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[skamforthepeople]

Hello! I've been patiently waiting for an update on this and will gladly wait as long as I need to, but I am just wanting to know if you do plan on updating again, or if you've decided to stop? This is my favourite Skam fic/rewrite and am so curious to see how it ends. No rush, but please know that there are many of us eager for the next update!

thank you EVERYONE for your sweet, sweet asks and even sweeter patience. there were a number of things going on in fandom that left me very discouraged and had to take a much-needed break—i so appreciate all the inquiries after my well-being and after the story!!

as for the update……. ;)

[skamforthepeople]

episode 9, clip 3 ☽ dilemma

wednesday, 22:21

The light is dying over the top of their building. Sana dribbles up to the hoop and sinks a layup, catching the rebound and jogging back up the court. She shoots a three and it flies through the hoop neatly, barely even grazing the net. It’s an easy pattern to get lost in.

Mamma keeps trying to corner her into a conversation, and the girls have taken to texting on an hourly rotation to see if she’s decided yet. Sana dribbles the basketball, and is steadfastly puzzled about how anyone makes decisions once they start thinking about things. She can’t remember when the world stopped fitting into her nice, black and white binary of good and evil, and if she’s being honest with herself, she can’t fucking stand it. She likes clearly drawn lines and boundaries, easy markers of what to do and what not to do.

Sana shoots, and the ball bounces off the rim and into the bushes along the side of the court. She huffs, and puts her hands on her hips, staring at the ball like it has committed a personal offense to her. Irrationally, she thinks about all the other reasons that she could have missed, like the ball being flat, or the non-existent wind speed, and decidedly not about how it’s her own lack of consistency at the heart of the problem.

“Can I join you?”

Keep reading

[skamforthepeople]

episode 9, clip 3 ☽ dilemma

wednesday, 22:21

The light is dying over the top of their building. Sana dribbles up to the hoop and sinks a layup, catching the rebound and jogging back up the court. She shoots a three and it flies through the hoop neatly, barely even grazing the net. It’s an easy pattern to get lost in.

Mamma keeps trying to corner her into a conversation, and the girls have taken to texting on an hourly rotation to see if she’s decided yet. Sana dribbles the basketball, and is steadfastly puzzled about how anyone makes decisions once they start thinking about things. She can’t remember when the world stopped fitting into her nice, black and white binary of good and evil, and if she’s being honest with herself, she can’t fucking stand it. She likes clearly drawn lines and boundaries, easy markers of what to do and what not to do.

Sana shoots, and the ball bounces off the rim and into the bushes along the side of the court. She huffs, and puts her hands on her hips, staring at the ball like it has committed a personal offense to her. Irrationally, she thinks about all the other reasons that she could have missed, like the ball being flat, or the non-existent wind speed, and decidedly not about how it’s her own lack of consistency at the heart of the problem.

“Can I join you?”

Sana turns over her shoulder, and Yousef is standing at the top of the key, backlit and shoulders hunched. He tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Do you spend your whole life waiting for the right moment to creep up behind me and ask dramatic questions?”

It’s one of those things that’s meant to be playful, but it’s a little too mean, sharp around the edges. Sana knows it’s ugly, the way she’s frustrated with Yousef when he hasn’t done anything to deserve it lately. It’s easier to deal with frustration than the truth of her heart beating outrageously fast in her chest, the nervous sweat that has broken out across the back of her neck.

“Ouch,” Yousef says, walking over to the bush and retrieving the ball. “Does that mean you're not answering my questions again?”

Sana shoots him an annoyed glance. “You can join.”

“Cool,” he says, grinning and jumping up to make a layup. He catches the rebound and walks toward her.

Sana darts forward and snatches it out of his hands, resulting in a startled Hey! from Yousef. She drops down into a dribble and takes off towards the hoop, laughing at him over her shoulder.

“You wanted to play!” she says as she tosses the ball up for two points.

When she looks back, he's standing with his palms braced against his waist, a pleased look on his face. “Okay, game on, Sana.”

She pulls her eyebrows together in a fierce look, but there's a smile battling at her lips. Sana throws the ball to him, hard, and he catches it.

“You ready for the fire?” he asks, passing the ball between his legs.

Sana laughs. “Are you the fire? Seriously?”

Yousef widens his eyes right before he fakes left and takes off toward the hoop, jumping up with both feet to dunk, catching himself on the rim triumphantly before dropping down.

He drops into a squat and raises his arms, yelling, “I am the fire!”

“You’re dumb,” Sana says, her laugh a joy-filled bark through the cooling air as she catches the rebound and immediately sinks another two points. Yousef stares at her smug smirk for a moment before twitching one eyebrow and lunging toward the ball.

They fall into a dance, intimate and playful, pushing and pulling, throwing elbows and shit talk between them. The last of the sun rests golden and fine over the rooftop, curls around them like an embrace.

“Sana!”

Yousef reacts first, head jerking over his shoulder and immediately taking a stumbling jump step away from where he'd been crouched close to her side to guard. Sana looks over to see Elias, one arm covering his eyes and the other braced against the door frame.

