#as in yeah I did cry today but ill probably cry harder & concern more people since id be in the public & not my own room

[sevendeadlymorons]

Hey I’m that one anon from a while back that sent those long ass paragraphs about Lilith and Simeon, remember me? Anyway I know I’m very late to the party, but some of the boys are either getting to much hate or too much love over here (in my opinion) so I made a pros and cons list for all of them, I’m sorry- (I’m warning you now this will be long but I’ll put it in bullet points so it’s a bit easier to read, just read it whenever your mentally ready lol)

Lucifer (I hate this man.)

Pros

He’d help a lot with getting your life together wether that be finding a job, choosing the right college or other shit like that

He’d make sure your working hard and getting everything done, which is both a blessing and a curse tbh

He would be the one to take the most care of you whenever your ill psychically

Cons

He would probably overwork you

Doesnt have much time to spend on you and doesn’t make a effort to find more time unless your getting really sad about it

Probably wouldn’t be the best of help through issues with mental illness (he just doesn’t strike me as that type, feel free to disagree)

His pride would cause some serious problems in relationships :/

Mammon (I love this man.)

Pros

He’s the “if your sad, I’m sad” kind of guy so he does whatever he can to put a smile on your face

Makes his affection towards you known once he’s comfortable enough, mostly through things like hugs and head pats tho

He shows off anything you make, and I mean anything (you gave him a drawing? After showing it to everyone he puts it on the fridge. You wrote something? He reads it to everyone then puts it in his notebook to reread later, I think you get where I’m going with this)

Cons

There would probably be some communication issues due to his tsundere nature and habit of ignoring you when he’s mad

He’d get super mad at you when your trying to help him financially, maybe it’s a ego thing or maybe he’s just tired of hearing it

While his possessiveness is cute at times he’d definitely get way to overbearing if you don’t force him to cool it

Levi (I kin this man.)

Pros

He’d try to set up designated hangout times (like Friday is movie night, Tuesday is for RPGs etc)

Wanna spend time with him but aren’t very into what he’s into? While it will be harder to bond with him because of this I think if you REALLY wanted to hang with him he’d at least try to meet you in the middle (like if you like sports he’ll offer to play wii sports lol)

Insecurities getting you down again? Well never fear, levi is here! He’d find characters with flaws similar to those you see in yourself to prove that they don’t really matter (and since he struggles with insecurity himself he’d know how you feel and be one of the best at helping you through them)

Cons

Even if he makes an effort to meet you in the middle if you have different interests he’d refuse to get into “normie” stuff

He’ll guilt trip you constantly, even if it’s not on purpose (“Oh your hanging out with Asmo today? I get it, of course you’d wanna hang out with somebody cool and perfect like Asmo and not a gross yucky otaku like me”)

You have to initiate almost everything Hugs? You hug first. Handholding? You reach out to him. Confessions? You seriously thought he’d be the one to confess first??

Satan

Pros

Similar to Lucifer he’d be good at helping you get your life together and putting you on the right track

Unlike Lucifer, he’d actively make time for date nights and/or hangouts multiple times a week wether your going out for dinner or reading in front of the fireplace

While he himself might not be best at helping with comfort in the moment, he’d be great to turn to if you needed a long time treatment (you need a therapist? He’s got the best three in your area that you can afford and he found some helpful things you can do in this book)

Cons

As stated previously, he’s not the best with comfort, which can be an issue if you need a friend/partner who can be your biggest source of comfort (I’m not saying he’ll do nothing, it’ll just be kinda awkward ig)

If you vent to him about something he’ll always offer advice and while that can be good, sometimes all you want is someone to listen to you and getting advice can be annoying in the moment

I feel like hanging out with him you’d rarely ever get to talk about pointless things, everything would be serious you know? And while serious and deep conversations are good for bonding, some people (myself included) need to be able to talk about dumb things without having it turn philosophical

Asmo

Pros

He’s the best at boosting your confidence, there’s no competition

He’s more into spontaneous outings (he suddenly got the urge to go shopping, your coming with right?)

You can talk about just about anything with him, no judgment and he’ll never speak a word of it to anyone else if you don’t want him to (although he may brag to his brothers that you told him your secrets)

High emotional IQ

Cons

He has set things of things he’s interested in and his idea of trying the things your into is doing whatever it is for about 5 seconds then deciding it’s not for him

He cares a lot about looks, I don’t mean he’ll hate you or insult you cause he thinks your ugly, I mean he’ll constantly try to do your makeup, hair, and nails and he’ll always say things like “Your hair is a bit messy today, did you brush it? Yes? Well not good enough, let me do it” and “your wearing that out? There’s nothing wrong with it, I just think you’d look a lot cuter in this” and if your anything like me, that’ll get on your nerves a lot

While he’s great with emotional issues, if it’s a problem with anything like school or your job he’ll have no solution to offer, all you’ll get is a “You can do it!” and a good luck kiss

Narcissistic, need I say more?

Beel

Pros

He’s the best person to vent to, no judgment and tons of hugs and comfort food

He’s a mom friend, no explanation needed

Very supportive and always concerned for your health

Your in trouble? Call beel, he’ll help you and make sure your home safe before questioning you and will only lecture you out of love (unlike a certain older brother that will lecture you because “Your tarnishing Diavlo’s reputation by acting out like this. Your an exchange student, you must abide by the rules and behave yourself.”)

Cons

Food is his answer to everything (Sad?Food. Injured? Food. School’s stressful? Food plus a little help studying) and while food can be good for comfort, sometimes you need him to provide more than a snack

He’s the opposite of Satan in the sense that he’ll almost never offer advice when you rant to him, he just assumes getting it all out is help enough and won’t offer much more then a hug and food

Not getting along with one of his brothers? “They can be a handful, but they’re great people once you learn to handle the chaos” yeah he rarely thinks what his brothers did is a big deal so he gives you advice on how to apologize and get past it and he’ll give you food

Belphie (he really does attract the mentally ill people huh-)

Cons

I feel like he’d be good for certain people with social anxiety and people who have issues with always being scared about being a bad person (“you think your a bad person and are becoming more and more toxic by the day? Well your a better person than Lucifer that’s for sure, wether or not your toxic were going to cuddle now get in bed” or “your worried everyone is constantly staring and judging you for everything you do? Well I don’t really care about what your wearing or the way you walk so I doubt they do either, can we go home now?” ((Side note, I experience both of these issues and his uncaring personality would calm me, which is why I think this one of his pros))

He just wouldn’t care about whatever type of life style you lead and as someone who’s constantly scared of being judged for their lifestyle this would be amazing (“you sleep all the time? Same let’s nap together” “You don’t eat very healthy? Whatever, it’s fine, can we sleep now?” ((although it is a double edged sword))

He gets a burst of energy and just does the most random things (you see that tree? He’s already climbed half way up it. That petting zoo? He’s already feeding the lambs. That store? He’s already spent 30 grim)

Cons

Just like his twin he thinks every problem has one solution, but instead of food he thinks the solution is sleep (your sick? Sleep is the best medicine. A lot of homework? If you sleep you don’t have to think about it.)

At some point he just doesn’t care enough, if you come to him with a serious issue he’ll half listen to you rant then pull you down to sleep

He teases you a lot, which is fine teasing is fun, but he takes it too far. Maybe he touched on something your insecure about or he was too merciless, whatever it was, he won’t apologize for it, he just thinks your being sensitive. If he brought up some bad memories he’ll consider it, but his way of apologizing is cuddling

He doesn’t wanna do something? You guys aren’t gonna do it. You don’t wanna do something? Too bad, he wants to so your gonna.

I’m sorry this is so long- I tried to shorten it I swear- but anyway if you disagree I’m with anything, I wanna hear what you think

And even tho Beel doesn’t get much screen time and more serious moments, I think his character is way more then hunger

Random but I wanna add that other then Levi I kin Tamaki from mha and Ranpo from bsd

Dude do you just like torturing poor college students? This is so much to read, I’m about to cry 😭

I agree with the Lucifer part actually! Tho I do kinda thing he’s be good emotion support in some ways, for me, anyway. I feel like he may lack empathy that is needed in a stable relationship. Yes, he may be able to tell you with shit and honestly, he’d book my doctors appointments when I’m too anxious too so yknow. But yeah

Also agree with mammon. He’s a jackass when he wants to be, and I know he may not mean it, but his words are still hurtful in a lot of ways and he just can’t convey those emotions that’re needed in a loving relationship. But he’s so sweet and will show you off so it’s all good~

As much as I love Levi, I agree. He manipulates and guilt trips you throughout the entire game. It can’t be healthy in relationships but that don’t stop me from loving that sweet otaku boy 😔🖤

I agree with Satan too. I don’t have much to say but he’s avatar of wrath for a reason, for a start, and he honestly looks like he’d prefer talking about books than that funny thing that happened in class that made you laugh earlier

Agreed with Asmo too. Sometimes he may just get overbearing and the narcissism and the constant need to make you look better and improve you may get irritating

I agree with Beel. I don’t think he can comprehend that food isn’t an answer to everything and as a person who doesn’t cope with food and relatively hates it, he won’t be any help to me emotionally. He’s so sweet but he just won’t give you that proper support

I love Belphie so so much but I absolutely agree. He’s one of the most unbothered brothers who won’t care what you look like, yes, but that also means compliments may come rarely and like his twin, “sleep is the answer to everything” I can admit I like to sleep but I have a manic side that comes with insomnia and if he’s dragging me down and not letting me move and I just cannot sleep, I’m gonna get irritated and pissed off.

This got a bit long on my end too. I just really liked how you worded this and it was fun to see pros and cons of the ‘perfect’ brothers

I think Beel is more than food too, but I just don’t particularly like him either way cuz I’m not really a foodie so I can’t relate with him lmao

[2dmenenthusiast]

Let’s be sad together (Peter Parker x Depressed Reader)

A/N PLEASE READ!!: heeey so before we get into this, this story is told in the first person, which I know some people don’t like but I felt it was best for this particular fic because there is some self-hate in here and I didn’t want the reader to feel targetted and make them feel like shit? I hope that made sense. keep in mind this fic deals with themes of DEPRESSION, something I myself struggle with. So if you’re not comfortable with this, please don’t read. I’ve read plenty of x depressed! reader fics, and most of what I read doesn’t do the feelings justice or it romanticises depression. It’s usually like “oh youre depressed? Well i love you and boom youre fixed!” Yeah I hate shit like that lol. But I am certainly not trying to romanticise depression or mental illness by writing this. I wanted to make a fic people like me can relate to, the thoughts and feelings, etc. It was honestly super difficult, I wrote the first draft and completely scrapped it cuz I hated it. I really tried my best here, guys, and I hope you like it. And always remember that you’re not alone and things do eventually get better. It just takes time and a little help. Once again I tried to keep the reader as nuetral as possible so everyone can read! (I fucking suck at titles btw)

Plot: Peter notices something’s been wrong with you lately, and you prepare yourself for the inevitable break-up once he confronts you about it.

Words: 2,562

Warnings: Themes of depression and anxiety, self hate, angst

Loving Peter Parker was absolutely suffocating.

Sometimes I couldn’t decide if dating him was the worst or best decision I ever made, but I knew one thing for sure. He had me wrapped around his finger, and there was no leaving him even if I tried. Not that I wanted to. Peter is… well, he’s perfect. Sure, he’s dorky and can ramble about technical stuff that I can’t even begin to understand for hours on end, but if anything, those things only added to the list of reasons why he’s perfect. Oh, and he’s Spiderman. My boyfriend is Spiderman. In other words, nights were spent worrying about whether he’d make it home safely or not, and some were spent patching him up when he came knocking on my window after a particularly bad fight. He made me happy. Happier than I had ever been probably. So… why did I still feel this way?

At first, a part of me thought that being with Peter would… fix things, I guess. That maybe if I was in a relationship, it would cause all the rushing thoughts inside my head to go away. And at first, it did help. There were more nights that I could sleep peacefully, and there wasn’t a constant feeling of anxiousness sitting in my stomach. But of course, that relief never lasted long. I knew it wouldn’t, but a part of me hoped it would.

Overthinking had always been an issue. Every situation had a “what if,” and this was no different. Thoughts of Peter leaving me began to occupy my mind almost every second of every day, and now, rather than feeling relaxed in his presence, I felt a constant feeling of anxiety. Like my heart was stuck in my throat and I couldn’t breathe, an invisible weight crushing my chest. Sometimes I’d get so overwhelmed with my feelings that I’d have to leave the room and calm myself down so that I wouldn’t cry. And other days I’d completely close myself off from everyone, laying in my bed all day and feeling so upset and worthless.

This wasn’t Peter’s fault. No, he treated me like fucking royalty. This was due to my own dumb self and my own dumb emotions and my dumb fucking ways of overthinking shit I shouldn’t even be thinking about. But it’s always been like this, and no amount of listening to sad songs and telling myself everything was going to be okay was going to change that. I wasn’t immune to feeling insecure either. Especially when Peter hung out with his other friends, but I immediately told myself not to think about that stuff. I didn’t want to be that partner that gets jealous of their partner’s friends when I’m not getting every second of their attention. No, thinking that way felt toxic, and that was the last thing I wanted to be.

But sometimes, I couldn’t help those thoughts from sinking in. There were so many people out there. So many people that were funnier and better looking than me… So why did Peter settle for me? Why would he want to date someone with so much fucking baggage? Someone who could barely get out of bed in the morning while already wishing for the day to be over? Someone who thought so fucking little of themselves as a human being? There were times where I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror, because those were the days I really hated myself. Sometimes I feel like he fell out of love with me a long time ago and now he won’t leave me because he feels bad, which only made me feel worse for keeping him in a relationship he probably didn’t even want to be in. 

I couldn’t say anything to Peter about this. How could I? He would just try to fix everything and I didn’t need fixing. I just wanted him there to reassure me that he loved me as much as I loved him. That he wouldn’t leave me because of how mentally fucked I was. Even if he did tell me those things, I don’t know if I’d even believe him. My mind probably wouldn’t even let me. I imagined if I did try to tell him everything I was feeling, I probably wouldn’t be able to explain it in a way that he could understand. I was just so tired. Tired of waiting for the inevitable moment when Peter would break up with me, and I’d be left with an expected broken heart. I’ve even been preparing for the day it happens so that it doesn’t kill me when it hurts, just like I do with every situation. Rather than give my hopes up and be disappointed, I just assume the worst from the get-go. 

I don’t know how it hasn’t happened yet. How he hasn’t noticed the way I just shut down when the day gets hard. How I constantly look like I’m just in my own head, either when all of us are hanging out or when it’s just me and him. I want him to know. I want to tell him all the shit that’s running through my mind, but a part of me is terrified that I’ll just scare him away. So I just pretend it’s fine. Like I’m not ready to bust and rip open at the seams.

Today was another one of those days where I just felt like locking myself in my room and never coming out. However, the usual excuse of “I just don’t feel good,” didn’t work on Peter this time. He knew that there was something wrong. I could see it in the way he looked at me. I thought I had gotten away with it at first, laying in my bed and mindlessly scrolling on my phone, not even present in my head, just kind of there. But I knew I was screwed when I heard a knock on my window and opened my curtains just to see Peter sitting on the fire escape. I didn’t say anything as I opened the window, just watching as he stumbled into my room while pulling on the sleeves of my hoodie, something I often did when I felt that familiar anxiousness creeping in.

He made sure to shut the window after he was inside, and I immediately shrunk under his gaze when he turned to me, feeling too ashamed to meet his eyes.

“Hey, um…” 

He hesitated, and I watched the way he rubbed his palms against his jeans, almost as if he was feeling nervous. I could imagine how he was feeling, though. I was nervous too.

“I know this is kinda abrupt, um… but I just wanted to stop by and you know, make sure you’re feeling okay and all that. I was worried, so…”

Worried? He was worried about me? I blinked a few times, trying to rack my brain for a quick lie I could tell him, but that wasn’t what came out when I spoke.

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, I just… I guess I’ve just been feeling kinda low today.”

I immediately wanted to swallow the words that left my mouth, not believing that I actually willingly let him know that I wasn’t really feeling okay.

“Oh?” He took a step forward, which immediately made me want to take a step back. “How come? Was today just not a good day?”

Peter was so unbelievably sweet and considerate, I almost wanted to cry right then and there. He always treated me so well… but he deserved someone better. Someone that wasn’t me.

“I-I guess? I don’t know, it’s just kinda hard to explain,” I muttered, reaching a hand up to rub the back of my neck that felt strangely warm.

“Do you wanna talk about it? I have plenty of time. I actually left the group to come see you, so I don’t mind listening.”

My eyes slightly widened as my gaze quickly met his, looking at him as if he was crazy. Hell, he just might’ve been if he stopped hanging out with his friends just to see me.

“You… Why would you do that?” I asked softly, my voice almost a whisper as I tried to keep it from trembling.

His brows furrowed and he tilted his head slightly, looking at me almost incredulously as he stepped closer.

“Do I need a reason? I wanted to see you.”

He said it so confidently, as if he was so positive that he rather be spending his time with me than his buddies. It kind of made me feel a bit guilty. He could be spending his time with his friends and having fun, but instead, he was here, and I was trying not to break down in front of him.

“But your friends… wouldn’t you rather hang out with them?” I asked, arms crossing over my chest as if I was protecting myself from something.

Peter just smiled. “I could chill with them any time I want. Why would I skip out on an opportunity to see my baby, hm?”

My hand quickly shot up to cover my mouth, and I could feel tears starting to push through.

“He wouldn’t say that if he knew,” I thought, and it immediately became harder to contain the tears when he closed the short distance between us and placed his hands on my shoulders, his expression clearly one of concern.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

I shook my head, sniffling as I reached up and wiped at my teary eyes.

“I’m fine, I just-”

You’re not. You’re really not fine, y/n. This is not fine.

My walls were quickly crumbling down as a tear slipped down my cheek, which caused more to follow, and I let out a choked sob as Peter placed a hand on the back of my head and gently pulled me into his chest, his other hand running over my back. He didn’t say anything, just let me cry to my heart’s content as I gripped onto the front of his shirt for dear life.

“I… I’m not okay, Peter. Nothing’s okay,” I mumbled into his chest, and he gently pushed me back as he carefully held my face in his hands, thumbs wiping at my tear stained cheeks.

“What’s not okay, y/n? C’mon, talk to me.”

“Everything!” I yelled, and I could tell he was surprised by my sudden outburst as I pulled myself away from his embrace.

“Everything is not okay, Peter. Fuck, I just…” I brought my arm up over my eyes as my bottom lip quivered, my eyes burning as more tears fell. “Everything’s just so hard and I’m so tired. And I’m making everything so complicated for myself, it’s not even anyone’s fault that I’m feeling like this. It’s mine.” I sniffled and wiped at my eyes again, but it did nothing to stop the endless tears that had spent too much time being held in. “A-And I don’t know what to do, Peter. I really don’t. I’m so fucking tired of hurting and I just want the thoughts and feelings to stop. Fuck sometimes I just wish I felt nothing!”

I looked up at Peter when he didn’t say anything, and found that he was just looking at me. There wasn’t any judgement or disgust in his eyes. At least, not from what I could tell. He looked… worried. Maybe even a little sad. Was he upset over what I said? Is he bummed out that he found out what I’m actually like? I let out a sigh and wiped my nose against my sleeve, suddenly finding my feet very interesting as I looked down. The silence was fucking deafening, and in that moment, I wanted to throw myself off the fire escape and into traffic below.

“How long have you felt like this?” Peter suddenly asked, his voice quiet as if he was trying to not startle me.

I hesitantly looked up at him, pulling at my sleeves again as I shrugged my shoulders.

“If you’re talking about all the depressing shit, ever since my early teens, I guess. But um… I’ve been having other thoughts recently. Ever since we got together, actually.”

I winced as soon as the words left my mouth. Would I regret this? Most definitely. Did Peter need to know? No, but he deserved to.

Peter frowned. “Really? Like… what kind of thoughts?”

I sighed and ran a hand down my face.

“Fuck, Peter, I just… You’re Peter Parker. You’re Spiderman! And I’m just-”

“Amazing, beautiful, the best partner I could ever ask for. Should I go on?” he asked with a small smirk, and I let out an amused huff as I placed a hand against his chest and lightly pushed him.

“I’m serious, Peter. I’m just… I’m fucked up, okay? Nothing about me is normal, hell the thoughts I have certainly aren’t. And I doubt you wanna be with someone who has so much shit going on with them-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Peter interrupted, waving his hands in front of my face. “Who said anything about me not wanting to be with you?”

I scoffed. “I mean, it’s a no brainer, Peter. You saw me just now. I mean, sometimes I break down over the dumbest shit-”

“It’s not dumb if it makes you upset,” he said, his tone a bit harsh.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever really validated my feelings like that before.

“I-”

“No, y/n. Why would you think any of this would be a problem for me? I mean… No, nevermind, I understand why you would think that. You can’t help it right? But listen to me.” He placed his hands on my arms, making sure I was focusing on him. “No matter how messed up you think you are… you’ll always be my favorite person, y/n. You don’t have to hide how you feel, you don’t need to be scared. If you’re having a bad day, tell me, and we can have a bad day together. We can lay in bed all day and munch on food that will probably take years off of our life, we can do anything you want. Just tell me, okay? If something ever happened to you… shit, y/n.”

He then pulled me into a bone crushing hug, holding onto me as if I’d disappear if he let me go.

“That’s my worst nightmare. I could handle being kicked out of the avengers or any other terrible stuff. But losing you? Just thinking about it breaks my heart, baby.”

I felt the tears rising once again as I took in what he said, not used to hearing someone say these things to me. Leave it to Peter Parker to make me feel completely vulnerable and open, something I usually hated. I immediately relaxed in his embrace, letting out a soft cry as my arms wrapped around his waist and I buried my face in his neck.

“I love you, Peter,” I muttered softly, my heart skipping when I felt Peter’s lips against my temple, smiling against my skin.

“I love you too, y/n. Please don’t ever forget that.”

Maybe opening up a bit wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

[haunted-by-catholic-guilt]

hey moon, please forget to fall down

*shows up after a month of nothing with starbucks* look its bad but its been in my WIP since august 

Tim woke up to a dull ache in his stomach.

He groaned, it was annoying but not so bad that it would affect his daily working, so he rolled himself out of bed, pausing only momentarily at the nausea he felt.

He ignored it, got up, and continued on his morning, eating only toast and drinking coffee, before getting dressed, which he found to be more painful than necessary, and left his apartment.

The commute to work was fine, maybe the lights were a little brighter then they had the right to be, and even the noises he heard were painful, somehow sharp and dull.

He got off at his stop, and made his way into the institute, putting on a fake smile and winking at Rosie as he walked to the Archives, before moving as fast as he could without causing the ache that has yet to subside to get any worse.

Jon was in, always was by the time he showed, but today Martin and Sasha were in too, must’ve been later than he thought.

He shrugged it off, and sat at his desk, not feeling well enough to even try to have a conversation, not that it would go well, the pain was distracting and lip-reading was never completely successful anyway.

A little while later, after he exchanged a quick and quiet greeting, Martin tapped him lightly on the shoulder and signed to him.

“Are you okay?”

Tim smiled, he knew he could tell Martin, but he didn’t want to worry anyone over something he knew was nothing, so he signed back

“Tired, I’m alright”

Martin didn’t look convinced but smiled softly at him.

“Ok, let me know if you need anything.”

Tim smiled and nodded back, and Martin shuffled back over to his desk, sharing a glance with Sasha Tim was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to see.

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Martin was worried, Sasha would say he was always worried, but it was different today.

Tim was quiet, his face was lined with pain, and his eyes weren’t quite as vibrant.

It was a little while later when Jon emerged from his office, his hair done in a bun at the base of his head, his cane tapping on the floor, Martin quickly and quietly grabbed his phone and sent a quick text to Tim, hoping he’d get it before Jon made his way to their desks.

He didn’t, and before he knew it Jon was leaning against the door frame, observing them, they mostly pretended to work.

“Goodmorning, Jon! How’re you today”

Martin was trying to distract from Tim a little bit, hoping he’d be able to hear him enough to snap him into focus on Jon, but Tim seemed like he was in another world.

“Better if you were working.”

And with that Jon left, Sasha rolled her eyes and gave Martin a small smile, but he was more concerned about Tim.

He walked over to his desk and tapped him lightly again, it took a second but he came to and looked at Martin, his eyes were glassy and his face was pale.

“What’s wrong?”

Tim looked tired, and he sighed.

“Not feelin the best, nothin to worry about.”

Martin scanned over the other man's frame, before lightly pressing the back of his hand to Tim’s cheek, moving it to his forehead, before removing it and signing again.

“You’re burning up, what’s going on?”

Tim was pretty sure he whined at that point, if he admitted he was sick he’d need to go home and he would be alone.

He didn’t want to be alone.

Whenever he had fevers he would get emotional, he knew this, so when Martin brushed his finger on his cheek, he didn’t even know he was crying, and that only made him start crying harder.

He felt someone else touch his arm, and looked up to see Sasha, with a bottle of water in her hand, he shook his head, the nausea from earlier coming back in full force.

He took a breath, he wouldn’t be sick, couldn’t be.

“I’m fine, I can work, I’m fine.”

Martin frowned, but wasn’t backing down, signing again, this time more demanding, but somehow still soft.

“Go lay down, at least, for a little while.”

Tim knew this wasn’t a fight he could win, and Sasha already had grabbed onto his arm and began to pull him up, steadying him when he starting to fall, and Martin vanished off outside of the office.

Sasha laid him down on the old couch, and he curled as small as he could into a ball, and he opened his eyes enough to see Sasha squint at him with concern in her eyes.

Martin was there the next time he opened his eyes, he had a blanket on him now, and Martin was holding a thermometer, Tim opened his mouth and let Martin take his temperature, he didn’t hear what it was, and he last saw Martin sign rest before drifting off to sleep.

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Martin sighed, and sat back at his desk, Tim set up across the room with a blanket on a couch, a bucket next to his head, burning with fever.

It wasn’t hospital bad, but he also didn’t feel comfortable leaving Tim alone, and from Tim’s reaction, he didn’t want to be alone either.

Sasha had mentioned he looked like he was curling around his stomach, but stomach pain and fever could’ve been a number of things, and he thought it best not to worry about the what if’s.

“Martin, why is Tim sleeping on the couch.”

Jon was something he did need to worry about.

“He- uh- he wasn’t feeling well, and I didn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone or him taking the tube, and I didn’t think he wanted to be alone either, so he’s sleeping on the couch until after work”

Jon didn’t seem happy with this.

“If he is that ill he needs to be home, not infecting the whole staff.”

Martin was sure he was about to make more complaints and arguments but was cut off by Tim, whining quietly and stirring on the couch.

Martin got up and walked over, running a hand through Tim’s sweat-soaked hair as he tried to curl deeper into himself.

Sasha walked over to stand next to Jon, watching Martin in his natural habitat of caretaking, as Tim had called it.

“He can stay, just don’t get sick, and if he gets worse take him home, you better work overtime next week.”

And with that, Jon left.

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

It was around two hours later that Tim started to get worse.

Martin was working quietly at his desk, finishing up notes on some statements, and tracking people down for research when he heard Tim start to cry.

He quickly made his way over to Tim, just as he did Tim heaved and weakly gripped the bin in front of him.

After he was done being sick, Martin lifted a water bottle to his lips, not wanting him to dehydrate further, and went to move back to work, but Tim grabbed onto his arm, with surprising strength for how sick he was.

Martin sighed, he needed to work, but he also knew that being sick was bad enough at home, let alone on an old couch at work.

He adjusted Tim and sat behind him on the couch, the other man immediately curled around Martin, still trying to make himself smaller, and he winced as he moved.

Martin frowned and grabbed his phone, not able to sign with Tim basically on his lap, and not thinking Tim would be willing to sign back at all, so he quickly opened his notes and started to type.

‘What’s wrong?’

Tim looked offended by the light in his eyes when martin showed him the message, but ultimately grabbed the phone weakly and typed back.

‘Stomach hurts bad’

Martin frowned, but set his phone down and started to run his hand through Tim’s hair.

Jon walked in a little while, and crept over to stand next to the old couch, his cane tapping gently, he quickly reached out and brushed his hand awkwardly on Tim’s forehead, and sighed.

“Take him home, and keep me updated on him.”

Martin was surprised by this, Jon had always tried to remain professional and distant, but he didn’t want to question or argue with him.

He stood up, Tim groaned at the movement, but after a little while of getting ready to go, they made their way slowly to Martin‘s car, where Tim immediately curled into his passenger seat.

He drove him to his flat, not planning on leaving him alone for a while, and when he got to his place, he gently shook Tim awake, and they slowly made their way up to the flat.

After he unlocked the door, he settled Tim onto the couch, and switched out his bedsheets, and carefully ushered Tim into the bedroom.

Tim settled into the bed with little prompting, and Martin tucked a fuzzy blanket around his shoulders, and he left the room to get a cloth and cold water.

He was returning to the bedroom when he saw Tim curled up into a ball, sobbing, he was biting his lip so hard martin thought it was drawing blood, he quickly set the water on the side table and immediately sat next to Tim on the bed.

He knew that getting Tim to watch him sign or read whatever he typed would not work and that Tim probably wouldn’t be able to process what he was saying, so he hoped his movements were clear enough.

Martin suspected he knew what this was, so after he had moved Tim so he was laying out, flat on his back despite the obvious pain this caused, Martin lifted the shorter man’s shirt and pressed his hand on to the lower right side of Tim’s stomach.

At that, Tim let out a cry of pain, and immediately curled back around himself, and Martin knew what the next step was- the hospital.

First, he decided, he needed to tell Sasha and Jon, both had been worried, and they should know what was going on

Archival Gayng

Milk Kartin Blackwood- hey just so you two know im taking tim to AnE

Braincell Holder- What? Is everything okay? Do you need me to meet you there?

Bossman- Why does he need to go to AnE?

Martin Kartin Blackwood- i think he may have appendicitis but im not sure

Braincell Holder- Shit

Braincell Holder- I’ll meet you there

Boseman- Doesn’t appendicitis mean he will need surgery?

Martin Kartin Blackwood- yeah, i know that is more time off, but jon he is sick i don’t really care rn

Bossman- I don’t care about that right now.

Bossman- I care that my friend and employee might need surgery.

Bossman- Sasha, you’re still at the institute right? Can I come with you?

Braincell Holder- Of course, Jon, meet me outside in five. Martin, bring Tim to the hospital.

Martin Kartin Blackwood- ok

Martin sighed, and carefully maneuvered Tim in his arms so his head was tucked into the other’s neck and carefully grabbed the blanket that was around Tim and repositioned it over him again.

He quickly slipped on his shoes and grabbed the keys, and carried Tim out to his car where he once again curled into the passenger seat, his hands clutching his stomach.

Martin bit his lip as he got into the driver’s seat and started the drive to the hospital, it didn’t take long and when he got their, Sasha and Jon were standing in front of her car, Jon fidgeting with his hands and Sasha typing rapidly on her phone.

When he pulled in and was spotted, they immediately rushed over to where he parked and approached Martin anxiously as he got Tim out of his car, and immediately began to flutter around, trying to help.

By the time they had gotten Tim into the waiting room, Sasha and Martin began answering the questions on the sheet, and Jon sat quietly next to Tim and rubbed slightly awkward circles on his back when he curled over in pain.

When Tim was ushered into an exam room, Martin went with him, the others in the waiting room, and after some time, the doctor shared his suspicion, and he was taken away to a CT scan to get a confirmation.

After some time, the suspicion was confirmed and he was taken to surgery, and Martin was walked back out to the waiting area, left to explain the situation to Jon and Sasha.

Jon started to pace ten minutes after Tim had been taken back, and after another five of pacing, Sasha finally spoke up.

“Jon, are you alright?”

Jon stopped pacing and sighed.

“I’m just worried about Tim…”

Martin set his large hand on Jon’s shoulder, and the smaller man seemed to lean into it.

“It’ll be okay Jon, Tim is healthy, and appendicitis isn’t normally deadly if caught on time.”

Jon sank down on a squeaky hospital chair next to Sasha, and put his head in his hands, running a shaking hand through his hair.

“I know, I know, I just..”

He groaned, again, and Martin had to take a second to take it all in, Jon looked so incredibly.. different?

So far from the normal painfully professional and emotionless self he showed at the office, and Martin was then reminded that he was the odd one out here, he didn’t work in research with Tim, Sasha, or Jon.

He sighed and tried to push down the cold feeling that crept up his spine, and ignored the fact that he swore he could see fog seeping into the room from a closed door.

He sat on the chair next to Jon, and they all sat silently and waited.

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

When Tim woke up, all he was aware of was the pain in his side.

He groaned and quickly moved his hand to cover it, but was stopped by the feeling of a tug in his arm, and a hand on his shoulder.

He pried open his eyes to see a worried Sasha looking down at him, but with the worry managed to be relief as well, and that was when the last twenty-four hours came back to him.

He sighed and pushed himself carefully into a sitting position, Sasha worriedly helping him, and he looked over and saw Martin asleep against the wall, and Jon leaning into him.

He was still tired and hurt, but he knew he would be taken care of, so he let himself fall asleep to Sasha helping him lay back down and running her hands through his hair.

[casshasfangs]

don’t ask me where i’ve been

Everyone else on tour seemed to enjoy their days off. They were few and far in-between, but the others still counted down, drew circles on calendars and made plans with their roommates. Not Cass, though. He spent the days by himself, mostly in bed or fiddling with his guitar. The further North they travelled, the more their fans sounded like his Dad, the harder it was for Cass to fight through the depression that always seemed to hang off him like a bad smell. Today, missing him especially, he was waiting for a response to a letter he’d written to Pomonia.

Something had changed in him since Henry died. Maybe it had been longer- Cass wasn't sure. It could have started the night of their first gig. Perhaps it was that night in the Hospital Wing, watching Rhett rock Shosh under the shower, as blood pooled on the floor beneath them. Maybe he had been changing from the very moment he laid in that bed on Hogsmeade, frozen with fear and guilt and anxiety, Pomonia dozing next to him. And he'd met Sonder some time in between- or had it been before? The timeline of when the dazzling boy came spinning into his life was mingled with the traumas he'd endured in the meantime. 

 All Cass knew, was that he couldn't talk to Sonder about Henry. He hadn't known him. Robin had a skewed view of the vampire, and while Shosh had a closer idea than most, she hadn't known him for long. Tami knew Henry. But any positive memories of his ex-best friend were tainted by her betrayal, which almost ran deeper than Pomonia's. 

 Pomonia. 

 He missed her.

 It gnawed at him almost nightly, because he didn't just miss her familiarity. He missed the way she knew him, the comfort and structure she'd provided him, the way he knew exactly what was expected of him. 

He missed her arms, her hands, her lips, her whispered whiskey breath and her scent, her blood, her muted voice and the creases in the corners of her eyes. And nights like this, when he received letters back from owls, magically marked as undeliverable, he wished he could see her. He wished he could curl up in her lap, like he did when he was small. He wished he could stand in front of her and scream at her till his throat was hoarse and bloody. He wished he could cry with her about Henry, and then she would hold him and rock him and she'd whisper something that would make it better. Cass folded the letter and placed it in his pocket.

He heard Piper approaching behind him- she always stopped just short of him. Cass always wondered if she felt the same way he did, around veela descendants. Tami and Cass had always been intense friends, they often remarked that their abilities enhanced around each other, that Tami felt ill or tired when they spent too much time together. Piper was too polite to comment on it.

 He heard her shallow breaths and realised, ashamed, that she was probably affected by his angsting. "I'm just going out for a drink." He murmured lowly, turning to look at her. 

 The concern was written all over her face. It was a normal part of being on the road- both Cass and Shosh were working overtime, he couldn't feed from her as often as he needed, neither of them had the blood sugars to sustain it. He needed to supplement. But Piper wasn't concerned about that. 

 In a rare gesture, Piper took a deep breath, then reached out to place her hand on his shoulder. "I know. But you don't have to go out alone. I could come with you?" Cass just raised his brows, and the blonde sighed in response. She shrugged, letting her hand drop, "Just.. Remember you have people who care about here. It's about more than the band." 

 "Yeah," he did his best to pull himself together, the corner of his lips pulling up on one side. He tried. "I'll be back before rehearsal." Unable to handle the further emotional burden of affecting Piper a moment longer, Cass stepped back and apparated away.

He was genuinely surprised to not have splinched himself on arrival, given how all up in his head he’d been. It would’ve been embarrassing. Cass put his hands in his pockets and kept his head low as he strolled into Caro.

Cass ordered his usual drink, and headed for a booth. This early in the day, Caro was generally quiet. Most people were there to drink or socialise rather than dance the evening away. Cass just wanted the familiarity. If he couldn’t be with Pomonia, he at least wanted to be somewhere she’d been.

He was just about to pull a book from his coat pocket when Penny approached, all dolled up as usual. “Well, I’ll be- the rockstar himself, back at home. I thought you were on tour, young man!” He barely looked up at her, but saw the way her manicured fingers sprawled where her hands were resting sharply on her hips.

Cass sighed, looking up at her. “Do you always have to do this? The lecture thing?”

“I’m Southern, honey,” She invited herself into his booth, clasping her hands together atop the table, “Lecturing is how I show love.”

Cass caught himself before he rolled his eyes, but put his book on the table. He pulled his drink over, having a sip. “We’re still on tour. We just have a day off.” Cass allowed.

“And you couldn’t go to one of the other million social spots up there?” She raised a brow so high, it almost mixed into her bleach-blonde high ponytail.

“I’m trying to track down an old friend. She’s not responding to my letters, and it’s not like I can just up and leave during tour.” He said, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he sucked petulantly on his straw.

“You mean leave, like you are doing right now?” Penny hummed. “Who’s the friend? Maybe I can ask around.”

Although Penny and Bobby were new to the high-society vampire scene, Cass knew things had shifted since his Dad died. His Dad had never been top-dog, but he was well respected, and people were bickering about who played what role now. Bobby was well suited to step up in behalf of international covens, which meant Penny was automatically stepped up too, in the secretive social world of donors.

Cass hesitated- then remembered that news of his abuse hadn’t been made public. “Pomonia,” He said, hoping his voice didn’t falter. “She didn’t come to Dad’s funeral. And all my letters keep coming back. She’s probably mad I took on Shosh as a donor, I just wanted the chance to explain.” 

His voice trailed off in the face of Penny’s reaction- which was stern, at first, a deep rivet in her forehead. Then all of her edges softened, and she reached out to place a gentle hand over his own. “Honey...”

He knew that tone.

No. 

Not allowed.

Cass felt ill, and he pulled back, shaking his head. “Nope. Someone would’ve told me, she-”

“Cass, honey, she’s been gone for months. There was a trial... It was closed, no one knows what happened, but... She didn’t walk out of it.” Her voice was echoing in his head, and it seemed so quiet, so distant.

