#ill make a funny one soon i just needed to practice actually drawing him

[jesterable]

undertale yellow neutral route was fun! !!!! i missed my sweet angel child flowey can you tell i enjoy drawing him?

[albumwalloffame]

Top 10 Worst Album Covers of 2023 - Part 2/2

Part 1

#5. Lordi - Screem Writers Guild

You know, one of the key differences between drawing for illustration and for animation, is that animation does not require a whole lot of detail, especially on characters because that is just more stuff that has to move and more time spent on superfluous details. Illustration allows you get more detailed… but this may just be too detailed.

Also, I get the pun, but it still bothers me "Screem" is misspelled.

#4. Various Artists - A Very Metal Christmas

I'm sorry, but you cannot make Christmas a "badass" holiday.

#3. Dungeon Wolf - The White Elf

The sad thing is… the last time Dungeon Wolf had an album cover on this list, was an improvement. It was disgusting as Hell, but it was at least competently put together, I mean… do I even need to explain why this is awful? It should be pretty obvious right? Then again I thought it would be pretty obvious to not take influence for your album cover from Adema's "Topple the Giants" and Louis Prima's "The Call of the Wildest". It's got a frame and everything too, it's like the most basic ass photoshop job ever, I could have done this when I was learning to use Photoshop in High School. The worst thing is, I'm pretty sure it's intentional, I'm fairly certain that the guys behind Dungeon Wolf just want attention and will try to get it in anyway that doesn't involve putting in any actual effort. Congrats, you got your consolation prize, your participation trophy, bronze medal, you reached third place again, even your practically offensive album cover wasn't bad enough to be number one, but to be number one means you would actually have to try, put genuine effort into what you do.

I doubt this is the last we'll see of Dungeon Wolf, but we can hope, right?

#2. Willie Nelson - Bluegrass

I know it is… wrong to speak ill of our patron saint of country and folk music Willie Nelson, but my autistic ass just wants him to back the Hell up. I can get the blue tinting, the weird effect on the edge, I can buy all that, I can vibe with that, but I don't want an old man getting so close in my face I can hear him breathing, frankly I don't really want anyone that close to my face without my consent. Willie, please, back up!

#1. Parannoul - After the Magic

There is thought that goes into ranking these lists. I really do have to think about what the intent behind the album cover is, if it's funny bad or just normal bad, sometimes I even have to ask if I actually hate the image or if I'm just attaching something around the album to the actual album artwork. However, something I do have to think about is, "Can I really argue that this is the 'worst' album cover", like I have to justify this to myself before I justify it to you. I mention all of this because, as soon as I laid eyes on this album cover, this bright ass photo with a television static filter placed over it, this eye-burning eye-sore of an album cover, I knew this immediately had to have the number one spot. There are more boring album covers, album covers that are lazier, more offensive, uglier, grosser, sillier, album covers that actually make me uncomfortable to look at, but this album cover is just the least good. There it is, worst album cover of the year.

Honourable Mentions:

Melanie Martinez - Portals; You know, I think even Marilyn Manson was done with this schtick at one point.

Roger Waters - The Dark Side of the Moon Redux; Obviously, the best way to improve one of the greatest album covers of all time is to shrink it down and put in something's eye, clearly.

Sufjan Stevens - Javelin; This would have been on the list if I wanted to have a three-way tie on the list.

Flume - Arrived Anxious, Left Bored; This album cover is a mood and I hate it.

Tim Hecker - No Highs; It was between this and the Foo Fighters cover.

U2 - Songs of Surrender; Come on guys... You're better than this.

Veil of Light - Sundancing; Okay, honestly, I hate pastels. Not enough of a reason to put it on the list proper, but I hate pastels.

Fairly Odd Bops; This was on the list before I remembered that Dungeon Wolf did a thing.

Everything But The Girl - Fuse; I'm sorry, F U S and E do not make shadows that look remotely like E B T or G.

Haken - Fauna; I'll admit, I kinda like this one, but it's so silly. It's the kind of bad that loops around and becomes good.

[acciocriativity]

The bet || Harry Potter

Pairing: Fred Weasley and George Weasley x Platonic/Reader (Tiny not so tiny George Weasley x Reader)

Summary: You had a normal life at Hogwarts, until the Weasley twins decided they weren't going to leave you alone anymore, and what was the reason? You would give five galleons to anyone who knew the answer.

Word Count: 4,0k

It was still early, I was walking through the corridors towards the Great Hall when two red-haired figures appeared in my sight.

"Hey Y/N!", one of them waved cheerfully at me, I still had no idea which one. "Why do you suddenly look tall today?", the other said with a smile, which made me want to punch him.

"Why are you suddenly more annoying today? It sounds like a serious illness, so excuse me, I don't want to catch this", I walked as fast as I could so they couldn't keep up with me.

I could hear their laughter behind me and the whispering but decided not to pay attention to what was said, that would bring me more calmness.

And why do I basically run away from them? It is very simple.

One day I was just another Ravenclaw student, and the next day I had the attention of the most popular twins at Hogwarts.

They liked to tease me about absolutely everything, no matter if I was just sitting down reading or trying to concentrate in a class, one of them would find a way to annoy me.

I never tried to differentiate which was Fred and which was George, it made no difference, they both seemed equally annoying to me and knowing who is who was not going to guarantee me anything.

"Hey, wait. We have a deal for you", the tallest of them spoke with a grin plastered on his face as he walked up to me in stride.

"And why should I agree? Anything coming from you guys is pretty suspicious", I replied with my eyes screwed tight and crossed my arms.

"Because you can have your quiet time again, we won't tease you anymore as far as possible", the other said with a small smile and I stopped to think for a few seconds.

"Well, that sounds good enough, and what do I have to do? You're going to have to get something out of this, obviously", I still remained in the same position analyzing the two, who seemed to be enjoying themselves more every second.

"You'll have to guess who is who at the end of the day", one of them started and my face dropped at the same moment."Since we're nice, we'll just say it once", the other added.

"What if I don't succeed then? If there's a prank, I'm out."

"There won't be anything out of the ordinary, just an extra dose of us", I took a deep breath just imagining what my life would be like with these two following me around the castle. "So are you going to accept or not?", he raised an eyebrow.

I took a deep breath and looked away, a good opportunity had fallen into my hands but I would have the rest of my peace lost if I didn't win, which would be no small thing but a part of me was just screaming to accept it at once, the competitive part, the part that was going to win this little challenge.

"I accept, it won't be that hard", I replied with a smile, a wave of confidence built up inside me and I really thought it wouldn't be a problem at all.

"Okay then", they just walked past me and kept walking and if I could see my forehead, a big question mark would be hanging there, "Hey? You still have to tell me which is which, it was part of the deal", I said, taking a few steps behind them but they soon stopped and looked at me.

"Oh, you're so confident, do you really need us to tell you who's who?", I clenched my hands tightly to hold back the urge to kill him.

"Of course I don't need to but... HEY!It's not polite to leave a person talking alone", they had the audacity to walk off and wave at me on top of that.

7:30 a.m.

I wasn't going to get any help from them, why did I expect to get any? Obviously they don't want me to win but I will and they will have to swallow that. That's my new goal today, screw the herbology paper.

But now it would be more difficult, few people would know the difference, I would have to ask one of his friends or one of the other Weasleys who studied at Hogwarts.

I wasn't intimate with any of them but I had classes with some, we never spoke but I will change that today.

I just hope they actually tell me something useful, one of the twins could have easily told no one to help me and made everything even more difficult.

8:25 a.m

"Hey Kate, what's up?", I said with a smile just as she was about to pass me down the hall, it was really worth it to eat fast or I wouldn't have made it in time.

The expression on her face already told me everything, the same gleam in her eye that twins have when they are disturbing me, why do I get the impression that it won't be so easy?

"Good morning Y/N, do you need anything?", she said leaning against the wall with a mischievous smile that I chose to ignore. "Actually yes, you should already know, the Weasleys challenged me to set them apart and you as a friend should know how, anything is useful, anything really", I liked that she was direct because I could be too. I don't like wasting time with small talk, especially when I don’t have too much time.

"They actually told me it would happen, but they didn't tell me more details, what happens if you lose? Some kind of prank I bet.

"They will annoy me twice as much as they already do, I don't know how you manage to be friends with them, she stared at me for a few seconds and then grinned. "What?"

"I'll help you since you're asking me but maybe you'll soon see that it wouldn't be so bad to lose", I just nodded without really believing it would happen. "Fred is louder and generally more annoying, George is quieter and more careful. You can find out more by noticing for yourself, I'm going to get going, I want to practice a little before class begins", she pointed to the castle entrance.

"Thank you so much Kate, I'll owe you this one. See you later", I smiled and waved as she walked away from me after waving as well.

Now I know the basics but they might try to trick me, switch places or pretend to be the other one. I have to be prepared and there is only one way.

9:00 a.m

The bell rang and the halls filled with heads hurrying not to be late, especially the poor first year students heading for the dungeon. I could see some shaking on the way out of the Great Hall but my destination was completely different, I headed up the stairs along with the other forty years to Minerva's class.

There was no sign of any of the twins, if they had decided to skip this class my plan was destined to fail.

The class was about to start when the two of them entered without any hurry and I smiled internally for having kept an empty chair next to me, just in case.

"Are you gentlemen having a problem with your audition? The bell rang five minutes ago. This kind of behavior is not tolerated, Mr. Weasleys. Minus ten points for Gryffindor", her angry voice boomed, and no one seated dared to breathe.

"It won't happen again, professor", I was surprised not to hear any funny remarks as a comment and I'm sure she was too but didn't show it.

"Sit down and open your books, let's move one more step forward from yesterday's lesson...", she continued talking but I barely paid attention after one of them sat down next to me.

"So, you're George, you can tell me now that I already know", he looked a little surprised for a few seconds but soon regained his posture.

"How did you guess it? I didn't even say anything", he said looking at me intently and I just shrugged, I wasn't about to say since this is clearly a plus for me.

"That's a secret that will stay with me, it wasn't that hard", I commented, dipping my quill into the ink to start writing what Minerva was going over on the blackboard.

Behind us it was possible to hear Fred's excited whispers that I had learned to ignore after all these years. Now it seemed so much easier, it's not as if I hadn't noticed them both all this time, it's a bit impossible since they make themselves present everywhere.

We remained silent, since this is the only way I can concentrate. I even mentally thanked him for that, but it didn't seem to do any good today. My attention kept being drawn to the red-headed boy next to me, I couldn't help it.

Internally I blamed it on my will to win, because to do so I would have to pay more attention to him, that's all my body wanted to do, focus on George Weasley.

I only realized that I was crossing the line when I noticed that his cheeks started to take on a reddish tint and a shy little smile appeared. To make matters worse, there was Fred's giggles, who was watching everything with the best view; there was no way I could get away with this.

After this awkward moment, I forced myself to pay attention even though my desire was to get out of there, since he now decided to start watching me not as discreetly as he thought he was being. I was much better at that.

"Is there a problem?", I mustered up the courage to ask when it was already 15 minutes before the bell rang again.

I noticed him bite his lips and crack a small smile before looking forward again, "why would there be a problem?"

"You were looking at me", I answered quietly so as not to draw attention from the other students and especially from Minerva who was passing between the desks checking to see if everyone was practicing the spells correctly.

"You were looking at me before that, discretion is not your specialty, you know?", I was a few seconds without knowing how to answer that and in the meantime, I could see him savoring the fact that he had left me speechless.

"Yes, I was watching you to differentiate you better from your brother, and why were you looking at me?", I spoke in a direct tone looking him straight in the eyes and the other redhead's laughter sounded behind us and George gave him a nonchalant look, as did the woman, who had just passed us.

"Is something wrong Mr. Weasley?", she asked and of course, everyone around us had to pay attention too, because they had nothing else interesting to do.

"No, I just remembered a joke I heard, I could tell you if you want. I assure you it is very funny", he assured holding back the urge to laugh even harder.

"Your little jokes stay outside the room Mr. Weasley, and you all, if you haven't perfected today's transfiguration can get back to work", she caught everyone's attention and continued walking peacefully.

We ended up getting distracted from the main subject, he obviously took the chance of not answering me and just kept on training as I did.

12:00 a.m

We had the next 3 classes together and I stayed close to them and their friends as well. As I imagined everyone was very nice to me, we could have become friends much sooner if we weren't stuck in a fixed group of friends.

Some things had become much clearer in my head and others even more blurred. They didn't seem to be picking on anyone but me, although it hadn't happened all day. Then why? I was going to find out.

"Will you come sit with us today?", Katie said with an arm around Angelina's shoulders, both looking at me with a smile that wouldn't let me deny them anything.

"Sure, I'd love to. It's kind of funny that we have more things in common than I expected", I remarked as we walked slowly, with the hasty crowd in front of us. I would usually be with them but it's much better this way, time is not as important as catching up with everyone.

"I had no idea you liked quidditch, have you thought about joining the Ravenclaw team?", Angel, as she asked to be called, inquired and at that moment, I should but I didn't notice her gaze leave me and go to the twins, several times.

"I'm not as good at playing as I am at watching, so I prefer to stay in the stands", I replied with a small smile until I noticed everyone in that small group communicating with their eyes, which I chose to ignore.

"So Angeli, since when did you start playing?", I started the subject that was going to last throughout the entire lunch hour and it couldn't be better.

Everyone had some story to tell, I must admit that Fred's and George's were the funniest. At no time was there any kind of awkward silence, or a moment when I was not included in the conversation. I did notice that some of my classmates were surprised that I sat there, but in general they were looking at us because of the noise. Their special talent was talking, which I found refreshing since I could hear more and talk occasionally.

The worst part of it was that I ended up not paying as much attention to either George or Fred as I had planned, although now I know a little more about both of them and my new friends.

3:00 p.m.

After two classes of Aritmancia, I had a free period and many homework assignments to do and as I walked to the library, a familiar voice called out to me.

"Y/N!", I turned around and was faced with George and his broom near the stairs, not so far from me, "We are going to practice a little, do you want to come too?", I was about to say no, as I was already busy but then I remembered, I still had to guess who was who at the end of the day.

I had really forgotten and started to enjoy their company, I had to remind myself that I wanted to win and that it made perfect sense to spend some more time with him, if it meant that I could guarantee it. Or at least, I tried to convince myself of that.

"Sure, who else will be training?", I asked as I walked over to him and then we walked together to the castle entrance and towards the field. "Just Angelina and Fred, the others have classes or something to do," and I just nodded in agreement.

We hadn't spent any time alone since Transfiguration class and I didn't know what to say, as did he but I didn't feel uncomfortable, just lost in my own thoughts.

"You came to watch half the best quadribol team play today. You won't regret it," Fred was the first to speak up as soon as we arrived and I could only laugh, how could one person be so confident? I needed some tips.

"My expectations are higher than you Weasley, you better not let me down after that speech," I wasn't trying to be funny but I heard a chuckle come from the redhead next to me. "You're not out of it George, none of you. But remember, no pressure. I'm only going to judge a little bit," I said smirking, not really taking any of the words I said seriously.

"Go sit down and prepare to be impressed," the black haired girl gave the last words, grabbed her own broom and flew to the three right hoops as I hurried to the stands.

Luckily, I didn't miss much and less than 5 minutes later, I could tell with certainty how good the three were. They took turns as goalkeepers for Angelina, even though it wasn't really their position in the game.And after 15 minutes, the dynamic changed for the two of them to try to hit her, one at a time, for them to practice as beaters.

But honestly, I paid much less attention than I normally do. I couldn't tell them apart from so far away, and this realization made me face the shameless excuse I had created for myself. I just wanted to be there, and the reason for that I wouldn't say out loud.

More than 30 minutes later, the three of them instead of landing on the ground, came flying towards me and stopped by my side.

"So you can talk about how impressed you are now", I pretended to think for a few seconds and the indignation on his face was so funny I almost didn't say it but after such an arduous training like that, they deserved it.

"You guys were amazing, if someone from another house could watch the official training sessions I would really come to see more", I smiled and it was extremely adorable to see George's already red face redden even more after my compliment.

"You already know you can't watch the official practices, we are finally starting to understand each other", Fred said and took a step to hug me and I immediately took one back. "You're soaking wet Fred Weasley, don't even think about it. This is not the time for hugs".

"But I think it's a good idea sweetie, you can't hide from a Weasley, so just accept it", he said with an evil grin on his face and I was ready to run, I hated sweat especially when it wasn't mine but his long legs came into action once again.

"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever experienced, so you have something to be proud of after all", I complained, pulling away seconds after he had cornered me in the hug, which wouldn't have been so bad if it had been any other time.

"If that's the grossest one, you really don't know what's waiting for you honey. This is just the beginning," Angel said with a satisfied smile on his face. "But we better go now, I need a shower and we still have one last class today," she added and flew out of there after waving to us.

"Yeah, I need to take a shower too, I'll see you guys later," Fred said before getting out of there as quickly as possible, leaving me alone with George again.

"Well, do you want a ride? It's much quicker to get down that way," he smiled slightly at me and I agreed without a second thought.

I held his bare arm, because I thought it was better than hugging him and regret appeared immediately because I always had some issues with flying. It wasn't the worst thing in the world but it was far from being one of my favorites.

All I could do was close my eyes as we crossed the field, my hands automatically closed around his arm, the weather was windy and I could feel the shivers that went through his now red skin as well as mine.

It was a few seconds if I'm really honest but it didn't feel like it to me, I've never picked up a broom other than for classes and it's been a long time since I stopped having fun in those classes.

I was brought out of my thoughts when I felt my feet on the ground again.

"I'll see you later then, I haven't forgotten about the bet. You better be prepared," he gave me a beautiful smile and the consequences of that is the only thing I wasn't prepared for.

5:00 p.m.

There are those moments when you have to stop and ask yourself, what the hell is happening to me? For countless reasons obviously, and it was my turn. I didn't come up with any answers that made me blind to reality, which was really frustrating because that way it would be easier for me to just ignore.

But nobody told me it was going to be easy, which is a shame because I would have someone to blame.

All this played out in my head before I received an owl from them, telling me that I could go to the Gryffindor common room to finish our bet, along with the password for the day. I was prepared after being warned by basically all their friends, all I could think of on the way there were some spells, mainly revenge because I wouldn't let it go if there really was a prank.

But what happened was quite different, the place was quieter than I imagined, although they had many people sitting and talking normally including Fred and George.

"Oh hello stranger, you have finally decided to give us the honor of your presence, I can say for everyone, we are all grateful," I had barely stepped into the room when Fred spoke up with the most sarcastic smile I have ever seen, should I be confused?

"If I get all this reception every time I come here, I will definitely come back more often. Thank you, I feel very welcome," I said with an equally big smile, causing him to roll his eyes.

"Okay smartass, it's time for your answer," he continued speaking, the same voice but now that I was close, in front of them, I noticed that there was something very wrong there.

"Why are you talking like that George?", was my only thought, they were imitating each other, the voice was extremely similar, I could never tell the difference just by that, but looking at him, it is impossible to be mistaken.

Their expression dropped on the spot and I realized that there were more people watching me and maybe they knew the plan, because everyone was a little shocked too, was it that simple?