“I don’t wanna see what’s going on,” Elias yells blindly. “First ‘cause this is weird and second so I can say I haven’t seen anything when Mamma asks me for the sixth time this week if anything is going on between you two.”

Sana rolls her eyes, stands and tucks the ball under her arm. “What do you want, Elias?”

“You didn’t notice it’s time to break the fast?” Elias yells back, compensating for his lack of sight with volume. “This is the real deal then? You’re really doing this?”

Sana’s face heats. She glances at Yousef, and is comforted to see that he looks equally mortified, eyes trained steadfastly at the shrubbery.

“Okay, thanks,” Sana says meaningfully, ignoring his questions. “I’m coming. I’ll be in in a second.”

“Do you think I’m leaving you here alone?” Elias says in disbelief.

She looks back at Yousef, and he shakes his head slightly, holding up a hand to signal that she can go without putting up a fight. She looks between the two of them and sighs. “We’ve been here alone the whole time.”

“Stop incriminating me in this, I don’t want to know anything,” Elias cries. “Is Yousef even still here? Bro?”

“It’s all good, Sana,” Yousef says quietly, stepping forward to snag the ball out of her hands gently. “But before—I just want to say, er.”

He rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand and shifts his weight. He continues in earnest, eyes darting to look at Elias before meeting hers again. “You know it’s okay, whatever you want?” he says, fingers tapping over the ball nervously. “I don’t expect anything from you. So like, no hard feelings, if you’ve changed your mind! It’s okay.”

“What’s happening? What are you doing?” Elias calls, standing straight up with both hands over his eyes now.

Sana’s heart feels like it’s in about ten different places at once, like everyone has a hand on it and is pulling towards opposite poles. She says, “Yousef…” and trails off when she can’t decide what to say.

“No worries,” he says, offering her a small smile. He tosses her the ball, an easy, underhand throw and she catches it lightly. It feels final in a way that Sana is terrified of, like she’s not going to get the time she needs to make the right decision. “Friends, though? Right?”

She’s at a loss, her mouth opening and closing on a million different sentiments all at once. She’s paralyzed, heart full up with conflict, choking out her ability to respond. She presses her lips together.

“Okay, it’s okay,” he says, finally. The smile is still on his face, but the disappointment is creeping into his eyes, tension gathering. “I’ll see you.”

“I’m leaving,” Yousef calls to Elias, taking steps backward towards the back gate. “I’ll see you tomorrow, E.”

“Peace, bro,” Elias says, eyes still covered. “Sana, I’m fucking starving, come on.”

Yousef raises a hand to Sana in goodbye, same sad smile on his face, and turns.

Sana watches him go.

[skamforthepeople]

episode 9, clip 2 ☽ i hate william

“Ugh!” Sana covers her eyes with her elbow, flat on her back on the concrete steps. After a moment, she says, defeated, “I don’t know anything anymore. Fuck it.”

“I already told you, I thi–,” Noora starts from beside her, poking her gently in the side.

“No more advice,” Sana interrupts, holding up her other hand to halt Noora. She peeks out from under her arm, and softens when she sees that she’s stung Noora a bit without meaning to.

“Sorry,” she says, begrudgingly. She doesn’t quite mean it, as she hadn’t asked for the intervention, or the advice, but she says it anyway. “It’s just making things worse. I think I need to sort it through by myself.”

“Fair enough,” Noora says, resting back on her palms.

The rest of the girls had gone on to their next period class, but Noora had stayed on in an obviously guilt-fueled campaign to make Yousana happen, in Vilde’s words. The bell had come and gone without them even noticing and Sana was far too preoccupied to pay even half-attention in her Norwegian class that was all but over at this point in the year anyway.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, Sana’s internal dialogue immediately buzzing up to the surface to fill the gap. Sana hates any problem that she can’t solve on her own, and this one is no different. But she’s trying, she really is.

Keep reading

[skamforthepeople]

TUESDAY 13:41

Elias: SANA ANSWER YOUSEF’S TEXT Elias: WALLAH Elias: AND YOUSEF NEXT TIME U ASK ME IF SANA IS MAD AT U I’M BREAKING YOUR LEGS Elias: no one ever text in this group chat again Elias: pretend it didn’t happen Elias: What the fuck did i do to deserve this honestly my best friend and my sister

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[skamforthepeople]

episode 9, clip 2 ☽ i hate william

“Ugh!” Sana covers her eyes with her elbow, flat on her back on the concrete steps. After a moment, she says, defeated, “I don’t know anything anymore. Fuck it.”

“I already told you, I thi–,” Noora starts from beside her, poking her gently in the side.

“No more advice,” Sana interrupts, holding up her other hand to halt Noora. She peeks out from under her arm, and softens when she sees that she’s stung Noora a bit without meaning to.

“Sorry,” she says, begrudgingly. She doesn’t quite mean it, as she hadn’t asked for the intervention, or the advice, but she says it anyway. “It’s just making things worse. I think I need to sort it through by myself.”

“Fair enough,” Noora says, resting back on her palms.

