and how close he is with that flatmate of his

anonymous asked:

Isak eats really unhealthy! While his friends are all eating sandwiches at school he'll eat a bun or a Norwegian waffle. Like boy should not be living by himself, lol. I'm glad even makes him eggs for breakfast. And I wonder if even is good at cooking in general. At least he seems to be taking charge in the kitchen so far. I have a feeling Isak is the kind to just grab a handful of cereal out of the box before

FO’ REAL!! I doubt Isak has had a balanced meal since he ran away from home! And he may very well grab cereal from the box, assuming he has any at home, either way he’s probably forgotten to buy milk.

Even is definitely more interested in cooking than Isak, and given that he has some seasoning tricks to make the food taste better, I imagine he has some culinary talents as well. Isak however, I doubt could cook to save his own life! At least this is what empiric data tells me…

Because of course me being the weirdo I am, I’m physically incapable of speculating about stuff like this without researching and getting all the facts™ first, so I’ve gone through all the times (that I could remember) we’ve seen Isak eating and compiled some data.

In the words of Isak: NU KÖR VI~


We don’t really know anything about Isak’s eating habits at home (in S1). And aside from Even, the only one who’s made food for Isak is Eva. When they were at Jonas’ cabin she made them pasta and tomato sauce

She also treated him to a coffee at one point (not food but still!).

I didn’t remember seeing Isak eat anything in particular in S2, so let’s skip onto S3….

First time we see Isak eating in S3, is the bun you mentioned. We see him tearing the raisin out of the bun, which tells me this is one of those semi-sweet raisin buns. They are delicious but not exactly healthy. (somewhat related: after close inspection I’m 95% sure these are raisin buns with CARDAMOM ❤︎).

Next time we see him eating it’s the cheese toast with ALL THE SPICES and ketchup that Even made him. Not exactly balanced food, but alright for a midday snack imo?

Unfortunately I doubt Isak finished it… when their datehangout got interrupted by guests, you see Isak look down dejectedly at his toasts and tap his thumb against his leg. :( Once Sonja is introduced I imagine Isak made himself scarce.

When Even spends the weekend at Isak’s after Halloween, they must have eaten something. The flatmates didn’t see either of them until Sunday, supposedly, but the mug Even puts ash in suggests to me that Isak probably sneaked out and made them sandwiches & cocoa or smth (that or the mug was already in his room… but one entire day, they’d have to eat) at some point.

Isak isn’t really great at getting breakfast either. That Sunday he literally opens the door, gets asked about Even by Noora and Eskild, and then closes the door again. Wonder how long it took for him to dare venture out… boy must have been starving!

After the painful ‘breakup’ when Isak wasn’t sleeping well, I can’t imagine he was eating so great either. Especially not if you consider the sad sad toast he got from the canteen. One toast with only cheese, it seriously looks just as tired as Isak does!

Of all the foods Isak has bought, the kebab he ate with Jonas is definitely among the healthiest. I imagine he spends most of his allowance/the money his dad sends on snapbacks (he can’t have borrowed all of them!), beer and eating fast food.

Luckily, if it’s down to Even Isak gets to eat a sturdy breakfast. And that’s good considering how Isak hardly seems to be able to get himself breakfast at the flat. (does he even have any food there?) I imagine that Even realized this when he stayed over the previous time, and simply decided to take matters into his own hands, with a little help from the Noora (and Eskild), making Isak scrambled eggs after staying over the second time.

Isak doesn’t join the guys for pizza… but on Friday, Isak waits for Even at the KB. I only saw a coffee cup though, so who knows if he had anything to eat there? Once again Even makes sure they get some food, ordering burgers and champagne (and what looks like cakes? fancy smørbrød?) at the hotel. Isak doesn’t exactly lack appetite at that point ;)

We don’t know what or how he ate the days after… but on Tuesday, we’re back to Isak’s classic diet. He gets a waffle. The guy doesn’t even put jam or anything tasty on it (except whipped cream?). idk what is up with Nissen’s canteen, but stuff looks plain af. (I feel for norwegianall kids who are forced to pay for or bring their own school lunches….)

Now last food Isak prepared (as I am writing this) was a ready-made frozen Grandiosa pizza, which can hardly be considered cooking. And it wasn’t even his (he doesn’t have any food at the flat does he…).

In conclusion (TL;DR):

I doubt Isak knows how to cook. I’m CERTAIN he maintains a horribly unhealthy diet ever since he ran away from home. And I’m hoping that Even’s cooking skills extend beyond breakfast and sandwiches, but honestly I’m fairly certain it does? Even seems comfortable enough in a kitchen to figure it out and make them some healthy food. So with Even in his life…

Hallelujah Isak is saved!!

notdanhowell

summary: Dan has a guilty pleasure: phan blogs. It’s a mixture of conceited arrogance and morbid curiosity, really. And really, it’s a mixture of these two things that lead to him catfishing members of his phandom and becoming a headcanon blog. After all, what harm can one headcanon do?
word count: 2,134/20,000
warnings (this chapter): recreational drinking, kissing, light fantasy

LAST CHAPTER |  NEXT CHAPTER

A couple of weeks pass where nothing noteworthy happens. Dan doesn’t have a big metal breakdown, comes to accept that his life now involves writing headcanons about himself and his best friend. They’re all platonic, domestic things, though, and nothing that their viewers couldn’t work out by watching enough of their videos. So it’s innocent.

