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giggles-and-freckles · 3 years

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my fic masterlist

decided to do this for my own sake more than anyone else’s because sometimes I have to make sure the idea I get at 3am isn’t one I’ve already written hehe. anyway, a lot of these are on my ao3, but I’m also going to try and track down some of my TuMbLr-eXcLuSiVe fics, too. I’ll update this as often as I remember (so, uhhh–)

In-Progress: Not On A Consistent Updating Schedule Bc Abi is a Mess ™

midst of the mind – Anakin has always had a pretty good understanding of his feelings, even if he's not particularly disciplined in acting on them. But things surrounding the Chancellor seem to be off and Anakin's determined to get to the bottom of it. With a little help from his friends.(or: fix-it ROTS fic where Ani, Obi, and Padmé take down the Chancellor one fake smile and late-night tea party at a time)

evermore – "dreamscapes and tragedies and epic tales of love lost and found" within the lives of our favourite space fam. (or: TAYLOR SWIFT LITERALLY OWNS MY SOUL, OKAY?) (unrelated one-shots based on taylor swift songs ha)

filling the gaps – after the horror of Naboo, Obi-Wan has flipped from Padawan to having a Padawan in a matter of hours and he's not sure how much longer he can pretend like he's okay. thankfully, this one spunky youngling who keeps popping up in the corners of his life seems to know what to do. (or: baby!Soka unknowingly helps new Knight!Kenobi figure things out and braids his hair along the way)

Obi-Wan & Ahsoka: Best Father-Daughter Duo In The Galaxy According To Me (because let’s be honest...that’s why I’m here) (tagged: #obi & soka)

filling the gaps – *in-progress multi-chapter* after the horror of Naboo, Obi-Wan has flipped from Padawan to having a Padawan in a matter of hours and he's not sure how much longer he can pretend like he's okay. thankfully, this one spunky youngling who keeps popping up in the corners of his life seems to know what to do. (or: baby!Soka unknowingly helps new Knight!Kenobi figure things out and braids his hair along the way)

playing catch – Ahsoka finds an old friend on Tatooine and has lots of questions. they cry a lot. obi-wan tells some white lies. they get the hugs they need. (Obi-Wan & Ahsoka reunite on Tatooine)

all too young – during a bout of insomnia while on Onderon, Ahsoka gets some advice and insight about her Master. (or Obi-Wan hears Ahsoka laugh for the first time and they get to have a snuggle and he absolutely spends the entire next day training the rebels trying not to cry thinking about it every dang time he sees her.)

hologram heart-to-hearts – we see Obi-Wan and Ahsoka have a conversation via hologram in the final season of tcw, but what if there had been...more?(three-parter) (basically Obi and Soka keep in touch after she leaves the Order and there’s...a lot of emotions involved)

little love – a sort of follow-up to hologram heart-to hearts; Ahsoka sticks her nose into the wrong Alliance meeting and discovers a certain Jedi is alive and on Tatooine of all places, so she places a long-distance call.

bad days – Ahsoka tries to squeeze out of her Grand Master exactly what happened on Mortis. and, as always, Obi-Wan is powerless to deny her anything, no matter how painful that truth may be.

sleeping with monsters – Ahsoka is having a hard time sleeping after her time on Felucia, so Obi-Wan offers a solution.

chance meeting – Obi-Wan is up late researching for his Master in the archives when a certain sneeze–and pair of big blue eyes–catch his attention.

‘drooping eyelids’ prompt fill – Ahsoka and Obi-Wan have a conversation about attachment while Anakin’s missing. they (plus Anakin) get some platonic cuddles.

‘dancing’ prompt fill – they attend a senatorial gala without Anakin because he’s feeling grumpy grump after deception arc fall-out. Obi realises that there are still things to be thankful for.

sorrow – Ahsoka feels the full weight of loss as she clutches her Grand Master’s dead body. (deception arc FEELS!!!!)

‘I do not pretend to set people right, but I do see they are often wrong’ prompt fill – *trigger warning: death of children; Obi comforts Ahsoka after they witness an atrocity of the highest order.

the silence between — Ahsoka gets assigned to the 212th as her Master recovers. Unwanted quality time with her Grand Master doesn’t go as planned.

untitled ‘Obi & Ani role reversal au’ ficlet — Padawan Obi-Wan pays a visit to his best pal Ahsoka in the crèche.

‘falling asleep on each other’s shoulder’ prompt fill – the summary says it all. fluff!

'I don’t wanna die’ – Obi-Wan comforts Ahsoka in her pain. *tw: implied major character death

‘I made tea’ – Anakin is off-world so it’s up to Obi-Wan to take care of his sick grand-padawan.

sorry for the soup – post-deception arc. Ahsoka stops by Obi-Wan’s quarters to check-in.

Obi-Wan & Anakin: The Early Years (tagged: #obi & ani)

figuring it out – Anakin learns waking Obi-Wan up can sometimes be a good thing and Obi-Wan learns that maybe everything's going to be okay. (padawan!ani & new dad knight!kenobi)

if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more – Anakin overhears a conversation he wasn’t meant to hear and lashes out in response. lots of hurt is uncovered and Obi-Wan hears some hard truths from his Padawan. angst, angst, angst...but with a hug.

reading lessons – the team takes a trip to the archives to find some reading material. Anakin is adorably insecure.

cold – Obi-Wan and Anakin have their first solo mission, but in typical Kenobi & Skywalker fashion, it does not go as planned. Exasperated Obi-Wan and Won't-Shut-Up Anakin are put to the test by deep space and a completely out-of-fuel ship. (or some more fluff where padawan!ani and new knight!kenobi get to try and figure out how the heck this master-padawan thing WORKS. hint: it's not easy!)

playing hooky – angel baby Anakin breaks Obi-Wan's heart and it's not for the last time...womp wooooomp.

like you – sweet, angel baby Ani gives himself a haircut and Obi-Wan deals with the aftermath. (I’m copying and pasting most of these summaries directly from ao3 and cracking up because I called Anakin a sweet angel baby in two in a ROW hahah)

fun? – the Jedi Council gives Obi-Wan his newest orders as a young Jedi Knight and he struggles to understand them. he was instructed to take his new Padawan and...have...fun?

go away/please stay – Obi-Wan has been disappearing for solo missions more and more often and Anakin's starting to wonder if it's more than just on request of the Council. (or: can you say TEEN ANGST!)

‘forehead kisses’ prompt fill – Anakin stumbles upon his Master having quite the nightmare, so he handles it the way his mom always handled his own nightmares. with patience and affection.

unnamed NAP TIME fic – Obi-Wan gets home from a solo mission early to find his bed occupied.

‘sweets’ prompt fill – Anakin gets a little ambitious with his choco-ball indulgence.

‘fuzzy socks’ prompt fill – years after arriving at the Temple, Anakin still hasn’t quite adjusted to the cold. Obi-Wan gets him a gift to help. (really just an excuse for some obi ani banter)

‘snowball fight’ prompt fill – Anakin takes his boredom to the next level, much to his Master’s chagrin.

untitled Anakin sickfic bc I’m not feeling very creative right now – the team goes on a mission but Anakin gets sick. Obi-Wan is ultimate mother hen and Anakin makes an observation.

got germs – sickficlet where both of our best boys are sick.

you’re okay – just some classic protective parent!Obi-Wan and teenaged son!Anakin post disaster.

‘you lied to me’ – angstpril day 13. Anakin really wants to go to Ilum and make his lightsaber...but is met with disappointment.

random sickfic – because we all know Anakin is the most annoying sick person in the world.

don’t struggle – the ship is crashing, as usual. but this time, Anakin’s seatbelt is stuck. *tw: implied major character deaths

relic – sith!Obi au. *tw: major character death

aspectabund – Anakin’s eyes betray him and his Master.

Obi-Wan & Anakin: Brotp But Also Idiots Who Don’t Know How To Communicate (still tagged #obi & ani)

define ‘attachment’ – while the dads esteemed Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker wait for Ahsoka to wake up, they talk about attachment, worry, and that time Ani caused an accidental security breech at the Temple.

favourites – Obi-Wan has been tasked with telling Anakin of his special assignment to keep an eye on the Chancellor, but he gets sappy and sentimental in the process because these conversations are hard.

after all these years – Obi-Wan tries to talk to Anakin, but it doesn't go well. does this sound familiar OR WHAT? (post-decpetion arc angst)

brilliant – Anakin is having a difficult time adjusting to his new mechno-arm for one very specific reason. (the boys communicate properly in this one and even get a hug as a treat!)

sober words said aloud – Anakin's meeting with the Council is interrupted by his highly intoxicated–and wildly affectionate–Master. (crack fic turned fluff)

‘you’ve been crying, I can tell’ prompt fill – Anakin makes the mistake of checking in on his Master after a particularly grueling mission. it doesn’t go well. (or: Obi-Wan loses his sh!t)

going somewhere? – Obi-Wan catches Anakin on his way out for a midnight rendezvous with a certain Senator. Anakin makes a quick decision and chooses Obi-Wan. sweet words are exchanged on a sentimental walk.

shaking hands – in the immediate wake of Ahsoka’s departure form the order, Anakin...isn’t okay. Obi-Wan tries to do something about it. (post S5 angst)

untitled platonic tired cuddles/back scratching fic – Anakin resorts to an old tactic to make his Master rest.

sun shine on – Obi-Wan and Anakin take a little trip to Tatooine to visit Shmi’s grave. (post-ROTS fix-it au of sorts)

pushing it too far — Obi-Wan calls Anakin for some help when he takes ‘intel’ too seriously and ends up drunk on a street in lower-level Coruscant.

whump prompt fill – Obi-Wan looks after Anakin after a near-miss. They talk.

‘was it another premonition?’ – Obi-Wan dreams of Luke. He wakes up to Anakin.

post-mortis angst – Anakin remembers. *tw: implied suicidal thoughts

angstpril: ‘you have to let me go’ – Anakin and Obi-Wan are stuck in a pit. only one of them can make it out alive. *tw: implied major character death

role model – post-deception angst. Obi and Ani talk. it doesn’t go well.

here either way – conversations about mental health. *tw: panic attack

hiraeth – Obi-Wan walks alone. *post ROTS

Anakin & Ahsoka: Dream Team Sharing One Single Brain Cell (tagged: #snips & skyguy or (for the really angsty) #its crying about snips & skyguy hours)

that one person – (my first fic!) Anakin gets assigned to lecture a class of younglings, but he's not the only one who doesn't want to be there.or Ahsoka Tano is done with Jedi sh!t and tries to leave, but this time it's just a classroom and not the entire Order and there's a lot less tears and pain.

here and now – the Force has tried to swallow Ahsoka Tano three times. it's hard to be the last one standing. (or Ahsoka feels the death of three important men in her life and is tired of being left behind) *tw: major character deaths (canon compliant and not depicted, only mentioned)

whumptober: crying – Anakin comforts a distraught Ahsoka after her disaster mission over Ryloth.

reaching out – Anakin is always there...until he’s not. Ahsoka reflects on how different it is fighting and living without Anakin at her side. (angst)

help would come – Anakin and Ahsoka get stuck on an ice planet and things get dire. I chalked this full of parallels to the final conversation between Ani and Luke bc I love pain, I guess?

whump: ‘i’ve got you’ – Anakin pulls Ahsoka from a nightmare.

zen!Anakin ficlet — Ahsoka visits Anakin in his new job as Galaxy’s #1 Dad (well Plo Koon still exists so maybe #1.5?).

right as rain – Ahsoka insists she is fine when she is distinctly not.

snoozeville – Anakin and a few boys of the 501st find their Commander catching some extra z’s.

stitching up – Ahsoka performs some in-the-moment surgery for Anakin and he tries not to scream. *tw: field surgery

‘platonic spooning’ prompt fill – do I need a summary after that?

sad hours: dancing – Anakin and Ahsoka dance in the aftermath of tragedy.

rainy ending given to a perfect day – Anakin and Ahsoka take a trip into downtown Coruscant.

Anakin and Padmé: Abi Tries and fails To Write Romance (tagged: #anidala)

not enough – Anakin has a hard time with the Mortis fall-out. Padmé doesn’t know how to help someone who doesn’t want it. some painful connections between Ahsoka and Shmi are made. (angst, no happy ending, trouble in paradise)

I will not have this baby in a jail cell – some fluff, some crack, some Anakin-being-so-proud-of-his-badass-wife.

marcid – domestic fluff in which Padmé almost shoots him. ha. oops!

rubatosis – angsty anidala hours. Anakin can’t go to sleep.

Obi-Wan and Satine: Abi Tries and fails some more To Write Romance (tagged #obitine)

don’t go – Obi-Wan makes a choice. *year on the run timeline

that’s mine – some happiness AU obitine. waking up next to each other. laughing. all the sappy stuff.

accidental keldabe kiss – all the ridiculous tropes I love with our favourite pining idiots. it’s the ‘kiss me so they don’t see us!’ trope!!!! *year on the run timeline

you’re shaking – Satine knows Obi-Wan more than he’d like. *year on the run

Anakin, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Rex, Padmé: Space Found Family In Whatever Form It Comes

i want your midnights – the gang attends a New Year's banquet (read: party) and Padmé surprises them all with her midnight kiss.

flair for dramatics – when the gang gets their ship stranded on a desert planet, Anakin and Ahsoka get creative as they try to keep spirits up and minds off the sweltering heat. Obi-Wan questions his sanity. (crack fic turned fluff)

nothing a cup of tea can’t fix – when Anakin shows up to Obi-Wan's quarters in the middle of the night, the Jedi Master knows something has gone awry. answering Anakin's desperate cry for help, Obi-Wan is reminded of how very, very prone to dramatics his former Padawan and Grand Padawan are. (or: Ahsoka gets sick and Anakin flips his shit.) (sickfic)

in the sandstorm – when Tatooine's weather takes a turn for the worst, Ben Kenobi finds a young boy in need of shelter and some lessons on how wonderful his dad had been. (luke and obi-wan hurt/comfort)

remembering hurts – Rex and Ahsoka strive to survive on the snowy moon in the days after Order 66. tensions are high and emotions are volatile.

balter – disaster trio dances at a senatorial ball.

reunion – au where Anakin doesn’t completely turn to the dark side but everything up to and including Mustafar (except for the last like...five minutes) happens. Padmé has the twins, Obi-Wan is overwhelmed, Anakin is a mess. they’re happy...or at least, they will be soon.

‘cookies’ prompt fill – disaster trio makes cookies for the crechelings for Life Day. (just fluff and banter)

first ever codywan! – Cody does some bedside vigil for a hurt Obi-Wan. :’)

transponster – disaster trio is tired and delusional. Rex and Cody want Jedi to have some kriffing self-preservation.

one final salute — Obi-Wan and Cody get trapped. Obi-Wan’s luck is running out. (angst? angst.)

codywan whump – Cody saves Obi-Wan’s life. again. (more fluff than whump)

girls’ night – Ahsoka hangs out with her mom pal Padmé.

driving lessons – Obi-Wan and Anakin teach Ahsoka to drive. ha.

affectionate obi – the kids get Obi-Wan a puppy. fluff!

sorry I don’t speak idiot – Rex and Fives deal with a drunk Echo :’)

post deception disaster trio sadness – Ahsoka tries to keep Obi-Wan company in the aftermath of Rako Hardeen...but Anakin isn’t playing nice.

verklempt – Ahsoka and Yoda talk about being chosen. and Ahsoka finds out maybe she hasn’t been left behind afterall. *pre-TCW

apricity – disaster trio have a picnic at the temple! just pure fluff.

pyrrhic – codywan but make it angsty. some battles are won at too great a cost.

disaster trio sickfic – two Jedi dads and their (sick) daughter :’)

‘you’ve been here this whole time?’ – newlyweds anidala (but shh, Obi-Wan doesn’t know that! yes he does, everyone does.) are there when Obi-Wan wakes up and he ownders just what he did to get so lucky.

Febuwhump 2021: A Foray into Hurting the Characters I Love the Most

mind control – Anakin’s narrative as he fights Ahsoka on Mortis. sad boy hours. a lot of insecurity happening here.

