#bro do you HAVE ANY IDEA how long this was lingering in my WIPS.... THE PAIN

[duckdotimg]

Be sure to call her if you're in need of a divorce, or if you need someone to be brought back to life, but it's gonna cost a few good quids!

[obstinaterixatrix]

Tagged by @madseason

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!  

this looks fun lmao. I’ll sort/date them backwards by date published. also it’s been long enough that I might as well include secret fic in the batch too just because there’s a fair amount of them.

being known, being loved, and other disasters you’ll never recover from (ORV) 2021 | After saving the world, almost destroying the world, and somehow surviving the end of the world—not exactly in that order—Kim Dokja spends his time unemployed.

a home to keep (out of reach) (Kamen Rider W) 2021 | After being on the run for a few weeks, Wakana knows that the best way to avoid getting caught is to be paranoid.

“I can’t stay” and other lies to tell (ORV) 2021 | “It’s almost hard to believe,” Yoo Sangah says, wiping away some lingering tears as they leave the hospital.

a fallen star won’t forget the distant sky (ORV) 2020 | There’s a feather-light touch against Yoo Joonghyuk’s head.

on your mark, get set...! (ORV) 2020 | “This was supposed to be about bullying Kim Dokja,” Han Sooyoung says as Jung Heewon secures a knot in the handkerchief now shackling her to Yoo Joonghyuk.

“an acquired taste is just a ■■ing hostage situation” (ORV) 2020 | Han Sooyoung doesn’t need long to pin down why Yoo Sangah’s in the party.

two sides, same coin (SVS3) 2020 | Considering how long and chaotic their courtship had been, Mobei Jun’s marriage to Shang Qinghua is remarkably uneventful.

plan and profit; a failsafe two-step strategy! guaranteed success! what could possibly go wrong! (SVS3) | The dilemma of whether or not the maybe-horny flower caused the, well, brief mouth-to-mouth between Shang Qinghua and his king has become secondary to the discovery that Mobei Jun, as it turns out, might be... rather fond of him!?

call and response (SVS3) 2020 | As much as it pains Mobei Jun to describe himself as such, he is undoubtedly a pitiful man.

on the dangers of indulgence: an unfortunate autobiography by airplane shooting towards the sky (SVS3) 2020 | Some time ago—years, literal decades by this point—Shang Qinghua wrote something self-indulgent.

withered leaves among decay (Original) 2020 | Ōu Qiūfēi finds a body in the woods.

Inspiration Strikes! And The Muse Is...! (Gopri) 2020 | The expression should be more… gentle, probably.

what happened to death of the author, bro (SVS3) 2020 | Once again, it’s time for Shang Qinghua to receive feedback from his most devoted reader.

misery and company (P5) 2020 | Summers in Tokyo have always been somewhat unbearable.

night flowers shirking from the light of the sun (Original) 2019 | The city of Tiěyáng is, frankly speaking, not that important to the Shénxià empire.

grey before dawn (Ultraman R/B) 2019 | Okay.

a little friendly advice may or may not go a long way (P5) 2019 | Guys.

a beef bowl's worth a thousand words (or something like that) (P5) 2019 | Do you have plans this afternoon?

the future looks bright (let's hit the kill switch) (Overwatch) 2019 | Hard light is a pain to deal with.

Light Chasers (P5) 2019 | So, things are getting weird.

there’s a bunch of these that could’ve probably been the same fic instead of two separate oneshots but I’ve never liked the pressure of a wip and I never know if I’ll get an idea for a follow-up.

patterns............ I’m bad at analyzing my own writing. the opening lines definitely skew longer as time goes on, but the one-word openings are outliers I think? definitely most of the opening lines just kind of toss you in... I guess...?? I think I tend to use the opening paragraph as a hook over just the opening sentence. maybe. out of this batch, my favorite opener is “So, things are getting weird.” strong start lmao. being known comes as a close runner up, though.