Keep reading

Accepting Him

Fandom: The Boy
Characters: Brahms, Mr and Mrs Heelshire
Relationship: Brahms/reader
Request: Have you seen The Boy? Could I request one where the reader is a old friend of Brahms and doesn’t know hes still alive but agrees to be a nanny to the doll to repay the family? And its like the same plot as the movie but its her abusive dad Brahms kills and she stays? Thx
Authors Note: Massive Spoiler – but what a great movie!
You looked out of the window of the black taxi, the trees becoming a blur. The taxi driver was focused on the road which you were grateful for since you didn’t feel like speaking to anyone.
You were going to stay with the Heelshire out in their big country home. You were both dreading and looking forward to it.
You had known the family many many years ago, back when you were 7 years old. You have been best friends with Brahms, whos weirdness matched your own. But you were from an abusive family and he hated that. SO when the whole Emily thing had happened, your family had dragged you away to another country so that the police wouldn’t find out about the nasty hand shaped bruise on your arms or the black eyes you had.
You had found out that Brahms had died not long after you left in a house fire. It had devastated you. So you were surprised when you accidently stumbled across an add to look after a 8 year old boy called Brahms who lived at the same address, you were on the phone straight away.
Mrs Heelshire picked up the phone. You were surprise at how she still sound just as you remembered her.
“Hello, Mrs Heelshire. You may not remember me but-“ you had barley finished your sentence when you heard her calling to her husband.
“Daddy, come here. Its [y/n]! You remember her? Brahms little friend!” She sounded so happy despite her somewhat monotone voice. You had heard Mr Heelshire coming in the room and asked how you were. You had always adored them both. They were more like parents that your actual parents. They had tried to protect you from the violence you had endured.
you spent a few minutes exchanging pleasantries and finding out how you were. But you were curious and that curiosity got the better of you.
“The reason I called was because of this add I found.” As soon as you spoke, you heard the other side of the phone fall silent. You allowed them to gather their thoughts before Mrs Heelshire spoke, her voice shaking.
“Yes, we are looking for a nanny while we are away on holiday.” She was rather vague which made you frown but you were glad she couldn’t see you. She would always tell you off if you had frowned a her when you were younger.
“For Brahms. But he- he would have been 26, would he?” You ask, originally going to say but he was dead but then you decide against it.
“Yes, my dear. But he is still very much with us. He is still a child, still 8 years old.” She said and instantly you understood.
You had seen plenty of cases where parents who had not grieved properly never accepted the loss of their child. Instantly you thought of a doll. Perhaps that was what they required.
You had suffered from guilt over the years. You should have stayed to help Brahms and maybe you could have helped him more. Maybe if you had been there, he wouldn’t have been killed in the fire. These maybes killed you every day. You had never forgotten him.
“May I apply?” You ask, hearing the intake of breath on the other line. They hadn’t expected that.
You heard a muffling sound which you assumed was a hand being placed over the phone and voices which were muffled. You had allowed them to speak amongst themselves.
But they had accepted and offered you the job there and then. In fact, Mrs Heelshire had sounded thrilled as she told you she would pay for your travel expenses.
She asked if you had a job that you needed to give notice period but you told her you were a writer so it would be nice to spend a couple of months away and that you could work on your new book.
So, here you were. The house began to loom over the trees as the taxi driver stopped the car to open the gates. Memories flooded back to you.
When you would come up here, you were small enough to slip through the gates and run up the path.
You blinked away the tears as the driver gets back into the car and drives up.
Arriving outside the grand doors, you were surprised at how it hadn’t changed. Apart from the outsides of Brahms room. That was boarded up.
Of course, Mrs Heelshire was waiting for you outside and she smiled as you got out the car. You weren’t sure how she would greet you but she embraced you with open arms. As you pulled back, she moved a strand of your [h/c] hair out of your face.
“my, my. You grew up to be so beautiful.” She mumbled, more to herself than you but you couldn’t help but smile at her. It was very rare you received compliments since you kept yourself to yourself.
Her smile faulted as she looked over her shoulder into the house.
“Come, there is much to go over.” She then turned on her heel and walked inside.
You followed her but only after the driver had said he would place your luggage inside for you.
She talked you through your duties, cooking and some light cleaning. She told you that there will be a man who delivers the groceries once a week and that they kept and froze all the leftovers. You nodded and smiled, showing you understood.
Then she took you to meet Brahms.
As you thought, he was a doll. When you walked into the room, Mr Heelshire was crouched by a chair, speaking to someone in the chair and as he moved, your mouth nearly fell open.
The doll was so similar to the Brahms you remembered. His big eyes, neatly combed black hair. Even down to his smart outfit.
Of your own accord, you walked forward and kneeled in front of Brahms, looking at him.
You knew Mr and Mrs Heelshire eyes were focused on you but you didn’t care. You felt a pang of pain in your chest. You missed him every day and now, you may have a chance to repay him and this family for leaving. You reached out and ran your finger down his cheek.
“Introduce yourself dear. He may not recognise you. You have grown up so much.” Mr Heelshire nodded to you.
“Hi, Brahms. It’s me, [y/n]. Remember me? We used to play together when we were children.” You smiled at Brahms, taking his small, porcelain hand and shaking it lightly.
Mrs Heelshire smiled, placing a hand over her heart.
You spent the rest of the day with Mr and Mrs Heelshire and Brahms of course. They showed you how to clean the traps and what clothes Brahms needed to be dressed in and the way your day should work. You got very excited when Mrs Heelshire asked you to read poetry and play classical music. Mr Heelshire said a number of times that things weren’t as they seemed and that Brahms was still here. You agreed with him.
When you were finished, she asked for a moment alone with Mr Heelshire and Brahms. You stood in the hall, a little nervous. What if they resented you for leaving?
But Mrs Heelshire opened the door, beaming at you.
“He wants you, if you will still have him?”
Of course, you agreed.
—————-time skip ——————–
After Mr and Mrs Heelshire left, you followed the rules to a tee.
You woke, dressed and cared for Brahms. You had sat with him the first night and poured your heart out to the doll. You cried, sobbing about how sorry you were and that you wanted to stay with him but they wouldn’t let you.
However, you were slowly beginning to believe that he was alive, the doll was alive. Little items would go missing, like a neckless and some clothes. Sometimes, things weren’t where you left them and sometimes, it was the doll himself who had moved. You had tested your theory by placing him on the floor and drawing around him with chalk and he would move!
At first, you didn’t believe it but now, you were sure he was here, in spirt or something. You assumed he had forgiven you for leaving since he never did anything to hurt or scare you (on purpose). He would never go out of his way to make you happy.
Like leaving your favourite book on your bed to read to yourself or he would give you hints to what you could write about.
You would sit with Brahms and play the piano for him, or read to him.
Over time, you became attached to him.
It was apparent that he didn’t like Malcom, the delivery boy. But neither did you. He was too noisy and rude. But he did only come around once a week.
You were sitting with Brahms, reading to yourself when you heard a bang from downstairs. You jumped and looked at Brahms.
“Was that you?” You asked, but when you heard it again, you knew it wasn’t Brahms. You quickly got to your feet and picked up Brahms, holding him close to your body protectively.
Walking down the corridor, you called out ‘hello?’ a couple of times before deciding the noise was coming from the pool room.
You turned the corner and there stood your father. Abusive, drunk, controlling father.
“There you are [y/n]! Get your stuff.” He stumbled across the room, bashing his hip on the table and grunting.
“How did you knew where I was?” You ask, your voice shaking as you hold Brahms tighter. Your father’s eyes fell on the doll, smirking at you.
“Your flatmate. Ran into her while she was forwarding on your mail. Managed to nick a letter and here I am. How dare you leave without my permission.” He became enraged, walking up and grabbing your upper arm. You struggled but he squeezed tighter, making you cry out in pain.
“Stop it, you’re hurting me!” You cry out, pulling back. Just as you did that, he left go and you fell backwards, your head banging against the wall. You whimper to yourself, checking Brahms before yourself. You were relieved to see he was unharmed.
“Now, get your stuff. Now, [y/n]!” He demanded as he turned.
“Please, don’t leave me.” A quiet voice, only loud enough for you to hear. Your eyes widened as you looked at Brahms. Had he spoke to you?
Your eyes light up as you thought of an idea.
“Can we leave tomorrow? It’s so dark out and we are so far from anywhere. And in the morning, I’ll make food.” You call out, still looking at Brahms but you could tell your father had stopped.
“Fine. Get me some covers, girl.” He growled and you scrambled to your feet, running out the door with Brahms in your arms. You set him down in his room.
“I don’t want to put you in danger again so I’m going to leave you alone for just a moment, okay?” You ask but don’t get a reply so you took that as a yes and ran out the room to grab covers and pillows.
Your father was already passed out on a couch by the time you had got back so you threw the covers over him, knowing that if he woke up and saw them folded in a corner, you would get a whack for being lazy.
You ran back to Brahms and shut the door, locking it from the inside. You lay down beside him and wrapped your arms around him.
“I’m not going to leave you, not again. But I need your help.” You whispered to him, the fear in your voice obvious. You whispered to Brahms a few more times that you weren’t going to leave him but you began to grow sleepy, your eyelids dropping.
You were dozing when you heard your name being screamed by your father at the top of his lungs. He sounded both angry and scared which was dangerous. You instantly noticed Brahms was gone and the door was open. You scrambled out of the bed and bolted down the hallways, your heart beating hard against your chest.
‘please let him be okay. Please let Brahms be okay.’ You prayed as you rounded the corner of the pool room to see your father leaning against the pool table, blood on his forehead. You looked around and saw dead rats in his luggage.
“There you are. What the hell is this?” He demanded, walking over to you but all you could do was shake your head, your eyes falling on Brahms in the corner. You mumbled his name as you ran around the table to pick him up. Your father followed you.
“Really, the doll? You think I believe that?” he then snatched Brahms by the legs and pulled him from your grasp.
“No, no, no. please!” You gasped, trying to get him back. But your father was no hold Brahms fragile body by the leg and swinging him around.
“You think I’m going to believe that a doll did this. You need to grow up. ‘Brahms’ is dead. And it’s all your fault.” He sneered at you, knowing how to kick you when you’re down.
“Please, just give him back.” You cried, tears running down your cheek as you held your hands out to him.
you father turned to you, smirking. You didn’t like that smirk; it was one he would give you when he would have a horrible idea.
“Once I break this doll, I’m going to kill you.” He sneered then raised the doll over his head and slammed it down on a chair. The porcelain face shattered into a thousand pieces before your eyes. You fell to your knees, your eyes wide and your mouth open. You let out a cry of angst as you watch one of Brahms eyes falling off the seat.
You had failed him again.
You buried your head in your hands as you sobbed. Hearing footsteps, you prepared yourself for the pain but it never came.
Instead, there was a number of bangs and thumps which made you look up and around. Your father had frozen and was looking fearfully at the wall. He walls shook and the light dimmed slightly.
When the noise had stopped, your father started to walk towards a mirror than was on the opposite wall. You pushed yourself back so your back was against a wall, pulling your knees up to your chest. Just as he was about a foot away from the mirror, it shattered, shards of glass flying everywhere as your father stumbled back. The space behind the mirror was hollow and a figure began to appear. It wore a black vest with a thick, chalk coloured sweater. His face was covered with a mask of a dolls face, similar to Brahms one. He had jet black hair which curled at the ends.
As he emerged from the hole in the wall, he looked at you and then to your father.
“Who the fuck are you?!” You father cried out before pouncing at the man.
It would seem the man expected his and gripped your father arms, swinging him around and slamming him against the wall. But your father was still a little drunk and a little pain would stop him. He lunged at the man again and once again, the man managed to better him. He pinned your father down on the floor, his hand on your father throat.
Your father looked at you, his eyes begging for help but you just shook your head.
The amount of time you had been thrown about a room, chocked, struck, beaten by him. You honestly didn’t care if this stranger killed him.
Your father’s eyes fell shut and he stopped struggling.
you watched his body go limp and felt relived.
It was over. You would no long have to run and hind from him anymore.
But the relief was short lived at the man turned his attention to you. You held your breath as he stood and walked over to you, somewhat timidly. As if he was afraid of what you would do.
You closed your eyes as you saw him crouching in front of you, waiting for him to finish you of too. But you were surprised when you felt a shaking finger stroking your cheek. You opened your eyes and saw the man in front of you, his eyes begging you for something.
As you looked into his eyes, you saw something familiar. Something you had seen before.
The timid strokes reminded you of the first time you had come here to look after Brahms, the way you had greeted him.
Then it clicked.
“Brahms?” You asked, your voice shaking as his eyes widened. He gently nodded his head, his curls bouncing slightly.
He was alive. After all this time. You glance to the hole in the wall. He had been living in the walls. He had been here all along.
You reached out and traces a finger down his masks cheek. You could see the burn marks around his eyes so you assumed his whole face must have been burnt, hence the mask. It all clicked together.
It was him you had been looking after. It was from inside the walls.
Your emotions were everywhere. You were filled with relief and sadness. Joy and pain. But as you stared into his eyes, you felt love.
Something behind Brahms moved and your eyes caught a glimpse of your father stumbling over to Brahms, his pocket knife raised above his head.
“Watch out!” You cried, pushing Brahms out the way and pouncing forward.
Your father brought the knife down and it caught your cheek.
Brahms was quick to tackle your father from the side, the knife falling out his hand just as he fell to the ground. You watched Brahms grab a piece of the broken doll and ram it into your father throat. Blood spurted everywhere as your father let out a gargling notice, his legs falling still.
You ran to Brahms, cupping his cheeks and turning his face to look at you.
“Brahms, you okay?” You asked, your voice shaking as he looks at you. He nodded slightly but his hand raises and touches your cheek. When he pulls it away, you see the blood on his fingertips. You raised your own hand and touch your cheek, the cut stinging.
when you winced you felt a slender hand wrap around your wrist gently and pulled it away. You looked at Brahms to see his eyes on your cheek.
He began to stand up, pulling you up with him. You were too busy concentrating on him to see how he was concentrating solely on you. His eyes skimmed your face, his hand reaching up to cup your good cheek.
He then took your right hand and pulled you out of the pool room and into the kitchen. You stumbled a little behind him, head still spinning.
He was so tall. You couldn’t help but feel dwarfed by him slender body.
As you entered the kitchen, he pointed at the large dining table before going into the cupboard with a medical kit. You went over and stood by the table, not wanting to sit and risk getting blood on the wood.
Brahms turned back to you, in his hand was the medical kit. You could see he was shaking slightly. The adrenaline must have worn off and now he was worried. Worried about you or because of you, you didn’t know.
He pointed to the table again.
“I don’t want to get blood on the table, Brahms.” You said, trying to keep your voice normal. He probably was worried about how you would react.
He shook his head slightly and walked over to you, placing a hand either side of your waist and lifted you up to sit you on the table. You couldn’t help but giggle at this.
He had picked you up as if you were the same weight as a doll. Which was ironic.
Brahms then stood in front of you and started to dab at your cheek with an antibacterial wipe. They stung and you flinched away.
Brahms pulled back when you winced, his eyes screaming apologies at you for the pain. You smiled slightly at him, straighten back up to show you were okay and Brahms got back to work. You knew there was nothing that could be done since he couldn’t cover it with a bandage or plaster and it wasn’t deep enough to warrant stitching. So you would just have to wait for it to heal.
You took that moment to let your mind wonder.
You pieced together everything in your mind. The missing items, the moments, the noises. It was Brahms but not in spirt, in person. Despite the past months, you felt safe with him. Even though it was a somewhat strange situation, you trusted Brahms with your life. He could easily kill you. He had proven he was strong and that he could. But he wouldn’t.
Because he needed you. And you needed him.
Your eyes moved to his mask. You knew he had been badly burnt and that was probably why he wore this mask. He wanted the perfect skin of that mask, of the doll. Your heart wept for him. You wondered if his mother or father had encouraged him to wear the mask.
You reached out both your hands, your fingers trailing along the cheek of the mask. You noticed Brahms had stopped and was staring down at you, his eyes wide. You hooked the tips of your fingers around the sides of the mask and began to pull it up, attempting to remove the mask. Brahms hand quickly but gently grabbed your wrists, his eyes begging for you to stop as he let out whimper.
“Don’t you trust me?” You asked gently, frowning slightly. You saw him falter a little as if he was asking himself the same question.
Slowly, he lowered his hands and you lifted the mask off his face.
The right side of his face was badly scarred with burns while his left side wasn’t as badly. In fact, even with the burns, you were surprised at how handsome he was.
His eyes were staring at the floor, his black curls falling in front of his eyes. He had a full beard but it didn’t go up the side of his face due to the scars. You placed the mask gently to the side then reached out your right hand to brush the curls out of his face. He looked up at you.
“[y/n].” He spoke quietly. His voice was a little raspy but angelic.
“Hi Brahms.” You smile, as if it was the first time you had met, which it was.
Before you knew what was happening, his arms were waist around your waist and hugged you close, his face buried in your neck. You didn’t waste any time wrapping your own arms around him, holding him close and trying to sooth him.
When he pulled back, he kept close with his forehead against yours. Your eyes glanced down at his lips. They were full with a small scarring on the right side of his top lip but you didn’t care. To you, he was perfect.
Gently, as if not to scare him, you leaned forward, your hands on the back of the neck and your thumbs rubbing small circle. Brahms watched you closely, as if he didn’t believe what was happening but the second he realised this was real, he quickly closed the gap between you in a sweet kiss. The kiss, though full of inexperience, was passionate. His hands held you close with a sense urgency and he left out sweet little moans every now and again.
You pulled back a little for air, despite Brahms desperation to continue the kiss. You knew he probably wouldn’t have kissed or been with a girl but you hadn’t been kissed before anyone either.
Just then, the clock in the kitchen chimed midnight, making you jump a little.
“Oh Brahms. I didn’t realise how late it was. We should really get to bed.” You jumped down from the table, making Brahms take a step back, his head hung and his body slouched over. You smiled a little to yourself before reaching out and taking his hand. You thought of sleeping in your bed alone and something about that made you uneasy.
“Could you stay in with me tonight? I can sleep on the floor or something. I just don’t want to be on my own.” You asked shyly, avoiding eye contact with him. You really wanted for him to stay but you didn’t want him to feel forced.
You saw his feet stop in front of you and felt his arms wrap around you and he started to guild you toward the door.
He kept you close as he walked up the stair and to your room. You assumed that was he was agreeing to stay. And as you thought, he came into your room with you.
Neither of you bother to take off the clothes as Brahms walked around the queen bed. You walked over to the small armchair in the corner of your room which you had fallen asleep in before but a pair of arms wrapped around you and lifted you up before Brahms walked over and placed you on the bed. He then walked around the bed and crawled in beside you. Brahms lay on his back, his arms by his side but the warmth of him drew you so you cuddled into his side.
The last thing you remembered was an arm wrapping around you and his body turning so Brahms was holding you close.

