#i just wish i could a taken his poetry class Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[navysealt4t]

joined a poetry class this week and so far 3/4 of the poems ive written have been gay as fuck

[novankenn]

Holding Back

Chapter One (3/7) (1048 Words)

/== Chapter List ===/

For the next ten plus minutes, Pyrrha watched, in rapt attention. Her emerald eyes taking in every movement Jaune made. The crispness of each strike. The fluidity of his movements and transitions. It was poetry in motion to her. After the video ended, Yang reached over the top of her scroll and tapped a screen capture. Pyrrha's eyes opened wide in surprise.

“That's the aura results before his scroll disconnected from the room.”

“You're at sixty-five percent... no one's ever been able to get you that low.”

“Look at his.”

“Eighty?”

“Eye opening, isn't it? And you know what?”

“What?”

“I have a feeling he was still holding back. I really believe if he had wanted to, he could have pushed me even harder than he did.”

“Then why?”

“That's the question, isn't it.” Pyrrha handed Yang back her scroll. “Have you ever seen a style like that? I haven't, not here, nor at Signal.”

“No I haven't. I've faced kick boxers and other styles that did utilize lots of kicks, but nothing that was just kicks, or required someone's hands to be restrained.” Pyrrha bit her lip, “Have I been wrong? IS what I'm doing hurting him?”

“No. He agreed to train with you, and he chose to use the board and sword. So you are helping him get better with them is not you... it's him.” Yang reached out and placed her hand on Pyrrha's shoulder. “For some reason, he's refusing to use what he knows; but I know nothing about his style aside from he can hit like a truck.”

“Like I said, I've never seen someone move like that, and I've faced very acrobatic opponents.” Pyrrha stopped biting her lip, and began to tap her chin with her index finger. “So what do we do? Tell everyone else?”

“Not yet.” Yang took on a sheepish look. “I sort of promised I wouldn't talk to anyone about what he showed me, but you're his partner... you had a right not know, or at least that's how I see it.”

“So if we're not telling the rest of JNPR or RWBY, what do we do?”

“I'm not sure. I wish I knew more about his style. That could help us figure out maybe why he won't use it.” 

“Maybe we could ask someone?”

“Like?”

“Doctor Oobleck?”

“Oobleck? Why not Goodwitch?”

“He seems like the type of person who might know about a rare combat style. Goodwitch is a possibility too.”

/=/

Bartholomew Oobleck was a little taken aback when Ms Nikos and Ms Xiao Long knocked on his door. But he quickly shelved it. He had two of his pupils before him with questions. Waving them to enter, he did raise an eyebrow as Ms Nikos checked the hall before closing his open door. That gave the Doctor the distinct impression their query was not related to the course syllabus. 

“So, what can I help you with this evening?”

“Do you know about different combat styles? I mean, could you identify one if you saw it in action?” asked Pyrrha.

“Possibly, but it depends.”

“Depends?” asked Yang.

“Yes, on if it is a popular style, or an off shoot of a base style.” Bart placed his hands on his cluttered desk and clasped them together. “Many styles share a root or base system. So I may not know the exact style, I could with in reason identify the family the style came from. Why do you ask?”

“I have a video,” Yang paused for a second, and only continued after Pyrrha gave her a nudge with her elbow. “That I sort of made without telling the subject...”

“And why would you do something like that?”

“We're trying to help, a friend who is struggling with combat class. We're helping to train him, but we've realized that he's fighting his own reactions. Like he's trying to suppress skills that could be of use.” Pyrrha answered.

“So I spent the last three days pushing his buttons until he agreed to spar with me, properly.” Yang added, “I recorded it, so I'd have proof to show the rest of our friends to prove what I was noticing.”

“I see. So I take it neither of you recognize his style of combat?”

“Yes.” the pair answered in unison.

“Before I look at the video, tell me your observations.”

“Yang.”

“The style is completely based around the use of kicking, and I mean that there are no hand techniques at all. The only time he used his hands was to assist in movement.”

“There are several styles or martial arts that could fit that description. Several that seem to have no hand techniques, but actually do, they are just under utilized. Anything else that stands out?”

“He fought with his hands bound.” Yang informed the Doctor, “He actually had tied his own hands together, before our spar. The slack wouldn't let his arms open more than shoulder width.”

“Bound hands?” Oobleck unclasped his hands, and reached up to stroke his chin as he thought. “I'm not familiar with any current styles that have such qualifiers.”

“I don't think it's a current style, Doctor.” Pyrrha interjected. “Both Yang and I have faced many styles, and what she showed me is like nothing I've ever seen or faced.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes Doctor.” Pyrrha replied.

“Interesting. Well, in that case, it could be an older branch of a more common style. You said you have a video?” Yang said nothing as she cued up the recording she made and handed her scroll to the Doctor. Oobleck's eye slowly grew wider as he watched the progress of the video. “Could it be?”

“Doctor?” Yang asked, a little puzzled by his reaction. Even more so when he paused the video, shot up from his chair, and started searching through his rather messy bookshelves. “Doctor, do you know the style?”

“It has to be...” Oobleck ignored Yang's question as he continued to rapidly look through the titles on his older leather-bound resource books. Pulling one free, he flipped through it quickly before tossing it aside, and pulling another one out. Yang and Pyrrha looked at each other as the instructor for history was quickly making his office even more cluttered. “Here! Yes, this has to be it!”

[honeybeecomebuzzingme]

Grr why am I worried about him???

All my online friends are saying I need to reaffirm my boundaries and not let myself fall into bad habits. But damn there's this annoying dysphoria when I think about this whole process and I wish I could have the energy to turn it around and be mad.

But I'm not angry. I'm concerned because he's my friend and I want him to be ok.

I don't understand why I need to be angry and turn off that worry I have for someone who I will always consider my best friend.

My brain can't compute these emotions.

It's easier if I compartmentalize and make a list as follows:

1- I appreciate any friends I have who have taken me to hospital or helped me in a time of need deserve equal in return.

2- I understand that my friends all have mental health issues and such things I cannot do anything other than listen and give moral support for them to seek help.

3- I see now that it is not my responsibility to keep bugging my friends to seek help for themselves. They need to do that for themselves when they are ready.

I'm not sure what else to say.

I'll leave with the promise that I am working on myself. I'm learning to be me.

I'm learning to accept myself.

I am an amazing person.

I can sorta play the guitar, some harmonica from primary school, and I'm learning the violin. (I also want to learn to play bass guitar and eventually the harp).

I can speak German, some Dutch, and French, Gaelic from living in Scotland, a tiny bit of Welsh from when I lived in Wales, and I picked up a little bit of Japanese from anime. Also, I have basic knowledge of asl and bsl from classes, I was working on how to write in kanji/hiragana and in Arabic in the past.

I've studied many things over the past ten years. I'm a highly accomplished student despite my shortcomings and absences.

I really enjoy photography and painting.

I can design video games, phone apps, and flash animations. I can make jewelry from precious metals. I can make clothing from scratch, and I understand how the fashion industry operates, how much of what we wear in our every day life has been informed by history and culture.

I can also wire a plug, fix a leaky sink, and install internet in businesses and homes.

I am also experienced and trained in both the care of children and vulnerable adults.

I have first aid training and I am an eagerly experienced archery instructor. I love it!

And I've studied cyber security of course!

Also I know how Trump expects his drink served from my training in bartending and hospitality - our field trips were amazing - I wanted to be a bartender from that course but I prefer cooking.

I've also worked in kitchens in 3/4 parts of the UK. I just need to go to N. Ireland now.

I've had jobs like retail, call centres, but I enjoy cleaning because it's therapeutic!

And most importantly I am a writer! 💯🔥

I have self published the first trilogy of my 12 part book series set in Scotland. I've also self published the first book of my second trilogy. And it all started with a poetry book I also self published! 💪💜

I wrote mostly by myself at first but over time I have built up my supporters and I have a pretty awesome fanbase! ☺️❣️🥰

My profits are small but I love writing!

I love all my friends and family so much!

I love al my Nakama!

[lilmafk]

27 things to take into 2017 (taken from someone)

1. I know letting go may feel like hitting pavement but sometimes staying is like getting hit by a train you’ve seen coming for miles.

2. There are symphonies that are screaming it is going to get better. Listen to the music. 3. The most fight you’ll ever feel is from inside your heart.

4. Nostalgia is only good for telling you bedtime stories. Don’t let it tuck you in at night, don’t let it keep you warm.

5. Keep the moments that you wish could live on for a gazillion years close to your heart, never let them burn out.

6. You’ll find someone that’s not them. You’ll love again and it’ll be pure and significant in its own way.

7. They remember it all. They’ll see how much you impacted their lives much later.

8. You may hate high school, but it’s when it’s almost over that you get flashes of when you were young and passed notes with your first love in art class and had talks with teachers that really mattered and you’ll want it to slow down. Take it in, there’s good in everything.

9. Sometimes the one that was your perfect match will be the one to watch you burn.

10. What’s meant to be yours will always find its way home.

11. It’s okay to change without them. Remember that you are the main character of your story.

12. Music cures it all.

13. Telling the story of how I fell in love with you still warms me from the inside out. Teach me how to let go of you.

14. Falling out of love makes you feel like you’ll never want to do it again, but the feeling of your heart dropping when he tells you he’s wanted you all these years is worth the stab at the end.

15. You jump off the cliff hoping there won’t be daggers at the bottom, and when you’re young you think you know how much it’ll hurt. When it comes, you’ll realize you had no clue.

16. My biggest fear was not being with you. I’m becoming someone without you, and it doesn’t feel right.

17. The nicer you are, the more beautiful you become.

18. One day you’ll meet again, and it’ll be just as scary and beautiful as the first time.

19. You’ll find your person. You may not recognize them at first because they’re not as shiny as they are in the movies, but you’ll know by the calm they bring.

20. Thank God for him.

21. The boy who runs in my dreams isn’t as dishonest. He holds my hand whenever I need to feel less alone and I sit around his kitchen table and talk to his mother about poetry. She goes on to say something about how statistically people are more afraid of love than anything else and the things I don’t say- tell her all there is to know about me. That I’m afraid beyond measure of what love can do to a person. Because I spent the last two years loving someone who didn’t know anything other than tearing apart the sole purpose of my existence. The boy who runs beside me in my dreams convinces me that love isn’t always teeth and bite marks. In my dreams, my scars aren’t there because I never tasted a bitter love before. The boy in my dreams loves me enough to let me meet his mother and destroys the idea that love is what I came here to die for.

22. Maybe love stays, maybe love can’t. Maybe love shouldn’t.

23. I glance off in another direction, but I always glance back at you.

24. Things that are sweet like this attract the worst kind of hungry.

25. I don’t think you’ll ever realize you changed everything for me.

26. I found faith that summer. The lips told stories I fell asleep to, the hands promised to hold on. But bliss is temporary when you pull your hands away from your eyes, and summer only lasts 3 months.

27. Let it pass; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice.

[embersofhope-if]

I was told that for some, it's hard to read these since they're images, so here I'm going to put what it says under the cut! I'm sorry if this caused issues for anyone<3

Creon Levesque: The Mentor

A special friend in very special places. I met Creon at a dinner party my Uncle Keyon had brought me to in The Capitol. Maybe, it was the fact that I was District or something else entirely, but from that night forward, Creon and I have had an intense and strange relationship. And now they stand before me, assuring me that with them as a mentor, everything will be alright, How, they managed to become a mentor, they won't tell me, but honestly, in the end does it really matter?

Profile I.

full name - Creon Jude Levesque age - Nineteen | Living gender/pronouns - Female, She/her: Male, He/him sexuality - Bisexual birthplace - Capitol, Panem residence - Capitol, Panem languages spoken - English height - 172 cm / 5'8" ft. weight - 66 kg / 145 lbs hair color - Black eye color - Dark Brown faceclaim - Fernanda Oliveira / Liam Samules voiceclaim - Shannon Woodward / Gonzalo Martin

Family II.

Clio Levesque - Mother | Living Kalon Levesque - Father | Deceased

Personality III.

The mysterious Capitolite that has taken interest in me. At first glance Creon seems to be just like every other Capitol citizen; gorgeous, rich, and not a single important thought in their head. How truly I was wrong, within moments of properly speaking to them I could see how much of an understanding Creon had on the world. They're intelligent beyond belief and with the air of cool confidence they carry around them it's hard not to be swept off your feet. Creon is more than aware of the effect they have on others and uses it to their benefit. With the reassuring smile they often have on it's almost impossible to see the darkness in their eyes.

Positive IV.

• Confident • Intelligent • Honest

Hobbies V.

• Reading • Debates • Poetry

Negative VI.

• Controlling • Possessive • Cynical

Fears VII.

• Failure • Abandonment • Sickness

Backstory VIII.

Over the almost seven years that I've known Creon, I've managed to somewhat piece together their life. When they were a baby, their father had gotten sick and died, leaving nothing behind but his wife and child. Creon's Mother, Clio, turned to work to avoid processing the grief of losing her husband and paid for someone to take care of Creon. What little interaction they had with their mother was filled with nothing but resentment and anger. Creon said, "they could always tell that she had wished that they died instead of their father." When they were young, they decided that they were going to do everything in their power to prove that their living was not a mistake. They wanted to leave a mark on the world that showed that they were worth something. Throughout their adolescence, Creon got top marks in almost every class, and it was incredibly difficult to find someone that didn't enjoy their presence. By the time they were sixteen, they had caught the attention of some incredibly influential and powerful people that had secured them an apprenticeship working under the Dean of the Academy. In Creon's final year of the academy, they had a full-ride to the university and had drawn so much attention to themselves in the political world of The Capitol that they name Levesque was often heard being mentioned in powerful homes. I assume these connections are the reason why Creon was able to become a mentor, but they refuse to tell me any of the specifics; with the twinkle that appears in their eyes every time we talk about the potential chances of me winning, I can tell that some type of deal has been made. I just hope that whatever it is, it's worth it, for both of our sakes.

Playlist ♤ Creons Board ♤ Mc & Creons Board

[seidenbros]

Hiii

I love your work and omgggg you write such good fics!!!!

Can i request something for eddie? I'm in a enemies to lovers vibe lol so i was looking through the prompts lists and found those interesting

“I broke your nose, and I’m sorry for that. But what you’re doing isn’t fair.”

"oh no, my head, it's falling conveniently onto your shoulder!"

So staring with angst but ending in fluff 🤭 i was thinking about the getting stuck somewhere together trope, like maybe somewhere at school, but i really don't mind if you have something else in mind you want to write.

Love u <3<3

HI HELLO! First of all thank you so so much, love u, too, remember that💚 This request... I LOVED IT! From the moment I read it. I love the enemies to lovers trope, though I might have taken some liberties here with Eddie's reasoning, but you'll see. I hope you'll like it 💚

Requests are open | prompt lists for inspiration | Stranger Things Masterlist

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader Word count: 4315 Warning/Tags: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, enemies to lovers, being locked up, broken nose, blood and bruises, bit of mean Eddie (let me know if I missed anything)

Read on AO3

“Looking good Y/L/N…”

“Shut it, Munson.” You rolled your eyes at him as you stopped at your locker. It had been like this ever since the school year had started, ever since Eddie had failed his classes and was now in your year. Before that, you’d always found him quite fascinating, because he was someone who stood up for the people around him, who dared to be different, and didn’t conform to what everyone else thought was right and proper. You were alike in that aspect. You wore whatever you wanted, listened to the music you liked, didn’t care whether someone was popular or not. But apparently, you were the one who had more manners than he did.

Ever since that first English lesson together where he’d gotten a glimpse at your poetry and had read it out loud - not really caring who was around to hear it - you’d thought differently of him. Out of all the people at school, you thought that he’d be someone who’d appreciate your creative side, who wouldn’t make fun of you for something like that, but apparently you’d been wrong. You’d snatched your notebook from his hand again and had stuffed it in your backpack. Since then, he’d recited bits and pieces to you now and then, trying to get you to snap - at least that’s what you thought. Granted, you were kind of amazed that he remembered it, but in the end, he only remembered it to tease you.

“No, I mean it.” Eddie’s voice pulled you back to reality. His locker was only a couple down from yours, so he was leaning against it, eyes on you. “Maybe some other pants, but apart from that…” Eddie nodded, and you felt your cheeks burn at his words. This morning, it had taken you a little time to convince yourself that it was okay to wear these shorts, that you could wear them, and not let your insecurities get the better of you, and now, Eddie’s comment really made you wish you could go home and get changed.

“If you don’t like it, just look somewhere else!” Anger bubbled up inside you, and that was better than feeling insecure. You had no idea what you’d done to Eddie that he had to make fun of you like that all the time, but if you didn’t start sticking up for yourself, you knew that it would never end.

“Aww no. Not gonna happen, princess.” Eddie shrugged his shoulders, pushed himself away from the lockers to get closer to you. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re the one complaining!” You shut your locker louder than necessary, before you turned towards him. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m busy!” With school, and he should be as well, but you really didn’t care. You really wondered why he was such a nice guy to everyone else - well except the guys that always called him a freak - but with you, he really seemed to have a problem.

“With what? Writing another poem?” Eddie’s grin made you ball your hands to fists.