‘I can’t take this anymore’ – during the Obitine (plus third-wheel Qui-Gon) year on the run, Satine gets tired of Obi-Wan trying to die for her. a bit hurt/comfort, a lot sappy.

imprisonment – on their first mission together, Obi & Ani get captured. Anakin learns how Obi-Wan feels about tight spaces.

coma – post deception arc. Obi-Wan goes into a coma after a particularly intense conversation with Anakin. Anakin tells Obi’s unconscious body how he’s feeling. angst, angst, angst. there’s your warning.

‘take me instead’ – Anakin escorts Padmé on a diplomatic mission but things get dicey and quick decisions must be made. Anakin isn’t the only one in this relationship willing to be an idiot for the sake of *love.* (or: another attempt to write Anidala in a convincing way because they give me a tough! time! so this time make it...dangerous)

insomnia – Anakin overhears a late night holo-call and learns that his Master has a...friend that is a girl???? and is pretty???? but also that his Master may need some fixing and he thinks he may just be the nine-year-old for the job.

poisoning – Ahsoka gets drugged and Anakin gets...er...angry. (read: dark)

‘hey, hey, this is no time to sleep’ – as Ahsoka and Anakin wait for help, Anakin tells a story. an ancient monster in the heart of Tatooine...waiting for it's day of reckoning. (or: Ahsoka gets dehydrated and Anakin can't deny his hurting sister/padawan anything so he talks a little bit about home.)

buried alive – Anakin reflects on some things as his Padawan tries to rescue him from the rubble. angst!!!!!!!!!

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know’ – the Council loses a planet and Obi & Ani get tasked with finding it, but after nine hyperspace jumps and a painful discovery, Obi-Wan teaches his former Padawan one more lesson. (or: the boys talk about failure and feelings when Obi-Wan finds out Anakin's mechno-arm has been causing pain for a couple years)

hallucinations – Ahsoka tries to fix things. it doesn’t work. (post-order 66) angst

‘who are you?’ – Anakin and Ahsoka rescue Obi-Wan, but things aren’t okay and Obi-Wan doesn’t recognise Anakin. (or: Obi is tortured for information about the fall of the Republic before it happens and goes a bit mad bc of it)

‘I didn’t mean it’ – Obi-Wan learns how cold and unfeeling his young Padawan thinks he is and has a rough day. angst

burned – Anakin mourns the loss of his Padawan in a tactile way. Obi-Wan watches. (or: Anakin throws Ahsoka’s Padawan beads into a fire)

‘I wish I have never given you a chance’ – Obi-Wan is reminded of his own incompetence through a vision form his old master.

you have to let me go – Ahsoka has one heirloom: a hologram of her old master as a padawan. but it’s time to let the past go and step into the future, with help from an old friend.

#my fic #maybe I'll go give creative names to some of these prompt request fills someday but #probably not #anyway I definitely should have been doing things other than making this tonight but HERE WE ARE #:)#also at the time of me typing this I have 49 fics listed on here #which is so crazy to me #bc I just started writing in september and if you had told me I would have 50 fics in five months I would have laughed at you #and its so fun and cringey to look back at some of these #its only been a few months but my writing has CHANGED #(hopefully for the better?)#anyway yay! an organised archive!#sw fanfiction

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chocosvt · 4 years

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⚬ pairing: ghost!jihoon x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 9242 ⚬ warnings: abusive relationship, suicide ⚬ genres: heavy angst, romance, ample fluff

✧✎ synopsis: freedom was a word that had completely lost its meaning - unable to escape from a toxic relationship, you can only find happiness upon confiding in jihoon, the spirit of a writer who died a century ago.

✧✎ a/n: SORRY this took so long to post! i have a habit of holding onto completed fics for a while, bc i feel the need to endlessly proofread. i rly appreciate everyone’s patience :D

You didn’t understand him. You hated him.

You wanted to conjure a pair of scissors and cut the invisible rope that connected your piteous relationship. Tight around your wrist, you could still feel the indents left by his fingernails, how they pushed blunt into your skin like a stamp to a liquid, wax seal. There was no taste of freedom unless you left him, and yet, you lacked the strength, instead rotting in your own indolence.

The doorway to your cottage home burst open as you thundered inside. Smells of the cinnamon bread and ginger tea you had for breakfast lingered in the air, when the morning was soft and you were unaware of his incoming anger that would inevitably cumulate. Gleaming on the edge of the kitchen table was an old pocket mirror, a century-dull shade of gold with a rose engrained into its shallow dome.

Within the next moment, you were sitting inside your closet, frustrated tears pooling slowly down each cheek as you held onto an ignited candle. The flame rippled and danced in response to your ragged breaths. It was the only source of light, for darkness pressed in from every angle. Hands shaky, you set the candle to crackle on the floor, behind the pocket mirror you had opened. Looking into its small reflection, you saw the wet flakes of mascara stuck to your skin, how your lips were so bitten they became mottled with blood spots.

“If I ask for you,” you sighed, eyes falling shut, “will you come to me?”

You waited and listened to the dancing wick, then snuck a peak at the mirror.

Nothing.

Inhaling a deep breath, you closed your eyes and warbled again: “If I ask for you, will you come to me?”

The mirror was still open, casting an image of your broken countenance, marred by viscid trails of tears and a patience that turned thinner than the air itself. Every mark, every scratch left by his fingernails only sunk further into your wrist, establishing this control he had over you, until one day, his reign might become permanent. The thought forced you to hiccup a burning sob.

“Please!” You whimpered, tasting the sharp salt on your lips, “If I ask for you, will you come to me?”

Snap.

The sound of the pocket mirror being shut was accompanied by an overwhelming sensation of cold, like an arctic breath had just been exhaled into your face. Cautiously, you eyed the candle, in which its flame had stopped dancing and instead stood tall, almost as though it were afraid to flicker. The gentle light glinted off the mirror’s gold dome. At last, you picked your head up and met his eyes, honey-brown, like crisped sugar.

The noise that crawled up from your throat was a feeble squeak.

“Jihoon.” You said his name.

Even though each syllable felt like solace, that didn’t smooth the tremors in between. Unlike your boyfriend who was so assailing in nature and unreceptive to your heart, Jihoon read the pain from your body like it had been scrawled with thick ink. He reached out his hand for you to grab.

Head bent down, tears streaming toward your chin, you cried to him in that small halo of light, squeezing his glacial fingers, crushing his bones, yet he never protested or shook you off.

You had asked for him. And if it’s you, then Jihoon will always be there.

“A peach?” Jihoon murmured, staring at the sunset colour of the fruit in his palm. “I haven’t eaten a peach since… Since…”

“Since a century ago?”

Jihoon looked up at you, his face illuminated by the wax candle. “Yeah.”

He seemed hesitant to sink his teeth past the fuzzy, orange flesh, and kept stealing oblique glances at you. Wiping away a delicious trail of juice that streaked your chin, you encouraged him to just take a bite and stop ogling the fruit like it was plucked from outer space.

A peach was nowhere close to the strangest item you’d brought him. In fact, the sole manner in which Jihoon could connect with the simple indulgences of when he’d been alive was through you.

At first, he sighed, followed by slight apprehension, and then he stopped prevaricating. Jihoon brought the peach to his mouth and buried in his teeth, a loud slurp indicating he’d suckled out the juice just before tearing away a reasonable chunk. He chewed, chewed a little bit more, crinkled his nose and continued chewing. You raised an eyebrow once he swallowed, curious if its sweetness still held true to when he’d eaten the fruit in his youth.

“Not bad. Rather messy.” Jihoon rated with little mirth, his tongue then licking at a trail of liquid dripping to his wrist.

You eyed him whilst taking another bite into your own fruit.

The next time you met, you brought him purple orchids, wrapped in a crinkly, pale mint packaging. He buried his nose into their petals and took a breath. Jihoon had long forgotten the rain, it’s scent, but that’s exactly what the aroma reminded him of.

It was close to midnight, the autumn wetness clinging in a sheer mist, a cobweb almost, that drifted down the road. You stared into the fog, wondering if it might swath around you until you couldn’t see or breathe, only to thin away at the last moment, revealing a place that was warm and brushed with sunshine. There would be no boyfriend, no pain or fear, and you’d have freedom— a word that seemed to have lost its meaning as time wore its grit against you.

Leaning into the side of your boyfriend’s car, you watched him pace back and forth next to the gas pump, cellphone at his ear, occasionally tossing his head back in a splitting chortle whilst he blew plumes from a cigarette. A light rain pattered against the roof of the gas station.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to be tucked in bed, beneath sheets that smelled like summer lilacs. You wanted to close your eyes and dream about the phantom boy who lived in the closet, where your fingers would trace his skin and you might feel the heat from his blood. Yet you lacked bravery. Taking one look at your wrist constantly sore from his steel grip was enough to snuff out any defying fire. He laughed again, kicked his boot into the gravel, brought the cigarette up to his mouth in order to fulfill a toxic addiction.

Headlights suddenly pierced through the mist and tires rolled against the damp pavement. You thought about running onto the road with your arms flailing, hoping the driver would pull over and let you into their vehicle. They might ask where you wanted to go.

You’d say, “just get me away from him. Anywhere, I’m begging.”

“Hey!”

Turning your head, you saw him stalking toward you. In an unconscious attempt to give yourself space, you unpeeled from the vehicle and a took a step back, intimidated.

“Get in the car,” he spat, opening the driver’s side, “m’taking you home.”

With the decaying cigarette hanging from his lips, cellphone now stowed into his pants pocket, he slammed the door. The air inside the vehicle was acrid, stifling, ashes tumbling onto his lap as the engine revved to life. Grey smoke prickled against your eyes until they lined with water and glass. Just before you exited the gas station, your boyfriend rolled down his window and tossed the cigarette, only to reveal another from the glove compartment.

Sticking the wand in his mouth, he tossed you the lighter.

“Spark.” He demanded.

Your whole arm was trembling whilst you positioned the lighter close to the cigarette, thumb pressing down in an anxious flurry, teeth grinding together as you piously prayed the stupid flame would just blossom already so he wouldn’t get foul. Once he exhaled the first puff and took back the lighter, you sunk into the upholstery, hoping he didn’t see your tears.

“Jihoon?”

The boy had been occupied pulling pink tufts of cotton candy apart. The last time you two met within the closet, you were discussing an autumn carnival that took place each year in your town, how you spent the night with a pocket full of tickets and sugar floss melting against your tongue. Jihoon said he couldn’t remember the taste, the smell, the texture, so you promised to bring him a large bag stuffed with cotton candy. He glanced up at you, candlelight swimming in his eyes like a brightly coloured coy fish.

“What did you write about?”

He paused. Then, Jihoon was sitting with a straight spine, rubbing his index finger and thumb together, as though he were attempting to lure an ancient memory from hiding. You wondered if he missed literature, how a ballpoint pen glides across cream paper, the specific click that echoes from a typewriter, running fingertips across a leathered hardcover just to feel every bump and divot. You wished it was possible to read one of his books. He told you he burned them all, every page disintegrating into dust and cinders.

Jihoon looked at the last clump of cotton candy in his hands.

Delicately, he tore the floss in two pieces. Something deep inside your chest fluttered when Jihoon gave you the other tuft.

“Love.” He said, finding the vivacious reflection in your eyes, “I wrote about love.”

As a child, the darkness used to scare you. It was impossible to fall asleep without the dim glow of your aquarium or the fluorescent stars tacked to your ceiling. Things looked different in the dark, they became unfamiliar and colourless and shapeshifted into malignant creations that stopped moving only when the light touched them. Even now, the darkness was still harrowing, but you’d grown to realize that tenebrosity was much scarier when it lived inside human beings.

No light existed which could freeze them in their intent to hurt, no light which transformed them back into the coat over the back of your chair or the laundry pile lumped in its basket. And as you sat next to Jihoon on the closet floor, his gaze thoughtlessly wandering to your wrist, he knew you’d give anything to stay in the dark closet if it meant you never had to see your boyfriend again. You kept rubbing at your skin, squeezing in an anxious pattern.

“Stop.” Jihoon couldn’t stand to watch you repeat yourself. It felt like you were going to erase the flesh clean off.

“It helps.” You told him, though your argument was inconceivably frail, emaciated.

Suddenly, Jihoon reached across the space, his fingers falling over your wrist to bump away your pesky hand. The second you were unable to scrub at the fingernail indents, the scratches, the dull throb of every bruise he’d ever printed upon your skin, the breath died in your throat and there was a stinging sensation that burnt your eyes. Your boyfriend had ruined you. The wounds controlled you, left you in prostration and agony.

Before you could erupt into tears, Jihoon’s thumb began stroking back and forth over a fading scratch, a rhythmic movement, one that managed to calm you down until the tears slowly dried up and the flame no longer illuminated the glossiness of your eyes. He urged you to take a breath whilst he continued to brush soft reassurances across your skin. At first, you were offended by Jihoon’s interference, even slightly angered.

But the way he was so gentle with you brought you to capitulate.

“I’d never try to hurt you.” Jihoon whispered when you caught his gaze in the candlelight.

“I know.” You sighed, placing your hand over top his, “thank you.”

Your hands curled around the handlebars of the bicycle, slightly raised from the uncomfortable seat as you pedalled into town that autumn morning. An impending cold front gushed from the north, sweeping against your face in a harsh frigidity that caressed away any remnants of sleep. Tucking your chin into the fleece of your pullover, you stopped pedalling and allowed the bicycle to simply glide, maneuvering over the small pebbles and gorges in the cement.

A familiar house at the end of the block became closer, closer, closer, to which you bit down on your cheek’s inner flesh, your knuckles tensing like they could burst from the thin covering of skin. You stared straight ahead. It was too early for him to be outside. He was too lethargic.

Or was he?

“Hey!”

You’d been caught, a disarrayed haze momentarily warping your vision. The tires skidded to a halt on the sidewalk, your sneaker touching the ground whilst the northern wind nipped at your cheeks. He sat on his porch, wearing a burly-looking coat that appeared to be seldom washed, a flimsy cigarette perched at the corner of his mouth. Blowing a weak cloud of smoke from between his lips, he gestured for you to approach him, and your heart dropped.

Step by step, you walked the bicycle up his driveway, a few scarlet leaves from an oak tree spiralling down and colouring the gravel. Not even their warm tint could sugar coat that wicked, tight-lipped smile dancing from one spot of his mouth to the other. It was like the devil sat behind him, a myriad of strings on his fingers, and he was pulling each and every one.

“Where’re you off to, sunshine?”

“Into town. I’m getting some groceries.”

His eyes, bloodshot, much too hollowed at the early hour, gave you a once-over. You felt the sponge in your bones deflate. If a person’s stare could be washed from your skin, then you’d find the nearest hot shower and lock yourself inside.

He tapped some ash off his cigarette. “You don’t need to do that now, do you?”

“I-It’s a good time, actually. It won’t be busy.”

Don’t break down, don’t break down, do not let him infiltrate.

In an abasing fashion, your boyfriend laughed, like it was impossible to fathom that you could uphold a life, responsibilities, independence, beyond him and his fallacy of omniscience. He stood up and took another hit of nicotine from the cigarette. Then he was balancing the wand between his teeth, smiling down at you again, the devil’s strings metallic and unbreaking.

“Come inside,” he said, tipping his head toward the door, “leave your bike and we’ll share a nice drink, sunshine.”

You knew through mistake that it would be an unkind fate to deny him. Resting your bicycle against the porch, you trailed a few steps behind him into the house. Just before you closed the door, you drew in a long breath, examining the leaves on the oak tree, feeling that crisp air touch your face, looking up at small gaps of morning light between the grey clouds.

You always tried to remember the natural world, just in case you prematurely became a part of it.

Jihoon had set the notepad overtop his knee, one hand holding the papers still whilst the other clasped a black pen. Upon waiting for him to finish his prose, you fidgeted with the gold pocket mirror, pressing the edge of your nail into its infinitesimal grooves that created the rose. Time and time again, you wondered about the pocket mirror, a robust relic from the nineteen-twenties that the boy had gifted you.

“Done.” Jihoon announced, lifting the pen from the notepad.

The candle was rather inept at providing sufficient light, though you managed to read his looped, cursive writing with a surprising ease, with familiarity, like the words had been from a love letter you read every dusk.

