The Cast Of Skins Is Perfectly Normal, Actually

Rated: M
Genre: Humor/Romance
Words: 4068
Warnings: Written by Sophy.

Effy thought she had finally seen the last of John Foster when she had a lovely farewell conversation with him despite having wept at the sight of him previously.

She really, really thought she’d seen the last of him when Cook bashed him to death with his own baseball bat.

And yet somehow, here he was, with a shiny new bat in hand, ‘For the use of John Foster only’ engraved on its side.

Katie leapt out from under the covers of the hospital bed, stood hands-on-hips before him in a fabulous matching bra and knickers set.

“We don’t want you,” she lisped fiercely. “Fuck off.”

Foster smiled knowingly, and pulled a pen from his pocket.

Katie frowned like she was about to say something about goths and the pitfalls of associating them. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Making a point,” Foster said, being careful to click the top of the pen to coincide with his emphasis.

Katie shrugged, snorted, raised an eyebrow – basically she continued to behave as though she were standing in front of a pack of wild goths. “I don’t get your point, okay?” she said. She turned back to Effy. “Do you get his point, babe?”

Effy nodded solemnly. A single tear slid down her creamy cheek. “He’s going to bludgeon you to death because I’m fit and mysterious,” she said dolefully.

Katie turned to look at John Foster, who was fondling his bat menacingly. She looked back at Effy again. Then back at Foster. “Christ, this is like a bad episode of a bad soap,” she exclaimed.

“Don’t say that,” Effy interjected pleadingly, finally deigning to get out of bed. “It’s not all bad. We did fuck like rabbits in it.”

Katie grinned despite herself, pulled one of the feathers from her angel wings out of her lover’s hair.

Then she remembered Foster and the bludgeoning and put her hands back on her hips. “Look arsehole,” she said firmly but politely, “Nobody is going to bash this bitch to death, okay? We clear on that?”

“I’m sorry, Katie,” Foster said grimly, whilst grimly shaking his head, “I can’t let you have her.”

I’m sorry, John,” Katie replied, stepping closer to him like the BAMF she is, “You don’t get to decide who Effy shags. Are we clear?

Foster just shook his head again, his eyes narrowing, his grip on the bat tightening.

“She really did love you,” he murmured as he lifted his weapon.

“NO I DIDN’T!” Effy screamed suddenly. “I mean…” she added in shocked silence. “I mean I don’t. I don’t love her at all. I was only shagging her to cover up my affair with… with…” She cast around frantically for what to say, for a name, any name but that of her beloved Scrapey. She searched her memory for faces, her memory and then the room, only to find it empty, of course, except for the three of them, it was empty and hopeless, it was all completely –

But the door was open, and just before Foster raised his bat again she saw him, down the corridor, a smallish, wiry man in a brightly coloured jumper, hopping toward them.

He was hopping, literally, and accompanying his dance with a chorus of “I’m hopping mad! Hopping mad! Hopping mad mad mad MADISON TWATTER!”

“THAT GUY!” Effy yelled at an unreasonably high volume. “I’M TOTALLY FUCKING IN LOVE WITH THAT GUY WITH THE SEXY FUCKING MOUSTACHE.” She turned back to Foster, folded her arms and lowered her voice. “Now I’ve told you, okay?” she said. “Now you know.”

Katie forgot all about Foster again, turned Effy around to face her, stared at her in what could only be described as bewildered anguish. “What are you saying, Eff? You don’t… want me?”

Effy stayed as still as possible and said in a practiced monotone, making sure that the constipated expression on her face would make it obvious to all but the thickest of thickies that she didn’t mean what she was saying: “You just don’t belong in my world, Katie.”

“What are you on about?” Katie asked, stepping closer to her love. “We grew up around the corner from each other.”

“Look, Katie!” Effy screeched in desperation. “You don’t want to be in my world! Seriously there are…” She glanced at Foster, steeled herself. “There are horizon-Sophias in my world okay?! You don’t want – “

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t find me attractive,” Katie demanded, finishing the line properly unlike some people who are probably dead because of it according to Jamie Brittain.

Effy faltered, her resolve crumbling at the sight of the lingerie-clad goddess of the new millennium before her.

“I… I…” she stuttered.

But before she could give herself away Twatter popped his head around the door. “Did you say something about my moustache, girl?” he asked Effy, his voice as cold as the ice on the iciest mountains in Iceland.

“Um no… darling…” Effy said haltingly. Then she quickly pointed at Foster and said “He did.”