“None of your business?” you spat out, taking a deep breath to compose yourself again. “Some of us actually go to school, not like you.”

Oh that was a low blow, and you knew it, but with everything Eddie had thrown your way lately, you really didn’t care anymore.

“Maybe because some of us have a life away from school!” Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, something flickering in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before.

“Yeah, like drug dealing in the woods. What a life that is!”

“Maybe you should just come by some time and actually get something from me.” He leaned in close, baring his teeth. “Might help get that stick out your ass and help you become a little less uptight.”

Before you realised it, you’d swung your fist at him. You heard an ominous crack, but it wasn’t your own hand. Sure, it hurt, but it was worth it. Eddie on the other hand tumbled backwards and held his hands to his nose. The blood was dripping down through his hands and onto the floor. You stared in shock, because you weren’t a violent person - at least not normally, but Eddie had apparently pushed all the right buttons.

“I…” you stammered, shocked by your own behaviour, but before you could say anything else, Mr. Clarke had already found the two of you.

“What happened here?” His eyes darted from the blood on the floor to Eddie and then towards you.

“Nothing,” Eddie said through his hands. He pulled them back slightly, but the blood kept flowing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” you tried to explain, then shook your head. This was definitely not your normal behaviour and Mr Clarke knew that.

“Mr Munson, you’re going to the nurse. Do you need assistance?”

“I think I’ll manage.” Eddie glared at you once more before he left, leaving a small trail of blood behind.

“I’m really sorry Mr Clarke!” you said as soon as Eddie was gone, heaving a sigh. “I don’t know what came over me.” It had been Eddie and his words, yes, but you’d never snapped like this before.

“Whatever happened here, that’s between you two.” He knew that Eddie wasn’t the bad guy a lot of people made him out to be, he was just different. But different wasn’t exactly bad, was it? He was different as well. “But I can’t just let that slip. I’ll meet you at the drama room after school for detention.” Mr Clarke didn’t let the students sit around during detention, he gave them something to do that was useful, and you would gladly take any punishment he had in store for you, because you knew how wrong your behaviour had been.

The rest of the school day went by awfully slow, especially with your guilty conscience wearing you down. You didn’t see a glimpse of Eddie, not even at lunch break.

“What’s going on with you?” Nancy asked, taking the seat opposite you. You hadn’t seen her all morning, and she saw right through you, knew when you were lost in your thoughts. Especially when you were just poking around in your meal instead of really eating something.

“I got detention… Mr Clarke wants to see me after school for that.” It was the easiest way for you to breach the subject.

“Why? What did you do to get detention?” Curiosity shone in her eyes. It was the first time you’d ever gotten detention. You weren’t a grade A student or someone who always played along the rules, but you had been lucky so far. Today, though, was something you never wanted to repeat.

“I… broke Munson’s nose.”

“You did what now?” Nancy’s eyes widened at you, then she looked towards the table where the Hellfire Club usually sat, but Eddie was nowhere to be seen. “What happened?”

“He was being his usual asshole self!”

“He isn’t an asshole.”

“He is when it comes to me apparently.” You told her just what he’d said, how he’d teased you. “And suddenly, I saw my fist flying at his face. Believe me, I was shocked as well. So… I deserve detention.”

“Sorry to say, but… yes. Didn’t know you had that in you.”

“Neither did I. And it’s not something I want to repeat.” But at least you knew that you were able to throw a punch if you really had to.

When everyone filed out of the building after school was over, you stayed behind and made your way to the drama room. Mr Clarke was already waiting for you there - and so was Eddie.

“Good, now that you’re both here, we can get started,” Mr Clarke said, opening the door to the room, turning on the lights. Eddie looked… exhausted, and the area around his nose, the inner corners of his eyes were already starting to bruise. You were really sorry about all this, but in the end, he only had himself to blame.

“You’re gonna clean up the stage. And while you’re at it, you can sort the costumes. The last time someone used them, they made a mess of everything and now, Juliet’s dress is mixed somewhere with Danny Zuko’s leather jacket. Here you have a list of all the plays. The items and costumes are listed there. There’s a lot of work waiting for you.”

Mr Clarke left you with that list and closed the door behind him. Eddie was familiar with the room, knew his way around, because they had their Hellfire Club meetings here. You hadn’t spent a lot of time here so far, so you let Eddie lead the way. While you’d expected him to just sit down somewhere and let the time pass, he surprised you by getting different boxes so that you could sort everything in there.

For a moment, you worked alongside in silence, but you could feel the tension in the air. Eddie, who was usually so talkative, didn’t say a word, and that was somehow even worse than him saying something about your clothes or your poetry.

“Eddie…” you eventually broke the silence, taking a deep breath. “About earlier… I…”

“What?” He whipped around, narrowing his eyes at you. Oh, he could be intimidating, when he wanted to, but that didn’t make you back down. It changed your answer slightly, though.

“I broke your nose, and I’m sorry for that. But what you’re doing isn’t fair!” You sighed, running a hand over your face, pushing your hair back from your face.

“Oh, what exactly am I doing that isn’t fair?”

“Are you kidding me?” Your eyes widened, before you shook your head. “Ever since the first class we had together, you’ve been getting on my nerves! I don’t know what I ever did to you that you think it’s fair to make fun of what I write or make me feel insecure in my clothes because I should’ve worn different pants.” You made air quotes with your fingers before you turned around again to take the next piece of clothing from the floor. Most of these should go in the washing machine before anyone else used them, but that was none of your business.

“Look, y/n-”

“No… really… you don’t have to explain anything to me. I thought you were a nice guy until we started having classes together. Guess my gut was just wrong about you.” You gave him a curt nod, before you hopped down from the stage and walked towards the door.

“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not finished.”

“I just want to get some water and soap so we can clean some of the stuff. If it’s alright with you, your honour?!” You looked back at him briefly, but continued walking - only to find the door locked. At first, you thought that it just wasn’t as easy to open the door as you’d thought, but no matter what you tried, it didn’t budge.

“What? You need help opening the door, princess?” Eddie called over to you, and you could hear that shiteating grin in his voice, making you roll your eyes.

“I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself. I don’t need a knight in rusty armour to help me.” One last try, but nothing happened. “But I guess we got locked in.”

You heard Eddie’s steps behind you before he appeared by your side.

“May I?” his voice was unusually soft when he asked, so you stepped aside. Eddie tried to open it by throwing his whole weight against the door. Nothing. Then he kneeled down to prod at the lock, but that didn’t help as well. “You think Mr Clarke locked us in?”

“Well… Not really. Not on purpose.” You shook your head, because he really wasn’t the person to do something like that. He was one of the nicest teachers here. “Maybe by accident.”

“Probably.” Eddie ran a hand through his hair, but pulled it back when he got stuck at the knots in his hair, heaving a frustrated sigh. “There’s no other way out. The door to the back rooms is always locked except when people are working here. And I only have my keys with me when we have our meetings.” Right now, he cursed himself for not attaching them to the keys of his van. There were only two windows in the ceiling, none in the walls, and the ceiling was too high for you to reach at all.

“Your Hellfire meetings, I know.”

“You do?” Surprised, Eddie looked at you, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Of course. I’ve always thought your club was interesting and wanted to know more, but never got around to asking. But I know that you’re playing DnD.”

“Why did you never ask me about it?” Eddie was curious, but when you just raised your eyebrow at him, he had to take a step back. “Oh… right…” It had never been his intention to push you away or hurt you, but he’d somehow managed to do just that.

“Anyway… we can just get back to work. He’ll probably come back when our time is up.” You really didn’t want to talk about it, about what you’d thought of him before you’d gotten to talk, before he’d humiliated you. You were better off taking care of the costumes.

Eddie’s eyes were on you again and again, not really sure what to say. He’d brought that situation upon himself, but it wasn’t because he didn’t like you… quite the opposite actually. But the whole situation had spiralled out of hand, and he couldn’t really blame you for thinking that he had a problem with you.

He was impressed with how delicately you handled the costumes, because he’d seen other people treat this stuff like shit - and the stains on the clothes were proof of that. It was nice to see someone take such good care and it made him smile. He noticed that you were starting to hum to yourself. He tried to listen, tried to figure out just what you were humming there, and when he finally managed to do that, he started quietly singing along.

“I wanna know what love is, I want you to show me!”

You turned around to him when you heard his voice. He had a wonderful singing voice, but you were surprised that he’d picked up on what you were singing there.

“What?” he asked, amusement shining in his eyes as he tilted his head to the side. “I do not exclusively listen to heavy metal, you know? In fact I have an extensive knowledge of music.”

“I wasn’t-” you stopped yourself shaking your head. “I wasn’t judging, okay? I just didn’t realise that I was humming loud enough for you to hear.”

“Oh, you weren’t loud at all, my ears are trained to listen to the quiet voices. The ones nobody pays attention to with all the loud people around.”

“Oh… alright.” You didn’t know what to say to this, because it was rather sweet, and that was the picture you’d had of him… before. Right now, he wasn’t mean to you at all, wasn’t trying to get on your nerves, didn’t irritate you at all, and it was strange. Especially after you’d broken his nose. There was still some tension in the room, but it wasn’t as bad anymore. It felt different.

After another thirty minutes you were finished with the pile of clothes and most of the other stuff. There was just another small box with a few things that had to be organised. Eddie pulled a tiara out of the box and inspected it.

“Hold still,” he said, stepping up to you. Instinctively, you shrunk back.

“What is that?” Your heart skipped a beat when he stopped right in front of you. The big grin he’d had on his lips a second ago dropped. Your eyes landed on his hands and the tiara he was holding.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. That’s the last thing I want.” His words were so genuine that you held your breath, and you wanted to believe him, but with everything that had happened between you, it was hard to do that. You did believe, though, that he didn’t want to hurt you right now.

You straightened again and nodded slightly, giving him the go to do what he wanted to. Slowly and carefully, he reached out his hands to place the tiara on your head. He even arranged your hair a little bit, so it looked better.

“Just like a real princess.” He admired his work before he looked into your eyes.

“D’you think anyone will notice if I take this home with me?” You didn’t know where this question was coming from, maybe because of the way he looked at you, but you found yourself smiling and feeling at ease for the first time today. And it wasn’t because of some piece of fake jewellery on your head.

“They will if you walk out of here with the tiara on your head, but if you put it in your backpack, nobody will notice. My lips are sealed.” He made a motion to lock his lips with a key and throw it away that made you giggle.

“Anyway…” you eventually said, sitting down on the edge of the stage, letting your legs dangle down. “We’re done, and we can’t get out of here right now. We just gotta wait until we’re freed.” Because banging on the door and yelling for help wouldn’t exactly help you, since there was hardly anyone in the building, and the only one who knew where you were, was Mr Clarke. Nancy knew that you were in school, but she didn’t know where.

Eddie lowered himself to sit next to you, his thigh brushing against the bare skin of yours. If that had happened an hour earlier, you would have scooted away, but right now, it was somehow different. After all, he was the one sitting down so close to you when you were thinking that he had a problem with you.

“I didn’t want to make you feel insecure with that comment on your pants,” Eddie said, voice soft and low. You slowly turned to look at him, but Eddie was staring straight ahead. Was he blushing? “I mean… These shorts look way too good on you, and they make it hard for a guy to concentrate.” Hard on him, he meant, but he couldn’t come right out and say it. After all, he’d also seen the looks from other guys, who’d kept staring after you.

“Excuse me?” His words made your heart race and your head spin.

“Look I get that you thought that I was making fun of you.” Eddie rubbed his right hand over his face and hair, trying to smooth it down a little. “I really fucked up that first day, when I read your poem out loud.” Slowly he turned towards you, grimacing. “I was just so…  enthralled, you know? ‘Cause it was really good, and I didn’t even realise I was reading out loud until someone said something about it.”

“You… what?” You tried to process what he was saying, which wasn’t exactly easy, but in a way… you could follow. Still, everything else didn’t make sense. “But why did you keep making fun of me after that? Why did you try to provoke me all the time?”

“Believe it or not, I was trying to flirt with you.” Eddie had to laugh at himself, at how stupid he’d been.

“I’ve seen you flirt with a lot of people, Munson. That wasn’t flirting.” he was confusing, SO confusing, but your heart was still beating faster at the prospect of there being some truth to his words.

“That’s different.” The shade of pink on his cheeks turned even darker. He bit his bottom lip, trying to bring his thoughts in order and figure out what to say, because he didn’t want to say anything stupid again. “That’s just meaningless flirting, but when I’m actually interested in someone… I turn into an illiterate mess as it seems and say stupid shit.”

“You really do!” you said with a laugh, before his words really sank in. Slowly, you shook your head, reaching out your hand to put it on top of his, because he’d started fiddling with the rings on his fingers. His hands stopped beneath your touch, and you felt the tension ease out of him. “Maybe next time, write me a letter or something… Then you can think about what to say first.”

You leaned against him, your arm pressed up against his, before you let your head fall onto his shoulder. Your heart was still beating a mile a minute, but it was somewhat different now, with a warm feeling that spread through your chest, your stomach, your limbs. 

“I actually did write you a letter,” Eddie said, turning his hand around so that he could interlace your fingers with his, let his thumb brush along the back of your hand, happy when you didn’t pull away.

“Why didn’t I get it?”

“Because I still have it. Wrote it a couple of weeks ago and wanted to give it to you, but…” Eddie sighed. “Everytime I tried, I ended up saying something to piss you off. And if I just stuck it in your locker, you would have probably thought that it was some kind of joke. And I really didn’t want you to throw that letter in my face.”

“Mhh,” you hummed, nodding your head lightly. “Okay, I get that. ‘Cause you’re right with everything you just said.”

You weren’t exactly proud of it, but with everything that had happened, that would have been an understandable reaction.

“You know.. I was so excited to be in the same year as you, because I thought that I might finally have a reason to talk to you. That I might jump over my own shadow, but then…” You trailed off, because you both knew what had happened. And so you’d ended up here, thinking the other one didn’t like you when it was actually the opposite.

“Yeah, really sorry about that.” Eddie turned to face you, your faces just inches apart, and you felt your breath hitch. His eyes dropped to your lips before they darted back up. He disentangled his fingers from yours to raise his hand, run his fingertips along your temple and down your cheek. He wanted to lean in, wanted to kiss you, because you both had said enough right now, but the door to the drama room opened with a loud noise, and you both pulled back, looking at Mr Clarke like he’d just scared the life out of you - which he probably had.

“I am so sorry! I just instinctively locked the door behind me, like I usually do. Wheeler called my office and then I remembered that you two were in here. Really really sorry.” Mr Clarke said without pausing for a second while he walked up to you. He was oblivious to what had nearly happened between Eddie and you, and it was probably for the better. “But I see you managed to get everything done. Thank you for your help. You can go home now. And sorry again.”

“No need to be sorry, it gave us some time to talk,” Eddie grinned at your teacher before hopping down. He offered his hand to help you and you gladly took it.

“Good… That’s good! Enjoy your evening!” He got up on stage to retrieve the list he’d given you, while Eddie and you took your things and walked outside.

“So…” you said once the doors had closed behind you and you were filling your lungs with fresh air.

“So…” Eddie echoed, his eyes landing on the top of your head. “Looks like you didn’t even need to try and steal this thing. Mr Clarke was so flustered, he didn’t realise that you were wearing this.”

“Oh!” You chuckled, because it hadn’t been your intention, but now, you were here with a tiara on your head. “You’re right. But to be honest, I forgot about that as well.”

“It won’t be missed, believe me.” Eddie chuckled as well. “So… Now that we finally got these little.. Problems out of the way.” You couldn’t help the smile that was spreading on your lips now. Problems was a nice way of putting it. “I was wondering if you would like to go out with me sometime? Sometime soon, if you’re willing to be seen with me looking like that.” Eddie had to grin at his own words. His nose hurt, yes, but he understood why you’d done it, what had led up to that. 

“Since I’m responsible for that,” you gestured towards his face, an apologetic look on your face. “I don’t mind at al. I’d love to go out with you, Eddie.”

“Really?”

“Yes, of course! Because I do like you as well, if you couldn’t tell by now.” You closed the gap between you and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Saturday?”

“Saturday.” Eddie nodded, his smile widening more and more.

“Oh, and I still want to read that letter, Munson,” you said, starting to walk away, giving him another smile over your shoulder. You swayed your hips a little more than you usually did, because you remembered his comment about your shorts, so you knew where his eyes would land now that you were walking away from him. And he did, he watched your every step until you were out of sight, and he couldn’t believe how lucky he was that you’d finally managed to resolve the issues between you two. That was definitely worth the pain and the broken nose.

Tag-list: @violetpenguinkris @tellhound @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @spideyanakin-interacts @bellamy-barnes @beepisbeep @snapefiction @hardysbitch @give-em-hellfire @sadbitchfangirl @ravenclawkimmi @lacrymosa-24 @ruinedbythehobbit @samlealea @hacker-ghost @kirsteng42 @princesseddie @anaisweird

Let me know (send me a message) if you want to be on one of my tag-lists. I have one for the Promises Series, Eddie x Reader, Steddie and Steve x Reader 💚

EDIT: Well, this is what that letter would look like. Kind of at least

[egipci]

The Solutions to Sam’s Problem

Solution #1

Just stop thinking about Dean. Just Stop. Whatever you do, don’t look at his fingers fiddling with the ammo or tapping against the wheel. Always pretend you’re sleeping in the backseat. Keep distance between you. Walk five to six feet ahead. Shove him hard when he tries to curl his hand around the back of your neck, because you’re too fucking old for this. Never, ever watch him shave. Resist the urge to write gross love-poetry for your English class, even though you’ll be gone in weeks and no one will ever remember you in this town.