A booth in Caro in the middle of the day. A conversation with the Minister for Magic in the Headmistress’ office, late at night. No difference.

Cass placed a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing, and then placed the other on his stomach, trying to calm it as his head lolled, processing the information. He knew why there’d be a trial. He knew why she wouldn’t respond. His fault. His fault. His fault.

He blinked, then pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, leaning against the table until his eyes ached. And then he pressed harder- anything to distract from the rolling nausea of his stomach, from the weight of Penny’s hand on his shoulder, from the sound of her reassuring words.

Cass’s knees wobbled as he pushed away from her, stumbling out of the booth and the bar, gripping the walls outside to try and stay upright. There wasn’t enough oxygen- he couldn’t breathe- He was-

Cass was sick then and there, both hands clutching his stomach as if he could squeeze everything out. It splashed against the wall and Cass shook his head, looking about wildly. What did- Who- What did he do now? Where did he go?

Pomonia was dead. It was his fault. His fault. His fault.

Cass’s phone buzzed in his pocket, he barely had the mental energy to read the screen but he pulled it out anyway, blinking drearily at it and then putting it back in his pocket. He hadn’t even been gone for a fucking hour. 

With no better option, Cass sunk to the ground next to the wall, wrinkling his nose at the acrid smell of sick. He put his head between his knees, desperately trying to breathe. His hands came up to his head, gripping his hair and tugging.

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. 

He rocked side to side, gently, trying to soothe himself, trying to process. And he stayed like that for a solid hour, curled up outside, alone, next to his own vomit. He stared at the floor, tugging his hair, until he saw a pair of feet stop short of him.

“C’mon, kid. Let’s go home.” He frowned at her voice, shaking his head. He didn’t want to go with Robin. Bitch. “No isn’t an option. C’mon.” 

She leaned down to take his arm, pulling him up- and unfortunately, her vampiric strength won out against his noodly arms. Cass tried pushing her off weakly, but it didn’t work. She pulled a key from her handbag, which Cass knew to be a portkey, but before he could pull away from her and run, she gripped it, and they went spinning away, landing harshly inside their front sitting room with an almighty crash. 

Cass was more prepared for a portkey landing than Robin, and immediately tugged away from her, taking out his wand and pointing it at her. “Fuck you!” He shouted, shaking his head. “You had no right-”

“Put that thing away before you take my eye out.” Robin snapped, dusting herself off and folding her arms. “Now, I don’t know what’s up with you, but you sure as shit can’t go around like that. Go upstairs and take a bath. I’ll get dinner sorted.”

“But-”

“Did I fucking stutter?” 

Cass mashed his teeth together, glaring, and then tore up the stairs, sticking his middle finger up at her as he went.

[agirlinjapan]

Red Data Girl: Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes (Story 2- Week 1)

Red Data Girl: Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes By Noriko Ogiwara A Translation

The Red Data Girl translation is back with another short story from Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes! This story takes place between RDG 1 and RDG 2 and gives us some information about Miyuki’s first days at Houjou Academy.

It’s nice to be working on RDG again! The past few months have been wild for me, as I’m sure they’ve been for everyone. Now that it’s summer vacation though, things are just a bit calmer than they were during the school year.

I hope everyone’s staying safe! Don’t forget to wear your masks!

Red Data Girl: Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes By Noriko Ogiwara Story Two: September Transfer Student- Miyuki Sagara- Third Year of Middle School- Fall Part 1  

Miyuki Sagara didn’t feel well that morning as he sped west down the expressway in his father’s car.

It was September fourth.

Many elementary and middle schools in Tokyo had summer vacation until August thirty-first and Houjou Academy, the school he would be going to now, was the same. The fall semester had begun on September first. His late transfer date was being explained by a leave of absence due to an illness, the same excuse given to Awatani Middle School for his sudden removal from the school.

The truth was completely different, however. This time around, Miyuki was not sick or injured. Until the beginning of September, he had been on Mt. Haguro, undergoing “fall” ascetic training.

Yukimasa hadn’t objected to this decision, but he had made plenty of snide remarks about it to his son to let him know how he really felt.

Yukimasa Sagara was an ascetic monk, but he did not train on Mt. Haguro. Miyuki’s teacher was a member of his divorced mother’s side of the family, Harunobu Sengoku.  

Yukimasa even calculated how he could bring up training to his advantage while we talked…

Even watching the scenery go by outside the window was making Miyuki feel sick, but he didn’t want to bring that up either. Yukimasa didn’t need to know that.—Afterall, the reason why Miyuki felt sick was due to the fact that he was hungover.

If this had been September first, I would have been able to go on my own…

He had gotten used to the idea of transferring schools and he would have much preferred to arrive at his new school without his father driving him there in the car while he, Miyuki, was hungover.

…Ugh. My head is pounding…

Regardless of that though, he wasn’t too upset that the day he would transfer schools had arrived. He was also completely fine with the fact that the classroom experience he was about to begin would be entirely different from the training he had just left. Besides himself, the ascetic monks he had been working with had all been adults. As a result, Miyuki had been rather on his own during his time in the mountains.

Mr. Sengoku helped me out a lot…

As far as Miyuki was concerned, the real father figure in his life was Mr. Sengoku. It was true that the man holding the steering wheel next to him right now was his father in the way that he had come before him in the gene pool, but in the end, that was really just a source of anger to Miyuki.

From Miyuki’s perspective, Yukimasa, who was driving the car with a pleasant expression on his face, didn’t look anything like a father. He had the physique of a young person and his hair was dyed a stylish brown. What was more, he was so used to being admired by other people, he tended to strike poses without even realizing what he was doing.

It was clear to anyone who saw him that he was the sort of man who had made plenty of women cry.

Miyuki had been born when his father had been barely legal himself. Then, seven years later, he had gotten divorced. Miyuki could vividly remember the day it had happened. He had been in fifth grade at the time. Yukimasa had conducted himself in a completely shameless manner even on the day it had taken place.

After the divorce had been made official, Harunobu Sengoku had been the only member of his mother’s side of the family that he had continued to see. He had even more or less lost contact with his mother. He didn’t know what his other relatives’ situations were, but in Kaori’s case at least, she never reached out to get in contact with him.

Yukimasa didn’t seem to notice the silence in the car. Smiling at something he had thought of, he opened his mouth the slightest bit as if he was going to hum and then said, “That’s right. I need to tell you something. I’m coming with you today so that I can get a certificate of residency here in Tokyo. I’m changing my address from the house in Wakayama Prefecture to one here. That’ll take some time to process, though.”

“Oh.”

The house in Wakayama had been Miyuki’s address when he had been transferring middle schools last time. When Miyuki had taken the elite Keibun Academy’s entrance exam, he had been grateful for a chance to live without his father, but Yukimasa had quickly acquired a house nearby. Yukimasa’s ability to pick up and move wherever was a great nuisance to his only child.

“Are you going to be living near my school again?”

“Seeing as you’re going to be living in the student dorms this time, it doesn’t really matter where I live.”

“Thank God you’re not throwing me into some random woman’s house again and making me eat her bad cooking.”

Since Yukimasa’s divorce, this had happened more times than Miyuki cared to count. Of course, there had been women who had been good cooks as well, but he ignored that in this moment.

“That’s an ungrateful thing to say,” Yukimasa answered composedly. “They were all just doing their best.”

“If by doing their best, they had an ulterior motive,” Miyuki retorted testily. In reality, however, Miyuki had always gone along with those sorts of changes in his father’s life, quickly finding the good points of each of the women that moved in with them. There had been a limit to all of that though.

“I wish you would have let me move into a dorm earlier.”

The car had turned off of the highway at some point and was now driving down a city road. It didn’t look the way Miyuki imagined Tokyo. The rows of buildings they were passing were small and simple. A nearby mountain range with blue sky and clouds above it was visible beyond the buildings as well.

Seeing as Miyuki was always moving, he had never gotten used to one area over another, but not having lived in Tokyo before, he was thoroughly surprised by what he was seeing now.

“…This looks like the countryside.”

“The Tokyo area has little towns and even remote fishing communities on islands. Your perception of the city is limited.”

Miyuki decided to keep his mouth shut until he got out of the car. However, it turned out that they were only a few minutes away from their destination.

The place was greener than he would have thought with stylish school buildings. It reminded him a little of the updated area of Tokyo Station in the way that the buildings were older, but had clearly been remodeled. Miyuki wasn’t necessarily impressed with the school because of it, but assuming the buildings weren’t a deception, this was probably an expensive place to attend.

Yukimasa parked the car outside of the school’s front gate, but did not move to undo his seat belt.

“I guess you can go on alone from here,” he said to Miyuki, remaining where he was. “I’m not going to introduce myself at the school today. You can handle the apology for being three days late on your own, right?”

It was all a bit strange, but seeing as it was what Miyuki wanted as well, he hurried to get out of the car before Yukimasa could change his mind.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t let anyone know the real reason why you’re at this school and stick to the plan as much as possible. And don’t drink as much as you did on the mountain.”

Miyuki felt like snapping at Yukimasa. His father always needed to get the last jab in.

“Obviously.”

“This school takes school customs more seriously than Keibun Academy did. You need to figure that out quickly. And don’t forget that you’re the one who wanted to come here. There’s no point in resenting me for sending you.”

“You can leave now.”

As Miyuki scowled at him, Yukimasa turned his smiling face from his son and drove away. The rental car grew smaller until it turned a corner on the street and disappeared.

Miyuki continued to gaze down the road, not because he was reluctant to enter the school, but because the weather was so nice. The longer he stood there though, the harder it became to move.

…I think I’m carsick now on top of everything now. I feel terrible.

His mood no brighter than it had been before, Miyuki took an unenthusiastic step towards the entrance to the middle school.

Keep reading!

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

High Tide || Season 1 Finale Chatzy

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The beach PARTIES: @wardinasrani  @carbrakes-and-stakes @inconvenientsimonstrocity @hackysackace SUMMARY: Ritual at the beach

“Hey Bill.”

Bill Took looked from counting money behind the General Store’s cash register. He absently glanced across the counter to meet the unblinking stare of Sam Rainsbottom. A long silence passed as Bill waited for his teenage clerk to offer up some inane lacrosse trivia or give some hyperactive opinion of how ‘lit’ something was. But Sam just stood there absolutely still, only the slightless rise and fall of the short boy’s chest letting Bill know that he wasn’t having a staring contest with a statue.

“Um...yeah Sam?”

“They're calling me,” Sam said in a dull monotone. “I must go.”

“Sure Sammy, I can clock you out. Who is…” It was then that Bill bill noticed the bloody boxcutter on the store’s floor and shifted enough to see the designs cut into Sam’s palms, welling up like eyes crying red tears. “Oh my god, wait Sam! What..”

But Sam Rainsbottom was already out the door, each step matching a rhythm that sang through his veins. The chant filled Sam’s ears and rushed along his spine like ice, drowning out the words of friends and relatives that attempted to stop the boy, features transfixed in mounting concern. Sam apologized with a drugged smile and insisted in a soft far away voice that the stars Vanth and Orcus stood ready at the gate, and the great vaults of Amansinaya echoed with the cries of those who’d been born adrift from time. He mustn’t keep them waiting.

The cloud’s had congealed into the red-stained amber of evening by the time Sam’s slow steady steps carried him over Jericho Hill and through a small patch of woodlands suddenly devoid of bugs or birdsong. The wordless melody guided him past Dark Score Lake and beyond the habor’s docks where Sam’s father was probably anchoring his fishing boat for the night.

The waters of the ocean seemed to stretch out like a vast sacrificial slab, churning with strange whirls and ripples despite there being no wind. Hooded figures cavorted in a festival of antediluvian worship on the shore. Sounds of fire, lightless caverns, lightning turning sand into glass came from the congregations’ lips, bathing Sam’s ears in alien psalms that played havoc with his neurochemistry and instilled the air with a pressure that felt like the moon had drawn too close to the Earth.

Sam’s tennis shoes crunched on the sand as he approached the beach.

Simon didn’t normally find himself at the beach, especially after the last couple weeks he had. First the wolves, then the full moon and its… horrors, the past week with whatever illness he seemed to have contracted, the vision at the Morgue... All of it was worrying, almost so much so that he nearly didn’t even notice as he was walking to his car that he… wasn’t actually walking to his car, abandoning the things he had bought uh... Somewhere as he instead walked in the general direction of the ocean. He didn’t have a chance to go home as he was initially trying to head to his car with food for his dog nor did he have a choice for what he WANTED to do - there was a thought in his head, a new set of sounds that he couldn’t understand that felt like a string of ink being woven through his neurons, getting mixed up with the wires already crossed from his being a wolf and he wanted to stop walking but he couldn’t. He walked, feeling almost like a zombie that aimlessly shuffled though he did his best to make it look like he DID know where he was going and why and he didn’t let the facade drop until he found himself with a small collective of other people, two men and… Alain? What was he doing here? He glanced down and saw the things that he presumed one of the men had drawn, and though it didn’t look immediately recognisable to him, he deduced that it was magic of some kind. Another ritual? He noted the rock in the center and, not entirely sure what to do or why he was here other than some otherworldly compulsion, he rubbed an arm with his hand awkwardly and stood there, quiet and waiting for… HOPEFULLY some form of explanation, wondering if any of this had to do with the vision he saw from the supernatural eyeball that stuck to his hand.

Years of practice, hours of preparation, and yet Darwin's forehead was damp with sweat as he traced the lines of the Circle in the sand. It wasn't ideal, he'd have to make sure the waves wouldn't erase all his hard work, but the ritual had to happen at the beach. That's where everyone would be summoned, and where they'd stop the madness that's been plaguing the town. Or die trying, but Darwin tried not to dwell on that.

People started gathering, and Darwin finally decided to show himself. He walked toward the others, hands raised in an offer of peace. His movements were slow, calculated, and he used the shadows to mask his nervousness. When he spoke, his voice was calm and even. “Good evening. You might be wondering why you've been called here, or by whom.” He paused dramatically and turned to point at the area he'd prepared a little farther down the beach. A big rock had been placed at the center of the circle, forming a rudimental yet effective altar, and on it he placed his tools: a dagger, a bowl, and a small wooden box that somehow seemed to shake every now and then as if something inside was tossing and turning. “We're here to put an end to a great menace that could very well wipe this town out. We all have a role to play today, and it is imperative that we do it well, or we might be doomed. We'll only get one chance, so I expect everyone to follow my instructions carefully.”

Again, he paused. How did you explain to a bunch of strangers that you were a demon expert about to summon a monster in front of them and force them to fight each other in the hopes of channeling some mystical force and banishing a creature that they might not even have seen? Darwin pinched his nose and sighed. Tonight would be harder than expected. He let his eyes focus on each of the others, studying them, trying to figure out who everyone was supposed to be. “I know none of you have any reason to trust me... So trust yourselves. You all came here following an impulse, deep inside you know we must act now. I promise... And those of you well-versed in the supernatural know that's not a word that should be used lightly... I promise that everything I'll ask of you will be for the good of everyone. Now... One of you should be able to change their form. Now would be the time to do so. Their natural enemy should encourage them.”

The hunter still had patches of grey ash in his hair as he approached the sea shore. This was not his plan for the night, but he had left the cemetery with no complaints, crossed the road ignoring the sound of honks and ended up stepping on wet sand, toward the group of people who he knew he had to join. His true purpose was to be here, with these people, with that kid who worked at the store next to his garage, this guy with the really excellent barber, and Simon ? What the hell was Simon doing here? The last time the two had been near water, Alain had ended up in jail. Yep, he did not like how this was going.

The promise made by Barber guy did not convince him, but he was right about everything he had said. Something had brought them here, something bigger than them all, certainly. Completely ignoring whatever rules he had on discretion, the hunter drew his sword out and turned toward Simon. There was something in the way Simon had reacted to the news of a shifter being present that did not sit well with the hunter. Pointing his sword in his direction, Alain stepped forward. The look on his face was neither grim nor menacing yet, but the threat was very present. He spoke calmly, although his tone and attitude would change, should he not listen. “Simon, I have no idea what is going on, but, I think this guy is right?” He would not have been able to explain why, but the man was right. He had to be.

And so it was that Sam Rainsbottom found himself on a beach with a bunch of Metallica Fans, a guy who believed the lake was possessed by demons, a guy who looked as confused as Sam himself, and a last guy who apparently was a preacher trying to get the other guy change and accept Jesus into his heart...or be stabbed?

“W-woah woah,” the teenager said, trying to interpose himself between Alain and Simon. The chanting and growing sense of dread had taken Sam’s nerves to a feather pitch. But though Sam was visibly shaking in the face of horrors he didn’t understand and the lacrosse championships were about as “violent” as he was up for. However he wasn’t going to let some guy get stabbed because of this creepy lake jesus religious stuff.

“Stop!” It suddenly occurred to Sam that he was interposing his attractive yet very soft and slashable body in front of a dude with a sword. ...Regrets? Yes. “I don’t know what’s going on, but don’t hurt him!”

So in one moment, Simon had no idea what he was doing but in the next, the man with the fantastic facial hair had given a succinct, yet understandable explanation for why they were gathered - well, understandable as it could’ve been given that he was correct about this being a ritual. The part he was a little more concerned with, however, was how the man with the facial hair mentioned that one of them should be a shifter. He wasn’t referring to… Simon, was he? Maybe he was talking about the younger man… he didn’t peg Alain as a shifter either and he obviously wasn’t talking about himself. “Y-yeah, about that last part--” He didn’t get to finish his sentence when Alain suddenly pointed a… sword at him. Alain owned a sword? “Hey!” He held his hands up, taking a step away from Alain. “Alain, it’s… me? Simon?” He asked uncertainly. He wanted to mention that he was not, in fact, a shifter; just a normal person with other people and this was all some massive misunderstanding. Even if he was, he didn’t CHOOSE to shift - that was something only born wolves could do, right? Then the youth jumped in front of him and while he didn’t necessarily feel protected, it was slightly comforting to see someone so noble as to take a sword for him, if only for a couple seconds until the sword pierced through him and into Simon himself. “Uh… I think you have the wrong guy,” Simon mentioned, looking over at the ritual-performer despite something inside him knowing that something was wrong. Well, wrong-er.

“No, no, no!” Darwin blurted out, shaking his head. “First the shifter will change, then blood will be drawn, you're doing this all wrong!” Amateurs. He had to remind himself that these people didn't know what Darwin knew, and admittedly his explanation had been vague. At least they seemed the heroic, self-sacrificing types, that bode well for the ritual. With an exasperated sigh he took another couple of steps backward, moving closer to the circle. “Very well, let me be more clear. One of you is a shifter, one is a hunter, one is a human. And then there's me, I'm the magical one. And the sharpest dresser, clearly.” That last bit wasn't necessarily true, but it helped him: while the dark clothes, the many mystical symbols hanging from his neck and the eyeliner only made him look like one of the bad guys they gave him confidence, and he needed to project the aura of a man perfectly in control if he wanted to inspire trust. “Now, I don't care who's who. And if you're worried about your identity being discovered, there are spells we can do to make people forget. We're here as allies, not enemies. But,” he paused dramatically, his eyes focusing on each of the others. “Balance must be restored. Hunters hunt, and shifters shift, that's how it's always been, and how it must be tonight.” Of course, he kept it to himself the role the human would have to play. Somehow he figured it would be best to save certain revelations for the very last moment. “We don't have much time. The cultists might find us. So, you, with the sword...” He focused his attention on Alain. “I assume you're the hunter here. If a change won't happen in the next moments, it is your duty to make it happen. By force, if necessary.” Darwin took another long pause, this one clouded with genuine fear. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he opened his arms. “You can even attack me if it'll make the shifter change. Just... Not the face, please.”

Alain’s attention went back toward sharp beard, who looked exasperated, at best. Alain, who was far from impressed by the man’s accusations, did not comment, and instead listened, lowering his sword. It wasn’t like he had anything to fear from grocery boy and Simon. Yet. If anything, he was more worried about the man who claimed he was a magician. He reminded him of Felix in some aspects, and that was not really a good sign for the hunter. “So this is about bringing balance back to the force? Dude, that’s the plot of Star Wars.” If he shook his head with disapprovement, he did not leave. He would have left, maybe he should have left, but he had this feeling he couldn’t quite catch, that kept him here, with this group of seemingly normal people. He had to play his part, and if whatever this guy said was true, then maybe they would finally stop getting fish rain, eyeballs everywhere, endless nights, and other types of horrors. He was not the kind to get his hopes up, as he could not afford being disappointed again. And so he listened, and looked at Simon from over the kid’s shoulder. “Simon, you have to shift. You need to shift,” they did not have time to lose. Cultists were everywhere and they would find them if they did not get this over with, and that’s what brought him to get his free hand on Sam’s shoulder, pushing him aside as easily as if he were a toddler. “I don’t know why you’re here, kid, but let’s make sure you don’t get hurt.” And if Simon turned, then Alain would keep on making sure of that. “Now Simon, don’t make me do things I don’t want to do, and turn.”

Black waves lapped at the shore. Sam’s lived near the ocean all his life and been running around his father’s fishing boat since he’d been old enough to walk. Each wave usually had gradations of color that reflected the hues of the sky, topped by white froth as the tiniest particles of water reacted with friction against the air. Sometimes algae deepened  it with green or undercurrents dredged up bioluminescent creatures that made the sea look a starry tapestry unto itself.

But now the waves were just a cold stygian void, broken only by beach debris of eyes whose neve cords tangled together on the sand like some perverse nightmare version of kelp.

Sam Rainbottom did not believe in magic, demons, aliens, werewolves, superhumans, or wizards. Even God, karma, and the angels seemed like wishful thinking in a world where so many were hungry and hurting for seemingly no reason.

But as he looked at the grim travesty that afflicted nature and say cavorting cultists beseeching the chthonic depths of the sea and outest reaches of space with sounds no human tongue could utter, something instinctive in Sam knew that something was wrong. Not wrong in the sense that this preacher guy was going to stab this other guy, or weird as in whatever sexy Gandalf over there was talking about. There was a more profound wrongness in the air right now that Sam felt in his bones, but didn’t have the words to explain or deny.

Sam wasn’t thrilled about being pushed by sword-preacher guy, but had been manhandled so easily that even Sam was stupid enough try his luck on that front.

“S-so uh...what d-do you need me to do,” he asked Sexy Gandalf, glancing nervously at the clusters of hooded figures by the shore whose chanting was rising in sonorous urgency. Sam wasn’t really sure why he was actively volunteering for whatever Satanic ritual was going down here, save that Sexy Gandalf seemed to be the sole point of certainty in a world going increasingly mad.

Wait wait wait WHAT? What was going on right now, where did Simon make the wrong turn and how did he get off the ride? He still held his hands up in surrender and looked at the strange cast of characters he was around. “I don’t know what you’re thinking is going to happen,” Simon didn’t address anyone in particular but his quiet voice was taking a tone to it - fear, most likely. He didn’t think they knew what was going to happen because HE didn’t; up to this point, he had no memory of when he’d transform and was forced to put the pieces of the night together going by clues he was left the morning after. He wanted to protest that he wasn’t a shifter insomuch as an ‘involuntary curse-bearer'; when he thought ‘shifter’, he thought of someone like Nora who could control her form or even a Born wolf like Salva or Ariana. Simon not only didn’t have control, he didn’t have memory of those times. “I, uh… I can’t,” He decided to conclude lamely. “I have no idea what I’m doing or how I’m… doing.” This was awkward. He hated talking about himself and what he... Could or couldn’t do. “You sure you can’t find any actual shifters?” He was pushing the problem off and he wanted to help, almost more than anything at the moment given the evident peril but he had ACTUALLY no idea of how to help.

“I haven't seen Star Wars, but I can only assume it ripped off from other ancient stories, because this is the plot of many rituals older than the written word itself.” Darwin replied to the Hunter, a hint of annoyance in his voice. Comparing magic to some ridiculous sci-fi flick. Tsk. At the very least the Hunter seemed willing to go through with things, as was the human.

Darwin turned to the kid and put his arm around him, doing his best to sound reassuring and comforting. Not a role that fit him, but he tried. “Young man, you're going to have the biggest part in this. Aside from mine, obviously, I'm the main character in this play.” A wink, playful, meant to ease the tension and to buy some time. How could it break to him the news that he was going to be a sacrifice? Darwin hoped it wouldn't be fatal, they needed the human to survive, but with the cultists so close, a demon about to be freed and a shifter that was obviously as green as the lettuce he had earlier... Things were looking grim. He hid his concerns behind a practiced smile. “You, my dear, are going to make this whole ritual possible. Without you,” without your blood he mentally corrected himself, “We wouldn't be able to do what needs to be done. You'll make it vulnerable.” Darwin didn't elaborate on the 'it', deciding to turn to the shifter instead.

The very reluctant shifter. “You don't seem to grasp the situation here. Hear the chantings? That's a bunch of cultists. You know all the eyes? In the sky, in the sink, in people's flesh...” To further make his point, Darwin raised his palm, showing the empty eyelid still there, sleeping quietly in the center of his hand. “They're working to bring forth something even worse. The magic we'll perform here will stop them, will stop everything. But we need you to transform.” With every word he took a step closer to the shifter. The instructions were clear, the hunter was supposed to force the change. But things weren't going according to plan, he needed to improvise. Of all the hunters and shifters he could get, he had to be stuck with the peaceful ones... He had to push them, somehow. With a sudden movement, he raised a fist toward the Shifter's face. Darwin closed his own eyes as he swung his fist, hoping that an old-fashioned brawl would get the Hunter and the Shifter into the proper mood.

The hunter looked at the self proclaimed leader, who sure had a lot of wrong opinions, with all the disdain he could summon. He must have been the spitting image of his father right now, and his disdain grew bigger, but for himself this time. His wrinkled nose still there, Alain watched as Darwin wrapped an arm around the kid.

If there was something Darwin could do, it might be to make sure that Sam was kept from harm’s way. However, something the magician said brought another frown to his face. What could he possibly mean by this? Was Sam in danger? A bigger danger than this situation, being near those cultists, was? Pinching at the bridge of his nose, Alain gave Mr.Talkative a look. “And what part exactly does he play?” Although, instead of an answer, all he got was Darwin raising his hand on his friend.

He had to react, fastly, and that’s exactly what he did although, now that Darwin’s fist was out of the way, they still had to find a way to make Simon shift. Force him to shift. If he was close to dying, he would have no other choice, no matter how good a person he was. “I’m sorry, bud,” with no warning, he wrapped his hand around Simon’s throat, and started squeezing the life out of him. With his hand on him, whatever happened next, he would at least have some sort of control over the situation, right? Unless…

This whole situation seemed like a bunch of bad ideas rolled into one grandiose bad idea. Everything the snappy dresser said made the hair on the back of Simon’s neck stand up all over again. The more he talked, the more Simon was being put under the impression that this was another one of those blood rituals. GRANTED, the last time he participated in one, they only needed a couple drops so surely that might be the case here, right? But then the man turned to him and he tensed up instinctively. The cultists, the unnatural eye the man flashed on his palm, the recollection that there was possibly a supernatural eldritch squid in the lake and the sun being reduced to a giant eyeball… the werewolf took a step back for every step the supposed spellcaster took towards him to maintain that distance but stopped when the other man did. There was a soft exhale, maybe it was-- Aaaand it wasn’t over. While he didn’t flinch necessarily, Simon’s reaction time already prepared him for getting decked in the face but the impact never came, instead blocked by Alain’s hand. What was wrong with these people? If they could just talk things out, this could be solved, right? “Look, I’m sorry but I can’t just--” He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence when Alain went from blocking the mustachioed man's incoming punch to starting to strangle him. He was caught off-guard by it and at first, for just a split second thought that it was a ploy but he quickly realised that it wasn’t as superhuman strength dug fingers into his neck, rapidly blocking off his circulation. Without thinking, his hands went up to Alain’s, scrabbling at it to get him to let go but he felt like he was in the lockjaw of a crocodile. “Alain--” He gasped, managing to figure out what was happening in those few seconds and if he was permitted to remember this, he would be sure not to blame Alain in any way for his decision. It made perfect sense; neither of them knew what would spark a forced transformation and the thoughts refused to cross Simon’s mind. He was killing him, that much he could feel. The human kept struggling fruitlessly, trying with every fiber to regain control of the situation because in the bottom of his gut, this was not going to go how it was planned anyway. At this point, he could only hope for forgiveness for what he was about to do. “I’m-- sorry…” Then it began; unimaginable pain coursing through his body, ripping over and under and in between every cell of his being. Grunts morphed into yelling that one usually heard on a battlefield accompanied with a missing limb before the shock took them. The hands that grappled Alain’s sharpened, lengthened and mutated where the claws started to dig into the skin. Clothes were ripped as though they were made of paper mache as fur sprouted like grass in tufts; this was no partial transformation, not this time. The yells turned into snarls and growls as Simon was twisted around and subsequently unfurled like a blooming flower, a writhing mass of sharp bits and angled limbs, gangly and wiry. Though the process might’ve seemed like it took several hours, it was over in a matter of minutes; where the man stood before was now a lithe, deep brown beast with piercing blue eyes and a long, scraggly tail that hung behind him, swaying faintly and breathing heavily through its nose as if it just ran a marathon. And it was fast. Eyes dancing over Alain’s features for a few seconds, then the spellcaster’s, a thin snout took to the air briefly before it dropped onto its long front legs and turned sharply to find Sam. Weak link. First prey. It leapt for the human, hearing only the call to destroy something, someone.

Like most human residents of White Crest, Sam lived in a state of a pathological denial. On some level it was a defensive tactic that the mind employed to shelter itself from grim truths best left unknown. Since colonial antiquity, Sam’s ancestors had been born and raised on land that teetered on the liminal horizon between Earth and Non-Euclidean dimensions whose alien realites defied hominid understanding. The only way for a powerless mortal to cope was to censor their own perceptions. The blindfold had been handed down generations and placed over a child Sam’s eyes by parental admissions whenever he mentioned things half-seen in the night.

But now, as a man contorted and seemed to split open before him, there were no more safe lies that Sam could tell himself. There was no sanitized logical explanation for the cracking of bones as they forcefully elongated or the serpentine slithering of muscle cords beneath the skin as organs and fibers reshaped themselves in seconds. The familiar form of human being was punctured by claws and fangs before distending until a sickening skull-crunch followed a man’s visage vanishing into something elongated and lupine. This was impossible..wrong. Sam must be dreaming, crazy, or high maybe. But when that feral sapphire gaze met his own, the young man knew in his blood that he was fully lucid.

Sam’s pale blue eyes widened with the terror of revelation, as if rose-tinted glass had been finally shattered to let in true light for the first time.

The teenager staggered a few steps back as the hulking russet-furred predator charged at him, stumbling on the slick occipital nerve seaweed as his pale lips mouthed soundless words of panic.  

Darwin didn't fight back when the Hunter pushed him away from the shifter. That sort of quick reaction, when blood boils hot and instincts take over, that's exactly the sort of reaction he was hoping for. He didn't bother answering the other men's questions, he just hurried back to the circle. The sound of bones shifting and rearranging was disgusting, but to Darwin's ears it was music: it meant the transformation was underway. He checked the circle on the sand, still intact despite the waves lapping at it. This would work.

In the few seconds they had before the transformation was complete, Darwin shouted “The shifter needs to draw blood from the human! I know it's horrible, but it's what must happen.” Again, he regretted being the bearer of such bad news, but he had no time to reassure the group: he opened the box and picked up what looked like a glowing orb covered in runes. That was a family heirloom, or the closest to it Darwin had: a powerful artefact he'd stolen from the Asrani and had used to trap the demon with Nell's help. Without warning, Darwin grabbed the dagger and used it to stab the orb. The blade dug easily into what looked like stone, cutting it as if it was flesh, and demonic energy started flowing from it. It fell on the lines in the sand, and expanded, filling the circle and making it glow with an eerie light that mirrored the moon's. Darwin started chanting, ancient words of power he had committed to memory, and the light shone brighter, blinding even, as something started to take form in the center of the circle as the creature was being released by its magical bounds.

“In a moment, a demon will rise from this.” Again, Darwin made sure to raise his voice, making it loud enough to be heard over the growls and fighting. “It'll attack us. I need its blood. And the human’s blood. And time to perform another ritual. And no one must die!” Channeling his own energy into the circle to give the demon form was already draining him, truthfully Darwin wasn't sure they were going to make it, but he had to act confident. The creature in the circle was almost solid, drawing his magic and using it to feed its own appearance, and Darwin felt he could move his focus from the summoning to the fight behind him. He turned to watch the wolf, the hunter and the human. “Remember, I need blood, not death!” Reeeally helpful, Darwin.

The leap was the quick part but the Wolf was soon inches from Sam’s face, drained of colour and frozen with shock. He was on the ground, not as exciting for the kill. The wolf loomed over him, dark umber fur brushing against Sam’s pale skin as its nose took in the terrified scent of the boy, his face, his hair, his neck. As it absorbed the stench of its prey, pitch-black claws held Sam’s arms, digging into the soft flesh as though they were made of melting ice cream. It drew back its head, the mangy fur on its thin neck bristling with a snarl that rumbled in its throat and it pulled its claws out sharply, leaving eight deep, dark gashes on his arms, four for each. The smell of blood flowed through his senses and it panted with a cruel desire. With another deep, guttural growl it reached forward again to put a paw on Sam’s stomach when suddenly it yelped and recoiled, feeling something pierce its hide on its hind leg and it whipped around to see Alain with his sword puncturing its skin, deep and sure as it sliced past part of the bone and leaving it notched. The blood dripping from its claws, it abandoned its previous quarry and instead turned to regard the slayer, keeping low to the ground with a limp immediately noticeable.

Demon. Blood. No dying. Ritual. Motherfucking magic nonsense.

Simon did not leave Alain any chance to protest or actually do what he wanted to do. Punch Darwin in the face. This pretentious fuck. He couldn’t stop the wolf from lashing out at Sam. Far from the hunter the idea of killing his friend, but some silver would have been nice to have. He did not really think this through, and while he was not entirely sure that this would work, clearly he could still do some damage with his sword, and stop Simon from hurting the poor kid. And so, as the wolf lifted his paw to strike again, the hunter bolted forward. The sword went easily through the flesh. He barely had time to breathe out in relief, for the beast was turning toward him (which he expected), menacing as ever. He had no other choice but to keep the damn thing away from Darwin and Sam, and so, readjusting the weight of his sword in his hand, Alain stepped back, luring Simon away from the two. Although the more he stepped back, the more he got close to the cultists. Perhaps this would end up being a two birds one stone situation. If he was being honest, facing a werewolf was not something he often had the chance of doing (to say the least) and improvisation being what it was, the hunter could not help but have a bad feeling about this. He had no idea, whatsoever, of how he was going to get out of this situation. If anything else failed, perhaps he would have to go for his usual methods, but losing Simon would truly be heartbreaking, and he wondered, what if, if someone died, none of this would even work?

One of the few tangential benefits of overwhelming confusion and terror is that your brain is so chock full of white noise that pain has to wait its turn. Sam looked down at his arms, palms bearing dried cuts from a boxcutter in the shape of eye-like sigils and now cruelly symmetrical slashes that welled up in scarlet. The athlete had lived a rough and tumble life with plenty of hard knocks and pain during practice, but the gulf between that and what he was experiencing now was so wide that Sam felt like he was being swallowed.

He had tunnel vision, eyes rimmed with wet red and darkness as the huge beast and man with a blade gracefully danced like deadly shadows at the edge of his consciousness, their movements like flickering flames as everything else threatened to be swallowed in smoke. For a time Sam heard only the steady crash of ocean waves and the ragged sound of his increasingly shallow breaths.

But something in Sam fought against the descent from shock into unconsciousness. When rational thought failed, instinct took the wheel, and a stubborn neanderthal part of Sam didn’t give a damn about things making sense so long as he lived. The teenager’s breathing steadied, perhaps having his coaches to thank for years of being hollered at as he powered through the enervating weakness brought on by blood loss and overstimulation. He staggered back to his feet and made his way over to Darwin, the memory of being needed there managing to cut through the dark fog in his head.

Darwin watched the fight, secretly grateful that he was a few feet away from that monstrosity. He had no qualms against werewolves, but seeing the wild beast going on a rampage only fueled his convictions: demons were better. You could reason with demons, bargain for your life. There was no talking to that bundle of muscle, fur and fangs, and seeing it in action he realized the Hunter would be too busy dealing with it to help Darwin with patching the human up.

The human was soon becoming Darwin's favorite person: even with deep gashes on his arms, he still made his way toward Darwin and the circle, and for that Darwin was grateful. He stepped closer to the wounded human and helped him walk where he needed him, right at the edge of the still glowing circle. “You're doing wonderful, just a few more steps, a few drops of blood and then it'll be over.” Darwin paused and quickly added “In the good way, not that you'll die. I won't let it happen.” As he spoke Darwin moved Sam's arms gently, so that they were right above the circle, and then... “I'm sorry, kid.” With only that as a warning, Darwin squeezed one of Sam's arms, watching as the blood dripped onto the circle where the demon's blood still awaited with an ominous glow. “With this sacrifice, thou art free,” he murmured, fueling those words with his own magic.

The moment Sam's blood touched the magical energy on the sand, it quickly spread, painting the lines of the Circle a deep, rich red, glowing with the demon's life force. The human's blood mixed with it, swirling and bubbling as it anchored the demon to this world, and the glowing figure in the center of the circle grew more concrete. The light solidified in a humanoid shape, wearing a dark suit that would be more fitted in a fashion show rather than here, on a beach, next to a rampaging werewolf. The creature's head, though, was far from human: instead of a face, a giant round mouth filled with curved teeth, the sort that would leave their victim no chance to free themselves.

The demon hesitated, bringing his hands to his own throat, and Darwin let out a sigh of relief: the magic was working: Sam's blood not only anchored the demon to this dimension, it also made it breathe. The logistics of it were lost on Darwin, he wasn't a scientist, but seeing the demon gasp for air let him know one thing: it could be drowned. And so...

“Hunter, wolf! Over here, drown the Dator! In the water! When the moon is at its peak!” Which was right about now, and would probably only last a few more minutes. They had to act fast. Of course, wolves were not known for being able to follow specific instructions, and the hunter was probably too busy to really listen to Darwin, so he had to come up with a new plan, quick. He considered using mental magic on the werewolf, something that normally he hated: he'd sworn he wouldn't use his powers to bend someone else's will, he was better than his family, but did he have a choice here? He focused, and tried to tune his magic to the wolf, sending it images of the demon, hoping it would make the wolf focus its attention on a new target, but as soon as he started channeling his energy, the Dator Vitae sensed Darwin's magic and turned its head toward him. Still struggling for air, the creature jumped forward, and Darwin wasn't quick enough to dodge: the demon tackled him to the ground, and the two started struggling on the sand. “Little help, here!” Darwin grunted, doing his best to keep the demon's mouth away from him.