"That's impossible, who was the snitch that told you? Whoever it was, you're going to have a tough future," Fred even stood up and didn't bother to do another voice, he spoke and I was sure I won.

"Nobody told me, I didn't need much to realize that you guys were faking it. He spent the whole conversation scratching his arm, it's been like that all day," I pointed to George who had not taken his eyes off my person so far.

At that moment they looked at each other for a few seconds and then back at me. I should be happy but I wasn't. Even if I wasn't going to admit it out loud, they just proved to me how amazing they are and I wasn't going to lose that.

"Now that I've won, I want to change my reward. It's very simple, I want to reverse the reward and the punishment. I want an extra dose of Weasleys," I had to get a certain amount of shyness out of the way to say this but it was worth it.

It was worth it because I could see a sparkle in both of their eyes that went beyond a successful prank, it was worth it because I had the best years at Hogwarts with the best friends I could ever want. It was worth it because I found the best boyfriend in the world that day. I never thought I would be so grateful for a silly bet.

Harry Potter Masterlist

[avengedbiologist]

Thunderbird Headcanons

Thunderbird headcanons I just kinda forgot to post.

Scott

Not a single brain cell.

Like 6’1”

Is like really not down with the kids as much as he thinks he is.

Fully believes he is cool.

Writes a letter to his Mum every year and just puts it in a drawer.

Did have a mullet at one point.

Dimples and some moles.

Hates strawberries.

He really loves pies (not made by grandma though)

Good hugs.

He was rebellious as a kid, still got good grades at school but skived a lot and smoked probably.

Wears double denim.

Close to all his brothers due to him helping his dad raise them.

Especially close to Alan as he was only 8 when their dad went missing and kind of hand to become a parental figure in his dad's place.

Wears crocs and socks.

If he needs support will go to Virgil or John, but since he feels comfort in physical contact he tends to go to Virgil.

Full on had grey hairs at 25 from taking over IR.

Really likes porridge.

Reads/watches something for an hour before bed, unless the rescue literally causes him to pass out as soon as he gets on the bed.

Favourite tic tac flavour is lime and orange.

Really bad with spice.

Not allergic to bees

Virgil

Mans built, a good mix of both muscle and fat, bulking him out more than his brothers.

Was a bug kid, used to draw them all the time, he still remembers bug facts.

Really interested in scarab beetles

Moles on face as well as scar near eyebrow.

Like 5’9”-5’10”

Probably could lift the sofa with one hand if given the chance.

Can easily pick up Scott and John at the same time.

Usually the brother Gordon and Alan hang around or ask for emotional support.

Close with Gordon as he was the main brother who cared for Gordon after his accident due to his medical knowledge. Was around when Gordon had his breakdowns and Virgil knows a lot of Gordon's fears or insecurities, he knows most of his brothers insecurities as well, and always checks up on them if they are faced with something that could bring up their insecurities.

Virgil covers up alot, he can be quite insecure about his body, it fully depends on the day, if there is a day where he is more confident with his body and shows more skin, his brothers make sure not to comment on it as that can throw him off and make him insecure again.

Best hugs ever.

Can bake okay, can kind of cook, nothing too hard.

Has his own soup recipe that tends to be used when one of his brothers is ill.

Gay.

Close with all his brothers but tends to end up hanging around Gordon and Alan.

Is allergic to ibuprofen and aspirin

Sarcastic humour.

Full on had a crush on Kip Harris and Tycho reeves.

Can fill a sketchbook in a week.

Landscapes and figures are his favourite things to draw.

Has a birthmark on his palm

John

Tall an lanky.

Good at gymnastics.

Light freckles all over face.

Very close to Alan due to their shared love of space.

John used to teach Alan about space when they were younger, and used Alan as an audience (as well as Jeff) for when he had to practice for a presentation.

Like 6’1”

He had a punk phase when he was a teen.

Has severe hay fever.

Social anxiety isn't good with crowds, unless one of his brothers is with him, they help distract him from the crowds. Alan usually does space talk. Scott and Virgil tend to talk to him about mechanics and coding, usually asking John to babble about it. Gordon usually makes jokes or asks him about what he did that day, half the time Gordon doesn't understand what he's talking about but he's respectful and listens.

Does not like physical contact as much, he will hug his brothers but he has to be in the right mood, his brothers always seem to know when he is in the right mood.

Always hugs Alan and Gordon though.

Tends to keep a level head but if someone were to hurt one of his brothers he would get angry.

Was a generally quiet kid.

Was good at getting a baby/toddler Alan to stop crying.

Has a mole behind his ear.

Gordon

Little, like 5’6” to 5’8”.

Big shoulder from all that butterfly swimming.

Jokes about a lot, not only because he is funny but he is insecure, he hates seeing family so sad, it reminds him of when he was in his accident.

Is actually kind of insecure about his body, he has a lot of scars from accidents and from being in WASP.

He is shaped like a dorito and has little body fat.

Bisexual

Massive crush on Penelope, eventually asks her out and they hang out as much as they can, which isn't much since they both have very busy lives.

Has a mullet.

Also wears crocs and socks but does it better than Scott.

Is a mess.

Military lad but if you didn't know him you would not be able to tell.

Suffers from depression but again you wouldn't be able to tell, he hides it well.

Nothing but bright clothes in his wardrobe.

At one point he did have a crush on buddy.

He did have a good relationship with Jeff but from ages 14-16 they just didn't get on, Gordon just seemed to get on Jeff's nerves a lot and also seemed to just keep making the wrong decisions. This all got better when Gordon talked about going to work with WASP. Too bad Jeff never got to see him there since the accident happened before Gordon started.

Gordon naturally feels relieved when Jeff comes back, they start again and so far they are getting on well.

Is actually a really good cook.

If not swimming or on a mission he will spend the day cooking if given the chance.

Likes veg more than fruit.

Catch him munching on a carrot whilst listening to the info on the mission.

Always has tic-tacs in his pockets, both suit and civvies.

Really good with spice and heat, he survived eating a carolina reaper pepper.

Knows how to do the hoedown throwdown.

Knows origami.

Alan

Was only 1 when his mum died, he blames himself sometimes due to him being the one his mum was trying to save in the avalanche. [All versions]

Pansexual [All versions]

Never had a good bond with his family until he was 14 and the hood attacks, sure he liked them and they cared for him they just never gelled as well. Despite this he is close with John. John was the main one to actually listen to him and actually let him speak through his issues and John never judges him [04].

He has a boyfriend who he meets at whartons, they meet before the hoods attack and get close whilst Alans in recovery via video calls and when Alans is allowed back into school they start dating. [04]

Freckles :)

Is very little, between 5’4” and 5’7” depending on the version.

When Jeff comes back Alan is iffy around him, Jeff manages to get back in to the father figure role quickly but Alan hasn't seen Jeff for years and has forgot a lot about him, Alan naturally goes to Scott with any issues, isn't used to Jeff being around. It takes a few months for him and Jeff to actually bond properly by themselves.

Has a prosthetic leg, the story behind it depends on the version, 04, his leg was severely injured after falling and catching his leg on the moving mole during his fight with the hood in the bank. In TAG it's a situation of explosion in space that nearly kills him. (Sometimes this is a thing sometimes it's not idk)

Has a bed full of stuffed animals.

His room is filled with rocket posters and models.

Has a shelf that's just the rockets in mission order.

Loves the mercury 7.

Alan's baking ability is making those cookies that you just add like milk into.

Used to copy Gordon a lot.

Still copies him sometimes, like him keeping sweets in his pockets at all times and sometimes copies his reactions in conversations cause he zones out a lot

Will tear up if someone shouts at him, usually he hides it and when alone he lets it out. His brothers know this and will usually try to prevent the shouting from happening.

[m-feys]

OK NEURODIVERGENT GAANG TIME BC I WANNA

these hcs are kinda halfway set in a modern au bc thats my context for this ! (gonna split it up so its not as long bc i drafted the original and it was LONG) water tribe siblings first !!!

Sokka

adhd/autism king 😌

[ID: a screenshot of Sokka standing on a raised stone platform with a map of the Fire nation hanging behind him. He’s holding his arms stiffly by his side with a wide-eyed look on his face, brows raised as he has his mouth open, saying something. End ID.]

- schedules to survive, he likes to know what hes getting into and if you try to change plans on him without warning he’ll be very resistant

- smart kid who doesnt study, oh he tries, oh boy does he try, he ends up reading the same sentence over and over until he gets distracted by drawing something, working on the blueprint for his latest invention, or with researching something completely unrelated to what he’s mean to be studying. then he tosses and turns all night because he’s stressed by not having studied, but when he actually takes the test he makes a 105, despite there not even being a bonus question, he just answered the essay question so well the teacher gave him an extra 5 points

- special interests?? we got em!!! classic weaponry (think swords, boomerangs, but also, like canons and catapults and shit) engineering/physics, art/drawing, strategy games. he tends to hyperfocus within his special interests, so like for a week he was hellbent on building his own full sized trebuchet, much to the dismay of Gran Gran who just wanted to grow her tomatoes without them being crushed by said full size trebuchet

- (also he plays all types of games probably, but he def plays those ones where you take over the world, like the ones online and azula also plays them too and they end up being rivals, while not actually knowing who the other is outside of their usernames)

- he also talks a lot in his classes/is like the ‘class clown’ and ppl think this is him not focusing but engaging this way actually helps him focus way more than sitting silently, a lot of teachers dont understand it but the ones who do are actually paying attention and realize that he’s generally talking/joking about their current topic

- some observations (this shit is all canon babey!!!) - sokka is great at being a leader and communicating in groups he’s in but he really really struggles in front of crowds, one-on-one and sokka can talk well, joke and stuff but as soon as he’s separate from other people and everyone is just listening he clams up (solar eclipse pt 1). he also loves to joke and make people laugh, and a lot of the time he misinterprets stuff because he’s autistic but he also will realize this and do it anyway because he thinks it’s funny and he likes laughing with his friends (idk if this happens in canon but i do this and sokka does too bc i said so :^). He also takes up the protector/comforting role but despite his best intentions he can sometimes say insensitive stuff and not even realize what he’s done to upset people (when he happily told aang ‘the whole world thinks your dead!’) works best when he feels needed, if he feels unnecessary or like something doesnt matter he struggles to complete it (i feel like the beginning of sokka’s master rlly demonstrates what i mean here), and this goes both ways, he will put too much value into certain things that he cares about and can get his priorities mixed if he’s focused too much on what he believes matters more than what might be most pressing (zuko destroyed his suki sculpture, oh right bc he was attacking aang)

Katara

she also has adhd/autism, (so do both Hakoda and Kya 💙)

[ID: a screenshot of Katara, Hakoda, Sokka, and Bato. Hakoda has his hand on Katara’s shoulder as they both look at Bato who is saying something, she has curious look on her face with her brows raised, while Hakoda looks exasperated. Sokka beside him his also looking curiously up at Bato, with one brow raised and the other furrowed. Bato has a neutral expression on his face as he speaks. End ID.]

- palms sweaty thoughts spaghetti, she tries to be practical bc she thinks someone needs to be but really her brain is like a runaway train, she sees something that needs doing and is like, guess ill do that now! and drops whatever she was doing first. she can get very anxious because of this because all the thing that need doing start to pile up because theyre all in her brain at once. that and as much as she tries to be practical she’s very impulsive, getting help from other people really helps alleviate this stuff

- interacting w ppl, when she was only part of her own smaller community she had a lot less toll on her, bc she knew everyone and was used to them, as she meets more people she gets really frustrated with how many people seem to refuse to say what they really mean. Katara is very straightforward herself and she says what she means, so even tho she gets more and more perceptive when interacting with new people, she resents how much she has to work just to decipher what people really mean half the time.

- caring for ppl, with people she cares about communicating is much easier bc she knows them, so she’s very open about her feelings around these people, and she can be hyper empathetic at times, but then sometimes she will say SUPER insensitive stuff off the cuff because she’s just very impulsive and she might regret it after the fact but she really struggles with apologizing because being wrong makes her feel like ppl are going to reject her

- perceptions, she knows what’s expected of her by the world, but she really rejects the idea that she has to stay in her role. still, she has internalized a lot of these expectations and tries to perform them, even when she sometimes struggles. beyond herself, she’s very certain about what she knows is wrong and has a strong moral code, she sees something wrong and she wants to fix it.

- she’s awful in school, not because she’s not smart, but she’s smart in ways that society does not appreciate. she doesnt care at all about all the worksheets and math she’s never gonna use, and all the history that got distorted, she’s much better at learning stuff on her own and she will go on deep dives of subjects she cares about and is super knowledgeable abt them.

also:

[ID: A cropped screenshot of Sokka with his arms extended outwards, palms flat as he gestures. He has a slight grin on his face with his mouth open to speak, eyebrows raised and looking at the viewer calmly. He’s wearing his usual blue tunic with the Earth Rumble XI belt along with his earth kingdom bag hanging across his chest. The text on the image says, “This post made by ADHD Sokka gang. End ID.]

[ID: a cropped screenshot of Hakoda, he has a serious expression on his face as he looks ahead. The text on the post reads, “This post made by ADHD Hakoda gang.” End ID.]

from this post (part of what inspired me to write these out) @meteor-sword​ now just katara needs one 😄

adhd aang next, i will finally live up to my url (will edit with a link when i post)

[ranposlittle]

darling,I don’t want to be kinda annoying,but I just love him👉🏻👈🏻could you please do a nsfw scenario with mori where he punishes his gf for misbehaving (please include spanking omg)love you!!

!! NSFW !!

Warnings: Spanking, Orgasm denial

A/N: No no~ you’re never annoying! (⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝) keep sending in any requests you have, it keeps me busy in this quarantine. Also, I hope you don’t mind that this is a Fem!Reader. It’s just for convenience. This one is based on this song and I hope you enjoy this! Thank youuu! ♥️ ((Sorry again for the delayyy))

***

You’ve figured it out. No matter how funny it may sound, Mori likes brats. He has expressed many times how much he loves you as his partner, however, you cannot swallow down your bitter jealousy anymore when he’s clearly spending every day paying more attention to his personified ability, Elise, than to you. He would coax her and please her, making her try all the dresses he just bought for her, and only calling you when he needs a warm bed. You cannot tolerate it anymore.

You wanted to be as good as possible to him but apparently, that’s not his type. So you thought, you’ll play the game he wants and he’ll bend over backwards for you too in no time. It’ll be fine, you thought, you’ll just misbehave a little, tell bits of lies here and there, you’ll just be bad enough that Mori will chase after you, like he does with Elise.

However, it’s been a week of your antics now and you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself. You’ve spent your days jumping up and down the bed with the radio on full blast while you sing along at the top of your lungs even if you’re well aware that Mori has company, leaving your bed messy and your clothes all over the floor, getting out of the bathroom while soaking wet despite the new luxurious carpet he just ordered; you behaved with no inhibitions, even telling Mori to get lost when he tells you off. Frankly, you didn’t thought that you’d actually like this, thinking to yourself that maybe you’ll just be like this every day from now on.

Tonight, Mori and his executives are meeting some important people for lunch in a high-end restaurant and he wanted you to come along. He insisted to dress you up, for the first time in a long time, because he bought a new dress for you. You let him, smirking to yourself as you enjoy the fruits of your labor.

“Princess,” Mori called and you rolled your eyes with that weird nickname he gave you, “I want you to behave properly today, okay?”

You puffed your cheeks, mumbling to yourself how he didn’t have to tell you what to do. You feigned obedience, telling him that you won’t do anything ridiculous before sticking your tongue out at him once he turned his back. And here you are now, in the middle of lunch, bored out of your mind as you play with the indistinguishable mush on your plate.

“Please don’t play with your food, princess,” Mori asked humbly.

“But it looks so disgusting! Do you really expect me to eat this trash?” Your fork clanged as you threw it on your plate and the people around the table started to whisper. Mori looked around and gave them an apologetic smile.

“C'mon, princess. This is not the time for your games,” Mori leaned closer and held one of your shoulders.

“This is boring! I want to go home, now!” You gave Mori a deadly glare and your stare didn’t falter even if his eyes narrowed and his jaws clenched.

“You’re making a fool out of me. Behave,” he lowered his voice into almost a whisper, “or I’ll punish you.”

Your venomous stares lingered on for a few seconds as Mori waits for an answer from you, his sharp eyes silently demanding immediate obedience.

“No,” you retorted in his face, “I won’t.”

Mori studied you for a few seconds before standing up. He addressed the people on the table, saying that he’ll have to delegate down the authority for all of today’s businesses to one of his executives as his partner is ill and must be taken home promptly. He bid them a formal goodbye and practically dragged you out of the restaurant by your arm before you can even fight back. He pushed you inside the car waiting outside before getting in himself, ordering the chauffeur to drive back home as fast as he can.

Once back home, he hauled you inside the bedroom, ignoring your protests, and threw you on the bed. He slumped on the chair across the room and drew a heavy sigh. You can clearly see how worked up he is as he pushed back a chunk of hair that fell on his face from the commotion.

“You’ve been acting like a total brat lately, haven’t you?” Mori exhaled, his dark eyes being illuminated by the noon sun. You reciprocated with a proud look on your face to show that you’re not intimidated, not in the slightest.

“Come here,” he commanded. You didn’t move an inch from where you are and continue to have a staring contest with Mori. His eyes grew even darker as he deliver a threat, “I won’t ask you again.”

You flinched for some reason, but you deny that it’s because of fear. You slowly stood up from the bed and made your way to him. You stopped a foot away from him and he pulled you by the wrists, spun you around and swiftly sliding off his crimson scarf from his neck to tie your hands together behind you.

“W-what are you doing? Have you gone crazy?” You struggle from the fabric but it’s already been tightly secured.

“No, but you clearly have,” Mori then grabbed you by your restraints and bend you over his lap, your belly pressing hard against his thighs.

“You were crazy enough to disrespect me and think I’ll just keep letting it slide just because I was busy these past few days,” he flicked your dress upwards, exposing your bum and nearly ripped your panties off. “No, you deserve to be punished.”

He held you firmly in place by the knot on your wrists and just watched you as you flail on your position, screaming curses at him. Anger swell up inside of you until it bursted out of your mouth without a thought.

“I hate you! I HATE YOU!”

Mori raised his hand and—SMACK!—your screamed echoed throughout the whole room accompanied by the ringing of the slap that landed harshly on your rear. The sting danced around your skin as tears prickled at the corner of your eyes. You shot an aggressive look back at Mori who’s gazing at you as well with a devilish smile on his face.

“Aw, did that hurt, brat?” Mori teased as he smoothed his palm on your reddened ass, tickling the sensitive skin.

Before you can even talk back, he landed another powerful spank and your body rocked forward with the impact. You pressed your lips together to muffle another cry but when Mori delivered another smack that landed a little lower, the vibrations reaching your pussy, you mewled loudly and whined at the unwanted twitching of your pussy. You can’t possibly be aroused with this.

“You’re secretly enjoying this, aren’t you?” Mori stated, rubbing his palm on your ass once again, groping them at times. “You want me to remind you who you belong to and who’s in charge here. You challenged me until I had no choice but to punish you, is that right?”