Peaches and cotton candy are sweet. Orchids smell like rain. Scratches can fade.

You smiled at him. The inside of your chest was warmer than a July heatwave. After exchanging the gold mirror for the pen, you brainstormed a set of prose to match his. Jihoon had never looked at his reflection since he was alive, when oxygen still pumped to his heart and his veins hadn’t been replaced with frost. Suddenly, an idea sparked, and you wrote quickly.

Once you handed him back the notepad, he returned the mirror.

I’ll admire you so that you don’t have to. I’ll keep your beauty alive.

He circled the pen between his fingers. With knees pressed tight against your chest, you watched Jihoon’s teeth sink into his bottom lip before he hunched over the notepad, printing a line of clean cursive. Out of all the items you’d brought him, this seemed to be his favourite.

Jihoon passed you the notepad.

Letting the pocket mirror sit between your crossed legs, you held the paper close to your face, hoping it would help conceal the flustered grin.

If I had a second life, I would find you. I would take you away from the pain you have now.

“I wish you had a second life too.” You told Jihoon in a delicate, almost trembling voice. “I wish I could bring you into my life, even if it were just for one night.”

The boy nodded whilst he stared at the wax candle, one that a priest let you take home after you spent a visit to the church, hoping to discover some sense of purpose, some form of guidance. That was two years ago. Even though you had thanked the priest for the candle, it seemed completely useless. Or so you thought. Now, it was the only way you could differentiate every detail of Jihoon’s face, his skin constantly basked in a golden aurora.

“I think…” Jihoon murmured, sitting up slowly and staring into the warm light, “I think there is a way.”

Something seemed to be revolving in his mind, something that planted hope in your belly, and as he explained to you the procedure, you hadn’t realized his fingers gradually interlacing with yours.

The night of October thirty-first, that was the only sliver in which Jihoon could ever separate from the closet, the cottage house, and reacquaint himself with the earthy air and moonlight. It was the only time when the barrier between the human realm and spirit realm was significantly thin enough. Jihoon stood in your bedroom, dressed in an auburn, corduroy button-up vest, the sleeves of his white dress shirt cuffed to his elbows, his trousers hemmed along the leg.

Could those be the same clothes he wore upon taking his own life? You were always curious, though refrained from acting too inquisitive. The boy suddenly reached into his right pants pocket, shifting his fingers as though he were attempting to fish something out, until he glanced at the gold dome in your hand and a pink dust developed along the arch of his cheeks. These days, you’d been holding onto his mirror like it was a personal ligament.

He shrugged. “Old habit.”

Jihoon followed you into the living room. Whilst you tossed on a water-proof jacket and wriggled each foot into a pair of degrading tennis sneakers, the boy paused just in front of the fireplace. He touched the crimson brick, then stuck out two ice-cold palms. The embers were radiant and warm. They drew a beautiful glow to his skin. If Jihoon felt the energy of the heat, he didn’t express it. You stuffed the mirror into your pocket and called for him.

There was a slight drag as Jihoon seemed hesitant to part from the flames, twirling and alive, like he’d been trying to seek for a lost artifact that might still remain amongst the ashes.

“Nothing is the same.”

With his head constantly pivoting in order to gauge every detail, Jihoon seemed to realize that the town he moved into during the last century was starkly and scarily different. Houses now built over cobalt roads, where the wealthy had once let exhaust tumble from the pipes of their timely vehicles. A shopping centre stuck the middle of what was once a cornfield, always rife with healthy, luminous green stalks during the balmy summers. His favourite diner, where he used to gather all his papers and write until his pen lost its ink, listening to revolving tunes on the jukebox, had been replaced by a furniture store.

Jihoon didn’t sound upset, but jaded perhaps.

He’d moved from his homeland, Busan, South Korea, at twenty years old, taking with him little to no belongings apart from some clothes and a pocket mirror his girlfriend had gifted him. He desired a meaningful existence with his writing, hoping to make something, be somebody.

And yet, three years after leaving Busan, Jihoon had killed himself in his cottage home.

“A lot can change in a hundred years. Good and bad. ” You sighed whilst waiting at a crosswalk.

The boy shivered due to the crisp, autumn wind. “It appears so.”

He then clenched his teeth together. “Say, do you think I could get some new clothes? These have a few holes. They’re scratchy too.”

You glanced at the enormous, neon sign anchored to the shopping centre across the street.

“I think I can help you out.”

For the first time in a century, Jihoon stared at himself in a mirror. It was a tall, thin mirror stuck to a changeroom door. His decaying articles were folded on the bench, faintly stitched with the scent of wood pyres and dust and potent ink. It took Jihoon less than a minute to discover his new clothes, a dark blue hoodie and black sweatpants. The hoodie swallowed his upper-half. He seemed comfortable, warm, his fingers rubbing the inside of the fleece sleeve.

In a peculiar way, it hurt.

He no longer held the appearance of a middleclass writer who’d burn out his cigars on paper, always had a whisky shot coursing through his blood, some ash from the fireplace constantly rubbed to his cheek. He had no longer just stepped through a time portal into the most recent era. Instead, Jihoon looked like a student you might brush shoulders with before a lecture, or a modest stranger who’d catch your eye at a party.

If only Jihoon had actually been that stranger, rather than the boyfriend you have now.

“Don’t let go of my hand.”

You asked Jihoon wearily whilst stepping onto a cement ledge next to the sidewalk. Truthfully, it wasn’t that high. Truthfully, you just wanted feel his cold touch caress your skin.

He blinked up at your figure, the moonlight glowing behind you, outlining you in a silver, narrow frame.

“I won’t. I promise.”

Once you were steadied on the ledge, you began placing one foot in front of the other, taking attentive steps that had little to no breadth, and yet they felt like immeasurable strides. Jihoon held your fingers with a sweet pressure. You were almost near the end of the ledge when that autumn wind decided to ripple hard and fierce, and as you braced against the current, you lost your balance. With a small shriek you nearly stumbled over the edge.

Jihoon didn’t waver. His hands fastened upon your waist and he caught you in his arms, feeling your heartbeat that drummed through your chest and into his.

“W-Whoops…” Your laughter was anxious, embarrassed.

Never having been pressed against each other before, there was slight uneasiness. There was racing thoughts and cotton-hearts, a fleeting catch of the other’s eye and faces so close that you shared the same breath. His hands cupped at your waist; your palms flat against his shoulders. If you kissed him, would he taste like a Cuban cigar? Or a soft, warm peach grown beneath summer sunshine? Jihoon thought you smelled like an orchid.

However, you both peeled away from each other.

“Wait—” you remarked before continuing down the sidewalk, “you promised not to let go of my hand.”

Jihoon intertwined your fingers, his thumb smoothing quickly over the ridges of your knuckles.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

The stars burned in their own soot, twinkling intermittently and spread apart across the blackness. Some were passionate and lurid, whilst others were dim, barely there, only glistering to indicate that their radiance still lived. You sat next to Jihoon on the train station bench, the heated rim of a paper cup touching your lips, stained with hot chocolate. After taking a sip and feeling the velvet against your throat, you handed him the drink.

Upon purchasing Jihoon’s new cloths, you’d emptied all the bills wadded in your pocket. A small palm of coins remained and you counted them aside to buy two train tickets in addition to a hot chocolate. The tip of his nose was slightly pinkish from the cold. His eyes focused on the steam, which he impatiently dispersed by forming his lips into a tiny O shape. You continued exchanging the cup until there was nothing more than a ring of wet cocoa powder at the base.

Jihoon began softly bumping his knee against yours whilst you waited for the train. He seemed unaware, though you couldn’t be certain. He had quite the array of small, endearing habits.

Suddenly, you felt a slight vibration inside your coat pocket. And then another, another, and one more after that. Once you slid out the device, something that was thicker than dread surrounded you, absorbing every ray of starlight. His snarl jeered at you through the texts.

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: Why haven’t you responded to me?

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: Where are you??

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: What did I tell you about going out and not saying anything?

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: You don’t just fucking do something like that.

You could already feel his ironclad grip suctioned around your wrist, his fingernails submerging into your flesh, carving out new scratches to replace the ones that had faded.

In the distance, you heard the train rattling and smelled the burning coal. You stuffed the phone into your pocket and pretended the texts were non-existent, yet, that characteristic glint in your eyes was much too candour. How was there a point in pretending when you gave away your own lies?

“Come on,” Jihoon stood from the bench, his breath ghosting into the nighttime air, “you have the tickets ready?”

As the train slowed to a trill halt, you nodded, revealing the two tickets from your pocket.

“Good, good.” He gently traced his fingertips down the back of your wrist before encompassing your hand in his. Jihoon squeezed firmly, leaned into your ear where his breath was ticklish.

Somehow, you didn’t feel afraid anymore when he whispered, “let’s go home, alright? I’ll help warm you up and we’ll go to bed together.”

The conductor accepted your tickets with a tight-lipped smile, and Jihoon’s fingers played with yours whilst the man readied his hole-punch. For some reason, your eyes drifted to the side of the boy’s neck, where ever so faintly, a reddish-pink scar curled around his pearl skin. It was the first time you ever noticed the mark now that Jihoon was no longer blanketed in the closet’s meagre light. The mark seemed painful, like something had been taunt against his windpipe.

You knew Jihoon had taken his own life three years after leaving the comfort and familiarity of Busan. You knew Jihoon had a girlfriend back in his hometown that he wanted to marry. He put love on hold to become a writer. He sacrificed everything yet gained nothing.

The universe was awfully typical.

Upon exhaling a soft breath through your nose, eyelids droopy from the drowsiness, you rested your temple against Jihoon’s shoulder during the train ride home. He must have thought you’d fallen asleep, for his fingertips brushed sweetly against your exposed cheek, his lips pressing to the top of your forehead, leaving behind the warmth of a tender kiss. Jihoon’s touch was always cool, yet it translated into heat.

Forcibly, you gulped down a surprised cough. You knew that was what an intimate relationship should be.

It was more so the fact you had never experienced it.

You kissed the boy’s jaw. His shoulder became rigid, though you were smiling with eyes shut tighter than a locket.

Jihoon mumbled lowly against your forehead, “you were supposed to be asleep.”

Refusing to open your eyes, somewhat petrified that gazing upon his face would further embolden just how attached were to him, you simply shook your head.

“I am asleep. I talk in my sleep. I’m sleep-talking.”

“Do you kiss people in your sleep too?”

Your eyebrow quirked. “Didn’t you just kiss me?”

“Because I thought you were asleep.”

“I am aslee—”

Jihoon’s palm gently cupped overtop your mouth, muffling the syllables. Your laughter was hot against his skin, and your eyes finally opened. No, you didn’t want to fall asleep. It just meant that the next morning Jihoon would be gone.

You removed the little mirror from your jacket and placed it on the night table, then pulled the cloth curtains shut as though you were going to disrobe. However, you only removed your jacket and flung off your bra, much too cognisant of your dwindling time with Jihoon, afraid that even changing into your pyjamas would waste the precious minutes. He observed each of your movements as he lounged on his side, taking up the left half of your bed.

How long had it been since he last sunk into a mattress, since he last had a warm body to share the space with?

Jihoon stared at the dull, golden dome of the pocket mirror. He remembered his past lover’s face, the pain she attempted to make imperceptible as Jihoon stood with only a single luggage case at the Gyeongbu Line station. It was the nearing the terminal of nineteen-seventeen.

His twentieth birthday had transpired only a week ago.

“Just come back, alright?” She had been thumping her fists lightly against his chest, long strands of black hair draping her cheeks, “promise you’ll come back to me?”

“I promise, Jieun. Everything I am is you.”

He framed her beautiful face in his hands, kissed her slowly, wanted to permanently grain the taste of her lip gloss against his taste buds as well as the powdery notes of her perfume. Before he could leave, she slipped her gold, shiny mirror into his hand, a momentum, a memory, something that would preserve her significance to him.

Three years after leaving Busan and Jihoon would only remove the mirror from his pocket so that he could polish the surface. He wrote her love letters, filled every one of his notebooks with limerence-indulgent poems until the twine could no longer keep the pages from bulging open. His typewriter clicked from every pale-yellow morning to the midnight crickets. Being in love felt like a high. He dreamed of their wedding, their first house, a baby tucked in their arms.

Three years later and Jihoon’s rotary phone started wildly buzzing. It was his best friend, Soonyoung. He was sobbing, pouring out hiccups and inarticulate fragments that Jihoon could hardly understand. It wasn’t until the impatient boy snapped at him to clear his nose and take a breath that those words pulled taunt and impaled straight through Jihoon’s heart like a crossbow. There was no blood, and yet it seemed to fill his lungs and bubble thickly in his throat.

“I’ve been sleeping with Jieun. For almost a year now. I had to tell you. It’s eating me alive.”

That same day, Jihoon received a postcard with a picture of cheerful Songdo beach, a place they had often visited to walk the waterline, wondering about their future The back was blanketed in Jieun’s rushed, tear-stained handwriting.

It was true.

They both admitted it.

In that cottage home, Jihoon threw a match into the brick fireplace. Every poem, every notebook, every piece of literature he’d ever written were gradually enveloped and burnt up by the monstrous flames. An hour later and he was standing in his closet, an apple crate under his feet and a segment of durable rope in his hands. The fire continued to crackle in the living room whilst the smoke drifted from the chimney. Buried in his pocket was the gold rose mirror.

In due time, the flames had become the only live part of the house.

As Jihoon continued to stare at the mirror sitting on your night table, he was consistently poked with a truth that made him ache so terribly: his spirit could only be freed if the mirror broke.

But if the mirror broke, there was no possible method for you to contact him. Jihoon could not be summoned, and in no way, shape, or form could he interact with your life, rather he’d be an invisible observer with infinite freedom. This became information he never shared. The conflict was too saturated, and as much as Jihoon despised his condemnation to that dark little space, it was how he discovered you. He’d quickly learned you didn’t have freedom either.

Your freedom only seemed to develop in the presence of each other.

Suddenly, the bed dipped. Jihoon snapped from his musing. The sheets wrinkled below your hands and knees as you crawled toward him, eyes sleepy, intent to create the comfortable position where the curve of your spine was seamless with his front. When your gaze flitted downward, you spotted Jihoon’s hand resting on your hipbone. He waited, and you grinned.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, “I want you closer. Please?”

Jihoon’s small huff tickled your ear whilst he slid his palm flat under your t-shirt. It stilled, pressing to your abdomen, the cold of his fingers meeting your soft warmth. His thumb began drawing strokes just under your navel, to which your eyes fluttered shut and a calm sigh rose in your chest. Somehow, you wanted to preserve this moment, like how petals could be sealed inside an amber stone so that their beauty never degraded. Jihoon’s hand etched further up your torso, his fingertips tracing the supple underside of your breast.

He kissed that tender sweet spot just below your ear, until your eyes opened, gaze falling directly onto the pocket mirror. Aside from the intense heat, another sensation overwhelmed you, and with a breath that was nothing short of unease you looked back over your shoulder at the boy who’d be gone by morning.

“I don’t want you to leave,” your voice emerged in a telling crack, “I need you.”

Jihoon shook his head. Leaning forward, his lips brushed yours in a gentle kiss.

“I’m not leaving. You know that. I’m always here.”

The tears brimmed your eyes. “N-No, I need you out here. In physicality. Not just in a c-closet.”

Your emotions mimicked a violet insurrection, where they could not be quelled no matter how fiercely you took your bottom lip under your teeth, or how rapidly you blinked, hoping the liquid would retract itself. Instead, they flowered in one big uprooting. You suckled in a sharp inhalation that gave them even more fuel and greed.

“Dammit—I didn’t want to cry, but I c-can’t help it!” You covered your eyes with your palms. “I had so much fun with you tonight, Jihoon – I just don’t want this to end. I don’t want to have this pain. My happiness is ripped away every time I see him. I want it to be you but it’s not!”

The boy tugged at your wrists, urging you to uncover yourself. He succeeded at catching your eyes despite how distorted they were with water.

“Relax, alright?” He cooed, his face hovering over yours. “Let yourself breathe.”