He could hear Darwin shouting from afar, although what disturbed him the most was what he could see in the darkness. What the fuck was this monstrosity? Thoughts of beheading and burning it crossed his head, and this sounded like a much more pleasant option than Darwin’s. “Fuck no, I don’t wanna spend the next week hiding my hands and legs,” he cursed in French, and then started cursing at Darwin, and his whole family while he was at it. Alain knew what would happen if he put his hands in the water. He had ended up swimming in it just two weeks ago, and what followed had not been pleasant. No matter how hard he scrubbed, the ink did not fade, and he had to wait, and wait, and wait.

Alain, however, knew that he did not have a choice, and instead of keeping on dancing around Simon with his sword still in hand, the hunter darted on the wet sand toward Darwin, Sam, and the demon. In the long term, he doubted that he could outrun a werewolf, but what mattered now was to keep Darwin alive. It turned out that his habit of wounding legs was really a good habit to have.  Taking advantage of his short advance, the hunter kicked into the demon’s side, sending it flying a few meters away, head falling into the water. Heh. Maybe they wouldn’t have to walk into the water, after all. “Don’t thank me,” he shot a sarcastic smile at the all too proud magician, who had lost a bit of his glow now. Walking past him, the hunter kicked against the demon who was trying to get up, shaking his head. Glancing over at Simon in worry, Alain pressed his foot to the demon’s back.

The Wolf kept its bright blue eyes on Alain, seeing the glisten of its own blood on the blade he held up and pointed at it but not acknowledging that the blood was its own. Sam's gore filled its senses but now Alain was the prey and it circled with the hunter in a staring contest, eyes boring through the slayer, waiting for an opportunity to lunge, a spot of weakness, a move to counteract. Other voices were heard but ignored, other sounds tilted an ear but the man with the sword was the target.

Then it shook its head briefly but fervently, as if hearing an acute noise that punctured its concentration, images of something it couldn't understand but didn't inherently fear flashing before its eyes and in its head. The images were short enough not to fully register but in those few moments of distraction, Alain had made a move. Teeth bared and dripping saliva, the Wolf started to give chase and staggered with the first bound as its leg gave out before it had a chance to send adrenaline through its system to keep it going, sending the beast skidding along the ground. Once it righted itself, steeling its muscles, the second push was enough and the Wolf pursued, seeing Alain occupied with something. Perfect. It leapt at Alain, mouth gaping and claws out like a cat about to catch a bird.

Sam had responded to the appearance of a lamprey faced monster from the tribute of his own blood at first with dumb incomprehension. However when the creature had summarily attacked Darwin, Sam had immediately attempted to football tackle the Demon. Sam’s body was quickly losing blood, life, and strength. Nonetheless he fought against the creeping feeling of numbness in his limbs and tried to wrestle the strange suited thing off Darwin, teeth gritted in a blind determination to make the madness stop. Unfortunately Sam’s strength was purely mortal and wouldn’t have likely budged a Demon even if Sam’d was bodily sound and four feet taller.

The fact that the dude with the sword then interrupted Sam’s fierce mortal struggle to simply punt the lamprey monster into the water and do a Captain Morgan pose on it might have been a bit emasculating if Sam had the mental space to think about anything other than pain and the enormous wolf-thing making another charge.

“Dude heads up!”

Darwin was thankful to the human: even with his wounds still fresh he tried. Granted, he only managed to get the Dator Vitae more upset and to bleed all over Darwin's clothes, but that was secondary to the fact his intervention kept the demon from latching its face to Darwin's body and sucking him dry of magic. When Alain arrived and kicked the creature away, Darwin crawled back, trying to put a few more feet between himself and the fight.

“I'll thank you all once this is over,” he replied to Alain, voice tinted with a hint of frustration: his part had been done, and now that brawns were what truly mattered he felt useless. The Wolf's growling drew Darwin's attention to the giant shifter charging at them, and he panicked. The wolf seemed out of control, and headed toward Alain. He doubted the hunter would be able to handle both a Dator and a werewolf, so Darwin gathered the few magical energy he had left and focused again on the wolf, trying to create a mental connection between himself and the creature.

Despite being a skilled magician, and having studied mental magic for years, it was difficult: a shifter's mind was always slippery. Ever changing, and working on instinct more than rational thoughts, it gave Darwin very little to work with... There would be no communication with the wolf, at least not with words. Instead, Darwin pictured the Dator Vitae, and sent that image to the wolf, along with visions of raw, succulent meat, the smell of a grill and the woodlands, and hoped that would be enough to lure the wolf into attacking the demon instead of Alain. Still on the ground, out of breath and almost magicked out, there was nothing more he could do, and he lacked the human's stamina (or maybe it was willpower, the human truly seemed to be a remarkable individual) to push his own limits. Not to mention, he needed to save his strength to conclude the ritual once the demon had been drowned.

The Dator Vitae, for its part, refused to just stay down quietly. Using its supernatural strength, it struggled against Alain's foot, grabbing it with both hands and pulling, trying to make the hunter lose his footing and drag him into the water instead. In the distance, the chanting grew louder and louder… There was a good chance the cultists were approaching. Darwin could only hope Bertrand had somehow managed to lure them away from the ritual and would be able to distract them long enough.

“Putain de…” Alain frowned and did what he should have done seconds ago. Chopping off both the Dator’s arms, he turned toward the whole coming right at him. Good luck getting yourself up with no arms, the hunter thought to himself, although he didn’t really have time to check whether this thing could regrow limbs fast, as he now had to worry about Simon, who was leaping at him. A glimpse to the left and he saw Darwin and Sam looking somewhat safe. While he doubted that the human would help (and he did not blame him for it, or expected him to), Darwin sounded both like someone he would detest, and like someone capable, who knew what he was doing. Maybe it was the comment about Star Wars being a rip off, but the hunter had a bad feeling about the magician.

He tried to grab the wolf’s front legs, but the claws dug into his arms as he did so, and his foot slipped from the demon’s back. Alain really hoped that having cut off the arms would play its part into keeping this thing drowning. Right now, this was not really his priority anyway, razor sharp teeth were inching closer to his face the more the claws dug into his arms, forcing him to give more room to the wolf. “Bordel de coui- Simon, tu fais chier,” there were more curses in French as the hunter struggled to get the damn beast off of him. “A little help here,” he called out. Alain had not noticed it yet, too focused on Simon, but the chanting of the robed cultists had gotten louder and louder, as they were getting closer.

Everything seemed to be going in a blur yet standing still in time and the Wolf was no exception, in one area for a moment then advancing on Alain in the next, static yet in motion. It struggled with the hunter, snapping wildly at his face as its claws pierced the skin on his arms, being held at just enough of a distance though it pushed with strength that certainly belonged to it and not the human it was forced to share a body with. As it lunged and growled and drooled, however, its mind was filled with something else, something familiar yet distant and it recalled the images it suddenly saw, having been from minutes before. The combination of the images coupled with the new stench of whatever was coming from the armless thing in the water overrode the wolf’s instincts; Alain wasn’t the target anymore. The sensation was roughly akin to seeing another predator threatening to take away its prey. The wolf, with no trace of care, tore its claws out of the hunter’s arms and twisted in a fluid motion until its bright blue eyes fell upon the demon. Threat, thief, enemy of what was the wolf’s. With a barking snarl, the wolf dropped onto all fours again and dug its claws into the ground to get an extra burst of thrust as it aimed for the armless creature in the water, sharp night vision seeing that it LOOKED like water but it was pitch black. It didn’t need to focus on the water though, it only had eyes for the creature and it landed on the demon with the many rows of teeth, taking its paws to the snappy suit it was wearing and clenching its teeth into the shoulder of the other as the two rolled into the water, falling beneath the surface and becoming invisible in the murky black depths save for bubbles and splashes of activity from a stray limb.

Sam sat exhausted on the bloodsoaked sand watching as both wolf and lamprey creature vanished beneath black waves. It was easy then, as blood poured over his arms, to imagine that this wasn’t anything more than a dream. The pain was real though, climbing up his spine and guts. He coughed in thick shuddering gasps. Wide blue eyes drifted from Alain to Darwin, but nothing about their bloodstained appearances and bearing offered up any alternative explanation to Sam’s mind.

They’d murdered a wolf that’d split open from a dude, and a fish thing in a suit that’d been lubricated with blood out of a rock.

“This isn’t...that doesn’t.” The sky, sand, and sea began to spin like a gyroscope, switching places with each other. The world somersaulted and Sam felt like he tumbled off its axis. Damp sand and slick eyeballs pressed against his cheek as Sam slumped down on the shore and the world went dark.

The Dator Vitae had let out a terrible screech when its arms had been severed, but it didn't lose any of its fighting spirit, and only the weight of the werewolf kept it from lounging. Instead of attached to the spine of the hunter who'd hurt it, the Vitae found itself tackled by a wolf. Unable to fight back, it was dragged underwater, the black liquid filling its mouth. There was some sort of magic in the water, the demon could feel it, but it wasn't a magic it could feed on. Instead of strengthening it, it made it weaker. Its movements were sluggish as it tried fruitlessly to struggle against the beast keeping it underwater. The Dator's legs kicked, its teeth scratched, but the wolf was just too strong, and without its arms the demon couldn't get the upper hand, nor could it get free. And eventually, once the water was all it could taste, see and feel... The Dator Vitae stopped struggling.

“Good boy, keep it down!” Darwin mumbled to himself as he watched the wolf disappear under the pitch black water of the ocean. As the one who'd summoned the demon, he could somewhat sense its energy, and he smiled in feeling the way it faded with each passing second. He tentatively stood up and took a couple of steps toward the hunter, keeping a safe distance. “I think... Only a few more moments, and then it'll be over.” He sounded far more exhausted than panicked, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes of his concern. Gone was the façade of the confident magician, he was too tired, too drained to keep it up. He looked up and sighed. “Right on time... A few more minutes and it would've been too late.” As tired as he was, Darwin couldn’t keep a small smile off his face: the ritual had been completed, he could feel it. He gathered the last of his magical energy to send out a quick signal. A small flash in the sky above them, so that Nell would know they made it.

“Now we just need to find a way to calm the wolf and get out before the cultists arri” Darwin's voice was cut off by a sudden thump, and he turned to watch the human faint, his fall softened by the sand. “New plan. He needs a doctor, he lost a lot of blood.” Darwin silently vowed to keep watch on Sam's unconscious body once this was over, they owed it to him. Slowly, he reached the human, and did his best to lift him up, ready to carry him away, on his own if he had to. “Hey, Hunter...” Darwin frowned. They all worked together, risked their lives together, and he didn't know how else to call him. “We can’t do anything for the wolf, but he’s gonna be fine. He’s a wolf. And the cultists… They deserve an angry wolf.”

[dutten-does-the-fanfic]

I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 10

Title:  I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 10 of 14 (ch. 1) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Word count: 23.713  Warnings: Language, internalized homophobia, mental illness, panic attacks & anxiety, the press, very vaguely referenced past suicide attempt

AO3

Summary:  The one where it’s been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all

Present

Isak spends the entire morning on the phone.

He makes the mistake of picking up the phone when Sonja had called – he doesn’t even know how she would’ve gotten his number, but it had been her, Isak recognized her voice. Ever since then, she’s been calling, or numbers Isak’s checked belong to the rest of Even’s team have called.

Maybe it’s shitty of him not to pick up, but once he’d assured Sonja that Even wasn’t injured – no comment if he was with him or well or anything – she’d started talking business, which, Isak can’t.

He tries to take care of his own business afterwards. He can skip lectures no problem, Sana will lend him her notes, he knows, but there’s lab work and group work that he can’t just stay away from. Study-buddy sessions with Sana can be rescheduled, but some of the other things are time sensitive, and working it out leaves him more exhausted than he’s felt since Even showed up at his front door, dreary and exhausted himself, and about to crash so hard he’s barely moved 16 hours later.

Isak had managed to doze off for a few hours in that time span, propped up in his desk chair because getting into bed with Even when everything was so messed up hadn’t seemed like a good idea. Hadn’t seemed like a fair thing to do – not to Even, but also not to Isak – lying next to him like that, as if their lives aren’t a fucking mess, like they’re still kids who don’t know any better, who life hasn’t fucked over.

He’s probably reading too much into it, knows he is. The first thing Even had done once Isak had said he could stay was, after all, to stumble against Isak and curl himself around him, a solid weight and like he’d never left.

Isak can’t remember the last time he’d hugged Even. That’s a… a something. A thought that actually scares him a bit, makes him feel like he’s taken a punch to the stomach.

It had been everything it had always been, though, even after all those years. Even was bigger, had somehow managed to grow even taller than he’d been back… back then, but so has Isak, so it evens out. Isak had still been able to comfortably fit his head underneath Even’s chin, had had to stand on his tippy toes to wrap his arms all the way around Even’s shoulders, to hold him so tightly they’d end up fusing together if they didn’t let go.

He’d gotten Even into his bed, Even falling asleep almost instantly, far more drained than he’d looked, which was a feat in itself. Isak had spent the next hours ignoring the boys’ increasingly worried looks and attempts of concerned comfort and had just stared at Even in his bed instead.

Whenever Isak has seen him on screen – the only access to Even he’s had for two years, barring the two accidental meet-ups – Even had been the same way as Isak had remembered him to be; larger than life, so charming and so magnetic and positively mesmerizing with his words and visions.

Even looks small now, covered up to his nose with Isak’s bed sheets, curled up and with dark purple bags underneath his eyes.

He’d left the room at the first buzz of his phone, then it hadn’t stopped buzzing since and Isak had stayed in the kitchen, finally slumping down on one of the chairs and given up looking at his phone.

“Hey,” Jonas says quietly, knocking against the doorframe to warn Isak of his presence. Isak still startles. “How are you?”

Isak snorts, goes back to staring at his phone placed on the kitchen table, wrong side up just so he wouldn’t have to see the numbers of people he can’t talk to right now.

Jonas doesn’t try to dig an answer out of him. Probably winces at his choice of words if Isak knows him well enough.

Isak doesn’t know how he is. He wants to cry, but not really. He mainly just feels numb.

“How long have you been up for?” Jonas moves towards the coffee machine, careful to keep his eyes on Isak.

Isak doesn’t know. He won’t be surprised if more time has managed to pass than he thinks has. He doesn’t want to check the time on his phone because he doesn’t want to check his phone, and he can’t work it out with the lack of exhaustion from the wired tension that refuses to leave him.

So he shrugs, keeps his gaze on the table. They should be more careful to clean it – there are several stains from spilled beer and sodas and condensation from bottles.

The stains are making him antsier than he already is, so Isak goes back to staring at the backside of his phone.

He doesn’t know how long he can get away with not going to school. He definitely needs to call some of his professors to ask for an extension, if he at this rate even gets close to getting started on his schoolwork.

It’s funny, Isak notes without any humor whatsoever. For so long, Even had been the most important thing to him, had been what he was most proud of, and then when Even had left and Isak had gotten his head out of his ass with Jonas’ help, he’d fixated on his studies, on getting his degree. Almost as a pseudo-replacement – he couldn’t get Even, but he could definitely get a degree.

Now Even’s back and Isak’s practically letting his degree fly out the window. Well, that’s probably an exaggeration, but if he continues at this rate, or if this temporary break has to turn into a longer term dropout, then he’s lucky if he’ll even get to re-sit his exams next summer.

“How is…” Jonas stirs a spoon in his cup of coffee despite not having poured the water in yet. “How is Even?”

The sound of Even’s name in Jonas’ mouth is… weird.

It’s not like Jonas hasn’t said Even’s name before, but it’s usually been Even Bech Næsheim and he’d been referring to him as this distant figure, famous for his movies and Magnus’ obsession, not as an actual person, definitely not as a physical being currently in his home, sleeping in his roommate’s bed.

Isak supposes that’s another thing he’ll have to get used to. He’ll have to get used to people talking about Even around him, and he’ll have to get used to people knowing he knows Even, and he’ll have to get used to people knowing.

“Asleep.”

Even hadn’t stirred in the couple hours Isak had managed to pass out. He should probably get him to drink something soon; maybe get some food in him if he can take it.

Jonas nods. “That’s good. He looked tired.”

“Yeah.”

Tired after the mania. Tired after running around naked at an internationally famous, televised award show. Tired in general.

Isak sure as hell is tired.

Jonas keeps stirring the spoon. The water finishes boiling, but he doesn’t add it. Isak doesn’t move either. Just sits there and stares like an actual idiot.

“Listen, man,” Jonas draws it out, enough that Isak tenses in his seat. “I’m sorry about last night, about just shouting like that. It wasn’t cool, and it wasn’t alright for me to do that to you.”

Last night feels like years have passed since, everything that happened before Even showing up at the door seems like eons ago, Isak can barely remember all the things Jonas had said through the haze and deliria of finding out Even was having an episode, and then Even being there, and then Even being there, and then having to help Even.

He doesn’t know how to tell Jonas that, though, so he just shrugs. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”

Jonas scoffs, but he mostly just sounds tired, not angry. “It does, it really does. I just wanted you to know I shouldn’t have done it, and that I would change it if I could.”

I would change it if I could. How many times hasn’t Isak thought that exact sentence when he’d thought back on past choices and a life that seemed like it happened to someone else, another Isak in a different universe that this Isak got a glimpse into the life of.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says instead. Considers telling Jonas he can make up for it by buying him a beer next night out, but he really isn’t in the mood for a drink and he can’t imagine going out for the next very, very, very long while.

“Do you need to call the university?”

Another shrug. Isak thinks of his professors, of Sana, of the administration, the list of people growing longer and longer until he’s dizzy and a bit nauseous. “Probably.”

Jonas finally adds the water then goes back to stirring. The scent of coffee fills the room, Isak can’t tell if it’s helping to alleviate his growing headache, or if it’s just making it worse.

“You can tell us, you know, if you need help. Or just – anything.”

Isak stares harder at his phone. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. If he starts crying now, he doesn’t know when or if he’ll stop.

“Yeah!” Magnus says, too loudly, startling Isak, from the doorway as he strides across the kitchen, getting a glass of water. “You need to personally hand in that essay today, don’t you? We can hang around until you get back. He’ll probably be asleep for a while longer, but we could make some breakfast for him.”

Isak blinks at Magnus. Then blinks again.

Jonas frowns as well. “He’s already been asleep for, like, more than 12 hours – how much –“

“Dude,” Magnus interrupts, scrunching up his nose at Jonas. “If you had spent the last, probably, week on a high like that, your body would be begging for some sleep, too.”

Isak blinks. How did he –

Jonas frowns even harder, his eyebrows fully curled in now. “High – what, are you telling me that was a drug-induced stunt?” Jonas switches between looking incredulously at Magnus and then over to Isak, like Isak’s in a position to confirm whether or not Hollywood’s worst reputation is true. Isak just blinks.

“The fuck, how did you know?”

Now Magnus is the one who blinks owlishly at Isak. “It’s… obvious?”

Isak nods towards Jonas. “It clearly isn’t.”

Magnus just keeps looking confused. “My mom is bipolar. Did you not know that?”

Isak did not know that, thank you very much, Magnus. He’s met the woman, sure, but not during an episode, and Magnus has never said a goddamn word about it, that’s for certain.

“Bipolar?” Jonas asks, not specifying to whom, but he’s ignored nonetheless.

“No,” Isak bites, huddling himself further down in his chair, “I didn’t.”

Magnus just blinks again. “Huh. I really thought I told you guys.”

Isak doesn’t bother shaking his head. It’s not like it matters now, anyway.

“Oh, then I’ve got to tell you about this one time she got pissed with the NSB, and so she found out who the regional director was and sent in a resignation letter in his name. It was fucking hilarious. All it said was, like: ‘I give up, I can’t work here anymore. Goodbye.’”

The dissonance between Magnus laughing and Isak just so out of it with how little control he has in his life is too great for Isak to wrap his head around.

Jonas is nodding along with Magnus’ story, but his eyes are wide and Isak can tell it’s all a little too much for him as well.

“Did Even ever do anything wild?” Magnus asks before he can help himself.

Isak flinches, doesn’t think of long, confused nights with Even switching between twenty scripts or hyper-focusing on one, where he’d have Isak lie in a pose for several hours because of the inspiration it gave Even, doesn’t think of Even painting an entire mural, doesn’t think of a lot of things.

He does think about Even running around naked at an award show, and what that could possibly do to his career. Like, end it, for one.

“No, nothing like that,” he says instead. During the admittedly short period of time where Even’s medication hadn’t been worked out, leaving him with only smaller episodes, he’d only ever really fixated on his work or on Isak. He hadn’t done something like Magnus’ mom with NSB, hadn’t really done anything that could be considered ‘funny’ in someone else’s eyes.

Magnus looks at him for a beat too long, Isak doesn’t like the way it feels like it goes through him, then opens his mouth to say something when Mahdi interrupts.

“Are the curtains still up?” Mahdi asks, stumbling over his joggers and looking sleep-rumbled. “The circus is back in town.”

“Shit, seriously?” Jonas moves towards the window to pull Mahdi’s sheet more securely over the corner. “What the fuck, man.”

There’s a small scratch near the bottom of his phone where he’d scratched it with the phone charger. Don’t fucking cry.

“Are the curtains drawn in your room?” Mahdi asks. Isak doesn’t even realize he’s talking to him before he asks, “Isak? Are the curtains drawn in your room?”

They are, Isak remembers they are, because he’d barely been able to see Even when he’d left to answer the phone, but also because he knows he hasn’t opened them since the certificate was exposed in the article.

He doesn’t know how to answer, though. Don’t cry.

“Hey.”

He feels a hand squeezing his shoulder. Magnus, Isak sees, when he looks up and sees Magnus’ blue eyes and a smile plastered on his face even as it looks like it takes a lot of effort.

Magnus squeezes his shoulder again. “Let’s make some breakfast, yeah?”

Isak doubts Even will actually eat it, but if he stares at his phone for one more second he’ll go insane, so he gets up and lets Magnus guide him through the kitchen, mindlessly going through the motions of making a cup of tea, some toast, and a glass of water.

Isak remembers the way Even used to take his tea – just like his coffee, with lots of sugar, enough to cause a heart attack as Isak would constantly remind him whilst Even laughed and made him taste some as well – which is something that leaves him frozen mid-motion before Magnus gets him going again. It’s such a small, insignificant detail to remember, and Isak can’t tell if he only remembers because seeing Even is triggering a lot of repressed memories or if he would’ve been able to recall that piece of information anyway.

Even is still asleep when he walks into his bedroom, still looking as small and exhausted from what Isak can see, which isn’t a lot in the darkness.

He still hasn’t moved since when Isak left, but he does when Isak takes a deep breath to brace himself and carefully makes sure to step on the floorboard that creaks piercingly.

“Morning,” Isak says cheerfully. He hopes it doesn’t come across as fake as it feels, as it sounds to his own ears.

Then again, he doubts Even particularly cares right now. He isn’t up to answering, either way, and the quiet feels stifling.

“I made toast,” Isak continues instead. He wants to walk over to his window and draw the curtains, let some light and air into the room, but he doesn’t know what it’s like out there right now, so he doesn’t. “Magnus made you a cup of tea. There’s also cereal if you’d rather. I would’ve made you eggs, but –“

He lets it hang in the air how Even was always the one who cooked the eggs because his turn out perfect and Isak’s turn out either overcooked or runny, no in-between. He doesn’t feel ready to bring up something so mundane about their past, not yet, anyway. It’s too early, still feels too much like ripping off a band-aid too quickly, so you know you rip off the scar tissue as well.

“I want to sleep,” Even mumbles, mostly muffled by the pillow and duvet.

Isak stills, has to take in a controlled breath in order to not let his emotions get the best of him.

It was never like it was only the good moments, the fond memories he had of Even that hurt to think about, it was all of them. Seeing Even like this again, it’s – It’s a little too much a lot too soon, if Isak’s honest with himself.

“Alright.” He’s proud of himself the way he sounds – not calm, necessarily, but not angry or put off with Even’s lack of want to participate in conversation. “Have a sip of water, then, before you do that.”

It would be best if he could get him to eat, just a few bites of the toast or something. There’s still time, though, before he has to leave, and if Even doesn’t wake up before then Mahdi doesn’t have class until this afternoon and no other obligations before that.

If he even ends up going, that is. It’ll probably be just as bad as when the article first got published – Isak doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle that, all those journalists yelling at him and photographers snapping pictures at his tired face.

Even’s hair flops down over his forehead, a few strands still clinging on to the meticulous style Even’s notorious for at this point. He looks soft and tired and so fucking exhausted in general. Isak doubts he looks better himself.

He really wants another hug from Even right now.

“Get some more sleep,” he whispers, daring to brush his fingers through Even’s hair, just once. It’s a little tacky from stale product, but it’s still soft and it’s still Even.

Even doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t do anything about it either. Just burrows down under the duvet again and closes his eyes.

Isak can’t tell if he’s already fallen asleep or not, so he gets off the bed carefully and tries to gather his laptop, his charger, and a few books to finish the essay he needs to hand in today.

Considering the circumstances, he probably wouldn’t have bothered. Would’ve spent the day watching Netflix and attempting to fall asleep before trying to get some more food in Even, but this assignment is worth twenty percent of his final grade, and his professor is infamous for not handing out extensions, and getting the administration involved would take too long and be too difficult a process when Isak isn’t the one who’s ill. Doing the damn assignment is easier than not handing it in and trying to rectify it afterwards.

He still is actively trying not to flunk out of university, Isak reminds himself when he sits down on the couch, as doing homework is actually one of the last things he wants to be doing right now. The words dance around on the page for a few minutes, which is a sign Isak probably needs sleeps more badly than he’d thought he did, but he can feel he won’t be able to fall asleep were he to try now.

So he opens his document instead – only about 60% of the required amount of words done – and hopes determination will overpower sheer exhaustion.

Sleep is the cousin of death, he remembers Even saying sometimes when his mind wouldn’t let him sleep.

Isak definitely feels more dead than alive right now, that’s for damn certain.

OOOOO

“Hey,” Isak whispers, shaking Even gently by his shoulder until he opens his eyes.

He looks even more exhausted than he had when Isak woke him up for breakfast.

“I need to hand in an essay, and then I’ve got a tutorial.” Even just blinks. Isak tries not to feel too discouraged by it. “Mahdi and Magnus are both staying, if you remember them. They’ll make you some food when you wake up if I’m not back by then.”

Another blink. Isak feels it settling deeply in his bones, hates it but unable to help it.

“I’ll come hom- I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?” he tries to hide his wince at the slip-up by squeezing Even’s shoulder. He sort of hopes for a nod, or a verbal confirmation, or another blink, but Even just closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

Isak tries to take a deep breath in, but his lungs hurt too much, it’s still too hard to breathe.

Isak really needs for it to stop being so difficult to breathe soon.

“Thanks again,” he tells Magnus who has taken up Isak’s vacated spot on the couch.

Magnus waves him off like it’s nothing. Isak doesn’t know how to tell him any differently, so he meets up with Jonas by the front door, throws on his shoes and his jacket and goes to face the vultures.

OOOOO

Sana texts him when he’s on the tram, about three minutes away from UiO.

One time offer, Isabel, do you need me to swing by to pick up your essay?

Isak nearly facepalms, doesn’t because he has enough decorum not to and because enough people stared at him when he got on the tram with photographers flashing pictures of him. He can see a few younger people trying to discreetly take a few pictures of him as well.

If he had known he wouldn’t need to subject himself to all of this, just by asking Sana to come by he would’ve.

‘s cool, Sanasol he writes back, feeling like kicking himself. Jonas gives him a worried look, but thankfully keeps quiet, like he has ever since the press stopped hounding them. Omw already.

How Jonas can read him so well to know Isak will snap if someone talks to him, Isak doesn’t know – especially considering how rotten he’s been at it for so long by now, absolutely nothing coming naturally, but Jonas has always been like that. His cool, chill nature the complete antithesis to Isak’s high-strung grumpy self.

The quiet a few weeks ago would’ve scared Isak to death. He would’ve thought Jonas had managed to work it out, that he knew, and now everything was ending, but now Jonas does know, all of the boys know – or they know something, they don’t know enough, and they’ve been left with as much guesswork as the rest of the world, really – but they haven’t stopped being his friends and they haven’t kicked him out.

And now Jonas is being an absolute god-tier best friend, trying to block Isak from everyone’s sight, which is a comical feat considering Isak is taller, and he’s keeping quiet because Isak doesn’t have room for anyone else in his already overflowing head.

Isak fucking loves his friends, and he’s been too scared of losing them to tell them that. He should fix that – put it on the list of the million other things he also needs to fix in his life.

The only thing Jonas had said was when they’d gotten on the tram and he’d asked Isak if he was okay. Isak hadn’t known how to tell him that his ears were still ringing, that he felt like he was going to be sick, that he simultaneously felt a thousand tons heavy yet floating outside of his body. That all he really hears over the ringing is hungry journalists shouting at him, asking if Even is still staying with him, if he’s fucking psychotic, if he needs to stay in the closed ward. How long he’s been insane for, or if it’s a new development, if it’s a drug addiction, if it’s something else entirely.

Saved you a seat is all Sana texts back.

Jonas follows him to his classroom, despite Political Science being all the way across campus from the science department. Isak wants to hug him, really fucking wants a hug himself, but he isn’t willing to chance loitering around the halls or getting anyone’s attention. He has enough attention on him already to last a lifetime, so he goes inside the classroom instead, spotting Sana all the way in the back in the corner of the room.

“Everyone take a seat,” the professor orders. He sounds tired as well. “When I call out your name, come hand in your assignment. If you don’t hand anything in, I can’t check you off on my list, and it’s an automatic F – remember, it affects your final ECTS points. It is not possible to ask for an extension. Please have your essays ready, we all have things we need to do today. Everyone ready? Anna Norland.”

Sana sits perfectly poised next to him. Isak feels like an even bigger mess than he had before; he keeps fiddling, shifting in his seat, and taking his phone out of his pocket, back into his pocket, out of his pocket, back into his pocket –

“Alright, stop,” Sana snaps, grabbing his phone and placing it on the table. Isak flips it around so its front side is up, but otherwise he lets go of it at Sana’s pointed glare.

Isak manages two taps on the table before he reaches out for his phone. Maybe he didn’t hear it, maybe Magnus or Mahdi texted to let him know something about Even, maybe Even texted him, he just needs to check –

Sana snatches his wrist out of the air, grabbing a hold of him. Isak stares up at her, wide-eyed.

“I will break it,” she tells him in a tone that very clearly adds on the left out just try me.

Isak isn’t sure whether she’s talking about his wrist or his phone. He’s not all that curious to find out.

He also isn’t in a mood to let someone else step all over him, either, so before he can stop himself he snaps, “It could’ve been an emergency.”

Sana raises one perfect eyebrow and doesn’t even deign him worthy of a reply. “Essay ready. You’re up next,” she says instead.

“Isak Valtersen.”

“Shit,” he curses, scrambling to get the folded up papers hastily printed out of his bag. He trips over said bag when he tries to get to the front of the classroom.

“Today, Mr. Valtersen.”

“Sorry, I – sorry,” he hands over the papers, his spine crumbling a bit at the look fixed upon him, and then he hurries back to his seat.

He feels like he can’t breathe before he sits down, then it all comes whooshing out of him in one big breath. The relief of it only lasts a few seconds, right until he sees the look on Sana’s face.

That just got caught look, that I’m so pissed off right now look, that I can’t believe this or the variation I can believe this, I just really hoped it wouldn’t happen look.

Because then Isak sees where her attention is at. His phone. Which is lit up, the number 12:12 stark white against his dark background, and showing a message-notification from Vilde.

Are you and Even married?!?? And shortly after another one So are you gay?

It feels… it feels like a stab to the heart and like someone has tied an elastic around his lungs and like he has weights attached to his feet and someone has thrown him into a pool, and he’s just sinking, sinking, sinking.

Sana looks at him out of the corner of her eye. She’s biting her lip and clearly debating whether or not it would be more helpful if she said something or remained quiet.

There’s no way she didn’t see the messages. Isak doesn’t even know if there had been more than just the two that had lit up his phone for her to see while he was up at the desk. There could’ve been a million for all he knows, and he only saw the two from Vilde.

He’s out of his chair, out of the room, before Sana has a chance to say a word.

Isak speedwalks down the hallway to get to the exit. He bumps into a group of people, barely remembering to apologize in his haste to worm around them, to get out, get out, get out.

“Shit, isn’t that him –“ he hears before he rounds the corner, throws himself against the automatic door opener and stumbles outside.

He takes in a big gulp of fresh air, feels how it gets stuck somewhere in his throat, none of it reaching his lungs.

Fuck.

He’s got his module coming up now, and going outside means taking the long way around, unless he wants to go back inside and face that group of people, risk facing Sana.

His legs are moving before Isak is aware of it, taking him the long way around the building.

It’s probably a bigger risk, walking around outside like this, but Isak doubts people can’t whisper and sneak photos of him inside as well. Not that that is a particularly comforting thought, either.

His phone feels like it’s burning a hole through his pocket. It hasn’t vibrated once since Vilde’s messages, but Isak’s still wavering on the edge of wanting to check just in case and letting it remain in his pocket.

He can’t even explain the way he feels about it – if he’s just pissed because Sana saw, Sana whom he has to work together with for the rest of the semester, or because Vilde, whom he knows, was the one to ask him like that. Isak doesn’t doubt that he probably has a few similar messages in his inbox, but he doesn’t have any close friends besides the boys, Eva’s girls, and Eskild and Linn, and none of them – besides Vilde – have been forward enough to ask him to his face, even as he had to practically scare the boys into not asking questions, and Eskild was told before everyone else were really made aware.

Isak pushes a door open to one of the side-buildings, hoping he can cut through it to get to the classroom from the back. There shouldn’t be a lot of people loitering around here, which is mainly why Isak does it, risking three locked doors if he’s really unlucky, just to get some peace and quiet for two minutes, please.

“Isak!” someone yells from behind, and Isak can’t deal with anyone else wanting to talk to him, he can’t.

He quickens his pace, turns a corner and half walks, half jogs down the hall, hoping to lose whoever was calling for him.

“Isak!”

He hasn’t. Whoever it is sounds closer and a lot more winded than at the first shout, and Isak realizes he’s going to have to give up unless he wants to start actually running for it.

“Hey!” a hand curls around his shoulder.

It’s not harsh, there’s not even a squeeze, but all the alarm bells in Isak’s head start ringing at the contact and he jerks himself out of the grip. His back ends up pressed against the wall, his shoulder blades pressing harshly into it and he nearly knocks the back of his head out as well as he stares wide-eyed and angrily up at the person.

He’s reached the end of his fuse and all his pent-up anger is about to be unleashed over –

Mikael is standing in front of him, holding both hands up with his palms flat as he stumbles a few steps backwards to put more space in-between the two of them.

“Woah!” he tries to grin, but he’s too worried for it to come out properly. “Sorry. Probably shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

Isak’s heart is pounding. He is standing in front of Mikael. Best bud Mikael. He is talking to Mikael.

Or, Mikael is talking to him, because Isak’s mouth has stopped working sometime between leaving the flat and being stopped in the hall by Mikael.

“I, uh –“ Mikael gestures to Isak vaguely, looking a bit uncomfortable, and all Isak can focus on is why, because, is it Isak? Is it that Even had a secret relationship? Is it that it was with a guy? “I thought it was you. I’ve kind of been looking for you. I – I recognized you from the back.”

Isak arches an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Mikael flushes and looks a cross between mildly horrified and scolded. “Shit, no, I didn’t –“ his hands flail wildly at the back of his own head. “The hair! Like, you from the back, it’s the only side of you I’ve ever seen. Not that I –“

He cuts himself off before he can make it any worse with whatever was about to be thrown out of his mouth.

“I meant,” Mikael closes his eyes and purses his lips as he tries to figure out what he’d wanted to say, “that, when I recently thought back over the years, I’ve seen you sometimes, but only from the back. Whenever we ran into Even in public, he’d always be staring in one direction for a little too long, and when I turned to look there was always some curly-haired blond kid walking away.”

Isak can feel the heat rising up in his cheeks. He remembers all those times, remembers the first time he’d run into Even accidentally in public and his friends had been with him. Thank god they live in such a heteronormative society that Mikael hadn’t even questioned why Even apparently was staring at a guy.

“I saw the picture – I mean,” Mikael winces, tries again, “I saw – there was – Even’s staying with you, right?” finally settling on something. “I’ve tried his phone, but he hasn’t picked up.”

“It’s probably run out of battery,” Isak’s face feels numb, it feels a bit like someone else is talking. Seeing Mikael up close, talking to him when a few years ago seeing Mikael would’ve meant run, hide, deflect is such an odd experience, it’s really throwing Isak for a loop. “Or maybe he’s turned it off.”

Definitely the former, if Even hasn’t changed since Isak knew him. He’s always been particularly destructive with his phone-usage during an episode, even the minor ones Isak had been there to experience, so Isak’s at least glad to know Even hasn’t managed to do something he’ll regret when he doesn’t feel as horrible as he does right now.

Mikael nods, scuffs his shoes a bit. Isak can see the tension in his shoulders. What a weird experience this must be for him as well – talking to his best friend’s secret former beau, when he’d only been told about it at the same time as the rest of the world.

“I just, I wanted to check, see how he’s doing.”

“He was sleeping when I left,” Isak tells him, tries not to feel weird about actually talking to someone about Even when he’s like this for the first time ever. He hadn’t been able to before, because asking someone for help would mean having to tell them about Even, or Even having to tell them about Isak, but seeing as that had never happened, Isak had relied on intuition and Google. “He’ll probably have some lunch by the time I get back. It’s still early on, so he’ll sleep for a while.”

Mikael scuffs his shoes again. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I just – I got spooked,” he shrugs, doesn’t meet Isak’s eyes, “what, with what happened last time it was a big one.”

Isak frowns, his heartbeat picking up a notch. He thinks this time is plenty bad enough, he can’t really imagine something worse – at least sit would’ve made the news, and if Isak hadn’t discovered it in his weakest moments Magnus would’ve talked their ears off about it.

Whatever face he’s pulling, Mikael looks like he’s said too much.

“Anyway, I –“

“What – what hap-“ Isak fumbles with the words, his throat tight. Mikael flinches.

“Have you talked to Sonja?” he asks instead. “She’ll want to know where he is –“

“I – yes, I’ve talked to her.”

Sonja. A thousand needles prickles inside of Isak’s body at the mention of her name. It’s not like he was the one who’d been married to Even or anything. Isak doesn’t mention she barely spared a second to ask how Even was doing before she was moving on with business, doesn’t know what it means concerning Sonja and Even.