Your mind raced. This isn’t exactly what you expected to happen but you did want to have his attention and now you got it, does that make him right?

“You know I’m right,” he said as if reading your mind. “But don’t worry. It’ll be my absolute pleasure to remind you. I think I already gave you three spanks now but we both know that’s not enough. Why don’t you be a doll and count the next spanks I’ll give you, hmm?”

Before you can think of any snark comeback, you shrieked as a sharp slap hit you once more and you’re not quite sure if it was a sweat or a tear that ran down your face just now.

“I didn’t hear a count, let’s try that again,” Mori gave you another in a flash and your whole body quaked from the shock. You didn’t thought that Mori’s spanks can be anymore powerful but it just did.

“AH! F-our…” You cried out. Your mind seemingly came up with the quick decision that the best course of action right now is just to cooperate.

“There you go,” Mori praised in a singsong voice. “Now count louder this time.”

“Five!” You shouted as soon as you felt the whack on your butt, the growing neediness in your core making itself more present and your legs rubbed together unconsciously.

“Looks like a brat is getting excited,” Mori remarked before getting into position for the next blow.

“Six!” You strained out after a whimper. The hit landed once again near your pussy, sending shivers up your spine.

“Seven– ha– ah– eight! Ahn! N-ni-ne!” You stuttered as Mori spanked you in a quick succession, the burning sting in your ass topping over the other.

“G-God! Ten!” You groaned. Mori’s palm slammed into your ass one last time, your whole body vibrated from his bruising force. His hits almost sounded like a whip and you can still hear its ringing in your ears.

You hanged your head limply as you feel the throbbing ache in your muscles. Whimpering every now and then whenever the prickling sensation crawling on your skin get stronger.

“You took them all like a champion. That’s impressive,” Mori said with a pleased smile. “But that’s just half of your punishment. We both know that a good little brat like you deserves so much more.”

Mori manhandled you like a sack of potatoes to have you sit on his lap. Your sore ass pressed on his leg and you yelped from the pain. Mori grabbed the sides of your face, making you look directly at his eyes. His gaze locked in yours, and you can’t look away as his other hand slithered in between your legs and a finger ran down your slit.

“No,” you moaned, not wanting Mori to see how your overly sensitive and wet pussy quiver with the slightest touch. “Not there.”

“Not here? But I own this, remember? I can use it however I want,” Mori growled in your ear.

The fabric around your wrists tightened as you ball your fists, trying not to crumble completely as Mori started to slowly draw circles on your clit. Your legs immediately shaking from the pleasure.

“Tell me, brat, who do you belong to?” Mori purred in your ear. “Look me in the eyes and tell me.”

You gasped as the motion of his fingers raced, your nerves seemingly being shook awake. You threw your head back and fixed your begging eyes on his hungry ones. He closely observed your flustered face, your lidded eyes, your sweaty cheeks, down to your parted lips as they move to whisper the answer he craved to hear.

“You, Mori-san,” you breathed out. “I belong to you.”

Mori’s lips pulled into a menacingly satisfied smile, plunging a slender finger inside your hole. You gasped and tensed on his lap, his finger quickly wriggling around your walls.

“That’s it,” Mori said in a quiet voice, his breath tickling your ears. “Say it again. Say it louder. Who owns this pretty little brat, hmm?”

“Mori-san!” You cried as another finger joined to wriggle inside you, stretching your opening. “I belong to Mori-san. This brat belongs to Mori-san.”

With tears in the rim of your eyes, you kept your focus on him, afraid that he’ll stop if you look somewhere else. Your whole body, seemingly being shot with pulses of electricity when Mori curl his fingers upwards, stiffened and you were made aware again of the ache in your ass every time you squirm. You cried out Mori’s name louder as pain and pleasure mixed in harmony, futher upping your bliss. You feel it coming. Your eyes rolling back as you render speechless, being able to only moan and cry Mori’s name as he finger-fucks you into ecstasy. He’s whispering soft assurances in your ear, letting you know how pleased he is with your submission to him, your stubbornness dissipating the moment he spanked you and how amazed he is that no matter how bratty you act, you’ll immediately surrender once he touch your pussy because all you really want is for him to fuck you. After all, you’re his dirty girl. Mori’s vulgar coaxing pushed you further into the edge and you plead for him to let you come.

“Aww, my brat wants to come, huh? Well,” his fingers halted, to your horror. “That’s just too bad.”

You panicked, just a little bit more and you’ll reach heaven, so you bucked your hips into his hand for more friction but without much success and to make things even worse, Mori just started to pull his fingers out and you can hear the squelch from your juices.

“Sorry, princess. That’s part of your punishment,” Mori said innocently. You whimper as your neediness for release became painful to bear. You wanted to cry right then and there, beg Mori to let you come even just once and you’ll be the bestest girl for him. Mori kissed your forehead and started to undo his scarf on your wrists.

“Mori-san, please,” you pleaded as your core continues to throb. Mori can see the pain in your eyes and he knows you’ll be willing to do almost anything right now for him to finish the job.

“Alright then, tell me,” he smiled at you warmly, a noticeable difference from his demeanor earlier. “Did you really mean it?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I belong to you, Mori-san. I’m your brat, okay? I surrender,” You said playfully putting your hands up in the air.

“No,” Mori chuckled and hugged your back, your eyes widened with his sudden affection. “I mean when you said that you hate me, do you mean it?”

Your eyes lowered, immediately feeling the guilt from the way you were treating him all this time. Maybe you’ve gone way out of line with that one. You love him, after all, and that still hasn’t changed.

“No,” you muttered. “I was just angry. I don’t really hate you.”

“And what did I do to anger my princess now, hmm?” Mori mused, feeling slightly better. You’re the last person he would ever want to hate him and he doesn’t want that day to ever come.

You debated with yourself whether to tell him but feeling Mori’s sincerity, you’ve decided it’ll be just fair, “I was jealous.”

“Jealous? Of what?”

You pouted, now feeling slightly embarrass with your reasons, “Elise.”

“Elise?” Mori adjusted you to face him, genuinely curious about your sentiment. “Why are you jealous of her? We’ve already talked about this, right? You’re different from her.”

“I know. I know. It’s just,” you retorted and averted your eyes. “You spend all your time with her every day and I thought that maybe, if I’ll just be like her then you’ll spend more time with me, too.”

Mori took a few seconds to fully grasp what you just said before laughing heartily. Your frown deepened. You just pour your heart out and here he is, laughing his ass off. You were about to tell him off when he suddenly cupped your face and kiss you. Your lips melted on each other as you wrap your arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” Mori expressed when he pulled back from your lips, “I should’ve known that you felt that way and I shouldn’t have allowed it. I should’ve made you feel special, because you are. And I shouldn’t make you forget it. I’m sorry, my princess.”

Your heart skipped. All of your anger and frustration evaporated from your chest with Mori’s sweet honesty. You cannot keep acting like you’re heartless when he’s this vulnerable. You buried your face on his chest, hiding the drop of tears running down your face. Mori stroked your hair and held you closely by his chest for a few minutes.

“Although, I kinda liked punishing you. You look so cute being bratty,” Mori cooed, squeezing you tighter.

He really knows how to ruin a mood. You pouted and pushed him back, “Well, you’re in luck because I’m not done messing with you just yet.”

Mori’s eyes glimmered in excitement, a smirk formed on his lips once again. “Then, I guess I have no choice but to fuck you into submission, huh?”

You both know this is just the beginning of your newfound game. As a matter of fact, you already have something planned. You’ve always wondered how Mori would feel if you scatter Legos all over the office for him to step on and you’re just thrilled to find out.

“I’d like to see you try,” You smirked back as Mori carried you to bed.

[joaquinfeed]

ABC’s of Arthur Fleck (fem!reader)

A/N: I’m not sure if this has been done before many times, so sorry if it’s repetitive. I saw this prompt list online and thought ‘why not?’ ALSO. I don’t know who to credit for the list. So, if you know…tell me and I’ll give credit where it’s due! :) 

A = affection (how affectionate are they in day to day life? Do they show affection publicly or keep that more in private?)

It’s no secret that Arthur is touch starved. He is always finding some way to show you his deep and meaningful affection for you. He’s not used to public display’s, and he likes to keep you all to himself, so he’ll typically opt for private moments over public ones. He absolutely adores playing with your fingers, placing soft kisses on your neck, or drawing patterns across your skin. He has to feel you to know that you’re really there.

B = best memory (what is the best memory they have with you)

Arthur finds something new every day that he swears will be his favorite memory. He cherishes every single moment with you, even the little arguments, because it all reminds him how much you love him. If he was forced to choose, he would say that his favorite memory is the first time he opened up about his mental illnesses to you. You, of course, were incredibly supportive and patient. He had never felt so loved before in his life.

C = cat or dog person (this is pretty obvious)

Arthur loves all animals, but he has always wanted a little kitten. They are playful, but not too hyper. They also don’t require as much care, and Arthur already has a lot on his plate. Although you’ve never talked about it, he secretly hopes you both will get a pet one day. 

D = dreams (what do they want to do in life?)

Besides spreading joy and laughter, his biggest dream has already come true. If Arthur could, he’d spend the rest of his life making sure that you’re happy. He wasn’t sure if he’d be a good father or not, but if a baby was something you wanted or desired, he would put every last inch of effort into making that a reality when the time is right. He barely believes that you love him unconditionally, let alone another little human. He would be grateful either way.

E = evenings (how do they spend their evening? Do they go out? Do they read?)

Arthur’s perfect evening would go like this: cuddle with you, cook you some dinner, practice his standup routine to see your pretty little smile, cuddle with you, watch the Murray Franklin show, and then cuddle with you. He couldn’t get enough of your arms around him, and if he had to save up a little extra money to buy a few more soft sweaters (just so you would lay your head on his chest), so be it. Let it be known that he’s also not opposed to spending the evening in the bedroom. He can always watch Murray another time.

F = first date (what was it like?)

It was a little awkward for the both of you. Arthur was still so new to dating, and he didn’t want to do anything wrong. Plus, neither of you are rolling in money, and so you just stayed in at Arthur’s apartment. He cooked a nice meal for the both of you, put on a Charlie Chaplin film, and introduced you to his mother, Penny. It was unconventional, all over the place, and different from what you were expecting. However, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. The night was very Arthur, and it only made you fall harder. 

G = giggle (what is their laugh like? What makes them laugh?)

He has different types of laughs. Some fill you with absolute adoration and joy. Others fill you with sadness and pain. His attacks come when he’s feeling anxious, dissociative, or under-appreciated. His beautiful, real laugh comes out while watching Murray, joking around with one another, and when he plays practical jokes on you. You taught him a few pranks because you knew they would make him happy, and boy did they. Switching sugar for salt is funny, but only the first time.

H = hugs (do they like hugs?)

He LOVES hugs. He likes ‘goodbye, I’ll see you after work’ hugs. He adores ‘we just had a fight, and I’m really sorry’ hugs.  He fonds over ‘I missed you so much’ hugs. He feels lucky to get ‘it’s okay, I’m here for you’ hugs. But his favorite hugs are ‘there’s no reason, I just wanted to be near you’ hugs. Yeah. He loves hugs.

I = instrument (do they play an instrument?) Arthur doesn’t play an instrument. When he was a child, he never had the time or money to learn. As an adult, he thinks it’s too late to try and get into the hobby. He figures he probably wouldn’t be very good at it. You assure him though, if he wants to try, you’ll find a way to make it happen. He feels music deep within him, and you know he’d be a wonderful musician.

J = joy (what brings them joy in life?)

You do. Nothing brings more happiness to Arthur’s life than you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you look at him. It’s all so overwhelming sometimes. Not many other things bring him to pure joy; Gotham hasn’t been kind to him. However, the city almost seems like Heaven when you’re around.

K = kisses (what kind of kisser are they? Shy? Passionate?)

It depends. When Arthur is feeling confident, he can take charge and definitely get caught up in the moment. His first priority is pleasing you. Early on in the relationship, he was incredibly shy. He felt like he would break you, or scare you away if he touched you too much. He’s come a long way, but he still has days where all he can give are small, timid kisses. Either way, you love them. 

L = love (how do they act when they have a crush)

Arthur doesn’t mean to, but he’s pretty obsessive. As soon as he set his sights on you, he knew he had to be near you. It took him awhile to get the courage to actually talk to you, but he admired you from afar quite a bit. 

M = memory (what’s their favourite memory?)

Again, Arthur loves every memory with you in it. His childhood memories weren’t exactly pleasant, and life before you was…difficult. He can’t wait to spend the rest of his life creating new memories with you.

N = no (what is their pet peeve?)

His biggest pet peeve is unkind behavior. Sure, he hates when people are so mean to him. Especially when he’s only been kind to the people of Gotham. But no. Unkind behavior to himself was one thing, but unkind behavior to you? It made him livid. If someone was rude, said a snarky comment, or harassed you in any way, he would furiously write his feelings down in his journal. So much so that his therapist asked when his joke diary turned into a Y/N diary. He just blushed at that.

O = occupation (what’s their dream job?)

It’s always been Arthur’s dream to be a comedian. Well, except for that one brief moment when he was a child when he wanted to be a pirate. But he doesn’t talk about that. He knows just how cruel this world can be, and he wants to spread love and joy as much as he can. What better way than making people laugh?

P = parent (what kind of parent would they be?)

Arthur would be a…nervous parent. During the pregnancy, he would be constantly afraid that you or the baby would get hurt. Not to mention, he’s read stories about women dying during labor. 

It terrifies him to think of that. 

After you and the baby were safely home, he would always make sure you both were happy and healthy. He often wrote his worries down about parenting in his notebook. A few of them being: “What if my kid thinks im as weerd as other people do?” “My baby mite have some of the same mental illnesses as me. Maybe insomneea.” Arthur also knows how bad he is at spelling. What if his child needed help with their homework? Would he be smart enough to do so? Would his kid be embarrassed by him? These thoughts often plagued Arthur’s mind. He kept it to himself for now though; he didn’t want to worry you.

Q = questions (do they believe in the super natural? Aliens? Anything along those lines)

Arthur doesn’t even know what’s real in the natural world around him. Or at the very least, he questions it quite a bit. He spends too much of his time trying to convince himself that you’re real; he hasn’t had time to think much about ghost or aliens. 

R = romantic (are they romantic during the relationship?)

Of course he is romantic. He gets discouraged by his gestures, and he wishes he could do more for you. He hopes every day that you’re not disappointed in him (you aren’t). He loves cooking you good meals, buying you flowers when he can, or taking an extra shift at HaHa’s in order to buy you a gift. He’s seriously considered selling his Charlie Chaplin movie collection to take you out to a fancy dinner. The only reason he hasn’t is because he knows you’d be upset if he did.

S = smile (what makes them smile without fail)

Is this even a question? YOU! When you’re smiling, Arthur’s smiling. The Murray show often makes him smile too, but he still loves you more. (You hope!)

T = together (how clingy are they? How long do you two spend together per day on average)

He’s pretty clingy. Being apart from you for too long makes him anxious. You’re the one who grounds him and makes him think positively. Without you, all he’s got is himself and his thoughts. Both of which, can lead him down a spiraling path. He prefers to be with you at any hour he can; if he could spend all 24 hours with you, he would.

U = unbearable (what habit do they have that’s unbearable? What habit do you have that they find unbearable?)

You love Arthur, but you hate how insecure he is. You’re patient because it makes sense, and you understand him. However, you wish more than anything that Arthur could see just how beautiful and amazing he is. You hate when he talks down about himself; after all, that’s the man you’re in love with. As for you, he likes everything about you. The only thing that irritates worry’s him at times is your need to make sure he’s okay. You’ve nearly fought people who are blatantly rude to him, and it upsets him to know that you could be hurt in the process. 

“I’m not worth it,” he’ll tell you. 

There’s that self-doubt again.

V = videos (do they take lots of videos or photos during your relationship?)

You don’t really take any videos; neither of you have the money to spend on a video camera. You do have a polaroid camera that you’ve kept with you, and you love taking pictures of Arthur. Pictures of his face are scattered around your apartment. Sometimes you’ll take pictures of yourself too and tape them where he can find them. It helps remind him that you’re real, and you love him.

W = wedding (what will the wedding be like?)

The wedding is small. Neither of you even expected to get married when you did. Arthur decided it was time to marry you, and so he asked. He saved up money for months to buy you a ring. The ring still wasn’t all that big, but you didn’t care one bit. It was beautiful to you. His speech was short and sweet, complete with nervous stutters and blushes. 

“I-I’m sorry I couldn’t buy you something better,” Arthur blushed, looking a little ashamed at the small ring he held in his hand. “But-but I wanted to marry you now. Or, I wanted to ask you. Shit! I didn’t- I didn’t ask you. Do- do you want to marry me?”

It was perfect. You both were so excited to marry one another that you couldn’t care less about the actual wedding process. That night, and way into the morning, you both surely had fun celebrating your love. 

X = eXtra (what’s an interesting fact about them that they don’t tell anyone about?)

The 1920′s silent film Treasure Island made him want to be a pirate when he was younger. He thought he would go on adventures, find treasure, and sail the open seas. As a kid, that looked like ultimate freedom. 

Y = yuck (what do they hate? Could be a food, scent, word, anything)

Arthur hates bully’s. He also hates when you shrug after he asks you something important about yourself. For example, all the times he asks what’s wrong, or why you feel insecure, or if you think you’re beautiful, and you shrug? Yeah, he hates that. He knows you might just need some time, but he doesn’t like to see you upset.

Z = zzzz (how heavy of a sleeper are they? How do they sleep? What mood do they wake up in? Really any sleeping headcanons)

Arthur is a heavy sleeper when he can actually fall asleep. Because of his insomnia, he has a hard time getting to sleep and staying asleep. You often find yourself awake with him, keeping him company or stroking his hair until he’s tired again. When he does get a few hours in, you try to be as quiet as humanly possible so you don’t wake him up. Arthur loves falling asleep with you tucked into his side, or he into yours. He has to admit, he’s never slept more peacefully than with you by his side.

[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

[ginnyzero]

Completely Harmless Ch. 54

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Fifty-Four CHILL-ax during Happy Horse Week!

The decorations were approved by other clubs while the few votes against them were roundly ignored. It helped that gave everyone a goodie bag and had a snack table set up with their treats and cups of apple cider mixed with ginger ale. The marble balloons had been turned into arches and pillars. She’d borrowed the flag banners from Jorvik Stable to show off what things would look like complete with hay bales.

The Councilman hadn’t been too happy about the hay bales, but Kate had promised to clean.

Everyone was relieved that Lily was okay. And they were more than willing to take shifts at the council house in order to help make the decorations they needed between breaks in training. Training that was more important than they realized.

In fact, it was Herman that clued Lily in as she waited her turn to run through the show jumping event set up in the Arena.

“Really looking forward to seeing all you girls at the County Fair this year,” he said with a big grin on his face. Leaning against the fence of the riding arena he looked almost lazy as he watched the girls.

Lily looked down at him and put a hand on her horse’s neck. “Herman, I think you’re forgetting that most of us have never lived here before. Or should I be asking Linda or Pauline?”

