was becoming and how stressed she was becoming because of it. You talked to her for about 45 minutes, comforting her and giving her tips on how to stay organized and study. 

After that it was quiet for the next couple hours and you were doing school work during that time. Gandhi had forwarded a call to you around 10pm without a heads up and your phone began ringing. You answered it with a cheerful,

“Hello, Teen Crisis Hotline. How may I help you?” 

“Hello?” The person answered. Their voice was deep and slightly raspy, yet it didn’t sound especially masculine. 

“ Hello,” You greeted again, “Are you alright?” The person sighs before answering,

“For the most part, yeah.” Okay, definitely a guy. 

“I-Um,” The guy continued, “Am I on…speaker phone?” What was this guy talking about? 

“No, you’re not on speaker phone.” You responded. You heard the guy shift on the phone before saying, 

“Good, the last person I talked to had me on speaker,” You heard his voice crack, “There were a lot of people who laughed at me because of it.” You were pissed at Gandhi. You knew he was an ass that didn’t care about the hotline, but you didn’t think that he would do something as shitty as that. 

“Gandhi put you on speaker?” You asked, not even think about it.

“Yeah…” He sighed. 

“God what an ass,” You said before you even realized it, “I mean-I’m sorry that he did that to you. I can assure you that you’re not on speaker and I’m the only one here.” You corrected yourself. You heard the guy chuckle before saying, 

“No you’re right, he really is an ass.” You giggled to yourself before remembering what you were here to do.

“So, how are you feeling?” You asked. The guy was quiet for a while before answering you. 

“I’ve…been better,” He said, “It’s just…okay, I already have depression and for a while it wasn’t too bad; I was able to kinda keep it in check. Lately, however, it hasn’t exactly been that easy.” 

“Ah, I understand what you mean. Do you have any idea why it’s been getting worse?” You asked. He was quiet for a moment and you were worried that you had struck a nerve. 

“I do,” He began, “Ever since I’ve gone here, I’ve been kinda…‘harassed?’ I’m not sure if that’s really the best word but recently it’s been getting worse.”

“Would you mind telling me who’s doing this?” You asked when you thought he was done. 

“Um, yeah, I would. I-I don’t want to call anyone out.” He said. You were a bit upset that he didn’t tell you since you couldn’t help him if you didn’t know who was doing this to him, but at the same time you understood. 

“Okay, that’s fine, I understand. Do you…have any support? Like from your family or some close friends?” You asked. 

“Well, my foster parents are okay. They care about me and I know it, but I don’t think they really love me. As for friends…” He paused and sighs, “I’m not really good at making connections with people, so I don’t really have any friends; besides maybe the people I work with in class.” You were quiet, making sure he was done, before continuing. 

“Alright. I do want to know, how do you deal with this harassment?” You questioned and once again he was quiet for a moment. 

“I, uh, don’t really do anything? Like, if you’re asking what I say to them then I don’t say anything. But if you’re asking how I cope with everything…” He trailed off.

“How do you cope?” You asked him. You heard him shift again yet he remained quiet, “Do I need to be concerned?” You inquired after your mind had thought of the worst. 

“No, no, I just…I listen to music a lot,” He started, but you didn’t say anything to try and get him to speak more.

“That and, uh, I cry…a lot. Sometimes I just turn the lights off in my room and cry. It’s…comforting in a way. I don’t know how to explain it.” He choked out, his voice cracking a few times. 

“I understand what you mean,” You say, trying to comfort him, “Sometimes it just feels nice to let everything out. Personally something I do is get in the shower clothed and just…cry, letting everything out. I know it sounds odd but, for someone who cries to cope, this is one of the best pieces of advice I can give you.” You explain to him. You hear him chuckle on the other side of the phone. 

“I’ve actually heard that one before,” He said, and you imagined that he had a smile on his face, “I haven’t done it before though. Everytime I’m hit with one of those emotional outbreaks I’m just too tired to start a shower.” 

“It really do be like that sometimes.” You say with a dopey smile. 

“Yeah,” He sighed, “One of the only ways I was able to…to cling to my sanity was that no one known how miserable I truly am. But it would seem that I lost that since Gandhi put me on speaker phone.” He admitted with a sniffle at the end. 

You were quiet for a moment. 

“You’re lonely, aren’t you?” You quietly inquired. You heard him suck in a breath and shift again.

“How did you know? How could you tell?” He quickly questioned. 

“It wasn’t too hard for me to piece it together,” You began, “You said that your foster parents do care about you, but not in a familiar way which had probably created a border between you and them. You also mentioned how it’s difficult to form connections with others, so you most likely don’t have anyone in the school to talk to. The fact that you called the hotline in the first place also suggests this. Therefore, you probably spend a lot of time by yourself, and no matter how much of an introvert someone is, being alone for that long would eventually get…lonely.” You finished, waiting for him to say something. Maybe you went too far with that analysis?

“Wow that’s…impressive that you were able to determine that so quickly.” He said. 

“Was I right?” You asked curiously.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He answered. The two of you were quiet for a while before you asked him,

“Could you tell me your name?” This whole time you were trying to determine who you were talking to. Right now, you’ve managed to narrow your list down to four people: Issac Newton, Charles Darwin, Vincent Van Gogh, or Ludwig Von Beethoven. 

He hesitated for a moment before answering you.

“I’m Van Gogh, Vincent Van Gogh.” 

“Called it.” You said in your head, smiling. 

“I see,” You say, “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you Van Gogh.” 

“The pleasure’s all mine.” Van Gogh greets. 

You thought about where to go from there until an idea pops into your head. A devious smile spreads over your face before you speak. 

“You know what I think you need, Van Gogh?” You heard him hum in question, “A little bit of revenge on Gandhi. I’m 97% sure that’ll bring your spirits up.” 

“What are you suggesting?” He asked, and you would hear the smirk in his voice. 

“You are an artist, aren’t you? Well, it’s your lucky day because I’m the clone of F/N L/N, one of the best acrylic painters in history.” You announce before continuing, “I’m suggesting that we make a…memorial of Gandhi, commemorating his work for the hotline.” It was quiet for a few seconds before Van Gogh asked, 

“What floor are you on?” 