Mikael takes a step back, but Isak reacts quicker than his brain can follow and grabs a hold of his jacket.

“What – Mikael, what happened?”

Mikael winces, doesn’t look Isak in the eye. Isak doesn’t let go of his jacket.

“It –“ Mikael shrugs helplessly, accidentally getting out of Isak’s grip. Isak’s hand falls uselessly against his side. “He just – he got too low, if you…” he trails off, shakes his head. “Anyway, I know things must’ve gotten really messed up, back then,” Mikael frowns, “but I’m glad he’s got you to take care of him. That’s all.”

Isak can’t swallow, his throat has closed up. “Okay.”

Mikael attempts a smile, but it doesn’t quite fit right. “Tell him to call when he’s feeling better, alright?”

“Okay,” Isak repeats, stumbling over his own feet when he tries to take a step backwards. He’s supposed to head the other way, past Mikael, but Isak can’t get his feet to work, can’t do anything but round the corner, holding up a hand towards Mikael in an awkward wave.

He can’t breathe properly. He hears Mikael walk away, and he still can’t breathe properly.

He has his tutorial next, but he can’t go there, not right now, he can’t. He switches route and heads for the labs instead.

It’s all too much. It’s all too much, all of it, and Isak feels like he’s suffocating under the stares and the whispers. He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe.

He rushes down the hall until he gets to the more secluded student laboratories. They’re old and haven’t been updated for ages, and no one really uses them in favor of the cooler, bigger ones closer to the lecture hall, even as they’re designed for multiple people to use at the same time.

He runs his student ID through the slot, his hands nearly shaking too badly that he misses several times, types in the code and pushes the door open when it buzzes.

Isak stumbles over the entrance and bangs his shoulder into one of the high tables. It hurts and he tries to clutch his hand around it to alleviate the pain as he crumbles onto the floor.

It’s like with the added physical pain it all just falls down around him. All the walls he’s spent his entire life building up fall, his will to get up and finish the day disappears and his resolve to not cry is gone and the tears are streaming out of his eyes.

An ugly sob is torn out of his throat. Isak has to let go of his shoulder so he can stuff the cuff of his hoodie into his mouth to muffle any other noises that might escape.

A lot of noises end up escaping anyway.

He wants to call Magnus, wants to know for sure that Even’s still there, that he’s lying in his bed, that he’s sleeping, that he’s had something to eat, that he’s –

Isak’s hands are shaking. It makes it more difficult to muffle the noises with each slip of his hand. He thumps his head back against the cupboard behind him to mask it, but it just makes him sore.

It’s not – it’s not like this is only about what Mikael had implied, a breakdown like this is never about just one thing. Even having apparently – that he – that – that is only the last drop falling on top of an already completely full glass, causing everything to spill over.

Isak’s exhausted. He’s so, so tired, his body feels heavy with it. His head is pounding, his nose is stuffed, and he can’t stop crying.

He can’t stop crying and he can’t breathe – not like the panic attack, not can’t breathe as in he’s about to die any second now, but can’t breathe as in everything inside of him is clogged up and everything hurts and he keeps crying, keeps sobbing.

His breath comes out in small hitches, little gasps trying to suck in more air than he’s letting out. It makes the sobbing sound awful, completely ratchet, and for some reason the thought pops into Isak’s head that he has his tutorial he needs to get to, but everyone will know he’s been crying, will talk about why he’s crying because everyone wants to talk about Even Bech Næsheim like he isn’t an actual person.

Like the world can tell Isak’s thinking about it, wishing to never be a part of it again, the electronic lock buzzes, the door opening. Isak bites down on his lip hard to keep quiet, despite knowing it won’t work.

His vision is blurry, too blurry to see who it is. All he sees is some misshapen, black blob – a blob Isak knows, he realizes.

Sana doesn’t say anything when she shuts the door behind her. Her steps echo slightly in the otherwise empty room, small taps of the soles of her shoes against the linoleum floor. Tap, tap, tap until she reaches him.

She lowers herself down next to him, first just crouching down with her back against the cupboard next to Isak’s, then she plops down fully on the ground.

She still doesn’t say anything. Isak can’t fight the sob that breaks out. Sana just stays there, right next to him, her bag left by the door in a sad attempt of a blockade.

It’s not until Isak feels like he’s momentarily run out of tears, cheeks sticky and neck clammy, sweatshirt ruined with dark blotches all over that Sana says something. His lungs still aren’t great, but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to suffocate – it’s not like breathing has been easy for so long by now, anyway, Isak reasons with himself.

“Noora’s told me that ‘people need people’, but… I don’t know what to do with crying people,” Sana confesses. She’s staring into the air, doesn’t dare look over at Isak.

It startles a laugh out of Isak, and not a pretty one at that. There’s snot and tears all over and he’s pretty sure he looks hideous, but it feels like his lungs work a little better than before.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to do anything with them.”

Sana rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” because he does, but that doesn’t mean he knows what to do with crying people either.

They’re quiet for a couple of minutes. The silence doesn’t feel as suffocating as it had before – maybe because Isak’s sharing the silence now. Everything’s supposed to be easier when you share. Share the load, share the burden.

“Maybe,” he has to stop and wet his lower lip before he can continue. “Maybe just don’t tell anyone. About this. You don’t have to do anything more for me.”

Sana doesn’t turn to look at Isak and Isak doesn’t turn to look at Sana. He does give in to the urge to see what she looks like, but only out of the corner of his eye.

She’s smiling, but it doesn’t look real. It looks sad and absolutely fake and a bit pained at that, and Isak almost wants to ask if there’s something wrong, except he can kind of gather what it is that made her look like that.

Maybe she thinks enough people are talking about Isak as is. She doesn’t have to add any more fuel to the fire.

Isak wipes his face on his sleeve. He’ll have to just wear a t-shirt and his jacket for the rest of the day if he wants to get away with keeping this mini-breakdown a secret. His hoodie is wet from tears and saliva from when he’d stuffed it in his mouth to keep quiet, and there really isn’t a doubt what he’s just been doing, even if people somehow don’t notice the red puffiness of his eyes.

Sana doesn’t comment on it even though it must be disgusting. Isak would be disgusted by it, but it’s his own body’s fluids, and it’s a bit of a special circumstance so he’s willing to forgive himself.

Sana helps him get his things in order. Isak pulls off his hoodie and stuffs it in the bottom of his backpack, and then Sana rearranges everything to lie on top so it’s covered.

“You’re a good friend, you know that?” he tells her when they’re nearly ready to leave. He just has to pull on his jacket and they’re good to go.

She snorts, rolls her eyes and huffs at him, but her cheeks are a bit flushed and she refuses to meet his eyes. “Piss off, would you?”

Isak grins widely. His cheeks still feel sticky and the stretch makes it scratch at his skin. “My best bud,” he teases in English.

“We are not best buds,” she tells him as she opens the door, not waiting to make sure Isak has a hold of it before she’s stepped through, ready to let it slam shut. Isak nearly drops his bag in his hurry to catch the door so he doesn’t get smacked in the face by an inanimate object.

“We are a little bit best buds.”

Isak’s taller than her so it’s easy to catch up, even as she’s practically power walking down the hall. She slows down when he’s next to her. She glares up at him, but Isak just grins wider, because it’s obvious she’s fighting a smile.

“Little bit best buds,” she concedes and leads him up the stairs so she can sit in with him in a module she doesn’t have.

That in itself qualifies as more than just ‘a little bit’ best buds. They both know it does.

OOOOO

The apartment is quiet when Isak finally gets home. He’s freezing, the wind too cold just for a t-shirt and his jacket as he hadn’t dared pulling out his hoodie once Sana led him away from campus and waited for the tram with him.

Magnus hasn’t been gone for more than six minutes, Isak knows, because he texted him when he left to hear if Isak was nearly back. Woke up, like, an hour ago. Had something to eat, but didn’t say a lot. Went back to sleep afterwards. Don’t worry too much, ‘s all good! Quote Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

Isak resisted the urge to text back that Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson had in no way ever said that, but he knew he was only going to get another fake quote back, so he’d just texted back his thanks and braced himself for the circus by the entrance of his building.

Even’s still in bed when Isak checks in on him. At least he’s moved, reassuring Isak that Magnus hadn’t been lying. His back is to the door, so Isak can’t see if he’s awake or not, and it suddenly feels too awkward and invasive to walk all the way around his bed just to see if Even’s eyes are open or not.

“Hei,” he whispers instead, peeking past the door frame. He doesn’t dare breathe, doesn’t dare move, just in case Even actually has fallen asleep again and Isak will end up waking him accidentally.

The sheets start shuffling before Isak can see Even actually moving. His heart is stuck in his throat for a moment, then Even’s turning onto his back.

He’s staring at the ceiling, not moving to look at Isak, but that’s okay. Isak can see that his eyes are open and that he’s awake.

Even blinks slowly, the drag of his eyelashes clearly feeling like a struggle, and now Isak’s heart is stuck in his throat for another reason. Mikael’s insinuation still a little too close to not meticulously pay attention to each small detail.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Even doesn’t reply. He can’t muster up the strength to say anything, and Isak feels like sobbing despite being sure he’s cried himself out of tears already, but he pulls himself back together.

Instead, he just starts talking, up and down about everything; he knows Even’s listening. He moves from the doorway to the foot of the bed, Even’s eyes following his movement, but stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes.

Isak’s still talking, slowly and quietly so Even can go back to sleep if he wants to. It’s nothing particularly interesting, the topics falling out of his mouth so seamlessly Isak almost wonders if he and Even had ever stopped talking, that the past few years haven’t just been a fever-nightmare.

He considers mentioning Mikael, but he isn’t sure Even wants to know about anyone outside of their little bubble right now, and he also isn’t sure if Even’s okay with Isak having talked to Mikael, so he lets it lie for now.

It’s nothing personal he talks about, either, because as much as he wishes the past couple of years had just been a nightmare, as dissociating is it to see Even in his bed, in his apartment that he shares with his best friends that Even wasn’t around long enough to ever hear about, in Isak’s life that hasn’t had Even in it for two years. Talking about something close to heart, the way they’d somehow always been able to back then, it’s – it doesn’t fit in with the Isak of the now. He’s not the same, and he doubts Even is either.

Even’s been asleep for a little over an hour when Isak gets up off the bed and slips out the door quietly. He crashes on the couch, no more energy left in his body after the day he’s had.

He wakes up the next morning when Even does – way too early, unable to sleep any longer – wandering out of Isak’s room with a slow gait, gaze slightly vacant. His hair is greasy, and the bags underneath his eyes are still too deep, too purple, looking too much like two sets of bruises.

It’s nearing four am. They’re sitting on Isak’s bedroom floor with a bowl of cereal each, facing the window with the side of the bed against their backs. They don’t watch the sun rise because the curtains are still drawn. Neither of them make a move to open them up, neither of them dare to.

Isak can feel the heat of Even against his right arm. It would probably feel so much like old times if they weren’t disturbingly quiet.

Well, Even was always quiet during the lows, even when they hadn’t been as extreme as this one seems to be, but any other morning where they’d do this – most mornings in general – he wouldn’t be able to stop talking about anything and everything.

Isak stirs the cocoa puffs around, watches as the milky brown turns darker and darker with each press of the spoon. It’s easier to look at the food than it is to look at Even. He doesn’t have to wonder when that happened, he already knows.

The spoon clatters against the ceramic rim of the bowl when Isak accidentally lets go. Even looks at him for a beat too long, Isak can feel it even as he doesn’t look up to check, but he doesn’t say anything. Before long he’s gone back to eating his own cereal.

Isak doesn’t go out the following days.

He stays off of the internet as much as possible, doesn’t want to know what people are saying about Even, about him, about him and Even, about anything at all, in fact. Sana keeps sending him her notes unprompted, and Isak constantly wonders why the hell she would ever decide to bless him with her friendship when he doubts he’s earned it.

Same goes for the boys.

None of them complain about the media circus they have to walk through, about having to field questions they’re asked about their gay roommate and his secret marriage, about having Even around. Instead they’re constantly around; working in shifts that Isak hasn’t figured out the system of yet, figures they probably have a secret group chat where they work it out impromptu, asking if Isak needs help, ready to step in and make sure Even’s alright.

It’s at times like that that Isak feels particularly overwhelmed with the feeling of how not alone he is.

He’s been alone for so long he doesn’t remember what to do to reach out to other people, to ask for help, and he can’t even remember what he did to make Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus think, you know, he’s alright that one, because he’d been drunk or pissed their entire first semester, and stressed and pissed for the second term, but somehow they did, and they still do, and they don’t bother waiting for Isak to ask – probably because they know the wait would be futile, Isak would never think to ask – they just offer and do it.

Sometimes during the quietest moments of the nights, when Isak has the most trouble falling asleep, he feels a bit like crying at the thought of his three friends.

Days pass like this – with Isak switching between hovering over Even and trying to salvage whatever is left of his degree, sleeping on the couch, resulting in an increasing amount of back pain each night.

He does his assignments to force himself into thinking about something else. Half the time it doesn’t work, but he isn’t falling horribly behind anymore. Then he spends a lot of time not looking any of the boys in the eye.

That makes him feel like shit as well, because they’ve been nothing but nice and really great friends during this entire ordeal, but Isak –

Isak doesn’t know what he’ll see when he looks. He’s not sure he wants to know – or, he does, but he won’t be able to handle it if it’s bad. Not on top of everything else.

He checks in on Even again, sees he’s still sleeping, but it’s been less and less over the past couple of days, so Isak suspects he’ll wake up soon.

It feels odd standing around in his own room when Even’s there, almost creepy in a sense, but that’s probably because Even is asleep. It leaves Isak feeling a bit beside himself, because first of all he’s never felt like this when he’d been with Even before, not when they’d shared everything and been so desperate to have a space for themselves, but that was years ago and second of all because this is Isak’s room. It’s where he’s hidden himself away from the world when everything was just too much, when he’d been sure he was one step away from fucking up and everyone knowing.

Isak’s careful about shutting the door behind him, it clicking in place seemingly louder than normal because of his intention to be quiet.

He’d heard the boys get in a while ago. He can smell the lingering scent of food, doesn’t know if he hopes for leftovers or not, probably not with how simultaneously jittery and exhausted he feels.

They’re still in the kitchen; Isak can hear them as he tiptoes closer. Not that they’re loud, they’re clearly consciously trying to keep quiet so as to not wake Even up.

Mahdi’s sitting on the window sill, back against his own sheets that they still haven’t taken down. They color the room an odd, muted golden because of the sunlight trying to break through unsuccessfully. Magnus is finishing up the last of the dishes, snapping the dishtowel at Jonas when he tries to grab a clean glass to get some water.

“Yo,” Mahdi startles him, nodding in a greeting like he usually would, but there’s a look to him that makes it obvious there’s nothing normal about this.

Jonas gives up stealing a glass from Magnus’ clutches in favor of focusing on Isak.

“Hey,” Jonas’ voice is gentle, but there’s a worry in his eyes that makes Isak squirm. Jonas frowns. “Have you slept?”

“When?” Isak evades, but not well enough.

Jonas snorts. “At all.”

Isak looks down at the floor to avoid any of their gazes. He hates this – probably why he’s practically been avoiding the boys the past couple of days unless he desperately needs help. He doesn’t know what possessed him to not continue like that right now.

And then he remembers Even sleeping in his room and how not right it had felt to be there, how wrong it feels to be in any room of the house when he never expected to ever be in the same place as Even again. That’s why.

Doesn’t make it any easier to just stand here like this with them watching him. Isak’s sick of feeling like his skin is crawling from all the sets of eyes that are on him. When he strides forward to grab the same glass Jonas had been trying to get, Magnus doesn’t try to swat at him with the dishtowel.

“Even’s asleep, right?” Jonas asks.

Isak turns the tap on, lets the water run colder and colder. It numbs the tips of his fingers when he tests the temperature. “Yeah.”

“You were up pretty early, weren’t you?” Magnus asks, putting away the last of the plates. “I thought I heard you moving around.”

Isak nods, doesn’t really know what to say. He’s so tired, and he’s tired of feeling like – like this, like he’s constantly trying to stand on his feet, but he doesn’t have any balance to stay up. It’s disorientating and confusing and absolutely exhausting, and Isak’s tired of feeling like he’s an extra piece that just doesn’t fit in with the rest of the puzzle.

The water shuts off. Isak registers the lack of sound before he feels it on his fingers. Jonas’ hand is still on the tap. Isak’s hand is still wavering mid-air, his other holding the empty glass like an idiot.

It’s quiet in the kitchen. Isak feels it like a weight upon his shoulders, holding him down.

Mahdi’s the one who breaks it.

“You look like you’re going to fall over,” he says, not needing to specify who he’s speaking to. He nods towards the space next to him. “Just, come on.”

Isak doesn’t move. He still just stands there by the sink, holding an empty glass until Jonas gently grabs onto his elbow and makes him put it down.

“Is,” he mutters, “you can’t keep going like this.”

And the worst part is that it’s the truth, Isak can’t keep going like this. Not only because he’s hiding away in his apartment which is an option that won’t keep being viable, but because Isak isn’t okay, hasn’t been okay for so, so long and he doesn’t know how to get himself to a place where he can get better.

So he lets Jonas maneuver him over to the window, sits down next to Mahdi, Jonas pressed against his left side and Magnus takes a seat on Mahdi’s right side.

People need people, he thinks of Sana telling him. He can feel the sun warming up his back through the window.

He doesn’t know where to start – he’s never done this before, never said the words. Where is he supposed to start? Meeting Even? When Even left? An apology?

��You’re, like, properly fucked up over him, aren’t you?” Jonas states quietly, lightly puffing at him with his shoulder.

Isak snorts. He would’ve figured that was a given by now, but apparently Jonas still felt the need to ask him directly.

“What happened?” Jonas whispers, voice soft but desperate.

Isak thinks he should feel sad. He does, sort of, but almost in a detached kind of way. He doesn’t even register that his bum is starting to go numb from sitting in the same position on a hard surface for so long, barely notices the warmth of Jonas and Mahdi on either side of him. He’s so tired, so, so tired and he can barely pull himself together enough to open up his mouth and answer.

“I met him when I was fifteen.”

He remembers Even back then; all floppy hair and bomber jacket and so, so beautiful, full of ideas and dreams – so different from the meek, quiet boy who had showed up outside their door.

“There’s never been anyone but him,” Isak admits. He feels like he should be crying, but his eyes feel almost too dry instead. He can’t blink, doesn’t know how to stop looking out into the hallway, really. “For so long, I couldn’t imagine spending my life without him, and then one day I had to imagine it with everyone but.”

The confession hurts, like someone is forcing a knife into his heart because Isak fucking remembers those months, as hard as he’d tried not to by drowning himself in booze and whatever weed or pills he could come across.

“I still haven’t figured out how to do that,” he whispers, like if he doesn’t say it too loudly, it won’t be true, he could still pull off being suave, being so in control of his life that of course he knows how to live without Even, he’s figured it all out already.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Magnus asks. Isak thinks he sounds so incredibly sad, sad enough for the both of them because Isak feels the indifference coloring his voice like a self-defense mechanism so engrained he doesn’t know how to turn it off.

Isak shrugs. “Didn’t know how to.”

“Did we,” Jonas gulps, like he’s afraid of asking the question because he isn’t certain he wants to know the answer. “Did we make you think you… couldn’t tell us?”

To be honest, there had been many times; bad jokes and wrongly phrased comebacks that left a bigger impact than Isak was willing to admit, but he knows none of the boys are homophobic. Still, there’s always a difference in saying you’re not homophobic and then actually having a friend, a friend you live with, be gay and Isak just wasn’t ready or willing to take that chance.

“Didn’t tell anyone.”

A secret like that, so big and personal, had felt like a massive weight on Isak’s shoulders, constantly weighing him down. Sometimes, really late at night, he’d imagine what it would be like if everyone knew and no one left him because of it, how much lighter he would feel.

Well, they all know now, but Isak doesn’t feel any better about it. He feels worse.

“No one?” Jonas frowns. “Not even Eskild?”

Eskild would’ve been the obvious choice if Isak were to tell someone, probably would’ve been the first person he told if he’d been in a different universe. But in this universe Isak had kept his mouth shut until someone else opened it for him.

Isak shakes his head. “No. Just spent ages sneaking around behind everyone’s back and lying to their faces.”

Mahdi clears his throat. “So you meet him at fifteen – he was what, seventeen? And you fall in love –“ Isak’s insides tighten at how easily it’s said, as if keeping it a secret had never been as big of a deal as it had felt, “– and then what? Like, how did it get so bad? ‘Cause, like, you got the certificate, you would’ve had to have been together for three years for you to be eighteen, so what –“ he trails off, shaking his head.

The thing is, things hadn’t gone bad, not like they do in a normal situation. It hadn’t been like that, and to this day Isak still can’t wrap his head around it properly for how sudden it had come.

Even to the tee, he thinks, folding one leg up to he can rest his head on his knee, hiding away a bit. There one second, gone the next.

Isak doesn’t know how to tell them about that, though, so he gives the briefest overview he possibly could; talks about moving in together – doesn’t tell them about proposing or about getting married because he doesn’t think he can actually say the words out loud. He definitely doesn’t talk about the cabin, because that memory is too good, reminds him too much of a time he’d never been happier, and it’s just too sore of a moment to think about, let alone share out loud. He tells them about Even’s job instead, about how he’d worked longer and longer hours, about him getting into film school and meeting more of the right people, about the one in a million lifetimes opportunity.

Talking about Even isn’t cathartic, not in the way Isak had always hoped it would feel. Instead it leaves him feeling hollow inside and like a vice is squeezing tighter and tighter around his heart, because talking about Even like this just serves to remind Isak that Even had been the center of his world, and Isak just hadn’t realized it wasn’t mutual.

He got the message loud and clear, though, when Even fucked off to the other side of the world and never came back. When he left Isak behind to go over it over and over again, about how stupid he’d ever been for thinking he could’ve been the center of Even’s world as well.

Isak forcefully blinks to clear his eyes of tears. He isn’t going to cry, he won’t.

So he forces his thoughts away from that topic, tells them about starting at university only because he’d applied before everything went horribly, horribly bad, and how he’d been desperate to get out of their shared apartment so he’d jumped at the chance of student housing. About how it had been his opportunity to get away from everything Even, even if it just meant that he got drunk in a different setting.

“You must’ve hated me,” Magnus mutters. He’s trying to make it sound like it’s funny, like a ‘ha, ha, I was constantly bringing up the person who hurt you, what a laugh’, but he sounds too guilty about it.

“At first,” Isak admits. He can sense Magnus is coiled, tensed up. “But I liked everything else about you, so I figured I could let Jonas and Mahdi deal with the fangirling.”

Magnus breathes out from his nose a bit harsher than usual, but other than that doesn’t outwardly react.

“Besides,” Isak adds when he can’t handle the silence anymore, “technically, we had something in common from the get-go, which is more than I can say for Mr. capitalism-is-the-root-of-all-evil over there.”

“Hey,” Jonas protests, but it’s halfhearted at best.

Isak’s distraction had been as well, though. He draws in a shaky breath, too loud for how still all of them are.

“I still haven’t said it, you know?” Isak stares blankly ahead of him even as he can feel Jonas’, Mahdi’s and Magnus’ eyes on him. “Out loud. I never said it.”

“Jesus,” Jonas whispers. “Jesus.”

“Do you want to?” Mahdi asks, hesitantly, like he isn’t sure it’s the proper time to ask.

Isak snorts. “Doesn’t really matter now, does it? Everyone already knows.”

Mahdi rolls his eyes. “Not like that. You, actually saying the words out loud. Doesn’t matter who hears them or that we all know already. Maybe it’ll be good for you.”

Isak can’t imagine anything being good for him – nothing has been good for so long that he doesn’t really know how to get to the opposite end.

“I should,” he concedes. The glass is slowly warming up against his back, but it’s from their combined body warmth and not from the sun outside. “I should say it. When all of this,” meaning Even being down and getting the press off of their, his, backs, of getting back to his daily rhythm going to uni and coming home to his boys, “is over, I need to be able to say it.”

Isak gulps. He can’t believe he’s actually about to say the words. It’s been so, so long, and he still doesn’t feel like he’s at a point where he wants the words to be out there, no matter how much they already are.

“Maybe it’ll be good,” Jonas suggest. “Getting to, like, ‘come out’ yourself.”

Isak can’t help but flinch. “I’m not – I mean, I –“ it’s so engrained in him to deny, deny, deny, that he almost doesn’t stop to think that that isn’t even the part he’s denying. “I wasn’t talking about saying I’m, about – about the guys part, I was talking about –“ Isak gulps and curls his hands into fists to get them to stop shaking, “I was talking about how I have to be able to say ‘I’m married’ to be able to say ‘I’m divorced’.”

“Fuck,” Magnus swears. Isak feels it in his bones.

“Is that what you are?” Jonas asks.

Isak shrugs. “No fucking clue.” It probably is. He’d never been contacted by a lawyer after signing the papers, but he doesn’t know anything about the entire process of being divorced – does it involve the court and lawyers, or is that just American movies being dramatic?

It makes him feel unsettled – more so than he already is, which is impressive by itself. The boys certainly get the message to stay off of that topic for a little while yet, at least, despite how much Isak can tell they’re itching to know, to help.

“I just –“ something gets stuck in his throat. There are lights dancing in front of his eyes from how teary they are. “I just really thought –“ he squeezes his eyes shut, swallows, and shakes his head and lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Hey,” Jonas protests immediately, grabbing a hold of Isak’s arm. “Come on, don’t say that, that’s not fair.”

Isn’t it? Isak wants to ask but doesn’t. He’s pretty certain that it is a fair question to ask, because he’s never felt so stupid in his entire goddamn life as he does when he thinks about Even and lawyers and so many papers and signatures.

“I love him,” he whispers, digs his nails into his knee. “He broke my heart, and I’m in fucking love with him. And I know he loved me back, that it wasn’t fake, but I just – I don’t know when he stopped, what I did to make him stop loving me.”

“Isak…” Jonas sounds horribly sad, and Isak’s so tired of making his friends sad. He’s tired of being sad, because he is. He’s not fine. He hasn’t been fine for so long – for a while he’d thought he’d figured it out, that moving into this flatshare with his boys had been the answer, had been the push he needed to finally be a better version of himself, but he hadn’t even had the chance to test it out before everything went a hundred times worse than they’d been at the beginning.

“Fy faen, this is so fucking depressing,” Magnus sniffles, wiping at his eyes before he slaps both of his knees and jumps up. “Alright, that’s it, come on, group hug, we’re doing it.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

But no amount of protesting stops Magnus from grabbing on to Jonas and Mahdi, and then Isak gets pulled along unwillingly as well.

“I’m way too tall for this,” Isak complains immediately, trying to bow out, but the boys won’t let him, Magnus already folding them all around Isak to keep him in place.

“Bend down, then, bitch,” Mahdi orders, which is how Isak ends up with a mouthful of Jonas’ curls and his forehead pressed against Mahdi’s ear.

“The girls do it all the time!” Magnus attempts to convince them even as they’re already in the middle of it. “Vilde told me so.”

“Oh? How long have you been speaking to Vilde?” Jonas shoves his hip against Magnus’, nearly unsettling all of them in the process.

Magnus flushes a bright red. “I – there was the party, you know, and, I just –“ then makes a lot of indistinguishable noises much to Jonas’ amusement.

“Christ, please tell me it wasn’t your dried up come I found in my bed the day after,” Mahdi begs over Magnus’ continued blundering.

“No, that was Eskild’s,” Isak tells him, smothering his laugh in Mahdi’s shoulder at the following swearing at Isak for not having warned him.

He presses his face harder against Mahdi, wills himself to take deep breaths and not fucking cry. Mahdi smells like he always does – of cologne and himself and a hint of weed despite not having smoked any today. A hand grabs the back of Isak’s head, tugging his hair gently. Isak can’t tell who it is, knows he’ll probably cry if he looks up, so he just keeps his head down.

He squeezes his boys harder. They squeeze back.

OOOOO

“Takk,” Even says when Isak comes back from bringing his plate out.

It’s late, the room dark apart from the bright white light of the lamp on Isak’s desk, casting weird shadows on the wall and making both their faces look more gaunt and tired than Isak hopes they look normally.

It’s probably too much to hope for, though, Isak knows, considering the past couple of weeks. Isak definitely knows the purplish bags underneath his eyes are probably permanent by now. Even looks a little better after having spent the first couple of days mainly asleep, but there’s wariness and a tired look to him that doesn’t come from the need to sleep.

Even’s hair flops down awkwardly, half sticking up and the other half falling down in his eyes. He’s got more color in his cheeks than he did yesterday, and apart from the afternoon nap he’s been up for pretty much the entire day – and then some, seeing as Isak’s fairly certain it’s nearing 2 am and they should’ve both gone to sleep hours ago, but eating hadn’t been the easiest today and the clock had run away from them by the time Isak had gotten Even to have a bite of toast and a cup of tea to settle down for the night.

“It’s nothing,” Isak tells him, means it too. He still thinks he should be angry, maybe – not at Even for having shown up like he had, just in general angry about everything that had gone so wrong, but he doesn’t feel angry. He’s honestly relieved that Even came here when he needed help, when he needed someone. Isak doesn’t really want to think about how awful it would’ve been had he just seen the award show and then had the complete radio silence the rest of the world has had to deal with.

He’s not in a hurry to spend another night on the couch, even if talking to the boys left him physically and mentally exhausted, and despite how much it sometimes hurts to look at Even, so deeply like someone is twisting around a knife that had been left inside of him, Isak doesn’t want to leave.

Even’s huddled up against the headboard, legs curled up on top of the duvet and in the softest hoodie Isak owns.

Isak turns around to fiddle with the stuff littered around on his desk so he doesn’t have to see how soft Even looks.

“Are you tired?” he asks instead without turning around. He stacks a couple of books on top of each other, then restacks them according to color, then restacks them again according to size, the smallest on top.

When Even still hasn’t said anything, he rearranges them after the due dates of his assignment. That just makes him slightly depressed, so he puts them together randomly and covers them with a wad of notebooks.

There’s nothing left for him to fiddle with, but he can’t turn around to look at Even, he can’t. He wants to, but he doesn’t know what it will do to him if he does.

“Yeah,” Even sounds resigned when he realizes Isak won’t face him. Isak can hear rustling, the bed creaking when Even’s weight leaves it, the sound of steps as Even walks towards the door. “I’ll go brush my teeth.”

Isak lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding once the bathroom door has shut.

He chances a look over at the bed, feeling like an intruder in his own bedroom and like someone is going to fault him for not leaving as well now that Even has, which is stupid because this is Isak’s room.

The sheets are rumpled, a dip in the mattress left behind from where Even had been sitting. When Isak sits down at the foot of the bed, the duvet is still warm.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, knows he’ll regret it, but his body moves without his permission, and the next thing Isak knows is he’s lying down on his bed, shoulder bent uncomfortably underneath his own weight, but his nose is pressed against the sheets and Isak doesn’t want to move.

He can smell Even on them, the same scent as he’s always had, and a feeling of what Isak can only describe as homesickness surges through him, leaving him so off kilter he nearly doesn’t hear when Even gets out of the bathroom.

He throws himself off of the bed just in time for Even to enter the room.

Even pauses at the door, looks Isak in the eyes. Isak’s breathing too heavily to appear as casual as he tries to, a too wild look in his eyes and a flush to his cheeks.

“I’ll just –“ Isak starts, clears his throat when barely any sound comes out. “I’ll let you go to bed.”

He shuffles around, heading towards the door before realizing he’ll have to walk past Even, brush up against him to get out, so he stalls by the desk so Even has a safe distance to crawl onto the bed and let Isak leave without any close proximity to each other.

This is stupid. Isak feels stupid. Even if it’s been literal years since he last kissed Even, since he slept with him, it’s not as if they’ve only been five feet apart since Even showed up on his doorstep. Isak’s brushed his fingers through his hair, has folded his fingers around Even’s wrist, has squeezed his shoulder encouragingly to prompt Even into eating, moving, whatever.

Even doesn’t move. Or, he does, but he takes a step towards Isak, not towards the bed. Isak stands as if he’s rooted in place, not daring to blink in case he misses something.

“You could,” Even hesitates, looking like he’s so carefully thinking about his next words. “You could stay, if you want.”

It’s a bad idea. It’s a very bad idea. It’s such a bad idea, because Isak and Even have simultaneously got unfinished history and very much definitely finished history.

It’s not as if anything is going to happen if Isak were to stay – they’re both exhausted. Isak can see it on Even and he can feel it in his own bones, but just the idea of being near Even, of sleeping next to him for the entire duration of the night, or what’s left of it, it – it’s so much. Too much and not enough all at once and such a bad idea, and none of it changes the fact that Isak wants.

He nods carefully, slowly, barely enough movement for Even to recognize the assent for what it is.

Even breathes out deeply when he does realize Isak is agreeing, that he’s staying, fuck. Fucking fuck.

Isak panics about it when he brushes his teeth – locking the door and spending a worryingly long amount of time staring into the mirror at his reflection. Then he panics some more about it as he walks back into his room.

Even’s sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to pretend he hadn’t kept his eyes on the door to be sure Isak was coming back. Something tugs inside of Isak.

As Isak pulls off his sweatshirt, Even shoves himself backwards towards the side of the bed he’d always slept on when they’d shared a bed before. Something keeps tugging inside of Isak, something he desperately tries to ignore as he panics about what to wear for bed.

He keeps his t-shirt on, just like Even, but doesn’t strip to his boxers like Even has, sticks with his joggers instead. He’ll be uncomfortably hot and probably wake up in the middle of the night because of it, but he can barely handle the thought that in a few seconds he’ll lie next to Even, will spend hours just lying next to Even and have to worry about their bare legs brushing during the night when they’re both under the covers.

He turns off the light, then trails back and shuts the door before he shuffles onto the bed himself, lifting the covers and settling stiffly onto his back.

The duvet is still warm from Even sitting on it earlier, but the pillows and sheets underneath him are cool and fresh. Isak can feel Even next to him, can hear his breathing in the darkness. He stares resolutely at the ceiling, not able to see anything before his eyes adjust to the lack of light.

“Thank you,” Even whispers. He’s lying on his back as well, just as stiffly as Isak is, careful not to touch despite how they’re sharing a bed and a duvet and space in each other’s lives.

Isak doesn’t know what he’s thanking him for, isn’t sure he wants to know either. Doesn’t know if it’s for agreeing to sleep here for tonight, or if it’s for everything in general, or if it’s so much deeper. He doesn’t know what he’d respond even if he did know.

You’re welcome isn’t personal enough for the two of them, but any time and always is too much considering. Maybe Isak should just keep it impersonal, maybe it’ll help him in the long run.

He nearly snorts. As if he’s ever thought about long-term consequences of his actions. If he had they wouldn’t be here right now.

“Selvfølgelig,” he tells him instead, hopes Even doesn’t read too much into just how big a matter of course it is, that there wouldn’t be an Isak in any of the universes, including this one even back when he’d been completely fucked up and so furious with Even, where Isak wouldn’t have let Even in.

He keeps hearing Even breathing – tunes into it really as it’s the only audible sound in the room apart from Isak’s heart pounding in his chest – hears how Even consciously tries to keep his breaths deep and even.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” Even finally whispers. “I’m sorry for being a burden.”

“Don’t say things like that.” There’s more venom in Isak’s voice than he’d usually put there, but he’d been sick and tired of Even saying those things back when they were together, and that hate hasn’t lessened with the time.

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” Even’s exhausted, but there’s still bite in his tone. It makes red hot fury curl up in Isak’s stomach.

“No, it isn’t, actually.” It isn’t true at all, he wants to add, softer, but he can feel that all that will come out of his mouth will be snide remarks and harshly spoken words, so he keeps it shut.

It’s like saying Isak had been a burden back when Even’s career had been ‘make it or break it’ –

Isak freezes even as he didn’t say the words out loud. Because that’s what had happened. Isak had been the burden and Even had cut off the deadweight.

God, he’s tired and he’s hurting and he’s tired of always hurting.

He doesn’t have a way to fix this, fix any of it. Doesn’t know how to feel okay, doesn’t know how to rid Even of any backlash because of his episode, doesn’t have a wand he can wave around and make everything okay. Doesn’t even have any words of comfort, words of encouragement, he’s too worn out, stripped to the bones and left exposed to have any more left to give.

But neither of them will get any sleep tonight if they end it like this.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Even snorts irritated at him.

“No, really, I mean it,” Isak insists. “Give it a week and all people will be talking about is the ‘integrity’ of your ‘art’, you proper artiste,” Isak puts on a snooty voice that makes Even try to muffle a laugh into the duvet.

“Do a lot of running around naked at award shows, then?”

Isak tries desperately hard to keep the smile on his face, even though it’s too dark and Even won’t be able to tell one way or another. “Nah. I wouldn’t get away with it either – I’m no artist, people can sense that shit.”

“Are you seriously telling me that there has never been a scientist showing up for work buck-ass naked?”

Isak wracks his brain, because, yeah, when Even puts it like that, it sounds unlikely that it hasn’t happened.

“Some of us are just eccentric.”

Even barks out a laugh too loud for the hour, and Isak is giggling too much to shush him properly. It feels like they’re sixteen and eighteen again and they’re lying under the covers in Isak’s bed in the Kollektiv, and they have to be quiet so Eskild doesn’t come to investigate what Isak could possibly be laughing about at this hour.

“Eccentric!” Even laughs too loudly, but Isak doesn’t want to quiet him. “That’s certainly a word for it! ‘Oh, just ignore the naked man in the room, that’s just my eccentric husba-“ both of them freeze.

Suddenly they aren’t sixteen and eighteen and they aren’t in the Kollektiv. They are twenty and twenty-two and they’re in Isak’s apartment that he shares with his three friends, because he and Even aren’t even together anymore.

A car passes by on the street outside, loud music spilling out of it as whoever’s driving around whoops excitedly. Isak can’t tell if it adds to the tension or helps dissolve some of it.

“You know,” Even whispers once it’s quiet again, “the only way to have something for infinite time is by losing it.”

Burning hot white fear rushes through Isak. He thinks of Mikael’s words, of how bad it had apparently gotten ‘last time’, thinks of Even’s movies where the lovers never get what Isak would call a happy ending, the ‘epic love stories’ as Even had always argued.

“Don’t say things like that.”

He doesn’t dare to breathe, too focused to pay attention to each inhale and exhale of Even’s, just to be sure he’s still there, he’s still breathing, he’s okay.

In the end he has to breathe in. It sounds too shaky and too obvious in the otherwise silent room, so Isak hurries to turn onto his side, facing away from Even.