Herman glanced up, the grin didn’t fade. “Didn’t forget. Didn’t know you didn’t know.”

Lily rolled her eyes. Her stallion tossed his mane.

“There’s an eventing contest held at the County Fair every year. It’s the first qualifier for the Claymore Challenge. Every club comes and tries out. Course, last year, and the year before that, and the year before that, was just the Bobcats and the Bulldogz. Be nice to see them have a bit of competition.”

Lily’s brow furrowed. “But we’re collecting ribbons,” she said slowly drawing it out.

“Gotta train your horse and get it into condition so it knows what it’s doing. Practice is one thing, Lily girl, doing exhibition is another. The lights, the crowds, you don’t know how your horse is going to react. Depends on the crowd too.” Herman sucked his teeth. “Yep, some mighty fine riders in practice can’t make it through exhibitions.”

Lily pressed her tongue to her back teeth and looked off to the side as her brows furrowed. “Qualifiers,” she said after a few moments and not coming into any conclusions.

“Yep, helps me winnow it down. I know you’re all doing well in your ribbons. You can’t all go to the Claymore Challenge as much as I’d like to send you all. One Club per county. Thems the rules.”

Lily looked down at him. “I wasn’t given any rule list when I made the club. How many members are we allowed to have maximum anyways?”

“Fifty.”

Lily blinked. There went the plan to merge clubs to get around that pesky rule. “Well, we’re a bit beyond 100 people, Herman. I think we’re hitting closer to 200.”

Herman grinned. “And you wouldn’t believe how proud I am of that, all of you choosing to leave Moorland and form clubs to help out the district. Brings a tear to me old eyes, it does.”

Lily snorted. She shifted her attention. Tracey rode around the track keeping her posture upright as her stallion took the turns.

“You’re doing good things,” Herman rocked back and forth on his feet.

“If you say so,” Lily glanced back at him.

“You don’t think so?”

“I think I’m doing what needs to be done whether it’s good or bad, I can’t say.” Lily gripped the reins in her hands turning them over between her fingers. “I’m doing the best I can or we are, or I hope we are. One never knows. You have a lot of things you don’t tell newcomers, like, qualifiers being at the County Fair.”

Herman chuckled. “You’re revitalizing this county.”

“You didn’t need me for that, you just needed to act.”

“Mrs. X of CHILL wants to meet you,” Herman said.

“Fancy that,” Lily said in a dry voice. “I’m not surprised.”

“Alone.”

“Of course,” Lily murmured. “Because what other way do you meet the leader of a secret organization that,” she paused. “What does CHILL do?”

“Put nails in the road for G.E.D.,” Herman said.

“Your horse idioms are so lovely, Herman,” Lily said. “Where is she?”

“Observatory 12 in Epona.”

Lily backed her stallion away from the fence. “And let me guess, she wants to see me as soon as possible.”

“You know how this works.”

“Way too many crime shows, way, way too many.”

Herman laughed.

“How cliché can you get?” Lily muttered and nudged her horse into a trot. The nearest transport to the Observatory was in Crescent Moon Village she thought. Hillcrest and the Dews Farm in Epona were getting transports set up still. Hillcrest’s was in need of a major repair since someone had tried to use the truck to ram the wall. (It hadn’t worked.)

She took the transport to Crescent Moon Village and went directly down the road through the Marsh and up the side of the mountain to the Observatory perched on the edge of the Cauldron opposite of Hillcrest.

Dismounting, she opened the huge doors of the observatory a crack and slipped inside.

It wasn’t as dark as she’d thought it be. Sunlight streamed in through the small windows illuminating the place.

“I’m glad you came,” Mrs. X said from the middle of the room. She smoothed the skirt of her ankle length green dress, but a deep hood obscured her face.

Lily stepped closer. Mrs. X’s face was also covered with a mask. Crossing her arms, Lily stopped. “I don’t deal with people who hide their faces.”

“My identity is a closely guarded secret, one I’d like to keep that way.”

Lily pressed her lips together. “You’re either trying to recruit me. Or, you have a message for me. Spit it out one or the other.”

“You’ve impressed me.”

“Funny, you don’t sound impressed.”

“You’ve interfered with a major operation. Hillcrest is only a small part of the G.E.D.’s plans for the Harvest and Epona Districts. You’ve set me back months of work.”

“You, lady, are a vigilante.” Lily lifted a finger off of her arm. “You run around in the shadows not sharing information with the authorities, and causing more problems than you solve because you won’t work within the boundaries of the law.”

“The law has failed us.”

“So, Bernie Winterwell didn’t want to leave his house and was happy to be bribed. Was it a moral failing? Or is House of Winterwell in dire straits? Or is there another reason? I don’t know. I don’t care. If Baron Winterwell isn’t doing what you need to do, you go to Count Marchenghast.”

“He’s ill. The Countess is overwhelmed. They’re too young and inexperienced to handle the G.E.D.”

Lily’s lips parted. “Really? Because, Mrs. X., I’m what, sixteen, and I’ve handled them just fine by oh, seeing that they don’t have the proper paperwork or you know, put people in actual danger and taken this to the people in charge like the Rangers and the nobles who run this county and they’ve managed to take care of things with the information me and my girls have provided them. I do not feel that the people of Hillcrest are an acceptable sacrifice so you can try to stop the grander scheme and get the higher ups.”

“You are too young to understand.”

“I understand that right now you’re no better than the druids, most of whom, also wear hoods and also, who I will not have anything to do with unless they show their faces. Here’s my message to you, it’s the same one I gave to Elizabeth Sunbeam. You lead and take action instead of observing and waiting. You follow. Or you get the hell out of my way. The people of Hillcrest will not thank you for standing by and watching.”

“Jarlaheim is in great danger. You don’t understand how great.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Yes. We know. You remember Mayor Elaine. She was in Hillcrest. She knew what Ms. Drake was up to. Ms. Drake has been arrested. Given her lawyers, she probably won’t be in there for long. But it’s a good way to stall them and give time for Mayor Elaine to recover and take control over Jarlaheim.” Lily turned on her toe and grabbed the door. Pulling it open, she looked over her shoulder. “Come out of the shadows, Mrs. X, and into the light.” She walked out shutting the door gently behind her.

“People,” she said to her stallion.

He whuffled.

Lily mounted and turned him around down the mountain. “Vigilantism, peh.”

He nodded his head.

“Jarlaheim is in great danger,” Lily mocked. “Gee, you think? I mean, there aren’t four dig sites around the place, probably illegal dig sites, run by the G.E.D. if it’s not in great danger. Like, I don’t have girls in every stable and town and farm in this county by now. And do you know what we teenage girls like to do?”

He knocked his ear back seemingly interested.

“Share information. People might call this gossip. Because they only hear about who is dating who and who is fighting and what embarrassing thing happened to so and so this week. But there is important information among the trivia.” She patted his neck. “Sometimes, if the mare is fat, it’s not that she’s actually fat, she’s pregnant.”

He whinnied.

“Exactly, you get it.” Lily let him trot down the road. “Diabolical corporations. Aliens. Witches. Ghosts. Aliens running diabolical corporations. Druids. Chipmunks and squirrels as spies. Magic horses. Now vigilantes.”

He nodded his head.

“Nahnahnahnahnahnahnah, Batman!”

Her horse whinnied again.

She quieted as she got out of the marsh and into the village. She hummed “Spider-man, spider-man, does whatever a spider can,” under her breath as they passed Hayden’s house.

She took the transport back to Jorvik Stables.

When Herman asked her how it went, she replied with, “It went.”

--

The decorations were ready in time for Happy Horse week, if barely. Barney had helped them by using the vinyl wall art to make plywood versions of the horse silhouettes with his wooden scroll saw. He’d also made them horse heads to vary up the horse shoes and hang their smaller horse garlands from. They weren’t allowed to touch his saw. They could lose fingers if they weren’t careful. Plus, he was making the silhouettes five or six at a time to save time. Each stable and town had at least one of each galloping, show jumping, and dressage silhouette. Carney Summers had been busy making race signs for everyone.

But everything was painted, glittered, glued together, whatever needed to be done in time to decorate for the week. Metal and plastic buckets had ribbons and bows on them. Plastic helmets also had bows and rhinestones and gold trim. They wrapped fancy striped ribbons in Jorvik national colors around every extra haybale they were strewing about for decorations. (And handy seating for the tired parents.)

So, the day before Happy Horse Week was also busy instead of training, they were decorating and making sure everything was out and just so. They’d put together plenty of snacks for the tables and had decided that mint candies went in predominantly blue favor cones, and granola went in predominantly green favor cones.

Putting together the selfie walls had been a bit easier now they were at the third time around. They used the triangular and horse shoe garlands to drape the circle. Put plenty of championship ribbons on the upper left hand side. Put together a pillar or arch out of marble balloons and made sure there were hobby horses and stuffed plushies (fresh from Fort Pinta) out for people to use as props.

Agnetha has pursed her lips at the arches of balloons in front of the rose archway and on each side of the bandstand, but she hadn’t said anything dire.

Thinking ahead, they set up the pavilion so people could decorate their own buckets and helmets if they wanted to do so. They even had championship ribbons for name badges.

They had to rearrange the jumps in the riding arena. (That gave them time to decorate it.) Though the Rose Arches remained firmly in place. And put together the special race tracks for the cross country races through the grape fields.

It was a good thing that they had extra decorations and banners, because just in time for Happy Horse Week, the Silverglade Oval Track was ready to open and it needed to be decorated as well.

Pia and Ingrid sent pictures of the Art Show and Flea Market respectively. Everything was horse themed! Pia had plenty of exclamation points. She never asked for it to be that way!

They had to help transport the cake from Ma Anna’s Pastry Shop in Firgrove all the way to Moorland. They transported it in separate tiers thank goodness, but they still wanted an escort for some reason. When it was put together, the bottom three tiers were sold colored, there was a blue tier, a green tier, and a white tier. Then the top two tiers, one had stripes, and the smallest was white with green and blue polka dots. They stuck a large golden harp in the top of it as a topper.

The tables for the Moorland feast were set out. And there were extra tables so they could set out the grab bags, horse masks, party hats, and horse ears for the kids. The Farmer’s Market bustled with happy people who were more than happy to put up another tent for the Carnival games of bobbing for apples, pig pen, horse shoes, hobby horse races, and pin the tail on the horse. They had a special spot for the pinatas (and plenty of them.) And a booth all set up so everyone could get their face painted.

Realizing they’d forgotten prizes for said games, Kate and her club ran to Jorvik City to get more of the prizes like they had in the grab bags. (Because why not try to collect them all, according to Regina. She was roundly reminded, again, that this wasn’t Pokemon!)

The Timber Wolves escorted Andy’s petting zoo down and helped him set it up at the same time they brought down the cake.

It was quite the whirl of activity.

No one was sure who exactly hid the Golden Horse Shoes, only, that they were hidden.

So, everyone was excited the first day of Happy Horse Week, despite the fact that they’d had to make a schedule so there were people minding the races, giving beginning riding lessons, doing the lunge informational event, the craft pavilion, and the snack booth.

“Where do we want to go first?” Was the biggest question. Firfall was having a jousting demonstration at their medieval fair. There was the County Fair to check out too with all the food, and booths, and games, and they had to keep an eye on the competition up there with the eventing qualifiers. Or, they could go to Moorland and get a slice of carrot cake or apple spice cake (or both) and go straight to the Farmer’s Market to do games there. Or, they go to Fort Pinta and grab Token Takes Jorvik, buy a horse plushy if they didn’t already have a stuffed lovie of their own and start on the different challenges, plushy vacation pictures, Andy’s Geocaching, and Hayden’s Spider Hunt.

More than a few of them though were bowing out of Hayden’s Spider Hunt.

“No thank you,” they said.

They knew they’d see all of it. It was a matter of did they want to watch a pie eating contest at the County Fair or not? There was going to be a demonstration of a flat track oval race too that sounded interesting. They all agreed that they wanted to see the horse rubber duck race. That sounded too funny not to see.

The last day was the Light Ride.

It was with light hearts that they made their schedule and took to explore the county during Happy Horse Week. (They had Golden Horseshoes to find!) The first place they had to go was the Silverglade Oval Track ribbon cutting ceremony!

--

Loretta shifted her weight on top of her white stallion, the pink of her showjumping jacket setting off her fair complexion. Lily cynically thought that was the reason why the Bobcats colors happened to be pink. Loretta looked good in it. Loretta glanced over at her. “What are you doing here?”

Lily tugged down the sleeves of her own showjumping jacket, light purple. (Thought she’d the option of a dark purple or mulberry color.) “Same as you, I suspect. Claymore Challenge qualifiers.”

Loretta’s eyes widened. “No. No. You can’t. Your clubs are too,” she trailed off.

“Too what? We’ve qualified. We’ve earned the ribbons.” Lily looked down her nose at her. Had Loretta forgotten about the fact that more clubs meant more competition?

“You haven’t been around long enough to train your horses to be competition ready,” Loretta curled her lip. “You’ve been too busy doing other things.”

Lily leaned forward a bit resting her weight on her folded hands. “Not for the last month, month and a half. You don’t want to train for more than a couple hours every day and risk hurting the horse.”

“But you couldn’t have earned enough ribbons.”

Lily smirked at her. “I did.”

“That’s not right.” Loretta frowned.

“Take it up with Herman.” Lily shrugged. She tilted her head.

The Announcer’s voice rang out. “President of the Bobcats, Loretta.”

“You’re up,” Lily told her.

Rattled, Loretta nudged her stallion into a trot to take the arena.

Lily narrowed her eyes and watched. Either Loretta wasn’t as good as she claimed to be or Lily’s appearance as the next competitor after her had truly rattled her. She missed several jumps knocking down the bars.

When Loretta came off the field she looked furious. She stopped her horse by Lily. “If someone like you who isn’t even from Jorvik keeps me from going to the Claymore Challenge again,” she started.

“Again?” Lily raised a brow. “Last I checked the rules, Jorvik citizenship wasn’t required to compete, only belonging to a Riding Club in Jorvik in good standing.”

Loretta sucked her cheeks in and trotted off. “I won’t be defeated.”

Lily watched her go and put a hand on her horse’s neck. “And President of the Silverglade Equestrian Center’s Silver Drakes, Lily,” The Announcer said.

Lily squared her shoulders. She had an event to do. She could wonder who had beat out Loretta last time. Lisa. Linda. Or Anne?

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

[shhh-no-ones-home]

ambiguous chris motionless x reader

+++++++++ Okay so I had a dream similar to this and was like 'yes, must write.' then I realized that y'all probably wouldn't like the actual dream cause it turned into some weird form of the Halloween movies with my family rather than the band and it was just super weird, trust me. So I wrote the first half with some changes lol.

then I was listening to miw on shuffle and thought this song worked perfectly for this weird dream I just had and I've never written an miw fic to an miw song so if it's odd listen to something else? 🤷

ngl she unedited, ill probably re-edit in a week or two, ope

Song: brand new numb by motionless in white

tag list: @thisplace-ishaunted @ryansitkowskiswifey @alilpunkrock @theoneandonlykymberlee @svintsandghosts @cynic-spirit +++++++++

I sat at the table on the bus and doodled. It had been a slow night and everyone was out partying still. So I sat alone. Then I heard the door click.

"Hello."

I called out like I normally did, not turning around to see who had actually come in the door.

"Hi."

Chris said a little out of breath. I just kept sketching. I looked up at him briefly to see him open the fridge but returned my attention to my drawing.

"Back so soon?"

I asked, Shading in one of my doodles. He hummed back a yes before sitting right next to me. Really close too. I looked up at him before looking across me at the empty booth. He could have sat over there but no he chose to practically sit on me he was so close.

"Can I help you?"

I asked, trying to scoot a little closer to the wall. He just took another drink.

"Nope."

I scrunched my brows together, shook my head, and went back to doodling.

"That's cute."

He said. I looked up at him admiring my half worked bullshit and shrugged.

"Thanks."

He leaned forward on the table and stared at my paper. After a few minutes it started to get to me.

"Okay, what is your deal?"

I tossed my pencil to the table and sat back, crossing my arms over my chest and looking at him. He just shrugged.

"Do I have to have a deal? I'm just enjoying your company."

I sent him a look.

"Well that's a first. I thought you hated me."

He laughed a little bit.

"Why would I hate you?"

"Really? You want me to go through all the times we've been at each other's throats on little shit? How we avoid each other all the time?"

He shook his head.

"Okay fine, those things may be true but I don't hate you. If anything I admire you."

I loosened my arms a little bit, confusion written all over my face.

"You admire me?"

He nodded.

"Of course I do. You're a super strong leader and you get shit done. I guess it just seems like I hate you cause I'm jealous. I wanna be like that but half the time no one listens cause I'm just another one of the guys. And like we share ideas and stuff but it's never the same."

He pouted a little bit and I just laughed in disbelief.

"You're jealous of me? Holy shit."

He looked back at me, brow raised.

"Is that really that hard to believe?"

I leaned forward into the table like he had done.

"All this time I just thought it was cause I was pushy and spoke my mind and don't take shit from anyone."

He nodded.

"That's exactly what it is, but I don't hate you for it, I admire you for it. Do you know what I would give to be like that? To not let things bother me? To speak my mind with out thinking of the consequences? To push back and take what's mine?"

I held my hands up in defense.

"Okay okay, I get it. But the thing is half the time I don't even realize I'm doing it. I've gotten so used to it I don't even notice. It's just who I am now."

He nodded in understanding.

"Do you think you could teach me?"

I raised a brow.

"You willing to let me be around you that often? Cause it takes time."

He thought for a second and side nodded.

"I think so, yeah."

I smiled at him.

"Then sure, if love to help you unlearn being a push over."

He sent me a testing look.

"Okay we both know I'm not a push over. I know what I want, when I want it, and how I want it. I just need a little help on the execution, and making people see things my way."

I laughed a little bit.

"You know this is gonna make us a very dangerous team right? Someone as up front as you and someone as pig headed as me? The teams gonna be ready to kill us both by the time tour is over."

He shrugged.

"Not necessarily, no one said we had to stop being fun."

I laughed at him.

"I guess you're right."

I shook my head and looked back to my drawing, picking up my pencil.

"Was there anything else you wanted to get out of the way while you are sitting oh so close to me or...?"

I looked up at him and he had a huge smile plastered on his face.

"Actually yeah but you gotta say yes or no first."

"So I have to answer the question before I even know what it is?"

He nodded.

"Just tell me, yes or no."

I sighed and shook my head.

"Fine, I'll go with yes."

His eyes lit up.

"Great!"

Before I knew what was happening I was kissing him back like my life depended on it. His one hand was placed firmly against my back, not that I could back any further away or anything. Our lips moved together until I couldn't breathe anymore. I pushed him away and we both panted.

"What was that?"

I asked between breaths. He just smiled at me.

"Well the question was would it be alright if I kissed you? And with the way you were kissing me back if day you chose right."

He winked at me and I shook my head.

"What if I would've said no?"

He just shrugged.

"Guess I would've left."

I laughed and wrapped my arms around his neck.

"Guess it's a good thing you didn't."