“Floor 5, room 18. I have a shit ton of acrylics and spray paint. If you’ve got gouache, bring it.” You answered quickly. 

“Be there in 5 minutes.” He said before hanging up. 

You laughed as you quickly got your shoes on and gathered your spray paints in a duffle bag, putting your acrylics and brushed in a plastic container. You slung the duffle bag over your shoulder when you heard a knock at your door. You answered it, being greeted by Van Gogh in all his tiny glory. 

“You bring the gouache?” You asked while locking your dorm’s door. 

“I’ve got gouache, oil, and acrylics.” He answered with a smirk. You smiled and couldn't help the heat that rushed to your face. He was so adorable. Yet so…despicable.

“Got any complaints about stopping by that party real quick? It’ll be easy to get in there since it’s late and they’re probably hammered by now.” You suggested, glancing over at him to gauge his reaction. 

“Lead the way.” Was his answer. You did as you were told, the two of you making your way over to JFK’s house as quickly as possible. You snuck in through the back -- you had to help him over the fence -- and from there you two looked for Gandhi. 

Van Gogh had spotted him first; he was talking to Joan, something about screwing herself over. Joan had quickly removed his belt and Gandhi said something but you weren’t in range to hear it before she held up his boxers -- which you assumed to be his. His pants fell and you looked away as he was quickly…“exposed” by her. 

“Ah, good thing there was no one around to see that.” Was all you heard from him as he turned around and walked away. 

“Oh yes,” You heard Van Gogh say next to you, “No one, indeed.” He finished while looking at you with a smirk. You smirked yourself when it clicked in your head what he was planning to do. 

“I’ve got just the place.” You said while getting the two of you out of the party. 

Next thing you knew, you two were in front of a wall that the majority of students walked by when going from their dorms to the school. The two of you started on your painting and it took you close to three hours to finish it, but it was very much worth it. You and Van Gogh signed it at the bottom and had even taken Van Gogh’s photo with it. 

It was past 2am when everything was said and done, so the two of you made your way back over to your dorms. You walked with him to his dorm, chatting with him the whole time. 

It was weird; it felt as if you had known him for years, the conversation between you two coming so naturally, yet you had only known him for a few hours. 

When you had reached his dorm you asked, 

“Hey, what time do you leave to go to school?” 

“Around 7am, why?” He answered.

“Great, I’ll be here at 7 to walk with you,” You said while turning and making your way to your own dorm, “Goodnight, Van Gogh, see ya’ tomorrow!” You shouted back at him. Van Gogh smiled to himself, face warm.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He said. You turned and smiled at him before turning the corner and heading up stairs.

Even after you had gotten back, set everything down and changed you couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was so lovable, how could anyone make fun of him? You figured people saw him as an easy target since he’s usually quiet and passive. 