It doesn’t help, doesn’t make his heart feel any less like it’s too big for his chest and falling apart because of it, but it means he can smother his face into the pillow, that he can curl up into a ball, that he can hide away from Even as the two of them hide away from the world.

It’s quiet for ages. Isak doesn’t feel any closer to sleep than he had when he’d first gotten in bed. Despite how much his body begs for the rest, his brain won’t comply.

“I didn’t know it meant having to choose,” Even whispers, sounding like he can’t bear it if the words aren’t out there, but also like he doesn’t want to wake Isak up on the off-chance he’s already fallen asleep.

Isak’s breath hitches and he squeezes his eyes shut harshly to stop the tears from welling up in them. It doesn’t work.

What is he even meant to say to that? ‘Well, it did’ or ‘Now you know’? Especially because the only thing Isak wants to say is, ‘I didn’t either.’

“Let’s not do this now,” he settles for instead.

Even’s presence on the other side of the bed feels tense and stifling, and Isak almost wants to make an excuse just so he can go sleep on the couch instead – Even hadn’t asked for him to stay this night after all.

“If you’re saying that because, because of – because I’m being mental, you can cut it out.”

Anger wells up in Isak so quickly his blood rushes through his body with too much heat. “I’m saying it,” he grits out through his teeth, “because it’s late and we’re both tired and these past couple of weeks haven’t been easy for either of us. Let’s not do this now.”

“Okay,” Even sounds more resigned than mollified, but neither of them is going to be getting things the way they’d like for them to be, not with how everything is right now.

Not ever, Isak doubts, folding his arms underneath his pillow so he can hide away easier, because anything they could want at this point would only be achievable in a fantasy world, not in this universe.

 Past

It’s… odd, coming back to an empty apartment.

Isak’s never really lived alone, so to speak. His dad had been in and out of the house for longer than Isak can remember, but his mom had always been a stable presence wherever she’d choose to loiter – the only part Isak had experienced that had been stable in that godforsaken house.

He’d been isolated, definitely, but he hadn’t been completely on his own.

Moving in to the Kollektiv had meant living with both Eskild and Linn, and whilst Linn wasn’t exactly the most social roommate in the world, Eskild had done more than his fair share of inserting himself into Isak’s life.

And finally, living with Even. Isak had never felt alone the entire time he’d shared a physical home with Even, hadn’t felt alone when his home had been Even.

He still is, Isak forcefully reminds himself in the particularly tough moments, as if he’d ever forget it. Forgetting wouldn’t be the hard part; it’s living with his home thousands upon thousands of kilometers away from where Isak is that’s the hard part.

It feels like the apartment feels the loss of Even as much as Isak does. The air is stuffy from Isak not throwing a window open for the entire day. He can’t bear it if the wind were to blow away the last remnant of Even’s scent on the sheets, on his clothes, in the apartment.

Even doesn’t text him when he gets to the airport, but he does text when he lands on his layover somewhere on the eastern coast of America. It’s in the very early hours of the morning, but Isak hasn’t fallen asleep yet.

He spends an embarrassingly long amount of time tracing over the shape of the letters of the I love you Even had finished the text with.

Once Even gets a bit more settled, they spend several hours on facetime, any time either of them – Even – has a free moment to spare. It not even an exaggeration to say that Isak lives for those times, even if they’re short and Even’s just on his way out the door to get to set, Isak loves seeing Even happy and excited and full of life as he tells him all about what’s going on over in America as Isak teases him with, over-pronouncing the syllables to make Even laugh.

Even explains everything so well it almost feels like Isak is there with him, all the way in America and not stuck in Oslo, Norway with the same daily routine day in and day out. It almost makes him miss Even a little less, but then they hang up and the pain inside him is tenfold.

It makes it nearly unbearable to spend his time in the empty apartment. When the first month and a half has passed and nothing smells of Even anymore apart from the pieces of clothes Isak had shoved all the way in the back of the dresser to ensure he wouldn’t lose Even’s scent completely, Isak caves and spends the night rooming with Eskild, then spends the next night on the couch because Eskild brought a guy home with him.

Eskild doesn’t ask questions, as much as Isak can tell that he wants to and it physically pains him to hold back. He just lets Isak in and talks up and down about how Noora has apparently for the past couple of days been staying with this guy she’s been seeing – complete with a nose wrinkle, which tells Isak’s he’s about to be updated on just about every reason why Eskild doesn’t like this guy.

He forces himself not to make it a habit to stay with Linn and Eskild because it feels too much like giving up, like he’s weak. He misses Even terribly and he hates being alone in their apartment and he misses Even, but he’s also so fucking proud of Even that it sort of makes it worth it. He just wants to shout to the world, “that’s my husband!” except he doesn’t, because he still hasn’t quite figured out how to do that.

They celebrate Halloween together on Skype, Even answering the call completely dressed up as God much to Isak’s amusement, and then he spends nearly an hour chewing Isak out for having done nothing to prepare and guiding him through their closet until Isak’s found a golden wreath and a red blanket he slings across his shoulders, proclaiming himself as Julius Caesar.

Even claims it suits him because Isak is fit to rule and will go down in history. Isak claims it’s because were he to go to a party, he too would get stabbed 23 times, which doesn’t deserve as much eye-rolling as Even gives him.

Isak doesn’t mention that it already feels like he’s gotten stabbed 23 times with the way Even’s taking care of him halfway across the globe. It wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t make things better, any easier.

They time when they start the movies so they’re technically watching them together. Isak falls asleep around three am Norwegian time, which would only be in the evening for Even. He wakes up to the call having been ended, but Even’s written him a message telling him he’s cute when he sleeps and that he loves him. Isak takes a screenshot and saves it for when the nights are particularly long and lonely.

The next couple of months Isak spends halfway delirious from lack of sleep. They’ve gotten in the habit of talking when Even’s cooking up some dinner for himself, which with the increasingly later and later hours Even’s working means Isak’s up to about four am before Even’s finished eating, and then he has to get up three hours later to get to class.

His grades don’t slip, but that’s also just about the only part of Isak’s life that doesn’t feel like it’s falling apart. It’s the one thing he’s stubbornly clung on to, almost seeing the row of 6’s as a validation, a confirmation that Even isn’t the only one who’s doing well, who’s working hard to live out his dream. Isak’s going to get into university, get into the bio-science program, and he’s going to make Even be proud of him that he managed to do it.

But getting top-grades with basically no sleep is wearing him down. He falls asleep on Even all the time. One time when he’d been going on two days with practically no sleep and Even had run late, he’d missed the call entirely, absolutely kicking himself for it the next day as frustrated tears had prickled in the corner of his eyes as he typed out an apology to Even.

Even replies with a blue heart and doesn’t mention it the next time the talk. He also doesn’t mention the dark circles underneath Isak’s eyes three days later when Isak feels himself slipping again, but this time he’s prepared and has set up alarms every fifteen minutes so if he does fall asleep, he won’t stay asleep.

He just needs to survive until Christmas, Isak constantly reminds himself when everything feels particularly horrible. Christmas, and then Even’s coming home for a short break. He’ll see Even for Christmas. He’ll come home for Christmas.

Isak spends Christmas alone in their apartment.

Maybe it’s because of the season, but everything in it looks particularly grey and dreary.

Even had booked the plane tickets, everything had been ready, and then for some reason the tickets had been cancelled. And then Even had booked again, and they’d not gone through. And again, despite third time’s the charm. No tickets. The price increases every time Even tries again and again until Isak’s cursing out about holiday extortion and considers buying a ticket himself to go see Even.

He’s just about to make the purchase when Even texts him that his parents showed up, apparently having bought tickets of their own and wanting to come surprise him, having apparently arranged all of it with Even’s assistant.

Isak does not cry. He doesn’t.

He spends a very sad evening eating way too much food and drinking way too many beers and steers far away from every soppy Christmas movie shown on TV, only watching the gory ones that he actually hates, but his options are rather lacking right now.

They talk for an hour in the middle of the night for Even, early morning for Isak; Even apologetic and Isak trying not to take his hurt out on him. Even loves his parents and it’s no one’s fault but Isak and Even’s own that they can’t say screw it and have Isak meet Even’s parents. They don’t even entertain the idea, that’s how bad it is.

Once the holidays are over and the stores open again, Isak heads into town and buys a calendar - a calendar – and a red sharpie, and then he starts to count down the days until Even is done and home for good. One red X at the start of each day. He can do this.

Except then school begins again, and suddenly it seems as if his teachers have remembered that they’re in their third year, that they’re graduating in a couple of months, and so the workload increases exponentially until Isak could cry from the mix of exhaustion and fucking missing his husband.

He misses another call. Even cancels a call because he’s going out to dinner with a group of people. Isak misses another call and doesn’t wake up to a sweet message from Even, reminding him that he loves him.

He phones Even four times on Even’s birthday before he picks up, the background so noisy Isak can barely pick out anything Even says. The crew is throwing me a party, I’ll call you back later!

No I love you, which makes sense if Even is surrounded by the people he now spends every day with. But there’s also no call later. Come morning, Isak shakily crosses out another day on the calendar and wills himself not to cry.

It’s a good thing, he tries to remind himself. It gets harder and harder to do every single day, but at the bottom of Isak’s heart nothing has changed. He’s proud of Even, he wants this for Even, he just doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to be left behind.

He doesn’t go to see Eskild.

He probably should – he’s isolating himself and it’s not healthy. He’s hours away from spiraling, from falling too deeply down the black hole. Going to see Eskild would definitely help, but Eskild would know something is wrong – he’d take one look at Isak, if that, and the cards would be spilt on the table. Isak can’t take that chance, so he stays at home, spirals and tries to fucking breathe.

At the end of March, Isak applies to university. He forgets to tell Even about it.

Or, he doesn’t forget, it’s just –

They’ve gone from talking every single day to every once in a while, and Isak’s working hard not to be resentful, to keep being so proud of Even at the front of his heart and his mind over everything else. So the next time they talk, Isak vows to tell Even all about how he finally settled on bio-science, all about the first term courses that he’s looking forward to, everything.

When Even picks up, there are worry lines etched into his face and a frown on his lips that seems foreign to Isak but perfectly fitting with the image of the worried man that Isak is faced with.

Shooting finished two days ago, Even should not be looking this stressed, Isak notes.

He keeps his eyes on the screen, doesn’t let them stray to the calendar and the five days left to cross out.

Or, twenty-five days left, as Isak finds out, because a problem has come up. Something about the editing and the framing that the studio isn’t happy with, which – who cares what they think? It’s Even’s movie, and Isak knows how meticulous Even is about every single detail which is what makes his movies so goddamn perfect.

Turns out a lot more people care about what the studio thinks than they care about what Even thinks.

Twenty-five days. Isak wants to tear the stupid calendar apart with his bare hands. Wants to shout. Wants to cry.

He does not cry. He doesn’t.

Fifteen days pass. The fifteenth of April passes without Isak noticing it until it’s the seventeenth and he realizes he still hasn’t told Even about his application.

It’s whatever, he figures. It’s not like he’s scared he won’t get in – he’s got the grades and he’s got the right course combination and he’s got the brains. He doesn’t need to put any more on Even’s plate than there already is. He’ll just tell him in eight days when Even comes home.

Eight days. Then fourteen days. Then another fourteen days. The problems going from the editing to framing choices to choices in general. More and more problems with each day that passes. Another week added on top of those extra fourteen days.

Promo starts despite there not being an actual movie that the stupid studio wants to show. It’s not a lot – not exactly the big conferences and rows upon rows of interviews – most of it is on various social media platforms, but it’s gaining a following, slowly but surely.

More weeks. Promo finishes.

Isak is russ by now, but he doesn’t get to show off the red pants with his name on them to Even, doesn’t go out partying because he isn’t on a bus, doesn’t really have any friends. He crashes house parties every once in a while, but they’re not particularly fun.

Still beats spending every night alone in his and Even’s empty apartment. It’s still better than going days upon days not speaking to Even.

There’s a due date, a premier date. Isak steadily makes little red x’s and thinks after that day Even will come home.

The premier date is pushed back.

Even is panicking, and Isak understands why, but he doesn’t understand the actual technicalities of the problem, and Even is, as said, panicking too much to explain it to him properly.

Isak had always thought that movies just got made and then shown in the cinema, but apparently that isn’t the case, or at least it isn’t with non-full length feature films, which is what Even has made.

He doesn’t understand the severity of the problem until he hears five rapid knocks on his front door.

The thing is, Even’s movie was supposed to be in theaters nearly a month ago by now, but it isn’t. There’s absolutely nothing, and Even doesn’t know what’s going on so Isak doesn’t know what’s going on.

And that’s when he gets the knock on his door.

They come in a series of raps. Later, Isak thinks they should’ve been heavier, more of a pounding – that would’ve fitted better.

Isak’s wearing an old hoodie of Even’s – the one he’d painted the drawstrings of a few years back by now. He’s worn it so much he can’t scent Even on it anymore, the colors starting to fade from repeated washes and general wear and tear.

He considers taking it off, shoving it under the bed, but then he forces himself not to. There’s no reason to think that anyone showing up on his doorstep would suspect him of wearing another guy’s, of wearing Even’s hoodie.

He quells down the anxiety, takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

Three well-dressed men in suits and ties and identically slicked-back hair are standing on Isak’s doorstep. They’re each holding their own briefcase. All three look very much like they do not want to be here right now, like they clearly have way more important things to do than apparently seek out Isak.

Isak blinks.

“Isak Valtersen?” the guy in the front asks in English. He says it wrong, though – pronounces it Isaac Walltersen, and then he just stands still until Isak replies to him.

“Yes?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as a question. He also didn’t mean to sound as hoarse and quiet as he does.

The man grins brightly at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and he doesn’t reach out his hand to shake Isak’s.

“My name’s Harley Walliams, these are my associates, David O’Leary and Pete Simonson. Do you know who we are?”

Isak knows who they are. Harley Walliams was the one who’d overlooked every single signature Even had had to give the studio’s management team. They’re lawyers. Even had raved about them when he’d found out the studio had assigned them to him, had told Isak all about how the clients they took care of were always the one to get the furthest in their careers.

Isak feels very cold all of a sudden, not entirely sure why.

“Yeah,” he repeats, voice still hoarse and small and really not like Isak at all. “I – what –“

“Do you mind if we come in?” Harley interrupts, the hand not holding the briefcase on the door before Isak’s had the time to even register the words. He’s not sure if it looks like Harley Walliams expects to be let in and figuratively put a foot inside the door, or if he expects to be asked to leave and is ensuring Isak can’t shut the door on him.

Isak lets go of the iron grip he has on the door handle, takes a couple steps backwards. His back hits the wall before long. He flushes a bit at the thought of having three hot-shot lawyers inside his very, very tiny shoebox of a home he shared with Even.

It’s his home and it’s his home with Even – he isn’t ashamed of it, he fucking loves it, even if it’s grown to be a hellhole constantly reminding Isak that Even isn’t here rather than the oasis they’d built for themselves. But he’s not embarrassed. He isn’t.

“Charming,” David comments once they’re inside the only actual room in the apartment. Isak’s cheeks burn hotter despite David’s perfectly passive expression and tone, Isak can tell he’s the furthest thing from sincere.

Isak lets his eyes skim over the room to check the state of it – he hadn’t expected any company, not ever, but it’s not too bad. No dirty underwear and no dirty dishes lying around. Just general disarray.

“Oh,” his eyes land on the improvised dining table and the two chairs from the flea market. The only chairs that he and Even own. “The chairs, I can – I –“

God, he can’t run down to the basement and get some fold-out chairs, can he? He doesn’t really want to leave them alone in his home, but he can’t exactly expect them to stand.

“Don’t worry about it!” Harley laughs, clapping Isak on the shoulder, making it feel as if Isak’s knees are about to buckle. “One for you and one for me, we don’t need anything else.”

“Oh.” Isak stumbles when Harley tries to get him closer to the table. The bed’s fairly close, there being so limited an amount of space, maybe he could…

Harley grabs a hold of the chair, pulling it out and maneuvers Isak to sit down, then takes his own seat opposite of Isak.

“There we go!” He grins again, doesn’t meet Isak’s eyes, too busy fiddling with the briefcase and then fiddling with a wad of papers that he turns so they’re wrong side up. “We’re all set up, then.”

Isak blinks. Set up for… what, exactly?

“Mr. Valtersen,” Walltersen, Harley begins, still smiling brightly, “ – may I call you Isak?” Isaac.

Isak doesn’t correct him. “Sure.”

“Isak,” Harley blinks at Isak like they’re in an amicable agreement with each other. “First of all, I’d like to apologize for intruding – this must seem very sudden for you, but we’re afraid it’s necessary.”

Isak’s heartbeat picks up. It’s necessary, what does that mean?

“What is this about?”

Harley doesn’t meet his eyes, instead he starts fiddling with the papers again, restacking them until all the edges are aligned perfectly. Isak can’t sit still, his foot taps against the floor.

“We have some…” he chews over his words for a few very long seconds, “concerns for our client.”

For Even, Isak wants to tell him. They’re talking about a human being, about Even. ‘Client’ is dehumanizing.

He doesn’t correct him. Doesn’t do much of anything as his tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth and his heart is pounding, because concerns for Even does not sound good. It sounds very, very bad.

It had been a few days since Isak last talked to Even, but it’s been like that for a while and Even had seemed fine the last time Isak had talked to him. Surely – surely someone would’ve called him if something had happened. A few select people of Even’s team know about him, one of them would’ve called Even’s husband if something had happened, if something was wrong, right?

A million thoughts and scenarios fly through Isak’s head as he tries to figure out just what could’ve gone wrong, but none of it seems likely.

It had been part of the contract that Even had to keep up with his medication, had to present proof that he was doing so, Isak knows that, but that doesn’t stop him from nearly leaping up to find Even’s prescriptions, to call Even and tell him to tell them, to call Even’s psychiatrist and have her tell them – he knows Even’s doing alright, there haven’t been any signs whatsoever that he’s slipping! Isak hasn’t spoken to him for more than a couple of days by now, but there hadn’t been any reason to suspect Even of being on the cusp of an episode when he had last spoken to him.

Isak knows Even’s transferred everything when he moved to America – temporarily, Isak angrily reminds himself to add – to ensure he had access to any help he’d need and so he could get the medication he needed. Isak also knows Even’s team must have access to all of that information, so why –

“Has something happened?” flies out of Isak’s mouth, making Harley give him a rather unimpressed look that Isak can’t even feel embarrassed over, not over the thought of something having happened.

“Even’s fine, Isak,” Harley replies smoothly, mispronouncing Even’s name as well. Evan’s fine, Isaac.

Isak can’t even feel annoyed about it. His breath comes out long and shakily, so fucking relieved. Even’s fine. It’s not said in a right way, not in a humane way, but Isak doubts Harley personally interacts with Even, that he’s gotten a chance to get attached the way everyone around Even does. Plus, this is a professional meeting, even if Isak hadn’t been aware that it was happening. He doubts Harley would lie to him about this.

David shuffles his weight around, Isak sees the movement out of the corner of his eye. Back and forth, back and forth, Isak almost wants to offer his chair up just to get him to stop, but he wants answers and explanations more.

He shakes his head, tries to focus on Harley instead of everything else. “Then, what –“

Pete’s moved over to the dresser, looking at one of Even’s old cameras that cost a fortune and only good for taking vintage, pompous pictures. Isak wants him to stop looking at it, but the words don’t come out of his mouth, he doesn’t know how to make them. It’s obvious the camera isn’t Isak’s, but Isak’s never figured out how to talk about Even with anyone, it doesn’t matter that these three men already know about him and Even, Isak literally doesn’t have the words.

“We’re here to talk about your… affiliation with our client.”

Isak’s focus hones in on Harley. His hands are clammy, but his foot finally stills underneath the table. It’s nearly impossible to swallow past the lump that has formed in his throat in no time.

“I thought any issues about that was taken care of,” Isak bites, thinking about the thousands of signatures both of them had had to sign for the management team and then the PR team and then the team of lawyers and probably more teams that Isak’s just forgotten about. “That I am just a part of Even’s private life. He’s allowed to have a private life.”

The English words don’t feel foreign on his tongue, but compared to the three Americans in his home it sounds broken and like his tongue is too big for his mouth.

Harley frowns. He’s stopped fiddling with the papers by now, but the stillness to him just seems unnatural.

“Naturally,” he acquiesces albeit reluctantly. Isak’s foot starts tapping again. “Which is why we haven’t interfered until it became necessary.”

Isak stills.

Cold sweat runs down his back. He doesn’t know what facial expression he’s making, but Harley keeps his perfectly neutral in response.

“He hasn’t told you?” No, Even hasn’t spoken to him in days. “That’s – we’d honestly hoped he would’ve told you himself by now.”

By now. How long – what is going on? Why can’t Harley Walliams just tell him instead of stringing Isak along on a merry-go-round?

Harley does not reply. Instead, he picks up the papers, separates them into two stacks and lays out one in front of Isak, right side up this time so he can read what it says.

What it says makes Isak’s heart stop.

“We’ve had our legal-division here in Norway translate it, if it’s easier for you,” Harley hands over the second stack of papers. Isak doesn’t reach out to hold it so Harley just places it on the table in front of Isak instead.

It doesn’t matter if he sees divorce or skilsmisse, the language isn’t the fucking problem.

“What the fuck is this?” Isak’s hands are shaking, his breathing is too quick. “What the fuck is this?”

“Now, Isak,” Isaac, Harley says calmly. What right does he have to sound so calm when Isak is looking at divorce papers sent to him by Even. “Just take a moment to calm down –“

“I don’t need a moment to calm down,” Isak snaps harshly. Fuck, it hurts to breathe. “I need a goddamn explanation. This – this doesn’t make sense, this –“

He struggles to get air down to his lungs, to push it back out again. All he can see is either divorce or skilsmisse or Harley Walliams.

Harley clears his throat, slowly and pointedly. Isak wants to flip the table.

“It’s become clear that your… relation to our client has become a hindrance to any attempt to further Mr. Næsheim’s career.”

Our marriage, Isak wants to shout. His marriage to Even, Harley Walliams is a coward who can’t even say the words.

At the same time it feels like he’s just been slapped across the face, the sting of it bright and embarrassing and Isak’s cheeks feel unnaturally hot from misplaced shame, because now he knows why these men are here.

They’re here, not because Even is married, they don’t care about that. They’re here because Even is married to him, is married to a guy.

“That’s illegal,” is the first thing that flies out of his mouth. He doesn’t know where his head is at – he feels like a hypocrite, lecturing these men about pride and rights when Isak and Even have been a secret for literal years.

Pete quirks an eyebrow. “Getting divorced?”

Isak scowls at him. “Refusing Even work because of… that. That’s discrimination.”

Fuck, he can’t even say the word out loud. He’s being presented with divorce papers and he still can’t say the actual fucking words.

Harley looks exasperated. “I don’t know what it’s like over here in Norway,” he sighs, saying it like he’s out in the middle of nowhere, on a field where there’s no other company than cows instead of in central Oslo, “but over in America you don’t want to make any enemies over such an inconsequential detail as being gay is –“

Isak feels sick. “He isn’t gay,” he argues under his breath. “He’s pan.”

He doesn’t even know why he says it, lawyer-guy looks like that holds absolutely zero meaning to him, plus he looks more annoyed at having been interrupted.

“Point is,” he snaps, “no one’s going to show a gay director’s movie.”

He isn’t gay, Isak repeats in his head, but that isn’t the part that matters. It doesn’t matter if Even only likes guys or likes both guys and girls or likes anyone or no one. What matters is that he’s married to a guy, married to Isak, and that’s what’s going to stop him.

“The studio can’t sell him. They can’t get a licensing agreement with any of the distribution companies. No one wants his movie.”

It sounds miles away from Isak, like he’s only hearing an echo, like there isn’t a lawyer or a manager or whatever it is he’s supposed to be right in front of him, staring at him in disinterest as he tells him that Even has a choice, and he hasn’t picked Isak.

“I need –“ Isak chokes, slides his chair back despite how dizzy he feels. “I should – I’m gonna call him. I just –“

“Isak,” Harley reaches out and grabs onto Isak’s wrist before he can stand up fully. He keeps mispronouncing his name, pronounces it like he’s American. Isaac. It throws Isak off balance more than he already is. “He’s already made his choice.”

It sounds so final. It is final, but none of it is making sense in Isak’s head.

Why would Even just send three guys to tell him? Why couldn’t he just pick up the phone, explain what’s going on? Why couldn’t he just fucking tell him that he is filing for a divorce?

Oh god. Isak’s about to be divorced. Divorced. He isn’t going to be married, isn’t going to be married to Even, and Isak doesn’t know how to live a life like that, never thought he’d have to.

He really, really wants to pick up his phone and just call Even, just to talk to him, like he always wants to when something’s wrong, when something is right, even if that isn’t the case right now, but –

But now he’s being told he’s the only one who feels like that, who feels the comfort and the want and the need for his, for his –

Even isn’t going to be his husband anymore. Even is going to be his ex. Isak is being divorced. Separated, whatever.

Suddenly, it doesn’t seem as imperative that they hadn’t told anyone when they were friends, when they were something more, when they were actual boyfriends, when they were engaged, when they got married. All that seems to matter now is that Even wants to write all of those moments off, and Isak is being left behind in the dust.

“There’s something else,” Harley says.

Isak’s eyes snap up to look at him. More? What more could there possibly be?

Pete brings out a smaller wad of papers from his briefcase. These papers aren’t from Even. Even wouldn’t even have thought of giving Isak a fucking non-disclosure agreement.

Harley holds out an ink pen that had probably cost more than Isak’s monthly rent does. “We’re going to need you to keep quiet about everything.”

OOOOO

Isak can’t sit still once they’ve left.

He’d spent close to half an hour in despondent silence, completely unresponsive. Harley had kept talking, then Pete and David had tried, but all Isak had been able to do was stare at the papers.

Divorce, divorce, divorce.

He’s not married anymore. Isak isn’t married anymore. He isn’t married to Even, because Even had found out that you couldn’t be a successful director in America and have a husband waiting for you at home, so he had cut off the husband.

For how long had Even known? How many conversations have they had where Even had already made up his mind, where Isak had wasted time crossing out dates to count down for when Even was coming home, when Even was in fact never coming home again.

Isak paces back and forth again. He feels trapped, like he’s stuck in a cage that’s been decorated to appear as a home.

He picks up his phone. He should call Even, he should demand to hear Even explain himself, not three lawyers explain it for him.

Isak throws the phone onto the bed instead.

He cards his fingers through his hair, then does it again, and again, harder and harder until his scalp is hurting and his eyes are watering and, fuck, divorce. He crumbles onto the floor, pressing his eyes against his knees and holding onto his hair tighter and tighter.

Isak feels – he feels young. And he feels stupid. And he feels utterly heartbroken.

It hasn’t been more than a quarter of a day when Isak’s phone buzzes.

Isak blinks slowly, his eyelashes scratching weirdly against the floor. He’ll probably have a mark on his face from how long he’s been lying there.

It takes ages to pick himself up off the floor, to sit up, and then it takes just as long to just stare at his phone, lying innocently wrong side up on top of the duvet. Isak’s hand shakes when he reaches out and grabs it, his fingers twitching as he unlocks it.

They’re showing my movie! the text says and Isak feels sick.

Alright, he already got the hint; Even wants the divorce so he can be a big movie director, fine, but he doesn’t have to shove it in Isak’s face. God, Isak feels sick, he thinks he might actually throw up over a text message.

It takes another day for the phone calls to start ringing in.

Constantly, constantly, his ring tone sounds, the stupid jingle Even had set up – some theme song from some movie Isak doesn’t want to think about, because he doesn’t want to be thinking about Even. Isak doesn’t get out of bed to answer the calls or turn the phone off.

His phone runs out of battery at the end of the day.

When he finally can’t stand lying in his own filth anymore and he isn’t currently crying, he gets up and plugs it in.

86 missed calls. 236 new messages. All his storage has been filled up. One of those texts are from Eskild, just sending him a picture of himself pouting at the camera, text written on the picture saying miss you xxx, and it’s stupid that that’s what makes Isak tear up again. Not the 235 messages from Even, but one dumb picture from Eskild.

He hates crying and he’s been doing nothing but for the past couple of days. He reeks and he has no energy and he hates being here in his goddamn home – his home with Even.

Even’s things are everywhere. There’s his stupid hoodie still slung over the back of the chair, and there are his movies, various knickknacks, all his drawings pinned up on the wall, a couple of old notebooks, his clothes, his favorite mug, and Isak wants to scream and tear it all apart. He wants to hurt Even as much as he’s hurting.

He storms into the kitchen to smash that stupid cup to bits and pieces. Flings the cupboard door open to tear it out of its place and into millions of unfixable pieces.

He crumbles onto the floor before he can do any of that. He’s clutching on to the mug desperately, the sobs wrack through his body, the sounds coming out of his mouth ugly and so loud he doesn’t hear the phone start ringing again.

OOOOO

The mature thing would be to call Even up, demand an explanation, actually talk things through.

It’s the mature thing to do. It’s the rational thing to do.

But Isak both feels so incredibly young and small right now and he’s the furthest thing from rational.

He just – he doesn’t want to actually hear the words coming out of Even’s mouth. Doesn’t want to hear him admit directing and writing just being more important to him than Isak has ever been, could ever be.

And, like, it’s – it’s not okay, none of this is okay, but that’s the exact reason why Isak let him go to begin with. Why he was okay and why he encouraged Even to go to America, to just go for it, try it out. He’d wanted it for Even, still does, somewhere deep, deep, deep inside where the hurt and pain hasn’t fully torn him apart just yet.

It’s not far off, though. Isak feels how the bitterness threatens to swallow him up.

He didn’t know Even going off to follow his dream meant leaving Isak behind. That had never been what it was about – at least, it hadn’t been what it was about to Isak. Right now, Isak has no idea what Even ever thought the plan or the point was. He doesn’t know which version is better, easier to believe in for his rapidly crumbling mental health; that Even had been aware already before he left Norway that leaving Isak could very quickly turn from a temporary to a permanent situation, or if it’s nicer to think that Even had always planned to come back to him at one point, and only when directly faced with the choice he hadn’t chosen Isak.

It’s both stupidly easy and stupidly hard to pack up all of Even’s things.

He does it mindlessly, which is the easy part. The hard part is to actually bear the thought that he’s getting rid of Even’s things.

He should be angry. He is – he is so fucking angry he’s furious and he’s hurt, but if he stops to think about all of that again he’ll end up crying and Isak is so fucking sick of crying.

His body doesn’t allow him to go on, though, so that’s where he is now; sitting on their – his bed, looking helplessly around in their – his flat that looks like a tornado has swept through it.

Everything is in disarray and there are boxes on every available flat surface area, most only packed halfway. Isak’s sitting with Even’s hoodie in his hands, twisting the drawstrings around his fingers, around and around and around until he feels dizzy and hollow with it.

God, this wasn’t what he’d thought his life would be.

He’s already sent in his applications for university weeks before everything went to shit. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go there when everything is so shit, doesn’t know how to focus enough to take his exams, to pass his exams, to show up at school, to show up to a university where he doesn’t know anyone and no one knows him and –

The hoodie is soft in his hands and he can’t bring himself to get rid of Even’s things, he can’t, but he can’t stand to look at them either and he can’t stand not being able to look at them.

Fuck.

Fuck, he doesn’t know what to do.

OOOOO

Confusion comes first.

It’s there when Isak’s being told Even has sent a team of lawyers and managers to tell him they’re getting a divorce. When he apparently couldn’t bring himself to tell Isak himself.

Isak knows it was there when he kept repeating to said lawyers that Even isn’t gay, because he isn’t, but he kept saying it like that was the important part – not the divorce part.

And it’s there when Isak wonders what the fuck went wrong, what did he do, why does Even want this? He can’t figure it out – absolutely none of it, because none of it makes sense, and Isak’s just so fucking confused.

He thought they were alright, he thought they were making it, he thought they were strong enough to wait for Isak to finish up school, graduate, and then he come travel around with Even wherever he wanted to go to film and it would be brilliant.

He thought they were in love. And he’s so confused, because he really thought he knew Even, and he’s so certain he would’ve picked up on it along the way the moment it turned from Isak and Even loving each other to only Isak being in love.

Confusion is awful, and it leaves Isak dizzy and with a headache and feeling vaguely ill. He wants to call someone, wants to call Eskild, because Eskild always helps, but Eskild doesn’t know about Even, about Isak, no one knows and now –

It takes a while for the confusion to turn into denial.

It’s easy to tell it’s denial, because all Isak does is stare at the papers with big, bold, black letters at the top spelling out d-i-v-o-r-c-e, and all he can think is that doesn’t make sense. Those papers aren’t for him, they’re for someone else, their neighbors, the one’s next door who are always fighting. They’re meant for people whose love turned so ugly and violent there was absolutely no way back – the antithesis to him and Even.

It’s all centered around we’re in love, like that’ll fix everything, like it’s both the problem and the solution, because they’re in fucking love.

Isak paces back and forth, going along the small stretch by the foot of their bed before he hits the chairs at the table and the dresser at the other end, back and forth, back and forth. Stops and stares at the papers for a few beats too long, and then starts pacing again until he gets so dizzy he has to lay down.

He should just call Even. It’s what makes sense – the only thing out of all of this that makes fucking sense. Isak doesn’t know why he doesn’t just pick up the goddamn phone and call Even. If he wants this divorce so fucking badly, he can damn well tell him himself.

It doesn’t take long for denial to turn to anger.

Confusion made Isak feel off-kilter and sick. Denial made him feel like he was going out of his mind, like he was living in a parallel universe where the curtains are non-existent because there are shutters put up instead, like this isn’t his life.

Anger is ugly. Probably one of the ugliest feelings Isak has ever felt.

It curls up in his stomach and chest like a beast, grumbling to be let out. Isak feels it looming, feels it growing until it finally bursts out.

Denial had made him want to call Even and demand an explanation, demand being told that this entire thing is just a prank, that it’s for a film, that he’s still in love with him, whatever, Isak will accept whatever reason Even gives him.

Anger is different. Anger makes him want to hurt Even, makes him want to never see him again, makes him want for Even to suffer.

It makes him wish that he never met Even to begin with, that he never moved out of the kollektiv, that they never got married, that they never fell in love in the first place, that Even never showed him all he could have, all he ever wanted and dreamt of, and then ripped it away again within the same breath.

It’s there when he stares at his phone, stares at the text message that so clearly shows Even’s enthusiasm at his film being shown just because Isak signed a couple papers and effectively ended their marriage. Isak stares at the exclamation marks, feels his heartbeat pick up and sees how his hands start to shake, how he squeezes around the phone too hard, how he can barely breathe, how he’s seeing red.

And all the anger, the hurt, everything, that had been bubbling away inside of him boils over.

They’ve still got some moving boxes left over from when they moved in; tucked nicely away in the closet, unfolded and flat and serving as a barrier between the floor and their shoes. The top box is a little muddy from Isak’s trainers, but it’s long since dried up so it just flakes off when Isak accidentally touches it.

It just makes him feel even more angry to see the dirt lying on the floor. Stupid, fuck, shit, fucking shit.

It shouldn’t be this easy to pack another person’s life into three boxes, shouldn’t be so easy to pick apart Even’s belongings from Isak’s, but it is. Isak tears through their flat like a tornado, a goddamn whirlwind that doesn’t care about the destruction it leaves behind.

He packs away some of the camera equipment Even left behind first, isn’t one bit careful with it because he doesn’t care if it cracks, to hell with that. Even’s off to be a big movie director, he can goddamn well afford to replace whatever shitty second-hand shit he’d gotten his hands on back when movies had shared a first place in his priorities. Isak can probably just blame it on however that ends up shipping it across the globe to him, say he forgot the fragile sticker and leave it at that.

Then he grabs whatever else of knick-knacks Even had left behind. Movies, drawing utensils, books. They all make satisfying thumps and crashes when Isak throws them together; metal scraping against metal and possibly one or two pencils and brushes snapping in half. Isak feels vindictive and vindicated all in one.

They don’t have any photographs of the two of them around, didn’t dare to, just in case, so Isak makes a mental note to delete them off of his phone instead, every single last one of them. Or maybe print some of them out first so he can burn them.

He ends with the clothes, because throwing clothes around is never satisfying, and Isak had hoped he would’ve burned through at least some of the anger by now, but he hasn’t, he really, really hasn’t.

Seeing Even’s clothes probably makes it worse.

It’s difficult to tell what’s Even’s and what’s Isak’s; all of it so intertwined and interchangeable Isak wants to tear it all apart instead of sorting through it. He keeps the Jesus-shirt, because it’s originally Eskild’s, and Eskild is Isak’s so Even sure as hell isn’t getting it.

But the clothes are also the worst thing to get rid of, because they’ve been sealed up in the closet or the dresser for months by now. They’ve mixed with Isak’s scent, with the scent of their laundry detergent, sure, but they still smell so much like Even it actually brings Isak to his knees and makes him struggle to breathe.

That feeling doesn’t go away. Even when he manages to get up onto his knees, then his feet, then onto the bed, Isak still feels it.

It’s like there’s something in his chest, weighing him down; his heart, his lungs, everything – nothing is left alone, and Isak feels heavy with it.

It’s – god, everything is so fucked up, and now that Isak’s paused in his frenzy it’s so fucking obvious Isak kind of wants to laugh.

He ends up crying instead. Crying and unable to breathe and looking utterly pathetic, buried between mountains of clothes strewn all over the place, like the closet actually exploded all over him, clutching what had always been his favorite of Even’s hoodies.

It’s soft and worn through and it smells so much like Even that Isak physically can’t let go of it. He can’t. His fingers won’t cooperate, and when he tries to throw it his arms refuse to work.

OOOOO

Isak picks up the phone when the unanswered calls list is closer to quadruple digits than triple.

“Just pick up – Isak!” Even breathes when he realizes Isak actually picked up. “Isak, thank god, don’t hang up, please – “

He hadn’t expected hearing Even’s voice to hurt as much as it does. It hurts.

He wants to demand an explanation, demand an apology, wants to be assertive and confident and not let Even know just how fucked up he is right now. He wants to shout and be mean and make Even feel bad, and at the same time he desperately wants for Even to say it’s been a bad prank, that he’s awful and he’s sorry and of course he’s not leaving Isak.

Suddenly, Isak does not want an explanation. He doesn’t want to hear a single word from Even.

“Have your team send out your stuff to you,” he says instead of all that. He’s proud that his voice doesn’t shake.

“Isak, I – what?”

Isak squeezes his eyes shut. “And figure out what you want to do with –“ our home “– the apartment. It’s your name on the lease, so you need to be the one to put it up for sale, if that’s what you want to do.”

“If that’s what I – Isak, for god’s sake, just stop!”