@dragonomatopoeia @r4bbitdragon @sinelanguage @randomidiocyncrazies @stuffandsundry @internetkatze @wovenstarlight @shesgayfolks @hirokiyuu but anyone who wants to Just Go For It (Or Ignore It)

[if-weshadows-haveoffended]

Harana - Padawan!Obi-Wan x Reader

A/N: Man I really sat on this wip for 3 whole ass years. OBI-WAN AND INFINITE SADNESS? I DON’T KNOW HER. I ONLY KNOW TEA AND MIST DIFFUSERS. There are some sneaky references to Casablanca in here and a section of Anne of Avonlea.

Harana in the rural Filipino tradition is the act of courtship by serenading (with guitar) and often has the serenadee to respond back in kind (also with guitar). Often your bros would help you woo a girl by being your back up players and singers. Imagine Romeo and Juliet balcony but with significantly more guitars and second-hand embarrassment. Also the wookiepedia entry on music is absolutely WILD. (Reposting bc tumblr hates me and the tags were broken)

Title: Harana Tags: @fangirltothe-end​ , @hellotherekenobi​ Words: 1650+ Masterpost: here (x) Prompt List: here (x) Mixtape Archive: here (x) The Obi-Wan Kenobae playlist (x)

Perhaps you’d foolishly consider yourself a hopeless romantic.

It just seemed one of those days: sunny and the breeze just a touch warm, the scent of Ithorian roses and Sachi blossoms drifting upon it as you spent a day idly reading upon the balcony of your apartment. Somehow it was as if nothing could go wrong. Not spilling your tea all over the counter, not making your bath far, far too warm, hells not even the dozens of unopened messages on your comm could ruin the quiet serenity you were feeling.

And you may as well enjoy it after all, this reprieve from the tedium of study would only last for a few more days. You’d spent enough time watching holo-movies and idly playing music upon your old guitar as it was. It was time to finally work through that pile of reading you had always intended to get to.

The sun was slowly descending beyond the rolling hills at the horizon and you were well into your bookchip now. A story you felt viscerally, had read and re-read so many times and yet you yearned and pined and loved alongside the protagonists of the story. You would always smile, feeling your soul alight as your eyes traced the words upon the screen. Perhaps that explosive, violent love was never for you. The ones they showed in holodramas where the lovers would dramatically meet at the docking bay for one last passionate kiss. A confession and a farewell all at once. No, you ached for something quieter. Something as constant and warm as sunlight.

‘Perhaps, after all,’ you read, ‘romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a Jedi knight flying down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music; perhaps… perhaps… love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship- ’

You were suddenly pulled out of your reverie at the sound of footsteps and the murmur of a voice.

“Who’s there?” Your hands gripped at a small blaster in the folds of your dress in reaction to the sudden sound, eyes frantically scanning the deceptively serene balcony. Datapad in hand, you slowly made your way to the wide stone ledge. Carefully brushing off fallen blush-coloured petals you precariously leaned over, checking for any assailants below the ledge. Granted it was a stupid idea, but it was worth a shot anyway.

What you hadn’t been expecting was a young man sitting on a balcony ledge below, quietly singing to himself as he stared out into the far distance.

Kriff abort mission, no, nooooooo….nah... nope can’t do this.

You really couldn’t, he looked far too peaceful with one leg tucked under his arm, the other lazily over-hanging his ledge as half-lidded crystal eyes stared out to the peaceful idyll of distant lakes and hills. And yet, you were still there, half-falling off your ledge and staring at this boy as if you’d been ordered to memorise his appearance in order to assassinate him in the marketplace tomorrow. But something tugged at the back of your mind as you took in his relaxed robes in a sort of cream colour, the brown cloak discarded carelessly upon the balcony floor and what appeared to be a braid peeking out from behind his ear-

Oh no, oh kriff… oh kriff, kriff.

You were unaware that the Jedi were even allowed to sing. You’d always been taught that they were a hermit-y sort that didn’t do the whole singing-and-dancing-and-women-and-drink-and-wine-and-merriment sort of thing. Probably spent their free time herding shaak and the like.

But clearly you were very, very wrong.