Instantly a struggle ensued, and Effy and Katie fled to strains of I can’t let you have her and Am I a doctor or do I have a pretty huge dick?

They went straight to Goa, for that is where lesbians goa.

(Except Mandeh. They don’t let you in without a date and she is a giant fondling smelly bitch without a date – body pillows don’t count, whether you name them or not.)

For a while it looked like Twatter was dead meat. Foster did have the bat, after all, and for some unknown and dramatically convenient reason no hospital staff were around anywhere and nobody heard the furniture breaking or the constant screaming about dicks and creatures of instinct.

Twatter was pinned against the wall, wheezing for breath, his eyes bulging in what he hoped was a menacing and mad way. Still, no amount of posturing could save him now. Foster raised the bat, and with a mighty roar brought it crashing down into another man’s palm.

He was small and wiry, bug-eyed and greasy-haired.

He was wielding the bat now and his name was Johnny White.

Within seconds, Foster was no more.

Johnny White and Madison Twatter didn’t bother to dispose of his body or any shit like that. They went and bought some donuts instead and ate them adorably at a bus stop. Then they went home and played with some of Johnny White’s toys. It was a good time.

When Cook saw holiday snaps of Effy on facebook flaunting her newfound Sapphic bliss for all to see, he was devastated. He felt as though he had lost everything: Effy was a lesbian and had been in love with Katie Fucking Fitch all along, JJ was in love with nappies and having his face urinated on, Freddie was… Freddie was dead.

“Dead!” Cook screamed, remembering his best friend’s bloody clothes, which his murderer had folded and packed neatly in plastic baggies for no good reason.

“HE’S DEAD!” Cook screamed again, tears pissing down his face as he ran to the bathroom, slammed and locked the door, lunged toward the bathtub and grabbed the sponge.

He pressed it to his (naked) chest and slumped down next to the toilet.

“He’s dead…” he whispered through tears.

The sponge squelched soapily in reply.

“Oh Sponge…” he whimpered, tenderly caressing it as he cried himself to sleep on the cold, tiled floor.


Nobody else except Karen minded too much about Freddie being dead, and a bunch of them had decided to get together at his shed and have another party – purely because it was a convenient location.

“Hello my friends,” Thomas said when he arrived, “Very pleased to see you all. This is my new friend, Unnamed Trainer. He made me this tee shirt as a going away present.”

Thomas looked lovingly down at his tee shirt which had ‘YOUNG BLOOD’ printed on it, then lovingly up at his new BFF. “I will wear it every day at Harvard, Unnamed,” he said with a fond smile.

“Young Blood!” Pandora squealed, jumping up and down like a small child or grasshopper or a baby grasshopper who was very excited. “There’s this whizzer bar on another continent that sells that stuff. We should go!”

Abigail appeared out of nowhere, along with the rest of the gen 1 cast, except for Chris of course, who we all know is sadly dead and couldn’t possibly be there. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked Pandora up and down. “I think you mean True Blood. And it’s not whizzer, it’s safe. Only mummy says we mustn’t go there because we’ll all die.”

“FUCK IT!” said Chris.

“Yeah, fuck it!” Jal agreed heartily. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she realized whom she was agreeing with!

“Chris!” she exclaimed, rushing into his arms. “I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!”

“Well, I was, pretty much,” Chris mumbled into her neck as he hugged her tightly. “They sent me to this hell dimension that’s full of prawns. It was pucking mental.”

“But…” Jal said, through tears of joy, “How did you get out?!”

Chris straightened up and nodded toward Abigail. “You tell her Abs,” he said with the quiet reverence with which one addresses one’s hero.

Abigail sighed and rolled her eyes, like she didn’t want to be the centre of attention. “You’re embarrassing, me, yah Chris,” she said. Then she tossed her hair again and spoke rapidly. “So like, I was sort of at a loose end when I finished with college, yah, and I thought it would be, like, totally safe to move to LA and get into the movie business, since I’m like, such a good model, yah Tony?” She batted her eyelids his way without missing a beat. “Anyway don’t ask me how, but I wound up working for this detective agency and like, realized I’m totally not shallow, yah, and also I have some supernatural powers, so I opened a portal between – “

“WHIZZER!” Pandora squealed, even more loudly than she had before. “Open a portal to the club so we can all go get pucked up and surf and turf with vampires!”