I pulled him to me and kissed him again, deeper this time. As we moved against each other I felt him slide his hand down my thigh, bringing my legs into his lap and leaning into me. I held him to me as we made out. That is until Ryan walked onto the bus.

"You dog!"

He laughed, causing us to pull away from each other.

"Please don't tell anyone."

I said quickly, turning to ryan. He just smirked at me.

"No promises."

We both looked at each other panicked until I noticed Chris's makeup smeared all over his face and started laughing. Chris and Ryan just exchanged glances.

"What's so funny?"

I wiped my mouth with my arm and just shook my head at the long smear of black along it now. I just shook my head.

"Nothing, let's just say there would be evidence if anyone else came on."

He cocked an eyebrow before I pull d him to me and kissed him gently.

"Maybe you should go take the rest of your makeup off."

His eyes went wide before he rolled his eyes at himself.

"Shit, I forgot."

As he stood up he pointed at Ryan.

"Not a word to anybody."

Ryan just held his hands up in defense.

"Not a word."

[leonkennedystuff]

not alone p.2 (leon kennedy x reader)

[RE4!Leon]

Summary: wherein reader finally confronts leon about ada wong

Warnings: angst, swearing, underage drinking, descriptions of mental illness, mentions of broken family (?)

Part 2 of 2

holy crap, you guys. This is probably the longest chapter I’ve ever written in my LIFE. I got so carried away making this oops I’m sorry but wah! I’m so happy it’s finally done! Hope you guys enjoy!

Weary (E/C) eyes staring blankly outside the window, the budding feeling of depression pays you another visit– like a viper, it coils around your scorned heart tighter and tighter, choking you. 

It’s been 6 days since that horrid fight with your longtime boyfriend, Leon Kennedy, and your insatiable sadness was the only friend you let in and comfort you. You knew you were coping with this unhealthily, you were aware you were setting yourself up for disaster, but you honestly could care less. You barely felt the discomforts anyway; you didn’t give no mind to how weak or hungry or tired or numb you felt all over. You just didn’t have the energy or the will. You felt, for a lack of better words, dead – and the last memory you had before you died was that fucking fight.

On that same night, you left your shared apartment; you packed a bag and practically had to force your way out because Leon kept trying to stop you, blocking the door, pleading with you to talk your problem through. Despite how vulnerable you were feeling though, you didn’t budge – refusing him his request, refusing to hear anything else about his standing with Ada Wong. 

Relentless attempts after relentless attempts, he figured his pleas were falling on deaf ears. He eventually lets you go. Watching you leave - it was like the biggest part of his heart left with you. He’s never felt so empty, and you weren’t doing so well either.

That was the last time you’ve seen or spoken with Leon; his messages on your phone, the calls you were rejecting - they continued to grow almost hourly, but you had no plan on answering them. Not now, at least. You needed to heal; reading his words or hearing his voice, your emotions would overshadow your logic. You knew you’d succumb to how much you missed him and you had to be stronger than that.

Currently (and for the past 6 days), you’ve been squatting at your best friend’s apartment. Claire Redfield has been your constant person ever since you were children; your family and the Redfields have been long-time friends and you got along with her just like your parents did. You’ve never trusted anyone the same way you did her, at least not until Leon entered your life almost a decade after.

When you met Leon, you were 19 and had just moved into a new city to pursue your degree in Nursing. You were no philanthropist but you always wanted a career that revolved around helping others, it was a striking similarity you and him shared. 

One night long ago, you were invited by some classmates to go drinking in a bar, a bar that was a favorite among students because they didn’t check ID – and that was when you saw him for the first time. 

You almost smile at the fond memory.

He was with a bunch of loud, intoxicated and rowdy cadets from the police academy not so far from your school, he stuck out like a sore thumb because of how awkward he looked with them. Definitely, the comradery with him and everyone in that group was evident but he just seemed so out-of-place as the other guys hustled around, trapping him in the middle of their wild antics. Although you thought it was funny, you also remember feeling bad for him.

It was around 2 in the morning when you decided you really had enough drinks and were going to call it a night. 

Despite the protests of your friends, you bid them a woozy goodbye and started heading out of the still cramp, neon-signed local bar. You barely made it a foot out the door when your drunk body doubled over, the urge to puke out the excess alcohol making your already dizzy head spin more. This wasn’t your first time drinking, absolutely not, but this was the first time you drank more than you could handle. 

Did you regret it? Even with the throbbing hangover you had the next day - no, you don’t, because if it weren’t for you getting so shit-faced, you don’t think you would have had the interaction you did with Leon.

“Someone really enjoyed their night,” A pleasant voice resonates from behind, teasing you. Too out of it to check the face it belonged to, you remain as you are – your knees on the rough pavement while your head hovered over a bush. “That makes one of us,” He notes, his mild amusement and his voice drawing closer as he walks to where you were.

“Do you need help?” He asks, his badinage tone now mixed with a hint of genuine concern. When you feel him settle beside you, bending a knee so he was at your level and so that he can take a better look at how wasted you were, you finally turn just enough to see who this enigmatic joker was.

For a second, you felt like you sobered up at the mere sight of him. Initially, from his attire – a plain white shirt clouded by a navy-blue windbreaker and fitted black pants- you recognized him as the awkward dude from the big crowd, but your attention shifts from that after your gaze falls on his face.

My God – you wondered just how drunk you were to have your beer goggles be this misleading. There was no way, you thought, that anyone could look this heavenly.

A dirty-blonde guy with fringes framing his fresh face looked to be the same age as you; he had a small smile on his plump pink lips. He was saying something, his mouth was moving, but it’s like you’ve suddenly turned deaf. You were so fixated on his looks.

You note how structured his features are, like a sculpture, his jaw was ample and strong and contrasted well with the fullness of his rosy cheeks. He had beauty marks decorating his clear skin, two on his neck and one small one beside his celestial nose. The real star, though, were his eyes. They were bluer than blue, like sapphires and moonstones.

Who the hell was this dude?

“So, are you going to tell me or should I just guess?” He cocks a dark eyebrow, his playful demeanor returning. Snapping out of your trance, you just blink at him, confused.

Oh right, he was talking.

“What?” You manage to find your voice but hate how raspy it sounded even to your own ears. He chuckles, looking down. His long eyelashes flutter as he subconsciously checks your body for any wounds or bruises you may have gotten in your buzzed state.

“I was asking for your name,” He repeats himself, clearly finding the cute but besotted girl humorous.

Your own cheeky personality coming out, you give him a curious squint. “What’s it to you?” You question, “I happen to be very familiar with the saying–“ You lean forward a bit to be dramatic but stagger a little. As if on instinct, the blonde holds you by the shoulders. It was almost impossible to ignore the flurry of sensation building under your skin where his hands were. “-‘stranger danger’,” You finish off with air-quotations, keeping your cool.

The guy laughs again, the luxuriance of it making your own mouth curl upwards in a smile.

“Maybe you’ll feel better knowing I’m training to be a cop?” He offers, riding along with your banter. You shake your head, “No, I’ve heard stories of serial killer police men. All charming and dutiful and handsome – you could definitely be in the list and I’m not risking it,”

With that, Leon’s face lights up with a surprised expression. You also note how his confident demeanor suddenly shifted into a coy one. You nearly raise your eyebrows in question but realize soon after why. 

Damn your drunk tendencies!

Now amply embarrassed, you open your mouth to apologize but were cut off with his bona fide smile. “You’ll just have to trust that I’m going to be one of the good ones,” He says, his voice softer but seemingly warmer. “I’m Leon Kennedy,” He introduces himself, earnestly outstretching a hand for you to shake. You take it, a blush undoubtedly heating up your face.

“(Y/N) (L/N),” You respond.

That night, Leon walked you back to your dormitory and the rest became history. It didn’t take long for you both to develop the feelings sparked by the night you met – it was only a matter of a few months until he finally confessed the obvious affection you had for one another. You both agreed, though, to remain as friends until you both graduated.

Your ‘remain as friends’ phase lasted almost 2 years, but you didn’t mind because you were so in love with him and he, you. You’ve never been happier. When you graduated from college and him from police academy, he wasted no time asking you to be together. 

You couldn’t wait to finally tell Claire all about it; you’ve updated her that there was someone you were seeing but left it at that until you and Leon were official. You planned to meet with Claire the day after Leon left for Raccoon City, also the day that she’d be coming back from the same place to check up on her older brother, Chris.

Of course, everyone knew about the tragic events that lead to the death of hundreds and thousands of people in Raccoon. When the outbreak first spread, you heard about it in the television and nearly fainted in the hospital you were working as a trainee nurse. You thought you could die right then and there – your body and your heart unable to cope with the distress plaguing your head. For nights on end, you couldn’t sleep and, the rare times you were able to, it was due to fatigue from crying so much. 

You couldn’t fathom the thought of either Leon or Claire in danger, hurt, or worse.

When you received the most gratifying news though that they both made it out alive and clear from the horrific infection, you felt lucid. You don’t remember crying as hard as you did that day. When you found out that Claire and Leon actually ran into each other during the outbreak, you started to bawl again. They took up the deepest crevices of your heart.

You scoff softly at that.

Look how that now turned out in your favor. Half of it was broken beyond repair.

Suddenly, for the nth time this night, your phone blares in the dreary guest room you occupied, disrupting the welcomed silence. Your reverie broken, you sit up sluggishly on the bed too big for one person, your gaze indolently shifting to the vibrating device beside you. You didn’t need to think twice or wonder who it could be; your heart was already clenching knowing it was him.

With the heaviest feeling settled in your chest, you bring yourself to push your phone away, to push Leon away. To think nearly six years of your life was spent being with someone who might not have been entirely set on you after all…

You lay back down on the soft, silky sheets and close your exhausted eyes until the only noise left was your wounded sobbing. Inconsolable, dismal, helpless.

Alone with your wayward thoughts, another painful feeling creeps up your chest – although he was a persistent and tenacious man, you were sure he’ll eventually tire from reaching out just to have you ignore him. How long will it take until he finally gives up? How long will it take until he’s moved on from you? Will he be with Ada?

Too lost in your own sorrow, you almost didn’t hear the soft knocks resonating from the other side of the door. “(Y/N)?”

Startled, you bring your pounding head up. For a moment, you weren’t sure whether you imagined the sound. “Yeah?” You croak, your voice scratchy and barely there. You’ve misused yourself for the past few days and it was beginning to show.

“It’s me,” Claire leans her cheek on the door, pressing an ear to the wood. “Can I come in?”

You prop yourself upright a second time and a sudden wave of vertigo hits you. You lean back on the headboard, your vision dancing with stars. You wait until the dizzy feeling passes before you reply. “Of course,” You say, finding it a bit ridiculous that she had to ask permission in her own place.

Not a moment after your thumbs-up, the door creaks open and a crack of light from the hallway floods the room, illuminating your friend’s sympathetic face. “How are you holding up?” She checks on you, entering the room fully. You see she brought a glass of water and a cookie on a plate.

You smile, genuinely touched by the sweet gesture. Claire makes her way to you and settles down on the bed; she brings her feet up so she can sit with her legs crossed. The mattress rocks slightly as she shifts to a more comfortable position, turning the bedside lamp on. You wince at the orange light.

She hands you the glass of water, which you gratefully take from her hold and sip from, and places the huge chocolate chip cookie towards your body. She looks almost expectant but you pretend not to notice; you really couldn’t bring yourself to eat. 

Claire knew what was up though and, thankfully, she didn’t try to push it. It was always something you appreciated about her – she wasn’t overbearing, she didn’t try to impose or force anything. She just gives her 2 cents and leaves it to your better judgement; you respected that a lot.

“Still the same, unfortunately,” You crack a halfhearted chuckle, trying to sound better than you really felt. You look down and away from the sad look in Claire’s eyes, obviously seeing past the fabricated act. Wanting not to dwell in her scrutiny, you reach for the still warm cookie and break off a small chunk, bringing it to your mouth. It tasted heavenly – her food always did, but you couldn’t enjoy it.

“It’s good,” You comment with a nod, your eyes still anywhere but on the brunette girl in front of you. Of course, you were trying to evade the conversation that dealt with talking about how you were feeling.

You open your mouth, to apologize for being so detached, but her hand suddenly on your thigh catches you off-guard. You look at her to see her smiling. “How about we take a walk? Maybe visit the ice cream shop right before the curb? I’ve been wanting to check the place out,” She suggests with a thoughtful cock of her head, her dark brown hair swaying with her movements. 

She leans in a bit, her knowing expression deepening as she gives your leg a pat. “And it’ll do you some good to get some fresh air.”

Claire had a point, you acknowledged. Although you didn’t want to, going outside would probably help distract from your stuffy thoughts, especially considering that you’ve been camped in this apartment almost the entire time you were here. You note that Claire probably blew her plans off just to accommodate you. This is the least you can grant her.

“Okay, yeah, let’s do it.” You crack a smile, shifting your weight so you could swing your legs off the bed. Claire, who looked a little surprised from your answer, blinks before a big grin appears on her face. She gets up as well, “Alright! Just let me get changed,” She says, gesturing to her olive-green baseball tee and black sweatpants. 

You chuckle, nodding.

When the door closes behind her, you swap your pajamas as well for some leggings and a grey hoodie two sizes too big on your frame. Your hand moves its way to feel the letters of the police academy Leon attended bolded in the center; you didn’t realize you’ve packed it but now it’s the only thing you wanted to wear.

You let yourself. Considering you didn’t allow to talk or reach out to him, this will help you cope.

You sigh. You just couldn’t believe how complicated it’s gotten.

After taming your (H/C) hair into a ponytail and trudging out of your room, you enter the living space and the first thing that caught your eye was a small white envelope in front of the main door. It was most probably slipped in through the crack.

You walk towards it, your heartbeat picking up speed for a reason unknown to you. Crouching down to get a better look, you take it in your hands. It was plain until you turned it over.

A red kiss mark.

Your breath hitches – you knew point-blank exactly who this was from. No doubts, no second thoughts. 

Why the fuck has she sent this? How did she know where you were? Did Leon tell her about your fight?

“Unbelievable,” You hissed under your ragged breath, clenching your fists. With your stomach churning, your eyes brim with tears as you angrily tear it open. Your chest felt so constricted, it was almost painful to breathe.

               Hope you don’t mind that I told him your whereabouts.                                                                                  -A.W.

Just one sentence – just that one sentence was enough to get you bawling your eyes out. Even though it lacked reason for you to be this heavily affected, it was the mere fact that it meant Leon had reached out to Ada again. You visibly started to shake. 

You’ve had enough of this shit.

“You ready to head ou-“ Claire’s smile falls the moment she saw your slumped and trembling figure by the door, her crystal blue eyes growing wide with worry. She practically runs over to you, dropping to her knees and draping an arm around your shoulders. 

You were inconsolable, violent sobs rocking your body.

“(Y/N), what –“ Her sentence was left hanging in the air as she saw the poorly torn white envelope and letter in your hands. She cautiously takes it from your iron grip and reads what was written; her anger flares right away.

Before she had the chance to bust out her profanities, a loud series of knocks resonate from the door. Claire gets up and, because she was too overcome with ill feelings, didn’t bother to check the peephole. She swings the door open and immediately wished she hadn’t.

Leon Kennedy stood before her; his impossibly blue eyes were rid of any warmth – they looked exhausted, lidded and tired, and the dark bags under them seemed to weigh them down more. His body was stiff with tension, his usually groomed hair was in its messiest state she’d ever seen and, really, just his whole aura was thick with dread. 

He was a mirror image of you.

If it weren’t for how angry and disappointed Claire was with him, she would have felt bad seeing him in his weary state. Claire always looked so highly of Leon; she saw how pure, sincere and brave his character was in light of the events they experienced in Raccoon City. 

So, when she found out he was the man you were seeing? She approved of the relationship right off the bat, loving him for you. Claire knew, though, about the problem with the woman in red but she didn’t realize how bad it actually was to have this whole thing happen.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here, Leon,” She scowls, chastising, crossing her arms over her chest. He looks down and takes the harshness of her words; he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting this to happen. “Can I please see her?” His voice was hoarse.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,”

“It’s okay, I want to talk to him.”

Claire twists around to look at you. Your eyes were hard on the man whose heart had just skipped after being unable to see you or hear your voice for nearly a week. He recognizes the hoodie you had on and the ache in his chest tripled.

Despite your own heart jumping, your fury overclouded any feeling of longing. The letter crumples under your hand.

Claire gives you an expression as if to ask ‘Are you sure?’ and you nod. With one last look at the crestfallen male, she turns on her heel and leaves the premise to give you both some privacy.

“(Y/N)-“ Leon starts, taking a step towards you. You backtrack harshly.

Couldn’t he take a hint?

“Where’s Ada?” You grit your teeth, trying to keep your melting composure together. So much for a proper greeting. “I’m surprised you’ve bothered to come here, or that you even thought of me at all.”

Leon’s already fallen face sinks further, your words deepening the terrible pain the last few days have imbedded in him. If you only knew what the man’s been through; he could barely function not knowing where you were or who you were with or how you were doing and it showed in his present state. Ada, or at least the interaction you assumed happened between them, never reached reality.

“(Y/N),” He sighs, arduous, running a palm down his slightly stubbled cheek. The fact that you were so near but he couldn’t hold you made the inside of his chest itch. “Please, stop being like that. I want to talk this out. Properly. I don’t want Ada to be in this conversation,” He says, unable to keep the frustration from appearing in his tone.

Your anger grows. “That’s rich coming from you, especially when you hired her as your personal investigator,” You bring your clenched hand up and finally show to him the letter. “Here-“ You nearly hiss, taking a step towards him so you could press it to his chest. “You can thank her for coming through, as always.”

Leon studies the paper and his eyebrows furrow immediately. He shakes his head, looking at you perplexed. “I haven’t spoken to her ever since-“ He pauses for a split second, his jaw clamping ever so slightly, “-ever since we fought. I don’t know how she knows anything, or how she knew I was trying to find you.”

Despite your rancorous feelings, your chest prickled. You weren’t very surprised, but it softened your hardened exterior to hear his efforts. He always prioritized you, but the reason why you were so unwilling to move on from this was because of how prioritized Ada was too.

Noticeably gentler than a few seconds ago though, you moisten your dry lips. You knew Leon was telling the truth not only because of his honest eyes, but because he was just an honest person, especially when it came to you. But you just couldn’t wrap your head around how Ada was able to find out about you and Leon’s current situation and how she tracked you down.

As if he could tell what was plaguing your train of thoughts, he offers an explanation. You don’t know, though, if it made you feel better. “Ada – she’s a mysterious woman.” He acknowledges, cautiously moving closer. 

You stay where you are and it made him almost sigh in relief. If this proximity was all that the situation would allow, he’ll take it. “She has her ways, she has her own methods of knowing things.”

He shakes his head, “But enough about her. Please. I don’t want to talk about her – I want to talk about our relationship, because that’s what matters the most to me.” He says. 

You remain silent because you want him to continue and because a lump was growing in your throat.

You know from years of knowing Leon that he wasn’t the type of person to be vocal with his affection; how he grew up rendered him to be kind of awkward when it came to his feelings, he always had a hard time talking about it in general. It became especially more difficult after Raccoon City and you never tried to pry or change that; so, the rare times he did verbalize about what was in his chest, it was so special for you.