The rest of the girls had gone on to their next period class, but Noora had stayed on in an obviously guilt-fueled campaign to make Yousana happen, in Vilde’s words. The bell had come and gone without them even noticing and Sana was far too preoccupied to pay even half-attention in her Norwegian class that was all but over at this point in the year anyway.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, Sana’s internal dialogue immediately buzzing up to the surface to fill the gap. Sana hates any problem that she can’t solve on her own, and this one is no different. But she’s trying, she really is.

It hadn’t been surprising that the girls thought that she should go for it. The intervention had been all variations on what’s the harm anyway and you’ve already practically been on two dates! At the end of it all, she just felt deeply misunderstood. She supposes it isn’t such a normal thing for a teenaged girl to be considering marriage before even going on a single date, but with that timeframe, there was plenty of harm that could still be done.

She reminds herself that it’s a blessing to have friends who care enough to have an intervention. The several lonely weeks preceding this one hammered that point in quite solidly– but as much as they loved her and as far as they’d come, Sana wondered if they’d ever understand the code she lived by properly. It wasn’t their fault, but it wasn’t helpful either.

And honestly, Sana didn’t even know if it was even the cultural differences or whatever. Her conversation with Jamilla hadn’t been so much more productive. She had provided a helpful re-frame, but she hadn’t actually given her any advice besides to talk to Fatiha, which Sana definitely didn’t want to do. She figured she should at least be a week out from almost getting suspended before tossing any of this into the fire.

By the time Noora interrupts her thoughts, she’s grateful for the easy escape from the maze of her mind. Her temples throb with the force of it and she’s about three seconds from beginning to plot how she can run away to Morocco, start a new life, and forget any of this ever happened.

“I’ve been thinking…” Noora starts, in her slow, meandering way.

“Mm?” Sana hums, removing her arm from across her eyes and peering over at Noora.

“I’ve been thinking of writing William,” Noora says, the words falling out all at once. Her eyes dart towards Sana, and she sits up properly, folding her hands in her lap. When she continues, her eyes are downcast. “To tell him properly–you know, everything.”

Sana blinks at her. “Like, that you’re a lesbian.”

“I– I mean, I don’t know quite what I am,” Noora corrects her anxiously, wringing her hands and lolling her head to the side so that her ear is pressed to her shoulder as she looks at Sana. “But that’s the whole point of writing him, right? Like, I don’t want him to find out and think I was just faking the whole thing, because I don’t think that’s right either…”

Noora presses her soft, red-painted lips into a line, and looks like she’s about to cry. Sana sits up. She immediately feels anger light up in her stomach at the sight of Noora’s distress, to see her upset at the thought of hurting William.

“Noora,” Sana says, trying to keep her voice gentle. Noora looks away, blinking and rubbing at her eyes.

“Oh my god, this is so stupid, I’m sorry, Sana,” Noora apologizes, wiping the the thin skin under her eyes delicately with the side of her thumb. “Of course, we were here to talk about you, and now I’ve made it about me. I’m even crying and everything–only child syndrome, and all that.”

The joke is weak, and Sana doesn’t laugh. She reaches out for Noora’s hand instead, holds it in her own. They are so different, it’s so obvious like this. Noora’s nails bitten down to the quick, and Sana’s neatly painted, brown against white. But Sana is full of love for this woman and her massive heart, who somehow still wants to keep from hurting a man that has done little else besides tear all of their lives apart and fuck them over.

Sana stays quiet, just scoots closer and keeps hold of Noora’s hand. Eventually, Noora drops her head to Sana’s shoulder and begins to speak again.

“I was just a bit–traumatized, I think?” Noora says, voice wavering a little on the word. “That sounds so ridiculous, doesn’t it? That’s why I didn’t say anything to you before. But I just… started to cringe away from him, like when he would touch me… it was like all I remembered was falling on the pavement after he stormed away from me. I just felt so – worthless, like I was absolutely nothing, and then all of a sudden everything was good again, and we were in London, and it was just expected that I’d be over it all, and I just wasn’t. I’m still not, and it’s been so long that I’m worried I’ll never.”

Sana squeezes her hand. She searches her brain for something to say, but it’s just completely horrible. There is nothing to say to that, because it’s just true. There are some things that people don’t get over.

“It’s okay,” Sana says, and immediately regrets how it comes across. She continues, forcing her tone to be steady, her delivery even. “Not in the overly simple way, like everything is going to be okay, because that’s just… not true. But it’s okay that you might never be over it all –– there’s nothing wrong with you that you feel that way. There’s nothing wrong with how you feel at all.”

Noora turns her face incrementally into the soft fabric at Sana’s shoulder, and Sana leans towards her. “Nothing even happened,” she murmurs, finally, like she’s convincing herself.

“That’s complete shit,” Sana says bluntly, bringing a hand up to pat at Noora’s cheek to soothe her sharp delivery, and continues. “Like, absolute, complete shit. Please tell me you know that.”

“Nico didn’t –”

“Noora,” Sana sits up taller, displacing Noora. She turns and sets her palms to Noora’s shoulders, looking her straight in the eye. “Nico is fucked up and a rapist and a child pornographer and a sociopath, but this isn’t even about him.”