The backs of his fingers brushed up and down your far cheek. Before a tear could roll onto his thumb Jihoon had already pecked it away. Heeding his words, you drew in a slow breath and felt the coolness fill each lung, all whilst he comforted you using a benign hand.

“You have me. You’ll always have me. Whether I’m palpable or not doesn’t change that.”

“I-I know…” It squeaked out with little conviction, “If I couldn’t have that mirror, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Jihoon traced his thumb below your teary eye. “You’d be fine, even without the mirror.”

He was met with a doubtful glance.

“Trust me,” his reverence shone through each word, “whenever you speak to me, I will always listen. Even if you can’t see me, or grab my hand. Even if you feel completely alone. I will always hear you. It seems unlikely, but it’s true.”

Honesty consumed the boy’s gaze. His reassurance was akin to a sewing needle that wove back together the collapsing fabric of your heart.

Jihoon’s tone then became even more earnest, and your eyes burned into his.

“I love you. It’s a bit cheap of me to say that considering my circumstances, but I need you to know that having met you… You reunited me with what love is, when I thought it was impossible to feel it again. Life is cruel. We can’t be together in the way we want. I can’t steal you away from him and make you mine no matter how badly I wish I could.”

His fingers paused atop your cheek. Jihoon swallowed and pressed his forehead to yours.

“It’s too late for me, but you have your whole life.”

He kissed you deeply, slid in his tongue to taste the cheap hot chocolate, his chest aching when he heard one of your soft gasps melt into his mouth. Your fingers carded through his hair, but then Jihoon pulled away, rubbing his thumb to your bottom lip whilst you cradled his nape.

“You deserve someone who will cherish you, protect you, sing to you, let you be vulnerable in every way and adore you all the same.”

With a ginger smile, Jihoon looked deep into your eyes.

“And you need to have strength. Okay, my love? Will you promise me?”

Another tear trickled and soaked into your hair. Jihoon was right. There was no second life, and you didn’t want to spend any remainder of your first anchored to a boyfriend who would never love you like Jihoon did.

“I promise.” You spoke quietly, printing a kiss to his thumb. “I love you too. I always will.”

Then it was time for bed.

After reaching toward the night table and plucking off the lamp, you nestled your head against the smooth slope connecting his neck and shoulder, smelling the faint tang of an ancient cigar on his skin. One arm draped across his waist, your leg over his hip, every bit of your warmth seeping through Jihoon’s cloths and into his cold body. As a goodnight rhythm, Jihoon’s fingertips swept along your arm, the contact slightly ticklish but a reminder he was still tangible, still holding you, still positively in love with everything that fabricated you.

His heart wouldn’t change, even if he was no longer burying kisses to the top of your head by morning.

“You better watch your tone, sunshine. That’s all I’m saying.”

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, next to the sink crammed with grimy, porcelain dishes that had most likely been collecting for a week. The windowsill above the faucet was lined with dead flies, the glass adapting a sallow hue, as though some type of algae was beginning to develop. A vase sat on the small dining table, filled with orchids, though the purple petals were shrivelled and the bulbs drooped like they were trying to escape the stem.

A cigarette was held between his fingers, to which he smeared off the ashes by rubbing it against the countertop. Squeezing your hand even tighter around the pocket mirror, you stood ground.

“I’ve been watching my tone for the last two years. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Oh yeah?” He huffed, folding an arm over his chest. “Then I taught you well. Don’t make me teach you again.” The smoke wafted from between his lips, and he hacked dryly.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. The only reason you weren’t blubbering through every word was due to your unwavering grip on the mirror and the tearful promise you made to Jihoon. Maintaining an ember of hope, you prayed this would be the last time you smelled the poison from his cigarette. Freedom felt like a walk out his front door.

“The way you treat me is disgusting. You don’t know anything about a real relationship.”

He might have been dense, but his instinctual evil knew contempt like the back of his palm. His eyes flashed, recognizing your defiance, your desperation to break free. Rather than the slumped posture against the countertop, he started to straighten himself out and bare his teeth.

“What the fuck do you know about a real relationship? I treat you like you’re supposed to be treated. I made you a better partner, and you’re not even goddamn thankful?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You felt not a grain of fear, but great astonishment, in which months of belligerence bled through your negation. “You made me better? Did you really just fucking say that? You put me in the worst position of my life! You’re an empty-headed, narcissistic, manipulative asshole!”

It was like a pin dropping in an empty theatre. The words that harped from your tongue merely skimmed the surface of your resentment, and you might’ve kept barrelling down if it weren’t for the obsidian in his eyes. You knew that soulless look. Already, you could feel the ache in your wrist, see glimpses of his iron hand reaching for your skin. He ripped the cigarette from his mouth, smacked it into the sink, and immediately loomed over you, wrestling for your wrist.

“H-Hey, don’t fucking touch me!” You cried out, whipping your elbow backward.

“Don’t act up then!” He roared, clutching onto your arm and wickedly shaking it until your grasp loosened around the pocket mirror.

With a horrified countenance, you watched the artifact fly from your hand and rattle against the plastic, stained tiles. The fragile clasp broke, its gold dome popped open, cracked glass crumbling out from the inside. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Air stuttered on the tip of your tongue whilst you stared at the hundred-year-old mirror, now decimated and irreplaceable. It felt like the universe had an unforgiving hand around your windpipe. No breath left your lungs.

“What the fuck,” he muttered, his brow furrowing, “why were you holding that?”

Why were you holding that?

With your mouth agape, you locked eyes with the man in front of you, and for once, he seemed afraid. The pain upended itself in your stomach, it burst into your atrium, your veins and blood. It was electricity. A frustrated growl reverberated from deep inside and suddenly you were slamming your hands against his chest, pushing him backward, making him stumble and wheeze and fear your aggression until he was caught against the kitchen counter.

“What the he—,”

“Shut up,” you choked out like your whole life had been ripped away from you, tears leaking down your face, “don’t you ever come up to me again. Don’t ever put your hands on me. Don’t you ever speak to me. Don’t you ever look at me. You can’t keep me trapped in your little cage anymore. We’re fucking through.”

He was heaving in quick-paced breaths, and you could see the disorientation cloud in his gaze. Before you left, you scooped the broken mirror and all its fragments into your hands.

You stalked through his front door, but it didn’t yet feel like freedom.

Darkness pooled around you, exempt from the yellowish flame that wriggled up candle wick. Gently opening the pocket mirror, you placed it on the closet floor, holding back a brittle sob as the tiny glass shards collected against its bottom. Glass shards that could never be fixed or glued back together. It was unadulterated heartache. You wondered if that was how Jihoon felt when he watched all his books smoulder in the fireplace, having to accept the voice at the back of his head which told him his literature would be lost forever.

Your eyes were damp and welting with tears as they fell shut. Quietly, into the small space you whispered: “If I ask for you, will you come to me?”

But the world was silent.

You felt not a single gust of arctic air against your face, nor did you hear the pocket mirror snapping shut. Jihoon’s soft fingertips weren’t brushing your arm, your teary cheek, the tender inside of your thigh, assuring you he was right at your side. A shudder split through your body. It couldn’t be true.

You entreated him again, “if I ask for you, will you come to me?”

A terrible sickness disseminated from your gut. You felt lightheaded, dizzy, saliva coating the inside of your mouth as though your system was preparing to vomit. Perspiration dappled your forehead, and you were burning hot, yet your hands were trembling like you’d been confined outside during the coldest winter. You leaned over into your palms and let out a petulant shriek. It was unclear how long you stayed in the closet, wetly hiccupping and mourning. The pain needed to escape, no matter how viciously.

And even though you couldn’t see Jihoon, he was looking after you as a free spirit, absorbing your agony, ensuring you didn’t have to feel such torment all by yourself.

Eight months later

It was around lunchtime as you picked up your bicycle, resting against the ivy that coated the sun-soaked wall of the cottage. You decided to pedal into town and grab groceries. June summers were always pleasant, colourful; the heat was rarely unbearable or notably sticky and when you rode your bicycle, the breeze blew the scent of the neighbourhood honeysuckle into your face.

Soaring along the sidewalk, you felt – for once in your life – remarkably free.

When you neared that ominous house at the end of the block, you weren’t afraid, rather you continued pedaling with contentedness, brushing right by the driveway as though it were any other house one might pass on a bike ride. You didn’t think about your wrist. The scratches had long since faded. There was no more bruised tissue or blunt carvings from fingernails. Upon nearing the grocery store, you were creating a small list in your head.

You knew you wanted peaches. Ice cream if they had your favourite flavour. Vegetables and meat and spices for a stew. In fact, you were so concentrated on making the non-existent list that you didn’t even note the young man who’d just rushed out the market door. At the last second you jammed the breaks and gasped, feeling the inertia against your body.

Some of the papers and photographs tucked under the stranger’s arm dislodged, fluttering to the ground.

“Holy shit,” you set your bicycle against the store wall, “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention at all—here, let me help you.”

“I-It’s alright,” he replied, sounding a bit shaky as he joined you in collecting the papers, “I wasn’t paying attention either.”

When you grabbed one particular photo from the ground, you immediately froze.

It was grainy, black and white, but you could recognize that face amongst hundreds. His eyes, his lips, even the corduroy button-up and crisp dress shirt. He was leaning against a jukebox, hands in his pockets, a pen tucked behind his ear, grinning like he’d just struck the lottery. You were so entranced with the photograph that the stranger could only stand before you, a thick blush on his cheeks whilst he waited for you to finish ogling. It wasn’t until he slightly cleared his throat that you budged.

“Do you know this guy?” You asked after handing him back the picture.

“Well, not personally…” He scratched the nape of his neck. “But I know who he was. Lee Jihoon. I have this culminating project in my writing class. I thought it’d be cool to choose him since his story is so intriguing. I—,” Suddenly, he stopped, and laughed anxiously.

“Sorry, you probably don’t know what I’m talking about.”

His amber complexion turned increasingly pink. You’d never seen him around town before, but god—he was cute. He had these thin, circular glasses that sat on his pointed nose, a mole doting the upper arch of his cheek, the deepest brown eyes you’d ever seen. His hair was a bit disarrayed after you nearly struck him with your bicycle, the black strands fluttering against the summer breeze. And interestingly enough, he knew who Jihoon was.

“I know of him,” you smiled, though it was hollow, “his story is intriguing, according to what I’ve heard.”

The stranger seemed to sense your aching.

“Yeah… kinda sad stuff. Um, I-I’m Seokmin by the way. I heard Jihoon lived in this town so I’m trying to collect resources.”

You glanced at him thoughtfully and returned your name. Seokmin started organizing his papers, proceeding to shove them back under his arm.

“Resources?” Came your inquiry. “Like what kind?”

“Anything, honestly. I started researching him when I lived in Korea. I even got my hands on some copies of citizen records. I know he had a cottage around here too, but I don’t know the address. And that’s weird right? Knocking on the owner’s door asking about a deceased writer.”

“Seokmin.”

He pushed up the silver bridge of his glasses and gulped. “Yeah?”

“I think I can help you out.”

After taking Seokmin on a curt tour through the cottage, he seemed speechless, and quite frankly a little bewildered considering his luck at encountering you. Much of the cottage had been renovated and refurbished, all but the closet and the crimson fireplace.

The tour ended in your bedroom, where Seokmin shot a wary glance at the closet you had always kept empty, knowing what the cramped space entailed in terms of the writer’s premature death. You thought he needed to sit, so you assured him it was fine if he took a couple minutes on the edge of your bed.

With his documents next to him, Seokmin’s eyes once again probed around the room. He then sighed as you leaned against your dresser, to which you pondered on what had disturbed him.

“I can’t believe he burnt all his work. It’s just gone, y’know?”

Tapping your fingers against the wood, you nodded. “It’s unfortunate.”

“When I was poking around for information back in Busan, I heard he had this girlfriend who cheated on him with his friend. All his books were these amazing love stories based on her, but I guess he felt they were tarnished… So, he just… Destroyed them. I wonder if there’s anything of his left.”

Immediately, you stiffened. Stowed away within your night table’s compartment was the gold pocket mirror. You had removed the broken glass after slicing the edge of your finger on a shard, and only the antique shell remained. It was too painful to keep the mirror with you as frequently as before, so you stored it in a special place, and only accessed it when you needed to talk with Jihoon, when you really needed to feel his presence, even if it couldn’t be what it once was.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you approached the table and pulled open the compartment, revealing to Seokmin the pocket mirror, dulled and broken after a century of hardship. He outstretched his palm when you allowed him to hold it.

“S-Shit, I heard about this mirror. His girlfriend gave him this. Is it the actual thing?”

Folding your arms over your chest, you nodded. “I promise, it’s not a fake.”

Gently, Seokmin opened the broken clasp.

“No glass?” He questioned.

“Um…” You were nibbling your lip hard enough to draw blood, “Just… something happened, and it broke. It was too dangerous to keep the glass.”

“Oh,” Seokmin hummed, “that’s fine. It’s still beautiful. I can’t even believe I’m holding it.” His chest rumbled with disbelieving laughter.

“It’s so hard to see it broken…” You sighed, feeling your lungs shake and your throat tighten.

Seokmin looked up at you, how you gazed at the mirror as though it were a lost love. He rose from the bed and delicately placed the momentum back into its compartment.

“I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing.” The boy pointed out in a soft voice.

“Why not?” You sniffled, tears stinging your eyes, yearning to fall.

“Well, there’s this myth, I guess. People who take their own life are condemned to their personal grave. When items that were precious to them break, like that mirror, it sets their soul free. So, even if it’s painful for you, it could have been a good thing. If you believe in spirits and all that.”

For a moment, you simply held yourself firmer, staring deep into the kind earth of Seokmin’s eyes whilst this catharsis bloomed inside you. Even though you knew the mirror wasn’t necessary for Jihoon to hear or see you, it had been the most difficult tribulation you ever knuckled through. Trying to accept life as it was, not as what it could have been. Seokmin’s brow knitted together concerningly, his bottom lip pushing out, hoping he didn’t upset you.

“Are you oka—,”

He lost an ounce of his breath when you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding onto him tight whilst a few tears beaded toward your chin. Seokmin was at first stunned, though it melted off easily, and you felt his hand rub tenderly against your back. He murmured some small reassurances. His voice was incredibly dulcet, almost velvet-like, and you thought he’d make a good singer. When you took a step away to wipe up any tears, Seokmin gazed at you fondly.

“I’m really sorry,” you chuckled, fingertips brushing against your eye, “but thank you for saying that. It’s something I needed to hear.”

Seokmin shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Pain is pain.”

You smiled at him. He wasn’t wrong.

Realizing he needed to move on with his day, you lead Seokmin downstairs and to the front door, where he stood next to your lilac bush, the afternoon sun adding a touch of honey to his cheeks. Just before he left, you couldn’t help but note that he was fumbling with his words a lot, licking his pretty lips, running a hand through his black locks. Eventually, the boy found his words.

“Do you want to meet up again, maybe?” He quickly adjusted his glasses. “And we can do something? I-I think you’re really nice and cute and I still can’t believe you showed me around when you didn’t have to. I’m sorry if that’s too soon. I totally understand if you’d rather ju—”

“I’d love to.”

The overwrought nature to his face immediately cleared. Instead, Seokmin looked vibrant, so much in fact, that you could feel a familiar sense of warmth rise in your face. It was a sensation you hadn’t experienced in a long while, but it made you happy, inconceivably happy.

“Really? Okay, cool. Do you want my number?”

As you removed the phone from your pocket, your heart skipped a beat.

“Sure,” you eagerly complied, “let’s do it.”

And on that day, your life began in the way you always dreamed it would.

✧✎ a/n: again, i just want to apologize for my lack of posting (pls refer to my last update if you’re curious). I HOPE THE ENDING MADE UP FOR THE PAIN AND SADNESS lolll.