Solution #2

Do whatever it takes to make sure Dad never leaves again. Beg him to take you with him. Cry and stomp your feet. You should know better than this, you were raised on drifters’ etiquette. Your motel neighbors will start banging on the other side of the wall and then they will come knocking on the door, more annoyed than concerned. But you must scream yourself hoarse, throw yourself in your father's arms, swear on everything that no, Dean can never protect you from this thing. Maybe, miraculously, you'll all get kicked out.

Solution #3

Run away. Head west and don’t look back. Make something of yourself. Find yourself a girl, because no girl has ever hurt you. When you find that girl, marry her. Take her name and never think about ghosts or wendigos or demons again. When your kids ask tell them you never had anything or anyone for yourself in this world.

Solution #4

The thing you must not forget about your brother is that he will do anything you ask him. He will let you and you will love it. You will bite at his neck and shove your cold hands flat against his skin. He will let you but then this thing will turn charred and vile, like everything ever in your life, and he’ll resent you. You’re dead either way.

Solution #5

Kill yourself in some cruel and dramatic way. Jump into Lake Michigan in January. The water gets so cold it freezes into shards and the ice will feel like glass against your skin, but apparently the hypothermia numbs you quick. Try not to fight it. Make sure you leave a letter, say you’re real sorry and you wish it could be any other way. Dean will dream about you every night forever, like in Titanic. He will never know because he fell asleep next to you half-way through the movie. You walked alone to the Block Buster’s that night, thinking about all the things you could do in the back of a car, all the things you and Dean could do.

Solution #6

Dad has sent you on a ghost hunt, real softball, and you and Dean are waist-deep in a grave and the back of Dean’s t-shirt and under his arms are soaked through with sweat. You can hear the soft huffs of his breath. In the faint torch light, you can see the goose-bumps on his arms, the muscles under his skin working the shovel and now is as good a time as any. Tell him. Dean, I’ve dreamt about you since- and he will just give you a confused/amused/hurt look, red cheeks and devastating mouth. But at least now he knows.

Solution #7

Make some cross-roads deal. Cut your face out that picture of the three of you in the pool from centuries ago and shove it in the hole you dug with your bare hands. Just wait. You’d be a devil’s dream; all give and no take.

Solution #8

Next time you’re in Minnesota, after you’ve taken your fill of the snow on Dean’s lashes and the cracked pink-red of his chapped lips, confess to Pastor Jim. Father, this terrible thing has taken hold of me and I can’t cut it out. I think it’s been inside me since before I was born. Father, is this original sin? And Pastor Jim will not judge you. He will absolve you and give you some spiritual exercise, like five Hail Mary’s after you’ve worn your brother’s oversized hoodie again and pulled it over your mouth and nose so you could fill your head with the smell of his soap and sweat and skin and wrapped your hand tight around your dick and jizzed yourself so hard you had to weep.

Solution #9

The only real problem is Dad. No one knows you. No one would care if every last Winchester disappeared off the face of the earth. When he gets too drunk one of those nights, just leave him. Don’t push him onto his side. Take your father’s keys and his cash and his first son and drive. Destroy the SIM cards in his phones. Buy some fake ID’s and you were never brothers, no more Winchesters. It was always going to end like this.

Solution #10

Run away and become a real fuck-up. You’ve been trailer trash since the day your mother died. You’re full of alcoholic’s blood. Throw your eight Spider-Man comics into a plastic bag and run far. They will look for a while and then stop. There are always things to hunt, people to rescue. Pick up a habit or two to fill the time, like heroin or meth or ketamine. The possibilities are limitless. What a joy it is to be American.

[dourpeep]

OKAY time for a college au!!

You 3 know each other from before college

You and kazuha were seating next to each other during your first year of high school you became close enough to greet each other whenever you guys pass by each other

And you and Xiao were best friends from kindergarten to 2 grade but unfortunately you had to move suddenly you two tried to keep contact but the two of you made new friends and kinda lost contact with each other

So when you go to college you meet kazuha at the front desk when you're trying to get your schedule and yall are like "omg I'm so happy to see someone that I know here!" and when you guys check your schedules it turns out that the two of you have the same class during the first period

And you're like "we've got 30 minutes wanna go grab a cup of coffee and get lost together?" and kazu knows that you playfully flirt with your friends so he jokingly says "are you asking me out for a date? Because if you are then I accept!" and you guys talk on the way to class and the two of you barely make it on time

Class ends and you're sad to say goodbye to the only person you know on campus but then all of a sudden he hits you with a "by the way can I have your number?" so you two exchange numbers

Later you're going to your last class and it turns out that this class doesn't have many people you go sit in the back and someone comes up to you and is like "can I sit next to you? " you say yes obviously

But the thing is... there is something very familiar about this guy and you just can't put your finger on it so you kind of stare at him without realizing it

Of course he noticed how hard you've been staring at him and turns around and is like "what? Is there something on my face?" that's when it finally clicks

And you're just like "XIAO??! IS THAT REALLY YOU?!!" but the teacher comes in so you two can't really talk

But the moment class ends you tell him who you are and take a few minutes to catch up

Though I say catch up it was mostly you teasing him saying shit like "I can't believe the shy kid who used to tear up whenever his turn on the swing was taken would grow up to be this handsome!" (he's starting to think that maybe he should have sat somewhere else)

So you're like "hey how we go actually catch up I've got some coupons for this café I went to this morning with a friend"

He doesn't have a reason to say no so he just accepts the invitation

When you guys get there who do you meet? KAZUHA! This man actually works there!

When you see him you're like "kazuha why didn't you tell me that you work here?" but he pretends not to know you and is like "oh? Well who might this fine customer be?" you can tell he's joking by the way he's trying not to laugh so you decide to play along

Poor Xiao is starting to regret coming with you (but don't worry he got 2 plates of almond tofu as an apology)

-no primogems (I'll make another part later where you 3 become roommates)

YES I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS-

dhfaeiahe I realize now that I should've just posted this as is since I wasn't planning on adding to this but might as well add in some thoughts I've had about this lovely trio eh??? tbh I didn't add much I just slipped in a few little things hehe

Can you guess the roomates?? Also the bio professor is Albedo ehe

Anyway!!

Considering it's the first semester of college, you haven't yet decided on your major. Luckily, you have quite a few general education classes to take, so you register all in one night.

You'll have the time to figure it all out as time goes by, no?

The rest of summer is spent juggling moving into the campus' dorms, working, and keeping up with some friends from high school. While you've kept contact with a few friends, you definitely kicked yourself in the ass for forgetting to ask Kazuha for his number...how could you forget one of your best friends?

But, you suppose that he's far off in a whole other city with his wish to experience more. You can't help but wonder what he's up to.

Then, the first day of classes starts.

How did you not figure out where everything is first? Instead of moping, you trudge to the administrative building early to ask for directions and, even better, a map of the large campus.

Instead, you find a familiar head of cream-colored hair.

Immediately, you gasp and he turns around in confusion, only for a soft smile to spread over his features. It's only been a summer but it's a relief to see that you know another person. Comparing schedules, he points out that you both have Communications 1301 together.

For once, you're glad you have to take these mandatory courses...

But with an abundance of time (as Kazuha just so happens to know where the class is), he accepts your jokingly firtatious proposal to head to the cafe just across campus to grab a morning drink.

It's hardly been long since you've last spoken to him, but there's still so much to talk about! It turns out he opted to rent out a small studio apartment just a few blocks away from campus! Naturally, he invites you over sometime.

He's also admitted that he decided to major in English--something you're not surprised to hear. After all, Kazuha's a natural at the subject, exceeding the assignments and always so eloquent.

If you recall correctly, he used to tote around a little notebook full of little musings and poetry during high school. You wonder if he still does that.

You talk about how you've just moved into the dorms a week ago, how you're lucky to be rooming with two musically inclined (if not a bit rowdy) people. You're sure that he'd take a liking to them once everything is calmed down a bit. Kazuha just raises a brow in half-doubt.

Before you know it, it's been an hours and, to your horror, your first class starts in five minutes. Not to mention that it was back closer to the admin building and you were on the opposite side of campus.

But it's still fun, Kazuha laughing as you jolt up and tug him to stand, the two of you running to get to class on time. With heaving breaths and flushed faces, you make it just a few minutes late. Luckily, your professor didn't mind because it was the first day...

Following class, you have to make your way to Bio 1301, Kazuha having a major-specific English course to get to. Before you can speak, though, he offers his phone to you. It's newer than his old flip phone you'd tease him about all the time, the screen clean save for a few stray fingerprints.

After you put in your number, he beams and quickly sends you a call so you can have his too.

"Call me after you're done with classes, alright?"

You promise to and the two of you set off.

Biology proves to be uneventful, a full hour and a half of the (rather attractive) professor going over what to expect as well as passing out lab waiver forms. A necessary precaution, he said with a reserved sigh. You wonder what happened.

When the hour ends, you have some time before World History, followed by a Trigonometry course.

By the time you find your trig class, most of the seats are already taken, making that feeling of dread fill the pit of your stomach. Nothing is worse than being forced to take whatever seat is left. But, noticing a seat by the windows, it's not so bad.

You're in the back, though, settling your bag beneath your chair and picking out a pen and schedule book.

At some point, someone walks in and asks if the seat in front of you is taken. You don't bother to look up long as you fish out a notebook, letting him know it's free.

As class goes on, you realize that the guy in front of you most likely hasn't been paying attention. Considering that the professor has been rehashing stuff from Algebra...you're not surprised. But something about his dark hair catches your eye. Not to mention his striking gold eyes...hm.

It's not until you catch his profile as he stares out the window that it clicks.

"Xiao."

His eyes dart to look at you, a confused look washing over his face. You repeat his name.

"Yes?"

Part of him is just about ready to leave as recognition floods your expression, smile wide. How could you possibly---

"I can't believe the shy kid who used to tear up whenever his turn on the swing was taken would grow up to be this handsome!"

The tips of his ears turn red fast, something that you remember very well about him, and his gaze quickly flicks over to the professor still dragging on. When gold settles back on you, they're practically begging for you to lower your voice.

"It's been forever--I can't believe that you-"

"If you're going to talk, do it outside of class."

Ah. Oopsie.

Time seems to drag on while you buzz in your seat, excited to see your childhood friend after loosing contact. You've missed him over the years, always wondering what happened to him, how he's been. And finally, when class ends, he gets up and waits for you.

Naturally, you want to catch up, so you invite him to go to the cafe with you for a late lunch.

"You still like almond tofu right? It's all you used to eat when we were little." Laughing, you nudge his shoulder and the color returns to his cheeks as he mumbles a yes.

When you step into the cafe, a familiar voice greets you.

"If I knew a cute customer would be coming, I would've gone on break."

Kazuha leans on the counter, mirth in his eyes and you gasp. It makes sense now, why he's so well acquainted with the campus and why he'd already known what to order when you arrived for drinks-

"What can I get for you today?"

"Your number."

Xiao's face pales at the blatant flirting, wondering if he should've just declined the invitation to the cafe until the two of you burst into laughter. Though, it's hardly better.

"Sorry, sorry- This is Kazuha, one of my friends from high school. Kazuha, this is my childhood best friend Xiao."

With a day so filled with nice coincidences, you doubt that life can get any better than this.

Oh, how wrong you'd be.

[yournameyn]

Feeling Deeply: Chapter 3

Genre: Fluff so much fluff. Arranged Marriage Fic.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Summary: The story of two deeply feeling nerds who find themselves in an arranged marriage. Something neither of them really wanted but are now discovering just how much each needed. Away from their childhoods, their families & their homes, Namjoon & Brishti (the OC) are privileged immigrants who slowly build a home, a family & a true sense of self, together in 1960s London. Please note this is not the typical immigrant experience of that timespace and I’ve taken many-a-leap to write the fluuuufffiness I wanted to write.

A/N: It’s unabashed fluff. And eventual smut but I hope you’re okay with a really slow burn. Like, reaaaally slow. Both our characters are introverts & met as strangers so it’s going to take them a while to get the *ahem* fire going.

Big big big love to @sahmfanficbts, @mintjoonlep, @holdinbacksecrets, @sunshyngal, @xjoonchildx - who give me so much love and encouragement & whose straight up genius writing makes me swooooon!

Characters: Brishti is our OC. She’s a feminist, obviously. She’s Indian, wheatish in colour, curvy & slightly short. Brishti is bengali & her name means ‘Rain’. Her pet name is RimJhim which means the sound of rain. (Namjoon calls her Rim & she calls him Joon) This whole story is a tribute to Forever Rain.

The Namjoon in this fic is what I imagine he would have been had he not followed his dreams at the age of 13. Hopefully, I’m able to do justice to the idea as I write ahead.

Current Chapter: London, late 1963. Brishti & Namjoon meet her colleagues. They listen to the then-rising band The Beatles & take a strong liking to one particular track, if you know what I mean. Again, sorry to spoil but there’s no smut yet. I was not kidding when I said it’s a slooooow burn. Next chapter, it’s happening. There's not much conversation in this chapter, either. Is this almost 3k words of just CONTEXT to the actual smut or just a tease - you tell me!

Also, someone else we love is also introduced in this chapter!

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Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface Chapter 1 Chapter 2

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Namjoon loved his weekends now. They were like a real couple, Brishti and him… setting the never ending “final touches” in their home, together. They went out to pubs and gardens, libraries and cafes together. And yet, to both their secret dismay, they hadn't moved ahead from that one hug they had shared. They'd played, instead, with words and been more and more intimate in their conversations.

Brishti introduced him to her colleagues - her group among the staff at the British Library. Working there was her pride & these folk were her joy. This was nerve-wracking for Namjoon because he knew how much she loved them. These were her people. Her true tribe. It was almost like he was meeting her parents. Instead of two indian elders (whom he had spoken to on the only international call she had made since their wedding), he found himself faced with a weird band of strangers. An English couple Harry & Kate who had adopted the library instead of a child, an elder woman from Japan, Sayuri-san - whose stories Brishti narrated to Namjoon all the time, a Korean guy (his age!) & Yana, a girl, Brishti’s age who was half English, half Iranian & completely in love with Sam, the black historian from America, as Brishti had reported. As they settled in for their picnic in Hyde Park, Namjoon tried his best to hide his shock when he found Sam was - one, a girl & two, as tall as him. He wondered which attribute threw him off more. Still, he was completely enjoying himself with Brishti’s Unlikely Gang of Weirdos that Will Save The World. That’s what she called them. Sayuri-san agreed - They were all groovy outcasts who had somehow clawed their way into the (apparently) cutthroat world mainstream librarians.

Brishti was glad to see Namjoon really hit it off with the only other Korean she knew, the guy who’d told her about the only place in London that sold black bean noodles, made the right way. Namjoon had almost cried when she had brought them over from work. The two of them spoke as if they had been thick as thieves for years. They talked about Korean poetry and the folk music they had to participate in their childhoods. They spoke about the music archive section of the library, which was heaven for Min Yoongi. The passion in Yoongi’s eyes when he spoke about maybe someday taking a class about world music appreciation was something Namjoon wished to have too, but wasn’t yet ready to admit.

As they were packing up their picnic, the conversation flowed to a new band in the country. Brishti spoke about how every young girl she had met recently just could not stop talking about how groovy The Beatles are. The elders in charge of the music archive brushed them off as a fad but she was insistent to bring it up every meeting - after all, it was teenage girls that had popularised & helped usher in the lyrical music of Vivaldi. Or of Lisztomania - that popularised the soft romantic tones of Liszt which formed the base of the modern love song. Namjoon loved to see her almost up in arms, struggling to find a better word for the admiration that girls had for music and musicians.

“It’s not hysteria… or fanaticism… it- it’s just love.” She had said. No one disagreed. In fact, everyone in her group was persuaded to (at least) give The Beatles a listen over the weekend.

And so, This evening, A Hard Day’s Night played as they arranged books & records at home. Brishti was arranging the books, apparently not having had enough of the task despite working as a full time librarian. Namjoon’s heart ached when he thought about how Brishti loved her job. Thankfully his mind never stayed on that thought for long. Namjoon wished he could pay attention to the song. These days, paying attention to anything but Brishti was almost impossible. The smallest movement in her, the smallest stir intrigued him.

Meanwhile, Brishti had been trying to figure out a way of getting him to touch her &… as silly as that sounded to her rational mind she couldn’t really come out and say it. Night after night when they’d stayed up talking about things or listening to music or just simply reading their respective books, on the floor or by the window with their legs sprawled out in front of each other, she wished he’d touch her… that somehow maybe he’d notice her feet. Strange as it was, she kept thinking about his hands, his fingers tracing the contour of her ankle while she didn’t turn one page of her book for almost an hour.