Leon takes a deep inhale, running his calloused thumbs over his fingers. “I-I’ve taken you for granted. All these years, you never left me, not even when our lives got so complicated.” He closes his stinging eyes, feeling his chest grow heavy as memories of his past played through his head – all the people lost, all the places now in ruin, all the missions he’s taken that always scared you half to death with worry. They were scars he had to live with.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever cared for me the way you do. It’s something I was never really familiar with,” He falters for a moment, wanting to compose himself. You, on the other hand, already had tears falling down your cheeks. You knew he was talking about his family and his upbringing – it was such a sensitive topic for him and your heart ached.

“-but it gives me so much hope, you know? It gives me more reason to want to end this whole attack on humanity. It’s contagious, how selfless you are.” He sighs, shifting his gaze to the carpeted floor. “The reason why I’ve been talking to Ada again is because she has information regarding new B.O.Ws being created somewhere. It’s stupid – maybe I should have just told you but I never include or disclose to you anything in my line of work because I don’t want to risk your safety.”

“You make me a better person, (Y/N), the love that you share so generously – I could only wish to reciprocate it all back to you. I-I’m trying, and I’m sorry if you have to suffer my inability to but I-“

Leon fails his words, his beautiful blue eyes glassy with tears. You’ve only ever seen him cry once your whole life, when you reunited after Raccoon City.

Without a moment more, you dash forward and wrap your arms tightly around the vulnerable and visibly upset man. You press your head to his chest, your tears – at this point – coming down like a waterfall as you listen to the beat of his heart. The heart made of pure gold, the heart that you loved more than anything in this whole fucking world.

Leon overlaps your embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head and the other snaked around your waist ardently, like he was afraid you’d fall out of his grasp again. 

He kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering for a few moments before he closes his eyes, feeling like a thousand pounds just lifted off his shoulders. He was light-headed, the warmth of your touch he craved so much felt like paradise.

“I’m sorry too, I just- I got so hurt but I never should have left the way I did,” You sob, not caring how you looked like. “I love you, Leon, more than anything. I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re lacking or that your baggage will ever be too heavy for me to carry with you. I’m not perfect either- I have my own shit, I have my own issues as well, but I know you’ll be there to help me out.”

You wipe at his eyes and he captures your hand, kissing it tenderly before intertwining his fingers with yours. “I promise I’ll be better,” He looks at you with commitment, his gaze unwavering and honest.

You smile, pledging to do the same. You trap his warm face in your palms and kiss him lovingly on the lips, your heart soaring. He deepens it.

You knew there were still going to be countless of bumps in the road ahead of you and Leon, some small, some big, and some worse or as worse as this but, no matter what, out of the billions of souls in this earth, it’s only him you’d ever love this way.

[abloomingperiod]

junmyeon as a bf

the softest of the softies

kim junmyeon is an old-fashioned guy

and i’m not saying that in terms of being conservative or anything, ‘cuz i really hope he isn’t

i mean in the sense of love

like you know that kind of person who dreams the whole picture

like

he dates for a reason

unlike other members, junmyeon isn’t the type to not think about the future

being a leader makes you like that

but this gets less harsh on him when u arrive in his life

yk that whole romantic comedy movie where a guy runs into someone and it’s this beautiful woman with the biggest smile and they fall for each other and shit

well.......not exactly your case

he indeed ran into you with an iced tea in hands

except you didn’t smile at him

you basically screamed “SHIT IM SORRY ILL PAY U BACK”

he got so flustered w your reaction like

this really pretty girl just offered me some iced tea”

he was all like nonononononoooo don’t say that it’s fine don’t worry aha

you kept insisting but were late for work so you made him promise to come back to that bakery the day after bcs he WOULD be paid back no matter wHAT

he didn’t feel the need butyou were cute and he wasn’t with a thick schedule so why not right

so yeah ofc prince suho showed up

the next day he entered the place and saw you

you were so pretty watching you crinkling your nose over the hot coffee in your hands was already a payback

a cute one

cmon he’s cringey give him a chance

you bowed at each other and he realized you didn’t mention for Once between the whole minute after the accident and his arrival abt his name or profession as an idol

which for him

was nice

not a big deal, but nice

after you gave him his iced tea he was so polite you actually smiled bcs ajshskjsks cute ?

and then you started talking for a while

you introduced yourself, told him abt your dream to become a writer someday and he !!!!!

okay junmyeon easy on the hearbeats you got it

he just thought of this as such a COOL dream

writing for a living

now he was like this pretty girl... is a poet

i know

lame

but he’s adorable so who cares tbh

he talked to u abt being an idol and how was the position of the leader

you listened to every word and even though you lost a fee of them along with the honey like voice and puffy cheeks of his, you loved hearing abt it

after like 2 hours he had to go bcs schedule

but before you parted your way you had to go to the bathroom

when you went pay for your payback iced tea, you hear a waiter asking “mrs y/n? i believe that for you”

no shit there was the waiter holding a cappuccino

you got like Dude. there must’ve been a mist-

you turn the cup and there it is:

“for y/n

i loved the iced tea but since my goodbyes were a little earlier i most definitely own you a payback too. how abt sushi? xx” and the waiter hands you a note with his name and number

and that’s how you started seeing each other

jun is a quiet person so he won’t be like vocal abt developing a crush on you more and more

it would b like

you guys would hang out sometimes

and little by little he would catch himself getting the heart eyes

like you’re at a coffe shop

you would get passionate talking about some movie or song and suddenly there’s a drop of coffee on the side of your lip. you didn’t notice but he did but he thought you looked so cute popping off about ur favorite music he would just sit there like,,, 💖nvm💖

and with those little stuff he would catch himself thinking yup they’re gonna b mine

so one day he went like soooo maybe i’m catching feelings i didn’t know this was happening sorry??? so i think u should know that bcs it’s abt u... i’m fancied by u i didn’t mean it to happen

like straight up he APOLOGIZED

FOR LIKING U

you were like goshkjsjksj so cute

and decided to play w him a little

“so you don’t want to like me” “NONONOOO THATS NOT WHAT I MEA-” “jk i got it i really like you too and maybe we could kiss to see what happens”

he combusted

so yeah you’re dating that’s what happened

so caring literally sO CARING

calls you on a daily basis when he’s away to talk abt the weather the boys his breakfast how much he misses you how he saw those flowers outside and it reminded of you or how he will bring you to that country when it’s vacations

he’s such a husband material fuck me

keeps notes of things you like so he can hit the high score on important dates

talking abt dates

fancy

i mean he’s bourgeoisie ofc it’s fancy

such a lovely boyfriend i’m actually sad

jun is restaurants with low lights, candles, roses and holding your hand while talking about how he never seemed to figure out the food app to find a cool place to go to so he just asked chanyeol with a pout on his lips

“you’re such an old man” “i’m simple it’s different”

on your 1 year anniversary he took you to a boat ride on a lake witha guy playing violin and wine and cheese waiting for you

simple my ass

keeps bringing coffee and flowers for you every friday night you get together bcs it’s your “tiny vacations” as he calls it

on weekends with you the only ppl he answers is either manager or a serious question from the boys/his family

and it’s always a short “yes” or “no” or “👍🏻”

fuck it he’s with his baby leave him alone

loves cooking with you

like fuck it if it’s not that tasty he just LUUUVES doing it with you

probably because he gets to hug you a lot

like you’re in the stove and he had already placed everything in its own place so he goes behind your figure, hugs your waist and places his lips on your shoulder to give you tiny pecks and praise your cooking

“junmy this is practically burnt” “you’re the best cooker i know”

once you guys were enjoying a whole ass week together and the last time you were together for more than a day were like 6 months before

you were so all over each other he went to do the same thing and you guys ended up making out in front of a precooked pan of french fries

long story short, your toasted it and only saw that coming bcs jun went to embrace your waist and his fingers touched the hot pan

“that happened bcs of you and your teenager behavior” “YOU COULD’VE MOVED” “I WAS TRAPPED”

so guess what you did after you applied some salve om his fingers

he was staring @ u all 💖💖💖💖💖

you were like ,,,what

he just shrugged and murmured “you’re beautiful”

that’s right

you fucked

not fucked in a Fucked way

yall made love

kim junmyeon is all about luv

i remember someone posting here that he probably fucked like white people and i-

that person ruined it for me

i hate yall

i will defend him till the end of time my boi DOES NOT fuck like a white person

takes it very seriously as he sees it as an opportunity to shower u with the love u deserve

on that day you actually convinced him you should do the hard work

HELL YEAH YOU RODE THAT BITCH

jun seems like soft dom for me like just bcs he’s in charge for most of the time doesn’t mean youon get to do a thing

that time as you rode him you got very like Very excited but you saw in his eyes how desperate he was to touch you entirely so you catch his hand and kiss his fingertips slowly

he kept smiling for you saying “god you are so beautiful” “i love you so much”

but you’re a little shit and always tries and bring his rough side out

so you open your mouth and lick his two burnt finger from the knuckles to the tips

he got so !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

not really a vocal guy

heavy sighs and low groans are it for junmyeon

very into dirty talk

but a fancy one

“does my baby likes it when i make her beg?” “look at me, love. do you want it from where i can kiss your back or your breasts?” “you’re mine to take and no one else”

we don’t support women treated as objects but this is a sexual environment and you’ve always consented him to say things like that in bed

he’s a gentlemen fuck it

once you were so horny you straight up said “i don’t give a fuck about formality just make me cum at least three times”

he got 😳 for a sec but got your point

not a rough lover but once you get in a fight

bitch

you’re both pretty mature ppl so every rare time you fight it’s very Very serious

will kiss you until your both breathless just so you can not even catch your breath bcs he will be kissing your neck and liking your skin

slaps your butt?

absolutely

a fucking lot

“funny how you turn shut the fuck up as soon as i lay my hands on you”

makes you strip for him

has a thing for watching where your bodies connect

call him baby and he’s got a 3 secs tops soft jun

like a little grin with puffy cheeks

and he’s back with the restless pounding

bathtub aftercare is a must

massages your feet as you talk sweet nothings for him

if you’re feeling feisty might get a romantic round two

loves doing it slowly so he can drag it to the point you get so hot and bothered you beg

“oh god- just please- jun, faster”

likes it when you rub his back after

get a shot of soft myeonie post-sex

lays in his stomach and quietly asks “can you”

you lay there also on your stomach and rubbing his back drawing circles and talking about life

once he got so full of idk emotion?? love?? idk never been there

he just poured a whole “marry me”

like dude.

“WHAT” “not today, like... in a few years maybe idk forget it”

he closed his eyes to dismiss your reaction and just felt a warm peck on his naked shoulder

“of course i’ll marry you a few years”

his eyes shot open like This woman. the loml. dead ass said yes to my hypothetical proposal”

he actually got emotional

“kajsksjsksjsk really?????????v

“yes really”

and there was a teardrop

you felt like dying

i mean I feel like dying rn

doesn’t say it but thinks abt having kids someday

and u know that bcs honestly it’s suho everybody just Knows that

his parents? ofc they know you

exo? absolutely sure they know you

“one day we’re gonna have a dinner on like christmas with my family and yours” “baby they don’t even live in korea” “i don’t care we’ll pay” “STOP”

really treasures your relationship like i’m not here to play games i’m past mid-20’s this is Serious

and because he’s so worried and serious he nevers seems to let loose

which is probably normal since he’s a leader

but it makes him so !! all the time u get worried

once he actually CRIED out of stress

and you ofc were there

you kept hugging him tightly and slowly rocking his body with yours kissing his tears away as he kept softly saying “i’m fine, don’t worry”

you didn’t stop worrying

you said “if you’re fine then i can stay here hugging my boyfriend”

he nodded and kept sobbing for a little while

his head was pounding so you literally laid him down and cuddled him in your arms, fingers between his locks and hot breath on his neck

he once said the sound of your breath calmed him

so that’s what you did

you calmed him

and that’s everything he ever wanted

someone to be there for him on tough times like he’s always there for everyone

he loves the fact you’re always so calm and ready to solve any problem that appears

he loves the calmness and ““““normal”””” atmosphere you bring to him

after all those years of hardship and responsability

you showed him he could be a leader and have more fun on a daily basis

he deadass thinks abt your marriage

like it’s barely 6am, he wakes up and sees you sleeping next to him, hair everywhere on the pillow and mouth open

his heart goes 💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

his arms goes to your sleeping body

& his mind “i’m gonna marry this girl someday”

idk i feel like i could write a whole ass fanfiction of 50 chapters on suho and id still have 100 scenarios of him in mind

i honestly love him sm

such a nice boy

he deserves so much more

give lota of love to him he’s perfect

that’s it i’m done

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Imagine Samuel being a father

A/N: So, in my opinion... Samuel Drake as a father would a killer. I think that he would be somewhere between Ryan Reynolds (find his parenthood tweets, oh lord) and Josh Wolf (such a good stand up comedian).

He would love his children endlessly, he isn't his own father, after all, but he'll maybe terrorize them a bit. Like in a funny way.

Also, I might start a series of one-shots, because I have a ton of ideas for this one.

Warnings: Samuel being a kickass father. There's some weed mentioned in here, but it is meant to be fun.

You and Samuel were together for some time.

Let me say, you were that badass Californian couple - partying, drinking your ass off, smoking weed and doing a lot of fucking things.

Like, you were practically animals. Party animals.

And of course, you were on your pills. We don't want any accidents here, right?

But, if ya know and are aware of - antibiotics and hormonal pills kinda don't do a single shit when mixed.

You should let him know that when you were finishing your antibiotics after a looong illness.

But you somehow magically forgot when he started to nuzzle you on the sofa. You know the drill really well. But why not, you were horny as hell, you missed his weenie and his body. Boy, it shouldn't be a sin to make love with your boyfriend, right?

Ya know how this goes, don't you? You don't? But I do and let me tell you.

Nuzzling > nude dudes > just the tip > oops, I cum in you.

It wasn't a sin to make love with your boyfriend. But you didn't count on that you actually get pregnant.

Yet there you were, holding that goddamn stick in front of his hazel brown eyes.

"Alright, young man." - You went. - "You wanna tell me something about dat? Because I'm pregnant and I don't certainly didn't impregnated on my own." - You asked, looking at him with that you know what you have done. But he just slapped you in the face with his answer.

"Maybe it's God's will?" - Samuel asked and you didn't know if you were about to cry or laugh actually. There was a fucking baby on the way and you two weren't that couple who would get rid of it. Maybe it hadn't the most perfect timing, yet you two have done it, so it was your responsibility now.

"Are you joking me?"

"Babe, I have one question and I am scared of the answer." - He whispered and you waved your fingers as sing for him to go on. - "I've heard some... Rumors? Like... Will your vanana be the same when he or she gets out of your body? I kinda like your tight little girl."

So yeah. There were no fights, no yelling or tears. The only two things Samuel was concerned about was the health of the baby and how actually make your vanana tight again after that.

He's an idiot. Don't mind him. At least he was looking forward to being a father. He looked like the type who runs away directly after telling him - but he was fucking pumped for your child.

That didn't mean he would be a good father. Not at all. You could tell, you could fucking tell, that he'll be that prankster, pretty tough dad with some terrible fucking jokes and you were sure that when your child will be an adult, they'll have some freaking funny memories to share.

Let me say one thing - he read as many books about labor and pregnancy as he read on the topic of vanana. He has his priorities straight. And you couldn't tell otherwise.

But no one else could believe.

"I'm with a baby." - You told Elena and Nathan who has their daughter just a few months ago. She was gorgeous after her mother and you were all scared that she'll catch Nathan's attributes.

Nathan started to laugh hysterically, but you guys were looking at him with a frown. Elena slapped his back and her stare was like can you calm the fuck down, man?

"I meant that they were joking."

Nobody could believe that Samuel Drake is about to be a father.

But when your belly got bigger and bigger, they figured out you might not be joking at all.

Samuel loved when he could speak with your belly, whispering to it when the evening came and you two lazily lied on the sofa, watching some dumb movies with Bruce Willis.

"Hi there, little one." - He carefully descended between your legs, nuzzling your belly with his lips and nose. You unconsciously messed his hair with your hand.

"Had a crazy day, I tell ya, buddy. My head is blowing up with one thought at the moment." - Samuel sighed dramatically.

"What thought, daddy?" - You messed with him with a quiet laugh. You were all in about calling him daddy in the family way and in a naughty way as well.

"I was thinking about marrying mommy, little fellow."

It wasn't history's greatest proposal, but it was something, right? It was romantic in its own way and it made you really happy.

And when the baby moved under his palms for the first time ever, it made him legit cry like a little boy.

At the moment he officially started the age of Sam, the sensitive and loving father™ (even tho it was insanely lovely, it didn't stop you from making fun of him).

He acted around you as if he was walking around some porcelain which he could break easily. He made sure you don't drink, you don't even get close to some weed, he was cooking you the healthiest recipes and even bought you some pregnancy clothes.

You wanted to know the gender, of course, but Samuel was strictly against it. So you knew it would be a boy from the start, right?

But his curiosity almost killed him. He asked you many times during different events.

Once you made dishes? He asked. You were cooking? He crept being you and almost killed you because of freaking out. You were washing clothes? Dear, that man just magically stood next to the washing machine.

But in the end, you finally told him.

And he cried again - he was about to have a baby boyo. His own son. Someone to pass the legacy on.

That made him the happiest man under the sun.

When that day came and Thomas finally saw the light of the world, Samuel was under serious pressure, shaking and crying a big time, white as a fucking wall - and you were screaming that you'll kill him if he ever tried to have another child with you.

And yes, your firstborn son was named after a pirate - Thomas Tew.

It was a long and let's be honest, painful a fucking lot in the end, labor but there was a small little bean in your arms, both of you were crying like little fucking girls and you almost immediately fell asleep after breastfeeding the baby and having all of those pregnancy things out of your body.

"You can breastfeed me as well." - Samuel whispered wickedly, thinking about sexual stuff again, and you were so disgusted by it after baby just fucking crawled from your vanana that you smacked his cheek hard. He was mesmerized, shocked and partially amused.

"If you ever put your lips close to my boobs or your penis somewhere near my vagina, you better be sure that I'll cut your weenie off, you motherfucker." - You sighed painfully with your eyes closed. He chuckled.

"From today on I'll be a motherfucker, I solemnly swear." - Samuel said in a loving tone.

He called Nathan as soon as he left you when you fell asleep. Both of them cried and they decided to have a shot for the welfare of his son - which meant that Nathan vomited in the park at three am and Samuel tried to kick hydrant because that hydrant insulted him.

They were fucking high, having the biggest hungover of their lives, waking up on the beach and neither of them knew how the fuck they got there.

You came home after a few days with a baby in a safety cradle and you couldn't believe your eyes. Those little things which made baby safe about sharp edges and some fuses.

The funniest was when Samuel forgot how to open the one on your toilet. And he needed to pee desperately. 

He always thought that babies are more fun than just crying, eating and pooping - why would everyone want them then? 