‘Just stop’? ‘Just stop’? Isak is the one who wants it to stop, what the hell is Even telling him to stop for?

He just wants everything to be over.

He doesn’t look over at the two boxes filled with Even’s things that Isak couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing again. The stupid, stupid hoodie is lying at the bottom of one of them.

“I’ll leave my key underneath the doormat for them. If some of your shit is missing it’s because I’ve gotten rid of it.”

“Isak –“

Isak hangs up, shuts off his phone and throws it onto the bed. Then he spends the next day, curled up, unmoving and unresponsive.

OOOOO

He doesn’t know what to do.

He can’t just show up at the kollektiv with all of his shit, there isn’t any room for him and he doesn’t know how to explain any of it. He can’t stay in their basement either, not with how close Eskild had been to getting in a lot of trouble with the landlord.

For the first time in so long, Isak doesn’t have a home to come back to. He’s on his own and he doesn’t know what to do, where to go.

He figures it out by accident.

It’s a complete coincidence that he gets the email when he goes to charge his phone, the notification popping up at the same time as the screen lights up to tell Isak it’s charging.

The answer to some – one – of Isak’s problems comes in the form of student housing, because Isak’s been accepted to UiO. He got in.

He doesn’t stick around long enough to find out who Even sends to take care of the apartment or how he even plans on doing it. He just leaves his key underneath the doormat like he’d told Even he would, walks down all four flights of stairs and doesn’t turn around or look back.

He’s got enough stuff to warrant two trips back and forth his and Even’s – the old apartment and the new flat he’ll share with eight other people, but Isak knows that if he has to go back, he’ll never actually leave, he’ll just be stuck there until Even’s people throw him out. He can’t let that happen, can’t let anyone see him like that, can’t have them reporting back to Even, you broke your husband.

Ex-husband, Isak reminds himself. Ex. He broke his ex-husband, because that part is true enough. Isak can’t remember ever feeling this torn apart ever before.

So he fits everything he owns into a suitcase, two backpacks and two boxes of Even’s stuff that he can’t bring himself to let go off, and he wrangles all of it onto the tram halfway across Oslo. The further the better, he thinks bitterly.

He stops on the way there to buy a bottle of something, anything – whiskey, he thinks it is he ends up with. He doesn’t check, just goes for the cheapest there is with the highest alcohol percentage, grabs it, hands over the money and leaves.

He just wants to forget. He wants to not feel broken.

Somewhere underneath all of the hurt and the anger, there’s a small part of Isak that’s happy for Even. Despite how much he tries to crush it down, suppress it, tear it apart, it doesn’t go away. He can’t stand thinking the thought already, not already it’s too close, but he knows it’s because he’s still so terribly, horribly in love with Even.

Next part

[ijustwant2write]

The Doctor’s Daughter-Stephen Strange x Magic!Platonic!Reader

(GIF credit to @docty-strange )

Masterlist

Requested by anonymous

Summary: Can you do one where the reader lost her dad @ 14, she's now 17, she's been living alone.She was closest with her dad because her mom left them. Stephen Strange runs into her and she peaks his interest, he convinces her to let him take her in. She starts to get attached to him and sees him as a father figure.She then forces herself to turn cold, she doesn't want to loose him like her dad.He notices and confronts her about it. She starts crying and explaining and he comforts her. Lots of fluff😊

Characters: Stephen Strange x Magic!Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Mentions of death, homelessness, sadness, fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My steps were heavy and filled with purpose as I stomped my way up to the hospital's front desk. I was in no mood for anyone's shit, and I especially didn't care about anyone staring at me. There were patients waiting in the crappy seats, those really uncomfortable ones that are a terrible colour (like a sick green, or ironically dull blood red), their tired eyes following me as I leaned against the desk; this was probably going to be their only source of entertainment after however many hours they were waiting.

"I need Dr Strange." I demanded.

The receptionist glanced up, her eyes slowly going back down to her computer screen as she sighed.

"He's not here."

"It's urgent, it's actually an emergency."

"And what's the emergency?"

"I'd rather discuss that with the doctor."

“Well I’m sorry, but he no longer works here.”

“Was he transferred somewhere else? Can I have the address?”

“No, he just stopped working here. I can get you any other doctor though.”

“No, I need him.”

She stopped typing on her computer, her tone of voice suddenly stern.“Where are your parents? Or do have a guardian? If you’ve hurt yourself I need to inform someone to be present with you.”

“I’m seventeen, I’m fine.”

“And you’ve got insurance?”

“Thanks for nothing.” I snapped, already leaving the desk.

As I turned around, I heard her pick up the phone and ask for security, mentioning something about a ‘runaway’. Pulling my hood over my head, I quickened my pace, spotting a security guard following me in the reflection of the glass in the door. I couldn’t get caught again, it happened all too often when I was younger. As the automatic doors slid open, the guard called out to me.

“Hey, we just want to check on you!” 

Yeah right, and then hand me over to social services just to be shoved into a care home or a foster family. I had shit to do and they weren’t going to stop me. Another guard on their break noticed the commotion, dropping the cigarette they were smoking and calmly approaching me as well. I groaned, knowing that I would have to somewhat expose myself to get away from them.

“Miss, please stop. We’re concerned for your safety.”

I stopped, trying to keep myself under control, maybe they would ask me some questions and leave me alone; that wasn’t the case, because as soon as they were stood in front of me, they were asking me to follow them back inside. I refused, claiming that I was perfectly fine. Luckily as I started to walk away, they dropped it, probably knowing that they couldn’t force me to stay. Once I was out of the parking lot, I began running, weaving in and out of people, feeling myself hitting them unintentionally and receiving grumbles and protests. My lungs were giving up, making realise just how far and how long I had been running for. 

Fuck, I need to find this doctor.

As I slowed down, spitting out the built up saliva in my mouth, I tried to rack my brains as to where this guy was. I couldn’t find his address, I couldn’t find him at his work (or what used to be his work), where else was I supposed to go? Perhaps I could find friends of his? But what would they think of a young girl showing up and asking where he was? Probably send me away or call the police. 

I caught sight of myself in the window of an abandoned shop, and I was in shock of how I looked. My skin was pale, with huge, dark circles hanging below my eyes. My hair, which had been carelessly tossed into a ponytail was greasy, the ends all knotted with no signs of life or vibrancy. There was grime and dirt layered into my skin, making look even more ill; and the clothes I had been stuck with were in desperate need of a wash (as was I), with seams coming away on some of them, no doubt holes would appear soon. It was harder to steal nowadays, especially as a teenager. I guessed that’s what came with being homeless. 

“I heard that you’ve been looking for me.” a man’s voice startled me.

My eyes flickered to the other reflection in the window, a tall man in the weirdest clothing stood behind me. He wore a blue like tunic, with a red cloak, nothing I had ever seen before. 

I spun around to face him.“Are...are you Dr Strange?”

“Yes. You need my help.”

“Yes! How do you know that?”

He raised his hands, spinning one arm around in a circle, a portal suddenly appearing. I flinched backwards, scared of what it could be, but as I looked at it, I realised that it was showing somewhere else, it wasn’t the street we were in.

“Don’t worry, it’s safe. All we have to do is walk through it.”

He led the way, briskly walking through and turning around when he got to the other side. My mind would be blown, had I not seen things such as this in my life already, but worse. Following him, I was hesitant as I stepped through, but amazed once I saw we were in an entirely different space. 

“Where are we?” I asked as I looked around.

 “You are in the New York Sanctum.”

“The what now?”

“It holds mystic items to protect the rest of Earth. There are some dangerous artifacts in here.”

“Wait, why would you tell me that? Shouldn’t it be a secret?”

“Not to you. I know why you’re here.”

“You do? Then how come you didn’t come find me?”

“Because I had to let you do that part.”

I huffed.“Right, well, I’m here now. And...and I need your help desperately.”

He waited for me to speak.

“I have these, I guess you could call them abilities? And I have had such a hard time trying to control them. My father said we were to find you, and that you could help me master them, tell me what they mean.”

“What powers do you have?”

“Uh, they’re like telekinesis? I think that’s the word. I can move objects with my mind basically, and get people to do things for me, though I’ve not been able to do that for a long time. And I don’t really like doing it either.”

“And when did this happen?”

“It started when I was about ten. There was no signs before that.”

He nodded his head, gesturing for me to follow him up the stairs. We then entered a library, where we sat in two plush chairs. I relished in the comfort, also realising how warm it was, something I hadn’t felt in a while. 

“Where is your father now?” he asked out of the blue, though regret washed over his face as he saw my reaction.

“Uh, he died, three years ago now.”

“No mother?”

“Mom left us as soon as my powers started kicking in.”

“I’m sorry to hear of that.”

“My dad spent all his time trying to search for answers for me, get help and keep me away from the authorities. After he died I tried staying in our apartment for as long as possible, but obviously I couldn’t pay for it. I’ve been begging on the streets and stealing to survive. I didn’t know how to use my powers properly so I couldn’t risk using them to help myself.”

“You’re here now. You’re meant to be here.”

“I...I don’t know about that.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t really know. I guess I used to have an idea of my learning how to harness my powers but...after being out on the streets for so long, it doesn’t seem like it’s happening.”

“It is. (Y/N), you’ll be safe here, you’ll become powerful and smart with your powers, and you’ll be able to help others too.”

“Help other people? Really?”

“I can see it. You’re not stupid, you’ll know what to do.”

Stephen willingly took me into his home, into this sacred place and trained me, despite not knowing who I really was. He was calm and collected, he was patient with me. I remember when my dad first mentioned him, through his research (I still never knew where he found the information on people with powers such as mine), and there had been many articles on how incredibly clever he was as a doctor, though there were comments from patients who had obviously not had the best encounter with him. However, that was not the man I was looking at today.

Stephen had got me new clothes, similar to his, and at first I felt like I looked idiotic, but they grew on me, especially as I trained in them; they somehow fitted with the outfit. Soon after I arrived, I was also introduced to Wong, he would help me too, giving me books that would explain how to harness my abilities when I got tired from the physical side. I remember rolling out of bed one morning, wondering what the date was, and when I had seen that I had already been here for three months. Never had I felt so thankful in all my life.

“Very good (Y/N). You’re getting stronger everyday, actually you’re progressing much faster then I thought you would.” Stephen complimented as we finished another session. 

“Really? Thanks.” I beamed.

“You know, we sort of brushed over the subject in the past but,” he stopped walking as we returned inside,“how would you want to live here? Permanently. And with time you can become a Master like Wong and I.”

“Oh my god, I...no, I’m sorry.”

I rushed past him, sprinting to my room as I felt tears pouring out of my eyes, the door slamming shut behind me. I was panicking, my breathing wasn’t normal, and it was only making matters worse. Sitting on the edge of the bed, my fingers gripped onto the sheets as my eyes stayed glued to the floor. Hundreds of scenarios ran through my mind, Stephen could get hurt in so many ways, more than how the average person could. And I couldn’t go through losing someone else, not again. He had done so much for me, but I had to get away, I was becoming too attached, and I didn’t know what it would do to my mind if someone close to me was to die. 

“(Y/N), are you alright? What’s going on?” Stephen let himself in, slowly walking towards me.

“N-no, please leave me alone.” I shakily breathed out.

“I’m not going to leave you, I want to make sure you’re OK. If that proposition was too much, then I’m sorry, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“The thing is,” I clumsily wiped away some tears,“I really want to stay here.”

“Then you can.”

“But I have this feeling, and it’s creeping up through me that something is going to happen to you if we get any closer.”

“I can’t guarantee that we’ll be safe and sound at all times, but what brought this on?”

“Stephen,you’ve done so much for me, and I truly appreciate everything you do. You’ve done all this and I have nothing to give back. You’re like...you’re like a father figure to me.”

Realisation hit him, he understood where I was coming from.

“Obviously no one will ever replace my dad, though after years without any family, this just feels right.”

“(Y/N), I’d be honoured to be anything like your dad. But this fear, although it’s perfectly understandable, you can’t let it control you.”

“I know but-”

“Just like in training, you can’t be scared of the unknown. You have to be open to it in order to grow. I want you here, I couldn’t forgive myself if I let you go back out on the streets.”

“Do you really want me here?”

“Yes, and I want you to become a Master someday.”

“Then I’ll stay. I’m sorry for worrying-”

“Don’t, it’s perfectly natural. You need to harness that energy into your powers-”

“Stephen, with all due respect, training is over, and I think that energy needs to go into making us some food.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s important as well.”

[thanks--for--listening]

In my darkness I remember

chapter 2 is here!! you can read part one here or find it on ao3. also if anyone has prompt ideas now that this is done i would love to hear them!

~

The first time Dinah woke up, she didn’t know anything but pain. All she could do was feel it. Pounding in her head. Soreness in her muscles. Each individual bone in her body shaking, rattling against one another so much the rest of her body had no choice but to do the same. She didn’t have room for thoughts, could only hear one word echoing in her mind: hurts. 

The second time she woke up, she still couldn’t open her eyes. She felt everything from before, but it was all just a little softer, left room for her to feel something new: a hand on her shoulder, the touch warm, gentle, comforting. She clung to it, tried to let it drown out the rest of the world. 

The third time she woke up, she heard them. The thought of trying to look for the voices made her head throb, and there was a heat so intense she felt suffocated by it, but she discovered that if she laid down very still, if she kept her breaths steady and short, she could listen. 

The voice she heard was Helena. She could hear her but couldn’t process anything, her words as incoherent as if she’d been speaking another language. Still, something inside her was eased by the sound. She didn’t remember why, couldn’t think quite yet, but she knew that she needed to hear this voice, her voice. That it mattered. That it meant she could relax now. 

The fourth time she woke up, the world finally materialized around her. The pain had dulled just enough that she could finally look up; when she did, she saw Helena standing over her, hair disheveled and eyes wide, and she couldn’t help but smile. 

“You with us this time?” She knew the words came from Renee, but the thought of turning her head to find her made her wince. 

“Does it hurt?” Helena asked, and she sounded so worried, so unlike her, that Dinah wanted desperately to lie. Her muscles yelled at her for even having that thought, and she was forced to close her eyes again and nod, just slightly. 

“I’ll go grab the Advil,” Renee said, and then she was gone, and she forced her eyes open because she didn’t want to fall asleep, not yet. She couldn’t, because now that she was awake she noticed Helena was rocking back and forth on her heels just slightly, and she was fidgeting with that hair tie again, and she wouldn’t look at her, not directly. Neither one of those things were by definition concerning, but Dinah knew her, knew that even one was a flashing sign of her discomfort, so all three...Helena didn’t cry, but Dinah suspected this was her equivalent. And she was acting like this, felt like this, because of her. 

The thought made her want to puke: instead, she reached for her hand, ignoring the searing pain in her body as she did. When she grabbed it, Helena froze, and Dinah noticed her knuckles were bruised and a little swollen, the skin underneath scabbed over. Helena followed her gaze, before slowly looking up at her. Dinah didn’t understand then, how anyone could say that she was emotionless, that she only got angry, because when Dinah looked in her eyes she saw everything. Words couldn’t describe it, so she didn’t even try, just held her for however long she’d let her.

“Take this before you pass out again.” Renee’s voice brought them both back down to Earth. Dinah felt Helena yank her hand away, although she knew it was useless — nothing went by Renee. 

Dinah reached for the pill, wincing as it went down her throat. She hadn’t noticed it at first, but now the soreness was almost unbearable. She reached for it, and knew before she even tried to speak that she’d be met with silence. 

“No voice?” Dinah nodded, and Renee sighed. “Yeah, that checks out. I’ll text Quinn, tell her to grab some tea on her way over here. And ice cream.”

She wanted to tell Renee that her efforts were noble but in vain, that there was nothing else they could do, that she’d witnessed this before and knew that the only thing that could be prescribed was patience, but she settled for nodding again, something she anticipated she’d be doing a lot of in the coming days. 

—

Once Harley walked through the door, she talked nonstop for the next four hours, which was as insufferable as she anticipated it would be. Dinah had to admit, the small part of her that didn’t want to shoot her was impressed that she had so much to say. Despite what her own pseudonym might imply, she’d never felt like she had or did anything worth talking about. She preferred to talk about other people, other things, music and movies and everything that was simple. For Harley, everything somehow circled back to her, and everything was twenty times more complex than it appeared. And it never stopped. 

When Renee finally woke up, Dinah said a silent prayer. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as Harley had walked in, and for all her many strengths, Helena was ill equipped when it came to distracting Harley from talking about herself. She’d sat on the floor in Dinah’s room and listened silently the entire time, something that was more impressive than the monologues themselves. As much as she’d wished for relief from being an unwilling witness to the unfiltered thoughts of one Harley Quinn, she didn’t mind how much time it gave her to watch Helena, to look at her without needing an explanation as to why. She’d relied on stolen glances up until this point, but today she let her gaze go uninterrupted, let herself drown in the sight of her doing absolutely nothing, let her pretend this was peace and they were okay. 

She’d been so caught up in her she hadn��t noticed Renee until she spoke up. “Quinn, when does Cass get out of school? You haven’t forgotten about her while you’ve been eating all my food and torturing Dinah and Helena, have you?”

“Woke up on the bitch side of the bed, have we?” Harley quipped, and Dinah bit back a smile at the mockery she was certain was only half serious. 

“Doesn’t answer the question.”

“How bad of an illegal guardian do you think I am?” Renee just glared at her, and Harley sighed. “Her school gets out in seven minutes and it’s much closer to your place than mine, so I have two more minutes before I have to leave, but because I’m such a responsible adult, and because I don’t wanna put up with this negative energy you’re bringing, I’ll go now.” She turned dramatically, calling out goodbye to Dinah and Helena and flipping off Renee as she left. 

Once the door had shut and it was just the three of them, Helena said softly, “Listening to Harley talk isn’t torture.”

“Speak for yourself.” Dinah would have laughed if she could, but she settled for a smile. Renee sat down, took over the chair Harley had dragged into her room, and for the first time in hours it was quiet. As much as she couldn’t stand listening to Harley, somehow this was worse. She didn’t really understand it, because she thought she wanted silence, but right now it felt oppressive. With nothing to distract her, her mind forced her to go back to the fight that had put her here, to watch the images she desperately wanted out of her head. All she could hear were her own thoughts and they were much louder than she wanted them to be, much harder to ignore. They told her everything she’d done wrong and she wondered if maybe they were right.

“Hey, Bertinelli.” The words made her blink back into focus, her mind temporarily at bay. She saw Renee had her eyes on Helena. “When’s the last time you slept?”

This time when Dinah looked at her, she saw what she should have seen earlier: the bags under her eyes, the head resting heavily in her hand, the way every blink got slower and slower. She wondered what kind of person it made her that she’d been staring at her for hours and hadn’t noticed a thing, had only seen beauty. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah, bullshit. Come on, get up. You’re not sleeping on the floor again.” 

“I said I’m fine,” Helena responded, and Dinah could hear the tension in the words, the kind that usually meant an explosion was coming. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand next to her, texted as fast as she could. She watched the message come through, watched Helena read it and turn back toward her. Go, Dinah mouthed. I’ll be fine.

Helena seemed hesitant, but it was as if Renee pointing out her lack of sleep had accelerated the process of exhaustion, because after a moment she closed her eyes and nodded. She stumbled as she stood up, and Dinah instinctively leaned forward, a movement her body punished her for. She tried to breathe through the pain as she watched Renee run over to Helena, steady her until she waved her off, walk with her out of Dinah’s bedroom and down the hall to her own. 

Five minutes later Renee was back. Dinah had her phone ready, sent the message as soon as she sat down. How long has she been awake?

Renee looked at it and sighed. “If she didn’t sleep while Harley was here? Almost a day and a half.”

She was positive her reaction asked the question for her, but she still frantically typed, Why?

“Why do you think? If she had it her way, she probably would have stayed up the past three days since the fight, but she was sedated the first night, and I managed to get her to sleep the night after by letting her stay on your fucking floor.”

She wasn’t convinced she wanted to ask, but she did anyway. And what about yesterday?

Renee ran a hand through her hair, and Dinah realized that even though she’d just woken up, she still looked exhausted. “Yesterday you spiked a fever out of nowhere. We stayed up half the night throwing ice packs on you, trying to force medicine down your throat. Even after it broke, I don’t think she really believed everything was okay. So she stayed up all night, waited for something to go wrong again. And I know, because I stayed up with her.”

Dinah didn’t know what to say. She’d asked, when she’d first woken up, how long she’d been asleep, what had happened while she was out, but no one had given her a real answer. They'd brushed it off and she’d let them, but now...three days. That was almost as long as her mom’s worst. She’d been ten when the guys burst through her door, her mom unconscious in their arms. Dinah remembered the nights she’d spent in her bed, curled up next to her, the sound of her heartbeat putting her to sleep. When she finally woke up, when her voice eventually came back, she’d made Dinah promise her that if she ever decided to use her powers, she had to make sure she was with people she trusted, that she knew what she was doing. She’d told her that the Lance women were driven by impulsiveness, that they both followed their heart instead of their head, but that she would have to be better, smarter, stronger. 

“You have to be more careful, D.” The memory hadn’t fully faded, so Renee’s voice sounded exactly like her mom’s. A shiver went down her spine and she didn’t think the exhaustion was to blame.

What do you mean?

“You can’t be that reckless with your voice. It isn’t safe, not for you or the rest of us.”

It’s not like I meant to blow my powers.

“That’s exactly the problem.”

Part of her was glad that she didn’t have a voice, because she knew she’d be close to yelling if she could speak right now. Instead, she typed: What was I supposed to do, huh? You saw all those men coming at us. 

“Yeah, and I also saw your face when Helena took that knife for you.”

What are you trying to say?

“That the army might be why you did the scream in the first place, but Helena is why you didn’t stop when they all hit the floor.”

Dinah froze. She remembered the moment as if it had happened in slow motion. She remembered the feeling of Helena’s arms on her, her life literally resting on her shoulders. She could see the panic in her eyes when she spotted the men, watched it grow as she’d brought her hands over her ears, but most of all, she could hear the sound Helena made when the knife hit her. It sounded like pain, pure and simple, and she was overwhelmed with the feeling of never wanting to hear it again. When Dinah had turned around and yelled, when she’d let go, it was that cry that she’d heard, louder than her own voice. It pushed her farther than she’d ever gone before, and she let it without hesitation.

They hurt Helena, she texted after a while, and she knew Renee probably wanted more of an explanation but that was the only way she could describe it, the only thing that had mattered. 

“Yeah, I know, but what do you think would have happened to her if there’d been more of them? What if Harley hadn’t been able to get to us as fast as she did, and I had to try and run away from the cops with you unconscious and her hurt? What then?”

I didn’t think about that, she said after a minute.

“Yeah, of course you didn’t. Because when it comes to Helena, you’re all heart and no logic. Which is fine when we’re here, but you gotta find a way to turn that off when we’re in the field, because otherwise we’re gonna get into a situation we can’t get ourselves out of.”

Dinah went type, but Renee cut her off. “Don’t you go and give me that ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ bullshit. I live here, too. I have eyes.”

Dinah knew she was kidding herself, but she still typed the words anyway. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Renee laughed but it didn’t last. “Listen, I don’t give a shit about what you two do or don’t do, but if you ever plan on moving past staring at her all day and hoping she won’t notice, you gotta make sure you know what you’re doing. I know we all got our shit, but Helena’s a lot more fragile than she seems.”

Fragile? We talking about the same Helena? Huntress? The Crossbow Killer? 

“She’s not just Huntress, though — she’s Helena Bertinelli. Don’t forget what that name means. The baggage that comes with it.”

We’ve all lost people. 

“Not like her.”

Dinah didn’t know why she was getting defensive all of a sudden, but the idea that Helena was weak pissed her off. Helena was the strongest person she knew. She was resilient and empathetic and fearless, and the implication that in Dinah’s hands she was breakable fueled a fire in her she didn’t know still burned.

What does that have to do with me? You think I’d ever do anything to hurt her?

“Blowing your powers already has,” Renee said, and Dinah’s face must have mirrored exactly how she felt about that assertion, because she quickly added, “It’s not your fault or anything. You can’t control how she responds to things, but—fuck, I just—you didn’t see what Quinn and I saw this weekend, okay? If you did, maybe you’d understand what I’m trying to get at here.”

Tell me what happened, Dinah typed, and she didn’t know whether she was still angry or just confused or something else entirely but she knew she needed to know. Tell me all of it. 

Renee hesitated, and Dinah was inches from throwing her phone at her, desperate to communicate her own desperation. Finally, she took a breath, and Dinah felt herself holding hers. “The morning after the fight, she punched the shit out of the bag downstairs, without gloves. When she came up her fists were bruised and bleeding but she wouldn’t let anyone wrap them or ice them, just left it as it was. Pretty sure she tore her stitches, too, because Harley went down with a suture kit. And I’m sure she provoked her but I don’t think she had to work too hard to do it.”

Dinah felt like her heart was beating out of her chest, but she forced herself to type: What else?

“That night, when we were moving you from the couch to here,” Renee started, and she kept hesitating, and Dinah couldn’t stand it, both the not knowing and the fear of whatever Renee was afraid to tell her. 

What?? She finally texted, and Renee never read it but she had to know what it was asking, because she exhaled and looked right at her. 

“She had a panic attack. But Dinah, it was—“ she shook her head. “We looked over at her and she’d stopped breathing. She didn’t hear us, didn’t see us, for a solid minute and a half. It was the scariest shit I’ve ever seen her do.” 

Dinah felt the world stop moving around her, time slowing to a standstill. Suddenly she wasn’t sure she wanted to know anymore, but it was too late, because Renee opened her mouth and kept talking. 

“Once she finally took a breath, it was like she didn’t know how to stop. She just kept gasping, over and over and over again. Like a fish out of water. She didn’t exhale, not until Harley fucking slapped her across the face. And don’t give me that look,“ she added, “I already yelled at her for it.”

She didn’t want that image in her head. She didn’t want to hear it, because it meant that Renee was right, that Helena was in pain again, was hurting, all because of her. Her fault. The knife, the no sleep, and now this. 

“I’m not telling you to make you feel like shit.” Renee’s tone was softer, and Dinah kept her eyes on her phone because she didn’t trust herself to look up yet. She felt tears in her eyes but willed them away. “I’m just trying to show you that you matter to her. Probably more than the rest of us. Which is why you have to be extra careful.” 

Dinah didn’t say anything. If the consequences of her mattering to Helena were panic attacks and bruised knuckles, if the cost of her affection was torn stitches and no sleep, who was she to still want it? How selfish did she have to be to expect that anyone would suffer through that much pain for her?

“You know, she did other stuff while you were asleep,” Renee said, and Dinah finally lifted her gaze, glared at her and her apparent need to pour salt in her freshly torn wound, but she was smiling, and Dinah didn’t understand it, until she said, “That night, she sang to you.”

Dinah looked at her, and she could feel her eyebrow raising because Helena didn’t sing. Period. Once and a while Dinah caught her listening to music on her own, but she spent so much time in silence that music usually didn’t have a place in her world unless it was coming from her or the others. 

“It was that song you’d been playing a lot about a week ago. The river one. It was her turn to stay up with you, and I think she thought I was asleep. I could hear it through the walls. She sang it on a loop for about a half hour. Sounded pretty good too. I mean, she’s no you, but still: not bad at all.”

Dinah didn’t have words. She knew the song Renee was talking about. She’d caught Helena watching her as she sang it one day, made them lie down on the floor and blast it over her speakers so Helena could appreciate it properly. She remembered saying it might help her relax at night, and her heart fluttered at the memory, at what it said in a way that Helena would never put into words. 

“Also,” Renee added, and Dinah wasn’t sure she was ready for more, had barely begun to process the rest of it. “She might have been praying. Yesterday, when you were sick, I walked out of your room to grab more ice packs. When I came back she was mumbling in Italian, I think. I don’t know what she was saying, but the way she was saying it — I don’t know, it felt familiar. Reminded me of my church going days.”

Her brain couldn’t even begin to comprehend that. She didn’t think Helena was religious, had certainly never talked to her about it and hadn’t seen her do anything that would make her think otherwise. But maybe she was. Maybe Dinah didn’t know her at all, and she’d been kidding herself by thinking she did. 

She forced her eyes down to her phone. All of it, everything Renee kept telling her, everything she felt, it was all too much. She wasn’t sure if this made her weak or a coward or both, but she filed everything important away for later and instead asked, You used to go to church?

Renee laughed, and Dinah couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I’m not exactly living the kind of lifestyle they preach about, but old habits die hard and all.”

Dinah tried to laugh, but all she was met with was pain. She winced, and Renee switched into caregiver mode instantly. “You want some more Advil?”

She shook her head. I just have to wait it out, she typed. Should be back to normal in a few days. 

“You ever blown your powers like this before?” Part of her wanted to lie, but Renee would see right through it. 

Once, she said. The night they found her. She knew Renee would know what night she was talking about. She’d begged her not to go out, told her she hadn’t healed from her last fight yet, that the rest of the group wouldn’t go if cops were supposed to show up, but she didn’t listen, never listened. “People’s lives are at stake, Dinah,” she’d told her. “Who would I be if I let them get hurt when I could have stopped it?” And then she was gone. Hours passed, too many hours, and it didn’t feel right, so she was still up, pacing back and forth, too scared to keep the TV and radio on anymore. The silence was uncanny, made the whole house feel cold and creepy and wrong. When her neighbor banged on the door, the one who knew what her mom’s night shift entailed, Dinah didn’t wait for her to say a word before she ran out, down to where she should be, where all the cameras and the news reporters had been. When she got there all she saw was her, lying in the middle of the street. Alone. Not moving. The cops were everywhere now, had been nowhere when she’d had the TV on hours ago, trying to catch glimpses of the fight that was more than unlevel. They had their cones and their cars and their fucking lights on, but no one had touched the body, not even to cover it. She was out there on display, for everyone to see. 

Dinah didn’t remember much of what happened after that. She remembered running away, screaming so loud she thought she’d die right then and there. When she woke up, she was back in her house, and her throat was on fire. Everyone around her chalked it up to grief, didn’t blink an eye when she looked like shit and couldn’t speak as she collected too many lasagnas for one person to possibly eat. Even in death her mom had protected her. She’d also taught her one last lesson: no matter who you were or what you did, everybody died alone.

“I think she’d be really proud of you, Dinah.” Renee’s words brought her back to the present, and she was grateful that she didn’t have a voice, because the tears threatened to make an appearance again, and all she could manage was a nod. 

They sat there for a minute, the silence threatening to take her back. She searched for a distraction, an anchor to keep her out of the past. Her mind instantly went to Helena. Helena singing to her. Helena praying for her. Helena sitting on her floor, listening to Harley’s rants and rambles as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. Helena looking up at her when Dinah reached for her hands, a rare moment of vulnerability. Every thought led her back to her. 

Did anything else happen while I was out? She asked, and she watched Renee read it, watched her hesitate, before shaking her head. Her heart dropped into her stomach. There’s something you’re not telling me, she added, and she knew she was right when Renee bit her lip. Say it. 

Renee didn’t protest, just slumped her shoulders and looked up at her. “When Helena was panicking, on that first night, she...she started crying. And I don’t know about you, but I’d never seen her do that before.”

No. Dinah shook her head, because that didn’t make sense. Helena didn’t cry. They’d pulled bullets out of her before. They’d talked about her family. She hadn’t even gotten choked up. Dinah looked to her right, as if she could see into Helena’s room. How badly had she hurt her that she could do what nothing else could?

“That isn’t a bad thing.” Renee seemed to read her mind, because she added, “It just shows how much she cares about you. Loves you.”

Maybe she shouldn’t. The words felt petty and dramatic but she sent them anyway. 

She watched Renee read her text, watched her eyebrows shoot up in incredulity, before making a noise that sounded like a laugh without any of the humor. “God, you two really are made for each other,” she groaned. “I mean, the only other person I know who would hear all of that and come to the conclusion you just did is sleeping on the other side of that wall. She’s probably blaming herself for you blowing your powers out, the same way you’re blaming yourself for her reaction. And I don’t know about Helena, but I know that you’re convinced if you admit you care about her, it’s somehow gonna hurt her. Hell, she’s probably thinking the same fucking thing. It won’t, by the way, but you’re both too heartsick to realize that the only way you could ever really hurt each other would be by telling yourselves that you need to stay away. So now you’re both content to make yourselves and one another miserable by doing nothing.”

Dinah just stared at her. The change in tone felt like whiplash, and for the first time all day her mind was totally blank. “Sorry,” Renee added, her voice doing another 180, her tone now apologetic and borderline sheepish. “I didn’t mean to snap like that. I just don’t want to have to watch you two miss out on something that could be really good because you don’t think you deserve it, or some bullshit like that. Because you do. Both of you.”

Still, Dinah said nothing. Stubbornly, she didn’t want to prove Renee right, but she also didn’t want to fight her on it, didn’t want to defend her initial position, and she wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe she was just tired, and maybe it was because she didn’t have a voice to argue with anyway, but maybe part of her — the selfish part, the hopeful part that never seemed to die no matter how many times she tried to kill it — hoped Renee was right. That loving Helena wasn’t forcing her into a life of pain. That she might even love her back.

What would you suggest I do then? She felt exposed just asking, but she discovered she needed an answer more than she needed her pride.

Renee sighed. “Listen, I know I’m a multi-talented person, and I know I just gave you a lecture about your love life, but I’m not so sure I should be the one giving actual relationship advice. My track record is...not exceptional.” She shrugged, before adding, “Just do what feels right, and don’t let yourself sabotage a good thing before you have it.”

Dinah nodded. She looked down at her phone, clicked out of the text app and came face to face with her screensaver. It was a picture of her and the other girls at Cass’s school, her favorite picture, because while the kid was beaming and Harley was making some ridiculous face, Helena was standing in the back, smiling not at the camera but at the people in front of her. As she stared at it, she wondered if Renee knew just how badly she wanted to be the reason Helena smiled like that, wondered if her want for it was strong enough to outweigh all the reasons she shouldn’t.

— 

When Dinah woke up the next morning, Helena was standing in her doorway. She wasn’t surprised to see her — Helena always woke up first, usually managed to fit in a run and a shower before Dinah even left her room — but she was surprised at how good it made her feel, having Helena be the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes. It was almost enough to ignore the soreness of her throat, the achiness of the rest of her body. 

“I wasn’t being creepy,” Helena said when she realized Dinah was awake. “I just — do you need anything? Pain pills or tea or I could get the ice cream from the freezer or—“

She tried to talk, but the most she could muster was a pathetic squeak, too quiet to be heard by anyone else and nowhere near an actual word. Instead she just waved her off, reaching for her phone. I’m fine, she said, and she watched Helena read it, watched the way she glanced at the kitchen before looking back at her, watched the way she shifted her weight slightly from the balls of her feet to her heels and back again.

Dinah tried to hide her smile as she realized what was happening. You wanna come sit with me? She typed, and Helena nodded, and when she sat in the chair Harley had left behind yesterday, still all the way across the room, Dinah waved her closer, until Helena was about a foot away from her head. 

You know, you never need an invitation to come in here. 

Helena shrugged. “I don’t want to invade your privacy.”

You could never. 

Helena almost smiled at that, but Dinah knew she didn’t believe it, that she’d have to tell her it was okay the next time she wanted to come in, and the time after that. She didn’t mind, though — she’d give her permission every day of her life if that’s what it took. 

“Do you want me to play some music?” Helena asked, and Dinah raised an eyebrow at her question. 

I thought you liked sitting in silence. 

“You don’t. And I don’t mind your music.”

Dinah again found herself grateful she couldn’t speak, because she knew the words that were sitting at the edge of her tongue, desperate to make themselves heard: sing to me. She couldn’t get herself to type them out, and part of her knew that was for the best. If she tried to get Helena to do something that intimate when she wasn’t ready, she might never get to hear it at all. 

Teach me how to like the quiet, she typed instead. How do I be like you? 

“Why would you want to be like me?” The question was so earnest, the self-deprecation so intertwined with curiosity that it took Dinah a minute to recognize it. 

You’re amazing. Why wouldn’t I want to be like you? Helena just looked at her, like she didn’t understand, and suddenly Dinah didn’t feel like letting this one go. Tell me one thing you like about yourself, and it can’t be about fighting. 

She just stared at her, like she was waiting for Dinah to tell her it was a joke, but Dinah was dead serious, and after a minute Helena seemed to realize it. “Dinah, this is stupid.”

Not to me. 

Helena went to protest, but the look Dinah gave her must have communicated her feelings well enough, because she didn’t, just bit her lip and kept her mouth shut. Dinah looked at her expectantly, but as the silence went on, she felt her gaze soften. She could see Helena thinking, could tell she was actually trying, and yet she didn’t say a word. Dinah longed to reach for her but was terrified of scaring her off, of making her ever feel like she was abnormal or someone to be pitied, so she kept her hands to herself. 

When Helena finally looked up at her, Dinah swore she saw an ocean of pain in her eyes, so deep she couldn’t see an end or beginning. She saw insecurity, something she rarely associated with Helena because the warrior in her oozed confidence, made it so easy to assume that was permanent and not contingent on her fists and her crossbow. 

Her thumbs couldn’t type fast enough for her, and it took all her willpower to stop her hands from shaking. I like how you’re always trying to be helpful to the people around you. Helena looked down at her phone, and Dinah kept typing, doing her best to keep her eyes on her. I like the way you talk to Cass like she’s an adult, how you always take her seriously. 

“She’s smart,” Helena whispered, “of course I take her seriously.”

I like how you always listen to the people around you, even when Harley’s going off on some rant that doesn’t make any sense. Helena smiled at that one, the corners of her mouth just barely rising, but it was enough to get Dinah to add, I like the way I feel when I’m with you. 

“How do you feel when you’re with me?” Dinah knew where this would lead, the confession she’d have to make, but Helena looked up at her as she asked, and Dinah could never lie to her, even if she’d wanted to. And as she typed, she realized she didn’t want to.

Like I’m home. 

Helena stared at the words for so long Dinah felt her palms begin to sweat, and a small part of her itched to take them back but she wouldn’t, couldn’t, because they were true. And maybe, regardless of how she might react, Helena needed to hear them more than Dinah needed to say them.

“Tell me what that’s like,” she said softly, her eyes still down. 

Dinah started typing before her mind could form sentences. It was like knowing the lyrics to a song she never remembered learning: the words were just there. It feels like exhaling. Like letting go of a weight you didn’t realize you were carrying. It feels like singing along to the radio and not worrying about who hears you. It’s soft and calm and I didn’t notice how much I missed it until you gave it back to me. 

Helena took her time reading the words, but Dinah didn’t have it in her to feel restless anymore. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t move or speak, that her strongest weapon was depleted beyond use: as long as Helena was here, she was safe. And nothing could change that.