Finding Home - Chapter 15 (Sam Drake x Reader)

Tagging: @dragonjedihobbit, @fhujami, @kerripamyupamyu, @unchartedterritoria, @random-aya, @sugardaddysully, @emilyackles, @axolotlqueen, @souls-rain, @aaudialeth, @asadhunter, @mirageofthedesert, @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13, @ellana-ravenwood, @itseugenestuff

❤️  Thank you for everyone who liked/reblogged this story and big hugs to those who have commented!  ❤️

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 16


“I don’t care if it’s the comfiest couch you’ve ever sat in, it’s ugly as hell!” - you complained as you watched Sam wiggling in the couch.

“Come on, just try it! My ass knows what it’s doing, just trust it!”

“Your ass can suck it!” - you said loudly and the people around you looked at you shocked.

Sam snickered as he saw their reaction and he stood up.

After about an hour of searching, debating and fighting over which couch you should buy, you found one which both of you liked. It had a nice beige colour, it wasn’t that big, but when it was turned into a bed, it was big enough for Sam, and he found it very comfortable too, so you decided to buy that one. 

Once it was in your apartment, you put the clothes from your boxes in your wardrobe, so there was room so it can be turned to a bed at nights. In the next three days Sam still made you food and tea, and if you happened to fall asleep on the couch he carried you to your room. Your bedroom door wasn’t closed anymore when you were sleeping, this way he could hear you if you woke up and felt bad, so he could comfort you, but it never happened.

Keep reading

Not A Chance

Author: C. Ford

Characters: John x Reader, Sherlock

A/N: Wrote a short one for @fandomfreak221b, @martinfreemanisababe, and all the John girls out there. Hope you enjoy this! Feedbacks are needed appreciated (and loved).

Special thanks goes to @prettyxlittlexwriter for beta-reading this! Check her blog out for more Sherlock x Readers! ☺️

Summary: John introduces his girlfriend to his flatmate.

Theme/s: Fluff.

Word Count: 1000+

“G-God, it’s cold.” You stopped in your tracks and your voice shook when you shivered. You rubbed your hands together as you placed it on your mouth to blow hot air into it.

John looked at you amusedly. “Well, winter is coming.” He said. It was so cold that you could see his breath in the air.

“Did you just-” You furrowed your brows and he just shrugged. “You are so corny.” You playfully rolled your eyes at him.

“You love me.” He smirked before reaching for both your hands. “Here. Let me.”

“What are you-” Your confusion turned into adoration when John stood in front of you and took both your hands in his glove-clad ones. He rubbed on them a little before bringing them up to his mouth. Somehow his air was much warmer than yours.

“Better?” He asked while rubbing on your hands again. “Y/N?” He asked when you didn’t answer. You were smiling at him like he’s one of the seven wonders.

“Huh?” You were brought back from your trance. “Yes. Better. Much better.” You rambled and he snickered.

“Come, we’re almost there.” He said, taking you by the hand and leading you deeper into Baker Street. You’ve been together for months now but this is only the first time he’s bringing you to his place. According to him, you were something else and he wants to build a stronger foundation with you before you meet his dickhead flatmate who ruins all his relationships.

“This is me.” He announced, gesturing to a door beside a deli.

“221B…” You read the numbers and he hummed while he took his keys out to open the door. He led you inside but he stopped when he closed the door. “Uhm, my flatmate can be quite blunt and childish. Not that he means to, he, uhm, just is.” He struggled to explain but you just nodded.

“I can handle blunt and childish. Besides, how bad can he be?” You asked, making him chuckle nervously. Oh, how he prayed that you don’t break up with him tonight.