Sana is very serious now, her heart beating in her chest. She remembers her and Noora in a windowsill, only a year prior. She feels disgustingly guilty, complicit, now that she’s being forced to think about it all, put all the pieces together at once.

“It’s not right, the way that William treated you,” Sana says, finally. Noora flinches. Tension pulls around her eyes, but she keeps Sana’s gaze, like she can’t look away. “I’m not going to tell you what to call it, but… someone who loves you shouldn’t make you feel worthless, or scared, or blame you for bad things that happened to you. It’s not right. It’s –– yeah. It’s just not right.”

Noora’s hands come up to Sana’s on her shoulders, like she’s going to push them off. Sana lets go before she makes contact, leaning back to give her some space.

Noora drops her hands back to her lap, and looks at Sana with an expression Sana can’t read, like there’s a million different sentiments on the tip of her tongue.  She says, stubbornly at length, “We both hurt each other.”

Sana presses her lips together for a moment, and then nods. “I won’t tell you what to feel,” Sana concedes, and Noora seems comforted by that, and nods back. “But I just want to say–you love people really well, and the people who you love are lucky. And... you deserve to be loved in a way that doesn’t hurt so much. That’s all. I want that for you.”

Noora stares at her, big, blue eyes shot through with red, and guilt, and relief, and love. Sana gives her a small smile, and eventually, she returns it.

“But it’s alright with you if I hate William on your behalf, then?” Sana asks, only half-joking, but it does the trick. Noora ducks her head, and lets out a watery chuckle.

“I can’t tell you want to feel either,” she says, but she takes Sana’s hand again, scooting up next to her.

Quiet descends between them, the faraway sounds of school in session filtering out through the windows, birds chirping from the trees. When Noora’s voice comes, it’s so soft that it fits in almost imperceptibly with the ambient noise, but Sana hears anyway. “I want to hate him too, one day. That seems like it’d be quite a bit easier than loving him how I do.”

“Mm, I don’t know,” Sana says, appraising. She continues, thinking of her mother: “Hate can eat away at your heart.”

“That’s a bit poetic, for you,” Noora says with a tinge of her usual sass, voice a bit stronger.

Sana shoots a mock-offended look at her, mouth falling open. “What are you trying to say now? I can be deep!”

“I know that,” Noora says, smiling at her properly now. “Obviously!”

“I’m kidding,” Sana grins back at her, nudging her with her shoulder. “I stole that from Mamma.”

Noora laughs, covering her face with her hands and rocking back against the steps. They both quiet, and she lets out a long exhale, and takes in a deep inhale.

“I don’t think I’m quite ready to talk with William,” she admits after a while, turning her head to look at Sana out of the corner of her eye.

Sana nods, turning her head to meet Noora’s gaze. 

“That’s okay. It’s really okay.”

[ ← | ? | → ]

[skamforthepeople]

MONDAY 9:45

Sana: [ screenshot of her chat with yousef ] Vilde: OH MY GOD!!! Vilde: Team Yousana 😍😍😍 Noora: Did you leave him on read?? Sana: Yeah Sana: It’s not a big deal Chris: POWER MOVE Chris: I fucking love that Chris: B0$$ b*tch Sana is back Eva: You have to respond!!!! Hallo!!! Eva: Why are you playing hard to get?? Eva: You’re already hard to get?! Sana: What’s that supposed to mean?? Chris: Sana “dump him” Bakkoush Chris: end of story Sana: 🤷🏽‍♀️ Noora: Text him back!!! Sana: It’s complicated Eva: OK chat is not enough Eva: Meet in the courtyard at 1300 for an intervention

[ ← | ? | → ]

[skamforthepeople]

MONDAY, 9:30

Yousef: Hey girl Yousef: I have a question for you Sana: Hey boy Sana: What is it Yousef: Do you want to go on a date with me?? 😍 Sana: You have no chill Yousef: Is that a no??? It’s a no then??

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[skamforthepeople]

episode 9, clip 1 ☽ guru

“You’re judging,” Sana says, leaning back in her chair, coffee cup pressed against her bottom lip. They’re sitting outside, at the café that Sana had taken Noora to just a few weeks prior. The season had changed quite dramatically by now, and the mid-morning sun was bathing the both of them in a bit too much heat to be comfortable.

Jamilla rolls her eyes, takes a sip of her own drink and crosses her legs leisurely. She tosses the edge of her scarf over her shoulder. “Am I judging?”

Sana fixes her with a blank stare, and then sets her coffee down on the table. “You’re not acting quite happy for me, then,” she concedes, restraining herself from crossing her arms across her chest.

“Literally, Sana, have you even listened to what you’ve said?” Jamilla asks. Her calm is always punctuated by just a bit of underlaid hostility, which is usually comforting to Sana as someone who often feels hostile for no good reason. Today, it just prickles along her nerves, already irritated by a lack of sleep and a half hour long interrogation by her mother.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Sana snipes, properly grumpy.