He kinda didn't understand Nathans feelings about Cassie. It doesn't mean that he doesn't love his little baby boy, alright? He was just that kind of a man who thought that babies crawl out of the woman and they immediately do everything. He needed to learn that it takes some time before they walk and talk.

So when he was holding Thomas in his armchair, he whispered him his pirate stories and fact and that little one didn't understand a single word, but it calmed him down.

So be sure that Samuel was PUMPED when the boyo started to crawl around and saying those sweet nonsenses. Samuel also almost threw a huge celebration when Thomas said mama for the first time or when he did his first step.

“He's a genius! Have you heard the pronunciation? Our little boy is exactly like his dad - fast, charming and extremely good with ladies. Have you seen him with Cassie?”

“Samuel, I think that you're freaking out and overthinking it a lot.”

He was basically pumped every everything Thomas did. 

And when his boy started to draw? Jesus, Samuel was ready to call him Picasso. In his eyes, he was extremely talented (and you didn't ruin it by saying him that Thomas is completely normal, little boy).

You were pretty lit parents, to be honest. 

When you had a long day at work and Samuel was too sick from Thomas making him angry (like when he fucked up your beautiful white wall with Nutella and fucking ketchup), you just waited until your son fell asleep.

“Are you ready for it?”

“You bet your ass, Samuel. I just need to turn off my brain.”

And you two smoked some tree (weed, who doesn't know). You were high as a kite. You didn't smoke weed much, just sometimes and it wasn't even a lot of it. Just to make you feel ok, restart your brain.

But one day you came to the bedroom and Samuel was pale and looking into your closet. 

“What is up, baby? You look scared.” - You said and stood next to him, looking into that closet next to him. - “Babe?”

“You were... You know, eating our happy brownies what you've baked for today's evening?” - Samuel asked and you shook your head and his eyes and expression went to “What?” to “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Thomas ate your weed baked in brownies. There was not a lot of it, thank god, so he was mostly okay. He was totally fine the next day - but the evening, man, that was a wild one. You both didn't leave his side all night, watching him and you didn't even fall asleep. Nothing happened, thanks to god.

Even tho, years later you burst out of laugh when Samuel was talking about his baby boy getting high on accident.

Yet, from that day on, you started to hide your edibles and weed more carefully.

From that day on, Samuel sometimes didn't leave his side all day - he woke him up, prepared breakfast, took him to kindergarten, took him out, went out with him and so on - sometimes he even fell asleep during telling him a proper pirate story. 

Especially when you somehow got pregnant, again. What should I say? This man just has good genes and really good sperms. 

Nobody knew how it happened again. 

But Thomas was just about to have a sibling when he was four years old.

So Samuel took the role of father for 24/7 when you got really pregnant. It was nice and Samuel was a lot calmer this time. 

He was a self-proclaimed pregnancy expert since Thomas was born and he was pretty sure your vanana can be tight once again after labor because you were successful the first time.

Especially he loved to take Thomas out to the park. 

He was sure that his son will be like him. When he was five years old, he was pretty good with the girls his age and because he took after your beautiful face and he took after Samuels' eyes, he was good even with women. Thomas was an adorable boy.

But that's what made Samuel worried - if he would be like Samuel as a teenager, you will through some tough shit. 

But hey - for that moment, he was only five and he had a little sister named Anne after a pirate woman Anne Bonny. Sam did his puppy eyes for that one and he promised you endless nights of eating out if you name her Anne. 

And Thomas was like “Why the fuck should dad eat mommy?”. He was pretty scared at that moment.

When Anne was actually born, you had already learned from the mistakes you have done with Thomas. 

Your life went on - you got a house, Sam was still in the business with Sully and yet Sam wasn't exactly the youngest, he had a hella energy for his children and job. And he got a hella money from that. Sully knew really well what he was doing. Tom started to go to elementary school and it wasn't a much of time before Annie went to kindergarten.

You stopped smoking tree at home; Elena and Nate were looking after Tom and Annie and you just got off to the woods or you want on to some mountain cottage. But you have still done that only when life was too hard on you and you needed to relax really badly.

Sometimes you took Cassie to your house, planning the evenings of their life to them.

Samuel and Nathan even started a competition who will do it better - but let's say that Samuel wasn't as much pussy as Nathan. That prison made him crazy a bit.

But oh man, then it started. 

Thomas was twelve years old and he was a high-school boy. So watch out. Obviously, you are old as fuck and you don't know shit about his cruel, tough life.

He stopped telling you everything, but you know it was only a natural thing that you had to accept. Annie was seven at the time and she was Samuels little sunshine and princess and you were her best friends.

But Tom had a strong relationship with Sully and Nathan and Sam. And the older he was, the stronger it was. 

He wasn't that little boy anymore. He slowly started to be a man. And you couldn't be prouder.

He had his moods, yeah, but he helped you at the home, he cared about his grades, he even hadn't that much of a mess in his room and he was really well brought up. And he loved you more than anything else in the world - you were his mommy. 

But just as Sam, Nate, Sully, and Tom had their club, you, Elena, Cassie and little Annie got you a one.

But oh my fucking Lord, you loved the stories what Sam was telling you when you got to bed. He didn't tell you Tom's problems in from of him, but you two were still his parents and you know how the drill goes: what does your dad know, your mom knows too.

"Dad?" - Tom came to Samuel one evening and he was looking like a piece of shit. Samuel frowned immediately and put his newspaper on the table. He was still worried about Tom even tho he was really smart, pretty non-problem thirteen-year-old boy. He knew how to take care of himself.

"What's up, kid?" - Samuel smiled and massaged his son's shoulder with his palm, trying to calm him down.

"I, uh, oh damn I don't know how the hell I should start." - Tom said quietly and if you were there, you would look at your son and mouth language, but there was only the two of them, so it was cool. - "Okay, okay, okay, I have a problem. It's a huge problem. I think that there's something wrong about me." - Tom whispered.

"Why would you think that? Look at you, you're a handsome young lad, just as I was back in my days." - Sam chuckled and gulped a sip of beer.

"I just gonna tell it, okay?" - Thomas took his face into his palms and started to mumble. - "So my classmate Lindsay had a really nice, tight shirt on today and I saw her boobs in a coincidence and something happened in my pants, you know, with my weenie. And then it happened again when I was a math class and I don't know what to do, because it never happened before and I'm so scared." - He finished and Sam just smiled and patted his shoulder.

"There's nothing wrong with that. Your body just tells you that you're ready to have a woman. But try something when you're underage and I'll kill you, understood?" - Samuel told him with a proud smile. - "And I don't know if this happens, but if you get hard for a man, I don't tell you it has to happen, it's just as good. I don't care whom you bang when you'll be an adult, understood? But you are still young for doing that, so try anything and I'll tell your mother."

He was so proud at that moment. His boy became an official man in his eyes. He wasn't little anymore. But still fairly young.

And you also worked as the biggest threat to Tom, so he was almost shitted because of fear at the moment. You were worse than a hurricane when he did something really bad, like throwing up on your mom's dog or when he broke a toilet at his school.

And you giggled when Sam told you that your son is a man.

He talked with Sam about everything as he grew up - he had told him about his first making out with a girl, about his first boob-touching session which he was really excited about (Tom hummed songs all evening, which wasn't a thing he would normally do) and he even asked for advice when he was about to touch his girlfriend's, her name was Carmen and she was a lovely girl, vanana for the first time ever. They had a big group meeting with uncle Nathan and pa Sully about that - it was huge for Tom and they just quietly remembered how it was for them.

But let me say - Samuel and Nathan aged like a fucking good wine. They maybe weren't the youngest around, but hell, they still did something to the women around and they had plenty of experience.

And it was three times more for Sully. Even he got married to a woman named Florence (@missdictatorme I had to) and when he was twenty years younger, he knew how to do her good.

"Alright, old man." - Eighteen-year-old Tom sat next to his father and grinned at him in the Drake-typical way with his corner-turning upwards and his eyebrows risen a little. - "Might I ask you for some tips and tricks? I think I really love her and I need to be gentle with her so she would enjoy as well."

"I might be an old man," - Sam grinned and looked at his younger brother. - "But I think your mom doesn't think so at times. Am I right, boys?" - He looked at Sully and Nathan, and every one of them laughed a bit. Sully was a really old man; each one of them was considered old, and he was now sitting on a wheelchair. He could walk, but those years of treasure hunting hadn't done any good to his poor knees.

"Ew, Jesus. That's gross. I don't wanna think about that at all."

But they got him some useful tips. Like: don't try to find her vanana on her stomach or when you stick a finger inside, make sure it's wet and don't your hand just, you know, stuck out there. Move it.

They had a great bond. Otherwise, he and Samuel would never talk about it this openly.

You two as parents got a lot of fun with your son, especially when he was nineteen and he was ready to try some new stuff. You knew he will get drunk - but when he vomited all over your terrace and when you heard him speak and say I love you for a million times while you recorded him, you had the fucking time of your whole life. Don't worry, you made it clean up after himself.

Samuel recorded all of his son's bullshit - how he spoke when he had eaten those weed-brownies when you were camping in the wood while he was eight and somehow he got his shit on his earlobe when he totally burned your Christmas sweets... Baby, there is a lot of your son's mistakes you had a proof for.

But the biggest fun actually came when he wanted to try weed. You and Sam acted a bit mad, but you knew it had to come at one point.

So, in the end, you told him "Okay, you're eighteen, so you're in law, but we'll do it together so when something happens, we are with you". And of course, he went like "Wtf no".

But you have all of that shit recorded, and when you have your bad day, you just play the speech of your stoned son. It's embarrassing and he wanted you to delete it immediately - so you knew you'll play it at his wedding.

But when it came to Annie, his baby princess and a flawless small girl being in the same age his son were when he started his sexual life, oh dear lord.

A boy looked into her direction? Sam was there, looking at him like "touch her and I would fucking break your hands, hands and penis, punk".

But you knew it is going to happen someday, so you went all in about hormonal pills, condoms, other sources of protection, you told her a hundred times that she shouldn't do it because every girl has done it but because she loves somebody... And she was like "mom, you've told me a million times and I'm not an idiot."

But you know - Tom, now a twenty-two-year-old adult, and his fiancée moved into a flat together, so you took care of Annie even more intensely.

Annie accepted your opinions if they were useful and not too idiot-sounding like. But you know girls her age - she was sure that Samuel is a huge dick who just wants to make her life harder.

And he almost fainted when she came home with a boyfriend. His name was David.

In your opinion, he was a nice boy, he was really nice to you and your daughter and polite to Samuel as well. They got through everything together - first kiss, boob-touching, making out, even first sex.

Annie even married him five years after that evening. And they moved out as well.

At the end of the day, besides for your son getting high as a kite when he was just five years old, your daughter accidentally drinking aid alcohol, losing your children in the mall a few times, a heck of bruises and a load of embarrassing, childhood stories... You were good parents.

And your son and your daughter knew that they were very lucky to have you because you taught them how to love and enjoy life and every time they need you for anything...

You were there for them.

[donnerpartyofone]

21 Questions

Tagged by @getoutofmyhouse who had oddly similar answers to mine

Nickname: only the one I use here, that I gave myself--Claire Donner, which has to do with my famous love of cannibalism. Claire is my real first name, though.

Zodiac: I am so very cuspy. I was born at about a quarter to midnight on April 20, so I tend to relate to, and feel insulted by, the suppositions about Aries and Taurus equally. I’m one of those jerks who will tell you astrology is a bunch of hoo ha...and then drone on with my Many Esoteric Ideas about it, so I’ll just stop myself right here.

Height: 5’ nuthin is what I prefer to say...because saying I’m 5 and 3/4′ sounds a little like saying I’m 10 and a half years old.

Amount of sleep: It’s all fucked up. Until I got into my 30s I could, and would prefer to, sleep endlessly. Now I go to bed around 10 (depression), get up around 5 or 6 (being old), and for extra fun, I’ve developed this insomnia that often keeps me up from about 2am-5am. I try make the most of it by getting up, getting high, watching a movie or two, writing...basically just having a secret private day by myself. I’d really rather go back to just sleeping constantly though.

Last movie I saw: I saw GRETA in theaters tonight, which was ok. I guess I thought any Neil Jordan film would be headier than this, but watching Isabel Huppert just running around acting like an absolute maniac is a rare treat! My last video experience was RAW, which I put on to bother my husband right when we got home from the theater. (I think he liked it more than I originally did, to my surprise)

Last thing I googled: The correct spelling of Sylvia Likens’ last name. I’m obsessed with this type of crime where a group of people (usually a family and/or some of their friends and neighbors) fall into some kind of shared hysteria where they protractedly torture to death an acquaintance for no particular reason. Some times there’s an element of mystery as to why the victim didn’t leave while they were still able to, which suggests to me that the murdered person was just as much a victim of the groupthink as the perpetrators. Other example victims include Suzanne Capper, Vera Jo Reigle, and I think to some degree Sophie Lionnet, James Bulger, and Junko Furuta. (Also a crime they briefly discuss in the book Lords of Chaos, where several people murder a friend in their trailer, but I can’t remember it specifically enough to look up the names--the other last thing i tried to google) I keep thinking there should be a psychiatric and/or legal term for this kind of crime, but I’ve never heard one, so let me know if you got one!

Favorite musician: I have trouble with questions that involve ranking anything, so I’ll just say that right now I’m listening to a lot of old White Zombie. I didn’t know anything about their origins as an East Village noise band, and I’m fascinated by the stories about how apocalyptically miserable it was to be in that group. I’m increasingly obsessed with people who work their asses off doing something they barely even enjoy, for what must be borderline spiritual reasons.

Song stuck in my head: Nothing right this second, for which I am very grateful. There’s something awful in my brain that causes me to wake up with some maddening, babyish tune stuck in my head more often than not. It is most frequently the Ten Little Indians nursery rhyme. This is literally killing me.

Other blogs: @anhed-nia, which started as a dumping ground for long posts about mental illness, and turned into almost only movie writing. at some point there was just so much movie shit that i started to feel awkward about posting anything personal there again. i also got @getoffyrass which is a group blog, and a repository for images that make great drawing references. everyone is encouraged to post their drawings, too, although it is seldom used. i still like having it around, for when i have time to draw. my “real” drawing blog is @neveratendermoment but i don’t draw often enough anymore...

Do I get asks: i used to get tons! i really enjoy them, even the trolls to some degree. i must have seemed like more of a regular tumblr geek girl back in the day. also tumblr has just changed a lot since then. my blog was definitely a casualty of Best Stuff First, i think my follower count stopped dead forever right when that happened, and now that practically every single fucking thing on this entire site is either fandom shit or *discourse*, i really have nothing to offer tumblr anymore, anyway.

Blogs following: 1,057. 

Lucky numbers: 2! Also 5.

What I’m wearing: black wool long john pants from Chrome, and a white v neck teeshirt with the words BLACK MAYONNAISE on it in black Rocky Horror font. i live near the notoriously toxic Gowanus Canal, and “black mayonnaise” is the actual term used to describe what’s on the bottom of it, by the scientists who are trying to figure out what to do with it.

Dream trip: i am really excited by travel, it’s hard to pick. i’m hopefully making a dream trip soon though: my father’s mysterious finno-swedish family is from the åland islands, and my husband and i will be planning part of our honeymoon there, whenever that happens.

Dream Job: i think about this a lot, because the older i get, the more i object to the entire concept of having to work to live. i’m into the whole universal basic income thing. i’m at this point where i can barely stand to think about capitalism in any way--like i think about how the need for money is so mortally serious that there’s a lot of physical stuff in the world that only exists because someone was scared of starving, tons of useless products and packaging and factory byproducts and all kinds of fucking straight up garbage that was only invented due to the lethality of poorness. i would rather be left totally alone forever if possible. however, if i HAD to do something and i COULD do anything, it would probably be film criticism. this fantasy takes place in a world where people care so much about what i have to say that i can make a career, not only out of movie writing, but out of only writing about the specific movies i want to write about, referring to nothing other than my personal reactions.

Favorite food: i wish the answer weren’t just “cheese”, but it probably is. also mushrooms. anything cinnamon. i’m a pretty adventurous eater though. the most important thing for me is a variety of flavors and textures.

Languages: english. i took several years of italian in junior high-high school, and did nothing with it. i taught myself to read french pretty fluently, but i would fold right up if someone tried to speak to me. i learned a bunch of swedish on duolingo, shoulda kept it up. i’ll get back to it! i really regret never learning spanish though, so i’m easily torn on what to do with my time.

Play any instruments: clarinet in junior high/high school, also alto sax which i did not enjoy at all, a little guitar. i bought a used electric bass last year that i have really been enjoying, but i feel a lot of guilt around not playing enough. so much of it is just strength training. that’s probably what i like about it, though. also i got a lot of electronic music software and midi controllers and stuff...and then i realized that it could take me months to sort through the thousands of samples i have to program this stuff, and i only got so far into it before i started to get discouraged. i need to get back to it, it’s ridiculous to let that stuff lie around. this is a rare example of me wishing i knew someone local to play with, who could speed me along on how everything works.

Favorite songs: another one of these impossible questions! anybody who is even reading this can probably guess the answers from the handful of music posts i reblog over and over and over. the other night i got all hyperactive and forced my husband to drop everything and listen to “buffalo stance” by nene cherry, which i never ever get sick of. real top contenders for favorite song might be “Stand By the Jamms” by the klf, and this recording, which has gotten me through many difficult hours:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8k1HsF3EvY

https://www.forcedexposure.com/Catalog/sunray-sonic-boom-music-for-the-dreamachine-cd/STRAWB.003CD.html

Random fact: i’m sure i’m missing out on something really funny and cool, but for now it’s just the well-known fact that i read palms.

Describe yourself as aesthetic thing: man, how do i answer this without being totally pretentious? maybe nobody can! i’m coming up with something really hard to describe but it will be worth it. the other day i watched this insane, completely unnecessary movie about lorca and salvador dali (played by robert pattinson) as gay lovers. there’s a scene in it where lorca does that “pick a hand” thing to dali, and dali picks an empty hand. of course, they’re both poor students who couldn’t be buying any gifts, so they do this obnoxious pantomime where dali pretends lorca actually gave him something--but then it turns out that lorca really DOES have something. he opens his other hand and gives dali...SOMETHING. i don’t know what! they make such a big deal out of it, but what the hell? you see it for a second in this closeup, but it’s shot from like, behind and slightly underneath, and it is just unrecognizable. it’s sort of an orange blob? it’s probably meant to be a sculpture. but, i love the idea of doing the “pick a hand” thing to somebody, and the other person is just like...hey wait a minute, what the fuck even IS this?? 

it reminded me of one of the most amazing things anyone ever did at my school, bard college. this genius art student who I WISH I COULD NAME TO CREDIT HER did her senior project as this like...made up product. i saw them at the senior show, hanging off a spinner rack, like you’d see next to the register in the drug store. they were called Toilet Buddies. they were these plastic, brightly colored objects that looked like toys, but they didn’t have a familiar earthly shape, and because of the title, it was IMPOSSIBLE to imagine what to do with them. so, she gets the lipstick cam from the film department, and shoots this video of herself sneaking some Toilet Buddies into Walmart. then she takes them to the register and BUYS THEM--the baffled cashier looks for them for a while, and eventually just rings them up as a general grocery or something. then in part 2, the artist TAKES THEM BACK TO THE STORE WITH THE RECEIPT AND GETS A REFUND.

so anyway, i see myself as like a fake product--something that looks just familiar enough to exit, and that appears to have a designated purpose, but it’s just kind of cheap and foreign and it becomes nightmarish to try to imagine what to do with it. 