But you’d make sure he’s treated better. That was your final thought before drifting to sleep. 

~~~~~~~~~

Staying true to your word, you made sure you had gotten up early -- only getting like 4 hours of sleep -- to walk Van Gogh to school. When you had made it to his dorm he was already waiting for you, and it was only 6:50am. 

The two of you made your way to the school, talking the whole way. Your conversation quieted down when you turned the corner that had the painting on it. 

There was a crowd of students laughing and taking pictures. Looking through the sea of students you saw Gandhi, slack-jawed and in awe. You quickly pointed him out to Van Gogh and the laugh that left his lips was a nerdy, yet adorable and just perfect to you. 

The two of you continued to walk by and people cheered for you both.

“See, look: they like you.” You say while nudging his shoulder. His face blossoms in this bright pinkish-peach color that you have never seen before and the same chuckle leaves his lips again. Your stomach did flips and your face felt hot. 

“Thanks, Van Gogh, Y/N!” You heard Joan yell from somewhere, but you were too focused on Van Gogh to care. It was his voice that brought you out of your dazed state.

“Thank you, Y/N, for helping me and all.” He said while rubbing the back of his neck. You cheeks were sore, but that didn’t stop you from smiling one last time.

“No problem, Van Gogh.”

#clonehigh #clone high #clone high van gogh #clone high vincent van gogh #clone high x reader #vincent van gogh #van gogh x reader #vincent van gogh x reader #thewildsophia writes

[virtueangel]

limitless.

chapter twelve.

wc: 1,817. original publish date: october 25, 2020. 

"You're really gonna be in for it if I get tetanus from all of this rust, JFK," Van Gogh grumbles as he climbs up the service ladder. Kennedy is following behind him, full intentions of keeping the promise to catch the boy if he falls.

"You're not going to get tetanus, Vinny. You're too careful for that."

"It's not care so much as fear," he replies.

Vincent manages to climb onto the platform without cutting himself on any rusty metal sticking out from the ladder. He moves aside and waits for JFK before stepping onto the rollercoaster track.

"Are we going to fall and die?" Van Gogh asks, peering at the barely-visible ground below him.

JFK laughs. "No, Minivan. We're not going to fall and die."

Van Gogh rolls his eyes. "If you're wrong, I'm not letting you write my eulogy."

"You were going to let me write your eulogy before?"

Now it's Vincent's turn to laugh. "No, of course not. You may be smarter than you let on, but there's no way I'm letting you 'errr' and 'uhhh' your way through my funeral."

John smacks the boy on the head playfully. "Hey! I only 'errr' and 'uhhh' when I'm nervous!"

"And you wouldn't be nervous then?"

JFK takes a moment to think. "No. I'd just be sad."

Vincent and John step out onto the green-tinted rollercoaster track, hand-in-hand for support. Van Gogh walks right on the edge, the toe tips of his Keds threatening to dangle off the side. Kennedy squeezes the boy's hand harder. "You're making me nervous, darling."

Van Gogh turns to JFK, a daring look in his eyes. "I just wanted to see if I could flare up your 'errr'ing."

Kennedy rolls his eyes playfully. "Yeah, yeah, you've made your point. I'm a huge fucking dork."

Vincent grins. "I'm going to remember that you said that."

The boys walk together in contented silence, their cheeks swelling pink from the cool breeze and the misty fog. Van Gogh moves away from the edge of the track, pressing up against JFK as he walks. Kennedy peers down at the boy.

“I’m cold,” Vincent explains with a bashful smile on his face.

JFK lets go of Van Gogh’s hand to wrap his arm around the boy, pulling him closer. “What about now?”

Vincent smiles, a bubbly laugh rumbling up his throat. He speaks in a low voice, even though the only thing around to hear is the fog. “Better.”

Kennedy smiles as Van Gogh nuzzles in to his chest. “Good.”

A couple seconds go by. Jack and Vinny take careful steps down the rollercoaster track, Vincent tucked under John's arm as they walk. The only sounds in the world are their breaths, and the occasional whirr of an unseen plane flying by overhead.

"Can I ask you a question?" Van Gogh asks.

"Yes," JFK replies almost immediately, as if he'd been expecting those exact words.

Vincent hesitates for a second, forming the perfect phrasing in his mind. "How come you always present yourself as some airhead jock when you're so much more than that in reality?"

"I guess it's just easier that way."

"Easier than what?"

Kennedy takes a moment to think, trying to put his feelings into words the way Van Gogh knows how to. He always has the most coherent thoughts, the most truthful outlooks on life. He sees everything.

"Easier than having a foot in both worlds."

Vincent reaches up to play with a loose thread in JFK's letterman jacket. "You've already got one foot in both worlds, Jack."

"I don't see how I can be a star athlete and a star student."

"But you have no trouble at all being John F. Kennedy's clone and a normal high school student."

JFK hesitates before answering. "You don't know that."

Van Gogh furrows his eyebrows. No, he doesn't know that. "You wear him so well, though. Wear yourself so well."

Kennedy shrugs. "Most days it's just smoke and mirrors." He adds, "I have a lot of people looking up to me."

Vincent lets the loose thread free. "I know."

The two come to a stop at the end of the track, where there's a small dip before it curves to turn the rollercoaster cab around, when there actually was a cab. The boys sit down, their legs dangling over the side, trying not to think about how far away the ground is. Van Gogh snuggles up to JFK, but not because he's afraid of heights: just because he's cold.

"What are you thinking about?" John asks, his voice soft as he moves some hair out of Vincent's face to see his profile better.

Van Gogh takes a deep breath before pulling his gaze away from the foggy abyss and returning his conscience to reality. "I was thinking about how pretty the world would look if it all went up in flames."

"Are you an arsonist, Minivan?" JFK teases, a hint of a smile behind his voice.

Vincent looks away, hiding his own smile from view. "I already told you, Jack. I just like the smell of fire."

Kennedy grins. "I assumed that was a euphemism for sex."

Van Gogh shoves his boyfriend playfully. "You're so crude!"

JFK fakes a wince. "Can't a boy have any fun?"

Vincent kisses his cheek. "Not if you're going to be so abrasive."

John turns his face so his lips meet Vincent's, and in that moment, he realises that he’s never kissed anyone like this before -- without all the tongue and the teeth and the competition. They kiss for a couple minutes, the action never getting to be anything less than innocent. Van Gogh never expected he'd be this comfortable with the first person he kissed -- he never imagined it'd be more than a one-time thing with him.

"Can I tell you something, Vincent?"

"Oooh, this is a new one. You don't want to ask me something, you want to tell me something," he replies. "Yes, you can tell me something."

"I have no idea what I want to do when I grow up."

"I thought you wanted to be a politician," Van Gogh says.

JFK shrugs. "Yeah, I do, but it doesn't sound... perfect, you know?"