He was a wonderful singer. His voice carrying the romantic yet mournful tune that you must have heard somewhere before. Was it a play? No, it must have been one of those sweeping holo-movies that always seemed to make every being in the room cry as the battered cantina owner lamented the return of his lost love. What was it? He’d refused to have that song played ever again? And yet he did, drinking whiskey, a single tear falling down his noble features. They’d always have Correlia, he’d say, assuring himself that he truly was fine and not crumbling apart within.

And that young man was still singing the tune, and you… you were simply transfixed at his beauty and his serenity, wondering what other power in the galaxy had blessed him so with coppery hair that glistened just so under the blaze of the setting sun.

“Hello there!” He turned suddenly and cheerfully waved to you.

There were many things you would tell people in the future about that time you first encountered the famous General Kenobi; “The Negotiator”. His kindness, his laughter, his smile…What you wouldn’t tell them, was the absolute mess you’d made of yourself while you fell off your balcony ledge and onto your tiled floor.

Like a complete and absolute ass.

Oh and your pad had tumbled off the marbled edge and cluttered upon the tiles of the Jedi’s balcony.

But it was alright with the coppery-haired piece of shit, apparently. He was profusely apologising and bounding up with his magical force powers to stand upon the narrow ledge on the other side of the stone balustrade.

“Are you alright?” He tilted his head in confusion, padawan braid swinging against his chest. You felt your mouth open and close, but you doubted anything escaped. “It appears your pad has smashed itself into smithereens.”

“I-I,”

“You can speak Basic, can’t you? If not, I can translate into-” He offered very quickly,

“No, of course I can speak Basic, I was just…” Gingerly, you prised yourself off the floor, dusting down rumpled skirts and staring at the odd Jedi. “You’re a wonderful singer,” you blurted.

“Well thank you,” He replied, a little flustered, a hand moving to fiddle with his cute little nerf tail.

Cute. Cute? Kriff, you’d only been talking to the boy for the last thirty seconds. Surely this was a new record.

“I didn’t know Jedi sang,” You rambled on and you simply knew that heat would be pooling up in your face for the boy to see-

Oh no, it was fine, he was turning a rather charming shade of pink too. It only seemed to get worse, didn’t it? Oh of course, of course he was cursed with dimples. You really should have just cut your losses and fled.

He laughed, swinging a leg over your balustrade and sitting upon it. “Oh we sing sometimes, my master says it drives him up the walls. But I am sorry, I’ve been terribly impolite. I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan learner.” He held out a hand and you took it, shaking it as well as you could given your dazed circumstances. You were pretty sure, however, that you at least managed to give him your name.

“Well, Y/N, however can I make this up to you?” He gestured to the mangled, metallic remains below. “It is more or less my fault and-”

He still had not let go of your hand, and despite all common sense, you found no reason to let go. How could you? Obi-Wan (you had the sneaking suspicion it would roll off your tongue) continued rambling and you merely stepped away, your hand fighting to remain in his until you were too far, finger tips brushing against a calloused palm.

“Wait here,” You said, placating the concerned look that had passed before his face. Your feet traced the path through your room, eyes frantically scanning for the sight of warm Kashyyk wood before hefting it into your hands and quickly returning to the waiting Jedi. You noticed with some amusement that he’d balled his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “That pad was old anyway,”

He raised a sceptical brow, “Your face certainly said otherwise,”

“It doesn’t really matter. I’d read that story enough times to recite it in my sleep.” Heart pounding in your chest you mustered the courage to sit beside him, transferring the guitar to his awaiting arms. “Do you play?”

“A little. It was an elective.” He responded, “I’m sure it’s nowhere near as good as you,”

“Flatterer.” You briefly met his gaze, transfixed by their colour. Like a lake mirroring a cloudless sky. And you knew that you were lost. “Well, I’ve been starved for someone else to play with.”

“Have you now?” His teasing was going to be the death of you.

“Yes, now go and be all chivalrous and play something wonderful.”

“Any particular requests?” He asked, focused upon adjusting his hands upon the frets, fingers outlining the ghosts of chords. “Well?” He found your eyes once again, the answer slipping from your tongue faster than you could have ever expected.