Thomas shot her a disapproving look and she looked down, bit her lip, looked back at him and said “No Thommo, it’s not what you think. I know what surf and turf really means now. I’m only interested in the steak and crustaceans, I sw – “

Abigail interrupted her with an exasperated sigh. “It doesn’t work like that. The portals I open can lead us to very dangerous places and mummy says it’s never safe if you’re all going to – “

“Oh wow!” Cassie exclaimed. “We don’t need a portal. I have lots of money when people need to go to the US. Lovely.”

And so it was that the entire cast of Skins (except Katie and Effy, who were busy soliloquising each other, except Cook who was sitting on a bathroom floor weeping, except Karen who was doing the same, except Freddie because he was 100% dead, Kaya even cryed a bit, except Sketch, because she was busy making a blog with her other half Sophia, and except Maxxie and Anwar, because, well, they were irrelevant) went to Fangtasia.

They arrived at the bar shortly before midnight and were escorted straight to a tall, blonde, Nordic God of a vampire man, with whom everyone was instantly in love.

Even Emily was so entranced that she looked to be in danger of switching sides. But just as she stepped, glassy-eyed and willing, towards him, a shorter, scruffier-haired vampire burst into the club and bellowed, in a ridiculously awesome ridiculous Southern accent “HE IS BUT GLAMOURING YOU, LITTLE GIRL. YOU MUST ENDEAVOUR NAHT TO SUCCUMB. I TRUST YOU WILL HEED MAH WARNING.”

A short, blonde girl followed a second after and rushed to his side. “Beel,” she said, in an exasperated tone, “We cayn’t just barge in here and assyume Eric is glamouring these people! I mean…” She faltered, looked at the tall, blonde, Nordic God of a vampire man before her. “… he is somewhat attractive in his own rahght.”

Beel shook his head. “Why Suckeh,” he said, gesturing toward Naomi and Emily, “These two are plainly lesbians in a committed relaytionship. It cannaht be natural for them to look so at a person of the mayle gendah.”

Suckeh’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said. Then she smiled shyly yet overly enthusiastically and added “Hah there, I’m bahsexual.”

“SUCKEH IS MAHN!” Beel declared loudly to Emily and Naomi and anyone who cared to listen.

Then he got down to business trying to save Emily from Eric’s deliciously evil wiles. He tried in vain to snap her out of it, even by attempting to glamour her himself, but in the end, all that would do or was needed was to remove certain articles of clothing from Naomi’s body and direct Emily’s gaze appropriately.

Meanwhile, Michelle was at the bar knocking back vodka shots and having a sad.

Tonyyyyyy,” she whined. “You promised me that if I came back to Bristol I’d get to meet the new HBIC. I’ve talked to everyone on this jaunt and not one of them has made me want to bitch-slap them and make sweet love to them at the same time.”

She cried into her soup as Tony looked on sympathetically and thought about how to solve this. There was a lot of water under the bridge, but he still felt sort of bad for having fairly consistently been the mother of all douches to her BV (before van.)

“It’s alright Nips,” he said (he’d decided he didn’t feel bad enough to give up ‘Nips’), “Like Cassie I also have a lot of money when people need to go to the US. I’m sure it will work the other way. You’ll be back in Bristol and having hate-sex with your doppelganger in no time.”

“Thanks Tone,” Michelle said tearily. “I’m so glad that van hit you.” Then she straightened suddenly as she caught sight of something over his shoulder. “What the fuck?!” she exclaimed. “Cassie actually has Sid on a leash now?”

And so it was that the entire Skins cast (except etc etc) returned to Bristol.

(Nobody died – mostly because Cassie wandered around smiling toothily, dragging her gimp behind her, and everyone assumed she was some kind of supremely powerful, potentially vicious higher being who was not to be trifled with. Things did get a bit scary though, when Suckeh attempted to molest Naomi. Emily’s a biter. All the vampires were impressed.)

Michelle couldn’t believe her luck when the HBIC, who was sporting a tan irrelevantly similar to the one Effy had brought back from Goa, showed up at the Stonems’ house where Michelle was staying! It was as though Katie Fucking Fitch had come just to see her.

Michelle was naturally thrilled by the way their spirits had been drawn to one another, and proceeded to engage in aggressive-coy banter with her doppelganger.

It was all going swimmingly between them until Michelle suggested they go upstairs and take their clothes off.

Katie’s eyes widened. “Uh… no,” she said, in response.