“You—“ she started, and she finally brought her eyes up to Dinah’s. “Do you love me?”

The way Helena asked, like the very idea was so foreign and confusing to her, like she’d never considered it was a possibility before, made her want to laugh and cry at the same time; instead, she just smiled, nodding her head and watching the gears in Helena's mind turn.

“How?” She asked, then added, “I mean, in what way?”

Renee’s words echoed in the back of her mind. She typed her next words out slowly, taking the time to read them over before she clicked send. I’ll love you in whatever way you’ll let me. 

Helena’s eyes lingered over the text, and Dinah was desperate, desperate to grab her and show her exactly what she meant, but she knew it had to be her. She wouldn’t make a move unless Helena did, wouldn’t rush her or force her into something she wasn’t ready for, but waiting was agony and she wondered how long she could go without some sort of sign. If she was alone in her feelings that would...that would be fine, she could live through that, could find a way to get over herself for Helena’s sake but she needed to know, needed to—

In an instant, every thought in her head was wiped clean, because Helena’s lips were on hers and oh, oh this is what they all meant. The singers, blasting through her speakers, preaching a different kind of gospel, and she’d always thought she knew what they were talking about but now, now it all made sense. She reached for her, and she couldn’t feel pain anymore, couldn’t feel any part of her body that wasn’t touching Helena. She was the whole world, the only thing that existed, and Dinah knew she’d never get enough of her. 

By the time they pulled away from one another she was out of breath. She could see Helena was too, could see the heavy way her chest rose and fall, could see the blush in her cheeks and the awe in her eyes. She could feel herself smiling, except she wasn’t smiling she was fucking beaming, and she knew she probably looked like an idiot but she didn’t care, because Helena smiled back at her, and suddenly nothing else mattered.

For a minute they both just sat there. Helena was standing now, had leaned out of her chair to kiss her, and she didn’t know what came next but she knew she didn’t want whatever this was, whatever they were now, to ever stop.

Dinah shifted over, and almost laughed at the way Helena’s eyes widened at the sight of more room on the bed next to her. She shook her head, grabbed her phone and typed, just come lay down with me. Helena hesitated at first, but then she did, and it was a tight squeeze but Dinah didn’t care. As they laid there, she felt the words on her tongue again, itching to come out: sing to me, sing to me, sing to me. Still, she waited, and she thought she might have been the strongest person in the world for doing so. 

She had a million other questions she wanted to ask about them, about the kiss she didn’t think she’d ever stop thinking about, but she didn’t want to talk about it, not yet. The moment felt sacred, and she wanted it to stay that way for just a little bit longer. Instead, she typed her initial question again: Teach me how to like the quiet. 

“No.”

Dinah turned toward her, and she almost had to look up to find her eyes. No?

Helena looked down at her, and for the first time all morning she seemed sure of herself. “No. To like the quiet, you have to disappear in it. To be a part of it. To not exist, to not want to exist. You have to kill every voice in your head, every instinct to be heard, and yours is too beautiful to be silenced.”

Dinah had to resist the urge to kiss her again; instead, she reached for her hand, let their fingers intertwine under the covers. She realized she had one more request, but refused to let go, so with one hand she slowly typed the words: then play me that song I showed you last week. You remember?

Helena nodded, and a minute later the music was playing. Dinah closed her eyes, laid her head on Helena’s shoulder, and she knew she was right before, because this, them together? This was home, the way she remembered it, the way it was always supposed to be. 

--

@konako @sinand-misery

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Shattered Glass: Four

After a few more runs down the hill, you were both exhausted and freezing. Hulk held you close to his chest wrapped in the blanket you’d had earlier and perched, rather precariously on the side of your bed.

Bruce was right, you thought to yourself. He doesn’t talk much. But he’s nice. I bet he likes animals. Hulk looks down at you, half asleep. Your hair mussed nd your cheeks just a little wind burnt and pink. He decides he likes you. He likes the smell of you. He likes making you laugh. He’s reluctant to surrender you to the care of waiting nurses, but you’re body, he knows is very fragile.

He can sense that HYDRA had done something to you. Something dangerous. But he can’t tell what exactly. When the medical team takes you to put you back into bed properly he leaves, going to Banner’s room to allow himself to fade back below the surface.

Bruce lays on the bed for a second, panting and tired. There was no screaming and nothing on fire so he assumed nothing had gone wrong. The Hulk was quiet in his mind and that was another good sign. There was no danger or irritation. That was good. In the back of his mind, he could pull forward the sound of your laugh and the image of a shy smile. That felt nice. Your tiny hand reaching for the Hulk’s slowly, wrapping around one of his fingers cautiously. It was sweet. He was glad you’d evidently not been terribly scared.

After the day sledding, certain things slowly bubbled to the surface. You get better at names. Better at remembering your name. It wasn’t perfect. Sometimes you still got confused and got lost in the void in your mind. Still. Day by day, you got a little better.

Bruce visited every day. Often to help distract you as you began doing physical therapy to help you get back on your feet, literally. He hated seeing you struggling and trying not to cry as the pain shot through your legs and your back. Today, he was asking you about obscure occult things.

Things that you had studied. And picked. And sold. For years. It helped, you told him. Not thinking about the pain. You tell him about things as he shows you pictures off of his phone. You tell him anything you can tell about it from the pictures. He liked listening to you talk. Even if you were sweating and telling him things around gasps for air. The only thing that kept him calm, watching your struggle was that your therapist was good at their job. They were aware that it was painful and did their best to minimize discomfort while helping you reach your goal of being able to walk. As you wrapped up, Bruce got your walker and waited patiently as you got yourself stable on your feet again. “Are you hungry?” he asked, “I’m starving.” You nod, “I could eat something. I think.” Bruce frowned, “Does your stomach still hurt?” he asked, concerned. You nod, “It’s not as bad today though.” The scientist slowed his steps. Reminding himself that you’re probably sore and a little tired. “Has medical figured out why?” he asked. You shake your head, “I feel like a pincushion,” you said. Bruce chuckled, “I’m sure but, we’re hoping that if we can figure out what all they did we can figure out why. Then help you get better a little faster.” You nod, “I appreciate it. I just... I just wish I could be more help.”

You look so frustrated and tired that Bruce’s heart breaks a little. He wants to kiss your head and tuck you into bed for a nap. Instead, he helps you into a chair and starts making something to eat. Bruce remembers what you like even if there are days you forget. Today, as he looks out at the grey winter day, it seems like a good day for Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup. Something warm and comforting.

When Natasha wanders in and sits next to you, you smile a little, “How are you today?” you ask her. She smiles, “Fine. Happy to be home. How’s therapy?” You sigh, “It’s getting better. I still can’t walk very long and not without a walker.” She nodded sympathetically, “It’ll get better. You were down for a long time. Maybe we can get you out of the compound for a little while. Go do some shopping.” You smile a little and nod, “That’d be nice. I’m not sure how much I’d be able to do though.” She pats your hand, “We’ll bring a super soldier to carry you if you can’t walk.” She gives Bruce a teasing look when you look down blushing. Bruce frowns and blushes. “Or maybe a Hulk,” she added. Bruce blushed harder, “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Nat,” he said.

“Why not?” you ask, innocently. You didn’t remember the news footage. You didn’t see Hulk as a Monster. He was just... A friend. Well. A friend of a friend. You weren’t really sure how he felt about you. Natasha smiled, “Yeah, Bruce, why not?” Bruce coughed, “Hulk doesn’t really do well with crowds.” You look a little disappointed and Bruce gives Natasha a look. She’s not the only one who’s been pressing on him to get a little less shy. He puts a plate and a bowl in front of you and you smile your thanks, “It looks good,” you tell him.” He preens a little. He’s happy to do it. The memory of you, thin and fragile lingers even as you get a little less fragile. You need to eat properly. He fixes Natasha a plate before fixing one for himself and joins you at the table.

Lunch is quiet. Nat scrolls through her phone and you stare out the window, thinking. It’s almost Christmas and Bruce wonders what you’re thinking about. He wonders if it’s your grandma. You recently learned that she had passed away. You’d not cried. Not the way they’d expected when they’d had to tell you. A few quiet tears and a moment of silence as you accepted the information. “She’d been ill a long time,” you’d said after a moment, “I just wish she could have known I was still alive.” Clint had taken your hand gently and squeezed, not knowing what else to do and Natasha kissed your cheek, “She never gave up,” Natasha said softly, “Until the day she died, she called the police department every day.” You smile a little, “Yeah,” you said, “I can believe it.”

They told you she left you a little money and you shrug, “I just... All I want is the pictures. Do you know what happened to those?”Natasha shook her head, “I’m sorry. We don’t but... We have people looking for where they sent her things. You weren’t ever declared legally dead so it has to be somewhere since you were the only one named in her will.” You nod and take a deep breath, “Thank you.” Bruce had wanted to hold you. Had wanted to give you a cup of tea and kiss your head. Watching you now, all far away and distracted he just wanted... He wanted you to be happy. To be safe. To be able to give you back the life that had been snatched out of your hands. Your grandma, your job, the shop you loved. He wished he could just hand it to you. You hadn’t done anything to deserve this. Not as far as they could tell.

Tags:  @lancsnerd​ @stevieang​ @golddaggers​ @blameitonthecauseway @qxeen-of-hearts​ @process-pending​ @xmarveled​ @beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess, @mschellehitt, @mistressoftorture @thorfanficwriter, @ctinadiva, @innerpaperexpertcloud @amalthea9

[hymn2000]

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road - Alternate Ending to Avengers Endgame - for snarkofstark - C3

Alternate ending to Endgame, aka The Film That Should Not Be Named. This was done mostly to the headcanons @snarkofstark sent me about what happens (should have happened) at the end of Endgame. I have put my own twists on it, as per the first chapters disclaimer.

Previous chapters: 1 2

You can also find me on AO3

Warnings/themes: alternate ending, illness, injury, PTSD (mentioned), family, recovery, hospital stuff, general mental health stuff

Chapter 3 -  This Boy's Too Young To Be Singing The Blues

-

Morgan had gotten to know Peter pretty well while her father had been in hospital, and she was happy to see him too.

“You can come and see my den now!” she said, grabbing his hand. 

“Oh, um-”

“I’m gonna get my shoes. Make sure you’re ready!”

Peter just blinked as the little girl rushed off. He looked at Tony.

“Um”

“It’s ok” Tony said. 

“Are you sure? Morgan’s great, but-”

“Peter. It’s ok. Go and play with her. We’ve got time” He gave the boy another quick hug. “We’ll talk later”

Peter nodded, and Morgan bounded back into the room, shaking her feet in her wellington boots.

“Right, let’s go!” she said, grabbing Peter’s hand. “Daddy can have you later”

Peter took a last look at Tony, mouthed; ‘sorry’, and then let the little girl take him outside. Tony shook his head fondly.

“Tony?”

“Hm?” he looked at Pepper. “Hey... Y’know, they’re probably gonna be out there for a while, so if you wanted to... ‘play’, maybe we could..?”

Pepper blinked at him. “Are you propositioning me?”

Tony shrugged. “Only if you want me to be”

"Are you sure? It’s been... a little while”

Tony put his hands on her shoulders. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want it too”

-

Pepper turned onto her stomach, looking at her husband.

“Where did that come from?”

Tony grinned at her. “Just call it a thank you card”

“You’re seriously weird, did you know that?” she said, kissing him gently.

“It’s been mentioned” Tony said. “I love you”

“I love you too”

-

Peter was surprised at how quickly he managed to get lost in the game. Morgan was a funny kid; sparky and energetic and cheeky, and her games reflected that. They lost track of time pretty quickly, enjoying each others company.

“It’s good that you’re here” she said, lowering her water pistol at the end of a particularly energetic game.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Mummy made me keep it a secret, and I was about to burst”

Peter laughed. “Aww, cute!”

Morgan grabbed his hand, giving it a tug. “You gotta come back into the den now”

“Ok, ok” Peter said, obediently ducking under the fabric and squashing into the den with her. “What do you want to play now?”

“I’m not sure” Morgan said, looking round the den. “What do you want to play?”

“I’m not sure either. It’s been a pretty long time since I’ve played games like this” he said. “I’ve got those Snap cards inside, though. We could open them”

“Card games are boring”

“Ok, ok” he sighed, thinking, and leant back - only to put his hand on something sharp. “Ow, fuck!”

He jerked his arm away, rubbing his palm - and then suddenly realised Morgan was staring at him.

“What does fuck mean?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “You can’t say that word!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s bad!” Peter said. “I shouldn’t’ve said it either”

“I’m gonna say it to my parents” she said, getting up. 

“No! Morgan, don’t do that! We’ll get into trouble!” Peter protested, scrambling out of the den after her. “Morgan!”

“I’m gonna say it to my dad!” she stuck her tongue out at him and started running back towards the house.

“No! Morgan, wait!!” 

She was very fast for someone so small. Peter ran after her, and when they literally fell through the front door at the same time, he grabbed her, half-pinning her down on the floorboards.

“Don’t you dare say it! I’ll- I’ll tickle you!”

Morgan wriggled, laughing, and saw her parents watching them. Peter noticed too, but he was more concerned with what might come out of their daughters mouth.

“Hey daddy! Peter-”

“Morgan, stop! Please don’t!” Peter begged, getting worried. 

Morgan wriggled free, scrambling to her feet.

“Peter said fuck!”

“MORGAN!!”

Peter grabbed her, covering her mouth with his hand. “You’re so bad!”

Morgan licked his hand, shrieking with laughter at his disgust as he released her. Tony and Pepper looked at each other. Tony’s lip twitched, and he started laughing. Pepper shook her head at him, trying very hard not to succumb to the giggles herself. She went over and rescued Peter and Morgan from each other, pulling Morgan to one side.

“You don’t ever say words like that, Morgan”

Tony held a hand out to Peter, helping him to his feet.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Stark! I just hurt my hand and it kinda slipped out and I tried to tell her it’s bad and-”

“Hey” Tony interrupted, trying not to laugh even more at the boys red face. “We’ve all done it; don’t look so worried”

“You’re laughing...”

“Hey, come on, that was pretty funny! I didn’t even know you were legally allowed to say it”

Peter stared at him, and Tony laughed more, putting an arm round his shoulders. 

“Stop it with the face. Give it five minutes and she’ll be on to the next bit of mischief”

-

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed by without incident. Peter managed to get his Snap cards out and teach Morgan how to play. She wasn’t especially good at it, but he and Tony purposely pretended not to see a lot of the matching pairs to give her a chance to shout, and she ended up ‘winning’ quite a few games. 

After a late dinner, Pepper took Morgan off to bed, leaving Tony and Peter alone on the sofa. 

“I still find it funny thinking you’ve got a daughter” Peter said.

Tony looked at him.

“It’s just... well, I’m still getting my head around the fact that I was away for five years. It barely felt like five minutes” 

“It must be weird” Tony said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course, Mr Stark”

“What did it feel like?”

Peter didn’t need any clarification. “I just felt all hot and shaky and a bit sick. It... ached, I guess. And there was this kinda sharp pain while bits of me... went” he looked away. “I asked people about it, but no one else felt anything. I think I was the only one who did. I think it’s because of the spidey sense...”

“Peter? Hey, kid, look at me”

“I don’t want to”

“Why not?”

“...Because I’m scared I’ll cry if I do”

Tony stood up. He paused, resting a hand on Peter’s head for a moment before going out to the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later, mug in hand. He sat down beside Peter and handed him the mug.

“...What is it?”

“Morgan calls it Sleepy Potion. It’s just hot milk with honey and cinnamon”

“That’s adorable...” he took a quick sip. “It’s good...”

“Of course it is: I made it”

Peter stayed quiet for a while, drinking.

“Hey, kid? You were real good with Morgan today... How do you stay so positive all the time?”

Peter shrugged. “It’s easier. If people think you look happy, they don’t ask questions”

Tony looked at him. He looked smaller, somehow. He looked sad. And scared.

“If I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?”

When Peter didn’t respond, Tony put a hand on his cheek, gently turning his head so that he had to look at him. 

“Are you ok?”

Tears welled in Peter’s eyes. He pulled away, shaking his head. 

“Aw, kid” Tony sighed sadly. 

Peter covered his mouth with his hand, and a little shaky cry escaped him, despite himself.

“Aww, Peter. Hey, it’s ok. Here, let me take that” 

Tony took Peter’s mug and set it on the coffee table. He tried to put his arms round him, but Peter pulled away.

“Don’t! Oh god, I said I wasn’t going to do this-!” 

“What? Hey, don’t you walk away from me!”

Tony stood up too, grabbing him by the wrist. 

“I don’t want to cry in front of you! I told myself I wouldn’t, I didn’t want to cry here. I don’t have any right; so many people had it worse, I mean, I mean, you got hurt, didn’t you? We were all so scared for you. I wanted to cheer you up! I tried to be good, and then Ms Potts- uh, Mrs Stark- rang, and she said you might like some company, and I wanted to come over here and be good and make you smile and stuff, and, and I wasn’t gonna talk about this, I didn’t wanna talk about this, I didn’t-”

“Hey, hey, now you come here” Tony said firmly, pulling Peter close and hugging him tight. “You cry just as much as you need to. God knows I’ve been filling swimming pools”

Peter pulled away from him, flopping back onto the sofa, knuckling his eyes furiously.

“You don’t get it. I’m just all mixed up. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just... I don’t know! So many people went through so much more than me and they’re getting on fine, so-”

“Hey” Tony sat down beside him, taking his face in his hands. “Have you talked to anyone about this?”

“No!” Peter said, grabbing Tony’s wrists, pulling his hands away from his face but keeping hold of them. “Why would I? Everyone’s got their own problems, ‘cos of what Thanos did, so, so, so why sh-should I make things worse for them? I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m f-”

He was crying too hard to carry on. He still had tight hold of Tony’s wrists, but he couldn’t look at him; too embarrassed and annoyed at himself for letting this happen.

“You’re not fine. You don’t have to pretend you are” Tony said, his heart thudding in his chest. “I’m gonna hug you again, ok?”

Peter nodded tearfully, and this time he didn’t pull away. He hugged Tony tight, sobbing into his shoulder. 

“That’s it, you just let it out” he said, one hand on the back of the boys head. “You cry just as much as you need. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere”

He was being so nice that Peter couldn’t help crying harder. Tony rested his head against Peter’s and squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard not to let it get to him. He tried, but soon tears spilt from his eyes. Peter didn’t notice at first, but then the man’s shoulders started to shake, and he pulled away quickly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry, Mr Stark! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry! I’m sorry!”

“It’s ok! Hey, it’s ok, here, just-”

“What’s going on in here?!”

They both looked up at the source of the concerned voice. Pepper took one look at their tragic faces and sighed.

“Oh, darlings. What are you like?”

She came over to the front of the sofa.

“I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to upset him! I swear I didn’t!”

“Hey, don’t apologise! You haven’t done anything wrong” she said. “Calm down. Let Tony hug you”

Peter let himself be pulled close again. Tony looked up at Pepper, and the look on his face said it all. Pepper sat down, putting her arms round both of them.

“Kid, it’s ok. You’re allowed to be upset. I was in that fight too, remember? I know what it was like. I know how it feels”

Peter buried himself further into Tony’s chest, still shaking with sobs. Tony moved and put his arms round Pepper, holding her tight with Peter sandwiched in the middle of them.

“We’ve got you, kiddo” he said, his voice shaking. “We’ve got you”

-

Once Peter and Tony had managed to stop crying, Pepper went and fixed them all a drink, and the three of them sat together on the sofa, Peter in the middle.

“It’s scary stuff” Pepper said. “It’s bound to have an effect on you”

“...I just can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t want to think about it, but it keeps creeping back... We all could’ve died”

“But we didn’t” Pepper said. “We’re all still here”

“We didn’t get out of it unscathed” Tony looked down at his arm, rubbing the scarring in his wrist. “It’s gonna take time. Just because other people might’ve had it worse, doesn’t change what you went through”

“Do you... do you have dreams about it?”

Tony and Pepper looked at each other. Peter was too busy staring into his drink to notice.

“Do you?” Pepper asked.

Peter nodded. “Sometimes it’s all the what ifs. And sometimes it’s just memories. One memory more than others...”

Pepper squeezed his hand. “You’re allowed to talk to us. You don’t have to hide it. What’s the memory?”

“It’s... when I had the gauntlet. So they all attacked me. And I had the instant kill on but there was so many of them and I couldn’t see a way out and I thought, I thought I was gonna die, and I ended up in that pit on my back, and they were all there, and I couldn’t fight them all, and I just, I just felt so helpless and scared and alone”

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

“But you weren’t alone” Pepper said. “You got out of it”

“Captain Marvel saved me... She was nice”

“Yeah, she was. We all looked out for each other out there. No one would have let anything happen to you”

Peter looked at her, and flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry” Tony said. “I’m sorry. It’s just me”

Peter swallowed. “We thought you were dead”

“I thought I was, too” Tony said. “And it’s horrible. I get the nightmares too, kiddo. But I’m still here, for whatever reason. All of that stuff? It’s over now. We’re safe. It’s all in the past”

Peter couldn’t stop looking at him. He knew Tony was struggling. He knew he wasn’t as ok with it all as he was trying to make out. He knew he was angry and scared and upset. But he was putting all that aside to reassure him, and that in itself was testament to his strength.

“We won...”

“Yeah, we did” 

Peter took a deep breath. “I’m sorry”

“Don’t you dare” Tony said. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for”

“Sorry...”

“That’s another apology, kid” Pepper said, stroking the boys damp fringe back over his forehead. 

“S-... Uh... I don’t know what to say know”

Tony laughed slightly, as did Pepper. Peter couldn’t help smiling too. 

“Can we... can we stay here for a bit and talk?” Peter said. “I know I’ve only just shut up again, but it might help. Everyone says it helps to talk”

Tony put an arm round his shoulder, giving him a little squeeze. “Sure thing. They say crying helps too”

-

Tony stumbled into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee machine.

“Morning” Pepper said.

“Morning” Tony mumbled, flicking the machine on and rubbing his eyes. “You’d’ve thought that shower would’ve woken me up” 

“Morning, daddy!”

“Morning, Morgan” he looked round the kitchen. “Is Peter not up yet?”

“Not yet” 

“I’ll go and wake him!” Morgan offered.

“No, Morgan” Pepper said. “He won’t appreciate you jumping on him: let daddy go”

She gave Tony a pointed look. Tony sighed, and nodded. He supposed he was the obvious choice.

-

Peter was still curled up fast asleep in bed, one hand up by his face. It seemed a shame to wake him when he looked so peaceful, but Tony gave his shoulder a little shake even so. 

“Hey, spider-boy. You gotta wake up now”

Peter stirred, and opened his eyes, blinking up at Tony.

“Morning, Mr Stark...” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“It’s nearly ten” 

“What, really?” Peter said, sitting up. “I didn’t realise”

“No problem, kid. Why don’t you get dressed and then come and grab something to eat? If you can escape Morgan, I’ve got something I wanna show you later”

“Oh right! Ok. Uh, I’ll try and be quick”

-

Morgan pounced at Peter as soon as he came through to the kitchen.

“Hey, Peter! We’re gonna play schools today! I’ll be the teacher, and you can be the naughty kid who never does what he’s told”

“Wow, ok” Peter laughed.

Morgan grabbed his hand. “Come on then!”

“Hey, Morgan, leave him alone for a minute” Pepper said. “Let him have his breakfast first”

Morgan considered. “Fine. I’m gonna go and get the school ready” 

“I have some concerns about this” Peter said, once the little girl had trotted off. “She’s already decided I’m the bad kid”

“The best thing to do is just humour her” Pepper said. “She’s a fun kid, but she has some wicked ideas sometimes”

“Oh yeah, I found that out properly yesterday. She made me be a grass monster”

“What does a grass monster do?” Tony asked.

“Hides in the grass and grabs the ankles of anyone who walks by, basically” Peter said. “But they can be taken down with water guns. But only if you hit them right in the face”

Tony laughed fondly. “That girl! She knows exactly what she’s doing”

-

Morgan’s school game was interesting to say the least. Peter wasn’t sure what kind of film the little girl had been watching, or what kind of books she’d been reading, but her methods were positively historic. After having his hands hit with a My Little Pony ruler and being told to kneel with his hands behind his head, he guessed it must be something Victorian. Whatever it was, it was clear that Morgan was in charge. Peter played the naughty schoolkid well enough, but whenever he decided he should have a bit of a redemption arc and settle down and do his sums, Morgan would whisper in his ear to throw something or tear up his page, and then she’s jump back and act alpha. 

Tony stopped in the doorway of the living room later that morning, watching the two playing. Morgan was definitely one of the most confident little kids he’d ever seen, and she’d definitely inherited her mothers no-nonsense attitude. It was nice seeing her playing with someone. He had to give Peter credit for his patience and complete willingness to go along with any game she suggested. They got on so well. It was endearing to watch. 

“That talk is not good enough for school! Don’t do that or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap!”

“Wow, you’re a real strict teacher” Peter said.

“That’s MADAME STARK to you!” Morgan shouted. “You’re the baddest boy I ever taught! Put your hand out!”

Peter did so obediently. Tony chuckled to himself - but his expression changed when Morgan hit him with her ruler.

“Hey hey hey, Morgan! Don’t hit Peter like that!” he said, rushing over and taking to ruler from her.

“But he’s being a naughty school boy!”

“Yeah, in the game. That doesn’t mean you can hit him in real life” Tony said, kneeling down and taking Peter’s hand. There was a series of red marks across his palm. “Ouch. How many times did you hit him?”

Morgan shrugged. 

Tony sighed. “Peter, you should’ve stopped her”

“It’s ok. It doesn’t really hurt” Peter said. “It was just part of the game”

“Morgan, come here” 

Morgan went over to her dad. Tony put an arm round her.

“Now, sweetheart, listen to me: you don’t hit people, ever, not even in a game. And you don’t hurt your friends. Ok?”

Morgan nodded. “Sorry daddy” she looked at Peter. “Sorry, Peter”

“Don’t worry about it” Peter said, smiling at her.

Tony gave her a hug. “Good girl. Right, why don’t you go and nag mummy? You need lunch, and I’m pretty sure I saw some of your favourite chocolate biscuits in the cupboard”

“Ok! Can Peter come too?”

“I need to borrow him. You can have him back later”

Morgan nodded. “Ok. I’ll see you later!”

Tony shook his head fondly, watching after her. He turned back to Peter.

“You should have told her not to hit you like that” he said.

“I didn’t want to upset her by telling her off”

Tony sighed, ruffling the boys hair. “You’re too nice, that’s your problem. Ah well, no harm done”

“Mm. So, you said you needed to borrow me?”

“Oh yeah. I’ve got something to show you. Come with me”

-

Peter looked down at the rough sketches and diagrams on the page. He looked at the scrawled notes and the corrections. 

“Have you started?” he asked after a long silence.

“Yes and no. I’ve modified an old Iron Man gauntlet, just as a prototype. It still needs tweaking though, and an extra pair of hands would be useful”

He opened a drawer, taking out the modified gauntlet and handing it to Peter. Peter took it carefully, turning it over in his hands. He looked at Tony for permission, and then slipped it onto his hand. It felt uncomfortably heavy. It was quite tight, especially around the joints. He clenched and unclenched his fist, and he could feel the resistance of the inner supports as he did it. He turned his hand over, and circled his wrist, and as he did so, he could feel the supports pressing into his hand. 

“It’s kinda... clunky” he said. “I mean, if it’s gonna be for everyday...”

“You think? I was thinking it might be better that way. Better support; better control”

“I can definitely feel the support” Peter said, slipping the gauntlet off his hand and setting it carefully down on the workbench. “I...”

“I’ve not perfected it yet. It’s not strong enough”

“I don’t think it needs to be clunky to be strong” Peter said. “Have you thought about doing something that incorporates the supports, but without the outer casing? It’d be better for every day. Like those plastic casts for broken bones that you see online that kinda look like netting” 

Tony looked at him, and smiled. 

“You’re a clever little thing. This is brilliant”

“What?”

“You being here” 

“Oh. And why’s that?” Peter smiled.

“Because, my boy” Tony said, putting an arm round his shoulders. “You’re going to help fix me”

*

[majesticmarais]

Here For You II (J.M)

Summary: After discovering her illness and her fate, Y/n tries to fight for her life

Warnings? Sadness and death just like last time

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: @whydontwe-fanfics @electricseavey @the-headass @averysgarl @samithepixie @lovableherron @heyowdw @ijustreallylovethem @ishouldtakeyoutothemoon @dailydoseofherron @angelseavey @lovablebesson @jjeepersnutss @jonahmaraismakesmyday @allmyloveavery @huggingholland

A/n: Before another crazy anon attacks me YES THE FIRST PART WAS INSPIRED BY GREYS ANATOMY THANK YOU, but the second part is totally my own and original minus the illness, so don’t even try to fight me thanks. I love this imagine and I hope you guys do too

You can find part 1 here

You sat in the hospital bed that had become your second home for almost a month. In and out constantly, the painfully bright lights somehow becoming welcoming as the days dragged on.

Your bony fingers fumbled with the pastel blue blanket that had been spread across your lap, the fabric feeling warm against your now cold, fragile skin that felt as though you had been standing in the midst of a snowstorm just a moment earlier.

You carefully reached beside you, taking the cup of water that had been left there from a few hours ago. You shakily brought the cup to your dry, cracked lips, the lukewarm liquid trailing down your throat.

The silence was broken when your doctor walked in, flashing you a quick compassionate smile before flipping through her stack of papers.

“How are we feeling today?” she asked kindly.

“We’re feeling okay,” you nodded, forcing a small chuckle.

“Have you had any hallucinations recently?” she wondered hesitantly, knowing the mention of it was not the most pleasant thing to put on your mind.

“Nope,” you responded, shaking your head as you pulled your knees up to your chest, your frail arms wrapping around them loosely.

“That’s a good sign. We’re going to run a few tests again today to see if there’s any change, and you’ll be able to take a break between treatments soon,” she informed, her smile seeming hopeful, even though you knew she probably practiced relentlessly to have it look that way, so people who were dying would feel like maybe they weren’t dying after all.

“And one last thing,” she breathed, tucking her clipboard under her arm, “are you up for some visitors?”

“Yeah,” you nodded enthusiastically, a genuine smile playing across your face at the thought of some sort of company other than the constant buzzing of the light overhead.

The sound of the footsteps you knew all too well came tumbling down the hallway and eventually into your room, your best friends cheering once they laid eyes on you.

“Hey loves,” you smiled, reaching your hands out in front of you, motioning for them to come closer. They all surrounded you, hugging you gently and taking your hands in theirs.

“New manicure I see,” Corbyn winked as he ran his thumb along the back of your hand and grabbed every finger.

“Nothing better to do in this hell hole,” you giggled, examining the dark red nail polish you had applied to your nails that morning, bringing some sort of life to your cold and scrawny fingers as they shined from the reflections bouncing off of them.

“That’s why we’re here,” Corbyn grinned, taking a seat at the corner of the bed.

The boys eventually decided to go grab something to eat downstairs, but when they all shuffled across the tile floor, Daniel lingered behind, plopping himself down on the chair by your side.

“What’s up, Danny?” you questioned.

“I-I’m really sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at his lap, his voice coming out shaky.

“For what?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“For just brushing off the Jonah thing, for acting like it was normal. If I had done something maybe you would be okay,” he confessed, shaking his head as his eyes became red, the blue waves ever so evident.

“It’s not your fault, Daniel, it was too late anyway. There was nothing you could have done, you did everything by just listening,” you consoled, reaching your hand out to grab Daniel’s, whose warmth made you sigh in relief.

“Have you seen him again?” he asked, placing his free hand over yours, bringing them up to his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss against your dry skin.

“No, only in dreams,” you answered honestly, feeling his body relax at the sound of your answer.

“Can-can you promise me something?” he stuttered, squeezing your hand so slightly that it was barely noticeable. You answered him with a nod.

“If you see him, if he comes back, promise not to go with him? You have to fight this, we can’t lose you too. We already lost Jonah, we need you,” he said, a tear trailing down his smooth face.

“Okay, Danny,” you whispered, reaching up to wipe the tear away with your thumb. “I’m here.”

“You’re our best friend, Y/n, I don’t know what we would do without you,” he sniffled.

“And I don’t know what I would do without you guys,” you agreed, placing your cold hand on his cheek, telling him everything was going to be okay.

But honestly, you couldn’t know that for sure.

“Jonah!” you squealed, your stomach hurting from laughter as he ran across the sand with you flung over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” you shrieked, hitting his bare back lightly as you flailed your limbs around.

“Can’t make me, babe,” he called over his shoulder to you, spinning you around a few times.

As you kicked your leg in the air, you suddenly felt it come in contact with something, followed by a low groan.

Jonah gently placed you on the hot sand as his hands found his face, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed, stifling your laughs as you reached for your boyfriend, taking his face in yours.

“It’s okay,” he replied, loud laughs escaping his lips as he looked at your worried expression.

“Gotta admit that was pretty funny. Don’t mess with me, Marais,” you smirked, pushing him down onto the sand before bolting away.

You didn’t even realize the tears pouring down your cheeks until someone spoke.

“Why are you crying?” he said, sending chills down your spine.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you raised your gaze, your eyes meeting the one person you thought was gone.

You sat in silence as your breathing became sharp and shallow, shutting your eyes tightly and shaking your head, thinking maybe this was one of the dreams you had been having lately.

Jonah was there, at the foot of the hospital bed, talking to you.

“Go away, Jonah. You said you would leave,” you whispered, your stare being forced back to him and his brooding expression.

“I’m here for you for the last time, Y/n, I can’t leave this time,” he said, his arms resting loosely at his sides, his body barely moving.

“No, you have to go, Jonah. I don’t want you here. I’m doing better, so leave,” you demanded, shrinking back against the pillows as you watched him carefully.

You jumped when you heard Zach’s voice speak, confused expressions appearing on the boys faces as they entered the room. You held your breath as your hands shook slightly, releasing an exhale with a shaky breath matching your hands.

“You okay?” Zach asked, placing a water bottle and a banana beside you as he stared at your terrified expression.

“Yeah I-uh-I’m fine,” you mumbled, your stare remaining on your boyfriend. Your dead boyfriend.

“Y/n,” Daniel whispered as he made his way beside you, his hand placed calmly on your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

“I see him,” you said almost inaudibly, not wanting to sound crazy, but not being able to shake the vision of the sight standing before you.

“Just ignore it. He’ll go away and we’ll talk to your doctor,” Daniel reassured, although despite his best efforts, it didn’t really work.

“Your scans came back clear, the tumor in your brain is still gone,” the doctor informed, looking quizically down at the sheet in front of her.

“But I saw Jonah again. There has to be something wrong. I saw him, he spoke to me,” you argued. You were sure it came back, it had to be that.

“There’s nothing in the scans of your brain. I’m not really sure what could be causing it but we can look into it more if it happens again,” she replied, leaving you in an even bigger puddle of confusion than before. “For now, just try and get some rest.”

Once she left the room, you gasped loudly again and grabbed onto the blanket when you noticed Jonah standing at the foot of your bed, the exact same position he had been in prior to your conversation with the doctor.

“Still scares you every time, huh?” he teased, a smirk playing across his face.

“You’re not real, there’s nothing wrong with my brain. Go away,” you stated sternly, not sure if you were talking to Jonah, or just saying it to reassure yourself.

You didn’t know how to feel. Your body was washed over with a wave of fear, confusion and honestly a hint of sadness.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m here for you, for real this time,” he said solemnly, looking down at your fragile body as you tried to take deep breaths.

“No you aren’t. I told you I choose life, I’m fighting. I want you gone, Jo,” you demanded, wincing at the nickname of the boy you loved so dearly.

The boys surrounded your bed once again, and they hadn’t left for weeks, which left you concerned over the fact that they weren’t living their lives the way they should be.

Your body had become weaker, and sicker as the days passed. It became harder to breathe, to move, to talk, and to eat. Everything seemed like lifting a 300 pound weight over your head while someone is holding your arms down.

You had been on a steep decline, and just by looking at the boys’ faces, you knew what they were thinking, and how terrible you must look.

You curled your legs up and faced Daniel who say beside you, forcing a weak smile in his direction as your eyes grew heavy, fluttering shut as the faint sound of your heart monitor beeped in the background.

“Get some rest, Y/n,” Daniel cooed, “we’ll be here when you wake up.”

As you dozed off into a deep sleep, you saw Jonah. Sitting at the table of the coffee shop the two of you claimed as your own all those years ago.

He sat alone, with two drinks in front of him, a smile across his face as he motioned for you to sit with him.

A bright yellow and white dress hung on your body, flowing by your knees, the soft fabric rippling as the warm breeze blew from the open window behind Jonah, the sun almost blinding.

You walked over to him, sitting carefully in the chair that had your initials carved into it, facing the love of your life, who silently slid your drink across the table.

“It’s just you and me, baby,” Jonah whispered, reaching his hand out to touch yours across the table. Your hands were warm, your lips were full, and your cheeks were full of color. 

“Against the world,” you muttered back, sipping on the drink in front of you.

“Everything is okay. You’re not gonna hurt anymore,” he consoled as he traced his fingers along your bare arm, goosebumps rising quickly.

He stood up slowly, reaching his hand out towards you as the sun created a halo like glow around his entire body. You instinctively grabbed it, smoothing out your dress with your free hand upon standing.

“Come with me, Y/n,” he smiled, the features on his face softening as he began walking to the window, the sun reflecting off the green flakes that floated in his eyes.

“Where are we going, Jo?” you questioned, your body feeling lighter with every step, feeling weightless.

“Heaven, I hope,” he replied, stepping out into the warm sunlight, with his hand laced through yours, just the two of you.

The beeping on your monitor became frantic, the boys’ heads all shooting up as they stood abruptly, doctors rushing in, exclaiming words and terms back and forth that the boys couldn’t comprehend.

An oxygen mask was placed on your face, your body moving frantically underneath the metal paddles as the loud and rapid beeping became deafening.

“What’s happening?” Zach asked, clutching onto Jack’s arm as he stared at his best friend, her eyes closed and her face somehow peaceful as the doctors rushed around her.

“I-I think she’s dying,” Jack replied, his lips parted slightly as he stared at you, not wanting to know what happens next.

“Come on, Y/n. Come on, please, stay with us,” Daniel pleaded, tears streaming down his face, his mouth gaping as he sobbed, praying to anything and anyone to save his best friend as he repeatedly called out your name.

Doctors began performing CPR, and despite the doctors efforts to push the boys out of the room, they refused, Corbyn’s hand was placed over his mouth as he shook his head, his vision becoming blurry with tears as he looked at your lifeless body under the doctors touch.

The rapid beep faded into one, continuous noise, the flatline.