Van Gogh nods. "Yeah, I get what you mean."

"Does painting sound perfect?" Kennedy asks. "For you, I mean."

Vincent smiles, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree against the thick fog. "Yes, it does. It always has. I think I got lucky. Maybe I got, I don't know, wired this way or something, but I really do enjoy all the things I'm supposed to enjoy, being Van Gogh's clone and all."

John flashes his lopsided grin, his eyes washing over his boyfriend with reserved affection. "I wish I could be like that. Like him."

"You are."

"You don't have to be nice just because we're dating now, Vinny. You've never been one to lie."

Van Gogh stares out into the fog again, a pensive look turning over his face. "He was queer coded, you know."

"What does that mean?"

Vincent rolls his tongue over in his mouth, feeling the words before releasing them into the air. "It's like... when someone doesn't explicitly state that they're attracted to people of the same gender -- queer -- but they sort of... exhibit the qualities. Like their actions just scream queer."

"Like gaydar?"

Van Gogh throws his head back as he laughs, his fiery orange hair wet with mist. "I guess you could say it's like gaydar, yes."

"Wait, but doesn't that only apply to, like, fictional characters?"

Vincent shrugs. "He was rumoured -- more than rumoured -- to have homosexual tendencies."

JFK smiles. "How much research have you done on the real JFK, Minivan?"

Van Gogh giggles before turning serious. "Enough to see similarities between him and you."

John kisses Vincent softly on the head before Van Gogh rests it on his shoulder.

"And I'm scared to graduate," John adds.

"What? Why? Because of college?"

JFK shakes his head, unsure of how to respond. "I thought I was afraid to leave Exclamation!, but I think there was just... one thing I would miss. One thing I was worried that if I left, I would never see again. I didn't want to let it out of my sight."

Vincent grins. "Oh, yeah? What's that?"

Kennedy rolls his eyes, but can't suppress his smile. "You, silly."

A couple seconds of silence go by. The two listen to their breathing, wrapped up in each other's arms and comforted in each other's body heat.

"I like the world from up here," Vincent whispers.

"You can't even see anything," John protests, his toothpaste model teeth peeking out through his grin.

"It looks like the world is limitless. Feels like the world is limitless."

JFK rests his chin on Van Gogh's head. "Our world is limitless. And this is our world, right?"

Van Gogh blinks slowly, a calm smile turning up the corners of his lips. Everything feels right, in this wet fog with this warm boy in this amusement park town. "I like it when you kiss me."

"Well, that works out, because I like it when you kiss me."

Up there on the rollercoaster track, the world doesn't feel so big. Marshtown is spread out beneath their feet, though they can barely see past their dangling legs through the thick fog. The sky is hazy with mist and Van Gogh can't stand that his hair is wet, but he refrains from making a scene because he doesn't want to throw JFK's chin off of his head. He likes the way he fits into the boy, like they were moulded together, like they were crafted to be each others' missing puzzle piece. Vincent wraps his arms around John's midsection, pulling them closer together until there's no space between their torsos at all. They are a tangle of arms and a continuation of clothing, neither of them sure where one ends and the other begins. Van Gogh wants to breathe him in, to have his clean yet sweaty scent permanently implanted in his nostrils. He likes the way his heart races when he sits next to JFK, he likes the way his head spins when he thinks of all the things he's too afraid to say out loud. Now, he tries one of the phrases out on his tongue, just to see what it would feel like to say the others.

"It's our rollercoaster. We get to build the track."

Kennedy nods in agreement before closing his eyes, his breath slowing as his mind calms itself down. He tastes Vincent's scent in his mouth, against his tongue, against his teeth. He holds all the thoughts he can't say out loud and stores them in his back pocket, waiting for a perfect moment to take them out and paint them across the boy’s stomach, one by one. 

#clone high #clone high jfk #clone high van gogh #jfgogh #limitless

[steebharringt0n]

snapshots of our lives | b.h x you

Sent away for a work conference, Billy finds himself snowed in at JFK Airport. Itching to be back home for Ava’s first Christmas he meets a mysterious stranger at the bar who might be just be able to solve his Christmas dilemma.

a/n: IT’S OFFICIALLY THE HOLIDAY SEASON AND I CANNOT CONTAIN MYSELF. this story gave me cavities, I’m not even joking, this is by far the fluffiest thing I’ve EVER written. (part 2 of shadows of the night will be posted later today ayy two stories in one day!)

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You pressed your head against the kitchen wall, twisting the phone cord around your finger. In the background you could hear Christmas music playing, Adam trying his best to help Ava decorate her Christmas cookies but she was more enthralled by all the colorful icing and sprinkles around her.

“No Ava, the sprinkles are for his hat!” you heard him pout. You could only imagine the only helping she was doing was shoving the sprinkles in her mouth.

You twisted your head around, frowning at your oldest child. “Adam, she’s only 8 months old, I don’t think you’re going to get too far with her”

You turned your head back around, trying to keep the conversation quiet.

“No luck huh?”

The other voice on the line sighed heavily, you could only imagine him rubbing his temples in frustration, “I’m sorry baby, I really am, I’m trying everything. This goddamn snowstorm came out of nowhere”

You glanced back at your children, both of them blissfully unaware that their father may not make it home in time for Christmas. You shakily exhaled, trying hard not to cry - you knew it would make it harder on him if you did.

Billy had been sent away to New York for a week for a work conference. He was due to be back on the 24th but New York got pounded by freak snow storm that stopped all flights back to California. So there he was, waiting around at JFK Airport, trying to kill time. His flight was already cancelled and he refused to pay for a hotel. He had some semblance of hope that maybe it would stop snowing and that he’d be able to see his kids and wife, but all of that went out the door when they predicted another foot of snow.

Worst of all, it was Ava’s first Christmas and he hated that he was going to miss her little [Y/E/C] eyes light up at all the toys Santa had bought her. He had already missed Adam’s Christmas recital, which fortunately for him you were able to catch it all on tape. But it still didn’t change the fact that he was thousands miles away from his family.

“I know Billy, it’s okay. I’ll tape everything - “

“It’s not the same Y/N ... I just want to be home, god, fuck this” he angrily muttered. He kicked the bottom pole of the payphone, his hands tightly gripping the phone in his hand.

“I know, I know. We just have to stay positive for the kids, for us. You’ll get home when you’ll get home okay?”