She understood the problem - both of them were so hyper-aware of each other while pretending not to be that an accident couldn’t really occur. Things had to be done & Brishti thought about how she shouldn’t let tradition dictate who makes the first move. She also kicked herself for not following tradition and stopping him from taking his pillow & blanket away to the couch on their wedding night they were supposed to sleep on the same bed. It made her heart race that she could sleep next to this Korean Greek God-like feminist man. Ufff. She was covered in tense knots everywhere and anytime she even thought of making a move, the fear in her would make her do something else - like unpack all the books into a makeshift bookcase.

They were facing in opposite directions in the same room and Brishti couldn’t help glancing back at Namjoon again and again. The broad expanse of his back made her long to hug him again. They hadn’t touched each other since she let go of the hug. It made her ache, the memory of him moving away from her. Next time they touch, she wouldn’t let go first - of this she was certain.

Brishti looked at him again & smiled, wondering how someone so tall could look so tiny & cute. Namjoon did look surprisingly tiny, poring over the vinyls & neatly arranging them. She smiled thinking about how he had spent some time wondering if the records should be kept chronologically or alphabetically.

Finally, he had announced, “Ofcourse! I have it! The category has to be mood! The...” Brishti loved the small pauses Namjoon took to find the perfect word. “The story of each album and the feeling it brings out!” The way he smiled, pleased with his decision created a flutter in her heart.

Looking at him poring over each song in each album trying to discern what the overall feeling of it was, she felt an unbearable urge to tease him, to disturb his cataloguing. She would go over and irritate him… probably tickle his waist or blow in his ears. Or maybe just nuzzle his neck. Brishti wondered if these things would actually irritate Namjoon or perhaps lead to something else... The thought made her blush so fiercely, she turned to face her pile of books. Brishti wished she could walk over, silently demand a space in Namjoon’s lap, he would throw out anything that crowded his lap & she would sit there, being cuddled, enveloped in him & talk about songs… if she could talk, at such a moment that is.

She needed to stop staring at him and yet, she couldn’t help but look... She was a warm-blooded woman after all. And Kim Namjoon was a particularly delicious man. It wasn’t so much that he was tall… plenty of men were tall. (She rolled her eyes thinking how most everyone was taller than her.) Unlike other men, though, Namjoon was not awkward or gangly. He had wide shoulders and a gorgeous neck. She had to actively keep her eyes focussed on something else when she could see the contours of his chest.

In that first week of them living together she wanted him. She felt the heat of being seen by those sharp beautiful eyes that held a deep fire in them. Brishti found herself thinking more and more about how his back looked, how it would feel to be cuddled up against that broad beautiful chest, how it would feel to touch him and to be touched by him. She blushed & laughed to herself when her spontaneous thought was that she’d like to “climb that tree” - whenever Namjoon stood up after being scrunched over his table, writing. That yearning awakened a much fiercer part of Brishti -

Why couldn’t she?! He was her husband. They have to come closer at some point, so what was she waiting for? Without a second thought, her body moved to get up & walk over to him. But as it had happened every time, her mind caught up to her at the very last minute. As Brishti walked over, bent, stretched out... for a pile of books close to him. She was close enough to touch him. And still, she just picked up the books & walked back. Thankfully for Brishti, she had a natural sort of nonchalance. Something Namjoon envied. Brishti did not know what this little stunt of hers did to him. Namjoon, with his fists balled, had to hold himself back in that moment. He had to stop himself from grabbing her; from pulling her into his lap and having his way with her.

The gentle thread-like tug he had felt when he’d first seen Brishti’s photos... it had become a magnetic pull now. Shocking and also somehow inevitable.

It had been more than a month of them living together and Namjoon was wrestling with something. An idea, apparently. It was as though an idea was caught in a vast net that he had laid out across the ocean of his mind. But he was having trouble fishing it out. He understood there was no point forcing it, that the idea, the thought would emerge when it, or when he was ready.

Taking his time, slowly, Namjoon was understanding how he had done the perfect thing for her, accidentally. He was confused too, when his instinct told him to let his bride sleep alone on their marital bed the first night they had moved in this flat. He had reasoned that it was the decent thing to do. Unknowingly, he gave her the time to explore, to own that space; Not crowding her with his body. Not invading her with expectations that, no matter how silent, would be blaringly evident. That was the right thing to do. Then.

Now things felt different. Now, it felt like she had made that space, this whole home hers. But then that’s where his thought-net felt stuck. The thought he wanted to fish out kept pulling at him, telling him she needed something else now. Like Brishti craved something else now. He wondered if she, like him, craved touch. Was that why her body instinctively moved, stretched, inched closer towards him these days. Was this why he’d found his shirt among the blanket instead of the laundry basket the other day?

Namjoon tried to shake off these thoughts again - they felt dangerous, explosive. What was happening? He looked back at his beautiful wife and saw her stretch her arms, then her abdomen, all the way till her hips and then bend forward to touch her toes. She mewled, very softly when she did that. Namjoon felt the familiar flip in his stomach again. This time, thankfully, the thought leapt up within reach too.

Namjoon suddenly understood just how feline Brishti is. Somehow, it was a key he needed. The idea surged through him & made him stand up. Because it wasn’t just an idea, it was an epiphany. Brishti looked at him, her eyes asking, saying, expecting something he didn’t understand fully.

The tingle that ran down his spine told him he was about to.

“You okay?” Brishti asked, concerned & embarrassed because the move she expected hadn’t come. But then again, it was probably too much to think Namjoon had stood up to carry her & throw her on their bed. Wasn’t it?

He was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room looking confused. Namjoon recovered & asked, “Coffee?”

Brishti smiled & nodded. Namjoon rushed to the kitchen. The catching of this thought excited him. Because after living with her for almost a month, he had just now realised it is this attribute - of being feline-ly feminine or femininely feline - that is what makes his body almost overpower any semblance of restraint his mind had imposed.

At first it seemed silly but soon Namjoon realised it isn’t. Not at all. It really clicked in place like the right key, the precise note does - he understood how to BE with her. Be there for the feline creature-like woman that Brishti was revealing herself to be: The way she walked, slowly almost moodily… letting her feet touch and caress each surface her feet felt. She would be walking across the room but would stop just to walk back and forth, softly, in a way that one can’t really call pacing at all. And everytime she touched something she liked, or saw or tasted something she loved, she made these small sounds that would make Namjoon’s heart melt. They were always half-way between a purr and a moan and they made him wonder what pleasure would make her sound like. Namjoon thought about how Brishti is graceful but her grace, like the curves of her beautiful body, aren’t timid; How, it’s a grace that announces itself... sometimes even before she walks in.

It isn’t the only thing that attracted him to her, not by a far cry. Namjoon thought about how he loves her mind, her words. But this felt, somehow, more… more visceral or... wanting to be. Could something formless long to be touched?; To become tangible, touchable? This feeling, in his chest and his gut. This feeling within him, it jumps, flips every time she walks by. These days it seems like Brishti walks by closer and closer each time she passes him. Like she needs to feel the texture of his skin the same way she needs to feel the slight drag of the rug on the soles of her feet. And it just adds more depth to this deep cavernous feeling within him. Instinctual whispers echoing within-

Why does it feel like he needs to touch a fragrance?

Like all he needs to do is reach out?

Like the moment he will reach out, an essence, an aroma will become an experience?

It felt like Brishti was calling out to him silently. That magnetic pull was stronger than ever and it was pulling him, drawing him to her, telling him to reach out, so she can find her way to him. That feeling, the way he was being pulled… that was feline. Like she needed him to reach out so she could make him hers too. And then, then it happened. The first four notes of ‘And I love her’ played and pulled him to her.

In that moment, in their 7th week together, as Brishti was tracing the lines of Namjoon’s back, gawking at him, thinking about this man - this gorgeous, curious, wonderful man - as her husband… a thought so fantastical it would make her squirm in her seat. Just as she was recovering from the thought, releasing the tension in her shoulders. The knots he didn’t know he caused, Namjoon kept the cups of coffee aside and extended his hand.

‘I give her all my love, that’s all I do…” To him, the instant she did it again, - the stretching her arms all the way up. The little moan she made every time she did that, the way her back arched and highlighted all her curves… it drove him, his body, his instinct to reach out.

“And if you saw my love, you’d love her too.”

The stomach flipped, again. This time, though, his instinct acted before his mind knew what he was supposed to do. Thankfully, his mind caught up -

He had just reached out. Reached out for her to claim him. But to one who didn’t know everything that had been going on inside both their hearts, it would look like he was inviting her to dance. Brishti looked at his hand and then at his eyes and suddenly Namjoon understood the reason for this magnetic pull... these lyrics is what she was saying all along -

“A love like ours could never die, as long as I have you near me...”

She took his hand & left no distance between them. Brishti realised there was music playing in the room only after she took Namjoon’s hand. Before this, she could only hear her own heartbeat, sharpened to an intensity never before experienced. Sharpened to a glint in a way that only love can. Love… and unmistakable, undeniable lust. Her heart had been beating with so much longing it had clouded everything else.

Now, in this moment, with his heart so close to hers, she could finally hear the music. This is what she had needed. This is what her heart had been pining for. And she knew. Without the shadow of a doubt she knew... he had heard her.

Brishti moved to the simple guitar strings that were tugging them both. The melody deepened each time the same four notes played. And each time they rooted deeper in the soil of her heart, she moved him too. His hands on her waist, caressing her curves everytime the four notes played. And they played over and over again… Namjoon followed the lyrics and sang along with his beautiful deep dark chocolate voice in her ears, saying -

“And I love her...”,

And his strong arms around her. How could she… Brishti, even if her name didn’t mean the rain, how could she have resisted pouring?

“Bright are the stars that shine, dark is the sky, I know this love of mine will never die...”

This evening was the first time they’d really touched each other. Stood so close to each other. Moved together.

------------------------------------------------------

Oooooh god you read it?! Thank you so much! Please let me know what you think! Get into my messages about it! I would love to hear what you felt about this!

This is the song that's mentioned here in case anyone is curious.

[hxlyhead-harpies]

The Last Dream of my Soul pt. 5 (R.L.)

Hello!!! The newest part has arrived and i hope you all enjoy it! Also. I am aware that hippogriffs are a third year lesson but pleaseeeee just pretend it makes sense...

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary:  The very bookish (Y/n) has spent most of her life alone, aside from her best friends Lily and her beloved books. But when the infamous Marauders get thrust into her life, how could she resist the beautiful and unattainable Remus.

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 2.2k

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

The two weeks at home were rough. As excited as you were to return to the place that you grew up, you soon came to the realization that Hogwarts and the wizarding world were your true home. As much as you loved your parents and the creaky floor of your old bedroom, you couldn’t help but feel entirely out of place. And as much as your parents loved you, they could never understand you.

But still, you enjoyed Christmas dinner and watching your old favorite shows on the television. Despite this though, you were near tears every night when you thought of your friends and the old castle walls of your school. You missed them immensely.

You were at a great disadvantage as you did not own an owl. Luckily, your friends sent plenty of letters, and you held their birds hostage until you could scribble out a response.

You received the most letters from Lily. She related to your feelings of feeling out of place in the muggle world. It was made worse for her by her sister, Petunia. Petunia was jealous of Lily to a near disturbing extent. It made your best friend’s time at home miserable.

You received one letter from Peter on Christmas. It was a simple letter that mostly just wished you a happy holiday, but nevertheless, it made you smile.

From Sirius and James, you received joint letters as they were both staying at the Potter’s house for Christmas. The letters detailed all of the mischief they got up to and they never failed to make you laugh. You’d always send back a letter reprimanding them but also subtly egging them on.

Remus’s letters were your favorite. He wrote to you relatively often, describing his family and what he was reading. You did the same, raving about the book that he had gifted you. You loved the way he wrote his letters. It was almost like poetry. You weren’t surprised though. How could someone spend their whole life reading and not have a way with words?

But despite the comfort that the letters brought you, you couldn’t help but wish that the words could be spoken in person instead.

But soon enough the time came for you to return to your real home and greet your chosen family. In a flurry of brotherly hugs and high pitched squeals, you said hello to Lily and the marauders with a grin stretched ear to ear.

As excited as you were to return to Hogwarts, the return to lessons was less exciting. Soon, you were once again drowning in school work and waiting for a chance to breathe. Classes were beginning to pick up and become more challenging, and you were doing your best to scrape by.

“Hey (Y/n),” Sirius said, catching your attention as you walked to your care for magical creatures class.

“Yes, Sirius?” you inquired.

“Have you finished the transfiguration essay yet?” he asked. You smirked at him.

“Are you asking because you’re curious or because you want to copy it?” you asked teasingly. Sirius groaned.

“Oh sod off (Y/n),” he retorted, shoving your shoulder. You yelped as he d pushedyou a tad too hard and braced yourself, preparing to hit the ground. Instead, you felt strong hands grab your arm.

“You okay?” Remus asked as he helped you steady yourself.

“Yeah I’m fine,” you said breathlessly, your arm burning from his touch. You sent the concerned boy a quick smile before turning to face Sirius. You punched him quickly in the shoulder.

“Ow!” he exclaimed, rubbing his arm.

“That’s what you get for assaulting me,” you retorted and you heard Remus chuckle from your left.

“Yeah yeah I’m sorry,” Sirius said, waving his hands in the air. You smiled, satisfied, and skipped the rest of the way to class.

When you arrived at the forbidden forest Professor Kettleburn stopped the group at the edge of the woods.

“Now students, we have a very special lesson today,” he explained to your peers. You danced on your toes in excitement. You loved care for magical creatures, enough to take it in your N.E.W.T.S years, and you were excited at the prospect of an exciting lesson. Sirius shifted impatiently on his toes, having only taken the course for an easy E, while Remus smiled at your antics.

“Today we will be in the presence of one of our realms' most compelling creatures,” Professor Kettleburn continued mysteriously. A smile spread its way across your face as you waited for him to reveal the creature. Professor Kettleburn led his herd of students into the forest, pausing a few paces in. He pushed back a branch of a large, sweeping tree, to reveal a herd of creatures. You felt your mouth drop open in astonishment. You turned to Remus, a wide smile adorning our features.

“Hippogriffs,” you whispered excitedly. Remus smiled at you, nodding in affirmation.

Professor Kettleburn walked to stand before the class.

“The hippogriff is an incredibly unique creature. Its front half bears the resemblance of an eagle, while it’s back half is one of a horse. The hippogriff’s closest relative is the griff, a creature that is half lion and half horse. The Hippogriff is also an especially proud creature. Can anyone tell me the proper etiquette for greeting such an animal?” the professor asked. You did not hesitate to shoot your hand into the air.

“Yes, Miss (L/n),” he said, calling on you.

“When approaching a hippogriff, the proper thing to do is to bow and wait for the hippogriff to do the same. You wait for the creature to approach you, and you must maintain eye contact,” you explained, almost reciting the textbook exactly.

“Very good,” the professor replied with a smile. Professor Kettleburn rambled on for a few more minutes, describing the deity habits and the ideal habitats for hippogriffs. You excitedly listened to him, soaking up every bit of knowledge that you could. You could hear some boys in your year laughing, mocking your professor’s eccentric habits, and you turned to glare at them. The group’s ringleader, Rodolphus Lestrange, turned and glared back at you, sending you an unflattering gesture.

Eventually, Professor Kettleburn clapped his hands together and stopped talking.

“Now,” he began, “who would like to be the first to greet the hippogriff?” Your hand immediately went up, waving back and forth through the air. You heard Sirius and Remus laugh at your behavior from either side of you.

“Okay Miss (L/n), please step forward,” the professor said as he motioned you towards him. He gave you a quick rundown of how you were to approach the creature, before sending you off with a quick pat on the shoulder.

You approached the creature and admired its beauty. It's gorgeous storm grey coat glistened under the late afternoon sun and its eyes were a brilliant shade of orange. You stopped about six feet in front of the creature before bowing, maintaining strong eye contact the entire time. After a beat, the hippogriff bowed as well. You smiled widely as you stood, awestruck by the creature before you. You stepped forward with your hand outstretched.

“Hello, you beautiful creature,” you spoke softly. The hippogriff leaned towards your hand before nuzzling his beak into it. You caressed his beak and gently carded your hands through its feathers. After a few minutes, Professor Kettleburn ushered you back. You reluctantly bowed to the creature before scurrying back to your friends.

When you returned, Sirius patted you on the back.

“Good job (Y/n). I would’ve been scared the thing was going to rip me to shreds,” he said. You shook your head at him.

“Oh come on, it’s a gentle creature,” you said. Remus grimaced from beside you.

“Yeah but one wrong move and it tears you to shreds,” he said quietly. You roll your eyes.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit of an overreaction?” you asked. Remus opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the professor.

“Now who else would like to greet our friend?” he asked the class. Before anyone could respond, Rodolphus strutted up the front. The professor leaned over to go over the proper etiquette, but Rodolphus just waved him off. You frowned.

“This is not going to end well,” you mumbled to yourself. Rodolphus swaggered up to the hippogriff, giving him a shallow bow. The hippogriff hesitated but eventually bowed in return. Rodolphus walked up to the creature, his first mistake, and immediately reached in to touch it. The hippogriff flinched, which caused Roldophus to say something to him. You could not quite make out what he said, but it angered the hippogriff. He reared his head and lunged towards the boy. The students around you began to scream and run away. Professor Kettleburn lunged forward, trying to get the student out of the hippogriff’s path. Remus grabbed your arm, attempting to pull you away, but you broke free from his grasp and headed in the opposite direction. You heard him shout after you as you ran towards the creature but you ignored him. Professor Kettleburn was attempting to keep the creature at bay while Rodolphus tried to crawl away. You approached the creature and tried to get its attention.