It didn’t matter in that moment that a bemused Jedi Knight sat a floor below, basking in the comfort of the living force and the gentle sound of singing above him. It didn’t matter that he should really be bundling that boy off into their ship and off to debrief a council that would be mildly irritated at his choice to delay their return by a day or two.

All you knew- all you were consumed by- was the feeling of your fingers sliding their way along metal strings to familiar positions, passing a well-loved instrument back and forth and exchanging laughs as you missed notes. And if your hands lingered for too long upon his as you performed yet another exchange, you didn’t care.

No, all that mattered in the universe right now was the sound of your voices carrying the half-remembered tune of a song you both loved. And perhaps, just perhaps, this was that shaft of illumination you had hoped for.

[smolfangirl]

Cinderella Girl

Hey ho, it’s ya girl with her very last Lutteo fanfic ^^ This has been a WIP for years now, so I am super duper relieved to finally see it finished. This is only chapter 1 though - you can find the rest of the story here.

Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2.6k

///

Her lips on his skin. His neck. His jawline. Back to his mouth. Pleading, insatiable.

They stumble into his room. Streetlights outline the shape of his furniture, yet he manages to trip over his backpack for uni. As he curses under his breath, she clings to him and chuckles. "Should've turned on the room lights, huh?"

The sound of her laugh messes his heartbeat up more than any stumbling block could, and he simply has to kiss her before he answers. "Nah, just forgot it's there."

They fall on his bed. She reaches for him, her hands feeling colder than he expected and making him shiver, but he follows her silent demand with the greatest pleasure.

His lips on her neck. The curve of her shoulders. Back to her mouth. Asking, relentlessly.

The pull of her lips makes him dizzy, his heart trembles at the melody of her giggle when his hands brush over her waist. She wraps her arms around his neck, brings him so close he almost buries her underneath him.

"How do you feel?" he asks in a whisper, mere centimeters away from her lips, her lips that taste so sweet and that he hasn't gotten enough of yet.

As if she read his mind, she kisses him again.

///

Matteo wakes up to her scent engraved in his sheets.  

Slowly, he opens his eyes. Sun rays slip through the curtains, dancing in front of him and tickling his nose. He huffs at them, but then a smile forms on his lips. The pictures and word snippets from last night flicker through his mind, and he takes a deep breath, soaking in the traces of her.

Still smiling, he rolls over to wish her a good morning.

But she's gone.

///

A long shower later, he still feels bumped. There's no message, no hint of her, she vanished over night as if she never existed, as if he never opened the door to his room with her lips glued to his skin. As if he imagined her name echoing through his bones.

Matteo shouldn't be so upset over it. The few times he brought someone into this apartment, he hated the mornings, when he subtly tried to kick them out and save himself from invitations to dates he had no interest in. He found those people annoying, and he had never made much of an effort to get to know them a bit beforehand. And just because she didn't classify as his typical hook-up didn't mean he wanted to date her.

Still, she could have left a message, no?

Or at least give him the shirt back he borrowed her. But she didn't and now he has to move on, knowing she kept it, knowing how it fell over her curves. He wonders if she'll wear it again, and if she'll think of him while she puts it on.

During breakfast, frustrations boils up again, along with his coffee. It's the first time his drink tastes bitter on his tongue. Her absence haunts him, the more he remembers, the more he wants to forget. He doesn't want to remember how well they got along.

How much they laughed, how his stomach hurt at times.

How much she intoxicated him with her casual touches and warm smiles, how he didn't need alcohol anymore to feel drunk.

And he doesn't want to remember how he decided not to ask for her number, because he thought one night with her would be enough.

Maybe it was enough. Maybe it's only his pride that he needs to get over, maybe he should let the first wave of disappointment wash over him and then move on with his life.

But a part of him really wants to know at least if he did something wrong.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Gastón greets him upon entering the flat, letting him lose track of his train of thoughts. "Or should I say Prince Charming?"

