
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2713985.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Holy_Trinity_(YouTube_RPF), Video_Blogging_RPF
  Relationship:
      Grace_Helbig/Mamrie_Hart, Hannah_Hart/Grace_Helbig, Mamrie_Hart/Hannah
      Hart, Grace_Helbig/Mamrie_Hart/Hannah_Hart, Mamrie_Hart/Chester_See,
      Hannah_Hart/Sarah_Weichel, Grace_Helbig/OMC
  Character:
      Grace_Helbig, Hannah_Hart, Mamrie_Hart
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Teen_Romance, First_Time
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-12-03 Words: 1974
****** years i'll never forget ******
by joshwrites
Summary
     a look back in time at what the trinity girls could have been like in
     high school, complete au.
     mentions of master and swarto relationships but the main focus is on
     hartsquaredbig
Notes
     originally posted on my tumblr as 'breaking all the rules'
(Grace)
Grace at seventeen is nobody. She blends into the hallways in high school,
disappears into the wooden grooves of her desk. She’s smart, she knows that.
But deadly shy, head buried in science books and comics. She wishes for glasses
to hide behind, feels like Clark Kent much more than Superman.
But then she meets Mamrie, a beautiful blur of long red tresses, bold and
confident always moving and joking and getting into trouble, and Hannah, with
her ripped jeans, blouse opened just a button too low and a loose tie around
her neck that looks completely out of place. Mamrie has a sparkle in her eyes
that means ‘come play with me’, smells like the wind, always has dirt under her
fingernails. Hannah is funny in the completely unintentional way, clever, tries
to talk her way out of everything, teachers can’t help but love the both of
them. And Grace, implausibly, does too.
Mamrie teaches her how to shoplift cigarettes. Has an old, rundown car that
won’t start some evenings, so they just sit in it until it does, wrapped in
clouds of smoke, listening to mix tapes. Hannah touches her, whenever she’s
trying to make a point. A poke to the side, a hand on her arm, a casual bump
against her shoulder.
Grace has to hide her blush every time.
…
Grace’s hair turns grey in her early thirties. She dyes it at first out of some
sense of misplaced vanity, but eventually grows to like the pale silver. She
keeps it long and loose, fluttering around her shoulders.
She gets pregnant at thirty-two after a short affair with her boss at UCB. He
breaks it off as soon as she tells him and hands her an envelope with two
hundred dollars inside to get an abortion. She keeps the envelope in her coat
pocket for days, thumbs the paper edges of it as she imagines stroking the
ridges in a baby foot, tracing tiny toes with her lips. She keeps the money as
she keeps the baby, hidden somewhere warm and secret, imagines it glowing as a
fervent wish deep inside her.
Motherhood surprises her in its intensity, the deep warm meatiness of it, the
milk leaking achingly from her breasts, the surges of hungry desire for this
little thing that she’s made.
She enjoys naming him Luke after Star Wars and having no one to contradict her.
…
She becomes daring. Huge, when they’re all together. They climb the fence of
the school’s soccer field after hours, smoke pot on the grass, giggle over
nothing. Everything is bright, so clear:
The scrunch of Hannah’s button nose as she giggles at something Mamrie said.
The flash of Mamrie’s arm as she ties her hair back with a practiced move. She
forgets a strand or two, and they move softly in the breeze. Grace reaches out
her hand, and twirls one around her finger. Mamrie smiles warmly, and presses
her lips to the inside of Grace’s wrist.
Hannah moves behind her, and Grace can feel the soft press of her breasts. She
shivers.
…
At forty, Grace’s stomach is softer, her breasts lower, her hips wider. She
traces her skin in bed at night, carefully catalogues the body that pregnancy
and life left her, and tries to imagine someone loving her ever again. She
can’t.
Sometimes, she still dreams, arches with pleasure against soft curves, traces
long hair, kisses parted lips. It’s always two bodies next to her instead of
one.
…
(Hannah)
Hannah at fifteen already knows she prefers girls but tries to make up for it
by fucking a handful of grateful, bedazzled boys first. A teacher once, too.
They do absolutely nothing for her so she systematically seduces them, kisses
them, lets them slobber all over her, come in warm spurts against her thigh,
and then drops them. She doesn’t care about the reputation that earns her,
doesn’t care about much of anything. Until Grace, who is a senior and
stunningly beautiful but doesn’t know it yet (will never know it). Until
Mamrie, who’s irresistible, who both dares and completes her.
Once she figures out how to masturbate she spends countless hours in her bed,
on the bathroom floor, even in the school toilets, fantasizing about them.
Fervently pushing her fingers inside herself, filling up some ache, shivering
and flushing in turn as if she has a fever. It feels like dreaming.
It’s because of her, in the end, that they’re a tangle of heavy limbs on a
sunny soccer field. Because of her courage and lips, finding Mamrie’s, then
Grace’s, and Hannah has never felt more real in her life than between the two
of them, trading heated kisses.
…
Hannah studies English lit in college. The first year she has a professor who
likes to glance down her blouse, or accidentally touch her ass as she walks by.
He teaches a class on how men in stories make their own fate, while women are
defined by their children, their mothers, their lovers. Hannah writes a
detailed essay on all the reasons why he is a chauvinist pig and gets expelled.
She changes her major to women’s studies.