Michelle’s brow furrowed. “But we’re supposed to have hatesex. It’s the only thing that can happen when two HBICs meet. Something about an unstoppable force and an immoveable object, IDK, Katie, let’s get it on.”

“Uh… no,” Kate said again. When Michelle’s brow did not unfurrow, Katie sighed. “Look, not gonna lie, I like you, babe. But it just wouldn’t work.”

Michelle didn’t unfurrow and go away, so Katie sighed again. “ME, MUFFMUNCHER,” she explained patiently and condescendingly. “YOU, COCKCRUNCHER.”

At that moment Emily appeared beside her and said, with genuine kindness “Yeah, look, it just wouldn’t work out.”

Naomi popped up beside Emily and added “She’s right, you know. I mean, unless you’re like me, and realize that you actually just wanted to literally bite the cocks off all along.”

Michelle’s nose wrinkled and she found herself thinking how she really liked Tony’s penis and would hate for it to be bitten off. She pushed such thoughts out of her head. She and Tony were over she insisted unconvincingly to herself, and Katie was her destiny, no matter how wrong it felt. She looked up with puppy-dog eyes and said “I can change?”

“Uh… no,” was Katie’s reply.

Effy came down the stairs nodding enigmatically in agreement. “Michelle,” she said, “Howyooooo!”

Then she draped herself wantonly over Katie Fucking Fitch, raised an eyebrow at Michelle as she whispered a husky “Morning, babe,” into Katie’s skin.

Michelle fled the house in floods of tears.

Outside on the street was Posh Kenneth, who had come to comfort her, along with misc Skins cast. “It’s alright, baby love,” he said suavely and charmingly as only he could, “It just wasn’t meant to be. Don’t be down.”

“Yeah!” Pandora agreed hurriedly. “Don’t do your wrist any harm, alright?”

Michelle rolled her eyes and nodded glumly.

“Look Chelle,” said Panda, putting an arm around her shoulder, “It’s not your fault. It’s just that… really, if you think about it, even back in gen 1 Effy was more of a HBIC than you.” She smiled in that sympathetic and dopey Pandora way and clarified “I mean, case in point, the episode where I was introduced to the world? She was moving everyone around like pawns on a chessboard, including you. I guess what’s happened with her and Katie was destiny. Like, an unstoppable force and an immovable object or something. IDK.”

Michelle’s eyes narrowed as she turned her head.

“Don’t be down,” Panda said helpfully.

Michelle was about to get her HBIC on right then and there and prove everyone wrong, but she was distracted by the sight of JJ nuzzling an infant.

She made a retching sound of disgust and Pandora followed her gaze. “THAT’S BABY LOVE!” she exclaimed in shock.

“It’s perfectly normal actually,” JJ said, cradling the baby to his chest defensively. “It so happens that I’ve imprinted on Albert; that’s what drew me to Lara in the first place.”

Misc Skins cast stared at him in open-mouthed horror and loathing.

“Ours is a forever love,” JJ said after a beat.

When nobody moved or said a word, he added “It’s perfectly normal actually.”

He was about to haughtily explain to them that nothing of any remotely romantic or sexual nature would happen between them until Albert was of age, other than a little perfectly normal nuzzling, when something happened that made everyone forget all about the “imprinting”.

Cook! Running (naked) down the street! Screaming “I’M GETTING MARRIED IN THE MORNING!”

Cook’s eyes shone with unshed tears as he slid the ring on his love’s finger. “I’ve loved you since the day you showed up with a gateau,” he said tremblingly. “I think I was twelve…”

Michael Scofield cocked his head to one side, his forehead creasing like he was trying to figure out how to make a bomb out of a hair-clip and a packet of coco pops.

Cook smiled sheepishly. “Well…” he conceded, “My memory is a bit fucked on account of all the substance abuse. It may have been a few weeks ago. Either way, Michael Scofield, I know now that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You are the change I want to see in the world. I foockin’ loov you.”

The priest smiled tenderly and pronounced them husband and wife, nodded toward Cook and gave him permission to kiss his bride, Michael Scofield.

They embraced passionately, their lips crashing together, their tongues battling for dominance in a dance as old as time.

The crowd sighed and sniffled, erupted into cheers when Cook’s shirt was somehow lost along the way.

The entire congregation was amazed and moved by their romance.

But it was Pandora who stood in the aisle, open-mouthed and ridiculously dressed.

“They’re man and woman kissing!” she declared, her dulcet tones soaring above the din of the crowd.