Matteo rolls his eyes at his best friend. He's in his exercise clothes, smiling and panting a bit, which can only mean he came up with enough stupid jokes for the whole next week during his run.

And it's only 10 am in the morning.

"How would you know? Did you hear us?" Though it'd surprise him if he did. They hadn't been that loud. He thinks.

"No," his roommate grins and leans against the counter. "But I saw her leaving."

His heart misses a beat. His stomach twists. And his tone doesn't come off as casual as he'd like. "You did? Did she say something? Maybe left you a message for me?"

"Nope. I didn't really get to talk to her, she seemed to be in a hurry. But she was cute."

"Hm." Matteo turns back to his coffee. The hope sprouting in him for a blink of time gets crashed once again by disappointment. And this feeling lingers on, stays afloat in his drink instead of drowning in it like it should.

Gastón taps his finger on the counter to call for his attention. "Any idea why she was so eager to get out? Did you fart under the blanket?"

"Haha, very funny."

He searches his memory for the tiniest hint, anything she said that gave away he wouldn't see her in the morning, anything that went over his admittedly drunk head. All he finds, though, are snippets from her conversations that fuel his regret like a spark in a pool of gasoline.

"No, I don't know. She was gone before I woke up."

Gastón nods. "Sleeping Beauty it is for you."

With a content grin, fed by Matteo's groan, he pours himself a cup of coffee. "Why don't you just text her, ask her if she wants to come back, if it's bothering you so much?"

Matteo doesn't answer.

His best friend sighs in desperation. In all honesty, it shouldn't surprise Gastón, it's not the first time Matteo took someone home for the night. And definitely not the first time they talk about it. "You didn't ask to see her again. And you didn't ask for her number, am I right?"

Staring at the breadcrumbs on his plate, he nods.

"Do you at least remember her name?"

Matteo pauses. Lets it rumble through his head as he shivers at the pictures rolling along with it. He can almost feel her kisses again.

"Luna. Her name is Luna."

For a moment, Gastón watches him silently. Then, he nods and opens the fridge.

Relieved to be done with this topic – or at least to be done talking about her – Matteo takes a deep breath.

However, he takes it too soon.

"How come you brought her here? If I remember correctly, you wanted to come home alone. What happened to make you change your mind? Oh, the cheese is almost empty. And it's your turn to get groceries."

"Here I thought your jokes were cheesy enough," Matteo utters into his cup.

"Thanks, bro. But this wasn't a distraction for you to dodge my question, only a reminder. So, remember the cheese and spill the tea, Balsano."

He knows it's smarter to kill Gastón's curiosity before he won't hear the end of it, before he raises any more questions and stupid comments, but he can't help but smile. "We just got along great."

"I see." Gastón sits down in front of him and takes a sip from his cup. Pulls a grimace and reaches for the sugar. "Ugh, I forgot you like your coffee as bitter as you are about your Sound Design prof. It's been a month, Matteo."

Matteo doesn't even try to comment this. Not that his silence bothers Gastón, on the contrary. He enjoys his breakfast and the sugared coffee as blissfully as ever, while Matteo's frustration engraves a wrinkle in his forehead that runs deeper and deeper with every minute.

And it isn't because of any prof or grade.

"So, you got along great?" Gastón remarks while he munches on his toast. "That didn't last very long, huh, if she disappeared already. Damn, she's like Cinderella. Do you have her shoe?"

"Gastón, no. It wasn't one of your fairytales, only a one-night stand. Nothing else."

"If you say so."

///

Of course, admitting to Gastón he regrets not aiming for more days later ends in an enlightened laugh and more puns than Matteo can handle.

"I'm so proud of you, Matteíto," Gastón smirks as he pats his shoulder in congratulation. "It only took you..." he glances at his phone, "three days and roughly ten hours to admit it. What now?"

Matteo shrugs, eyes on the paused TV screen so he avoids seeing the amusement in his best friend's grin. Hearing it is already enough.

"No idea. I tried to find her on Facebook, but without success."