#caratwritersclub #seventeen scenarios #jihoon scenarios #seventeen angst #jihoon angst #lee jihoon #seventeen woozi #woozi scenarios #svt fanfic #svt angst #jihoon x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #abuse tw #suicide tw

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pctrichvrs · 3 years

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* emma mackey, cis woman + she/her | you know celeste laurent, right? they’re twenty four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, seven years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to cry baby by the neighbourhood like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole watching the phone ring to avoid picking up, unintentionally locking eyes from across the room and dark circles further accented by pale skin thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is december 9th, so they’re a sagittarius, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

mun.

wow ..,. hello ! i’m jay ( she&her ) and i’ve been eyeing this group for days .. *nicki minaj vc* i’m obsessed . celeste is my only muse but give me 2 business days and i’m sure that’ll be vastly different . i feel like i should give the disclaimer that although i adore plotting, i’m super slow with messages so feel free to just ..,. let my oddball child interact and go with the flow . < 3

quick stats.

full name: celeste rosalie laurent.

sexuality: bisexual.

occupation: youtuber/podcaster.

neighborhood: lives in port apartments.

mbti personality: intj.

about.

celeste was born and raised in lyon, france . her mother was an art curator and her father was an architect. they passed along their desire to be surrounded by pretty things which resulted in celeste dabbling in nearly every art form imaginable from a young age .

sure, some of her work turned out better than others but it was clear that she had a real knack for anything that didn’t really require the left side of her brain. if it involved creativity and didn’t have much structure, she was drawn to it and excelled. she was fourteen when she ended up making her first short film. sixteen when she earned a spot at cannes film festival, sparking quite a bit of buzz and earning funding to a school of her choosing .

celeste knew she wanted to go to america and it helped that she had a few cousins in north carolina . she went to UNC school of the arts for two semesters before throwing her scholarship away . . . her distaste for structure getting in the way . she’s also pretty fickle so when that chapter closed, she decided to give up short films and put her energy into youtube .

her channel was an absolute clusterf*ck at first but she made a ridiculous conspiracy theory video and it just kind of stuck. i’d consider most of her channel to be similar to buzzfeed unsolved ( conspiracies, ghosts, etc ) with like a sprinkle of ridiculous challenge videos and maybe the occasional cooking/painting video ?? if you’re her friend, you’ve probably made a cameo in a video at some point .

if it wasn’t obvious enough, celeste’s biggest flaws are her need for freedom and her fickle tendencies which affects nearly everything in her life . everything is very sporadic for her with very little consistency . she’ll go weeks without working on anything and then have a deadline and have to finish it in 2 days . romantic relationships are very hard for her because by the time you’ve gotten comfortable with her, she’s probably moved on a bit . friendships are admittedly a bit easier but she’s definitely not a friend you’d expect to be present a lot ?? phone is always on do not disturb and she takes hours to text back . if you want her, you’d probably have better luck just showing up on her doorstep .

kind of spacey too like even if you show up, good luck getting her undivided attention . she’ll be there physically but mentally ?? who knows, really . the type to occasionally cut you off mid-convo with a question that just popped into her head that’s unrelated to the original topic .

overall though, not too hard to get along with if you give her some room to breathe and have some patience . celeste despises confrontation and does her best to stay pretty lowkey . i feel like she’s kind of drawn to people that stand out and are unique in one way or another and LOVES to hear people tell their story or talk about themselves . she hates being the center of attention ( she used to love it when she was making films ) and is nearly a bit reclusive at times but doesn’t even realized she’s been tucked away in her apartment until someone points it out .

basically the human embodiment of Gifted Kid Burn Out(TM) . #relatable

tldr ; a youtuber ( think buzzfeed unsolved ) originally from france who was once incredibly gifted in film . flighty, fickle and spacey but has a genuine curiosity for everyone she meets .

headcanons.

still has a french accent but it’s not nearly as prominent as it was when she first moved to the states .

has a super odd sleep schedule ? sometimes she’s pulling all nighters and sometimes she’s in bed by 9pm. it usually depends on the amount of work she has to do but sometimes she’s just like fuck it, let me binge this show or start this book at midnight .

a “look at the sky!” ass bitch ..,. loves to stargazing or take a minute to appreciate a pretty sunset. yes, she will be pulling out her phone to document it .

her youtube is pretty successful with about 400k subs ..,. although she’s started branching out into making podcasts and neglecting youtube a bit .

still a bit of an aesthete ? like very drawn to pretty things/people which may make her seem kind of superficial but she literally just has such a deep appreciation for things that are appealing to the senses .

i’ll add more later but it’s 1am and i’m getting sleepy .

wanted connections.

roommates ; arguably some of my fave plots are roommate plots ! bonus points if they don’t get along for some reason but anything is fine with me .

will they/wont they ; another dynamic that i’m a sucker for ! doesn’t have to lead anywhere like maybe they just have ridiculous chemistry when they’re around each other ? maybe they’ll go on a date and try it out at some point ?

long-term friend(s) ; someone who she’s been friends with since she was 17 ? i don’t think celeste’s social circle is very big so they probably mean a lot to her .. ride or dies .. best friends .. platonic soulmate vibes . yes pls .

exes ; i don’t think she’d have many but maybe one or two ? could be on good terms, bad terms, one/both of them still aren’t over it ..,. the options are endless .

Parent Friend(TM) ; someone who checks in on her to make sure she’s eaten a proper meal and has slept fairly recently would be super cute, i think ! she’s the type to drink iced coffee at noon and be like : ) thank u . i’m stuffed and then neglect doing self care .

i do not have a cute name for this but basically the exact opposite of the parent friend(TM) and someone who makes celeste go out and have fun bc she’s a tad reclusive ...,. drags her to parties / on roadtrips / other spontaneous shit .

enemies / frenemies / former friends ; always fun . always a good time !

literally anything like u can send me a musing post and be like ‘do this with me’ and i will probably do it

#irvingintro #literally the tiktok audio that's like 'now that we're done with that . do u wanna see my renegade ?'#*smiley w sunglasses emoji*#okay it's nearly 4am . i am about to sleep but . i'm letting myself celebrate finishing this . as a treat .

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Girl I Met On The Internet, 6/6 (Crystal x Gigi) - Strawberry

a/n: and it’s a wrap! for now anyway bc i totally dont have a fic coming based on the good news nicky had for jaida! i just want to say thank you to every single person who read, liked and reblogged this story. it means so much to me, i’m so glad people enjoyed the strange idea that came into my brain. <3 (also! i wanted to let you guys know that i’m planning on posting this fic on ao3 as well, probably after this chapter is posted on here. my username on there is drivingmecrazy !!)

crystal: does everyone’s spring break start this weekend too?? anyone doing anything??

jan!: mine does! i’m staying home all week, jackie is leaving me :(

nicky: my spring break isn’t until late april!! wtf :(

heidi: ha loser

heidi: i’m going to play animal crossing all weekend i can’t wait

Jackie: I’m going to Canada to visit family on Sunday. Jan, if you want we can hang out on Saturday if you’re going to miss me that much. :P

nicky: i’ll hang out with you jackie

jan: i hate you nicky

jaida: i have a pageant next week!!

jan!: yaas gorg

nicky: bring home the crown!

crystal: GO JAIDA!

nicky: also jaida call me. i have good news for you :)

gigi: crystal you already know what’s going down

crystal: do i now?

gigi: GOOD LUCK JAIDA!!! NO MATTER WHAT YOU ARE OUR WINNER

Crystal had somewhat of an idea of what was going down. She had been granted permission to sleep over at Gigi’s house, and they would be going on their date the following day. Gigi would not tell Crystal anything about where they were going, and refused to give her any hints no matter how much Crystal begged.

The next morning, on their walk to school, Crystal finally got a hint.

“You tweeted about it. That’s all I’ll tell you.”

“That’s not helpful at all!” Crystal had almost 30 thousand tweets, her Twitter was her space to say weird things without being judged too harshly, and she had a lot of things to say! She thought about things she might’ve tweeted about wanting to do, or places she wanted to go, but came up empty handed.

“Well, you have the whole day to think about it. I’ll meet you after school, yeah?”

Gigi’s mom offered to pick them up after school, even though the walk from their school to Gigi’s house wasn’t far. Crystal finally met Nancy, Gigi’s beloved dog. Crystal didn’t want to do anything besides hold the dachshund to her chest all night, but Gigi wouldn’t let her, saying it wasn’t fair for Nancy to get all of the attention even though Gigi does the exact same thing with Tic Tac.

They made homemade pizza for dinner, and played monopoly with Gigi’s parents and her brother. Gigi’s brother thought Crystal was cute, and hit on Crystal; trying out a ridiculous pickup line on the green haired girl every chance he got. After they called off the game, Gigi excused her and Crystal to her room.

“So quick to leave, Georgina,” Crystal teased, sitting down next to Nancy who was using Gigi’s strawberry cow pillow pet as a headrest.

“Wanna spend time with you. Can we cuddle?”

“Yeah, of course.”

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company until Gigi spoke up.

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Couldn’t do what?” Crystal asked, lost.

“Come out to my friends. I thought I was ready but obviously I’m not.”

“It’s okay, Gigi. You’ll know when it’s time, don’t rush it.”

“I just want to be more open, I guess.”

“That’s good, but it’s not going to happen overnight. You have to take baby steps, G.”

“Was it hard? To come out?”

“To who?” Crystal snorted, “You know I don’t have any friends. I’m pretty sure everyone at school already knows, though.”

“Does your mom know?”

“Probably. She got a little too suspicious when I started liking Poppy.”

This turned into revealing who their first gay crush was, and how and when they figured out they liked girls like the rest of their friends liked boys. Crystal told Gigi about how she originally tried to fake like One Direction so no one would suspect anything, and Gigi told Crystal about how she refused to listen to any music sung by female artists for half a year before they decided to go to sleep.

Crystal had woken up first. She didn’t bother waking up Gigi, going to scroll through Twitter instead. It was still early, but the group chat was on some bullshit, Jan changed her display name to Nicky and changed her profile picture to Nicky’s to mock her. Nicky did not find this funny in the slightest, but Jaida did.

nicky: i’m nicky i’m french i love stealing my friends gfs

jaida: omg period!

THE REAL nicky: JAIDA THAT’S NOT ME!!!

jaida: proof?

THE REAL nicky: I HATE IT HERE!!

nicky: croissant

crystal: HELPDGNJKFNJ

THE REAL nicky: i cannot stand jan. this is why jackie should date me instead

Crystal couldn’t stop laughing, which ended up waking Gigi up. Gigi was grumpy at first, but that changed when she realized they needed to get ready to go on the date she had planned.

After they had gotten up and dressed, they sat next to each other in front of the giant, floor length mirror next to Gigi’s closet to do their makeup. Gigi stopped doing her makeup after putting on her foundation, deciding that watching Crystal do her eye shadow was more entertaining than finishing the look she had in mind.

“Stop looking at me, you’re making me nervous!” Crystal giggled when she noticed Gigi’s stares, not actually wanting Gigi to stop.

“I’ll think about it,” Gigi paused, pretending to think, “I will not. You look beautiful.”

Crystal squawked, “I barely have anything on my face!”

“So?”

“What are you, gay or something?” Crystal teased, making Gigi poke at her sides, “Stop being a dork and finish your makeup!”

“Fine. Only because we need to get going soon.”

“Wait, you know how to drive?” Crystal asked, getting in the passenger seat.

“Yeah! I don’t have my own car yet, but I got my license on my 16th birthday. I am not enforcing the stereotype at all!” Gigi grinned, opening the garage door and starting her mom’s car.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Can I play music?”

“Yeah, sure.” Gigi handed her the aux cord and started backing out of the driveway.

“Okay. This is the ultimate test,” Crystal stated, starting to play a song. “Which One Direction song is this?”

The song in question was good, but Gigi didn’t recognize it. She had only listened to ‘Midnight Memories’ because it was Crystal’s favorite album, and she knew for sure Crystal wasn’t playing a song from that album. “Is it from ‘Made in the A.M’?”

“Trick question! It’s one of Niall’s solo songs. It’s called ‘Dear Patience’!” Crystal laughed, thinking she had pulled off the biggest prank in the world.

“Oh, fuck. I should’ve known there was only one person singing.”

After fifteen minutes of driving, and Gigi almost running a stop sign, they finally pulled up at a cute little thrift shop on the outskirts of town, and Crystal was just about shaking with excitement. “I love thrifting! I’ve only been once, but it was so fun! I found that jumpsuit I wore that one day while thrifting!” She rambles, rushing to get out of the car and inside.

“Wait, when I did tweet about this?”

Around the time they had first started talking, Crystal had tweeted about how her dream date was going thrifting. Gigi naturally stored this information in the back of her mind, even though at the time she never thought she would need it.

On their walk from the parking lot to the store, Crystal held her hand out, which Gigi hesitantly accepted.

“We should play a game! We should split up and pick out an outfit for the other person without them knowing and then meet up and try them on!”

Gigi’s heart swelled, Crystal was so cute. “That sounds fun, but how do I know this isn’t just a trick to dress me up in something hideous?” Gigi teased, making Crystal blush.

“I would never, don’t be ridiculous,” Crystal scoffed, “I’ll save that for the next time we go thrifting!”

Crystal let go of Gigi’s hand to open the door for her, splitting up as soon as they walked into the shop.

It didn’t take them very long to pick out their pieces. Crystal stayed true to her word, picking out a light green, halter top dress for Gigi. Gigi, on the other hand, had picked out a hideous pair of neon pink, zebra print leggings and a red flannel shirt.

“Gigi, what is that?” Crystal scrunched up her nose in disgust.

“You like patterns, why not clash them?” Gigi tried to defend herself, but could barely finish her sentence before bursting out laughing.

“No! I’m not getting that! I’m not even going to try on that outfit. It’s yucky.”

“That’s fine, give me the dress you picked out for me. I need that.” Gigi snatched it from Crystal’s hands, walking quickly to the dressing room.

The dress looked gorgeous on Gigi. Crystal was so glad she took their game seriously.

They looked around together for a little bit before wandering from each other yet again. Gigi somehow ended up with a pile of clothes that you would only see in a very successful thrifting haul video on YouTube. Crystal had stuck to the men’s section, immediately claiming some loud button ups and with a little digging, she found a very specific, out of place t-shirt that said something about how ‘real grandmas drink Dr. Pepper’ that she found hilarious and needed to own.

“What does that say? Some grandmas play bingo, real grandmas drink Dr. Pepper?” Gigi questioned when they finally met back up, “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, but it’s sending me. I need it!”

“So you hated my outfit I got for you, but you’re buying that?” Gigi teased.

“You do not understand the art of highly specific shirts, like these, babe. I’ll have to teach you all about them later.”

Gigi thought Crystal was an idiot, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

After paying for their clothes, they got back into the car. Gigi started driving, not telling Crystal where their next stop was. The stop happened to be the Taco Bell drive thru, which Crystal was excited about. “Okay, I do remember tweeting about wanting to go to Taco Bell.”

When they got their food, Gigi placed the bag in the back seat, making Crystal raise an eyebrow.

“You’re a messy eater, so we aren’t eating in the car. My mom would kill me if we made a mess.”

While Crystal tried to convince Gigi she was not a messy eater and her mom’s car would be fine, Gigi pulled up to a park.

“Can you find a spot to sit down at so we can eat it there?” Gigi requested. It took Crystal about two seconds to travel from the car to the grass, settling down in a shady spot underneath some trees. Gigi joined Crystal, holding a blue blanket as well as the brown paper bag.

“It’s not a picnic blanket, I couldn’t find one but I hope it works.”

“It does! I love picnics!” Crystal hops up so Gigi can lay down the blanket, going to retrieve the drinks that they forgot in the car.

Their lunch was filled with flirting, stupid inside jokes and Crystal loved every second of it. She knew for sure by the end of the day she would not be single anymore, but the lack of confirmation was making her antsy.

Once they were done eating, Gigi collected all of the wrappers and cups, walking across the grass to the nearest trash can to dispose of them. When Gigi came back, she had a huge grin on her face, “Well, Crystal Elizabeth. I would like to think that I successfully wooed you, if only you could do something for me in return…”

“What do you have in mind, Georgina?” Crystal giggles, hoping Gigi couldn’t tell how nervous that statement made her.

“Crystal Elizabeth, I was wondering if you would be my girlfriend?”

“God, yes. I’ve been waiting for this for months.” Crystal exclaimed, immediately being pulled into a kiss.

They stayed at the park after that. Crystal’s inner child had jumped out after the kiss was broken and she wanted to play on the playground.