“Don’t waste your energy on him,” you shouted at the animal. It paid you no mind.

“You’re a magnificent creature! You have no business having to deal with someone like him!” you shouted. “You’re too good for him!”

After hearing the compliment, the hippogriff turned towards you. His orange eyes still glinted with aggression and his body was tense. Rodolphus got up and sprinted away. You quickly bowed, trying to appease the creature. It huffed and shook off Professor Kettleburn’s hand. You stayed in the same position, maintaining eye contact with the creature. You silently pleaded with it to calm down. Eventually, the hippogriff lowered its head in return, the aggression leaving its eyes. You waited for him to approach you before tentatively touching his beak. The air was thick with anticipation as your peers watched you, all of them scared for your safety. After a beat, the creature nuzzled into your hand, causing you to let out a sigh of relief. Professor Kettleburn came up behind you and placed a hand on your shoulder. He ushered you back towards the other students, before dismissing class for the day.

“Okay children, that’s enough excitement for today. Feel free to head back to your dorms,” he stated, shooing you all with his hands.

You pushed through the crowd towards your friends. You were immediately wrapped into a strong hug. Sirius released you after a moment, a wide smile across his face.

“Godric you scared me half to death!” he exclaimed. “But that was wicked!” You smiled at his words. You turned towards Remus, hoping to see him smiling as well. But when he came into view, he looked the opposite of happy. His face was hard and cold and his arms were crossed stiffly over his chest.

“Remus what’s wrong-”

“How could you be so stupid,” he asked angrily, cutting you off in the process. You blinked at him, confused.

“What are you talking about?” you asked softly.

“Do you not realize what you just did? You approached that- that monster! And you practically begged him to attack you!” he yelled. You flinched at his words.

“He’s not a monster,” you responded, your voice wavering. Remus frustratedly ran his hands through his hair.

“Yes he is! Yes he is (Y/n)! But just can’t see it,” he exclaimed. Confusion filled your features.

“Remus I-”

“No. You do not get to speak. You can’t just go around and expect things like that- monsters- to not hurt you,” he yelled. Your face hardened.

“Remus I am perfectly capable of handling myself!” you yell back, anger coursing through your veins.

“No, you’re not! You’re too naive,” he responded angrily.

“I am not naive and you do not get to talk to me like I’m a child,” you yelled back. Remus just shook his head.

“One day, you’re going to try and tame the wrong creature and you’re going to get hurt. You don’t understand these things,” he said, quieter than before. He takes one last look at you before turning on his heel and storming off towards the castle.

You watch him leave, tears forming in your eyes. Your anger had dissipated, leaving only sadness and confusion in its wake. Remus had never spoken to you like that before. He had always been soft and sweet, the opposite of the man who had just screamed at you. You turn towards Sirius, who’s shocked expression matched yours.

“What was that all about?” you asked Sirius, who was avoiding your eyes. He sighed.

“Remus is going through some things right now,” was his only response. You scoffed through your tears.

“And how does that give him the right to speak to me like that?” you countered. Sirius kicked a pebble on the ground.

“It doesn’t. But just give him time,” was his reply. You shook your head, begging the tears to stay at bay. You quickly turned and stalked back to the castle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@goosegorl​​ @serenefreakgeek​​ @blueflame2778​​ @thegirlthatsfalling​​ @glimmering-darling-dolly​​ @calmspencer​​ @therustictea​ @florenceivy​ @peachyblue​ @blackpinkdolan​ @killerqueenishere​ @lotties-journey-abroad​

[mae-gi-writes]

My First Official Novel!

Hello folks! I’ve mentioned it a few times before but this is probably the first time that I am dropping this here. My fingers are shaking as I am typing this.

But here goes: You can buy my first official novel, ‘TERMINAL’ in Ebook Version! You can now buy it in EPUB or PDF form! (LINK BELOW!) https://msha.ke/mmsin/#links

------ Synopsis:  In order to avoid an outbreak of War that could wipe out his entire population, rookie Cub Luca Wang is sent on a mission: to capture one of the North's test subjects. Drawn to a Northern girl that reminds him of his long-lost kidnapped sister, he doesn't realize that he has stolen one of the North's greatest weapons...Until it's too late.

-------

read under the cut for the backstory <3

Let’s face it, writing is one of the most underrated forms of art and while it is completely absurd that such an important element of our human understanding is storytelling, prose and poetry have never been given enough spotlight in relation to visual arts as such.

Maybe I was ashamed because I didn’t do ‘fun’ stuff. I mean, if someone were to ask you what your hobby was, surely ‘writing’ wasn’t going to be an exemplary answer, especially if you’re a teenager wanting to blend in and be like that ‘cool’ kid around the block that everyone knew of.

It was only when I reached university and enrolled in my first Creative Writing class (again, ‘what do you even learn there?’) that it was okay for me to love writing, it was okay for me to be proud of the fact that I could string words together, that I could shape and twist stories to my liking, that I daydreamed about imaginary characters most of the time and even made playlists for each of them.

So I decided to take the leap, because why not?

This novel is close to my heart, something that I’ve worked on for the past three years and which has grown and changed just as much as I did. It’s a piece of myself stitched into the stories of the people I tell, a piece of myself that I’m ready to show to you all. For once, I wish to say that I’m proud of what I’ve done, and this is the story — my story — that I want to show you, a story from one human being to another, a story that will hopefully inspire, make people smile or laugh or cry.

So it would mean the world to me if you could check it out and let me know what you think if ever you read it. The public’s opinion impacts the competition results so reviews and ratings are always welcome. Most importantly though, I just hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

Thank you to everyone who always supported me and tolerated me. I couldn’t have done this without your support and I would’ve probably never taken that leap of courage if not for the people pushing me forward every time I take two steps away from the edge.

— love, Mae xx

[dreaming-of-assclass]

Oooooo if 3-E were supernatural creatures who would be what 👀👀👀

Oooohh this is interesting to think about! I’m sorry, I don’t know a lot haha so I did some research to have more options!!

Karma: Demon

I feel like I don’t need to elaborate on this too much lmao. The boy is mischievous, LOVES to mess with mortals for no reason. When he’s feeling a particularly strong emotion, usually rage, excitement, etc, his eyes glow a shade of yellow-gold (like what canon showed)

Isogai: Demi-God

His crazy perfection in everything has to come from somewhere. His father was a God who left his realm and lost his immortality to be with Isogai’s mother, a mortal. Isogai only became aware of his heritage after his father’s passing.

Okajima: Half-Angel

LMAO I mostly picked this for the irony, but it kinda fits ngl. He’s generally a good, loyal, kind person and a very good friend. His perverted nature is his one big flaw and comes from the influence of his mortal father, who was his main guardian since his mother remained on Heaven.

Okano: Werewolf

I’m gonna credit this one to @greengargouille haha. They made a wonderful post about this idea that I still adore with my whole heart. But yeah, Okano being a badass werewolf with crazy athleticism and defying femininity expectations? Yes please.

Okuda: Witch

She excels in potion-making, of course. She comes from a long line of witches and magic-users in her family. So she feels quite a bit of pressure to be successful. She’s very talented but needs a tad bit more of control in her magic.

Kataoka: Mermaid

This one shouldn’t be a surprise haha. She’s a very strong and powerful swimmer...but where does all that raw talent come from? Surprise, Megu is a mermaid and she can transform between her physical forms at will. She loves the water because it’s her home and what she knows best.

Kayano: Part-Phoenix

I don’t know how this works and how someone can be part-Phoenix lmao, but it fits her way too well. A being that goes out in flames and starts a new life...isn’t that basically what Kayano did after her reveal? Her new life is her going by Akari again and showing her true colors to the class.

Kanzaki: Goddess

She’s apart of a very royal family of gods...all with ridiculously high standards and little respect for her. Kanzaki is very powerful and has so much raw potential but she’s never been able to show it. Her best skills are teleportation, invisibility, and a strong grasp on aerokinesis.

Kimura: Centaur

I’m serious about this one lmao. He’s a very fast runner and impresses everyone, and it’s thanks to his strong physique and raw energy in centaur form. Don’t worry, he can shape-shift back to a human form, but he hates it because he loses his height and is back to being 160 cm.

Kurahashi: Fairy

Of course, this bright, sunny, cheerful sweet girl could only be a fairy. She has a very strong connection to nature and wildlife, to the point that if they’re harmed, she feels the pain. Her wings are very tiny at age 14 can easily hide underneath her clothes. But by adulthood, they’re grown and able to use for flight.

Nagisa: Half-Ghoul

Surprise...this soft boy is actually half-evil :’). His father is actually a ghoul, and Nagisa was very much unaware of it for all his life. Hiromi kept it a secret and tried to suppress that part of him too. Basically I imagine what it means for Nagisa is that death draws him, and his physiology is why he has such a high bloodlust. When he’s pushed to his limits, he’s terrifying... (cough Takaoka cough)

Sugaya: Wizard

He comes from a relatively average line of wizards, who all moved to the mortal realm and own artisan businesses. Sugaya wishes to do something similar and follow his passion for art. He mostly uses his magic for that, levitating his brushes, enhancing his work, creating new things. He’s quite talented at conjuring.

Sugino: Angel

Yes, I’m serious about this. Sugino is a very good person and always strives to lead others down the right path. He’s good at guiding, but even he wants to live for himself for once. So he learns what baseball is and grows a strong love for it.

Takebayashi: Wizard

Unlike Sugaya, he comes from a super prestigious line of successful and powerful wizards. His family is one of the top ones. He feels immense pressure to live up to them. His talents lie in fire magic, particularly creating explosions. And he’s a very skilled healer.

Chiba: Half-Dragon

Fitting considering his name 💜 He has the ability to change between his human and dragon form, but it’s very shaky for now. His eyes are a bright, terrifying shade of red, and it exposes his dragon heritage so he must hide it.

Terasaka: Half-Titan

His Titan physiology is the reason for his raw strength and physical prowess. He’s incredibly strong and has a high endurance, durability, stamina... He’s a talented fighter and will always use his advantage to protect his loved ones.

Nakamura: Siren

She hates being a siren so much. She has to deal with boring mortal guys all the time, who for some reason, love her voice. She gets a real kick out of fooling them though, and the pranks are always chaotic. Since she’s been having to sing and use her voice, she’s gotten the chance to learn many languages. She has an affinity for them, and wants to continue learning more.

Hazama: Witch

I know this is a little cliche. But in contrast to the potion-centered Okuda, Hazama excels in linguistic spells. She keeps a journal of every new one she learns, as well as images of herbs and such. She’s very interested in dark arts, but will only indulge in it with the presence of someone else, to make sure she doesn’t fall too deep.

Hayami: Witch

Wow I’m really repeating so many. Hayami is a very hardworking, talented witch. But she’s so focused on helping others, she tends to get taken advantage of unfortunately. She’s best at transfigurations, altering things to her (and others) liking. Her favorite test subject is Okajima. She’s quite talented in hand-to-hand combat and having kinetic vision, which helps in magic. She wants a cat as a familiar so badly.

Hara: Fairy

Hara says “fuck you” to the idea that fairies are traditionally small and frail. She’s proud of her physique and strength, and her interest in fighting. She’s still the sweetest fairy there could be, always looking after everyone and all of nature. She loves cooking and sharing it with as many people as she can find.

Fuwa: Ghost

Yep our crazy, lively Fuwa is a ghost! Specifically, she’s a poltergeist, the kind who try to create mischief in some way and move things around. The reason why Fuwa is kinda wild and open about her passions is so she can be noticed by people...if her presence isn’t being acknowledged, she loses her physical form and goes back to being a transparent spirit. It isn’t all bad though. Her favorite thing to do is read mangas in ghost form, so all people see is a floating copy of One Piece.

Maehara: Vampire

This one is a little cliche lmao, but he’s a vampire playboy who always ends up accidentally turning his girlfriends into vampires too with his bites. No one ever suspects him of being a vampire since he looks like sunshine incarnate. He’s quite reckless and has come close to being exposed multiple times, and Isogai always scolds him.

Mimura: Elf

Poor boy is a little insecure about being an Elf...he tries his best not to stand out, especially given his dad’s love for the spotlight. He is good at basic magic, slightly above average. His best talent and what he excels at is photokinesis. He uses it on his filming hobby, to change what’s on camera, adjust lighting, etc. He can go as far as even completely remove shadows from the sunlight.

Muramatsu: Alchemist

He comes from a relatively average family of alchemists that used their abilities for culinary purposes. He enjoys it a lot, and is very talented. He prefers to rely on physical prowess when it comes to fights, but is able to use his alchemy additionally.

Yada: Vampire

Yada is the hot vampire girlfriend we all wish we had 😔 Just kidding haha. But yes, she’s a vampire and no one would ever expect it with how good she is at hiding. She plans out her life and days to specifically avoid sunlight, garlic, etc. She’s a very busy member of the school community and has tons of friends and connections. She and Maehara, her fellow vampire, constantly compete to see who can get more dates.

Yoshida: Werewolf

This is slightly cliche since he’s the resident bad boy, but it fits. He tries to keep a tough image even in human form partly since his family taught him to do so, and because it is comfortable for him. But he’s a softie deep down, and is nowhere near as ruthless as he’s believed to be.

Ritsu: Magic Mirror?

Hmm this is kind of the only option I see fitting for her as it correlates to her role in canon. One classmate has to carry the mirror around for her to communicate, but she’s very powerful and helpful.

Itona: Mummy

Ok so storyline here: he was abandoned to die by his family centuries ago, and his 13 body was mummified against his will. In present time, Shiro awakens him, revives him, and uses him as a tool. He goes through a lot...but is able to live a peaceful life with 3-E once all that is over. He wears bandages almost everywhere, only exposing his eyes which glow yellow when he’s using his power.

Bonus:

Gakushuu is a Demi-God, of course. He’s pretty annoyed that his elemental magic only extends to hydrokinesis and cryokinesis, but he’s still amazingly talented.

Ren is a Merman who flirts with girls at the beach with sappy poetry. He’s gotten caught in a fisher net too many times.

Seo is an Ogre.

[certainglitterhologram]

The Thomas-Finnigan Kids

After Dean and Seamus got together after the war, they set to adopt magical childeren. Whether they have Veela Blood or are Metamorphmagues, Seamus and Dean didn’t care, they loved them for whoever they were. 

They mostly adopted kids aged 1 or 2 for no particular reason, just that Dean loved babies! But they adored the fuck outta those kids. Seamus and Dean loved them with every once in their being! 

On Dean’s, Seamus insisted that he cooked dinner, as it was “Dean’s Special Day” and was cooking the chicken and then (You guessed it) BAM! the oven explodes, leaving Seamus covered in soot and raging, but also struggling to keep in his laughter. Dean rushed in, holding little baby Mikayla, who was giggling at her dad, covered in a black mess. Their little boy, Finn, comes rushing in behind her, as he was four and able to run, quite quickly at that. Not noticing that Dean was holding Mikayla, he muttered a colourful string of profanities, and midst her giggling, Mikayla repeated. Then Finn said the same thing. The room went silent except for the beeping smoke detector and Dean sighed, flicked his wand, clearing the mess up, handing Mika to Seamus and saying

“You are IN��for it after we put Mika and Finn to bed. “ 

A few years later, Finn is boarding the Hogwarts express and Dean, Seamus and Mika say their goodbyes rather quickly, which gave eight-year-old Mika an extra ten minutes to rush round, talking to whoever so much breathed in her direction. Dean was chasing after her, yelling about stranger danger, while, Seamus took the time to take a moving picture of Mika running, her curly hair bouncing behind her, and tall, lanky Dean, awkwardly maneuvering his way through the crowd. 

Finn is sorted into Ravenclaw, much to Seamus’ surprise, but not Dean’s. Dean himself was almost sorted into Ravenclaw, as he had “Not a bad mind, and was openminded, creative and artistic.”, and he told his husband as much. Finn had always taken an interest in painting, sketching, reading, poetry and singing, while Mika was the sporty tomboy, and was one hell of a seeker for Quidditch. 

Time skip three years, and this time, it’s Mika’s turn to go off to Hogwarts, but she’s now become quiet, closed off, reserved, sarcastic, sassy and quite rude in general. Dean and Seamus prayed it was a phase, but regardless, respected their daughters wishes to be left alone most of the time. That time was spent exploring the forest behind their home Quidditch pitch, finding another mansion, overgrown with vines and such, then stealing Dean’s old wand, rather than the one he now uses, and fixing it up. It was her place. And Mika didn’t want to share it.

To no one’s surprise really, Mika was sorted into Slytherin, and got a letter from her dads, saying that they didn’t care, and loved her regardless, she wrote back rather impertinently, saying she didn’t need their approval and in fact had asked the Sorting Hat to put her in Slytherin. 