In a heartbeat, Gastón is up on his feet. It scares Matteo, really, because barely an hour ago he came back from uni, stating that he never wanted to move ever again while he fell on the sofa. This sudden enthusiasm shouldn't be there.

But if it helps him to find Luna, perhaps he shouldn't complain.

"Okay, I can't accept that. Let me get my laptop." With that, Gastón hurries out of the room, not even giving Matteo the chance to take a breath and decline.

///

Fifteen minutes later there's still no trace of her to be found in the world wide web. As search after search fails, Matteo starts to wonder if maybe Gastón hit the bullseye with his Cinderella theory.

"How sure are you that she gave you her real name?"

"Pretty sure," Matteo admits. "There was this group of girls interrupting us at some point, I think it was shortly before we left, and we were almost... um, anyway, they called her Luna. Plus this guy with a weird beanie. He called her Luna, too."

"But there's no Luna underneath the people who checked into the event here. Nor is a Lu Na or whatever else she could've come up with to mess with Zuckerberg."

Matteo throws a glance at Gastón's laptop. Right now, he's scrolling through the list of likes for their university, but again, no Luna to be found. "Okay, maybe she doesn't have Facebook?"

His best friend sighs. Given the thin line his mouth evolved into, it wouldn't be hard to believe Gastón was the one who wanted to see her again, not Matteo.

"Hm. What else do you know about her?"

Is this how detectives feel? Turning every stone, no matter how small, grasping for every piece of dust in the undying hope it might be useful? Because Matteo isn't sure if he likes it, if he can handle this uncertainty.

At least answering Gastón's question is easy. It's not hard to recall this evening, not when those memories play over and over again in his head ever since she left.

"She's skating. Like, figure skating. She said she's participating in competitions."

The shocked look Gastón sends in his direction could probably be seen from the NASA station up in space. "What? Are you kidding me? And you only mention that now?"

"Uh, yeah. Why?"

Even if he said something wrong, Matteo has no idea what upsets Gastón – they both stopped being involved in skating as soon as university took over their lives. For all he knows, none of them are up to date in the sport, they're not invested fans, never were. They always focused more on what they did than on what other teams or skaters pulled off. So, the chances of his best friend having heard of this particular Luna should be slim to none, sadly.

Besides, Matteo has no clue anyway how huge or small those competitions are, anyway.

Gastón clicks his tongue at him, already opening five new tabs and firing up keyword after keyword into the search. "You have so much to learn, young Jedi."

Surprisingly, there are many skating rinks in Buenos Aires. Definitely more than Matteo remembers or heard of, which isn't exactly making things easier. While Gastón checks rink after rink for their registered skaters, Matteo watches him. A wave of gratitude crashes over him, leaving a warm feeling on the left side of his chest. No matter how many puns he has to endure or how many times Gastón calls him an idiot, he can always count on his best friend. It's things like these that show him how precious their friendship is, and how lucky Matteo is to have him by his side, for years now.

He nudges his shoulder. Gastón reacts by glimpsing at him, confused. "What?"

"Thank you. For helping me."

For a moment, Gastón smiles, then quickly returns to his screen, waving him off. "Yeah, sure. Just do the dishes while I keep looking for your Cinderella girl, okay? Also, is there anything else you casually forgot to mention about her?"

"No, I told you everything I remember. Well, I mean there are some things I didn't tell you, but I doubt you want to know them." As he gets up and Gastón grasps the meaning behinds his words, the grin tugging on Matteo's lips only deepens.

"Ugh, get your mind out of the gutter and do the dishes before I change my mind and go back to watching this shitty movie."

///

Matteo's hands are soaked from all the water, his fingertips turning too soft, when Gastón shouts something out of the living room.

"What did you say?" Matteo yells back. He drops the next plate into the sink before he stops, hoping this time he'll understand Gastón's muttering.

"I said there's no Luna yet, but I found a Sol, is that close enough?"

Luckily, his best friend can't see his eye roll. "Ha, did you breakfast a clown again?" Matteo shoots back.

"Love you too!"

Silence.

