I DON'T HAVE ANYONE.

meme.  @vridity

he’s kneeling in front of her,   first aid kid sitting beside him as he goes to wipe over the scraped up knee once more with the cleansing wipe but his heart aches at her words,   the organ clenching within his chest and he pauses,   biting into his bottom lip before finally speaking.  ❝     hey,   i know.  just——  close your eyes and take a deep breath,  okay?   ❞   

 isaac waits a beat,   damp cloth held just above the scrape as he waits for her eyes to fall closed.   eyes fall closed,  and his lips curl up at the sides at the trust she offers him so easily,  like it’s nothing   (in this moment,   it’s not a big deal,  nothing serious,  but every small action continues to build and build and he’s honoured that she trusts a boy like him the way she does,  without hesitation).   

he wraps his free hand around the back of her left calf,   thumb swiping gently across the skin before he begins draining her pain,  before quickly cleaning up the injury,   barely noticing the pain that’s suddenly pulsing through his veins.   the black crawls up his wrist, his forearm, his bicep and all the way up his throat,  and it’s only once it gets there does he flinch a little.   then,  finally,   his hand drops and he moves to grab a bandaid,   he easily peels the wrapping off of it and puts it over the bandaid,   hopefully painlessly.   

nickname/s.    charls, char char, charles, 

height.    5′11

nationality.     australian

favourite fruit(s).     apples

favourite season.     autumn

favourite scents.     weak vanilla

favourite animals.     cats or dogs

tea, coffee, hot cocoa.     tea?

average hours of sleep.   anywhere between 2-15

when my blog was created.     UHHHH started writing isaac like 2 yrs ago?

random fact.     i’m allergic to soy sauce

favourite food.    right now? omlettes 

favourite t.v. shows.     criminal minds, the mentalist, bones, etc, etc. 

favourite movie.     good will hunting

favourite vine.    what the fuck is up kyle no what did you say dude

sexuality.     lesben

pronouns.     she / her or he / him

favourite book series.     uhhhh for nostalgia reasons probably hex hall

favourite video game(s).   sims probably

favourite band(s).    i don’t know!! but my fave artists rn are probably sasha sloan & alec benjamin 

favourite subject.     english/history

guys or girls.     girls ! ! ! 

last time i cried.   like two days ago

what i should be doing.     studying and/or sleeping

favourite fandom.     descendants was nice

tagged by.   @argaents

it doesn’t take supernatural senses to divine that there’s something off - it’s in isaac’s eyes, regardless of how much care he takes to hide it. danny’s not so tactless to draw attention to it - his assurance instead is a silent one, a ghost of a hand on isaac’s shoulder before he’s sliding a glass his way across the bar, a single serving of whiskey with two squares of ice.

‘  you ever been in here before?  ’  /  @boybitten

he tries his best not to flinch at the touch,   but as a hand grazes his shoulder,  isaac jumps slightly,  eyes widening.  though, he quickly pushes on a mask,   vulnerability pushed down and shoved aside.   

the brush is held awkwardly - incorrectly - in their grip, fingers tense. they’ve spent countless hours studying isaac as he paints, and they attempt to mimic it exactly but fail - mind clouded, too plagued by insecurity for their memory to guide them. the lines splattered across the paper are intended to be a tree, but seem to resemble a dead spider more. cam’s teeth grit in perceptible frustration, eyes uncannily dark.

‘  i. i can’t - c-can’t do this.  ’  it’s an unreasonable degree of anger over something so inconsequential; they know, but that doesn’t ease them back from the ledge. they shove at the desk, paint water and a cup of brushes threatening to tip over.  ‘  this— stupid.  ’  /  @boybitten

a part of isaac doesn’t understand their frustration,   his art has never been something he’s had to try to do.  he’s been doing it for as long as he remembers,  these days the art kind of bleeds out of him onto the canvas,   his anxieties flowing through his fingers out onto the white until he can breathe a little easier.   isaac has been sitting back watching,  observing them,  just like they’ve done him in the past.  but at the shove of desk and frustrated words,   isaac’s leans forward before getting out of his chair,  squatting down a little and pressing a hand to their cheek,  thumb swiping gently across the skin there.   

❝     cam,   babe,   hey.   ❞   isaac’s voice is soft,   quiet,  caring.   his other hand moving slowly to grab at the paint brush in their hand before dipping it in the water for a second or two,   he dries it off on his own jeans,  lifting it back up to place it into their hand,   adjusting the position of their fingers so it’s being held correctly and comfortably.