OK SO CELEBRITY AU

so the whole concept starts off with lark getting discovered in college. she’s in a show or something and her voice is amazing and catches the attention of an agent (i think mr. geller, who in regular world owns the vinesgrove with his wife but who in this world is an agent) who immediately rockets her to stardom. she of course has no idea what to do with being a megastar, and tries to keep running her own errands and wearing untailored clothes off the rack. she needs a lot of help, basically. you were right about manager david--he comes on to help keep her out of trouble and on track.

donnie, of course, is like “i’m going to ride her coattails for all they’re worth” and becomes a fashion designer/icon. alexa runs his studio and is incredibly exasperated with all of his shenanigans--she’s also the one who is caught in a compromising position with him and they have to fake date (best trope).

fox is lark’s BODYGUARD (which! i die) who develops this huge awkward crush on her. like she’s his employer!! he should not be in love with her!! but whoops he is. ethan, who is mr. geller’s favorite stylist, pushes him to be more honest with her. eventually he trusts her enough to show her his poetry, and she has dave help get it published. then they smooch.

toby and mags are a pair of deadmaus/daft punk like indie video game designers. toby does the code and mags does the art and they get super famous for their game series, think undertale or fnaf or minecraft, that level of fame. they however have no desire to be recognized wherever they go so at all press events (mr. geller is their manager too) they wear matching digital emoticon masks. lark and donnie do voices in their series, and thats how they become friends.

bunny is a rival celebrity who’s always trying to make trouble for lark. she fucks up her interviews, makes a big fuss on twitter, and at one point steals her song. she’s jealous because lark is the new ‘it’ girl.

“You're too good for this world,” he says when she brings him a cup of coffee on his fifth hour of studying.

“You're too good for this world,” he sighs as she kneads knots out of his back, products of long hours hunched over a pottery wheel.

“You're too good for this world,” he whispers as she sleeps in his arms for the first time.

But when he tries to sign it, it never comes out right. ‘You world good.’ ‘The good world.’ ‘Globe you good.’ It never works.

But one day, when he’s toweling off her hair and putting in product to keep the chlorine green away (she could do it herself, but she likes how his hands feel) he sees her do it. Sees the words in the right order. He pounces in front of her, startling her. ‘Stop. Again.’

‘What?’

‘Again, please, again.’

Her expression is quizzical but her hands are sure as she signs, ‘You're too good for this world.’

He repeats it, hands shakier than hers, less confident. ‘You're too good for this world. You're too good for this world. You're too good for this world.’

“So who is she?” Bunny demanded from the apartment doorway.

Tethys fought down the urge to yell, keeping his voice calm as he said, “Do not vorry about it.”

“It’s that girl, isn’t it,” Bunny sneered. She folded her arms and leaned her hip on the molding. “Alexa’s kid. Isn’t she a little young?”

“You’re vone to talk.”

“Never pegged you for a cradle-robber.”

“Strong vords. Our age difference is de same as dis vone.”

“Oh yeah, and our relationship is just the bastion of emotional stability,” Bunny scoffed, pleased when Tethys flinched. “And she’s already got a kid! Can’t believe you’re such a cuckold–”

“Stop,” Tethys said, quiet but firm, and to his surprise, she stopped. “I am only here to get my tings. Do you still have?”

“They’re in the garbage. Go hunt them down like the piece of dirt you are.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and stared him down with her bright green eyes. “Go to hell, Bolotnikov.”

Fox comes home with a grin on his face that could light up a disco ball and Lark falls in love again. They’d been living together, actually living together and not just ‘oh i guess you can stay here tonight’, for about a year and while he often came home and smiled at her, she rarely saw him lit up before he passed the threshold.

"What are you so happy about?" Lark asks, switching the mixing bowl full of brownie batter to her other arm.

He tosses his coat on the couch, carefully concealing something behind his back. “Can’t a man come home ta his beautiful girlfriend already happy?”

“Sure, if you’re not George Fox.”

“Och, tsk, hurtful, lass,” he chastises, tutting a finger under her nose, the smile never wavering.

“Seriously, what happened?”

“Why did anything have to happen? ‘Tis a beautiful day, sun’s shinin’, bird’s singin’--I sold a fecking book!”

Lark gasps and practically throws the batter bowl onto the counter in her shock. “Fox, no you didn’t!”

“Hold on a mo’, hold on!” he laughs, revealing the letter he’d had hidden behind his back. “Mr. George Fox, after careful consideration--”

“No way--”

“We at Wildflower Press, Inc. have elected--”

“No way!”

@dothewhatnots, @givemethebits

Toby’s hands were flying. ‘We are not going to steal someone’s dog.’

Mags was half speaking, half signing, trying to get all the words out but only managing to make half of them accessible. “That’s not someone’s dog,” he said, hands shaking, voice quavering. “Look at it. Toby, look at it, that’s not someone’s dog.”

Rosie, their German Shepherd, had been the one to alert the two to the puppy’s presence. Rosie had been from a litter of service dogs and was a sister to Fox’s PTSD dog Ivy, but Rosie had been too emotional to be a proper service dog, too interested in sniffing out friends. But her instincts were usually right, which is why when she’d started barking bloody murder on 15th street, Mags had pulled over, and when he’d opened the door to let her use the bathroom and she’d instead taken off like a shot, they’d followed.

Rosie was lying on her belly in front of the puppy, brown eyes wide, trying to gauge whether to approach. The puppy didn’t have enough energy to respond. Its skin was tight and dehydrated, you could count every rib without even approaching. A piece of cord was wrapped around its neck and tied to a stake.

Toby was watching it with conflicted eyes. ‘There’s a leash.’

“That’s not a leash!” Mags nearly screeched, trying so hard to keep calm and not scare it. “That’s nothing!”

‘We should call animal control.’

“So it can go to a shelter and get put down?” Mags drops to all fours and begins crawling towards it, making her unable to read, “I don’t think so.”

Toby stamped and signed but Mags didn’t listen, instead approaching the puppy as carefully as possible and slowly, gently, reaching out. The dog didn’t bite, only weakly dropped its head into Mags’s palm while his other hand shakily undid the knot in the cord. He scooped it up (her up, he could now see) and cradled her like he’d cradled Rosie six years ago. She struggled, briefly and mostly for show, before settling in.

Toby’s heart was melting with each second, but in a final plea, she signed, ‘What if it has a disease?’

Between them, Pat is asleep, head lolling onto Tethys’s tattooed forearm, feet tucked onto Poppy’s lap.

Tethys is running his hand through Pat’s hair absentmindedly, feeling its thinness, its toddler softness that will soon get coarser but for now is like the down of a newborn chick. The television is bathing his blue hair bluer, dancing off his cheekbones, off Pat’s eyelids, off Poppy’s hands and fingernails. It’s quiet. It’s comfortable.

"I tried my best not to feel anything for you,” Poppy says. Tethys shakes himself out of the tiny pocket of warmth he’d nestled them into and looks over at her. She’s looking right back at him, smile teasing her face. “Guess what?”

He grins. “Vhat?”