But yet, when a snotty pureblood prejuidice makes a remark along the lines of “Oh, you have two dads? I feel SO bad for you! And one of them’s a Mudblood at that? How horrific! No pretty girl like you should EVER have to go through that. Well, if you ever need to feel the love of real parents, you can always come over to mine, love.”

And Mikayla leaps over the Slytherin table in the Great Hall and starts PUMMELING  the boy. She went on him for fifteen minutes and no body could get her off, not even with magic, and it took Finn whispering calming words to her, for her to throw one last hard punch, before stopping. She spat at the boy’s feet and stormed off. The boy had a broken nose, 2 black eyes, three knocked out teeth, a sprained left wrist from attempting to fight back, which Mika had twisted and pushed it to his right and attempted to snap both, but broke the right and sprained the left. He also bruises up and down his shins, from Mika kicking him to the ground everytime he tried to get up, and a fractured rib.

Professor Slughorn thought she was in the right to do that, maybe not so harshly, but defending her family was the sign of a good person, and a true Slytherin, so he let her off with a month’s detention. Mika didn’t care and although she was the most famed student in the school for 3 months, anyone who tried to ask her anything about the fight got slammed into the nearest wall, or yelled at with a colourful language. She mostly kept to herself and wore her headphones in secret to listen to music in class on her muggle iphone that she had rigged to work around the muggle device boundries at Hogwarts. 

Then, one day, she discovers that she has the same talent for blowing things up as Seamus, but instead of fire, its water. With one blast of a cauldron, she manages to flood the entire classroom so the water is up to at least their ankles. At least 3 times a week, she comes out of a class sopping wet and scowling at the frowns and raged looks she was getting from the kids who were unfortunate enough to be around her when she caused the flood. 

“I swear, I’m not doing it on purpose!” Mika can be heard complaining to her best friend, (and only friend, really) Charlotte, “Most of the time at least! I don’t know how it happens, it’s just a talent of mine!”

Finn going on a date with a girl on Valentine’s day in Fifth Year,where they spend the day at Hogsmeade, shopping, chatting and pranking. But at the end, said girl kisses him, and it just doesn’t feel right. He shrugged it off, and ended up dating the girl for a couple months, before he found himself talking to his best mate, Wyatt and realising for the first time how hot Wyatt was. That’s when Finn realised he was gay. And in love with his best friend. Typical..

BOY, AFTER FINN CAME OUT, WAS PRIDE MONTH A HUGE DAMN CELEbRATION, or WHAT? 

Seamus, Dean, and Finn can often be found dancing in the kitchen to irish tunes , wearing pride flages as capes, and Mika sitting there, eating a chocolate frog and giggling, watching Seamus dance an Irish step dance. 

Thomas-Finnigans, as happy as can be.

[tessiete]

“Perhaps, I killed a Jedi and took it from him.” Clumsy fingers beneath sleek synth leather gloves close over the hilt, the silver of it glinting merrily in the grasp of a cold fist. “Impossible,” Lord Vader says. “I am growing tired of your games, boy. I shall only ask once more: who gave it to you?” “I cannot say,” he replies. “Cannot?” says Vader. “Or will not?” “I will not.” His voice is firm, and does not shake. He reaches again for that serenity: a flash of copper hair, [...] of blue eyes.

This is for the writer’s ask where you ask about 500 characters of one of my fics, and I do a deep dive analysis! <3 Thank you for indulging me.

Alright! Better late than never but I’ve been overthinking this because I DO SO LOVE process and meta! So let’s dive in. The commentary.

First of all, let me say that I am a huge proponent of  Korkie Kenobi - and yeah, I’d love to see it canonised - but I think my relationship with this character is a bit more nuanced than people give me credit for.

I was all for arospec/acespec Obi-Wan. That’s the canon I loved. And I was very much not interested in Satine when she first appeared in TCW. But the thing was, once it happened, once they introduced a love interest who played a significant enough role in the story, I felt I could either ignore it...or roll with it. See what it changed. See what it created.

Obviously, the relationship - on a surface level (and tbh probably the only level which the writers considered) is meant to mirror Anakin and Padme. They are the road not taken. Where Anakin and Padme chose each other, Obi-Wan and Satine chose their duties.

This is a...I don’t like this take as an exclusive one, and here’s why: it implies that Padme was also selfish, and made the wrong choice. And yet everything in canon tells us the opposite. She continued working. She jeopardised her career and her reputation to fight against the rise of the Empire. She gave her life trying to prevent it. To put her as a direct mirror of Satine is messy, and to me, cannot justify the creation of Satine enough to convince me.

But I also don’t want to throw away such a huge chunk of TCW narrative. So the other option is to reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally lean in.

At which point, you have to examine not just the immediate symbolism of the relationship, but what each character individually brings. You have to give Satine her own agency. She has to become her own person. Suddenly, all the little bits of information that would normally be overlooked become important. We get so little of her, that everything becomes significant.

And Korkie - who hangs around for a couple episodes, but otherwise has no real importance, suddenly becomes significant.

And that, for me, is the crux of the issue. I hate, hate, hate wasted story elements, and if Korkie is so superfluous as to be negligible, then why did we waste not just money, and time, but story on him. And if he is unimportant, then his relationship to Satine is unimportant. And if that relationship is insignificant, then we lose something integral and revealing about Satine, and now suddenly there is less of her to relate to Obi-Wan, and so anything revealed about him becomes less important, too.

Maybe this feels like a stretch, and maybe it is, but to me, Korkie feels very much like Chekhov’s gun.

And it would drive me CRAZY if he were to go unexamined, and unused.

So this whole story was an examination of “What does Korkie tell us about Obi-Wan that we didn’t know before? And what can Korkie tell us about Vader?”

Because what is Vader if not Obi-Wan’s Fallen son?

This was essentially the thesis for this piece: despite the fact that Vader/Anakin had all of Obi-Wan’s attention, love, and time it is Korkie who truly embodies the legacy of his father.

And while I know that “found family” is a massively important part in the SW universe, I think there’s a larger discussion to be had about other aspects of family. The answer isn’t always that Blood is Bad, and that heritage is shameful or unimportant. Sometimes, where you came from does matter. Some people do find strength, and pride, and hope, and motivation, and support in their origins - even if it’s something they’re divorced from in a physical or temporal way.

For me, Korkie is an opportunity to examine a father/son relationship where neither of the two people have an attachment beyond blood, but -

There is still one of love. 

But instead of Anakin’s selfish, possessive love for his family, both Obi-Wan and Korkie relate to each other, and treat each other with empathy, compassion, and respect. Their love is noble. Selfless. They put entire worlds before each other. And Korkie learned that from his dad.

A personal pet peeve is this constant depiction of kids whose parents are in high stakes jobs feeling neglected or abandoned. How many cop shows have bratty kids acting out because their dad is never home to share dinner? How many medical dramas show the children of doctors lashing out because mom spends more time at work than at ballet class? 

It drives me crazy.

As the child of a medical worker with an on-call schedule, I can say that neither I, nor my siblings, nor any of the other children of my mum’s coworkers have EVER felt neglected. We have never felt unfairly or selfishly entitled to our parents’ time. Because we knew - because someone (another parent? A grandparent? A teacher?) explained to us, and taught us at a young age that what our parents were doing was important. We understood that there were life or death stakes, and that we were very loved, and very much the priority - just not every second. Because sometimes, a life was on the line.

And Obi-Wan Kenobi was fighting to save a galaxy. 

I just cannot in any way believe that a child whose mother was a ruler of a planet plagued with civil unrest and a significant terrorist group, and whose father was a Jedi Master, and in charge of securing peace and freedom across the stars would ever be so selfish, and so uncompassionate as to begrudge the sacrifice of his parents.

Korkie Kenobi is an abject example of selfless love. The kind of love the Jedi aspire to. The kind of love that Anakin absolutely does not understand, and fails to embrace.

And it’s not because Qui-Gon died (Korkie never had that kind of paternal relationship), and it’s not because Shmi was killed (Korkie’s mother also dies tragically), but because of the maturity of the person, and the quality of Korkie’s character.

So to pit a Korkie just coming into his own as an adult, aware of his father, and recently bereaved of his mother against a Vader just coming into his own as a Sith…

That, to me, evoked very interesting narrative avenues to explore.

In this universe, Korkie and Obi-Wan have recently reconnected (Korkie having helped Boil retrieve Obi-Wan from an ill-advised trip to Mandalore where Obi-Wan learned that Anakin had become Vader for the first time), and they both know what they are to each other. Obi-Wan has begged for forgiveness, and given Korkie his lineage, and his legacy in the form of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber - something that Anakin never got. Vader wants it.

So let’s get into it:

“Perhaps, I killed a Jedi and took it from him.” 

This first line - it’s like poetry, it rhymes.

Vader asks where Korkie got the blade, and Korkie replies...in Qui-Gon’s words. He doesn’t know this, of course. It’s just a coincidence. But the remains of Anakin hear it. Anakin recognises it, and it galls him that this boy - Obi-Wan’s replacement of him - seems to be able to claim the lineage he wishes he had. Korkie is stealing his family. And he doesn’t know them. He doesn’t deserve them. He’s not entitled to them the way Anakin is. 

And this is also one of the first things Anakin ever heard a Jedi say. This was the beginning of Qui-Gon’s promise. This is a moment in which Anakin first thought he might find salvation. It was the start of his life, in some ways. This was pure, good, and trusting Anakin Skywalker. 

It’s an absolute anathema to him, now. Now, when he’s lost everything. When he’s filled with doubt, and hate, and fear, and suffering. It makes him angry. Because he doesn’t want to see that he was Korkie. He doesn’t want to see that he had this chance, and blew it. And Korkie - who never had Qui-Gon, who never had Obi-Wan - can speak the words without even (in Anakin’s mind) earning them.

Also, and most obviously, Anakin killed the Jedi. And yet...he didn’t kill Obi-Wan. He did not kill that Jedi, and take this blade.

Korkie is alive. Obi-Wan is alive. Anakin resents it. Obi-Wan should not exist without him. Obi-Wan should have no legacy but Vader. Because Anakin doesn’t. 

Clumsy fingers beneath sleek synth leather gloves close over the hilt, the silver of it glinting merrily in the grasp of a cold fist. 

To me, it was important that we see the weakness of Vader. His hands are not his own. The flesh of Anakin Skywalker is gone, and beneath the serenity of the mask, and the shadow of black, he’s fumbling. Korkie’s wrong-footed him, and he feels young, and insufficient in the face of this boy. This is all about Anakin’s insecurity.

Korkie speaking words he shouldn’t know - speaking in the voice of a literal Jedi - so calm, and so collected (negotiating with the serenity of his father) scares Anakin. He’s hearing and seeing the ghosts of the people he betrayed. 

And the blade itself is merry because it belongs in the hand of Korkie. It knows (and the narrative knows) that it won’t be long in Vader’s grasp. It transcends the dark. It glints, and is optimistic. It’s a symbol of faith. It’s delight in being claimed by Korkie is symbolic of Qui-Gon’s own approval of his legacy. Qui-Gon Jinn chooses Korkie Kenobi.

But the thing is, it’s not because he’s a Kenobi. It’s because he chooses to act, and speak like a Jedi. Anakin fears - and knows - he never received this blade because Qui-Gon Jinn would not approve of what he’s done. This is Qui-Gon’s repudiation of Anakin Skywalker. The blade is laughing at Anakin.

“Impossible,” Lord Vader says. “I am growing tired of your games, boy. I shall only ask once more: who gave it to you?”

And then Anakin answers the same way he did as a child. He is still a selfish, defiant, fearful child. He denies the possibility that Korkie could have killed a Jedi. 

Now, of course, he knows that the Jedi are dead, he knows that Korkie is not a Jedi, and he’s also denying the possibility that Korkie could have done it.

And, more than that, he’s denying the very possibility that Korkie could speak - could somehow know - Qui-Gon’s words. There is no way that this boy should be speaking with that voice. It’s impossible.

It’s a three-fold denial.

As a more technical thing, Vader’s voice was really hard for me to do, because this Vader still had to be recognisable as Anakin. He’s only been Vader for about a year at this point, maybe a little longer, and he’s just been thrown back into his childhood by memory, so the voice had to hit this balance point between Anakin and Vader.

This is an Anakin who uses language to build himself up. He doesn’t quite buy his own authority - it is so easily undercut by an unarmed boy, here, after all - so he makes himself sound like the seat of power...Obi-Wan. He mimics the slightly elevated phrasing of his former master, and condescends, calling him “boy”. He speaks to Korkie in the voice of Korkie’s father. But it’s distorted, and clunky because it is not Anakin’s voice to claim. And he hasn’t had all the practice that the next 18 years will provide him with, yet.

So theoretically, if I did it right, the motivation - the drive of the sentence - is Anakin, but the pattern is an echo of Obi-Wan.

I also think this is probably the third time Vader’s asked Korkie (iirc), and that’s just a classic storytelling technique - things, especially questions, lessons, or events, happen three times. 

Korkie replies differently every time.

“I cannot say,” he replies.

So, at first, Korkie answered a question with a question. He was brash, young, and openly defiant. He replied in the way that Anakin or Obi-Wan may have if they’d been captured. He asked who Vader was. He didn’t know him - he doesn’t know him.

Vader is his brother, and yet Vader - Anakin - has been erased. His own family doesn’t know him. Has no reason to. He isn’t a person anymore. He’s a monster with no face, no name, no history, and no future. He has no claim to his own past.

Then, when Vader asks again, Korkie asks why it matters.

It’s a slight change of tactic, but one that Korkie thinks might put him on a more even playing field. If he knows why it’s important, then maybe they can work out a deal. Maybe he can...negotiate. Again, Vader hears shades of Obi-Wan’s cunning in this kid’s voice.

It also forces Vader to confront the reason he wants this blade - but that reason is intimately connected to Anakin. So Korkie is humanising him. He’s offering Vader a piece of himself. But Vader won’t take it.

Then, after Korkie’s spoken like Qui-Gon, Vader asks again, and Korkie denies him utterly. He cannot say. It’s impossible. It’s something beyond his control.

“Cannot?” says Vader. “Or will not?” 

“I will not.” His voice is firm, and does not shake.

Or is it? Because then, Korkie does what Vader does not. He takes responsibility for his choice. It’s not out of his hands. He’s choosing - deliberately, and decisively - to deny Vader. And he does not flinch. He does not hide. He looks into Vader’s face, knowing he might condemn himself to suffering, and death, and chooses that.

This is Korkie as a Jedi. He makes the same sacrifice the Jedi make - he looks into the Dark and chooses the Light.

And in this instance, he has replaced Anakin because he’s protecting Obi-Wan. Korkie is at Obi-Wan’s back. Korkie is making a choice to shield the person he loves - though he hardly knows him - because it is right. He loves freely, and selflessly. He loves Obi-Wan in a way that Anakin betrayed, but Korkie will not betray Obi-Wan here.

 He reaches again for that serenity: a flash of copper hair, of soft robes, of blue eyes. 

Korkie Kenobi is Force sensitive. Of course, he is. He is the culmination of a series of Light choices, and selfless sacrifice. He, at the end of the Clone Wars, comes out as the very thing they were fighting for. It’s not lost. Obi-Wan isn’t lost - he still shaped Korkie. He still saved something - something of the Force, something of the Light, and something of himself. He saved Satine. He saved the Jedi. He’s not fought and sacrificed in vain.

And so, though it is still rough, and untrained, though, like his relationship with his father, it’s still new, Korkie instinctively seeks to soothe himself, to find peace, so stay calm. In this moment where he is confronted with a Sith Lord, alone, and unarmed he chooses to reach for peace…

And his peace, his hope, is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He reaches for his dad.

Just like Obi-Wan reaches out for Qui-Gon’s ghost. Just like Anakin reaches out for Obi-Wan (seriously can’t have one conversation without mentioning him). Just like Luke reaches out for Anakin.

Korkie seeks comfort in the Force through the person he most finds solace in. And it doesn’t matter that he and Obi-Wan are nearly strangers, because they choose not to be. And because Obi-Wan is the ideal that Korkie strives for.

Obi-Wan has taught him something about serenity, and bravery, and hope. So when Korkie thinks of calm, and thinks of making his father proud, he sees Obi-Wan. Just flashes in his memory.

And the colours of Obi-Wan are symbolic - the fire of his hair, the chaos of the galaxy and war, the colour of the sand on Tatooine, the heat of its suns, and the shared blood between them. The blue of his eyes like water in the desert, an oasis, a salvation, an open sea, the clear sky, something vast and all encompassing and cool. The soft robes are an embrace. Obi-Wan is a home in the Force.

(Ironically, this is also what Anakin as Vader thinks of, and is thinking of because he also knows Obi-Wan, and so the next beat of this scene shows Vader and Korkie accidentally sharing thoughts. An easy mistake, as they’re essentially running into each other at the same restaurant!)

ANYWAY -

A, um, brief analysis of this passage from Or Else I Shall Be Lost

I hope you enjoyed it!!! And thank you so much @tree-scapes for tagging me!!!!! 

[toddtakefive]

Can I Have a Ride Home? I’m at a Party and I Don’t Know Any1

fandom(s): Gravity Falls, Over The Garden Wall

pairing(s): Pinescone , Mabcifica (mentioned)

words: 5314

rating: M (reasons listed in trigger warnings + swearing)

work type: One-shot , AU

tw(s): homophobia , use of slurs , violence and references to past violence

Also on AO3!!