He let out another deep sigh. He felt so useless. “Yeah, I know, you’re right.” he paused, closing his eyes, trying his best to not let his anger get the best of him.

“I love you” 

His body instantly relaxed at the sound of those three words. If there was anyone that could get him to calm down, it was you.

“I love you too”

A loud commotion and Ava’s ear-shattering wail suddenly broke your thoughts away from Billy. You looked behind you and saw sprinkles scattered everywhere,

“Ava noo!” Adam whined, hoping off the chair and picking up the now half empty sprinkles container.

“Is that our children causing havoc?” Billy questioned, a slight smile on his face.

“Ah yes, your daughter has a knack for knocking things over - Adam, no, Adam, leave it there, I’ll clean it up - leave your sister in her high chair - no, don’t touch it! Ah, okay, Billy hold on just a sec - “

You placed the phone on the kitchen counter, quickly walking over to the dining room table where Ava had her little hands thrown in the air, her mouth open as she let out piercing screams. Adam took the opportunity to run over to the kitchen, grabbing the phone and pressing it to his ear.

“Dad! When’re coming home?” he excitedly questioned, “I made a drawing at school for Santa. You, momma and Ava are in it, Mrs. Lori said it was the best picture she’d ever seen!” he happily babbled onto the phone.

His mouth spread into a grin as he heard his son’s voice, nothing in the world made him happier than his children. 

“I sent the drawing to Santa in the North Pole, I told him that you went away for work and that you’d be coming back soon, right daddy? You’re coming home soon right?”

Billy’s smile dropped, he shuffled his feet nervously, uncertain on how he was going to tell his son that he probably wasn’t going to make it in time for Christmas. “Hey bud, I bet Santa’s going to love your picture, and I uh, I’m working on make it home okay? I’m going to try my very, very, very best to be home soon okay? You be good for momma, don’t forget to brush your teeth tonight”

“I promise I’ll be good for momma. Ava spilled all the Christmas sprinkles, we’re making cookies for Santa. We’re also making your favorite, the ones with the peanut butter” Adam said.

Billy swallowed thickly, trying hard not to let tears build up, “I can’t wait to try them buddy. Is your momma still busy?”

Adam looked behind him - in the last minute you had managed to clean up the mess and soothe Ava who was now happily resting on your lap, a teething ring in her mouth.

“No I don’t think so - “ Adam paused, “Momma! Are you busy?”

You let out a laugh as you walked back into the kitchen, “Say goodnight to your father, you’ll see him soon okay?”

Adam pressed the phone back onto his ear, “I love you daddy, I’ll see you soon”

Billy’s heart lurched, he had never hated snow more than this moment. “I love you too Adam. I’ll see you soon”

Adam then promptly handed the phone back to you, walking back to the dining room table to finish up his Christmas cookies. You carefully balanced the phone on your ear as one of Ava’s hand tugged on your hair.

“Hey, I’m sorry to cut this short, I gotta get them to bed soon” you wistfully told him.

Billy nodded over the other line, he twisted his other wrist to check the time. There was a three hour difference, it was almost 12 AM in New York, but almost 9 PM in California. You had let Adam stay up an hour earlier than usual since tomorrow was Christmas day, but you warned him that if he stayed up past 9 that Santa wouldn’t come because Santa only visits kids who are asleep.

“No, no I understand, I’ll uh, keep you updated if anything changes”

“Okay, I love you Billy”

“Love you too Y/N”

Billy slammed the phone back into the receiver, hanging his head low. He brushed a hand through his hair, walking back towards the gate where his plane was originally supposed to leave. He stared out at the large windows where a blanket of snow covered the runway. He then glanced up the TV monitor right above him, the word CANCELLED flashed brightly in red - as if it were mocking him.

He shook his head, making his way towards the bar that was still luckily open this late. He took a seat on one of the stools, raising his hand to get the attention of the bartender who was cleaning shot glasses. He then asked for some whisky, on the rocks. Alcohol always had a way to help soothe his emotional wounds, and right now he was hurting - bad.

“Alone on Christmas Eve? That doesn’t seem right” said a voice right next to him.

Billy glanced over, a large man with white hair and a white beard sat a couple of stools down. He too had a beer in his hand.

Billy shrugged, swirling around the drink, “My flight got cancelled. My family is in California, it’s my daughter’s first Christmas and I’m going to miss it” his voice was undeniably sad as he took a sip.

The large man nodded at him, “I understand. It’s hard to be away from your family during the holiday season”

Billy let out a dry laugh, “I hate being away from them at all. I uh, never really had the best Christmas’s growing up, but my wife, she’s absolutely amazing, she makes all these Christmas decorations, and my kids, oh man ... “ Billy paused, trying to keep his emotions at bay, his thumb twists his wedding band, “It just sucks you know?”

The man raises his hands, “No, no I totally get it” he then decides to scoot down towards Billy, taking the stool right next to him.

“Name’s Kris by the way” he extends his hand.

Billy glances up at him, he looks oddly familiar, but he takes his hand anyway and gives it a shake, “Billy, or Bill, whatever floats your boat”

“So uh, Billy, tell me more about your family. I’m sure it helps talking about them” Kris said.

Billy takes a large gulp of the whisky before he continues to talk, “I met my wife in high school, she was a quiet little thing. I was a little punk, don’t know how she put up with me, but I’ll forever love her for doing so” he smiles as memories of the two of you back in Hawkins flood his head.

“We had my son about 5 years ago, Adam’s his name, he’s a little clone of me, he’s so incredibly smart and so kind, and Ava is my little one, just 8 months old. She looks everything like my wife, she has the cutest toothless smile that just brightens up anyone’s day” Billy is grinning at this point, his hand continues to swirl the alcohol in the glass. 

“I had a really bad childhood growing up ... I had given up on people, I wasn’t a very nice person. But my wife gave me this amazing family, something I never thought I was able to have. She changed my life, my family changed my life” there’s a pregnant pause, “I’d give anything to be with them right now”

He downs the rest of the whisky, trying hard to not let his emotions overtake him. He then turns to Kris, who was just smiling and nodding at him the whole time. Billy gives him a thin smile, “What about you? Do you have a family?”

Kris takes a sip of his beer, shaking his head, “Ah, my family is far away as well, but I’ll see them by the end of tonight. I’m just taking a pit stop”

Billy frowns, “A pit stop? Where you heading to?”

“Ah, so many places”

Billy lets out a snort, “Good luck, you’ll need a Christmas miracle to get out of here”

Kris gives Billy a sly smile, he then signals over to the large window that looked towards the airport runway. “Huh, looks like it stopped snowing ... “