“Let’s get you warmed up.” He led you upstairs into the sitting room where offered to take your coat and scarf. “Sorry about the mess, it’s my flatmate, he-”

“It’s okay, John.” You reassured him with a giggle. “I like it. I feel warmer already.” You smiled, pulling him for a kiss.

The kiss was supposed to be cute and chaste but it seemed like John had a different plan. He angled his head so he could kiss you deeper, his hands rested on your hips where he lifted the hem of your shirt a little so he could touch a bit of you. He was warm against your skin, caressing small circles on your sides.

Your hand trailed from his arms to his hair, your cool fingertips on scalp just urged him to continue what he’s doing. He was pushing your shirt higher when someone coughed really loudly. You and John immediately took your hands off each other before looking at the fake cougher.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t turn the sitting room into-” Sherlock stopped when he saw you. “Hello.” He said before walking towards you. “Sherlock Holmes.” He offered his hand while he stared at your flushed face, almost in awe.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You shook his hand. John was giving Sherlock a weird look. He was barely civilized in front of people, let alone his past girlfriends.

Sherlock’s eyes looked down at your shirt and you noticed your skin was showing. You immediately pulled it down. “Sorry.” You ducked your head. “I probably look like a mess.”

“No, you look okay. Quite lovely, in fact.” He said and you could feel your face heat up at his straight-forwardness.

“Okay! Everyone knows everyone!” John clapped his hands once. “Why don’t you sit for a bit and I’ll fix you some tea.” John said to you and you nodded. “Sherlock, come help me, will you?” Sherlock reluctantly followed John to the kitchen but not without looking at you one last time.

“I like her.” Sherlock said once you were out of earshot.

“Sorry, what?” John blinked. “You like her?”

“I do.” Sherlock confirmed. “She’s perfect and I want her.”

“You want her-” John inhaled. “You just met her!” John laughed without amusement.

“Irrelevant. You need to be break up.”

“No, shut up, Sherlock. You are not ruining this for me.” John whispered.

“You know denying me would only make me want her more, right?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“Just… stop.” John threatened before turning his back to make tea.

When Sherlock and John came back to you with tea, you could tell there was something wrong but you decided to set it aside. All of you talked and you could feel the tension subside. Your conversations were interesting, to say the least and before you knew it, the three of you were drinking wine in your respective teacups. You had shared stories after stories and you had a good laugh but not without Sherlock making an impression by deducing that you’re a forensic anthropologist. It was fun times until you noticed it was getting a bit late.

“It’s not even midnight.” Sherlock complained.

“It’s 2 am, genius.” John chuckled. “I’ll take you home.” John offered but you told him that you’ll just get a cab. You were on your way out when Sherlock spoke.

“This was fun. We should do this again sometime.” He smiled.

“We should.” You smiled back at Sherlock before kissing John’s cheek.

“You know what? I should get your number.” Sherlock interrupted making you both turn to him. John’s eyes held a pissed off emotion but Sherlock chose to ignore it, keeping his eyes on you. “So I could call you about those Billy Kincaid remains we were talking about.” He smiled.

“Yes, of course!” The mention of Billy Kincaid got you enthusiastically reaching for your phone but John stopped you.

“I’ll give it to him.” John interrupted. “You best head home. It’s very late.” John rubbed at your arms and you mouthed a small ‘okay’. John held your cheek lightly and you tipped your head back to allow him to kiss you, earning a groan and an eye roll from Sherlock. “I love you.” John whispered against your mouth.

“I love you too.” You smiled before walking down the stairs, again declining John’s offer to see you out. When the door clicked shut, John turned around to look at Sherlock. They looked at each other for a few silent moments before Sherlock opened his mouth.

“…you’re not giving me her number, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

We’re not friends, we could be anything , by @wakeupwakeupwell and @yoursongonmyheart

The next second, Harry is firing back, “If I wanted to kill you I could have just poisoned your fajitas.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Clever boy.”

Harry feels his skin start to prickle with irritation. The way Louis talks to him, so condescending… Like he’s smarter than Harry… Fuck that.

“I don’t have time for this,” Harry says. “Some of us have schoolwork to do. And jobs to get to. So if you’ll excuse me.”

Harry doesn’t wait for a reply before he pushes past Louis, hoisting his bag further up his shoulder and rushing towards the door. No, not rushing. That would imply Louis is chasing him out. He walks to the door hastily.

He’s not sure, but he thinks he hears Louis mutter “Fucking wanker” before the door to the flat clicks shut behind him.

…Or, the one where Harry and Louis are unlikely uni flatmates who definitely don’t like each other and definitely won’t fall in love (even if Liam and Niall think otherwise).

Harry/Louis | smut | 4 chapters (completed) , 80k

“How do we know this Louis again?” Harry asks.

Niall shrugs, “We have the same drug dealer.”

Harry stares at Niall for a moment, before closing his eyes and trying to take a calming breath. Harry wants to ask if he’s joking. But he knows Niall isn’t joking.

Go read this !

‘The Chemistry of Love’ Chapter 6: Pluto Matters

Sherlock and Molly have been arguing…about Pluto?


               “Molly could you hand me your notes?” Sherlock asked. She rolled her eyes and dropped the notebook onto the lab table with a loud smack. John was taken aback by the sudden change in attitude.

               “Anything else you want?” she asked in a tone feigning sweetness.

               “Well maybe I—“ he faltered when Molly glared at him. “Nevermind.”

               “Are you two alright?” John asked quietly to Sherlock. This behaviour had been going on for nearly five days, though John was just now experiencing it himself.

               “Fine; an overreaction on her part,” Sherlock remarked.

               “Overreaction?” Molly asked incredulously.

               “Well, you are being over-dramatic about the whole thing,” he argued.

               “Says the drama queen, himself,” she retorted.

               “Look, you know that I delete information about the solar system in my mind palace, so why does it surprise you that I have absolutely no opinion on the matter?” Sherlock asked.

               “Solar system?” John muttered to himself, officially confused.

               “It’s just the point that you chose the wrong opinion when I presented it to you,” she huffed. “Pluto is, in fact, a planet; it doesn’t make it any less of one just because it’s smaller than the others. Pluto matters to the solar system and those bloody astronomers are saying that it’s insignificant and it doesn’t count.”

               “Molly,” Sherlock caressed her name, “darling, I think I know what the issue is.” He realized how much her argument resonated with that of the way she used to feel when he treated her as if she were insignificant. A wave of guilt washed over him. They had been living together for two months now and the honeymoon period had faded a bit fast for both of them.

               “A planet? That’s what this whole thing was about?” John chuckled in disbelief.

               “John, could you vacate the premises? I need to speak with Molly alone,” Sherlock told him. The good doctor took his exit, leaving the quarreling lovers alone. “This is definitely not about Pluto, is it?”

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Sherlock x reader

A/N: Hope you like this! This is the Sherlock BBC one I mentioned before(If I did?) I hope I got the characters portrayed okay, as it;s my first time writing them really.

btw (c/n) is cat’s name.

The thunder outside rumbled on as the residents of 221B Baker St. relaxed into their day in. It was Friday evening and although no cases had sprung up all week, Sherlock seemed alright with that. Honestly, John bet he would crash any minute now.
So far, though, the consulting detective has been calm about the matter. He was currently seated in his chair, a small book in his hands. John sat across from him with his laptop, scrolling through the news in hopes or anything springing up in case his best friend started getting antsy.

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novakmills  asked:

Silverflint and 10? :)

Fictional Kiss Prompts: 10. staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in

It wasn’t the way James ate his dessert. Or the way he licked his lips after, to get the small speck of chocolate sauce that hung in the corner of his mouth. It also wasn’t the spoon he licked clean, because Eleanor really did make some wonderful desserts – chocolate brownies filled with raspberries and whipped cream, topped with chocolate sauce.

In fact, it was none of these things. None of all those stupid tips about how to get someone to kiss you, that John had read in some of the magazines Max and Idelle, his flatmates, kept. None left him staring at James’ lips hungrily, like he did now.

But the memory of how those lips felt on his. The feeling of warmth that spread through his belly, the moment they connected. Butterflies dancing in his belly, leaving a whirlwind of his emotions, just because of a small peck.

A kiss from James was warm, filled with love and stirred something old and deep in John. Something once known, but almost forgotten. Something that was very close to love.

As if on cue, James glanced at his direction and gave him a smile. A wonderful, open smile that made his eyes sparkle and his face look soft.

Who was he kidding other than himself? John was in love and he knew. He knew because he kept on looking at James’ face and into his eyes, but god, at his mouth as well. Kissing these lips was marvelous and he wanted to.

Too bad they were at Eleanor’s birthday party and Eleanor was one of James’ friends and none of their friends knew about their relationship. The right time hadn’t come yet to tell them. Mostly because people had long stopped pressing James about moving on. From Thomas, but also from a former life. They just assumed he was about to cling to the past forever.

He nearly had. John knew, though, that he was the reason it had changed.

No one even assumed, John had things to move from, too. But he had, just like James. They had stepped out of the darkness of their pasts together.

He wanted to kiss James so desperately. Here. In the middle of this party. In front of all their friends. To really quiet his past, to move into the present. James laughed, his lips stretched into a grin, covered only slightly by the neatly trimmed beard.