You were gone.

[fandomoniumflurry]

Special

Sam Winchester x Reader

for @a-winchester-fairytale SPN Sitcom 2 Story challenge! My prompt was the quote: “You’re special.” “What like, ‘stop eating the paste’ special?”

almost 4k words. Swearing, angst, fluff, intimacy and kissing

“Yeah, well fuck you, Sam! That’s what I say.” You scream as you stomp your way up the stairs to the bunker’s front door.

Sam stopped at the bottom of the stairway and glared up at you. His forehead wrinkled as his eyes flared with anger, his hands flailing with his gestures. “Fine. Just walk away then. You know I’m right and you just won’t own up to it!”

You tossed a menacing scowl over your shoulder at the large man before you growled and shoved the door open. There were no words that would properly express your anger so the slamming of the big metal door would have to be enough. The moment you stepped out into the snow, you shivered, having forgot your jacket in your room. But you weren’t about to go back in to get it. Instead you hugged your arms around yourself and took off walking.

Dean sat with wide eyes at the table in the war room, his hand around a beer while a book sat in his lap. He blinked a few times at his brother, suddenly feeling awkward. “Do I want to know what that was?”

Sam threw his hands up in exasperation, casting one last longing gaze at the door as if you would walk back in at any moment. When he turned to his brother, anger still blazed in his eyes but his features had fallen into a frown. “Fuck off, Dean.” He snapped before walking past him with intent to go to his room.

The eldest Winchester’s eyes went wide at his brother’s outburst. Before his little brother could escape, he reached a hand out to grab his forearm and hold him back. “Yo, dude. Don’t take shit out on me just cuz you and your little girlfriend had a fight.”

Another growl ripped through Sam’s teeth as he pulled his arm away. “She’s not my girlfriend, Dean. And why don’t you mind your own business.” Dean’s hands raised in surrender before he leaned back in his chair. Sam nodded his head curtly when his brother finally conceded and he was able to walk away.

The older man watched as he stalked off, disappearing down the hall. A soft sigh passed his lips before he slapped the book on his lap closed and tossed it on the table. “I’ll mind my own business. You are my fucking business, Sammy.” He muttered to himself as he stood, grabbing his jacket and heading up the stairs. If Sam wasn’t going to go after you, Dean would.

As soon as he stepped out into the cold Kansas air, Dean tucked his jacket closer against himself. He could see where your footsteps had fallen in the snow and it didn’t take long before his eyes fell on you. The short walk without a jacket had frozen you to the bone. His brow knit with a frown when he saw you huddled up in the backseat of your little car. It was clear that you were crying, your shoulders quivering from more than just the cold. Trudging through the snow, he made his way to you.

You jolted with a squeal when the door opened unexpectedly and a large man slid in next to you. His face wrinkled when his legs were squished against the driver’s seat. He blindly grappled for the lever at the front of the chair to push it forward to give himself more room. Letting out a breath his knees were still uncomfortable but it was better than being a pretzel. You couldn’t help but giggle at him even though you were still in tears.

When he was situated, an arm moved around your shoulders and pulled you against his side before the other wrapped around you as well. He hugged you tight and the moment your face was pressed against his chest, your arms wrapped tightly around him, fingers clenching his shirt as you began to cry harder. He rocked lightly back and forth as his hand combed through your head and rubbed soothingly up and down your arm with quiet ‘sshh’s.

You never understood why Dean was always the more comforting of the brothers. He always came off the rougher colder of the two Winchesters. And yet with you, it was like he always had to be there. He would always take care of you, protect you, be there when you needed him. And you loved him for it. He was like your big brother and you didn’t know what you would do without him.

But the one you really wished had come to your side was probably sulking in his bedroom or had his nose stuck in a book. Sam was the empathetic one, at least with victims and witnesses. He was kind and even though he was a large man with quite a temper, he was gentle and sympathetic who a heart full of love. And as much as you adored him, you felt that he never really liked you. And that hurt more than the yelling. Knowing that the man you were in love with couldn’t stand you.

You didn’t even know what you had done wrong. Things had always been tense between you and the youngest Winchester since the day you met. Bonding with Dean was quick and painless where as with Sam it was always rough and troubled. When he wasn’t yelling at you or scolding you, he was avoiding you. It made you wish you could go back and fix whatever it was that you did to piss him off. Dean always said you haven’t done anything but if that were true, why didn’t Sam at least tolerate you?

The more you thought about it, the harder you clung to Dean. Your tears soaked through his flannel shirt and his eyes closed as he heaved a heavy sigh. He wished he could fix the relationship between you and his brother but you had a lot more in common with Sam than he would have liked. Trying to get two hot headed and stubborn people to admit their feelings to each other was like pulling teeth. He knew his brother better than anyone and in the past couple years he had gotten to know you better than you knew yourself. So it was obvious to him, that the two of you were made for each other. But you were both fighting it. Sam more so than you. But there was nothing he could do about it but wait it out.

Here lately things between you and Sam had only gotten worse. It took all your self control not to you just kick him in the nuts or burst into tears right in front of the big oaf. And from your point of view, he didn’t give a damn how he made you feel. As far as you were concerned, Sam didn’t care about you and never would. You were just a hindrance, a pest in his eyes. Just another mouth to feed, another person to watch out for, another warm body to get in the way. And you had had enough. Today was the last straw. You couldn’t live like this anymore.

As much as Dean hated the idea of losing you, he could understand your dilemma. He didn’t like to see you unhappy just like he didn’t like seeing Sam unhappy. He knew that the two of you would be happy together if you both would just stop pretending and let each other in. Even Dean didn’t understand what the true problem was. Sam never talked about you no matter how much his older brother had asked. He just chose to stay silent on the matter and lock that part of himself away where Dean couldn’t even decipher the younger man’s true issue.

When your sobs finally ebbed, Dean pulled back to look at your puffy eyes and tear stained face. His thumb rubbed across your wet cheek and he kissed against your hairline. “He cares about you, you know?” You couldn’t help but scoff, an ill humored smile on your face. “I mean it. He has a funny way of showing it, but he does.”

“He doesn’t give a fuck about me, Dean. Never has. Never will.” You sat up, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands before you sniffled. “I shouldn’t have even moved in. Should have walked away the moment that hunt was done.”

Dean shifted on the vinyl seat, turning himself as best he could toward you. “Having you on our team is the best thing that happened to any of us, ok? And don’t you ever think otherwise. Yeah, it’s been tense between you and Sam but I wouldn’t give up all the time we’ve had with you for anything. You’re family, kiddo. Whether Sam admits it or not, you mean a lot to him too.”

You heaved a sigh and turned yourself away from him, your hand coming to rest on the door handle. “I think it’s just time I leave, Dean. I love you, I really do but I just can’t do this anymore.” You refused to meet his gaze but you could imagine the hurt on your adopted brother’s face. His heavy sigh alone made you tear up again. Before he could say anything else to try and change your mind, you opened the door and made your way through the snow leaving the frowning Winchester watching as you walked away.

The moment you stepped back into the bunker, your only mission was to get to your room as quickly as possible and pack your things. The moment you made it to the bottom of the stairs, you realized that that wasn’t going to happen. Your eyes instantly met with swirling orbs of green and blue. They seemed softer than they usually were when he was looking at you. You only held his gaze for a moment before you quickly moved to step around him. You didn’t get far before you felt a large hand wrap around your forearm. You were too stunned to speak as your wide eyes lifted to look at the tallest Winchester. For a moment, you didn’t know what to do so you just stood there, locked in a silent staring contest with Sam.

Even though he had you here, now that he did, He didn’t even know what to say. How would he explain his behavior? How would he ever be able to apologize? His adam’s apple bobbed with his swallow and you couldn’t help it when your eyes dropped to watch it move as you swallowed thickly yourself. The pressure around your arm was tight but not uncomfortable and his skin was leaving a pleasant burn against your cold flesh. Thankfully, the awkward tension was broken when the door opened and Dean stepped in, causing Sam to let go of you and turn his intense gaze to his brother. This gave you time to quickly slip away, feeling a bit dizzy from the brief interaction.

Sam’s head quickly jerked his head around to catch sight of you disappearing around the corner. His brow wrinkled as he looked up at the door where Dean stood. The older Winchester simply shrugged and made his way down the stairs to his brother. “What did you say to her?” The growl in Sam’s tone didn’t go unnoticed to his older brother.

Dean quickly shot his hands up in surrender, the innocent middle man in this whole scenario. “I didn’t say anything. But I think you should.” His hands dropped and his eyes narrowed slightly at the taller man. “She’s talking about leaving, Sam.”

The words caused Sam’s eyes to widen and panic to wash over his features. “She can’t.”

“She can and she will if you don’t get your head out of your ass and stop her.” His brother’s firm tone was loud with his own fear of losing you. The gravity of the situation seemed to finally be sinking into the youngest Winchester’s skull and when Dean saw Sam’s walls beginning to crumble, he heaved a sigh of relief. Sam’s misty puppy dog eyes turned to Dean and the older man quickly pointed a finger. “Don’t look at me. Go fucking get the girl.” Dean’s eyes rolled when Sam finally spun on his heels and practically sprinted down the hall. “Jesus Christ. Gotta spell everything out for those two idiots.”

Normally Sam would be polite and knock on your door but this was an emergency and the moment he got to your room, he pushed the door open and let himself in. You instantly screamed as you tried to cover yourself with your shirt as you stood there in the middle of changing. Though he caught a quick glance of your matching pink underwear set, his face instantly went red and he slapped a hand over his eyes. “Sam! Learn to fucking knock. Jesus H. Christ.”

“I’m sorry. I just needed to talk to you.” His body was rigid as his hand was still clamped tightly over his eyes.

“You couldn’t wait five god damn seconds?” You hustled to quickly pull on your fleece pants and sweatshirt before turning back to him with a huff. “You can look now.” His hand fell from his face as you pulled your hair out of the collar of the sweatshirt and tossed the locks over your shoulders. Sam seemed mesmerized by this action, his eyes locked on you as if he had never seen you before. Your forehead wrinkled as you tilted your head at him. “Sam?”

The sound of his name from your lips caused his heart to skip a beat, jogging him from his trance. He cleared his throat before running his hand through his hair and taking a step closer. From the corner of his eye, he could see your suitcase sitting open on your bed and he frowned. When his eyes lifted to look at you, your face was hard even though your eyes were red and puffy. “Don’t go.”

A scoff passed your lips, an ill humored smile curling the corners. You crossed your arms with a roll of your eyes as one hip jutted out. “Don’t even act like you care if I stay or go, Sam.” Dean had clearly shared the information with his brother, but you’d deal with the eldest Winchester later. Your arm gestured out as your features took on an angry glare which only drove the knife further into Sam’s heart. “I’ve been here for months and all you do is push me away, yell at me, degrade me, disrespect me, ignore me.” Your voice grew louder and louder with each word you spoke. “You don’t want me here, Sam Winchester and I don’t fucking stay where I’m not wanted!” You were yelling now, your face red with the rage and hurt you were feeling, anything to keep from crying.

“But I do want you here.” Sam’s voice was quiet and you thought you hadn’t heard him correctly. When he saw your expression, his timid voice lifted slightly to repeat himself. “I do want you here, Y/N.”

Another dark laugh passed your lips as you shook your head. “God, you are one confusing son of a bitch” Your words were spat out with a growl as you turned your back to him and headed to your closet to continue gathering your things.

His head hung, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jeans. He could feel a bead of sweat slide down his back along with the layer on his forehead. He couldn’t help but allow his eyes to rake over your body, the figure of a strong independent hunter with a heart of gold, beautiful both inside and out. But you didn’t see it. You never knew how you looked through his eyes because he never told you.

A gasp fell from your lips and you jumped when you felt the warmth against your back. His hands had come to rest on your hips and you could feel his breath in your hair. When he had made his way to you, you didn’t know, you hadn’t even heard him. But now that he was so close, your heart began to race and hopefully he couldn’t feel the tremor that coursed through your body. “Sam, what are you doing?” You were surprised that your voice didn’t sound shaky.

“I’ve lost a lot of people in my life.” He started, his voice a heavy whisper above you. Your arms dared not fall to your sides in fear of touching more of his hot skin so instead your fingers remained clasped around the clothing hanging in your closet. You could feel each intake and exhale of breaths in his chest and your eyes closed for a moment as you tried to compose yourself. “People I’ve cared about. People I swore to protect. People I’ve loved.” His fingers clenched a little tighter against your hips and your breath hitched.

His face lowered so he could bury his nose in your hair and your head tilted to the side of its own accord. You still hadn’t opened your eyes and when you felt his breath against your ear you nibbled on your bottom lip. “I’ve done so much in my life that I’m not proud of. A lot of people have been hurt or died because of me. Sure, I’ve saved some people, took down the devil a couple of times. But in the end, I’m still just Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood.”

You could hear the emotion in his voice and you couldn’t hold back anymore. You had to touch him. Your hands fell slowly to rest over top of his, tiny fingers curling around calloused digits. A breathy sigh passed from his lips and over your skin at the gesture. Your head leaned into him as he brought his face into the crook of your neck. You weren’t sure what was happening but you didn’t want it to stop. This was the most Sam had ever shared, the closest he had ever been to you and you were drowning in the feeling.

“I haven’t had a lot of good things in my life and the sliver of happiness I’ve been lucky enough to have, always were ripped away usually messy and bloody.” His voice seemed so young, so unlike the harsh and hateful tones you were used to. He sounded so nervous and vulnerable, a part of Sam you had yearned for for so long now within your grasp.

His long arms wrapped around your middle as he further molded himself against you and you couldn’t help the whimper that fell from your lips. His mouth was against your neck now as he spoke, his voice sending a pleasant vibration through you. “Everyone that ever gets involved with me gets hurt. Or dies.” You frowned as your nails scratched gently against his forearms. You felt as his tears slid down your chest. Your face turned to rest your lips against his stubbly cheek, a hand lifting to comb through his hair. You felt his arms tighten around you, clinging to you as if you were his lifeline.

A silence fell as you held each other, Sam’s body trembling with his emotions and you trying desperately to sooth his soul. “I care about you so much it’s terrifying.” He finally whispered against the goosebumps on your flesh.

Slowly you turned yourself around in his hold and wrapped your arms around his neck. Your fingers ran through his hair and you watched his face carefully. He wouldn’t look you in the eye, as if he was ashamed for you to see him at his weakest. Tucking a hand under his chin you lifted his face to yours. You both shared the same frown, his face wrinkled with his fear and anguish. Your head tilted as your features offered a tiny warm smile as your fingers glided along his jaw and cheek and he leaned helplessly into the tender touch.

The longer you touched him, the closer he held you the more you felt him start to relax. As if you were a healing balm to his spirit, a soothing oil to his soul, and calming warmth to his body. For so long, he had fought his feelings for you, so long he had tried to push you away and hide from the truth. When all he wanted to do was hold you like this. Sam wasn’t one to cower at much. Dean was the one that usually pushed people away and hid from his emotions. But you were so much more than anything or anyone Sam had ever cared about. It was better if he didn’t let you get too close. It was anger at himself that he took out on you to drive you away.

He hadn’t explained any of this to you, didn’t say a word as to why he acted the way he did toward you. But you knew, you could read it all in his eyes, those swirling pools of greens and blues and browns and golds. His eyes always held the secrets he was too afraid to share and the secrets he had never allowed you to see. But now he was open and vulnerable, allowing you into the deepest and darkest parts of you.  

“Don’t go. I can’t lose you too. You mean more than anything to me.” His lip trembled as he spoke, continuing to cling to you as if you would disappear if he blinked an eye. Sucking in a breath, it escaped through your lips and you could feel Sam shiver when it blew across his neck. “To me, You’re special.”

Your head tilted as you quirked the corner of your mouth into a smirk. “What like ‘stop eating the paste’ special?” Your tongue peaked out of the corner of your lips as you looked up at him batting your lashes.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, your little joke relieving some of the heavy tension between you. “Well, that too but I love you anyway.” When he realized what he had said, he paused to gauge your reaction.

You hadn’t lost your smile. You came up on your tiptoes, arms tightening around his neck to bring you closer. As your lips hovered close to his, you held his gaze as your lips parted. “I love you too, you big oaf.” Sam let out a breath against your face as a bright smile illuminated his face, a light far brighter than the sun. His arms easily hoisted you off the ground as his lips finally found yours. Feeling lighter than air, you bent your knees to kick your legs behind you as you smiled into the kiss.

A loud pounding on your door broke you both from your daydream. Sam lowered you to the floor again and even though you hated for it to end, you pulled away from the kiss, even though it did provide some much needed air. You collapsed against his body, wrapping your arms around his middle and you panted with a smile.

“I haven’t heard anything in a while. Just wanted to make sure you two haven’t killed each other.” The door opened a crack and Dean peaked a head in. When he saw the two of you, his face split open. “I can see that I am interrupting something. Carry on!” He closed the door and you rolled your eyes with a grin. “Use protection!” You heard him call out in the hall with a chuckle. Even if you wanted to, you could never leave either of the Winchester brothers. But now safely tucked in the arms of the younger, you never had reason to ever want to leave again.

[xurkitips]

On Conveying Personality Through Chatroom-style Dialogue

A friend of mine shared screenshots of a roleplay he was having via a Discord server, wherein the style was chatroom/texting based. Each character would have a different style of typing completely unique to their person. Though unfamiliar with all of them, I could see what their personalities were like

Like real human beings, a character very much so has a “voice”. I mean that both in the literal sense, through their manner of speaking and what they say, but also through their self expression, interests, and actions. This carries over into the digital realm in ways we may not even notice. Text messages may not be verbal, no, but there are ways to show inflection.

There are many, many ways to show meaning through text. Here are some that I’ve picked up and utilized with my own characters:

Sentence structure

all lowercase sentences VS Grammatically correct

Lowercase gives off the feeling of someone familiar with others or willing to become familiar. It lacks the tension of formal writing, complete with its capitalization and proper periods ending sentences, and feels very casual and approachable. It may also be a sign of someone who doesn’t care much about perfection, a lazy person, or an easy going individual. Seems like a lot of internet regulars prefer this kind of typing style.

“im dying

‘deafening horrorcore rap’ ok i listen to literal noise and idk what this even is”

Using a properly capitalized and punctuated style is very formal, like one would see in a book, an official email, etc. It’s more serious and stern than lowercase is and may imply an older, more mature person typing...or maybe just someone trapped on their phone at the mercy of autocorrect. 

"I am always happy to see you, even if you are not feeling your best.“

“It's nice here.

Quiet.”

There’s a certain respectful steadiness to it as well. It can be calming to read at times.

Punctuation VS Lack of punctuation

End-stopped lines come with both a pause and a bit of a pointed and direct feeling. It strengthens both lowercase and grammatically correct styles, but in different ways. In conjunction with “proper” writing, it’s less noticeable, merely giving the reader a moment’s pause. In conjunction with lowercase, especially if the one typing isn’t keen on using periods, it can come off as stern, serious, passive-aggressive, or angry.

“whatever.

it's less excruciating than it would be without it.”

Removal of punctuation is a different story. Typically just shown with lowercase, it leaves it with that casual feeling intact, or like one’s sentences are more like quick thoughts or questions. Removing them from grammatically correct sentences does ease off some of the tension, implying someone with a more neutral-positive tone while still being more mature. 

“I’m not terribly good with conversation”

And then there’s the run-on sentences from those who type small novels per response. Usually complete with multiple and’s. It’s a sign of nervousness, enthusiasm, or oftentimes a younger character...

“actually i don't know much about it i just happened to see something online and it's apparently only manufactured overseas exclusively for this one particular shop and they made the original design and initial product i guess”

Oof.

Proper spelling (or lack thereof)

The better the spelling, the more the likelihood of the person being older, calmer, or neutral. There’s also a sense of being well educated or careful about one’s typing. Perhaps a confident air may exude from what they say, too.

“Can you come help me for a moment?”

Those who make a lot of mistakes will simply confuse words for other words, forget apostrophes, or type too fast to notice things missing or in the wrong location. Some just don’t really care enough or are too tired to deal with it. Too much focus and people know what they mean anyway. Probably.

“i laug hso hard hes come runin

he thougt i aws dyin”

It can also happen in very emotional situations, in bouts of laughter, crying, rage, or when one is drowsy, medicated, or sick. It tends to stand out when one’s style is suddenly very, very different and tips others off to something being wrong.

Younger characters, especially kids, also make spelling mistakes all the time depending on their age, whether due to sounding out words or just in a hurry to reply.

Short sentence fragments, single words, and lengthy paragraphs

Sometimes people with rapid-fire thoughts, who are excited, busy, stressed, or angry, will take to quick and short responses (sometimes of many fragments in a row). These show a similar feeling as do lines of poetry. Stacking small fragments on top of one another adds emphasis. The reader has to read them one by one rather than as a straight sentence. On its own, the word or fragment stands out and becomes more important.

"well

yeah thats

what i was tryina do

but i mean”

I’ve seen it used used for storytelling from one person to another in larger chunks of things, quick responses, for poetic value, and in irritation or passive-aggressiveness.

In full sentence conversations sent in short bursts, it’s also allowing the reader pause to read each comment without it feeling like a novella. Though it can also feel like someone is obnoxious, rambling on and on as the notifications keep coming, or has a lot to talk about and keeps thinking of more.

Then there are those who type rather large responses all at once instead of hitting the enter key with every sentence:

"Whoever did it was quite thorough; either the power in that area of the lab was cut while we were distracted or they tampered with the security cameras, because that footage is missing. But, we have some theories now. It had to have been someone with direct access to the laboratory. I hesitate to place blame on any of my coworkers...they're all my trusted companions and friends! And yet...”

It’s concise and a solid, complete story in one spot. Could be someone who loves to talk, could be someone who didn’t want a response before they were done talking. It’s also commonly seen by middle-aged texters who want to say everything they can all at once.

Exclamation points and Question marks

Simple one here. Question mark for a question or confusion, exclamation point for emphasis or an exclamation. But when a person adds multiple to a sentence it can convey more of the person’s feelings; 

“are you okay??”

Here is someone who is very concerned. Multiple question marks can imply things such as worry, stress, disbelief, and shock. There’s a sense of hurry and tension. Perhaps the person on the other end is frightened, easily afraid, or tends to have an overwhelming reaction to things.

“oh!!! it’s nice to see you!!!”

"! 

!!! 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Meanwhile, multiple exclamation points convey much more friendlier, happier tones. Often such things as surprise, excitement, happiness, friendliness. Users typing !! as a punctuation (like I tend to do) may do it as an assurance or to show how thrilled they are to talk. Occasionally !!!! is tacked onto an angry statement to be more of a shout, but I see it less and less.

Chatspeak and Internet habits

Shortenings of words have been a regular thing for ages. It’s easy, convenient, and gets the point across quickly. But the internet has taken it to a new extreme, where sentences can be almost entirely compromised of them.

“wtf r u talkin abt?? gdi man idk wuts even happening rn”

A character wanting to be quick to respond, always on the ball, always involved, may be more likely to utilize and understand chatspeak. They’re the social butterfly of the group. It’s also a sign of a long-time internet lurker who’s aware of what the lingo is, and how to use it. A complete lack thereof points toward either an older user or someone who’s unused to social media.

The more memes, the harder someone is trying to fit in. Or maybe they’re easily amused or just absorbed things from their friends without thinking about it. The comedian of the group is going to know the best ways to use them.

Smilies and Emojis

:D D: :DDD // :3 3: >:3 :3c // :o :O O:<

These kinds of smilies have always struck me as the most friendly. Whether used in devious ways or with genuinely heartwarming intentions, the playful, lightheartedness of the user really shines through these. 

"not a bad way to spend a lazy day :D”

“it's also my birthday :3″

It’s got just the right vibe to punctuate a sentence that’ll leave the reader feeling that the person likely means no harm or wants to be friendly, positive, or encouraging. I’ve met a lot of people that use these and turn out to be very kind or considerate people.

:), ;), ((((: and related

A long time positive, friendly smiley. 

"You said you've known them a long time? I think they would understand. :)”

And yet these days I tend to associate it with passive aggressive statements, plotting, slyness, devious behavior, or anger. Older users may be inclined to use :) as a means to show their emotional state, but newer users seem more inclined to do the opposite. The more parentheses there are, the more upset the person, it seems.

“man don’t u love it when the power’s out in the middle of the night it’s just (((: really great thanks (((((:”

Then the ;) smiley comes off more specifically flirty and a bit playful. Doesn’t seem to change much there.

“if i find a good chance 2 hook u up ill do my best ;)”

XD

The bane of my teenage existence. It’s a more old school sign of laughter, rarely seen in today’s world due to falling out of favor and becoming associated with, “LOL Rawr XD Tacos I’m So Randoom,” culture. But time to time you do see it. Mostly with sarcasm but sometimes with genuine intentions.

“xDddddDDD

It was a good joke. XD”

A character using it genuinely comes off more playful, and to me, personally, as an older person who’s genuinely unaware of the associations with the smiley itself trying to show how they laughed without using LOL. 

Letter/Character smilies

Y’know, things like .w. and ._. or owo, where the letters or symbols make a face. These are fairly popular, it seems. I don’t like using them myself, but know a few who do use them.

"I'm sorry that they can be mean qmq”

It’s a different feel from the others. There’s something soft to it, almost a gentleness. When these or Japanese characters are used, there’s more whimsy. It’s cute and almost a bit feminine. It may convey an open person or give the impression that said person is easier to talk to.

Though honestly I can’t see uwu and owo as anything but heavily sarcastic. I’ll be honest with you.

Emojis

The first rule of Xurkitips club is that we don’t talk about Emoji Movie. Just putting that out there riiight now.

Used sparingly by most for fun and for emphasis. Characters may use them to be lighthearted, aesthetically, joke, or to make a conversation more flavorful. The use of emojis may determine a character’s personality; I find that characters who use hand emojis like 👌 are rather laid back, those who use 🙃 do it passive aggressively, and we all know what kind of person uses 🍆.

Then there’s what in common terms known as, “The DudeBro”:

[MFKNSTARBOI]: the thing i never undstood about hair is why people buy shampoo like regular soap not good enough for you LMAO 😂😂😂

[gostones]: .

[BIGDICKTOYOTA69]: what the fuck man

[ahogekun]: do... you not use shampoo

[MFKNSTARBOI]: aaaah you guys got sucked into big shampoo as well 😔

[MFKNSTARBOI]: When it comes to horses 🐎  the stars in the sky ✨ or just man to man no bullshit advice 👬 IM youre guy 😤😂

I think this one speaks for itself.

[ffuuuuuuuck]

september 24, 2019

Today was such a bad day my thoughts kept pulling me in different directions- all of them bad

ended up skipping class today, thought about dropping out of school entirely like a lot

like, i know im capable of it and it’s not even hard, it’s just the looming fear of failing again like i did in my first highschool. I’m falling into the same patterns, it’s getting harder to maintain a positive mentality. it sucks because i was doing so good and then one thing sets me off and im back on my bullshit. 

somehow writing it out makes me feel a little better, makes it feel like the thoughts aren’t all just stuck in my head. 

my family helped today- my mom sang one direction with me in the car because i think she could tell I was on the verge of crying lol. That’s what she used to do with me in middle school and felt bad about the way i looked- it was cheesy and dorky but nice. she also took me to meet my baby cousin for the first time since she’d been born-5 months old and shes fat as fuck but also cute as fuck

i think i might just go back to spending time with my family again- it was easier than having to deal with friends. I love them, but i don’t feel the same with them anymore. it was different when i was into the same shit- smoking weed, doing drugs, doing nothing but walking around all the time. but now i’ve got school and work and actual responsibilities, and none of them seem to get that. Some of them even get mad because i cant spend as much time with them. I understand being upset, but it just makes me feel worse because i already feel worn thin. Plus, we dont really have anything in common anymore other than weed. Even that i’ve been trying to quit, but that’s all they ever wanna do and my lungs are all burnt out. And frankly, i like the feeling of being sober better than being high now. 

I guess that’s the only thing me and Maurice had in common. When we first became friends,  i was so happy to have someone like me. Into musicals, into anime, into all these dorky things my other friends weren’t into. but now its nothing but weed or talking about her ex boyfriend, or our friend bianca. I’m really glad her and bianca get along so well- i knew they would, i would always try getting all of us to hangout so they could get to know eachother more. But now it just feels like im on the outside. Whenever im with them they always just go off in their own space, talk about their own things that i can’t contribute because i wasnt there or not in on their inside jokes. I tried for awhile to just get used to it, because i shouldve been just happy that they were happy. But then they started hanging out without me all the time, and yeah, it makes me a little sad but no biggie it’s not like theyre my only friends. it feels like im not allowed to feel anything, like anything negative that i feel is just a sign that im getting bad again. But it hurts, like a lot. Bianca is always going on about stuff she told maurice, how maurice said that and that her and maurice always do this, and how great maurice is. Maurice is always saying how amazing bianca is and how much she loves her, how’re theyre gonna go do this and that. lately they started inviting me to hangout with them, but at this point it just feels more like pity than anything. Even when we’re all together, it’s like im intruding on their space. It just sucks. Like it’s not like i want to break them apart or anything, or for them to include me more. I don’t really want anything to happen, like im happy they get along. I just feel shitty about it. Even today, i found out something new about Bianca and yeah it was cool learning that about her but she threw in “really you didnt know? Maurice knows” and i dont know why but it stung. Probably because i was already feeling shitty today. 

Maurice had asked me earlier in the day to hangout with them tomorrow- but it was only because it had come up in the conversation because i had told her about something concerning bianca. and honestly, i felt like i couldnt go on pretending anymore to be ok. so i told her that i didnt mean to sound like a dick but i didnt really like hanging out with the two of them together- but i still liked hanging out with them seperately. which, typing this out now i realize i really went the wrong way about this. It’s different when its just me and maurice and me and bianca, its not much different and nice. but when theyre together i just feel really crummy. i wanted to try to tell her that but she just told me “okay whatever i dont even wanna ask why.” and hasnt talked to me since. my mom said if they cared theyd understand, but im not sure i even went about it the right way, if there is a right way to tell your friends that. I told her what happened and she said that bianca would talk to me about it because my mom said that she definitely cares. 

But when i told bianca about it, about maurice being upset with me and what i had said, all she said was how did they exclude me. That we played cards together that one time. That we had gone to go get hair dye that one time. I explained to her that yeah, when we went to go get hair dye it felt better because i was actually apart of their conversation. but the other times i just didnt feel like i belonged there with them. She wasnt upset about it like maurice was, but she seemed... i dunno, annoyed? not annoyed but like it was just me back on my bullshit. like it was all in my head. I think she did say it was all in my head. And after we left school a guy we knew was supposed to come with us, and she said “What, are you gonna feel excluded because Robbys coming?” in a really sarcastic voice. I just put in my headphones after that and actually did my homework. Because im supposed to be the chill one- im supposed to be the emotionless one, the one who doesnt let anything bother them because if i acknowledge that im hurt, then that means i could be getting unhealthy again. But fuck dude it did hurt. I barely tell my friends what I feel, and to be shot down like that, to be treated like i was just acting dumb again really hurt. especially because it wasnt like i was asking for anything to be different, other than me not wanting to hang out anymore. also especially coming from bianca. Out of all the people, i felt like i could count on her the most. I guess i was wrong again. Which sucks because its not like my brain goes to “ok they were a dick that time whatever”. When im not feeling good (aka when im not drugged out), my brain immedietely goes to wow what a dumbass trusting people again. 

It didnt help that Quenten came to hangout today. I normally love seeing her, and everytime i see her she vents about her problems and i support her because i know she has a lot on her plate all the time. But today it just made things worse. She vented like usual and i tried to support her the best i could, but when i tried to talk about something that was bothering me she kinda just shut me down. Cut me off, started talking about her problems again. Usually she does that, but today it hurt because i really needed someone to talk to, and i thought we were that person for eachother. 

Some shit went down with this Guy one time, and its kind of fucked me up. For awhile i tried my best not to let it get to me, tried staying friends with him and making the best of a situation because everyone told me that it wasnt that big of a deal. Not directly, but through their body language, the way they just change the subject, so i just believed that. Tried letting it go till eventually it built up inside me and blew up and left me feeling ruined. The other night i saw the Guy, and i had been doing so good, had been feeling happy and safe and just better. But he walked past me and it was like all of that just fell apart, i felt terrified again and unsafe and it was that feeling all over again, of not getting a choice, of not getting to have control, of putting my complete trust in someone only for it to be ruined. Anyways, its been leaving me fucked up for the past couple of days, and i just needed someone to talk to that wouldnt brush me aside. Im not sure why i thought that though. Quentin still thought highly of the Guy, still cared about his opinion i guess. its not like they were friends, but still. I shouldve known she wouldve blown me off when i tried talking about that situation. 

I might need to see a counselor about it, because theres no one that i can even really talk to about it. I tried with this one girl, and she really helped me. But then it turned into a shit show because she outed the guy when i asked her not to, and one of my ex good friends came to me, and basically said i was making it up. when before we stopped being friends she believed me and understood why i got scared around the Guy. I guess that situation fucked me up too lol. But theres no one i can talk to, no one i can even bounce my thoughts off of. I wish i could talk to my mom about this. Sometimes she’s really good with this shit. But i know telling her about this will just make my life worse. Ill go to being looked at like some broken pitiful thing. Im not. I might be broken but im strong and i dont want to be pitied or someone to get mad in my place. I think some part of her already knows.

I think im done talking for today. Guess spilling my guts is too much too. 

[sabulana]

If you'd like: #25. With Jim Gordon. ;)

25. “I told you not to fall in love with me.”

(I hope this is okay?)

It had started in frustration, in loneliness and desperation. Jim was still hurting from Lee’s latest departure. Oswald was still hurting from… whatever had happened between himself and Nygma. He hadn’t explained everything, and Jim hadn’t asked. It was obviously painful, and their arrangement was too fragile to risk.

There was just one rule, when it became obvious that they were going to keep falling into bed together, or against the wall, or over Oswald’s desk:

Do not fall in love.

The results of getting emotions involved would be catastrophic. It would ruin both of them. So when Oswald brought it up, making Jim swear that their coupling would simply be about the physical pleasures it brought them, Jim readily agreed.

And yet Jim couldn’t help the way his heart started to skip a beat at the sight of Oswald. It didn’t even matter that Oswald didn’t light up the way he once used to when Jim walked into the room. Then there were the dreams, once just a replay of their meetings, but now bizarrely domestic - sharing a meal in Jim’s kitchen, taking a walk together, and other half-remembered visions that left Jim feeling bereft when he finally awoke each morning.

But they had their rule, and so Jim kept his feelings to himself. Oswald didn’t seem anywhere near as affected as Jim, straightening up his clothes and leaving - or else kicking Jim out as soon as they were sufficiently recovered.

Things couldn’t continue as they were though. Eventually Oswald found himself in trouble with the police again. It probably wasn’t anything that he couldn’t get out of one way or another. He had connections, and he had money, and there were always people willing to take a bribe in Gotham.

Yet in the end, Oswald didn’t have to do anything. When Jim found himself alone in the evidence room, putting away a box of evidence on an unrelated case, he found himself lingering in front of the evidence for the case against Oswald.

He’d lose Oswald, if this case went through. To Blackgate or, heaven forbid, to Arkham again. To any one of a number of fates that could befall him in either of those institutions.

But perhaps Oswald would be grateful, if Jim were to help him, unasked. Maybe there was a chance that his feelings would be returned, a confession mixed in with Oswald’s thanks.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Jim slipped a little packet from the box into his pocket. A tape recording, compromising Oswald and linking him to murder and weapons smuggling. Without it, the case would be a lot harder to close. Perhaps the loss of it would cause the case to collapse altogether.

It made Jim feel sick to do it. His hands shook as he left the evidence room. He forced a smile for his colleagues, and when Harvey asked it he was alright, he feigned illness and didn’t protest when Harvey sent him home early.

“Boy, you must really be sick,” Harvey said. “Stay away from me, I don’t want to catch anything.” He grinned to show he was joking, and Jim tried to smile back but it felt more like a grimace.

The Iceberg Lounge would be closed at this time, and there was no guarantee that Oswald would be there, so Jim went straight back to his apartment. He lay on his sofa, staring at the tape he’d stolen.

God, what had Oswald done to him?

Harvey called round after work, bringing a soup and making sure Jim was alright. Jim hid the tape in his bedroom, where Harvey was sure not to go, and pretended to have a stomach bug. He dutifully ate the soup, and promised to get a good night’s sleep.

After Harvey left, extracting promises that Jim would take care of himself, Jim changed his clothes and went to find Oswald at the Iceberg Lounge.

One of his lackeys pointed him up to Oswald’s office, where the notorious crime lord was poring over accounts when Jim walked in.

“Jim, old friend, you look dreadful,” Oswald greeted, looking mildly concerned. “Please, have a seat. Do you want a drink?”

“Yeah might as well,” Jim muttered. He sank into a chair in front of Oswald’s desk and put his head in his hands.

He waited until Oswald poured him a measure of scotch that was well above the standard of anything he would have bought for himself.

“So what brings you here?” Oswald asked, settling back into his chair on the other side of the desk. “Looking like that, I can’t imagine you’re in the mood for any of our usual… distractions.”

Jim grimaced and tossed back the scotch. “No, I… I…. Did something at work today.”

“People usually do things at their place of employment, yes,” Oswald replied neutrally.

Jim reached into his pocket, and pulled out the tape, still in the evidence bag. He slid it across the desk with a shaking hand.

“Jim… this is…” Oswald took it, held it up to examine the carefully printed notes. He put it down on the desk, fixing Jim with a serious gaze. “I didn’t ask you for this, Jim.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

Jim couldn’t reply. The words were stuck in his throat, choking him. He looked at Oswald, both willing him to understand so that he wouldn’t have to speak, and yet also hoping he wouldn’t, would let Jim go on with the illusion that perhaps they could be more than enemies who fucked around sometimes.

“Oh, Jim…” The pitying look made Jim’s heart sink. Of course Oswald understood.

Oswald limped around his desk, clutching the little bag. He tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket, and bent to stroke a hand gently down Jim’s face.

“I told you not to fall in love with me,” he said, gently. Like he was talking to an animal that might spook at any moment.

He turned and walked away then, off to destroy the evidence he hadn’t had to ask Jim to steal for him. If he ever would have done that. Jim’s eyes blurred with helpless tears.

Oswald paused at the office door. He didn’t turn around, for which Jim was grateful.

“Perhaps it’s best if we don’t continue our… arrangement,” he said. “Goodbye, old friend. I trust you can see yourself out.”

Left alone in Oswald’s office, Jim let himself cry bitter tears until he felt composed enough to leave. He wouldn’t be returning, not on personal business, but he felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind when he finally closed the door behind him.