Jamilla smooths fabric of her scarf along her hairline and sets her tea down on the table. She tents the fingertips of one hand on the table next to her cup for emphasis. “How am I supposed to react when you’ve been talking for half an hour but haven’t even mentioned how you feel about the whole thing?” Jamilla says, not patiently, but slowly. “Like, do you even like him or did he like kidnap you for half the night or what?”

“Obviously I like him, you know I like him!” Sana snaps, leaning forward to brace her elbows against the arms of the chair.

Jamilla’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. Sana realizes she must look a little wild with it and slouches back into her chair, embarrassment creeping hotly across the back of her neck. Jamilla starts to grin at her, and Sana covers her face in her hands.

“Please don’t–”

Jamilla continues anyway, grin on proper now, teasing, “Oh, so you lo––”

Sana cuts her off with a long groan, crosses her arms on the table and drops her face into them. “Oh my god, can you please quit, it’s already so embarrassing, I can’t stand it.”

“You’re being quite dramatic,” Jamilla says drily. “They’re just feelings. Everyone has them.”

Sana lifts her head just to shoot her a sharp look, and then drops back down. Her phone buzzes on the table, and she’s not quick enough to snatch it out of Jamilla’s arm’s length.

“Jamilla,” Sana warns, straining over the table to try and reach where Jamilla has the phone held out of her reach.

“Yousef Acar has requested to be your friend,” Jamilla reads in a voice that Sana thinks is honestly too obnoxious for the occasion. “What? You all aren’t even friends on Face? You’ve known each other for like eight years. He practically lives in your house.”

“Okay, okay,” Sana says emphatically, snatching her phone back. “Can’t we agree that if there’s one lesson from all of this, it’s that Yousef has no idea how to be a normal person?”

Jamilla hums, raising her eyebrows. “And you’re like, the tops of maturity?”

“Besides the point,” Sana dismisses her. “Okay, but what do you think, then?”

The street is bustling with their people, brown and loud and fragrant with spices. Jamilla looks out and takes a slow drink. “Have you talked with Fatiha?”

Sana presses her lips out, avoidant. “Er,” she says. “Not properly. We had a row this morning because she knows something happened that I won’t tell her.”

“She just wants you to be happy,” Jamilla reminds her.

Sana purses her lips together, tilting her head back. “I’m starting to realize how completely empty that statement is.”

“How do you mean?”

Sana runs her finger along the edge of her mug. “I mean, like, there are so many ways to be happy. There's not just this one way.”

She pauses and looks onto the street, where couples that look like her parents putter along, making conversation about chores and children. “Making Mamma happy makes me happy… and getting good grades, and keeping the faith – and Yousef makes me happy, too. But then if I’m with Yousef, then Mamma will be disappointed in me, and question my faith, and… It’s just that happiness isn’t that simple. Not when everything that makes me happy requires different things.”

“I think sometimes that’s why it’s easier being just Norwegian, like it’s not just because they’re white,” Sana says. “It’s like, all the things that make them happy are just in alignment. Not everything, but like if Noora and Yousef did like each other, she could just like him, end of story. Simple.”

Jamilla is looking at her with something like appraisal, and Sana bristles under the gaze. “What?”

Jamilla just takes another sip of her drink, and raises her eyebrows slightly. “Okay, so two things,” she says, finally, leaning forward and setting her coffee aside seriously. “First – yes, but do you think that getting an A in Biology really makes you feel the same as how you feel about Yousef? I think it’s more that your feelings about those other things are more complicated than just happiness. You want to be loyal and pious, because Islam brings you peace, and Fatiha approving of your choices makes you proud. But that’s not all just happy.”

“Second – you always talk about people wanting different things for you like it’s such a burden. Like, have you even thought about how that means that you’re just – so loved, by so many people? Your friend Noora’s parents don’t give a shit about her! Can you imagine? And she doesn’t believe in a God – try to think of your life without the strength you find in Allah. It’s a blessing.”

Sana feels very young and stupid all of a sudden. She crosses her arms across her chest and leans back in her chair, sullen. Jamilla notices, and sits up, pointing at her.

“I got you, didn’t I?” she says, smile blooming warm and bright across her face. Sana rolls her eyes, opening her mouth to respond, but Jamilla talks over her. “I’m so pleased, can you say that I’m wise and all-knowing or something?”

“What, do you want me to call you my guru?” Sana says, a smile quirking the side of her lips, though she tries to suppress it.

Jamilla scoffs, puts one hand against the edge of the table to push herself back in her chair, and crosses her legs. “No need to appropriate Hinduism to exalt my virtues properly, thanks.”

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[skamforthepeople]

hiatus fun ☽ hogwarts!au

“don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh?” jonas asks, head propped up on his fist as he watches eva shovel eggs into her mouth violently. his own plate was sitting neatly cleaned, the remnants of his breakfast having already disappeared back down to the kitchens ages ago. 

eva scoffs, and a bit of egg ejects itself from her mouth back to her plate. she sits up and drags the back of her hand across her mouth. “harsh? are you joking?” she says, swallowing the last bits of her breakfast before continuing. “she’s absolutely unbearable, you have to see that.”