“You know,” a voice said next to him and John startled, tilting his head, looking into the soft brown eyes of Miranda. She was James’ longest friend and Thomas’ widow. James’ lover, too, to be precise, though both knew their desire for each other had lessened over the years. She was more a friend to James than a lover, and both James and John knew it was what counted. “No one here would judge you. You’re free to be happy and share your happiness. I don’t think he minds and if I have to watch you any longer torturing yourself, I’ll kiss him for you.”

John huffed, but something warm spread in his chest. Miranda’s judgement was always spot on and he knew she was right. The little push into the right direction helped, though and he stood. “Between you and I, dear, I don’t think he’d mind,” he stated before walking over.

Turning from Miranda to James, John caught his lover’s gaze. He held it. With each step towards him his smile grew and his surroundings faded into the background. Everyone was just a blur. Until John couldn’t care less what anyone would think, because he stood between James’ legs and looked down at him where he sat.

With James arms around his torso and his head tilted upwards towards John, John’s gaze flickered to James’ lips again. This time though, he followed his instinct and claimed them. Drowning happily in the push and pull of James’ reciprocation. They tasted sweet, from the dessert, but also from the love he was granted to show. It was a marvelous feeling and his heart beat against his ribcage, a wild bird fluttering, just about to be set free.

“I love you,” John mumbled against the lips, when they let go, and James smiled. Smiled and smiled, ignoring all the stares.

“I love you, too,” James replied with a murmur himself. His gaze flickered to the side and then he chuckled. John had to follow James’ gaze and couldn’t contain himself when he saw Eleanor with her mouth open, Jack flopping down onto the arm chair and Miranda smirking. “I think we broke them.”

“Let us break them a little more,” John said, his wits back and his heart free of all confines. Then he kissed James again. Because, no matter what, looking at him was still what John preferred to do.

NOT YOUR TYPE CHAP 1

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heard you say, not today.

✧✧✧✧✧


ELSE’S FIRST DAY at Nissens had been worse than expected. She had arrived late, nobody had spoken to her, and the vending machine had kept her change. She just wanted the day to end.

After school, she had to go to her cousin’s place to pick up her stuff. He had promised to drive her to her new apartment to help her unpack. She walked to his house, which was only a few blocks away, and rang the bell.

“Who are you?” the guy who opened the door was certainly not her cousin.

“I’m Else, Neel is expecting me.” She answered, surprised by the cold welcome.

“Whatever, just come inside.”

She chose to ignore him. Closing the door behind her, she went to her cousin’s room.

“Hey El’, how was your day?” Neel greeted her with a warm smile on his face.

“It sucked.” She sighed. “I just want to sleep right now.”

“Too bad you still have to move.” He laughed. “We should get going.”

He helped her gather her stuff, and they left his place. They were both in the car, driving to her new apartment, when Else decided to ask him about the not-so-nice-but-hot stranger who had opened the door.

“That’s just William.” Neel answered. “He’s a friend of Alex, my flatmate. They both go to Nissens.”

“Great…” She mumbled. “This year is gonna be worse than I thought.”

✧✧✧✧✧

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, they were standing outside Else’s new place, waiting for the guy who was already living there to open the door. She was a bit worried about this whole flatmate situation. Sharing an apartment was never easy, she had experienced it in London, where she used to live with her mother and her 10-years-old sister. She had a complicated mother-daughter relationship, and, even though she loved her family with all her heart, she had decided to move back to Oslo for her three years of high school.

The sound of the door opening brought her back to reality. The guy who was now standing in front of her was probably the hottest human being she had ever met. Left hand in his pocket, seductive smile on his lips -so cliché, she thought- he invited her to come inside.

“Hi I’m Chris. Nice to meet you Else… that’s your name, right?”

“Yes, and this is Neel.” She answered, pointing at her cousin.

“Yeah, we know each other, El’. He’s friend with Alex.” Neel explained, greeting Chris with a high five.

“But you didn’t tell me your little cousin had such a pretty face…” The hazel-eyed guy was starring at Else, making her feel rather uncomfortable.

Neel laughed. The two guys started talking about stuff that the girl didn’t really care about; she decided to leave them at the door and visit the apartment.

Else was kind of upset that her cousin didn’t bother to tell her he knew Chris before coming here. Things were definitely not going as planned. Her new flatmate was certainly hot, but he was also friend with Alexander Hagen, and that said a lot about him.

“Else?” Neel called her from the entrance. “I have to leave, I’m working tonight.”

She interrupted her tour of the apartment to  hug her cousin and thank him one last time. He left; Else was now standing in front of the door, feeling Chris’s presence behind her.

“Alone at last.” He whispered in her ear, a cocky smile on his lips. “Come with me, I’ll show you around.”

She sighed. She really had not clue how to deal with him. She followed Chris in the kitchen and around the apartment… and almost bumped into him, as he suddenly stopped in the middle of the corridor.

“So, this is your room.” He said, opening the first door. “And here, your bathroom. But you can always come shower in mine…” He winked.

“Yeah, thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass.” She snapped back. This guy had a serious problem. He just couldn’t keep it in his pants.

✧✧✧✧✧

ELSE HAD DECIDED to make pasta for dinner. Once it was ready, she prepared a plate to bring to her room. But of course, clumsy as she was, she managed to hit her pinky toe on a chair. “Putain.” She swore, wincing in pain.

“Ohh, she swears… In french.” Chris was leaning against the kitchen door, starring at Else, a smirk on his face. “Where have you been all my life, baby?”

“Staying far, very far from you.” She answered, rolling her eyes. “And maybe I should have stayed there. I mean, seriously, I can’t live you, you’re creeping me out.”

And she left the room before he could answer.

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Instagram

455 LIKES - whoelse when u meet your flatmate and suddenly u wanna go back to england

comments :

neeldahl ahahaha

itsalexhagen savage

chrisschistad ouch 💔

whoelse but HOW did you even find my account… @chrisschistad

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That’s all for today! I hope you enjoyed it. I know it’s short, but it’s just an introduction. Sorry for the mistakes / grammatical incoherences. Just keep in mind that I’m French and probably mixing up some stuff.

- thanks <3

‘Meow’ Chapter 1: A Meeting to Remeowmber

Uni!Lock. The RA almost caught Molly’s illegal cat but Sherlock convinced them that it was just him meowing. A multi-chapter Sherlolly story with a dash of Warstan. My attempt at a slow burn lol. We’ll see.

inspired by a prompt from this list (x)

I’ve no idea how long this is gonna be but I just felt like creating a new universe for Sherlolly to fall in love in. :)


“Meow.”

“Shhh, Toby, you have to be quiet,” Molly said in a hushed tone. She left her dorm, closing the door behind her gently. It was a new school year and she had snuck in her new cat. Her flatmate hadn’t arrived yet, but she did know her name was Mary Morstan.

“Meow.” Molly’s eyes widened.

“Do I hear a cat?” Greg Lestrade asked. He took his job as RA very seriously. Molly opened her mouth to speak.

“Nope, sorry, that was me,” a rich baritone voice answered, stepping out of the dorm across from her. Greg gave him a look of suspicion.

“Is that so?” Greg inquired further. Molly’s heart hammered in her chest, afraid of getting caught and being mesmerized by the man’s cerulean eyes.

“Meow,” the mysterious man attempted to mimic. Molly was impressed that his deep voice had nearly imitated Toby perfectly. “I tend to, uh, meow from time to time. I’m trying to break the habit.” The man smirked then, finally sending Greg away. Molly let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

“Thank you for your help,” Molly smiled. “I’m Molly. Molly Hooper.” She extended an arm out, but he waved her off.

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Title: I Want to Hold Your Hand

Summary: Upcoming Youtuber Lucas Perkins, otherwise known as lightperks, has no intention of hiding his growing admiration for Phil Lester. He blatantly flirts with him at YouTube events and continuously praises Phil in his videos. Phil thinks it’s sweet and hilarious but Dan isn’t happy at all and he doesn’t plan on letting Phil know how he feels about him anytime soon.

Starts off Platonic Phan

Word Count: 3.49K

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Kisses In The Snow

A short Johnlock story about John and Sherlock’s first kiss which takes place on a snowy day.


Kisses In The Snow

John walked into the sitting room and plopped down onto the couch. “Sherlock? Why is it so bloody cold in here?” He hugged his pyjama shirt tighter around his body, rubbing his arms to get warm.

Sherlock shuffled into the living room, his eyes still half closed. Jesus, it’s fucking cold. He flopped down onto the couch beside John, wrapping his comforter around his shoulders and tucking his feet under John’s leg.

“Jesus, Sherlock! Your feet are bloody freezing! I can feel them through my god dammed trousers.” John tried in vain to escape his flatmates slender feet. Sherlock just pushed them further under John.

“It snowed.” He said quietly. John looked at him strangely.

“Hmm?” Sherlock sighed dramatically.

“It’s cold because it snowed, John. Really, why must you always be so slow in the mornings.” Sherlock grumbled quietly and John rolled his eyes.

“Well, how was I to know that it wasn’t just cause of some bloody experiment you were doing? Besides, it hasn’t been this cold during the Hols since…well, since I was a kid.” John paused. Actually, now that he thinks about it…

“Sherlock? Why is your hair wet?” His flatmate froze, before tilting his down and away from John’s eyes.