Billy glances behind him and his eyes widen, he places his empty glass down and runs over to the window. There were already workers outside cleaning up the runway. A sudden loud voice comes through the speaker, 

“Flight 342 to San Diego International Airport is now on a 3 hour delay. Looks like the snow has stopped for the rest of the night. Please allow our workers to clean the runway. Thank you for your patience”

A wide grin takes over Billy, his heart leaps with joy. He heads back to the bar to pay for his drink and to continue talking to Kris - but he’s nowhere to be found. 

Instead he sees a picture sitting on his stool. With shaking fingers he picks it up. It’s a stick drawing of a family, a man with blonde hair, a woman with [Y/H/C] hair, a little boy and a little baby. His name, your name and Adam and Ava are written right above the stick figures. He flips the picture over, the name Adam Hargrove is written at the top. His eyes prick with tears as he reads the messily written letter, 

Dear Santa, 

Please bring my daddy home for Christmas. I miss him very much. I have been a good boy, I eat all my vegetables and brush my teeth every night.

Love Adam Hargrove

A sob escapes Billy’s lips as tears hit the picture. He looks around for Kris, but he’s nowhere to be found. His mind can’t wrap around the fact at what just happened, hell, it doesn’t make a lick of sense to him. He wipes his tears, taking a deep breath to recompose himself. He calls over the bartender,

“Hey! Did you happen to see a large man with white beard and white hair sitting here?”

The bartender shrugs, “No sir, it’s just been you this whole time”

Billy shakes his head, “There’s no way ... it can’t be ... “ he mutters to himself. He glances back down at Adam’s drawing, folding it up neatly and placing it in his coat pocket. He pulls out his wallet and puts down a 10 dollar bill. He tells the bartender to keep the change.

He walks over back to his gate, taking a seat. His mind still can’t believe what has just happened, and he still can’t believe that he’s actually heading home. He decides not to call you and tell you the good news, he wants to surprise the 3 of you.

As soon as he lands back down in San Diego, he hails down the first cab he sees. 

It’s almost 8 AM when he finally arrives home. He promptly grabs his luggage from the trunk of the cab and walks up to his porch. He’s so excited he almost can’t contain himself. Grabbing the keys from his pocket, he unlocks his front door, opening it ever so carefully so that he can creep inside.

Instantly he’s hit with the smell of the peanut butter cookies Adam promised him. Christmas music is quietly playing in the background, he walks towards the living room where the tree is. He can hear chattering voices as he gets closer. He pokes his head in, a hundred watt smile on his face.

You and Adam have your back towards him, rummaging around through the presents under the tree. But Ava, all dressed up in her Christmas onesie, immediately notices her father. She babbles happily, clapping her hands as she reaches towards him,

“Da ... da!” she exclaims, her eyes wide and bright.

You turn your attention towards her, still not noticing Billy’s presence, “Ava, did you just say Dada?”

She reaches up for him again, and this time you finally look behind you and you let out a loud gasp.

“Oh my god! Billy!”

You jump up from the floor, throwing yourself into his arms. He welcomes your embrace, holding you tightly. You plant kisses all over his face as Adam leaps for joy, running towards his father and hugging his leg.

“Dad! Dad! You’re home!”

Billy has one arm tightly holding you, while the other is placed behind Adam’s head. You pull away from him, staring at him incredulously. Your mind still can’t process the fact that he actually made it in time for Christmas.

“I - I heard it was supposed to snow like crazy! What happened?!”

Billy shrugs, “I don’t know! It just stopped snowing! The craziest thing happened, you’ll never believe it” 

You and Adam watch as Billy pulls out a piece of paper from his coat, he unravels it and holds it out towards the both of you. Your eyes widen, then your jaw proceeds to drop.

“Hey! That’s my drawing!” Adam exclaims.

Billy crouches down to Adam’s height, “I know bud, I think Santa gave it to me”

Adam’s blue eyes become wide, a small gasp escapes his mouth, “You met Santa?” he whispers like it’s a secret.

“I did, he helped me get home” 

You pick up Ava who had been fussing the whole time to be picked up by her father. You hand her over to Billy, who then proceeds to give him sloppy kisses all over his face. She babbles excitedly at him, her little hands resting on his cheek.

Tears prick at your eyes, your heart swells at the sight of your husband and children. The rest of the day is spent opening presents, eating Christmas cookies and watching Christmas movies. Billy later explained to you about the mysterious man he met at the airport bar, still to this day you can’t believe how he was able to make it back home.

The both of you chalked it up as a Christmas miracle, and Christmas season at the Hargrove household became that more special to the four of you.

#Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction

[lauralot89]

lauren please tl;dr about old-timey shows you like that no one else talks about

WE’RE GONNA TALK ABOUT CLONE HIGH, KIDS

(If this is not old-timey enough or obscure enough, let me know and I’ll find something else to talk about)

The show aired in Canada in 2002, but it didn’t get over here in the US until 2003, when I was thirteen.  It was the only MTV cartoon I ever watched.

AND IT WAS GLORIOUS.

The conceit of the show is that shadowy government figures for reasons never fully specified decided to make clones of dead historical figures, and said clones have grown to high school age by the time the series starts.  Our protagonists are Abe Lincoln, Joan of Arc, and Gandhi, and other major characters are Abe’s crush Cleopatra, and her jerk jock boyfriend, JFK, as well as the high school principal Mr. Scudworth and his robot, Mr. Bultertron.  Yes, there is a clone of Jesus, though he’s not a frequent character.

Weirdly, aside from the historical puns or episodic plot about a character trying to follow the example of their real historical selves (like the episode where Joan starts hearing voices), the show mostly is a typical teen comedy that doesn’t really focus on the clone aspect.

(There is a pretty great visual pun, though, in that Marie Curie’s clone is deformed because the source DNA was irradiated.)

But anyway, it was a fantastic show.  It was hilarious, and gave us what I consider to this day comedy staples such as “Let’s destroy property to show how much we appreciate the team!” and “You see the pool?  They flipped the bitch!”

Not to mention “Nothing bad ever happens to the Kennedys!”

You want a show where Marilyn Manson sings about proper nutrition?  You got it.  You want a show where the “beautiful all along” makeover includes sci fi gore and vampire fangs?  You got it.  You want a musical episode parodying Pink Floyd’s The Wall with Jack Black singing and kids getting high off of raisins?  You got it.

I feel like this video speaks for itself.

Also there’s the great moment in the film festival episode when Joan makes some weird art house film that no one understands except Freud.