She meets Sarah years later, at a party. Sarah’s a high-profile lawyer, hates
kids, wants the career and she’s nothing like either Grace or Mamrie were, so
Hannah goes down on her an hour later in the garden’s hot tub and greedily
listens to this perfect, composed woman beg. They move into a San Francisco
loft after a month, adopt an ailing cat from a shelter, and then another,
because they’re never home and one cat gets lonely. It works well, for a long
time.
…
Hannah touches Grace, under a blanket on the old couch in Mamrie’s dad’s
garage. Her heart is hammering in her chest while she traces Grace’s stomach,
then the line of her panties. Mamrie is pasted to Grace’s side and they’re
kissing languidly, noses nudging against cheekbones. Grace’s hand is pressed
between Mamrie’s jeans-clad thighs, and when Hannah’s fingers finally inch
under her waistband, Grace twists and looks at her in surprise. She’s wet,
slippery down there and very warm and Hannah rubs her fingers around, gets used
to the feeling, slowly pressing one finger inside while Grace bites her lower
lip, hard.
It’s completely quiet but for the sound of them moving. Hannah feels
swelteringly adult, meeting Mamrie’s eyes and seeing her nervousness reflected
there, sweat pearling up on the side of her face and in the creases of her
knees. Her hand starts to cramp up by the time Grace makes an “oh” sound and,
as by accident, trembles into an orgasm.
She tries Mamrie next.
…
Hannah fills out a bit throughout the years, changes from the hipless beanpole
she was in high school into a curvier middle-age. She keeps her hair short and
shaves the sides of her head, it’s cool now apparently. She can still rock a
suit if she feels like it but usually just opts for the shirt and tie look. Her
fondness for ties hasn’t changed one bit. At thirty-eight Sarah leaves her for
an organic farmer and in a secret, vindictive part of her mind Hannah is
relieved, because Sarah was never it at all. She couldn’t be.
She writes a self-deprecating stand-up routine about it, steps onto a free
podium in a small lesbo bar and brings down the house. Within the year she
leaves her well-paid job at an NGO to do stand-up full-time. One day she hears
Grace’s name in relation to UCB and surprises herself with the flash of longing
she feels at that, the thought of Grace on a stage somewhere as well. She
wonders if Mamrie is with her.
…
(Mamrie)
Mamrie at sixteen is all curves and bumps and extra skin that she doesn’t want.
She’s not big though, she just needs to lay off the chocolate milkshakes for a
while. She’s extremely self-deprecating towards her own body but at the same
time, she fucking owns it. She doesn’t let anyone know that she’s ashamed of
her figure in any way, shape or form. If anyone even tries to call her out on
her size she’s not afraid to tell them exactly where to go.
She is the much-appreciated girl after four older brothers, and even after her
belly starts cramping vindictively one day and she bleeds through her school
uniform skirt, she doesn’t feel very female.
Mamrie feels constantly distracted by Hannah and Grace, gets obsessed with the
smallest details. Grace licking her lips. The minuscule hairs on Hannah’s
forearm, and how they rise up as she gets touched. The obscene beauty of their
bare legs tangled under a table. The shadow of Grace’s nipples under her white
shirt, and the way Mamrie’s allowed to touch them, trace them through the
fabric while Grace breathes quick, moist breaths into the side of her neck and
then pulls her into a kiss.
Every night she takes off her clothes in a dark bathroom, ignores the mirror
and presses her naked self against the cold tiles of the wall. It sends a
shiver through her whole body, points her nipples to the point of pain, and she
imagines them on the other side, doing the same.
…
Mamrie never goes to college. She works in an Applebee’s for a year or so, then
shocks her parents by moving out to the city to try acting. She ends up working
in a bar, where she meets a waiter named Chester with a nice smile and a nicer
cock. Twenty years later they’re married and have three kids and a mortgage and
a mini-van and she never intended this, she thinks. Every choice feels as if it
made sense, at the time. As if it was the right thing to do. But now, looking
back, she hates herself for every single one of them because she could have had
so much more.
Mamrie is thin now, even after three kids, she turned vegan when she fell a
couple months pregnant with their first child. Little Anthony. Thinking back,
she wishes she’d been vegan all her life. That documentary really fucked her
up. Her shoulders have stooped a little and her stomach is a mess of scars. Her
feet have grown ugly after years of working in heels, and she has wrinkles
around her eyes. Chester is a decent man, she thinks, but then that’s all she
can manage to think about him. He doesn’t live inside her body, he doesn’t
thrill her, shake her, no memories of him make her breath catch. She wants to
leave him.
…
The pale skin between Hannah’s thighs tastes like salt.
It’s a week before the school year ends and they’re leaving each other.
Hannah’s panties are bunched up on Grace’s bedroom floor, there’s wetness
spread over Mamrie’s cheeks and nose and fingers and hair, and her tongue is
getting numb. Hannah is draped over the bed with Grace licking her breasts, she
groans and tenses her back. The light catches her glistening upper thighs,
trembling stomach, and her muscles move in some complicated dance under
Mamrie’s talented tongue as she comes.
Mamrie feels like a warrior.
Later both Grace and Hannah catch her as she falls. More and more.
…
And it’s silly but after two decades those memories still hit her with a dark
heat, burning in her stomach. Desire. Shame too, for longing after two women
that are probably nothing at all like her now.
It’s all about choices, Mamrie feels, and she tries to accept the past, day
after day. 


Until one day she thinks “fuck it” and goes to rummage through an old box that
has a booklet with phone numbers written in faded orange and red.
She tracks down Grace’s parents, then Hannah’s sister.


They meet in the middle.
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