“i think you’re a bit fixated,” jonas says analytically, “and it’s skewing your perception of the situation.”

“oh my god, please miss me entirely with the muggle psychobabble shite, thanks,” eva says blithely, reaching out for a square of toast and smearing it with entirely too much butter for the earliness of the hour and her own level of irritation. 

jonas peers at her evenly from under his heavy brow. he’s probably pissed off now, he absolutely loves the muggle psychobabble, maybe more than he loves eva. “oh come off it, i’m joking,” she adds hastily, nudging him with her foot under the table. “but honestly, there’s nothing harsh about calling her violently posh. like, no one would disagree. it doesn’t even have to be a bad thing, did you think of that?”

jonas heaves a deep, long-suffering sigh and rubs a hand over his face. he grabs for the strap of his messenger bag on the floor and brings it between his legs.

“are you going now?” eva asks, eyeing his bag. she tucks a strand of long, copper hair behind her ear, suddenly anxious. “you’re mad then, because i’ve decided that i can’t stand noora. do you fancy her or something?”

“you’ve noticed that we’re all stuck up in this drafty old castle to learn right?” he asks, mock concern painting his mouth. “i have class. but yeah, thanks for mentioning it, i am in love with noora, and actually we’re eloping in two weeks, and also, she’s fucking pregnant with a set of twins who will emerge from the womb with fully formed eyebrows, quoting marx–”

eva sets her chin to her palm, mouth falling open dumbly to communicate her utter lack of fucks. “do you think you might actually die from being such a swot?” 

jonas stands, ignoring her and slinging his back over his shoulder. he continues, “i’ve made sure of it by playing the communist manifesto audiobook against her stomach every night for the past three months–”

“–that’s at least grounds for foetal abuse,” eva interjects.

“–which is how i know that noora is fucking chill,” he finishes. he rubs a hand across the crown of his head, considering. “uh, well, chill isn’t the right word, but honestly, you’re being a complete knob about the whole thing, i was there, and she was only trying to help.”

“she corrected my wand movements in front of flitwick!” eva bursts out indignantly. “and my pronunciation! she thinks i’m stupid or something!”

jonas raises his hands in surrender, walking backwards away from the gryffindor table. “okay, whatever,” he says, unaffected. “i’ll see you later today, alright.”

“i can’t stand how you start shit and then just walk away from it,” eva calls after him, pushing herself up off the bench with one hand to keep an eye on him as he disappears into the throng of students moving towards their first classes. “it’s cowardly, it’s offensive to my people!”

his hand pops up over the top of the crowd, two fingers raised prominently in her direction. eva huffs, fork clattering against the wood of the table as she stands and pulls her own bag over her shoulder. jonas was the absolute worst. what did he mean by fixated even, honestly, what a load of bull.

okay so no one asked for this............ i’m sorry!!!!!!!!!! i try to focus on the browns and only the browns in this town, but once the idea of eva as ginny weasley and noora as posh pureblood ravenclaw came... there was no escape. there may be more of this. if there is, it will live on my main acct @mahistrado​, so come be friends w me!!

[skamforthepeople]

can you do a drabble about the balloon squad? idk any specifics and im sorry this is nothing to go off of but just them hanging out and fooling around

HEI BRISKEBY

the boys are sitting in the bakkoush living room, piled together on the couch. elias leans towards the camera and says, “what’s up, homies, lovers, and friends! i don’t need to see you to know that you’re looking fine as always.”

on either side of elias, mutta and adam mime his gestures until he starts to catch on and jerks his head to try and catch them. they lay back against the couch immediately, looking innocent, and then fistbump behind his head when he turns back to the camera.

“why are you always like that?” yousef says, flopping down on the floor in front of the couch. “did you know that most women don’t like being given random compliments?”

elias rolls his eyes and turns to the camera. “as you all can see, yousef is feeling extra holier than thou today cause my baby sister lost her mind and somehow thinks that he’s a good guy.”

the other boys crow with laughter, hands and feet coming from all directions to shove, pat, and kick yousef playfully. he curls into a ball and laughs, batting them off.

yousef, out of frame now, calls from the floor, “okay, but sana told me that you told her that i’m a good guy,” he says, and all you can see is his hand, as he raises it to point at elias. he adds, “the best guy, maybe.”

“homo intended,” mikael says suggestively, waggling his eyebrows.

“we’re bros,” elias says, reaching over to flick mikael in the ear. “plus, how fucked would it be to steal my sister’s man?”

adam throws his arms out, barring elias and mikael against the back of the couch as he turns to address the camera. “sudden death match, yousef,” he says, nudging him with his foot. “who would you save, sana or elias?”

“i’d die and save them both,” yousef says breezily from the floor, kicking one foot up to cross over his knee.

“WOW,” adam exclaims, flopping back dramatically and pressing the back of his hand to his head.

“bullshit,” mutta calls, and his eyes dart to elias, who is performing a handshake with yousef, before he flashes a grin towards the camera. “sana would never do anything stupid enough to need saving.”

“correct,” adam acknowledges, sitting back up and holding up his index finger to indicate a point.

elias lets out an indignant shout, pushing at adam’s arm so he can sit up properly. “bro,” elias interjects, offended.