Effy rolled her eyes as affectionately as she could, squeezed Katie’s hand to her heaving bosom, made a mental note to explain to her friend later that boys can do it too.

48 hours later Cook sat in the bathroom and wept.

Not only had the love of his life, Michael Scofield, turned out to be some kind of jean shorts worshipping cult member, but when it had come right down to it, he’d chosen the shorts over him. And the icing on the cake? He’d stolen Cook’s sponge and used it to make the hovercraft he left Bristol on.

So Cook wept.

Just as he was throwing his head back and going in for a full open-mouthed wail, the door opened and Karen burst in.

“Where’s the sponge?!” she cried, her eyes darting anxiously around the room. “I need a turn with the sponge!”

Cook shook his head. “It’s gone, Karenkins. Michael Scofield stole it from right under my nose and used it to skip town.” Cook sniffled. “Oh Michael Scofield,” he murmured forlornly. “Bombs… hovercrafts… body pillows… such a renaissance man…”

“Wait a minute,” Karen said, sitting down beside Cook on the cold, tiled floor. “Your wife left you?”

Cook only nodded and wished he were wearing a shirt so he could wipe his nose on his sleeve.

“Oh Cookie, that’s terrible,” Karen said, giving his (naked) chest a sympathetic grope.

“It was my fault, really,” Cook said, covering his face with his palms as more tears spilled out. “I just… I couldn’t cope with it, Karen. It was just… It was too much…”

“What was too much?” Karen asked, subtly manoeuvring herself into his lap all the while.


Karen leapt to her feet, her mouth open wide. “A nevernude?” she asked tremblingly. “Is that what they call it?”

Cook just nodded and carried on weeping and talking about his problems, seeming not to notice that Karen was now lost in her own world.

“When I was fourteen,” Karen said quietly, cutting into Cook’s rambling. “When I was fourteen, that’s when I first saw. I’d lost my stretchy pink boob tube, and I went to see if dad had put it in Freddie’s room by mistake… That’s when I saw them… all the jean shorts… the cupboard was full of them and… and I couldn’t breathe. I just… I ran. I just ran, Cook. And then…” Tears began to slide down Karen’s cheeks as she spoke, and soon her mascara was running gorgeously down her face. She pulled her hood up to complete the look. “And then life just… went on. And I never asked questions. I suppose…” She was sobbing now, sobbing as she threw herself back into Cook’s arms. “I suppose I just didn’t want to know.”

Cook stroked her hair and said Shh and It’s alright and You looked foocking fit in that boob tube – comforting things like that.

Finally, by the time Karen had stopped sobbing, they looked into each other’s eyes and felt a new closeness growing between them.

“I foockin’ loov you, Karenkins,” Cook said.

“I foockin’ loov you too, Cookie,” Karen replied, adding earnestly “Nearly as much as heavy petting.”

Cook cocked his head to one side, deep in thought. “I suppose we would have bonded anyway, over losing Freds, even if – “

Karen interrupted him hurriedly, her eyes widening as she did. “LOSING!” she cried. “Maybe we just lost him!” She grabbed Cook’s hand tightly and asked “Did you look under the sofa at the Fitchs’ house?”

Cook kissed her hand and shook his head sadly. “Yeah, seventeen times. He’s not there, Karen. I’m sorry.”

Karen’s shoulders slumped, and she snuggled closer to Cook for comfort.

“Anyway,” Cook said after a moment, “Like I was saying, we probably would have bonded over losing Freds anyway. But Karen, babe, this nevernude thing… it’s just bigger than both of us.”

“I know,” Karen said through fresh tears that dripped down Cook’s (naked) chest. “I know.”

Freddie peered up at this tender display through a haze of smoke and flickering light.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, mate!” he coughed out as hard as he could. “Try looking under the sofa in hell!”


Author’s notes:

Pairings included: Effy/Katie, Effy/Foster, Effy/Twatter, Cook/Karen, Cook/Freddie, Cook/Effy, Cook/Michael Scofield, Cook/Sponge, Karen/Sponge, Michael Scofield/Sponge, Madison Twatter/Johnny White, Pandora/Thomas, Sid/Cassie, Tony/Michelle, Michelle/Katie, Naomi/Emily, Chris/Jal, Tony/Abigail, Emily/Eric, Suckeh/Naomi, Mandeh/Keiko, Sophia/Sketch, JJ/Albert

Apologies to Skins, True Blood, Buffy, Angel, Prison Break, Arrested Development and Imagine Me & You. No apologies for Twilight.