The sound of the keyboard mixes with the splashing of the water. The typing comes to an end. The longer it's lacking, the more Matteo fears he'll never find Luna again, the more he feels this fear turning into a truth bullet he can't dodge.

And when Gastón shows up in the kitchen, he doesn't bring the news Matteo wants to hear.

"So, I checked all websites, but I can't find a single Luna... She's not mentioned anywhere, there are no articles and only a few websites had pictures, but I didn't see her there either. I'm sorry, bro, but seems like you have to stick to the moon outside in the sky."

"Thanks, anyway," Matteo replies, not even trying to hide his disappointment. He wishes it would come more as a surprise, but actually, it's like the absolutely predictable and lame ending in a low-budget movie. Did he really expect to chase down a girl who vanished into thin air, apparently not wanting to be found?

It's like a bad movie, just without the happily ever after for him.

///

Over the weeks, he stops dwelling on this missed.

Sure, Luna still crosses his mind. She waits for him, in crowds, at uni, in the cafeteria and at the two parties he attends. Like a ghost she lingers in the corner of his vision, only to vanish the moment he tries to get a hold of her.

Sure, his heart races every time a girl resembles her a bit too much.

Sure, his mind creates endless scenarios in which he runs into her and catches up on all the things he missed the first time.

Sure, Gastón makes jokes and proposes watching Cinderella on the weekends and it stings a bit.

But Matteo is okay. His life isn't missing a puzzle piece because he let one girl get away. He's happy, life is good, and he might even get a decent song out of this experience. All he needs is a bit more time and she'll stop being a daydream he keeps running back to.

That, of course, doesn't mean Matteo isn't absolutely losing his mind when he sees her again.

[littlespoonevan]

Evak Fic Rec

So!!! A couple of people asked me to make an evak fic rec so I went digging through my bookmarks to find some gems!! This is by no means all the fics I love but I figured twenty is a good place to start. There’s no order or ranking to these, just some fics that are very dear to my heart and the WIPs that i’m keeping up with right now so please enjoy, and let me know if you want me to make another one at some point?! To all the writers of these stories, thank you for sharing them with us <3 Happy reading, friends!!! 

From the black of your eyes by sonhoedesrazao

Lørdag 17.12.16.

The Way He Looks at You by anna_sun

It first happened in the safety of Isak's own bed, the cluster of butterflies that seem to clog his lungs when he really looked into Even's eyes. They were laying mindlessly, limbs and hearts tangled into each other's, the only effort required of them being when they wanted to kiss. Though, even that, in itself, was effortless. When Isak looked up, he was welcomed by the sight of Even's full lips ready to be kissed, and he wasn't about to kiss them good-bye.

Every single time, he did it only with the promise of more. The lingering touches, the fingertips softly drawing patterns on warm skin, the kisses. They all meant the same to Isak. They all meant infinity.

Sincerely Yours by Joana789

Sometimes, Even’s mind feels like a mess, and it seems like no one in the world can sort it out, especially not Even himself.

But there are no rules, with Isak.

while the earth spins by cosetties

In this universe, boys he liked couldn’t like him back. They were straight, they had girlfriends, and reading more into it only led to disaster. He wanted to be with them. He wanted to be them.

Loving Isak by Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells

Five of the people who grow to love Isak Valtersen, and one who's loved him all along.

Love Me Harder by tech_ftw

In which accidentally being added to a group text has unexpected consequences. Like falling in love.

soft by ramis

Isak is the softest boy Even knows.

pitch black, pale blue by ufologies

“I wish I could stop thinking for a while.” Even didn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper but it did and Isak lays back down, wrapping his arms around Even and pulling him close to his chest. Even lays his head down on Isak’s chest where he could clearly hear his heartbeat and tries to focus on that instead of the rush of negative thoughts in his head. Isak body feels warm against Even’s and he relaxes against him, feeling like he was the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.

we're two little people in this big ol' world by cosetties

All Isak wants is a nice, romantic weekend alone with his very attractive boyfriend. Too bad his friends have a different idea.