“new game,” mikael butts in before elias can get properly mad. “over under on how many hearts yousef has texted sana today.”

“what color?” mutta asks gravely, leaning over elias.

“red hearts,” adam decides.

“no more,” elias groans, sinking down in his seat.

“six,” mutta offers.

“fifteen,” mikael counters.

“none, they’re all pink,” adam says, confident.

“elias?”

elias is slouched with an arm thrown across his face, but immediately offers, “twenty at least.”

“drumroll please,” mikael follows, and mutta drums a fast roll with his hands on the arm of the couch. “yousef, give us the truth.”

yousef sits up from the floor, and stares at them with mock outrage. “you think i’m going to tell you?”

mutta raises one eyebrow at him and doesn’t break eye contact, holding up a hand to silence the others.

after a few moments of an intense stare off, a grin finally breaks across yousef’s face. “over twenty,” he says, unashamed, reclining back against the couch with his hands behind his head.

the boys erupt in a burst of sound, fake retching co-mingling with overdrawn awwww’s and the loud, piercing whistle that mutta had picked up in morocco last summer from his cousins. they all pile onto yousef again, elias catching him in a headlock, mikael and adam shoving at each other as they compete to pinch yousef’s cheeks. a stray elbow sends yousef’s snapback flying behind the couch, and all motion pauses to track the hat’s trajectory. they stare at each other for a moment after it lands, before bursting into incomprehensible giggles again.

“new new game,” adam shouts over the din. they all hush to listen. “it’s called the figure things out game.”

“i think we’ll have to work on the name,” yousef says, grinning when adam covers his face with a hand over his shoulder. “but i can still talk like this? this isn’t doing anything to make me shut up.”

mikael adds a hand on top of adam’s raising his voice to talk over yousef’s muffled muttering. “i am intrigued,” mikael says, in a posh accent. “please carry on.”

“thank you, sir,” adam replies, in a considerably shittier accent. “okay, so you know the random questions that you get, like when you’re just chilling out? we’re going to answer them, but without the internet or anything.”

“just our knowledge and imagination,” mutta jumps in excitedly, spreading his hands in a rainbow shape through the air, referencing the classic, critically acclaimed 2000s television drama, spongebob squarepants.

“the question, then?” elias says, newly rejuvenated from his last few minutes of misery. “i’m fucking ready.”

“the question,” adam says, pausing dramatically. “is, how do the seasons work?”

“like, the weather, the seasons?” elias asks, squinting one eye in concentration and pressing his fingertips to his temples.

“bro, bro,” mutta says, where bro equals the entire squad of boys. “it has something to do with the tilt of the earth in orbit.”

“holy fuck, einstein, bruh,” elias says, slinging an arm around his shoulder.

the camera cuts to black, and comes alive again to the boys all standing up in vague relationship with one another.

“yousef is the sun, and mutta is the earth, and mika is the moon,” elias repeats sternly, for the fifth time. they had fought over who got to be the moon, and so yousef and mutta kept claiming the moon and acting like the moon instead of their assigned roles. yousef and mutta giggle, before shaking out their shoulders and becoming serious again.

“okay, action,” adam directs, standing off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest. mutta immediately cricks the upper half of his body towards the right and begins rotating around yousef and spinning. mikael runs in a circle around mutta, following him in his path around yousef.

“mutta, bro, the angle has to–you have to stay the same kind of bent the whole time,” elias says, cricking his own body to demonstrate, spinning in place. it is a completely fruitless exercise, as mutta makes no changes to his behavior besides picking up the pace, spinning so violently and quickly that mikael begins to have trouble keeping up.

“does the sun rotate?” yousef asks, looking at the ceiling and spinning in place without an answer.

“what the hell are you guys doing?”

all five boys freeze immediately and pause in their various positions, mutta and elias at a 45 degree angle, yousef with his hands over his head in a dainty ballerina pose, and mikael stumbling to a halt by colliding with adam.

“we’re playing the figure things out game,” yousef offers, arms still raised.

“stupid name,” sana comments, hand braced against the door but smile playing at her lips.

“you two are fucking disgusting,” adam says as yousef gives him a triumphant look, steading mikael with his hands against his shoulders.

“huh?” sana says, shooting him a suspicious glare. “we’re not you two.”

“we’re trying to figure out how the seasons work without googling it,” mutta says, uninterested in sana’s denial of the clear and present facts. he straightens up, then straightens elias up with a hand to the shoulder, and they slap hands.

across the room, sana stares at them.

she raises her eyebrows.

their eyes widen.

her mouth opens.

the world erupts in a flurry of motion and sound as elias launches himself at the doorway to cover her mouth with his hand, and the rest of the boys begin yelling and covering their ears. sana yells unintelligibly from behind elias’ hand, trying to squirm out of his grip, “you can’t just ruin the game because you’re a nerd!” elias says indignantly, shifting his grip. “honestly, fucking foul!”

sana glares at him, falling silent and still.

the rest of the boys quiet, and gather in a close semicircle around the siblings. “i’m gonna let you go, so don’t be buck wild,” elias says, warning, and releases her.

she straightens up. looking murderous, she adjusts all her clothing and hijab back to its proper place and turns on her heel to leave.

and then she spins back around and says, in one breath, “seasons happen because of the earth’s tilted axis because insolation on earth is highest when the suns rays are falling perpendicular to the surface of the earth so the more tilted the sun’s rays the less heat!”

then she smirks, turning for real this time with a flourish of black blazer and scarf and stalks off.

the boys sit in stunned silence for a moment.