Now I know what you’re thinking, “Laura, this show sounds amazing!  Why was it ever cancelled?”

Because the world is cruel, my friend.  The world is a cruel place where Family Guy has 16 seasons and Clone High only got one.

Actually, the reason for the cancellation is that India as a whole was extremely offended by the show’s portrayal of Gandhi, to the extent of a massive public fast in protest and the threat of MTV’s license to broadcast in India being revoked.  Viacom/MTV offered the idea of a second season without Gandhi, and the show creators pitched “two potential versions of a second season [which] included one that made no mention of Gandhi's absence, and another that revealed that the character was, in fact, a clone of actor Gary Coleman all along, and the show continued as normal.”  Both versions were rejected, and the show ended.

On the bright side, you can now watch all of the show on Youtube and Will Forte did briefly get to voice Abraham Lincoln again in The Lego Movie.

#Clone High #anon #ask

[virtueangel]

limitless.

chapter nine.

wc: 2,350. original publish date: october 19, 2020. 

The morning fog is crisp against the windows of the car, condensation bubbling against the glass.

"Do you actually have a plan, or are we just driving willy-nilly?"

JFK grins at his reflection in the rearview mirror. "I have a plan!"

Van Gogh glares at the boy playfully.

"Okay, that plan might involve driving willy-nilly."

"Well, I guess that's still technically a plan..." Vincent laughs. And then, "Wait, I actually have a legitimate idea."

"No you don't," Kennedy jokes.

This earns him another glare from his best friend. "Did you see the general store when we first drove in?"

JFK nods. "You think they'd have stuff there?"

Vincent shrugs. "It's worth a shot. I mean... someone's gotta be living in this town, right?"

"Well, they don't have to do anything. It really could just be abandoned."

"So why are the roads so fresh?"

"Fresh?"

Gogh rolls his eyes impatiently. "You know what I mean. Clean. Maintained."

JFK goes silent, and at first Van Gogh worries that he's been too pushy, too pretentious, but Kennedy is only thinking.

"Maybe there's a groundskeeper," he suggests, and Vincent looks up at him with knit brows.

"One, for a whole town?" He sits back in his seat. "That hardly seems feasible."

John shrugs, keeping his eyes on what he can see of the road. "The wear in the houses is... I don't know. Formulaic, I guess is the word."

Vincent raises an eyebrow at the boy. "Maybe you mean fabricated?"

JFK nods eagerly. "Yes! Fabricated! That's exactly the word!"

Van Gogh snorts. "What, like someone built this hellhole to look the way it does?"

"It doesn't sound ridiculous coming from your mouth."

"Maybe not, but it would sound ridiculous coming from yours."

Kennedy shoves the boy playfully. "Asshole."

Vincent shoves him back, but doesn't throw an insult.

The boys drive in pleasant silence for a few moments longer, both sitting contentedly in their pyjamas, the seat heaters turned up to high. The windows are fogged over and Van Gogh draws a smiley face with his finger, dotting the eyes so firmly his bent finger turns yellow.

"You know that won't come off without, like, Windex or something, right?"

Vincent flashes his most innocent smile. "Oops."

JFK grins without looking at the boy, and Gogh's breath catches at the sight of his Colgate-white teeth.

"We're here," Kennedy says not a minute later, the low rumble of the car engine ceasing. He and Van Gogh unbuckle their seatbelts at the same time; they seem always to be in unison.

The wooden porch is wet and soft, lichen eating away at it. The door is hanging lopsided off the hinges, but only just enough; there's nothing wrong with the hardware.

"Looks like someone hung it like that on purpose," Vincent mutters as he walks through the door.

JFK turns around, his lips parting in satisfaction. "Told you."

"No, John, you did not 'tell me' anything. This is one bang-up job. Next you're gonna say someone planted the lichen on the porch?"

Kennedy lengthens his gaze to the deck. "It's possible."

Van Gogh rolls his eyes. "You're incorrigible."

"And you're fastidious."

"That's not even how you use that word!"

"Fastidious!" JFK insists.

The boys bicker all the way through the store, picking whatever looks edible off the shelves. Vincent checks a few expiration dates, and most of the refrigerated items have gone bad, but the shelved items are still safe to eat. He makes JFK carry it all, and to his pleasant surprise, the boy doesn't protest.

"Are we just supposed to steal all of this?" Gogh asks, concern washing over his face.

"There's no cashier."

"I know. That's what prompted the thought."

John looks around some more. "We could leave a note and check back tomorrow," he suggests, which is a real solution. Van Gogh didn't think he had it in him.

"Do you have a pen and paper?"

JFK peers over the counter and nods toward something. "Behind the cash register is a stack of Post-Its and a Sharpie. I obviously can't get it, with all the shit you made me hold."

Vincent rolls his eyes. "Everything's so difficult."

"Hey, I'm doing a good thing for you!"

Van Gogh turns around to show his best friend his smile. "I know that. I'm just kidding."

"Sometimes it's hard to tell."

"I guess that's one of my many shortcomings." When JFK doesn't reply, Vincent adds, "That was a joke. You can laugh."

But John doesn't.

Van Gogh doesn't seem to notice his best friend's silence as he scribbles down on the Post-It. He turns around and takes bags of chips from Kennedy's arms, recording the prices and the quantities. "Can I have your phone?" He asks.

"What about yours?" JFK replies, holding the snacks against his chest with one arm while pulling his phone out of his back pocket nonetheless.

"It's dead. I forgot to charge it last night. And you know its battery doesn't do well in the cold."

"Neither does yours, apparently," John says under his breath, but he doesn't mean it as a jab.

Vincent ignores the boy's comment, choosing to interpret it as a joke. He begins punching numbers into Kennedy's calculator app, adding up the prices and writing down a grand total at the bottom of the Post-It. He peels it off from the rest of the pad and is about to stick it to the desk computer before deciding to leave their names and JFK's phone number, just in case.

John glances over Vincent's head at the neon green paper stuck to the computer and snickers to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing, just... are they going to know that we're clones? They might just think we're trolling them."

Van Gogh looks back at the Post-It and can't help but giggle. "God, you're right. Here, we can give ourselves fake names."

"I'll be Jack Kensington, FBI detective."

Vincent laughs, scribbling over the boy's real name. "I'm not writing the last part."

Kennedy shrugs. "Suit yourself." And then, "Who are you going to be?"

"I'll be Victor Hughes."

"That's so boring."

"Who should I be instead? Victor Frankenstein?"

"Yes! That's better."

Van Gogh rolls his eyes, but there's still a smile on his rose-painted lips. "No, that's ridiculous. I can't steal Mary Shelley's OC."

"OC!" Kennedy laughs. "Frankenstein is a classic novel!"

"Mary Shelley still thought of Victor Frankenstein herself! That's what an original character is."