Wirt wasn’t entirely sure how Sara had managed to drag him along with her to Senior Prom, hell he wasn’t even sure how she had managed to get a suit for him when he’d refused to go in for a fitting, but now he was standing in a crowded gym full of high-schoolers and he already wanted to leave. In his defense, they’d already been there an hour and that was an hour longer than he was at most parties.

If he was going to be completely honest, the party wasn’t that bad. Sure the music would cut off whenever there was a swear - everyone would still sing it anyways -, and sure the punch tasted weird, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad party as most parties go. The reason it was a bad party is because it was a party full of nothing but high-schoolers, and high-schoolers are scary. At least to Wirt.

He lost Sara twenty minutes ago -he’s honestly starting to think she’s underneath the bleachers flirting with the girl from her Chem class- and he’s getting bored so he pulls out his phone and starts typing a quick text to Dipper.

‘Bored. Wish you were here :/’.

The reply is immediate, 

‘Lol r u a postcard??’ ‘Wish I wre ther too <3 drving rigt now txt you lter′. 

The next text he receives is a picture taken by the person in the passenger seat, likely Mabel, with a peace sign while Dipper attempts to get his phone back without taking his eyes off the road. The caption for the photo is ‘road safety laws are bogus B)’. He laughs to himself. Yup, definitely Mabel.

He looks up at the sound of steps approaching, expecting it to be Sara but instead seeing evil incarnate. He takes in a deep breath before plastering on a fake smile.

“Hello, Trevor.” he says. 

Trevor Martin. No offense to the British actor Trevor Martin, of course, but Wirt fucking hates this guy. He’s book smart, Wirt’ll give him that, but that’s his only redeeming quality. Not only is he a totally fuckwad, but he has the audacity to say he’s not and try to date Sara, a very loud and proud lesbian. Like, dude, at least Jason Funderberker had the decency to back off when she came out. Plus, never trust a guy with a first name for a last name.

Trevor, wearing his slimy little smirk like he always does, doesn’t even meet Wirt’s eyes. “So, where’s Sara? I figured she’d be with you, you know, since you’re like her fucking boyfriend or whatever.”

Wirt scrunches his nose just slightly, he doesn’t want this situation to escalate more than it has to. “I’ve told you this a thousand times, Trevor. She is not my girlfriend.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, “Sure. You get pissed off that I’m trying to date her because you aren’t her boyfriend. Got it.”

Wirt shakes his head, “I get pissed off that you’re trying to date her because she’s a lesbian. Which is literally common knowledge, by the way.” he throws away his plastic cup and walks out into the hallway. Trevor, being an idiot in everything but school subjects, follows him into the hallway.

“She’s not a lesbian, she’s just saying that to get me to leave her alone.” Trevor explains, causing Wirt to roll his eyes as he walks.

“That’s not how that fucking works, Trevor. Besides, if a girl is literally resorting to faking being a lesbian to get you to leave her alone, maybe you just don’t know how to take a hint.”

He hears Trevor scoff, “Well she’s dating you, so she isn’t a lesbian.”

“She isn’t dating me! And you do know people can be bi, right?”

“If she isn’t dating you then why are you always talking about your relationship in World Civ?”

Wirt, just wanting this idiot to leave him alone already, stops walking abruptly and turns around. Trevor runs into him and falls back a little bit, he has a look on his face that Wirt thinks is his ‘gotcha’ face, but he’s really had enough of the whole ‘Wirt and Sara are dating in secret’ thing when they’re both very out homosexuals.

“Because I have a boyfriend, Trevor.” he deadpans, and sees that smug look fall off of Trevor’s face. God he loves the look of confusion that floods his features, it’s pure poetry.

“What?” Trevor asks, with all of his genius.

“The reason you hear me talking about my relationship -in conversations that didn’t involve you, by the way- is because I have a boyfriend. He lives in California.”

Trevor looks as though his entire world view just got re-shaped. He’s between wanting to believe and wanting to think it’s a prank, but, to Trevor, Wirt isn’t cool enough to pull a prank like this with a straight face.

The long minutes of silence is starting to get awkward, but just as Wirt is about to walk away Trevor speaks up again, “Wait so,” he pauses, “you’re a faggot?”

Wirt tenses immediately. That word. God he hates that word. The first time he heard it was when he came out to his biological dad when he and Dipper started dating back in Sophomore year. It wasn’t a great conversation, and Wirt vividly remembers the bloody nose he got out of it.

“I- uhm. Y-yeah. I- yeah.” Wirt stammers out. Trevor’s entire demeanor changes.

“Wait, what the fuck?” he says, distancing himself from Wirt by a couple inches. This causes Wirt to snap out of whatever funk he was in. He raises an eyebrow.

“Me having a boyfriend isn’t new information, Trevor. You’ve heard me get teased for talking about him before.”

“Yeah, but I thought they were joking! I didn’t think you were actually. You know.” he makes a wild hand gesture in Wirt’s direction.

“Gay?” Wirt asks with a furrowed brow.

“That! That. I didn’t think you were that.” Okay, now Wirt’s getting pissed. Obviously the use of the slur pissed him off, but not even being able to say the word gay? Come on, dude.

“Is there a problem with that?” He asks, crossing his arms. He’s not entirely sure where this newfound courage is coming from, but he can think about it later.

“No it’s just, dude have you been checking me out in the locker rooms and shit this whole time!” Trevor asks, his stance becoming defensive.

Wirt flinches back a bit at the question. “No. Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re.” Another wild hand gesture. Dude, just say the word.

Wirt sighs, “Gay. Right, yeah. We’ve established that. But I don’t go around creeping on the guys in the locker room. That would be fucking weird. And, again, I have a boyfriend, and you also aren’t my type so we’re covering all the bases of ‘I’d never do that’.”

Trevor takes a step forward that causes Wirt to take a step back, “I don’t believe you.” he says, voice lined with anger.

Wirt, quickly realizing he should have just walked away while Trevor was confused, holds his hands up in defense, “Good for you, but I don’t really care.” he glances over Trevor’s shoulder to see if he could make a break for the door. That idea is quickly thrown out the window when Trevor grabs Wirt by the collar. Wirt laughs a bit to himself, “You know, this looks kinda gay.”

Trevor’s hold on the front of his shirt tightens, he brings his hands up higher to make sure he isn’t touching the other boy anywhere, “Okay! Okay, okay, okay! Okay. Look, honestly man, never watched you while you were changing! I don’t think we’ve ever even had a P.E class together, if I’m being honest. And besides, I don’t think watching sweaty teenage boys change is that appealing. Especially not you, cause no offense you’re not really anyone’s type. At least not any gay persons type I mean! I’m sure some girl at the college you attend will think you’re hot, she’ll probably have kinda low standards but a girlfriend’s a girlfriend, right? And she’ll marry you right outta college, and you’ll become a fucking accountant or something else just as soul sucking, and you’ll have two kids, and a dog, and feel free to cut me off whenever you like.”

There’s a crunch and a massive amount of pain that makes Wirt stop talking. His head is spinning faster than a tornado, but he knows the feeling of hitting the school floor well enough to know it happens somewhere within the time he gets punched in the face a second time and kicked in the stomach the first.

He’s not entirely sure how long he’s on the floor, but he does know that when he finally opens his eyes Trevor is standing above him, heaving, staring at his own hands like they’re covered in blood- oh they are. That is blood. That is definitely blood. That’s a lot of blood. Wow.

Wirt pushes himself off of the ground, there’s an ache in every fiber of his being but the floor is cold and dirty and he’d rather not be down there right now. As he rises, slowly, he can see a steady drip of blood coming down from his face. That’s not good.

By the time he’s fully standing, Trevor looks ready to burst. “Wirt! Oh my god, dude. I am so fucking sorry, I didn’t. I don’t know why I. I never. Fuck I didn’t, I just, shit are you fucking okay?” the questions are rapid fire. Wirt’s a little too out of it to be able to tell if they’re genuine or not, and he doesn’t really care if they are at this point. This guy eats paste.

“Trevor.” Wirt finally says, “Shut the fuck up.” his words are slurred, and it’s obvious he’s still scared if the tremor in his voice is anything to go by, but he really just needs it to be quiet right now. To his credit, Trevor does shut up, but he just stands there.

There they are, two guys standing in a hallway, five feet apart cause one just beat the shit out of the other for being gay. Prom night is great. In his delirious state, Wirt can faintly hear ‘Lover Is a Day’ by Cuco playing from the gym. The beats pulse under his feet, and it’s just adding onto the pain right now.

After maybe five minutes, Trevor speaks up again. “Wirt I really am sorry, dude. I don’t know why I did that. I was pissed and you wouldn’t shut up and I didn’t what else to do! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Trevor hits the locker to his right with the side of his fist. The sound rings through the otherwise empty hall, and Wirt just stares at the first still on metal.

Wirt runs a hand through his hair, “That’s great and everything, but was the getting on top of me and repeatedly punching me in the nose necessary? Or, you know, any of it? You just fucking committed a hate crime dude, do you even realize that?” he’s talking slowly, his voice is tired and he would rather be anywhere else.

“I know! I know it was! But it honestly didn’t have anything to do with you being,” he pauses, and Wirt is about to finish for him before he continues on his own, “Gay. It didn’t have to do with you being gay, okay. I just. I have like severe anger issues. It’s some fucking long ass name, but the shortened thing is IED. It’s not really something I have any control over, and it’s been a while since I’ve had an episode that bad, and I promise it has nothing to do with you being gay or anything! That fucking chill, man! This stuff literally just happens, I swear on my motherfucking yeezys!” Wirt, who is finally coming back down to Earth and is able to process English language again, raises his brow, “ Okay, I don’t own yeezys, but you know what I mean.” He looks down to the floor, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Wirt sighs, wiping under his nose with his suit sleeve. It doesn’t help, the blood keeps flowing and now his suit is ruined. Fuck Prom night, dude. “Look, Trevor. If you actually have a genuine mental illness that does that, you get a fucking pass on the beating the shit out of me part.” Trevor flinches at that, “But you’re still kinda homophobic dude.”

Trevor looks up from the ground, “What? How?”

Wirt shrugs, crossing his arms again. “Assuming someone isn’t a lesbian when they say they are is pretty high on the list. Actually, assuming a gay guy is checking people out while they’re changing is also pretty high on the list. Both of the things you said are pretty high on the list, actually.”

This time it’s Trevor who furrows his brow, “But she isn’t a lesbian. I asked her why she thought she was a lesbian a couple weeks ago and she said it’s because she thinks girls are hot and that she wouldn’t mind kissing them, but that’s normal. Like, I know a couple guys in my classes that I wouldn’t mind kissing or like fucking or something and I’m not gay or whatever. Everyone thinks like that.”

Wirt’s mind just fucking imploded on itself. He’s joking. He has to be joking. Oh fuck he is not joking. Oh dear. Wirt cringes to himself, “Oh Jesus.” he whispers, “Trevor, you do know that isn’t a universal thing, right? Like, you know not every guy would be fine with fucking another guy, right?”

“Wait, really?” Trevor asks, his voice quiet. Wirt simply nods and watches as Trevor seems to contemplate his whole existence in front of him. “But I’m not. My mom told me that I couldn’t be gay, I just needed to find the right girl and it would be fine. I don’t like guys like that, I’m not.”

Fuck, why does Wirt have empathy. If he was a dick he could just walk away from this situation and not feel a thing, but he can’t leave this guy in a crisis. Even if he did just beat his ass.

“Trevor, why do you like Sara?”

“She’s funny, and kinda cool, I guess. I just want to hang out with her more, plus my friends kept saying I should go for it, so I figured why not.”

“Dude, you just want to be her fucking friend. That’s, what you want is a friendship. Jesus dude, you don’t even actually like her do you?”

Trevor shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, she’s cool and everything.”

“Would you kiss her.” Wirt asks.

“What?” 

“Would you kiss Sara. Or any girl for that matter.” He asks again, slower this time.

Trevor rolls his eyes, giving Wirt a look that suggest the answer should be obvious, but when he opens his mouth, no words come out. It stays open for about ten seconds before he frowns. “No I. I wouldn’t” he lets out a dry laugh void of humor. “Holy shit, I fucking wouldn’t. What the fuck.”

Wirt sighs taking a few steps over to Trevor, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Go home, Trevor. You have had more than enough action tonight.” his hand slides off and he turns around to find the nearest bathroom, he about to round a corner when he remembers something and looks over at Trevor, who hasn’t moved an inch, “Try to refrain from using the f-slur before you figure out your whole mess, maybe?” He gives the other boy a quick smile before walking away.

The nearest bathroom is way too fucking far away, in Wirt’s humble opinion. And why are half of the lights off in these hallways? God, he feels like the character about to die in a horror movie. Thankfully, the light switch in the bathroom was easy to find so he isn’t completely in the dark.

He grabs some paper towels and wets them, and then he finally looks in the mirror. Jesus fucking Christ.

Trevor did a number on him, and if it were any other situation that required less brain power he would be kinda impressed. His nose is definitely broken, if the aching and gushing blood are any indicator, he’s got a black eye, a busted lip, bruises across his face and collarbone -and if the amount of times he was kicked in the stomach is as many as it felt, he’s got them there too- and, the cherry on fucking top, his suit jacket ripped a little bit.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he finishes wiping the blood from his face, but his nose is still bleeding. Pulling his phone out of his back pocket he finds two new messages. One from Sara, saying she scored with the girl from her chem class and that she has a date next Saturday, and one from Dipper saying they’ve finally stopped driving.

Wirt texts Sara back congratulating her on her suaveness that she most definitely didn’t have (see: nearly puked on a cute girl for complimenting her shoes once) before opening up his texts with Dipper and taking a picture in the mirror holding up a peace sign. He masterfully captions the photo: ‘babys first hate crime <3′. 

His phone rings immediately.

He picks up right away, and is greeted with a very frantic, “Where are you?” there’s faint music in the background, they must be at their dance right now.

“Uhm. The bathroom in hallway E, I think. Why?” Wirt asks, throwing away the bloody paper towels.

“We’re on our way.” Is all he gets in response.

“What? You’re in California how are you supposed to. Did he fucking hang up on me?” Wirt pulls his phone away from his ear, “Wow, okay.” He pockets his phone and stares at himself in the mirror for a few seconds. It’s gonna suck having to explain this to anybody, and he knows his mom will go full Godzilla mode on the school board if he tells the truth, but he can’t just out someone. Fuck, man.

The door to the bathroom swings open and two rapid sets of footsteps approach him, he’s almost expecting to be beaten up again until he’s turned around and hugged tightly. His confusion only lasts for a second when his land on Mabel, but then it flares up again because what the fuck that’s Mabel.

He pushes away from the person hugging him and is met with a person he both did and did not expect to see.

“Dipper.” He not shocked that Dipper did actually find hallway E, they broke in last summer to investigate if the place is actually haunted (it is), so he learned the layout pretty well in that instance, but he’s shocked that he’s even in the room. “Wait. Am I concussed? Is this a hallucination?”

“Er, wrong!” Mabel says, pushing Dipper out of the way and hugging Wirt tighter than a strait jacket. He lets out a sound of pain and she lets him go immediately. “Sorry! I forgot you’re like, dying right now.”

“Not dying, per se, but getting there if my nose doesn’t stop bleeding soon. I didn’t even know I had this much blood, if I’m being honest.” Mabel laughs a bit and wow did he miss that sound. He missed them, really. It’s always better when they’re around.

“What happened?” Dipper’s voice finally enters the conversation, and it makes his heart flutter but also reminds him the situation in which they’ve been reunited. Especially if the pissed off tone is anything to go by.

Wirt shrugs, “I got into a fight?”

Dipper gives him a look, “You called it a hate crime, before.”

Wirt laughs, “Yeah, I know. But it wasn’t, technically? I don’t know I’m still having trouble processing the whole ordeal. But I just got into an argument with Trevor, you know who I’m talking about, and he got really mad so he fucking beat the shit out of me and,” Dipper turns to walk out the door but Wirt pulls him back by the arm, “don’t walk away, I’m not done yet. He has a thing called IED, or something? He didn’t know the full medical name for it, but he said it had to do with like uncontrollable anger? Like it just happens or something.”

Dipper nods, “Intermittent Explosive Disorder.”

“Yeah, probably. But he felt really bad after, and I can’t blame him for having something he can’t control, dude. That would be a dick move. But yeah, we talked it out I guess. I think I just made him question the entire universe.”

Dipper sighs, still tense but loosening now, “So you called it a hate crime, because?”

“Well, I mean, okay. At first I thought he did it because I was gay, but from our little conversation we had after, it was definitely not that.” 

Both twins raise eyebrow, “Are you gonna give us any more info, or?” Mabel asks and Wirt just shrugs. Dipper lets out another, deeper sigh. He’s known Wirt long enough to know that little shrug means ‘never in a million years ever’. 

“What are you guys doing here, anyways? I mean, I’m happy you’re here, but I live in Arizona? It’s like an eleven hour drive.”

Dipper shrugs, taking Wirt’s hand. “Guess I missed the ‘Team Roping Capital of the World’.” he teases and Wirt groans.