“Wait, Crystal! Come here, the light looks good right now and we need to take our reveal selfie!”

Their date came to an end when Crystal’s mom texted her asking to come home. Crystal’s mom had no idea what she was interrupting, as Crystal did not tell her mom what they were actually doing.

“I hate it here, I would let this date go on all week if I could.” Crystal pouted, buckling her seatbelt.

“If there’s any other place you want to go this week, we could go on our second date.” Gigi smiled, reaching out to hold Crystal’s hand.

“Be careful, I know steering with one hand is peak lesbianism, but I don’t know if you’re a good enough driver to do that yet.” Crystal joked, even though she gladly accepted Gigi’s hand.

“Oh, shut up. Like you could go ten minutes without holding my hand.”

Crystal kissed Gigi again when they got on her street, Gigi parking a few houses down for privacy.

“This was fun. I really am happy with everything. You completely wooed me, Georgina.”

“I’m glad. Does this mean I can call you my clown girlfriend now?” Gigi jokingly asked, making Crystal let out a tiny scream.

“As dumb as that sounds, yes. You can.”

Gigi did not let Crystal get out of the car without getting another kiss.

Crystal entered her house, her grin slowly fading when she saw her mom waiting for her.

“You took a while to come home.” Crystal’s mom started, under the impression she was at Gigi’s house. “What took you so long?”

“Yeah, sorry. I couldn’t find my charger.” Crystal felt bad for lying to her mom, but she didn’t want to tell her what happened yet.

“Oh, your generation and your phones. I was starting to get worried.”

“Mama, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’m going to my room now, is that okay?”

“Yeah, I’m about to start dinner. We’re having your favorite!”

The second Crystal got into her room, she locked her door and jumped on her bed, logging onto Twitter.

crystal: good evening l a d i e s

jan!: HEY!

jaida: crystal!

Jackie: You haven’t been active today, what were you up to?

heidi: not jackie demanding answers

nicky: ooooh

gigi: well, since you asked…

crystal: :D

gigi: my girlfriend crystal and i went on our first date today. isn’t she beautiful??

The group erupted into chaos the second they saw their selfie, congratulating the new couple for finally getting together. Crystal wouldn’t have it any other way. She would be forever grateful for being added into Elites Only, and even more for the special girl she had met there.

gigi: so, any ideas for our second date?

crystal: tons, babe. i’m gonna blow your mind.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #crystal methyd #jackie cox #jan sport #jaida essence hall #heidi n closet #crygi #lesbian au #high school au #social media au #girl i met on the internet #strawberry #submission #s12

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bright-thehawksflight · 3 years

Note

For the 3 Asks: all even multiples of 3 please? :D (I was leaning towards ALL multiples of 3 but I thought that's a bit much to ask - you could do the odd ones too if you want tho)

.Alright then here come all even multiples of three, plus n.3 bc I say so, and that’s gonna be one hell of a long post!

3. 3 songs that mean something to you: Midnight by Tyler Glenn bc it’s the one looped and I wept to when I made the decision to try and fix my relatioship with faith and religion, Cossack Lullaby by Natalia Faustova bc it’s what I sing to myself when the anxiety hits, and Just Another Day from the Next to Normal soundtrack bc it was with me through the shittiest times and now it’s a reminder that I’m not there anymore.

6. 3 characters that inspire you: Tenar from the Earthsea Cycle (full disclaimer I haven’t read the last book yet but she’s been through so much and she’s so broken and yet so fierce and full of love, Tombs of Atuan hurt in all the right places and her interactions with little Therru melted my heart), Tomelilla from the Fairy Oak saga (let me be the bamf spinster aunt with half her wisdom and grace and I’ll be happy forever) and Daughter Dooley from Old Gods of Appalachia (girl has no patience for her eldritch masters and if that ain’t a mood idk what is).

12. 3 apps that you use the most: whatsapp, tumblr, spotify.

18. 3 dream jobs you’ve had in your childhood: inventor, writer, cook.

24. 3 places that make you feel peaceful: the backseat of my parents’ car, the mountains, the park near my house in Venice.

30. 3 moments you could never forget: having something I wrote be read on a stage by actors of the Comédie Française (crazy proud moment and also I cried), one time at the end of hs when I begrudgingly went to pull away from a hug only for my friend to hold on tighter (I never felt so loved in my life and also I cried), posing for a picture at 12 with a sister by my side, one perched on my lap, and another in my arms (honestly idk why this memory is so vivid, i don’t even keep the picture around bc it came out ugly, i guess it was the struggle of holding so many kids in my tiny noodly arms?).

36. 3 ways of traveling that you enjoy the most: train, walking, flying.

There you go! Thanks so much for sending these in!

#ask #3 things ask #lisa says the things

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yakumtsaki · 3 years

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it's honestly amusing you still have patience do deal with all this bullshit I honestly just block and move on don't want to care won't care and can't care they all could get fucked for all I know I just wanna chill and post stupid pics of my game peace yuki love your content

ty and u do u! im not gonna unfollow/block half of simblr just bc i disagree with them on how a single issue was handled, id rather just offer a different perspective, it doesnt take a lot patience or anything. i woke up at midnight anyway and now im watching the us election so not like i have anything better to do lol

#rr #Anonymous

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eujazmine · 3 years

Text

TASK TWO: CHARACTER PLAYLIST ( x )

hall of fame - the script ft. will.i.am / champion - kanye west / just my luck - coco jones / rage - rico nasty / watch me - jaden / don’t stop the music - rihanna / hot girl summer - megan thee stallion ft. ty dolla $ign, nicki minaj / listen before i go - billie eilish / midnight sky - miley cyrus / smack a bitch - rico nasty / wolves - big sean ft. post malone / ordinary life - the weeknd / rise - willow, jahnavi harrison / power is power - sza ft. the weeknd, travis scott / icon - jaden / got it on me - pop smoke / OTHERSIDE - beyonce / until i bleed out - the weeknd / gone too soon - michael jackson / the other side - sza, justin timberlake / ohfr? - rico nasty / lonely - justin bieber, benny blanco / my sanity - thriii, messenger : 1 hr 15 mins

okay so this is basically a soundtrack of her life so far. i’ve included a rundown below including sample lyrics if you’re interested, so you won’t have to listen to get the gist, but fair warning there’s probably HELLA typos since it’s almost 6 am now <3

it starts off with hall of fame, bc as far as she can remember her father was always telling her that she was special and destined for greatness. according to her father, there was nothing she couldn’t do, no limits to how much she could achieve. she carried her godliness with pride, training hard to one day be one of the greatest.

“ yeah, you can be the greatest, you can be the best. you can be the king kong bangin' on your chest. you can beat the world, you can beat the war. you can talk to God, go bangin' on his door. . . you can move a mountain, you can break rocks. you can be a master, don’t wait for luck. dedicate yourself and you gon' find yourself. ”

next comes champion, where jazmine is starting to think that her father may not be as great as she thought he was, but her little siblings still view him as such. although there is this slight confusion going on with her father, she doesn’t want it to stop her from achieving greatness, so she keeps working hard.

“ this is the story of a champion. runners on their mark and they pop their guns. stand up, stand up, here he comes. tell me what it takes to be number one. ”

just my luck. at this point, she’s feeling that all the authority figures in her life, especially her dad, see her as a weapon rather than a person. she feels like she’s too under their control, so she begins to retaliate. around this time, she is nearly expelled from school and is then sent away by her father to full-year camp in greece.

“ I don't know where you're leading me to go. pulling me here, pulling me there. can't take no more. what happened to being happy? that's what I ask myself. ”

while the last song described her insecurities and stress, rage gives a glimpse into her anger from the situation. she starts to grow a chip on her shoulder, and she takes it out on the people around her.

“ keep my name out your fucking mouth before you find out what we about. type of shit that you read about. if you talk it, then be about it. ”

she channels her frustrations into her training. watch me represents how she no longer wants to reach the top for the people back home, but rather to spite them. she wants those that hate her to watch her reach the top regardless of their opinions.

“ watch me, watch me, watch me, do this. ”

don’t stop the music and hot girl summer are most relevant during her two years after school, which she spent traveling in europe and taking on quests solely for monetary and extra adrenaline. for the first time in her life, she is really letting loose, and she mostly focuses on chasing pleasures and easing up pressures.

“ I gotta get my body moving, shake the stress away. ”

listen before i go expresses how low her spirits are after her final confrontation with her father. at this point, she’s struggling to see her life’s purpose. midnight sky is when she finally starts relishing in her newfound freedom from completely cutting ties with him.

“ if you need me, wanna see me, better hurry 'cause I'm leavin' soon. ”

“ lotta years went by with my hands tied up in your ropes. forever and ever, no more. . . I was born to run, I don't belong to anyone. I don't need to be loved by you. ”

smack a bitch and wolves describe both her aggressive confidence in her godly lineage. and how her past has shaped her to be more vicious. she may no longer claim her father, but she’ll show people what she can do as a descendant of hecate.

“ since a baby in her tummy, mama knew I was great. they can't play me like a dummy, they know what not to take. ”

“ I was raised by the wolves, ate 'til they full. run through the night, playin' with your life. go against the pack, that's risking your life. ”

ordinary life depicts her acknowledgement that her life isn’t normal, but she doesn’t think she was meant to have an ordinary life. at the same time, she feels desensitized -- like something’s missing.

“ and she said that she'll pray for me. I said, "It's too late for me," ‘cause I think it's safe to say... this ain't ordinary life. ”

in rise, she resolves to start making her actions purposeful again. she commits to more important, high-stake quests. she’s no longer searching for whichever quests will make her the quickest money.

“ don't be nervous; run towards the light. I need to live for higher purpose. ”

she feels empowered again, as heard in power is power, got it on me and icon. she’s started to make a name for herself in the demigod world, with a nearly impeccable completion rate. feeling invincible, she almost pities whomever she has to defeat next. she thinks that the only thing that could slow her down at this point would be forming attachments with others.

“ a knife in my heart couldn't slow me down ‘cause power is power, my fire never goes out. I rise from my scars, nothing hurts me now. ”

“ many men wish death 'pon me. yeah, I don't cry no mo'. I don't look to the sky no mo' 'cause I got it on me. ”

“ I am not a Mayan, I'm a menace. ”

in otherside, she knows that there is a high possibility that this mission in opposition of zeus may be her last. despite herself, she feels bonded to celeste and adelphie, and she feels grateful to have met them regardless of what the consequences may be.

“ if it all ends, and it's over. if the sky falls fire. best believe me, you will see me on the other side. if we wake up, lose our patience, or even lose our lives, oh, I'll feel lucky to say that you've been a friend of mine. ”

until i bleed out encompasses her feelings in the cave. she’s questioning everything she’s done up to this point in her life, which she fears is quickly coming to an end. after she tries to revive the already-deceased adelphie and watches celeste be thrown off the mountain, all she can feel is paralyzing shock and terror.

“ I can’t move. I’m so paralyzed . . . I can’t explain why I’m so terrified. . . well, I don't wanna touch the sky no more. I just wanna feel the ground when I'm coming down. ”

gone too soon - reminiscing of a fallen friend.

“ shiny and sparkly and splendidly bright. here one day; gone one night. like the loss of sunlight on a cloudy afternoon. gone too soon. ”

in the other side, jazmine starts to consider her new beginning. she’s enrolled at eonia and is studying business, of all things. it’s the closest to normal she’s ever been, and it feels weird.

“ back on your feet again, lift your head, hold it high. you wanna run it back, but you can't turn the time. you start to feel like you're losing your shine, but the grass ain't always greener on the other side. ”

she knows that people at eonia may have varying opinions of her depending on what they’ve heard, but she feels that she doesn’t have to explain or change herself for anybody, which is represented in ohfr?.

“ ... wе reel in any bitches fishin' and seekin' out for attention, geekin' in the mentions. please don't make me have to smack a bitch. ”

the next song is lonely. she’s still proud of the name she’s made for herself, but now that she’s mostly away from all the chaos and mayhem, she realizes how alone she feels.

“ everybody knows my name now but somethin' 'bout it still feels strange, like lookin' in a mirror, tryna steady yourself and seein' somebody else. ”

she’s not quite at my sanity yet, but she’s trying to get there.

“ when I'm feeling like life's really putting up a fight, and I don't know the reasons why. from the front to the back, throw my hair down my back, and I know it's gonna be alright. ”

#euplaylist #eutask #( musings. )#idk how to make graphics so this gif will do

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gwoongi · 5 years

Text

𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 ☽ slytherin yoongi

𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 min yoongi / reader hogwarts au words: 4378

a/n: once again, the prompts were taken from this post :-) feel free to send requests (i am currently working on requests sent to me, thank u for all ur patience!) ((this fic features prompts 3, 4, 5, 6, 16, 17))

a/n 2: in this fic we give pansy parkinson redemption bc i love her and she deserves the sun and a man like jeongguk

Yoongi should have known that things were too good to be true when he was sorted into Slytherin alongside another fluently speaking British Korean, Jeon Jeongguk. Looking back on the ceremony, over six years ago now, it’s definitely too perfect to be realistic; and actually, now that he’s thinking about it, Professor Dumbledore looked way too happy to see two Koreans in the same year in the same house, sitting on the same bench eating from the same bowl of creamy mashed potato.

His family moving to Sussex when he was five was a risky move. Yoongi had no real friends in his town, if you didn’t count the next door neighbour’s ratty Yorkshire Terrier who always escaped his garden through the fences and regularly took a shit on their patio. Yoongi was never a social butterfly; he could be found sitting inside during break-time with a colouring book or a blank piece of paper, drawing and writing or otherwise just staring out the window at the other kids playing hopscotch on the playground. Honestly, he didn’t care about joining groups and being friends with people - Yoongi had expected to move back to Daegu for high-school, just like his family had planned. Then his Dad got some promotion that paid the bills and then Yoongi got his Hogwarts letter.

Now, Yoongi sits in the Slytherin Common Room, six years later, staring at Jeongguk with his arms folded and lower back rested against the back of the sofa, situated in front of the fire. He stares at Jeongguk with an unamused stare, blank like his notebooks for potions, one eyebrow cocked with disbelief.

“You’re sexiling me again?”

“Look, this is only until next weekend,” Jeongguk pleads, the eleven year old that Yoongi wanted to wrap in cotton wool on the Hogwarts Express threatening to jump out with big bug eyes. “Me and Parkinson are finally hitting it off.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Oh, right. I forgot you’re chasing after Malfoy’s sloppy seconds.”

“She deserves better than him,” Jeongguk frowns, and Yoongi looks closer and notices that Jeongguk is serious about this. He’s serious about Pansy Parkinson, and he should have known from the first time Jeongguk recited an essay probably titled, Why Pansy Parkinson Is Actually Really Nice, with bullet point number one being that Jeongguk found Pansy secretly tutoring three Hufflepuff first years in DADA, and discovered that Pansy bakes mint-chocolate cookies with the house elves at midnight, when nobody is around. Jeongguk personally finds it a shame that she wasted so much time trying to get Draco Malfoy’s attention when he very obviously always had eyes for a certain know-it-all Gryffindor, and as for Yoongi - well, he doesn’t really have an opinion.

“Anyway, it’s just for now,” Jeongguk continues, shaking his head as if getting rid of the thoughts. “I’m sorry - I know, I’m the worst.”

Yoongi just sighs, straightening up and looking at Jeongguk. “Whatever Guk. Let me get my jumper- you owe me, though. After tonight, you fucking owe me.”

When a wide smile spreads across Jeongguk’s face, Yoongi almost thinks that it’s worth it; he climbs the stairs to the sixth year’s bedroom and grabs his jumper, a gift from Jeongguk when he went to America last summer, and then hops back down into the Common Room, where he’s incredibly unsurprised to see Jeongguk already twisting his arms around the short black-haired girl.

Yoongi almost wants to smile; Jeongguk’s too sweet for Slytherin, with only his cool exterior and black clothing that makes him even remotely scary. He watches before heading out of the Common Room as Jeongguk wraps Pansy’s hair around her ear, revealing a helix piercing she got over Easter last year, and he nuzzles his nose into her cheek, eliciting a series of uncharacteristic giggles from the girl. Yoongi nods and walks away - they look good together, he thinks, and then he stops thinking when he leaves the Common Room at 9:15pm, realising he has nowhere to go.