“I…I showered. Obvious. Really John, don’t be dull.” His left foot twitched slightly under John’s leg. John’s eyes narrowed.

“…….You never shower in the mornings.” He said slowly, before something clicked in place in his mind. John bolted up and ran to the front closet. One look at the still damp coat and wet snowy shoes was all he needed to confirm his suspicions. “Ha! I was right! Sherlock, you went outside! To play in the snow!” John ran back to the couch.

Sherlock had his face completely covered by the blanket, only his unruly mop of curly hair showed.

“Dmmph nnnh!” Was all John heard from the confines of the comforter. He laughed and shook his head.

“Come on, let’s go then.” He said, and dragged Sherlock up before pushing him into his room to dress. Ten minutes later Sherlock exited his room with a pair of thick track pants and……was that John’s Christmas jumper?!

“Is that…you know what, never mind. Of course it is.” He shook his head and slipped his coat on.

Thirty minutes later, John was being pummelled by perfectly proportioned snow missiles. He snuck up behind his flatmate when he wasn’t looking and dumped a handful of snow down the back of his coat. Sherlock shrieked loudly, twisting around to push his attacker into a snowbank before leaping onto him.

John giggled as Sherlock sprinkled snow onto his face in revenge, and smiled up through the snowflakes on his eyelashes. Sherlock stopped and stared down at the blonde, his mouth open slightly and his nose and cheeks rosy from the cold.

“John, I…” He started to say, but before he could finish, John crushed his full lips to his. As kisses go, it was pretty chaste; nothing more than lips on lips. But for them? It was heaven.

“John, that was…” Sherlock stuttered, his flushed face much redder than before.

John whispered quietly, “Again?” And when Sherlock nodded their lips once again came together. This time however, the kiss was heated; open mouthed and passionate. Sloppy and hungry and beautiful.

From the front window of their home, a curtain twitched aside. Mrs. Hudson’s peaceful gaze viewed the scene in the snow below, and she smiled. ‘It’s about time,’ she thought. 'My boys finally together. Oh, I can’t wait to tell Mrs. Turner next door!’

2:13 AM

Dan is having one of his occasional existential crises, luckily Phil is always there to comfort him. ~1200 words

A/N: I actually wanted to post this like 2 months ago, I’m really sorry ._. Also thanks to the lovely @vegavulpes for beta’ing!




It was 2:13 in the morning when Phil received Dan’s text.

“Is this really everything there is to life?”

Sighing the youtuber got up from his cosy cocoon of blankets and pillows, silently making his way to his best friend’s room to spend yet another night trying to cheer him up. He hesitated before knocking but then, after waiting for a reply other than the youngers grumbling, eventually let himself in, only to find his flatmate curled up underneath his messy sheets.

Phil wordlessly closed the door behind him and proceeded to climb into his boyfriend’s bed like he had done so many times before. By now he had fortunately grown quite accustomed to Dan’s habit of ending up in an endless spiral of existential questions at 4 in the morning. When they had first moved in together, days like these usually ended up with an 6'3’’, seemingly lifeless ball of self-pity lying on the floor in the corridor and his devastated boyfriend. That being said, Phil now knew how to deal with this kind of situation and therefore quickly slipped under the crumpled duvet, cuddling ever so close to his upset best friend.

“That bad?” But instead of getting an actual answer, he could only make out some kind of muffled ‘mmpfh’ from underneath the sheets.

“At least you already made it to bed, I’d call that progress.” Phil said, trying to lighten up his best friend’s mood - at least a bit.

“As if that makes any difference, I’m just as useless here as I am on the floor of the hallway.” The older one closed his eyes and sighed. Simply knowing that these doubts still lingered in Dan’s mind, present enough to cause these crises - even after all this time and all the effort he had put into showing his best friend the impact he had and how important he was - hurt him. A lot.

“That’s just plain wrong, Dan. I know I said this at least a million times by now, but I sincerely think you’re an incredibly fascinating, smart and talented human being. And nothing you say can convince me otherwise.” But instead of listening, the younger just continued rambling.

“I’m just an unimportant british guy so why do I even bother? Maybe I’ll be dead by next year and my whole ridiculous existence is just going to be forgotten so what reason do I have to keep trying?”

Phil hated Dan being like this, but he hated it way more that he was unable to help. All he could do was trying to keep his friend’s mind far away from everything that could even remotely trigger him.

“You know Dan, I never looked at you the way you look at yourself. Not once. I’ve always seen you as so much more. You’re such a strong-minded and intelligent person, it baffles me every time we’re talking. I feel like everyone realises this except for you and I honestly don’t think that’s fair.”

Dan remained quiet in a way that made the older boy feel like he hadn’t convinced him yet.

“I don’t know if this makes a difference to you, but you made a difference to me. I don’t know where I’d be now without you, but I know for sure that I’d be a lot less happy. And I’m incredibly grateful for the impact you had on my life.”

The other boy didn’t answer though and just wordlessly proceeded to pull up the duvet even further. After a while Phil could make out a whisper from underneath the fabric.

“I’m just randomly put-together tiny pieces of stardust floating through infinity so why exactly should anything I do matter.”

“We all are Dan. We all are, and when you look at humanity as a whole, then yes, maybe your existence doesn’t matter. But neither does mine or anybody else’s.” Phil hesitated for a second before continuing. “I’ll tell you something: nobody is looking at the whole picture. The people of 2479 maybe not remembering you doesn’t mean that you don’t matter now. Which you do. You do matter. Because if you don’t matter, I don’t matter and then nothing else matters and existing is just breathing and why would I want to keep breathing if you didn’t matter?”

There was a long silence before the younger spoke up again.

“I just feel stuck, you know? I’m in the same place I was 6 years ago and as much as I try I’m not moving forward. I feel like no matter what I do - it isn’t enough, I’m not enough. Maybe I never was. It makes no difference whether I try or not.”

“You’ve come so much further than 2009 Dan. You know what I think of when I remember 2009? Autumn in Manchester. And meeting you. And also how I was so happy to even get to know you and so sad because you weren’t doing well. I think about 2009 and I see you in every darkening leaf that’s falling to the ground. I see you, breaking apart and close to giving up, it’s tragic and also beautiful and it hurts to remember. But do you want to know what I see now? It’s 6 years later and I look out of the apartment window in London - our apartment window, watching the flowers bloom and the trees grow their leaves back, starting anew, even more beautiful than they have ever been before, much stronger and full of hope. And that’s how I see you now Dan. You’re not the end of autumn anymore. You’re the beginning of spring.”

By now the younger had crawled out from underneath the cover and cuddled up against his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around him and closing any space that was left between them. As horrible as he was feeling right now, there wasn’t a thing Phil couldn’t help him deal with and just having him around right now did an incredible job at calming Dan down.

“Maybe I’m just scared of how fast the time is running out. I still feel like I just met you a few months ago and I’m freaking out about everything being over just that fast.” Dan said quietly before sighing and closing his eyes again, sinking back in the pillow.

“You know, time is running and the world is changing and the city is getting emptier and eventually the leaves will turn red and orange and yellow again and they’ll fall to the ground and maybe we’re changing but that’s fine Dan, it’s okay, I’m here, we’re fine. We’ll get through everything that’s coming - together, like always. I promise. Everything seemingly flying by right now doesn’t stop us from being happy. Believe me, you’re fine.”

And Dan did. He trusted Phil more than himself, especially in situations like this but he was recovering, he was healing - slowly but steadily. He knew he had his best friend by his side, no matter what. Maybe his life wasn’t perfect right now, but he had Phil and after all that was enough.

The 5th Floor - Chapter 7

Members: Yoongi and Hoseok focus. All members featured.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Light Smut in later chapters

Length: ~2.9k

College/University AU

Link to all Chapters here

Previously

I drop onto my bed with a frustrated sigh, curling up under the covers and breathing deeply, trying to calm myself. What was I thinking?

Well, no, I know what I was thinking. I know what I wanted. I just never knew I could want someone so much.

Min Yoongi had total power over me. And I loved it.

Chapter 7

“Honestly, you look great! Very handsome.” I say with a reassuring smile.

I don’t need to lie, either. His outfit is as classy and charming as the man wearing it.

“I just want to make a good impression.” Jin says, straightening his hair in the mirror. “She’s beautiful and intelligent and has excellent taste - it’s really intimidating!”

I lean on the bathroom door, watching him with a grin.

“Don’t worry about it! Listen, from what you’ve said, you guys are made for each other. You don’t need to over think this. Be yourself. I’m sure she values how genuine you are. Okay?”

Keep reading

Peter and Benedick: Parallel Protagonists

Holy shit. Okay, fascinating Lolilo theory time. So I just saw this edit by bisexual-meme-thief using the song lyric “His home is where his heart is/ at the parties where he roams/ He tells himself he can’t be lonely/ Cause he’s never on his own. /But all the friends he makes at night, in the morning they are gone/ And he’s left with his four walls, his aching head and silent phone.”

Obviously, I immediately began thinking about Peter and these lyrics and how well they fit him. He is shown throughout much of Lolilo to be throwing himself into a drinking and partying lifestyle because he’s feeling very isolated in the flat, and he’s struggling with a lot of self-hatred and guilt over what he did to Hero, and to John, and to everyone else who was hurt by the events of NMTD. He’s having trouble dealing with the idea that he’s capable of that, and trying to make a new identity for himself outside of “all round great guy” Pedro. “All the friends he makes at night” immediately reminded me of the “drinking buddies” Peter was with the night before TAPAS, who of course are not real friends and ostensibly disappear from his life after this night out, so “in the morning they are gone” and Peter comes home with a hangover and doesn’t feel better at all. Peter doesn’t think he CAN feel better, and sees himself as a tragic figure.