I don’t know if anyone i know will want to do this, but i tag @negativepleasure @moviesludge @former-contender @dimestoreman @thefuzzydave @darkarfs @theoddsideofme @blueruins ...um, i don’t really know who would enjoy this. the ultimate would be @garbagenacht

[cuteandtwisted]

hi wiss! not a prompt but i just read your birthday fic for Even and I found it so touching how you treat his MI with so much care. i don't mean to intrude but do you have an MI? it sometimes sounds like you speak from experience. Do you or someone close to you have a mental illness? and what did Even teach YOU?

Hmm. That’s an interesting question. Interesting because I don’t really know., because I’m not sure I’m articulate enough to answer it. Also it’s 8am and I still haven’t slept/been stranded in airports after 3 flights. And I’m typing this on my phone. It’s funny how I always leak and ramble about myself when I’m exhausted.

Long story short: I’ve never seen a therapist and my mental state is based on what I think I know/things I read. It’s all in my head pretty much, which I realize is the same as assessing yourself physically without going to an actual Doctor. Mental illness was always so taboo in my culture growing up. It was considered a curse, an impairment, a sign of weakness of character or of bad karma. And it didn’t only speak for you and your deeds. It also spoke for your entire family. Mental illness was something we only heard about but never got to live through. It was that thing that happened to others or to that one obscure/distant family member. It wasn’t exactly real and it wasn’t nuanced either. It was a death sentence so to speak. It was an ending in and of itself.

My first direct exposure to someone with a mental illness was to my uncle. He’s my father’s youngest brother and we’re barely 10 years apart. What’s most vivid about him in my childhood memories are his height, his silky hair, his talent for drawing, although he’s never had any training, and his tendency to smoke too many cigarettes and drink too many cups of black coffee. He also happened to be schizophrenic and delirious. His symptoms started around the time his parents got a divorce and his father (aka my grandpa) got married to one of his students (i know. Wtf). He got misdiagnosed and his meds fucked with his mind a lot. He never got to finish school or pursue his dream to be an artist. I’m always sad when I think of him because he is the perfect example of someone who could have been helped but who was cursed, not by his pained mind, but by society’s stigma. He always kisses my forehead when he sees me and it always breaks my heart when I remember how scared I used to be of him when I was younger. It wasn’t my fault, I later realized. Everyone around me kept telling me that i was to feel afraid. I often hear about him ending up at the police station and at the hospital, and I often heard my grandmother complain about how he ruined her life with his sickness. Terrifying, isn’t it? It doesn’t encourage anyone who might be feeling inadequate to ever speak up.

I personally started to feel /weird/ when I reached the age of 13/14. My parents said I read books I wasn’t supposed to have read when I was younger and that it messed with my thoughts and my mind. I loved philosophy, still do. Questioning my own existence became a thing I practiced religiously. At one point I was convinced I had superpowers and that I could escape reality whenever I wished to. Sometimes, it was pleasant but not really. Like being tickled. It makes you laugh but you don’t necessarily enjoy the loss of control. I thought I could control it, but then I realized that it was controlling me. Sometimes it was terrifying because I didn’t know what was wrong with me and Google wasn’t extremely helpful either. Later I realized that I was experiencing depersonalization/derealization and that I wasn’t that special. Recoiling into one’s mind to the point of no longer being able to perceive reality was something many others experienced. I was almost disappointed to learn that I wasn’t special.

I went through some terrible experiences around that time and my moods started fluctuating. I would go from elated to extremely down, never leaving my room. My parents were constantly traveling so they didn’t really notice. It didn’t help that I was an extremely proud, reserved, contrary, and cunning teenager. My mind was my best asset and I used to my advantage. Another thing that duped most was my ability to pretend that I was fine all the time. I could be crippled with sorrow and still have a smile plastered across my face. I could entertain groups of 10 for hours then go home and cry until sleep found me. I was proud, stubborn, ‘strong’. And strong people didn’t admit to feeling weak and needing to just sleep it off sometimes.

At one point, I convinced myself that I was bipolar. I even wrote it in my diary and my anonymous blogs back then. I didn’t know much about it. I just knew that my mood swings and my depersonalization episodes had to be attributed to something. Again, i never saw a therapist, so it was all BS. I also never splurged to the point of mania. (However, I do spend money recklessly sometimes. I do jump on flights at the last moment, buy the most stupid shit just for the heck of it, shove my tongue down strangers’ throats just to feel something, drink until I’m blind and throwing up against walls. I do feel larger than life sometimes, slightly invincible, convinced I’m special and have some insight into human nature, convinced i can see right through people and read their minds. I have my moments. But don’t we all?

I also do feel down sometimes to the point of not leaving my bed for days, ignoring everyone’s calls and messages, and just curling around myself in the dark. I do. I do. But don’t we all?

Control and pride are all I have, however. So you won’t find me whining about my feelings or my mood swings in real life.)

I kept entertaining my self-diagnosis and remained convinced I was bipolar until I first met a diagnosed bipolar person at the age of 17. I didn’t know he was bipolar back then, just that people called him ‘crazy’ and a ‘fucking liar’. I knew him as my boyfriend’s best friend/neighbor. I thought he hated me for the longest time. I even imagined that he was secretly gay and in love with my boyfriend. But he wasn’t. I asked him point blank why he hated me one day and he replied with “i don’t. I’m actually in love with you.” I still remember that day so vividly. My boyfriend and I thought he was joking. He wasn’t.

My bf and I eventually broke up, after which he got shipped to another city, but I maintained my weird friendship with his best friend/neighbor. He transferred to my school when we were juniors and I took it upon myself to introduce him to people and show him around. He walked me home on Friday afternoons and made me playlists which we listened to on his iPod. We shared his earphones as we walked to my house. He started writing me poems and posting them on facebook. He called me his 'colombe’ which translates to 'his dove’ and he became fixated on me to the point of following me in the streets when I was out with friends. I remember the night he stood outside of a McDonalds with a cigarette between his lips staring at me through the window. I started feeling scared. I rejected his advances and his poems were dark and accusatory now.

He came to school with a bandaged wrist once and i was afraid of asking him what happened. My english teacher pulled me aside at the end of class that day and asked me if it was true that I had pushed him down the stairs and caused his wrist injury. I denied it because it wasn’t and i started feeling slightly terrified. The guy left a note in my bag that day and stopped me during recess to ask me to not open it until i got home.

I opened it as soon as I finished an exam early and went outside waiting for everyone else to come out. It was dark and chilly. It was November. The note he wrote me was another poem and it was written in ?blood? I was shocked and I questioned it as much as I could. It could have been red nail polish. It could have been anything. But why do this to me? Why? I didn’t understand. He came out of the school and i snapped and it was just the two of us in the dark. He had followed me outside but i was so angry and confused that i failed to see that it was just us two now. I asked him what the hell was going on and he said that he cut himself because of me and of how i treated him and that he wrote me a poem with his blood. I think i might have called him crazy. I don’t remember. I was experiencing shock in its purest form so I don’t remember everything I said.

And then he hit me. He shoved me hard against the wall and he hit me across the face, then he said that he loved me and that I didn’t understand. I still remember how the blow felt like nothing. The worst had already happened. I internalized that hit so much, and perhaps I still do. I was tiny compared to him. I can fight people, but I was shocked by how utterly powerless I was at that moment. My limbs had just stopped functioning. And to this day I still find it hard to let my guards down around men or anyone physically capable of overpowering me. Biology, and all. My best friend came out of nowhere and a fight broke because he had me pressed against a wall. Then we all went home. I never told anyone that he hit me that night. I was too proud. I still can’t believe that it’s something that happened to me.

I cut my bangs to the side that night to hide my bruise, and thankfully I have brown complexion so it wasn’t that bad. I avoided him like the plague after that, even when he crawled back to me begging for forgiveness. He later sent me long messages explaining his diagnosis and his bipolar and how he had developed an ‘obsession’ with me, how it wasn’t really him doing those things. But I couldn’t find it in me to forgive him. Being mentally ill doesn’t condone shitty behavior, it doesn’t condone physically assaulting someone. I don’t know. He traumatized me.

I developed some sort of stigma after that. I was kind of like S3 Isak (which is why i think the show changed me so fucking much) I 'chose’ to stay away from 'mentally ill people’ to 'protect myself’.

The guy in question did continue being a shitty person until everyone around town knew to avoid him. He played girls and called them sluts and lied about everything and everyone and he was just pretty horrible. And it took me some time to understand that it wasn’t because he was bipolar. It was simply because he was an asshole.

I did develop empathy for him later on when I stopped being so angry and blaming myself for everything all the time. I guess I realized that some have it harder than others? Maybe his shitty behavior was a byproduct of how he had been treated so far? Maybe it was his only outlet, his only way of lashing out against the world for 'inconveniencing’ him with an imbalanced brain? I don’t know. But i forgive him now. Because I’m sure he wasn’t always terrible. I’m sure he has lived through his fair share of horrible things. I’m sure those weeks he spent in bed were daunting. I’m sure people weren’t always gentle with him. I forgive him but i will never forget. Because some people go through hell and still choose to be kind. Because what he did, using his bipolar to justify his awful actions, is selfish and only perpetuates the stigma around bipolar.

I guess this is why SKAM changed my life so drastically? The only depiction of bipolar i had been exposed to was from this guy who traumatized me and all the crap on TV that either romanticized it or simply turned it into a trope and showed people who suffer from it as helpless and completely delirious with no chance of ever leading a normal life. I’m grateful for SKAM because not only did it erase my previous biased and erroneous views which were influenced by a rather unfortunate event, but it also made me do research and read about it and learn more. I fell in love with Even and his mind and his kindness and all the love he has in him. Life can throw crap at you, but you can still choose to be kind. And that’s what Even and his story taught me. Mental illness is not a death sentence and you can still be loved and happy

Back to your question, I guess, I still haven’t paid a visit to a therapist lol. I’m scared i might find out something about myself that i won’t like. I’m scared of being called out on my bullshit. I’m scared of leaking like a broken faucet. I get dizzy thinking about some of the crap I went through and I sometimes think it’s better left in pandora’s box, that it’s better to keep the lid on. I don’t know. Sometimes my life feels like some really badly written CW show. But I’m still happy with where I am today. Always. One day i’ll organize my thoughts and write something meaningful about the storms in my mind. But until then, i’ll borrow the voice of fictional characters to work through some of my personal experiences.

Sorry about the rambling. I’m SO angry at Delta airlines right now. I had to channel that anger into something else haha.

[valkerymillenia]

I ask all 50!!! Fill us with fun facts about you!

Holy shit, again?! I’m not that interesting, you know?But ok, I’ll try, I’ve already answered some though.

1: What color are your socks?

Answered.

2: Have you ever lied about your age? Why?

Answered already!

3: What is something you regret in the past month?

So much wasted time…

4: Do you believe in love at first sight?

I’ve answered this before- no, I believe in attraction at first sight; love, however, needs to be earned, grown and nourished.

5: When was the last time you wrote someone a letter on paper?

Do notes to translate conversations into paper for my deaf dad count? If so, then today.If you mean real letters… I honestly don’t remember.

6: How old were you when you first learned how to ride a bike? Who taught you?

Answered!

7: Do you get along with your parents? Why or why not?

Oh my gods, this is such a loaded question…Ok, I’ll try to keep it simple. Who am I kidding? That’s not possible.

Mom- ok so my mom is denial of any form of mental illness but she clearly has manic depression and war PTSD since forever. So as a result my mom has always been a bit aloof, irresponsible, neglectful, super permissive, a sneaky opportunist and a slightly childish and impulsive. Never thinks ahead, just goes nuts on the moment or spends too much time asleep (no in between).So my mom wasn’t the best mother in the world, she was a great caregiving and spoiling mother when we were babies but as soon as we gained minimal independence (aka around 5 years old) she just slacked off on the motherhood department. She’s not very bad, she’s just irresponsible and opportunistic and won’t interfere if we need help which doesn’t suit a mother but she’s a great person so she makes a very good friend (as long as you set boundaries and basic duties), she’s funny and sweet and a bit geeky, she’s also beautiful and used to be a model before I was born so she’s that fashion and beauty oriented friend (if fact she’s a certified beautician and taught me all she knows).So… Complicated relationship, lots of love but not the best mom (can’t blame her, grandma was a bitch).

Dad- I love him, he raised me, but I was also his main caregiver since I was 10 since he’s deaf and crippled. He’s a funny and permissive dad (except when he had explosive bouts of rage but that was a phase…a traumatic and slightly violent phase around the divorce time but short), he tried to be a provider and friend with shared interests with me. BUT he was also quite neglectful, being deaf made him very introverted, paranoid and isolated so he just let me run wild (I didn’t, I was taking care of the house and school instead) while he was cooped up playing pc games. We have that friendly daddy’s girl relationship but we both lack trust, we keep our more important thoughts to ourselves and I’m always afraid that as a deaf person he’ll misunderstand important things or judge me for whatever (and he’s always also feeling judged) so our relationship often feels shallow, he’s also the type in denial about people’s mental illness.

Biological father- Fucking complicated. As a little child he babysat me and was our neighbor so I was always hanging out and getting candy, he was also the person that cherished me the most to take hundreds of photos of me. I moved at age 5 so after that we only communicated through my grandma when she traveled between countries, he’d send me presents and worry about me. I only found out he was my progenitor when I was 10 and it took me years to accept it. Saw him again when I was 18, in fact it was like shock therapy- I spent a whole month living with him as I visited my hometown again. He likes to spoil me as much as he can and he’s very kind but also naive and stubborn and not the type that likes to talk about feelings or important things so talks between us are extremely awkward chitchat.

Stepdad- Terrible relationship. He’s the kind of person that is a caregiver for us all out of duty but then uses that to emotionally manipulate everyone. He’s small minded, old fashioned and selfish and blames everyone for his problems, he also seems to have a personal thing against me- pretty sure he doesn’t hate me but I’m his natural verbal punching bag, anything I say or do in front of him, no matter how innocent, even standing still for a moment or asking to pass the juice at dinner, he twists everything into insults and psychological abuse. Luckily my sister is his baby so she escapes his judgement but he wasn’t that much of a present parent to her either and let her run wild a lot (I’m so glad I could turn that around and teach her to be way more responsible than her parents). The only reason I don’t totally hate him is because he gave me sister, who I love most in the world.

8: What’s your favorite season?

Answered!

9: Do you currently like someone?

Yup, also answered before.

10: Have you ever used an Ouija board?

I know how but I never used it, as a Wiccan my preferred specialty for spiritual communing was pendulum scrying.

11: What’s the last song you sang?

“Havanna” by Camilla Cabello has been stuck in my head for weeks.

12: What’s your favorite scent?

Telling me to choose just one fav of anything is hard af… But here are some favs.

Fresh peppermint, lavender, petrichor, burnt eucalyptus, baby powder, sea water, freshly baked bread, and oddly enough- gasoline.

13: What’s your favorite urban legend?

Can’t choose favs but off the top of my head… La Llorona.

14: What’s a bad habit that you have?

Procrastinating.

15: What’s a strange habit that you have?

All my odd stims and ocd rituals.

16: What’s the first instrument that you learned to play?

Answered.

17: How would you describe your ‘type?’

Already answered in the previous ask meme.

18: Would you rather stay in or go out?

Both, when I go out I make it special and try to make the most of it because it’s rare… But I guess I do prefer the safety and routine of staying home.

19: What was the last thing you said to your mom?

“Never going to see what you borrowed from dad again, am I? This is why people don’t trust you, you never keep your promises…

Well, whatever! How are the stitches? You’re better, right?

Ok, put my sister on. Kisses, bye.”

20: Do you want to get married someday?

Already answered in the previous asked meme.

21: Have you ever snuck out?

Not that I needed to with my kind of parents but yeah, a couple of times.

22: Can you sing well?

I love to sing but whether I’m good or not is up to the listener, I can post a song sample if anyone wants.

23: What’s an embarrassing thing that happened this week?

Other than grovelling desperatly for help?

24: When was the last time you went sledding?

Never?

25: Have you ever/do you liked someone you know you can never be with?

Yeah.

26: Do people often mispronounce your name?

Yes! If you’re not a Portuguese speaker, I DARE you to pronounce my surname. Go ahead- Coelho.

27: Would you like to live in another country?

I do miss my home country, South Africa holds my heart… and I’ve dreamed of a stint in Japan. But all in all, I like this country, it’s…interesting, safe.

28: Do you like to watch ghost-hunting shows?

Not really, they tend to be too over the top and stereotypical. 

29: Who was the last person you said you loved to?

Boyfriend.

30: What’s something you’d like to be better at?

Follow through.

31: Have you ever stayed up to talk to someone who was sad?

Very often, Some right here on tumblr.

32: What was the last thing you cooked?

Chili con carne. Been eating leftovers of it for a whole week now.

33: Do you think you would make a good parent?

Answered already.

34: Do you have trouble sleeping at night?

Answered!

35: Where is your best friend right now?

Given the day and time, my sister is probably at dance practice now.

36: How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?

Depends if I’m making an effort (an hour) or if I’m just being casual (20min).

37: How late do you usually stay up at night?

Answered.

38: When was the last time you cried and why?

I don’t know… 

39: Have you ever won a contest?

Yes, started this year by winning a Justice League pop contest. But that was more of a giveaway... Actual contest? I won a couple b of art contests before but nothing big.

40: Can you draw well?

I have art posted here so you tell me.

41: Would you ever date someone you met on Tumblr/the internet?

Sure. I already do.

42: What was the last thing you ate?

….Bread.

43: Do you think you’re/you’d make a good boyfriend/girlfriend?

I sure hope so, I try my best… But to be honest I don’t think I’m a very good partner.

44: Have you ever had a near-death experience?

About 6 actually.

45: What do you think people think of you?

I don’t know… I’ve been told I make people feel comfortable and I’m easy to open up to? But to be honest I don’t really know.

46: What is your middle name and do you like it?

Augusto. My mom’s maiden name, because that’s how it works here (Name+ maybe 2nd name + mom’s surname + dad’s surname). 

Yes, I like it, it’s latin. But people sometimes mix it up with my paternal grandma’s first name.

47: Are you close with either of your parents?

In my own way, yes. Both mom and dad.

48: Do you like yourself?

Some days…

49: State five facts about your appearance –

-I get a lot of comments on my boobs and I really don’t mind

-I look pale because I stay inside a lot but I tan very easily, probably because my mom is dark

-I love my tattoos, I’m proud of them

-I wear glasses or contacts in important occasions 

-I have the worst time looking people in the eye

50: State five facts about your personality –

-I’m patient but full of anxiety

-I don’t have just one personality

-I try to be as unbiased and non-judgmental as possible

-I’m obsessive about random things

-I like solitude but I also like interacting (though the more non-physical the better)