("Then, Even will do something gross, like spill cheese on Isak’s favorite gray hoodie, or treat all of Isak’s best pens like goddamn chew toys, and scratch that. Isak’s the luckiest guy in all the worlds, all the universes.")

sleep is the daughter of love by spikettes

When Even Bech Næsheim is sleeping, you let him sleep, no matter the consequences.

(Alternately, if you use Isak Valtersen as a pillow, he cannot be held responsible for any mess and/or dishevelment done to your person.)

Get Rid of Her by cuteandtwisted

"Even was angry and Emma was tugging at Isak’s sleeve demanding attention. Even had never been angry at him before, not even when he spoke recklessly of his mother’s mental health, or when he threw up on the older boy’s bed that one night he got too drunk and couldn’t make it home."

Or: Even still transfers to Nissen in his third year, but Isak and Even get introduced through their parents. FriendsToLovers AU in which Isak calls Even 'bro' a couple of times and is forced to watch old-ish movies with him in hipster movie theaters.

Magnetisation by eiqhties

He thinks about it, sometimes. Thinks about how he shouldn’t have left Sonja like that. Shouldn’t have been so mean, so wild, so thoughtless. He thinks about it, but he wouldn’t change it, really. Wouldn’t trade in anything, swap out anything.

True or False by iriswests

Seven moments between Isak and Even (+1 with Sonja), ranging from the ages of four and six to the ages of seventeen and nineteen, respectively.

Or, the childhood best friends AU no one asked me for.

won't you be my livewire by itjustkindahappened

It’s 1:54 in the afternoon on a gloomy Tuesday when an angel enters Even’s classroom.

alternatively, "i've been tryin to grab your attention in class for over half an hour by poking you and throwing things onto your desk and you're refusing to acknowledge me and gdi all i wanted to do was tell you that you look cute and now it's gone too far and i can't go back"

would it be a sin if i can't help falling in love with you? by cosetties

“I mean, I already have a thing with – “ Isak waves his hand in the air. Conjuring up a girl should be way easier than this. Magnus had a girlfriend at Bakka for three months, and Isak doubts that she ever existed. All Isak has to do is make up a name, but his mouth dries up. He clears his throat. “A thing with – “

“Even,” the guy says, extending his hand for Emma to shake.

(Or, the fake relationship AU.)

Sideways and Slantways by iriswests

Isak gets stuck in an elevator with the one person he's vowed never to speak to again. This eventually prompts a conversation long overdue, but not without the memories flooding his brain like a broken dam first.

Show Me Where My Armor Ends by ikerestrella

"Oh, do you also need tissues?" That's what the trespasser says when he goes home and finds him in the bathroom. He's grasping at least ten tissues in one hand, while the other rubbing up and down his denim jacket. The trespasser raises his head, mouth shaped into a comical "O", and extends the boy his paper-ridden hand. The next second the boy has his shovel pointed at him. "Get out of my house."

OR: A very loosely-based The Little Prince AU where Even, the cool astronaut who travels around the universe with a self-made spaceship, accidentally lands on a baobab-covered asteroid and—as he definitely does in every parallel universe—steals some toilet paper, and gets caught red-handed by Isak, the sulking blonde boy who lives alone on the little planet.

How In My Silence I Adored You by dahlstrom (WIP)

In a parallel universe, the rest of the boy squad actually shows up at the first kosegruppa meeting and Isak stays for the love games. Thus, his first interaction with Even is quite different (no paper towels were harmed in this scenario). Also heavily hints at Vilde/Eva. 

in better light, everything changes by TimeInABottle (WIP)

"I just checked the revue website and blackmailing people for smoking weed wasn’t listed under the Kosegruppa description"

Isak accidentally texts a stranger (Even) while trying to text Sana.

Lost Boys (Not Ready To Be Found) by kittpurrson (WIP)

Even is a disillusioned media studies student who wishes he hadn't screwed up his film school applications. Isak is a prickly bioscience student who figured leaving his mother's house for UiO would magically fix all of his problems.

AKA a college AU, wherein Isak and Even meet later than they were destined to, but still save each other right back.