And then, I realized that Peter wasn’t the only character these lyrics reminded me of. “He tells himself he can’t be lonely, cause he’s never on his own” brought me straight back to thinking about Benedick. Ben also is clearly very lonely throughout much of Lolilo. He has no friends outside his flatmates and the people they hang around with, and he spends most of his time on the videos because they’re his comfort zone. Ben, like Peter, is also struggling with self-hatred and disillusionment with who he’s supposed to be. He wants to be this exciting, interesting, romantic hero guy, the cheerful funny Vlogger Persona, because he likes the way that makes him feel. He also has a lot of pressure to be smart and academically successful like his professor parents. In real life though (in Ben’s real life, which is still fictional, but you get my point), Ben is failing all his classes. He’s struggling to keep his friendships together and failing to make any new friends. He’s struggling with the romantic hero ideal too because long distance with Beatrice is harder than they thought, and, as we know, they’re failing to communicate about the metaphorical distance between them because they both feel abandoned by the other putting physical distance between them. Everything Ben is trying to hold together keeps falling apart, and when he runs away after Confrontation and no one follows him, we might easily imagine he’s ending up “left with his four walls, his aching head and silent phone”. 

Peter and Ben are BOTH dealing with feeling lonely and losing their identities and really not liking who they are and the paths they are on. They’re both dealing with the same conflict, just manifesting in different ways. Ben is trying to help Peter by instituting rules that might keep him from using his negative coping mechanism of partying too hard, but because he goes about it in such a terribly misguided and hurtful way, Ben makes it worse, and drives a wedge, and his and Peter’s friendship is almost ruined by it. 

And then I realized something extraordinary, something I cannot believe I never saw before. I thought back to TRAGEDY, and I remembered Peter, viewing himself as a tragic hero who has to fall and lose everything. I remembered Ben viewing himself as a romantic hero, wanting everything to be happy, wanting to run to Beatrice across international airports. And then I remembered the lyric from “Extraordinary (For Benedick)”, about Satan falling to hell and “what if I tumbled down as well” and it all fell into place.

Lolilo is a narrative combining BOTH a romantic comedy and a tragedy- but the characters are wrong about who is who. Peter Donaldson, whose arc is all about figuring out how to forgive himself and finally be in a loving relationship with Balthazar, is the romantic hero of Lolilo. And Benedick Hobbes, whose arc is about allowing his self-doubt and loneliness and identity crisis to lead him into an unhealthy dependence on the rules/camera that makes him so miserable and thoughtless and unintentionally cruel that he fails out of school and comes dangerously close to losing all his friends and his girlfriend- Benedick Hobbes is the tragic hero of Lolilo. We are watching a comedy and a tragedy interwoven.

Every time I’ve seen someone talk about how the protagonist of Lolilo is Peter even though he isn’t the narrator, I’ve been given pause, because Peter’s story is definitely one of the most prominent parts of the series, but I have never seen a story have a protag who felt so sidelined most of the time, to me at least. (Personally I felt that the series was an ensemble piece designed to highlight ALL the flatmates, but Peter has always felt like a protagonist in that he and his conflicts are so obviously highlighted- he’s just not the only one for whom that’s the case.) Now, though, I submit that there isn’t one protagonist of Lolilo- I think there are two. 

Peter is the romantic hero whose love story makes us happy. Benedick is the tragic hero whose downfall makes us sad and angry. Two boys, both struggling with the same exact crisis of identity. Two protagonists. Two sides of the same coin. We’re supposed to sympathize with both of them. We’re supposed to struggle with both of them. That is how this story is working- it’s one big giant parallel structure.

The whole point is that neither of these kids is actually living in a story (in-world, anyway). Neither of their lives is an irredeemable tragedy with no hope of happiness. Neither of their lives is a simple, easy happily ever after. Peter is left to confront the fact that his actions affect others, and left to build a new relationship with Balthazar now that he believes himself worthy of love again. Ben is left to confront the fact that his actions affect others as well, and is left to put down the camera, rebuild his relationship with Beatrice, and accept the fact that right now, university isn’t for him, and that it is okay that he failed out and okay that he’s choosing instead to try to find what might actually make him happy. They both have to forgive themselves and live their lives, and now that the vlogs are over, let go of the idea of a narrative binding them to certain actions. No more tragedy and no more comedy, just life. Two stories, each left with not a happy ending, but a hopeful start. Curtain. 

Mind blown.

Masterpiece

Request: I was wondering if you could make an imagine, about Dan reacting to scars, not self harm scars like a real deal scar. I was twelve years old, when I was in a car crash. So I had to under go surgery, because of that I have a very large scar over my entire back. And I feel like I could really relate to something like that happening to y/n.

DanXReader

Warnings: None

Dan and I had been together for awhile, and recently he had become try hard with intimacy. And I had rejected his advances every time. I felt bad, but I was self conscious. I had a rather large scar on my back from an accident I was in when I was younger. I always hated it, it made me feel hideous. Surly he wouldn’t think I was pretty after he saw it, so I tried my best to keep it hidden.

I was on spring break from Uni, so I decided to spend the entire week with Dan. His flatmate/best friend was visiting family from the north, so he wouldn’t be there.

“Hello beautiful.” Dan smiled as he took my bags from me, briefly kissing me on the forehead.

“Why hello there.” I playfully winked and walked in, grabbing his box of cereal and munching on a few pieces.

“Not you too!” He laughed. “Okay, I have a surprise for you. I need you to close your eyes and trust me enough to lead you.”

“Oh God,” I giggled. “Just be careful, I know how clumsy you are.” I shut my eyes and felt him grab my hand and start pulling me. I had no idea where we were going, but right when we stopped I noticed the carpet had changed to tile. Were we in the kitchen or bathroom?

“Okay..” Dan sighed “Open your eyes.”

The bathroom was beautifully lit with an array or tealight and scented candles, along with rose petals in the bath water. It looked like something out of a movie.

“Oh my God Dan, this is beautiful. You are so sweet!” I kissed him ever so tenderly on the mouth.

“There’s just one thing.” His cheeks went pink. “I was hoping you’d let me join you…” He mumbled.

I felt my heart sink. He’d see.

I stuttered. “Uh.. well.. I kind of wish you wouldn’t.” I felt so guilty. He did this for us, not just me.

He sat on top of the toilet lid, holding his face in his hands before he looked up at me. He looked like he was about to cry.

“What am I doing wrong? Are you not attracted to me? Are you saving yourself and not telling me? What the hell is going on?” 

The guilt got unbearable. He thought this was about him, he was blaming himself.

“No no no no! No! Dan it’s nothing to do with you! You are perfect! You’re the most attractive man I’ve ever met!” I dropped my head. “It’s me.” I whispered.

His face twisted to confusion. “You? What are you talking about?”

“I was in a wreck when I was younger.. and.. I’ll show you.” I took a deep breath before removing my shirt, my bra following soon after. I turned around so my back was facing him, and he was looking at the one thing I hated most about myself.

And he kissed it. He kissed all of it. Every inch. He grabbed my shoulders and turned me around so I was facing him, and he kissed my lips ever so softly.

“You are beautiful, Y/N. Every inch of you. Even the things you hate. That is nothing but a scar, one tiny part in the masterpiece that is you. It’s part of the story that is your life. It shows that you survived a hard time in your life. And honestly? I think you more beautiful now than I did ten minutes ago, you’ve given me some insight into who you are, and I love it.”

I wiped away a tear.

“I love you.” He whispered, kissing me tenderly.

That was the first time he had ever said those words to me. 

“I love you too.” 


I’m sorry this is so long, and I hope it was good enough! Thanks so much for the request anon, I really enjoyed writing this (:

30 Sentences Meme: #3

(Requested by some subset of @may-shepard  @roseinmyhand @wackyhappiness @anyawen @justlookfrightened (it is hard to keep track) for my 30 Sentences Meme.  Want to see a different sentence continued? Reply to the original meme.)

“If you’re so bored, deduce the contents of my pockets,” said John, frustrated, and immediately regretted it.

Sherlock looked up from the sofa where he’d hurled himself mere moments before.  John prayed that he’d reject the suggestion, like the dozen others John had offered this evening, but instead he stood and stalked over to the desk where John had placed his jacket earlier.  

Sherlock’s own jacket was on the ground, torn off in a fit of pique an hour ago. The rest of his clothes were similarly disheveled, his shirt not even fully buttoned across his pale, flat chest.  But his expression was calmer now, his eyes glittering.  He reached into the right pocket of the jacket and John swallowed hard against his anxiety.

Of course the first thing Sherlock pulled out was the condom.  “Really, John,” he said, voice a mix of amusement and disappointment.  “One hardly needs much imagination.”

“I went out on Saturday,” John replied defensively.

“I remember.  And returned quite defeated, if the way you kicked off your shoes is anything to go by.  Ah!”  Now Sherlock seemed intrigued.  “But you did get a number.”  He pulled out a torn piece of paper, glancing at both front and back.  “So why the frustration?”