“video cancelled,” mutta says, collapsing onto the couch.

“honestly,” adam says, sitting on mutta. “day cancelled. what the fuck.”

“we were close,” mikael says, dejectedly, climbing on top of mutta and laying down with his head in adam’s lap.

“you weren’t close,” sana calls from the kitchen.

“we’re going to get married,” yousef says, immediately. he lays flat on his back on the ground.

“shut up, that’s my sister,” elias says, dully, with the air of a man who has had his soul broken for the last time. he steps on yousef lightly as he walks over to the camera and turns it off with a click.

[skamforthepeople]

hi bbz -- mental health + life + school got a lil buck wild in the past week, so i’m gonna push it back one more week so i can get my shit together! don’t 4get about me~~ asks still open, and i’m actually going to answer some of these awesome prompts i’ve been getting! ty for your patience n luv!

hiatus ☽ & asks open!

skam4tp will resume on saturday, july 29th! there are two more episodes to go, and my freaking heart is so full with the love and support that y’all have given this silly lil fic.

as a token of my love, i’m opening up asks for the duration of hiatus, and welcome people to submit scenes, prompts, requests, whatever, and i’m going to choose one per day and write a lil drabble in response.

for those just arriving, if you’d like to start from the beginning, click here! and reminder that asks are always open for feedback on my main blog, @mahistrado. 

ask away!

[skamforthepeople]

hiatus fun ☽ nadim the brown penetrator

for @skampoc who submitted the prompt: nadim + questionable life decisions (why is he with these penetrator demons. i kno cis dudes irl are trash but is he just in it for the laff in parties?)

hello, my name is nadim khoury and i am the token brown penetrator.

i get asked often, at the mosque, at school, on the street, “yo, nadim. you can’t legit like those dudes. what’s your agenda?”

and you know, they’re goddamn right. i don’t legit like these dudes.

first of all, they all fucking look alike. i swear to god there are five sveins, all the same lego-headed, stringy blonde hair type. and to be honest, i can barely tell chris apart from justin bieber on a good day. but look, this is norway: if i’m going to choose from being a token for some racist losers or some racist rich bastards, i was raised smart enough to choose the rich bastards.

well, i thought i was smart and shit until all of a sudden i’m getting my ass beat after justin bieber decides to pick a fight with some fucking randos. yamasaki, yasaka, yakuza or whatever the fuck culturally appropriated bullshit they named themselves. so now, i got a black eye and my mom asking me about ten thousand questions per hour. cool. and you know all these white kids don’t have parents who love them enough to care, so add that to the list of problems they don’t have.

but i was in it for the long con. i was too deep. you wanna know my agenda? here’s my agenda: every thursday, friday, and saturday since year one, i would volunteer to get the alc for whatever stupid party they were throwing. i told them my older brother had the hookup. i don’t have an older brother. but creepy uncle samir was more than happy to hook me up with the most shit booze he could find.

then you know what i did? i replaced the stickers on that shit and upcharged them by 2000 krone every weekend. every weekend for three years. do you know what that means? i’ll tell you what that means, people of the internet: i scammed the penetrators out of 312,000 kr and these dumbasses were none the wiser.

so my deepest thanks to william magnussen, christoffer bieber, and the 15 sveins for funding my graduation trip to greece and the beginnings of my stacked stock portfolio. and for the rest of you: get that white coin. nadim, out.

SUBMIT YOUR PROMPTS HERE!

[skamforthepeople]

hiatus ☽ & asks open!

skam4tp will resume on saturday, july 29th! there are two more episodes to go, and my freaking heart is so full with the love and support that y’all have given this silly lil fic.

as a token of my love, i’m opening up asks for the duration of hiatus, and welcome people to submit scenes, prompts, requests, whatever, and i’m going to choose one per day and write a lil drabble in response.

for those just arriving, if you’d like to start from the beginning, click here! and reminder that asks are always open for feedback on my main blog, @mahistrado. 

ask away!

[skamforthepeople]

It seems deeply unjust that this is how the conversation is happening. She had tanked hours of her life composing messages to him detailing why everything was not okay between them, imagining the perfect confrontation where she would scream and probably throw something and then drop her voice and whisper all dangerously until he never even thought about behaving like this ever again.

The reality is: she’s in a sweatsuit and her scarf is making her look like a mumps patient, and she feels nervous and unsure, sweating. One part of her mind runs on a loop justifying his actions until it seems ridiculous to yell, while another piece of her goes dark red and angry with rage, softening and sharpening at once.

“Yeah, um,” she says, looking at the ground, and then looking back up at him.