Kim Seokjin was the Slytherin prefect, coincidentally on hallway duty when he sees Yoongi stumbling into the corridor near to the kitchens. Seokjin isn’t a snitch, unless it’s on other houses, and he pretends to look the other way when Yoongi heads down the corridor towards the house-elf who hurries across the hallway, waving at him with a familiar smile and beckoning him inside of the kitchen.

Now, not that Seokjin has ever gone out of his way to stalk Yoongi and map out his ideal evenings outside of the Common Room, but he’s pretty sure he has never seen Yoongi stalk the kitchen hallway, dangerously close to the Hufflepuff Common Room, whose door is directly inside the kitchen by the barrels of vinegar. But Seokjin shrugs instead of going to investigate, already on the hunt for other students whose names don’t start with Min and end with Yoongi.

Yoongi follows the elf into the kitchen, listening as they chatter about a lemon sponge they made in the morning that sits to cool in the cupboard above the sinks- which, although Yoongi is not a chef, he thinks is a weird place to store a cake. He notices the pale yellow jumper knitted around their body and he rolls his eyes, already knowing it’s the work of Miss Hermione Granger, who has also taken it upon herself to pin pamphlets for her saving elves club, or whatever, all around school. Yoongi recalls ripping one down from the Common Room after Malfoy stuck it there to be supportive; he has nothing against the elves, but he does have everything against Malfoy sticking Gryffindor propaganda around his Common Room, because god-damnit, Yoongi is older and he makes the rules of what can and can not be stuck on their corkboard.

He follows her further into the kitchen, bowing out of politeness as the rest of the staff rush around him. It occurs to him that nobody in this kitchen ever really has a day off to rest; either that, or Dumbledore hired about a million elves to man the kitchen, as six push past him to run into the adjoining kitchen where he smells cookie dough. The elves haven’t quite mastered the bow, and they stutter in movements around him trying to get away. Maybe they’re just not as polite in Scotland as they are in Korea, but again, it’s not as if he’s been back to Daegu since he moved to Sussex. He has his Dad and his Dad’s crazy skills to thank for that one.

“...and Winky must work! Miss Y/N, Winky needs to bake!”

Out of instinct, Yoongi ducks behind some empty shelves, looking like a right idiot as Winky, one of the elves, dashes towards another student in the kitchen. Yoongi glances upwards, noticing the student right away, and a breath of air is pushed out of his lungs. Winky tugs at the girl’s corduroy slacks with a small whimper.

“I won’t make a sound. It’ll be like I’m not even here,” the girl promises, patting Winky’s head and she stubbornly moves away. Yoongi already knows Winky is harmless and the girl is Winky’s friend, probably the only other student besides himself who Winky bakes extra batches for.

“You can’t just sit there all day,” Winky squeaks. “What if somebody comes in and sees that Winky is not working?”

“I will fight them,” the girl replies, jutting her chin out with defiance. “If they hurt you, I will beat them up. Okay?”

Winky nods for a moment before crying out with realisation, running backwards to hurry into the room where an explosion of flour bursts, and Yoongi winces with a hiss when an elf scurries past him and steps on the back of his ankle. His cover is now exposed; he leaps into view whilst glaring at the elf as they run away, and Yoongi looks towards the girl who stares back with a half amused expression, bringing a slice of sponge cake to her mouth and taking a bite.

“It’s a bit late for a slice of cake, L/N.”

You crack a smile, swallowing the dry cake. “Good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion, Min.” Despite the words, you part your legs and beckon him forward with the wave of your hand, bringing the plate and breaking a corner of the cake with a fork. “Say ah!”

Yoongi does not say “ah”, but opens his mouth for the bite. When he swallows, he looks back at you and scoffs when he notices a cheeky grin on your lips: “I’m not here to make friends.”

“Who said that?” you reply, nudging the plate away towards the sinks. “Nobody said that.”

“You’re so funny,” Yoongi says with a monotone voice, and you don’t even flinch when Yoongi positions himself between your legs, resting his hands on your hips, fingers feathering your waist and the skin shown from the cropped tee. In-fact, you lock him in place, hooking your ankles behind his back and bringing him closer, slightly dipping your head to capture his lips in a kiss.

At first it is light, almost as if it never even happened. Yoongi squints at you when you pull away, expecting more, and one hand moves from your waist to your cheek where he brings you back down for a second, this one much deeper.

Your relationship with Yoongi has always been confusing, and complicated, and most importantly, secret. Nobody at all knew what was going on between Yoongi and yourself; even better than that, nobody at all knew that Yoongi knew who you were. To some, the dynamic was even weirder than Granger and Malfoy, born rivals, born opposites, a lion and a snake. In this case, it was the snake and the badger, wriggling around in tight spaces around the castle, sharing kisses like last breaths.

Yoongi had always been fond of you, even when you stared at him with slight fear in first year when he tried to sit next to you in History of Magic. The emblem on your breast meant very little to him, but meant everything to everybody else; he’d walk several steps behind you, waiting until late fifth year when he finally plucked up the courage and accidentally cornered you into Filch’s store cupboard. Granted, it worked out fine, with the cupboard rising in temperature very quickly, but it never answered the question of What The Hell Was This, and how long it would last. All Yoongi knew was that from the moment he had you tongue tied and dripping in Filch’s dusty cupboard, he would do anything to have a second taste.

Yoongi pulls away first, viewing the way your eyes remain closed for a long three seconds before they fluttered open, peering down at him. He almost straightens up with pride when you unhook your ankles and let them gently swing next to him, your fingers curling in the strings of his jumper.

“What are you doing down here?” you ask finally, your voice quieter without any need to be loud. Your face is, after-all, inches from his own, and the smell of burning is non-existent with the sound of elf footsteps filling the room, just like normal.

“I need a place to stay,” Yoongi replies after a moment's pause. “I’ve been sexiled. Again.”

You hum noncommittally, still curling the strings. “Well, that’s tragic.”

“And you owe me,” Yoongi reminds, because apparently, he does a lot of favours for people. You had almost forgotten how Yoongi took the blame for your failed prank on Cho Chang after someone mentioned in the Hufflepuff Sleepover that she “totally snitched on Potter, and even though he’s a bit of a bellend, nobody deserved Umbridge’s detentions.” Yeah- the mustard bomb you planted in her bag backfired when it blew up on Umbridge herself, and Yoongi couldn’t bear to let you sit through her torture-detention and took one for the team. You apologised excessively when he left the room late at night and kissed the back of his hand over and over until the pain turned into numb lip stains, and he promised you could do him a favour in the future to make up for it.

“So, what?” you ask. “You want to stay in the kitchens? Not very sanitary.”

“I was thinking more your Common Room, but I guess, if you’re ashamed of me, then I can sleep out here in the cold surrounded by elf feet…” His voice trails off and he perks when you laugh, your hands fluffing his hair and then falling back to your lap. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re just funny,” you shake your head with a grin. “I’m not ashamed of you, by the way. I just...I didn’t think you wanted to make it official like that.”

“Nobody’s making it official.”

“The second you walk in there, every Hufflepuff is gonna label us as the next Dramione. You want that?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Who wouldn’t want to be with you?”

You pause. “I could make a list?”

“Please, no-”

“There was George Weasley- I remember when he awkwardly turned me down in the library in third year, his loss-”

“I’m too sober for this,” Yoongi groans, pulling away completely. Instead of turning away completely, he reaches for the large plate of lemon sponge cake and cuts two large slices. “Look, can’t you just do me this favour once? It’s just until Jeongguk finally dicks down Parkinson.”

“Pansy Parkinson?”

“Yeah, the short one. Not very friendly, hides behind her hair, actually kinda cute when she stops being a bitch and chasing after Malfoy.”

“Oh, yeah, I know her. We made brownies together in September,” you nod, jumping down from the counter and wiping away invisible dust from your trousers. “Aw, she’d look so good with Guk. He’s what she needs, you know?”

Yoongi nods reluctantly, “That’s what he said, too.”

As Yoongi continues carefully cutting two slices, you bound towards the barrels lined up outside the entryway to the Hufflepuff Common Room, tapping the passcode while Yoongi remains otherwise occupied. Once he’s finished, he peers over his shoulder as you stand by the entryway, muttering to a Hufflepuff who always sits by the door on an evening to stop people from entering, because one loud-mouth once told a Ravenclaw how to get in, who told someone else, who told the entire school.

Yoongi can feel his eyes softening, and he probably figures there’s sparkles in them as he watches you; it’s like his whole body has turned into a soft mush, and his heart physically hurts watching you giggle with the other Hufflepuff, gesturing back towards Yoongi with your thumb and meeting his smile with teeth and crescent mooned eyes.

Yoongi’s definitely not in love - there’s not enough here and there for that to be realistically possible. All he knows is that he’s fond of you. Fond doesn’t even cut it. There’s something about you that makes him feel safe, and accepted, and comfortable, and when you call him over with the all clear, he very nearly drops the plate into twenty pieces as he steps towards you. God, his heart is in his throat and his hands are kind of shaking- in the orange glow of the candlelight surrounding the kitchens, Yoongi thinks you look the most beautiful. He almost can’t breathe.

The Hufflepuff Common Room is both everything and nothing like what he expected. When he steps inside, the room feels huge, and almost circular, with a humongous fire that roars forever and a circular carpet just in front of it, and on top of that, a large Chest acting as a coffee table and three large, worn suede sofas. The room feels homely- not like his home, decorated with modern decor, but like a home he’d expect to see on telly, with natural colours and plants that hang from random items around the room, a big painting of mountains above the fire and a clock that seems stuck on midnight. He smells tea and honey, spotting a makeshift kitchen set up by two early-bird students who stare at him owlishly as he enters, one hand glued to yours.

He almost jumps when the coffee table Chest springs open and three giggling Hufflepuff’s step out; he vaguely remembers someone saying that Newt Scamander had one of those, a chest that opens into a whole other world. Then, he also recalls the time you told him about this, under the full moon and ocean of stars, on top of the astronomy tower.

(“We’ve got a bar down there. It opens into a bar when you enter, and there’s an outdoor area with a park and a pond and a canopy, and there’s a hammock, too! I remember Cedric Diggory- remember him?- I remember him taking Cho Chang on that hammock. The hammock broke, you already know what happened there.”) ((Yoongi now wants to go into the Chest.))

Instead, you tug him towards the sixth-year Hufflepuff bedrooms, where you swing the door open without a care of the other sleeping students. Yoongi actually flinches for you, and pauses upon entry when he realises that half the beds are bloody empty, save the one girl snoring loudly with earphones in in the corner, facing the wall decorated with postcards and a newspaper cutting of Harry Potter, which Yoongi personally finds quite creepy.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you say with a sigh, kicking off your shoes to bounce on your bed. Yoongi almost feels jealous, because these beds definitely look bigger than the ones in Slytherin.

“How come we never came back here?” he wonders aloud.

You shrug, taking the cake off him as he kicks off his shoes and climbs next to you. The bed squeaks slightly and you flush, for whatever reason Yoongi already kind of knows, and when he’s settled, you cuddle in between his legs, taking a fork from his pocket and picking at one of the slices.

“I thought you were embarrassed of me,” you confess quietly.

“What...why would I be embarrassed of you?” Yoongi asks. Expectantly, he stares at you until you look over at him through a mouthful of cake. “Y/N…”

“I don’t know, okay?” you surrender. “Probably house anxiety, or whatever.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that I know what people say about Hermione and Draco behind their backs,” you reluctantly say, shuffling to face him. “I didn’t want that. I know you didn’t either. And every time we’d meet, it would be in some place secretive. I don’t know, I just thought...that you didn’t really wanna be seen with me, or whatever. It’s stupid.”

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he puts down the plate and fork and gently turns your head towards him with his hands, a frown on his face and between his eyebrows. “Baby…”

“And it’s okay,” you reassure quickly with a smile. “It’s really okay. It’s a big step! It’s a big thing. I don’t mind the secretiveness...makes life more exciting, you know?”

“Mhm, I know.”

“And I like you a lot, Yoongi,” you murmur, and when he smiles widely, you groan, “but I like being secretive right now. It’s fun running around and hiding in classrooms. And it was so much fun having sex in Snape’s supply cupboard while he was interrogating Harry Potter in the corridor.”

“Oh, wow, I’d forgotten about that one.”

The clock on the wall ticks to 2am when you shuffle further into Yoongi’s body, wondering if you can get any closer. With a groan, Yoongi forces more cake into his mouth, laughing around a chunk when you giggle at his face, scrunched up with fake pain.

“Oi! You’re getting crumbs all over my bed,” you mutter, wiping away a little pile of crumbs onto the floor. Yoongi shrugs, putting the plate on the bedside table and rolling over, pulling you into his arms with his cheek squished against your head. “Oh my God. This is our first cuddling session- hold on, wait, I need photographic evidence of this exact moment-”

“Ugh, can’t you just relax for two seconds?” Yoongi complains, holding you in place. “You can just take it tomorrow, or whatever.”

“You’re staying?”

Yoongi looks down at you. “I’ve been sexiled, Y/N, I can’t just go back to my room and listen to Jeongguk and Pansy all night.”

“And so instead, you have come to annoy little old me. I see, I see, it’s okay.”

(Yoongi lets you complain playfully for a little while until you fall asleep on his bicep, and he takes a little longer than expected to look at you, mapping out all your features and details before dragging the quilt covers over your body.)

“Hey, where’d you go last night?”

Jeongguk trails behind Yoongi as they walk into the Grand Hall together, stomachs growling for a breakfast. As he walks towards the Slytherin table towards the far right of the hall, he takes a glance at the Hufflepuff table and his heart jumps when he sees your bed of messy hair, facing a girl opposite you with panda eyes. He tears his gaze away before anybody can notice him looking.

“I thought you’d sleep on the couch, or something,” Jeongguk shrugs.

“The couch is too close to your sperm sharing session,” Yoongi replies, and Jeongguk grimaces visibly and stacks bacon onto his plate. “Speaking of...everything go okay?”

Jeongguk’s face twists into pure affection: “Yoongi, it was amazing. Really. God, I feel so bad for her- Malfoy really was a dick, and never gave her any attention. All I had to do was tell her she was doing well and everything changed. She’s so nice, Yoongi. I think I like her. A lot.”

Yoongi nods, genuinely listening. “That’s good.”

“And, seriously, she was so good,” Jeongguk continues, and now Yoongi switches off slightly, grabbing a pancake from a plate. He only half listens to Jeongguk spill the details of how Pansy does something with her tongue that no other girl or guy has done for him, and thankfully shuts up with Pansy slips next to him on the bench and leans into his side, her hair in little space buns, freckles on display. Yoongi’s never seen those before. He looks at her with a knowing stare and she wriggles with discomfort, a smile eventually replacing the frown on her small and slightly red lips.

“Please,” she sighs, “stop telling him about your sex life. Your sex life is now also my sex life, and I’d rather nobody knew.”

Yoongi scoffs loudly. “It’s okay. We can share sex lives, if you wanna.”

“If I knew any better,” Seokjin pipes up from further down the bench, “I’d think you’ve never touched anybody before, Yoongi. Have you ever been with anybody in your six years of being here?”

“For your information, Virgin Mary, I have.”

Jeongguk twists with shock. “Really? I thought you hated all the Slytherin girls.” He turns to Pansy: “not you, baby.”

“And who said it was a Slytherin who has me tied down?” Yoongi snaps back, shoving in a piece of pancake.

Everybody around Yoongi pauses, not really knowing what to say to that. Draco Malfoy looks up with a sneer when he hears, sipping his tea and calling down to Yoongi. He almost doesn’t believe that, he says. It feels nice knowing that people follow in his footsteps.

Yoongi gives Draco one dirty look. “Unlike you, I respect my other-house girlfriend and take care of her. We have a long history of loving sex, instead of a long history of mental abuse and bullying. Now, sit back down and eat your fucking waffles, Malfoy, I’m not in the mood to hear you try and convince me that you think Granger is any different to what Parkinson was. You wouldn’t know how to treat a girl properly if someone wrote the steps on your big ass forehead.”