JFK shrugs. "Fair enough."

John and Vincent walk back to the car in favourable silence, smiles still pulled taught across both of their lips. Van Gogh has to channel every ounce of restraint in his body to keep his lips from parting into an overeager grin. He can't remember the last time he was this happy. It's always been him and JFK, but never like this. There was always someone else in the picture, someone Kennedy had to get away from to tend to Gogh. But now, it's just the two of them without any responsibility. Just the boys and a shiny red convertible, with all the time in the world.

"Oh, wait, I have to run back inside real quick," John says, dumping his armfuls of snacks into the backseat.

Van Gogh freezes, his arm hovering above his seatbelt. "How come?"

Kennedy shifts uncomfortably, trying to pull a secure lie out of thin air. "Uhh... I think I left my phone on the counter in there. I'll be right back."

When the boy turns around, Vincent can see his bright red, caseless iPhone tucked into the back pocket of his khakis.

Vincent waits in the car, staring out the windshield and picking at a loose thread in his flannel pyjama pants. God, I can't believe I'm wearing these out, he thinks. They're so ugly. Who even wears flannel anymore?

Kennedy comes out of the general store four minutes later, hugging two pairs of dark green rain boots to his chest.

"It's not raining, John. It's just fog," Vincent says with a smirk as the boy gets into the car.

He passes the smaller pair of boots to his best friend. "I had to guess your size. Six, right?"

Vincent takes the boots skeptically. "Yes... What are these for?"

JFK looks at Van Gogh with a wide grin. The grey light from the fog bounces off the white of his teeth. "You'll see! Just put them on."

Van Gogh obeys, and begins untying his Keds. His socks only go up to his ankles which may be a problem in the boots, but he doesn't care. His stomach is doing that whirlpool thing again, but this time, it feels good. He could drown, but it wouldn't hurt because he knows he'd be drowning in Kennedy.

John exchanges his sneakers for the boots before buckling his seatbelt and starting the car. He holds one hand over the clutch, the other draped over the steering wheel. He turns to his passenger, the orange of his hair bright against the cool paleness of his skin. JFK sinks in his brown eyes, but it's not suffocating like it usually is. His stare is soft, inviting. Kennedy relaxes, his eyes smiling in conversation. "Ready?"

Vincent nods eagerly. "Yeah. Yes, I'm ready."

The boys drive through town, and Vincent is convinced that they're lost. He's about to open his mouth in protest, but JFK shushes him. "We're almost there, I promise."

"Do you actually know where we're going?"

John giggles. "Yes, I know where we're going! I know you're not used to not being in control, but please trust me."

The comment stings, Vincent has to admit. But paired up with please trust me, he lets it go. He does trust JFK. He didn't always, but he does right now. Their silence is pleasant, and Kennedy says he knows where they're going.

Kennedy stops the car at the far end of town, past all the houses. The thick grove of trees is spread out through the windshield, but there's still a fair bit of marshland in front of them, sticky and wet under the car.

"Your tires are going to get so dirty," Vincent comments.

JFK leans forward to pinch the boy's cheek. "Nobody cares about that except for you, Vinny." He opens the car door and climbs out, the mud of the marsh oozing around his boots.

Vincent, still in warm and gooey shock from the nickname, melts into his seat until Kennedy knocks on the window. "Hey, Minivan! You coming, or what?"

Van Gogh pushes the door open, playfully knocking John in the hip. "I'm coming!"

The boys slosh through the marsh, the mud squeaking beneath their boots. Vincent nearly slips and has to grab onto Kennedy's arm for support. JFK sneaks a glance at the boy, smiling to himself as he struggles to keep steady through the wet earth. John stealthily wraps his arm around Vincent's torso, pulling him close and holding him firmly. Van Gogh slings his own arm across John's back, letting the boy support him as he walks through the uneven terrain.

"Thank god you bought us boots," Vincent laughs nervously, an unsure headache starting to set in. His nostrils are clogged with the scent of JFK; this, too, is uneven terrain.

John glances down at the boy affectionately, his gaze soft. "I know you don't like to get dirty, Vincent."

Van Gogh looks up at Kennedy then, and it's a miracle the taller boy had looked away before Vincent could catch him staring.

They walk through the marsh, commenting and giggling, pointing out frogs and funny-shaped pebbles and whatever thoughts pop into their heads. The boys sneak glances at each other as they walk and talk, their stomaches lurching with excitement and nervousness each time they think the other might've caught them staring.

At one moment, though, Vincent and John glance at each other at the same time, their cheeks immediately flushing pink as they look into each other's eyes. Neither of them look away, waiting for the other to say something, to know if this is safe territory or not.

Van Gogh takes a deep breath in preparation to speak at the same time that Kennedy says, "Vincent."

His voice is breathy and serious, and Vincent can't look away. He swallows. "John."

Gogh takes a deep, shaky breath, summoning all the courage he has left in him. "I really want to..." He lets his voice trail off into the cool April air, his eyes flicking between Kennedy's lips and the rest of his face.

"I know," JFK replies. He opens his mouth to agree, but his voice gets stuck in his throat. Instead, he repeats himself. "I know."

"Can I?"

"Yes," John replies too quickly.

It doesn't matter to Vincent. Consent is consent, and he's been waiting for his best friend's for years. He hasn't known it until now, but it's an explanation for all of his stomachaches, all of the twisting he felt in his chest when he saw JFK with Cleo, with other girls.

His eyes flutter shut as he raises himself to his tiptoes, shifting his arm from Kennedy's back to cradle the nape of his neck. John leans down to meet him halfway, his arm still wrapped tightly around the boy's abdomen. Their lips brush softly, innocently, and Vincent is immediately filled up with butterflies, their wings eager and flapping rapidly against the inner walls of his body.

JFK kisses back just as softly, and it's a different kiss than anything he's ever felt. His stomach knots itself with excitement, and he's falling through the sky, but he knows he's going to have a soft landing.

Vincent breaks away first, his eyes staying shut for a millisecond longer than they need to.

"I've been waiting years for that," JFK replies, his voice low and his eyes twinkling.

"How long?" Van Gogh whispers back, his tone just as light.

"I don't know."

"Me neither."

"Can we go again?" Kennedy asks after a moment, his eye contact with Van Gogh never breaking for a second.

Vincent nods, and John leans in. They are arms wrapped around torsos and around necks, hands in hair and on faces. In this moment, Van Gogh doesn't mind the ooze of the mud beneath his feet, and Kennedy doesn't mind the stillness of the kiss.

#limitless #clone high jfk #clone high van gogh #jfgogh