John folded his arms.  He didn’t have to explain, that was the point of deductions.

Sherlock turned the pocket out, dislodging - were those flower petals?  Oh, John had forgotten about that.  “You and I have passed hundreds of gardens together and I’ve never once seen you stop and pick a flower.  This must be from the woman you met.  She was certainly interested, so why didn’t you go home with her?  She wasn’t your type?”

“He wasn’t,” corrected John with a sigh.

“Ah.”  Sherlock let the petals slip between his fingers onto the desktop.  “The mystery woman is a man.  No wonder you returned home disappointed.”

“That’s not exactly - “

Sherlock raised a single finger.  “No hints.  It’s much less fun that way.”

He turned his attention to the left pocket now, and plucked out a pair of sugar packets.  “You don’t take sugar in your coffee or your tea,” Sherlock pointed out.

“But you do, and you whine when we haven’t got any.”

Sherlock seemed to accept this.  He retrieved the next object, a folded up piece of bright purple flyer paper.  “This is an advertisement for a Yo-Yo Ma concert next week.”

“I know.  Those are my pockets, after all.”

“You like cello concerts?”  Sherlock seemed dubious.

John rolled his eyes.  “Not as such.  I picked it up for you, idiot.”

“Oh.”  A pause.  “Yo-Yo Ma is vastly overrated. There are at least three better cellists in Britain alone.”  But he sounded pleased regardless.

John didn’t think there was anything left in his jacket, but Sherlock reached in again and tugged out a rather hefty plastic bag.  He stared at it for some time before asking, “John?”

“Right!  Um.”  How had he forgotten the bag of roughly four hundred toenails? And how could he explain it?  “We had a bloke at the clinic yesterday who’s got ocd and a bit of hypochondriasis, poor fellow.  He’d brought in that bag for analysis and was crushed to find it useless.  So I thought perhaps you could use them to test, I don’t know, the effects of various acids on human toenails or something like that.”

“That’s - “ Sherlock cleared his throat.  “Very thoughtful of you, John.”

“You’re welcome,” John said, glad that this game had at least reminded him about the toenails.  

Were they still doing deductions?  Sherlock had been asking a lot of questions, so John wasn’t sure.  But Sherlock’s hands were together in his classic thinking pose.  He peered at John wordlessly, for so long that John began to flush a little at the attention.

“Sherlock - “

“You go through your pockets regularly.  That’s not a deduction, I’ve seen you do it.  You don’t like carrying around rubbish, so everything in your pockets has meaning.  If a man had hit on you against your protests and handed you a flower, you would have tossed it aside. But you felt obligated. Ergo you were flirting back.” 

John clenched and unclenched his hand, not sure if he should nod or try to explain or hell, maybe just try to leave.  This couldn’t be going anywhere good.

“But you were conflicted, of course.  That’s not a deduction either, no one insists they aren’t gay as often as you do if they’re not conflicted about it.  So you took his flower, and his number, but you didn’t go back to his place, even though you’d been prepared to.”

Fuck.  John did his best to keep his breathing calm.  It had just been an experiment.  He’d wanted to know if he was attracted to men now, or if it was just - if it was just Sherlock.  And fuck that was not a thought to be had right now, while Sherlock was actively trying to deduce him.

“Three items, in one pocket, related to this man you flirted with and rejected.  And three items, in the other pocket, all related to me.  It could be a coincidence, or it could be a subconscious effort to keep us separate. Understandable.  I know I’ve had a - a deleterious effect on your romantic life.”

John barked out a laugh at that.  Sherlock looked startled.  “Am I wrong?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” John said, then sighed.  “You’re right about the bloke, I was flirting with him.  And I was nervous about it, yeah.  Although I don’t know about any subconscious effort.”

“Well, you wouldn’t.”  

Sherlock seemed pleased.  John wondered if that was the end of it.  He turned to make his escape upstairs, but Sherlock took a long stride and was suddenly beside him, much too close.

“Sherlock, what - “

“Two more pockets, John.”

Before he could protest, Sherlock slid his hand into his right trouser pocket. John looked away, trying not to embarrass himself as Sherlock pulled out his wallet and tossed it aside. The other pocket held his phone, and that Sherlock tugged out with considerably more interest.

 “Sherlock - “

“I use your things all the time,” said Sherlock.  He waved his hand dismissively, settling it like an afterthought on John’s shoulder.  “It’s just that you’re not usually here to complain about it.  Ah!  Here we go.”

John swallowed hard.

“Message at 10:34 last night.  ‘This is Mark from the bar.’  No response. 10:48. ‘Thinking of you.’  How tender. No response from you.  But you were awake and even using your phone just then because - “ Sherlock swiped over to a different conversation “ - you texted me at 10:45 that there were dogs outside your window howling along to my violin.”

“Well, it was a bit much,” John pointed out.  Sherlock was still standing only a few centimeters away, his hand forgotten on John’s shoulder.  There was a part of John that still wanted desperately to escape, but it was countered by the part that wanted to erase the distance between them.  They battled to an impasse, and John stood unmoving.   “Very good, Sherlock,” he said at last.  “I think you’ve deduced just about everything.”  

“You’re a terrible liar, John,” said Sherlock, and went back to the other thread of text messages. He didn’t have to scroll very far to find John’s only response. Sherlock didn’t read it aloud, but John knew what it said.  During the wee hours of the morning, he’d finally texted back: ‘i’m sorry this isn’t going to work out. there’s someone else.’

Sherlock seemed shocked.  He dropped his hand from John’s shoulder as if burned.  Fuck fuck fuck.  

“Who?” Sherlock demanded.  “Who else is there?”

John didn’t answer him.  He was too overcome with relief.  He’d thought - he’d thought that Sherlock had deduced it, John’s feelings, and that anger and disgust had been his reaction - 

John.  Answer me!  I’d have noticed someone else, I’d have seen.”

Was it just Sherlock’s ego that was wounded?  Hell, John didn’t care.  He’d been an idiot, trying to hide this.  Sherlock would figure it out eventually, might as well be now.  “Sherlock, you did see.”  He gestured to the small pile of things on the desk - the sugar packets and the flyer and the toenails.  “You just aren’t observing.” 

“Oh,” said Sherlock, his voice faint.  He stood very still for a moment, his face blank.  Then he smiled. “There’s always something.”

John had been steadying himself for another flash of anger, of disgust.  He was entirely unready for Sherlock to lean down and kiss him.  

It was too quick, just a brief press of lips.  Before John could return it Sherlock had pulled back again, observing.  He narrowed his eyes at John.  “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure of what?”  John’s head was spinning. “That I’m gone on you?  Yeah, I’m sure.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, but he only said, “You still seem conflicted about your sexuality.”

“Sherlock,” said John, his voice strained.  “If you want to see how conflicted I am, kiss me again.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Sherlock leaned down once more, bringing his lips to John’s.  John met him forcefully, tilting his head to the side and opening his mouth, giving a little so he could take - and take - and take.  He slid one hand up around Sherlock’s neck, into his hair, while the other tugged down on his collar.

If Sherlock wanted proof of how badly John wanted him, he would bloody well provide it.

Sherlock broke the kiss, gasping, but he didn’t pull away, so John moved his mouth to Sherlock’s cheek, his neck.  When he reached Sherlock’s throat he tilted his head back and John could feel the moan he made.

“Christ,” he whispered into Sherlock’s skin.  What that did to him.  He was moments away from just rutting up against his flatmate, and he wasn’t sure if that was okay.  “Sherlock?”

He’d closed his eyes, but now they fluttered open.  “Yes, John?”

“Are you sure?”  John didn’t know how else to ask it.

Sherlock seemed to find this a ludicrous question.  “Of course,” he said.  “Even an idiot could deduce that I’ve wanted you for ages.”

And that, that was just unfair.  “Really.”  John was flattered, he truly was, he felt warm all over and not just from the kissing.  But he was also outraged. “Sherlock, which of us is the better actor?”

“I am, obviously.”

John nodded.  “And which of us is more observant?”

Sherlock didn’t dignify that with a response.

“So if you couldn’t deduce that I was interested in you, without me telling you, how much of a chance do you think I had with you?”

Sherlock tilted his head to the side.  “You may have a point.”

“Oh, I might, might I?”  It was either kiss him or throttle him, so John kissed him. 

Sherlock responded immediately, tilting his head as John had and bringing his hands up around John’s back.  There was a strangeness to this, to be the smaller partner, to be pressed against hard planes and stubbled skin.  It made everything feel even more surreal, more electric.

“Bedroom?” Sherlock suggested, when they pulled apart to breathe again.

“God, yes.”  It was too much effort to stay standing - effort that he wanted, needed to lavish on Sherlock.  He pulled Sherlock towards the bedroom.

But Sherlock resisted, despite that he’d been the one to suggest it.  He broke away from John, who made an instinctive groan of protest which left him frankly embarrassed.  

Sherlock was headed for the desk.  “Please tell me you’re not going back for the toenails.”

Sherlock laughed.  He paused to brush the flower petals and the phone number into the trash, then picked up the condom.  “This you can keep,” he said, voice low.

John swallowed hard.  “Right.  Well, come on then,” he said crisply.  “I’ve got something else for you to deduce.”

The groan that elicited from Sherlock was not exactly one of pleasure.  But John didn’t mind.  There’d be plenty of those soon enough.