Yeah, nobody really says anything after that, and the Hall falls into a silence for a short twenty seconds. The only noise seems to be the quiet sniggers of a Hufflepuff girl behind Yoongi, who Jeongguk notices moving with giggles. He looks at her and then back at Yoongi, doing the Math when Yoongi smiles to himself at the sound and grins into his pancakes.

(“So... who is the Hufflepuff girl you’re dating?”

Yoongi sighs. “We’re not dating. I just said that to shut up Malfoy.”

“So, you’re fucking a Hufflepuff.”

“Actually, I like to call it we’re-dating-but-it’s-way-too-exciting-to-fuck-in-Snape’s-office-and-labels-are-so-last-year.”

“...You’ve screwed her in Snape’s office? Man, you’ve got balls.”)

((“Wait. You’re screwing Y/N L/N?”

“Correction, I am screwing Y/N L/N with my whole heart inside Snape’s office.”

Jeongguk shudders and when Pansy lifts her head up out of his shoulder, she squints in Yoongi’s direction and yawns: “wait, the one who makes brownies in the kitchens?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi replies. “And what about it?”

Pansy shakes her head, thinking about it. She lies back down on Jeongguk’s shoulder with a little smile, “She told me that once. I thought she might be joking, but looking back on it, she really talked about you as if she was talking about the stars.”

Yoongi thinks about that for a minute.))

(((“Dude, I think Snape knows.”

Yoongi glances at Jeongguk in potions, stirring the purple liquid. “Knows what? That we fucking suck at potions? Yeah, no shit.”

Jeongguk opens his mouth to speak and pauses when Snape briskly passes their table, sending a curt glare in their direction and then turning to another table. Across from where the duo are standing, you sneak a glance up from your cauldron, half-heartedly pouring in the next vial of liquid.

“No,” Jeongguk replies, “I think he knows that someone had sex in his office. Heard him complaining about it to Dumbledore after breakfast.”

Yoongi flushes. “Oh?”

“Yeah. The words “little shits” were used,” Jeongguk nodded. “You’re on his hit list.”

Yoongi doesn’t quite believe Jeongguk until Snape not-so-accidentally bashes into Yoongi from behind, sending the contents of his cauldron all over the table, soaking not only his own robes and books but also yours. Snape only shrugs his shoulders and forces out a, “You should watch what you are doing,”, taking five seconds to say each word, before deducting fifteen points from Slytherin.)))

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im-gonna-liveforever · 5 years

Text

ITS HECKIN TWISTED APPRECIATION WEEK SO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS (part 1/2)

“YEAH THAT’S RIGHT I’M GONNA YELL ABOUT THE SOUNDTRACK LIKE I DID LAST WEEK BC TWISTED IS A GOOD HECKING MUSICAL WITH A GOOD HECKING SOUNDTRACK

(Now with favorite lines! bc why not, right?) (favorite lines either there bc I like the lyrics in that part or I really like how it sounds within the song)

I’m not a professional music person (I’ve been in band for several years and I’m pretty good, but I don’t know anything about music theory or anything abt singing) but AH WELL, I LIKE RANTING ABT MY SPECIAL INTERESTS AND THE INTERNET IS A GOOD PLACE TO FEEL LIKE I’M TALKING TO SOMEONE, SO HERE WE GO

(also there’s definitely going to be Twisted spoilers under the cut (for act one, at least), so watch out if you haven't seen it)

(also also I split this into two parts bc it’s getting late and as you can see by how this progresses, I got sleep deprived quickly plus it got way too long. This is part one with all the first act songs, part two will have the second act songs and should be up by tomorrow.)

OK THE OPENING NUMBER RIGHT?? THE INSTRUMENTALS?? THE HARMONIES??? THE GENERAL SAJKFDASJKFHDSJK???!?!? Like, it literally sounds like a Disney song but they cuss! It’s amazing!! (And all the citizens?? Comedy gold, every one of them, I swear) (AND THE FUCKINGJDSJKJDSKL SOPRANO PART???!? I’M C R Y I N G I FORGOT WHAT HER NAME WAS BUT SHES SUCH A GOOD SINGER THANK YOU FOR YOUR VOICE)

Favorite lines:

“May the Rats ejaculate upon you!” “Thank you, thank you very much!”

“Why is everyone in the kingdom white?” “Uhh... Jafar?”

“But ugliness permits a man to use his wits, ‘cause pretty people never have to try”

“UGLY OLD JAFAR!!”

pretty much the whole song past the line “Why am I the only one who sees things as they are?”

Specifically “I want to be a cat!” “Wha-” “FUCK YOU!”

But more specially “Whistle while you swallow a spoonful of sugar and your dreams will come true upon a star!!!!” bc OH MY GOD IT’S BEAUTIFUL

Everyone listing how they want Jafar to die

ALSO SPECIALLY THE LAST 30 SECONDS BC AHJSAHJKADS (everything at and past the lines “and if we dream a little harder/ our patience and our honor...” etc.)

OK I STEAL EVERYTHING TIME! ULTIMATE CHAOS SONG, AND I LOVE. BE THE EVIL GREMLIN YOU WANT TO SEE IN THE WORLD. Also: the jazziness?? the opening instrumentals??? it’s so good. To the people playing the instrumentals for this musical: ,,,thank you,,,.,. (Also I learned recently that most of Jeff’s songs are in my range so guess who’s gonna try and learn this song?)

Favorite lines:

“Fetch, ya fucks!”

Did I mention the instrumentals?? bc hfhhhjdklsajk They seem simple but they’re also going ham and I love it

“Monkey thought we should just kill you, but I said ‘No, monkey, that’s crazy’ but now I’m thinking, yeah, no more fucking raisins...’“

“Thanks but no, thanks, ‘The Man’“

Honestly every line in this is golden, but I can’t put them all in and that sucks

“You’re only in trouble if you get caught!” “Aladdin?” “I’m in trouble!”

“Just one question, why, man?” “’Cause you stole my daughter’s hymen!” “That’s completely fair, but, in my defense, dude, your daughter’s hot!”

EVERYTHING AND MOOREE!!! SHE WANTS IT ALL AND I’M CRYING BC SHE SOUNDS BEAUTIFUL WHILE DOING SO. (I just realized that there’s 14 songs on this soundtrack and I’m sorry in advance for how long this post A) already is and B) is going to get) This song is so dramatic and that somehow fits the mood of her character and I love it so much and just ahdshjkds. Also it’s just?? So pretty????

Favorite lines:

“But it’s just like, whatever”

“I just want to be free so badly! You slaves could never understand. :(”

“You’re probably thinking, she’s got everything. Well, it’s true, ‘cause I do, but so the fuck what?”

“I WANT THE MOON! I WANT TO LIVE ON THE MOON! And eat it in a pie! And keep it as a pet! and wear it like a gemstone in my hair!”

“As I laugh in their faces of moonbeam pie!!”

“It’s enough to make me with I were lowly and poor... But like... with money!”

THA GOLDEN FUCJKLCIODIGN RULE. LIKE HOLY SHIT I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH. AND THE DANCING THEY DO WITH IT IN THE SHOW ITSELF??? IT’S THE BEST. THE FIUCUING BEST. I’M CRYING. THE DANCING IS SO GOOD. AND SO IS THIS SONG. Also, it’s the #1 Starkid song I’d be comfortable showing to my mom, which is a definite plus! (I could also show this to my church pastor and he’d?? definitely like it, so that’s also a definite plus) And everyone’s so nice to Jafar, espically compared to the opening number and it just makes me so sad and let me give Jafar a hug, goddammit. ALSO also please let me meet the saxophone player and shake his hand, I don’t play saxophone but what he’s doing here is amazing. WAIT ALSO ALSO ALSO MAY I MEET THAT FLUTE PLAYER BC I’M JUST NOW HEARING THE FLUTE (AND HOW DID I NOT NOTICE IT BEFORE, I PLAY THAT INSTRUMENT???) AND I’M FUCJKIGDFONG HOLY SHIT JSUT FUCKINGJDSJKL ;BOUNCE AROUND ON THOSE NOTES WHY DON’T YOU I’M SAJDSKCDSJS

Favorite lines:

“Why it’s as easy as a 1,2,3,4!”

“Always treat others like sisters and brothers!”

all of the lines just sound so good, I can’t choose

The way Dylan Saunders says “Man” that that first time, like holy shit

The whole conversation between Omar and the thief

[completely monotone] “My hunger blinded me and forced me to act like an animal.”

AND THEN OMAR AND THE THIEF SING THE PART AND IT SOUNDS SO GOOD

The “boop boop bop doop zeep do-wow!” in the background during that part

“Good luck Jafar! And! Re! Mem! Ber!”

And then the whole ensemble sings it and it sounds so good

oh good god we’re not even 5 songs in yet i’m so sorry

GOLDEN RULE: EVIL REPRISE, OR, AS I CALL IT, “GOLDEN RULE WENT EMO BUT I STILL LOVE AND SUPPORT THEM”. Those dissonant sounds at the beginning? beautiful. All the random evil laughter? amazing. Whatever the heck the saxophonist is doing at the end? breathtaking, give me more. Joe Walker’s voice?? just fucking dhdsfjkfdlashjdsfklhfdsjkl

Favorite lines:

“Lets him rule the land WITH an iron fist!”

“The prize for winning? MORE GOLD, HAHA! And the game begins again!”

[sarcastically] “’Follow the golden rule’? Boy don’t be such a fool!”

“Follow the gold! Follow the gold! Follow the gold!” “AND RUUULE!!”

DID I MENTION THAT FUCKING SAXOPHONE PLAYER BC DUDE FUCKING AHSDJKDFS

the final “And Rule!”

Don’t be fooled bc this one is so short, it’s nearing midnight for me and also this song is really short. In reality, I fucking love this song and it’s one of my absolute favorite starkid villain songs and also one of my absolute favorites from this musical.

A THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS IS SOME FUCKINGNDSKLJ; GOOD SHIT I’M. Also, I don’t listen to it enough, so I’m giving y’all a running commentary as I listen to it for the first time outside of watching the whole musical 1) I love accidentals and key changes, and i’m,,, crying just the first verse is so good already, why haven’t I listened to this song enough 2) I’M CRYING I WANT TO KNOW THEIR STORY TOO THIS IS WHAT LOVE IS I’M CRYINGHJFDSJKSD 3) they keep using the word “’twist” and i’m ahsdhjkds bro 4) DYLAN YOUR VOICE. YOUR VOICE, IT’S TOO GOOD. IT MUST BE STOPPED, YOU’RE TOO GOOD, DYLAN 5) “LINGER OVER EVERY PART” OH MAN IT SOUDNS SO GOOD. SO GOOD. AHHHHHHDSHJDSFKLHJK 6) OK I’M LIKE ACTUALLY CRYINGN NOW THEY’RE IN LOVE. THIS IS WHAT LOVE IS. OH GOD OH FUCK 7) AND THEY SOUND SO GOOD, TOO, WHY HAVEN’T I LISTENED TO THIS SONG ENOUGH AHDHJKLDAS

OK I haven’t listened to this song enough to have favorite lines just yet, also I want to at least get to the end of the first act before I go to bed and it’s already midnight rn, so we’re going ahead and moving on (so sorry!)

IF I BE-FUCKIN-LIEVED. OH GOD. THIS ONE. THIS ONE IS SO GOOD. I LOVE IT SO MUCH. THE FLUTE, THE WORDS, THE SINGING LIKE GODDAMN. This one is also kinda within my range so I’m also trying to learn to sing it bc it’s just that good (cons of being a contralto: you get no female songs in musicals, pros of being a contralto: you get all the cool higher tenor songs) The raw emotion in his voice??? I’m crying??? The strength and soul and beauty and just ashjdskl;jdsfkl; it’s so, so beautifully and wonderfully amazing

Favorite lines:

“Science says you’re dead and gone forever! Reason says I’m talking to the air! But something in my heart, some secret, hidden part, illogically insists that you are there! Somewhere!!”

“Perhaps it’s not too late, to change the course of fate?”

“‘Cause after all, I must be pretty great... if you believed in me...”

Again this song is really short and there’s not a lot of lines to choose from and also I love them all and dfhjskdskjl this is just such a good song

I’m still crying

ORPHANED AT 33!!! [insert Peggle 2 gif] CHAOS... T W O!!!! HE’S MR ORPHAN, AKA CHAOS MAN (NOW WITH A MUSICAL NUMBER!) (I’m also trying to learn this one bc let me splurge in trying to teach myself Twisted songs, ok?) He’s being tragic and over-dramatic and it’s a beautiful song! and I also love how in the studio version, he doesn’t mention that they died earlier that year, so it almost comes as a shock when he says “when I was orphaned at... thirty-three” and it just makes the song that much funnier, trust me

Favorite lines:

I know I said this abt most of the other songs up to this point, but can I say all the lines? because all the lines

“[My parents are] dead... that makes me an orphan :’(”

“‘Cause my story’s just too saaad!”

“They call me a jerk off! a burn-out! A punk! But I can’t let that stuff in my head!”

“All things considered, I think I turned out pretty good! I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and started s t e a l i n g a l l I c o u l d!”

”I’ll make it through somehow, despite being so sadly and crushingly all alone...”

“I’ll BREAK THE CHAIN!! YOU’LL SEE!!! I’M GONNA L I V E F O R E V E R!!!!1!111!”

The last “thirty-three” bc Jeff oh my god what is that voice

HAPPY ENDING TIME, HECK YEAH!!!!! THIS SONG,,,, SO, SO GOOD, I’M A FUCKING SUCKER FOR SONGS WITH MORE THAN ONE PART THAT ALL END TOGETHER IN A HARMONY. THAT IS PEAK MUSICIANSHIP AND JUSTHSDHJFKSAD Also someone pointed this out to me, but the way to goes from Aladdin’s weirdly horny lines straight to the princess going “oh Aladdin, you poor, innocent soul :(” is just the funniest thing to me. And how it calls back to thier own solos, I’m???!? OH AND INSTRUMENTALS AGAIN. THE BAND FUCKING KILLED IT WITH THIS MUSICAL, IT’S SO, SO GOOD JUST AHDSJKLAKKFAnd the energy in it?? The excitement for the next act??? I’m pumped!! Are you pumped?? WELL GET READY BC YOU WILL BE

Favorite lines:

Yet a-fucking-gain I love every goshdarn line in this song, it’s just too good

“They’ll throw a parade in my honor, with peacocks and monkeys galore!”

“The people will cheer!” [cool guitar bit]

[Jafar’s relatively calm part ends] [electric guitar starts back up and Aladdin jumps on stage] “I CaN’T wAiT tO bE A RicH DUdE!!!11!1!″

“Stealing is so much easier when you’ve already got tons of gold!”

“I’ve got my eye! On what money can’t buy! ‘cause that princess is OH! Hella tight! I’ll be the one who plunders her cave of wonders! I’ll get my happy ending tonight!”

“My innocent Aladdin!”

Yes i’m fully aware I put pretty much Aladdin’s full part in there, stop judging me, it’s a good part

“It puts a damper on our love if you don’t have a head”

“So with with your permission, I’d like to bring back your bride!”

just. Jafar’s whole fantasy where he’s happy with his wife. I’m crying again, please just let him be happy

THE ENDING PART WHERE THEY ALL START UP AND BRING UP THIER OWN HOPES FOR THAT NIGHT AND THEY SING THE FINAL”TONIGHT!!!” ALL TOGETHER AND THEN THERE’S THAT COOL LITTLE 2 SECOND INSTRUMENTAL BIT AT THE VERY END IT’S JUST,.,, SO GOOD I’M DSJHDASHJKSDJK

Ok yeah that’s the end of the first act of songs! I should have the next part up by tomorrow, so get ready for more capslock and keysmashes and me generally being excited abt music bc MUSIC HECK YEAH DFFHADSJKHDAS

#twisted #twisted musical #starkid twisted #twisted starkid #starkid rewind #music #i love each and every song on this playlist and if you asked me to choose a favorite I'd black out for at least 2 days trying to decide #honestly tho these songs are so good #twisted soundtrack #musicals #musicals soundtrack

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