“Shut up! You know I think that’s stupid as shit.” He says, and as the twins laugh at him he takes a second to admire his boyfriends face. Dipper always laughs freely, and Wirt thinks that’s one of the reasons he fell in love with the younger (”by two days!”) boy at summer camp. His hair isn’t in his usual baseball cap with a pine tree on it, and is styled just the right way to cover his birthmark. He looks happy, if not still tense about the fact that Wirt got his ass beat. An easy smile finds it’s way onto Wirt’s face as Dipper calms down.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Dipper says, leading him towards the door. Mabel follows quickly behind, flicking off the light. She runs ahead of them, twirling around the hallway and nearly falling over herself in the process.

“So, I know Wirt is gonna wanna bounce because he’s covered in human juice.”

“Stop calling blood human juice.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Dipper. But what are we gonna do when we skedaddle out of here?”

Both twins look to the brunette for an answer, he huffs as he tries to think of something. “We could get burgers and shakes at McDonald's? And then head home, probably. Greg’s gonna be super excited to see you guys.”

“Oh! I can’t wait to see him! We’re here for the next four days, by the way, god I can’t wait!” She pushes open the doors to the gym and the music floods over them. Jesus, was it always that loud? How long had Wirt been away from the party?”

“What time is it?” He asks Dipper, trying to ignore all of the strange looks that are being sent his way. He can’t blame them, it looks like he got mauled by a pack of wild dogs.

“It is, nine forty-eight.” The other boy responds, Wirt nods as they exit the gym into the parking lot. Dipper’s car is still as messy as it was the year before, if not more, but Wirt thinks that just adds to the charm.

Sara, who had apparently been in front of the gym the whole night, drops her punch at the sight of Wirt. “Oh my god! Wirt!” she rushes over.

“I’m fine, Sare. Really. It’s all good.” He gives her a smile, but she doesn’t stop giving him a look.

“Trevor did this, didn’t he? You know he came out here like thirty minutes ago fucking covered in blood and looked like he pissed himself when he saw me. So don’t cover for him.”

“I’m not covering for Trevor! There were circumstances that I don’t know if I’m allowed to share.” Wirt says, gesturing wildly with his hands, thankfully Dipper doesn’t seem to mind.

“Wirt, if he’s blackmailing you just tell me. I can fix it!”

“Sare, I appreciate the thought, but this is really something that should be left alone, alright? I might tell you on a different day, but right now it is confidential. No I’m not being blackmailed, if anything the information I got out of him after everything could be considered blackmail, just. Not tonight, okay?” He can tell she doesn’t want to give up but he really can’t explain all of this right now, “Please?”

She sighs, “Alright. Fine. But I expect a detailed report of what happened tomorrow morning.” Wirt nods and it’s then Sara finally notices the twins, “Oh. You found him. Cool, see you guys.” The twins giver he simultaneous ‘later’s’ and she walks back to the girl from her chem class.

Mabel moves to get in the front seat before she’s stopped by Dipper, “Ah ah ah!” he says, gaining her attention. He passes her the keys and she whines but moves to the other side anyways.

“You fucking suck, Dip-stick.”

“Sorry that I want to be able to comfort my boyfriend in the backseat of my own car and can’t do that when I’m driving.” he opens the back door and motions for Wirt to get in, and once they’re all set they drive to the nearest McDonald's.

Ordering food had thus been the easier part of Wirt’s night, but he’s hoping things will start going up from here.

The food sits in the passengers seat in the quiet car before Mabel presses play on the car stereo. Wirt immediately looks up from where his head was buried in Dipper’s shoulder, a smile crossing his face.

“Isn’t this the mixtape I made you?” He turns back to Dipper, absolutely beaming.

Dipper’s face is red, but he nods. “Yeah. I listen to it sometimes.”

“Liar! He listens to it all the fucking time. I have it memorized by now.” Mabel calls from the front. Dipper kicks the back of her seat, “Shut up! At least I don’t have an entire folder dedicated to pictures of him on my phone!”

“My Pacifica picture collection is none of your business! And you have like eight hundred Polaroids on him on your wall, don’t even try that shit with me!” 

Dipper’s rebuttal is cut off when Wirt presses a kiss to his cheek. The younger boy turns and immediately presses their lips together in a kiss. It’s soft because of Wirt’s busted lip, but it’s still incredible. It’s never not incredible when it’s the two of them.

Mabel makes fake barfing noises, causing Dipper to flip her off, causing Wirt to laugh. They pull up to the drive way, walk through the front door, and are immediately greeted by Greg. He rushes into Wirt, giving him a tight hug. Even at ten years old, Greg still has as much energy as he did at six.

“Welcome home, brother o’ mine. How was, whoa what happened to your face?”

Wirt ruffles his little brothers hair, “I got into a fight with a dragon, dude. I won, obviously, but my jacket didn’t make it out alive.”

“I can fix that for you.” Mabel says taking his suit jacket, she’s almost knocked over when Greg charges into her next which makes her laugh. “Hey there, space cowboy. I missed you too!” She pulls him into a tight hug twirling him around the foyer before setting him back down. Dipper gives him a hug as well, just as tight but without all the spinning, and then Greg’s attention is back on Wirt.

“Okay. Why was this dragon mad at you?” He asks. This had become their thing ever since The Unknown. They would talk as if they were still there, or at least like they were in a fantasy world, and explain things to each other that way. Wirt thinks it helps them cope, but it’s probably just a result of being some weird kids.

“Anger issues.” Wirt says. That’s way too simple a phrase for it, and he knows that, but Greg is nine. He can explain it another day, but this is now and it’s ten o’clock.

Greg gives him a goofy grin, “Alright!” he says, skipping into the kitchen. The three teenagers follow him, Dipper once again takes Wirt’s hand.

“What were you doing in here little man?” Dipper asks, noticing that all of the chairs at the edge of the kitchen.

Greg picks up Jason Funderburker, the frog, and smiles again. “Well, Wirt was at his dance, and I wasn’t allowed to go with, so I made my own! Mom and dad are out tonight, too so I can play is as loud as I want!”

Greg being allowed to stay home alone tonight was a big decision. Not because no one trusted him but... okay yeah no one trusted him. Plus, it was dangerous! But, tonight was their mom and Johnathan's ten year anniversary and his mom didn’t want him to miss out on his Senior prom -no matter how much he assured her he could live without having gone- so it was the only option. No one was available to babysit, again prom night, and they couldn’t exactly take their nine year old to a bar. It doesn’t look like anything is on fire or broken yet, so Wirt can say it’s been a success so far.

“Alright then,space cowboy, lets get this party started!” Mabel says as she turns up the music. The song is ‘You Really Got Me’ by The Kinks, how Greg knows this song Wirt has no clue, and it bounces off the walls echoing up the stairs.

Greg does his weird jump step thing that he’s been doing since he could walk. It’s literally just jumping side to side to music, with the occasional dangerously fast spin, but it’s not a bad move. Jason Funderburker looks sick from all of the motion and Greg stops his movement just to let the frog go.

Mabel has always been a crazy dancer, just jumping around, arms flailing, hair going everywhere from her shaking her head. She’s probably going to poke someone’s eye out one of these days, but at least she’s having fun. Or, maybe she’s trying to poke someone’s eye out. Either way, she’s having a good time.

Dipper makes sure his arm movements hit every beat, spinning around for the parts where there are no hard beats to hit but smiling nonetheless. He looks like an idiot, and he knows he looks like an idiot, but what’s the point in being around all of your favorite people if you can’t look like an idiot in front of them?

Wirt, not much a dancer in normal circumstances, is going all out right now. He’s much more graceful than Mabel is being, but other than that they’ve got practically the same vibe. Except that Wirt actually did hit Dipper in the eye on accident earlier, but that’s in the past now.

The song ends and another begins and that cycle repeats for an hour until they’re all too tired for it anymore. Wirt sits down in one of the chairs, looking out over the kitchen. Greg is sitting on the floor with Jason Funderburker while the twins argue over what terrible movie to watch simply to make fun of it.

They both turn, “Wirt,” Dipper says, “What do you think?”

Wirt smiles. Maybe Prom night isn’t so bad after all. 

[kalypsichor]

five’s a crowd [ beatles x reader ] part seven

summary: You’re not jealous of the fact that girls on Tinder love George, you’re not. John may or may not be sexually attracted to metaphors. Paul may or may not have a professor kink. Ringo is just vibin’ like always. Gigi Hadid terrorizes your dreams. Oh, and y’all finally get the McLennon sandwhich you asked for.

warnings: 2k words of the usual bullshit, some english major bashing, actually it’s just john bashing ( sorry @spaceyantique​ ), i love english majors, and miscommunication babey!

masterlist and parts one | two | three | four | five | six

i’m writing this draft at 3 am. it’s a new low for me. oh, and the poem mentioned in geo’s tinder is lyrics from ‘for you blue’

“Well, it is a flattering picture.”

You have to agree with Ringo. The two of you are perched on the couch, peeking over George’s shoulder at the Tinder profile. John and Paul are sharing the armchair, snickering at something. Probably another scheme. Bastards…

The photo is the one John had snapped a few days ago of George in the kitchen. He’s got this brilliant smile on his face, just having taken his first warm shower in weeks, and he’s gloriously naked from the belly button up. It’s a little blurry, but it captures George’s happiness—though you privately think that no picture could ever really do the boy justice. Take that, stupid Tinder girls.

“‘George.’” Ringo reads the bio out loud. “‘Twenty-one. Majoring in horticultural science, looking for a girl to put the ‘ho’ into it.’ This is terrible,” he says rather gleefully. George turns around and gives his friend a betrayed look.

“You missed the best bit. ‘I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. You looked at me, that’s all you had to do.’ What’s that?”

George goes stock still. Slowly, his head turns to John and you swear you can hear it creak like a door hinge.

“You.” The word shakes from his throat with a quiet rage. “You looked through mY DIARY???”

“YOU HAVE A DIARY?” Ringo screeches. Paul has the common sense to look a little frightened, but his boyfriend, who borrows a brain cell from Paul from time to time, does not.

“You write beautiful poetry, George,” John croons, and you have to physically hold George down to keep him from tackling the dumbass. Paul, getting flashbacks to the Shower Debacle, shudders.

You, on the other hand, are trying to wrap your head around the bio. Poetry? About who? That didn’t sound like it was about just anybody. Lucky girl, your mind hisses. Or boy. You immediately try recalling every single time George has brought up a classmate. Your brain sputters a bit and spits out an answer to one of the questions you’d skipped on your first midterm yesterday. Except now it’s fucking useless, isn’t it????

Ringo speaks, bringing you out of your downward spiral into insanity. “Hey, the app says you’ve got a match.”

Frowning, George taps on the notification. “But I haven’t even looked at anyone’s profile.”

“I did you a favor and swiped right a couple o’ times,” John says. George groans—no, the sound does not turn you on a little—and hangs his head forward. By ‘a couple,’ John must’ve meant a couple hundred, because George’s phone is blowing up. The only thing keeping George from hurtling the phone right into John’s smarmy little meerkat grin so hard that he shits pieces of it out for weeks is your hand on him. The warmth of it is radiating out from his shoulder to his chest and sweeping down to his toes. When you take your hand away a few seconds later, thinking it had overstayed its welcome, George has to try very hard not to sigh.

“This one is cute,” Ringo comments. The notification had read ‘Maureen Super Likes You!’ and the phone screen is now showing a pretty brunette, around your age, smiling up at George.

“Yeah, well, I’m not interested.”

He didn’t say she wasn’t cute.

“Wait, wait!” John scrambles out of his armchair, nearly pushing Paul off in the process. George’s thumb pauses where it’s hovering over the ‘delete’ button for the app. “Come on, Geo. You haven’t gone out in years. Like, since high school. Since… since…”

“Pattie,” Ringo says. You and Ringo hadn’t known the other three in high school, but, as always, he was good with names.

Pattie? George has never mentioned a Pattie...

“Yeah, Pattie!” John lights up. You wish people would stop saying her name. “Pattie Boyd. Man, she was a catch… I still remember her blonde hair. And those long legs. She looked like, uh… who’s that model?”

“Bridget Bardot.” Ringo, again.

Paul is mirroring the sour look on your face, though he obviously has a better reason for it.

“No, who the fuck is that? I meant Gigi Hadid. Isn’t that why you dated her?”

“She did not/” George protests. “And no, John, unlike some people, I care about more than just looks.”

At this point, Paul looks as though he’s about to cry. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m more than looks, aren’t I?”

“I didn’t mean you, obviously.” But George’s words are lost under John, who leaps back into the armchair and coos at his boyfriend.

“Macca, you know I love you for more than your looks. You’ve got that big old brain, and you’re the best artist in this whole school… it’s just a bonus you’re so pretty too.”

Paul seems satisfied by this. Stupid fucking English major. John could get anything his way with just a few words.

“John’s right, y’know.” You and Ringo mouth ‘y’know’ at each other and erupt into giggles. “You’ve got to put yourself out there more. You’re in your third year of uni and you haven’t even dated a single person. There’s only one more year before you’re out in the real world! And the sea will be much, much bigger then.”

George scowls, unimpressed by Paul’s little speech. “People aren’t fish, Paul. And I’m vegetarian, so I don’t condone catching them.”

“It’s a metaphor!” Paul cries, throwing his hands in the air. John nods and makes eyes at him as if metaphors were the sexiest thing in the world. He’s probably into that. English majors.

“You tell ‘em, babe.”

The doorbell rings, banishing any homicidal thoughts from your mind.

“That’ll be the takeout,” you say. George flies so quickly to the door, desperate to get out of the situation, that you feel a little gust of wind. You hear him say something to the delivery person and then he’s coming back into the living room, take out boxes in tow and a big smile on his face. Nothing makes the boy happier than food. And maybe leggy blondes that look like Gigi Hadid, your brain suggests, and you sigh.

For a good ten minutes, the conversation is put on hold. You’re all broke college students, after all, and getting Chinese is like a luxury.

“What’d you get?” you ask through a mouthful of food, looking over George’s shoulder. He’s sat back down on the floor in front of the couch again and he lifts the box up so you can see it.

“Veggies with fried noodles. You?”

“Same.”

“Twinsies,” George says solemnly, and you high five over it.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, John and Paul share an eyeroll.

“I got shrimp fried rice if anyone cares,” Ringo pipes up from next to you. You bump your shoulder into his.

“Of course I care, Ritchie. Wanna trade a shrimp for my broccoli?”

He nods and you both chopstick over the terms of the trade. George’s grin drops a little. John and Paul roll their eyes even harder.

After a while, having devoured their food like it’s the Last Supper, you’ e all pulled out your phones. You scroll through Instagram and send a funny post to the flat’s group chat, and everyone laughs simultaneously. Everyone except George, who… has opened Tinder again. Christ, how does he have so many matches?

Well, why wouldn’t he? He’s cute… and funny… and gives the best advice when you’re down…

And you’ll be sharing all that with some other girl if you don’t do something about it.

“Why do these girls keep asking about my teeth?”

You scoff, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. George’s sexy vampire teeth are yours and yours alone to appreciate, thankyouverymuch. “Probably have oral fixations, the lot of them.”

John does a whole body shudder and you all turn to stare at him. “Don’t fucking talk to me about Freud. That Psych course tore my GPA into shreds.”

“Right, like you care about your grades so much.” You lean back against the couch. “What was so bad about that class, anyway? I enjoyed it.”

“Professor Pang fucked me.”

“WHAT—”

“Fucked me over! Jesus, I dunno why my mouth just had a seizure there.” John cradles Paul’s face in his hands, trying to smooth away the frown on his face. “Paul, you know I didn’t mean it.”

“That’s a Freudian slip, that is,” you comment, sticking your tongue out when John turns to glare at you. Ringo starts humming Hot For Teacher under his breath. John leans over and smacks him.

“The only teacher I’ve got the hots for is you,” John says, turning back to Paul, and you and George make gagging noises. “Professor McCartney…”

“Professor?” Paul’s Pout (yes, with a capital P) turns into a grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“I think I’ve been bad… shall I serve detention for you?”

“Okay, just go!” You point towards their bedroom. “Please leave the immediate vicinity right fucking now.”

“I’m gonna hurl,” George says. The two horny bastards giggle and scurry off in the direction of your finger, door slamming behind them.

You go to bed that night with a belly full of noodles and a brain full of thoughts that keep you turning and tossing in bed. And when you finally do fall asleep, you dream about Gigi Hadid, cackling as she chases you around with George’s stupid little towel.

***

Your second exam the next day goes miserably.

Okay, maybe you’re being dramatic. It wasn’t that bad—you’d done a fair bit of studying that weekend, invigorated to overcome the Coffee Incident. Still, you couldn’t stop thinking about George the whole time, and him swiping through Tinder, and whoever the hell that Pattie girl is.

Okay, stop it. You can’t hate her for dating the boy you like. Us women have to support each other, the rational part of your brain tells you.

You grumble all the way back to the flat, fighting with the reasonable part of you. Eventually, you give in. Rational You is right. Hating on a chick you don’t know is what makes up eighty percent of Hollywood’s bullshit romcoms. Yes, you are going to be a good person and take the high route.

That all goes away when you open the door.

John and Paul are standing in the kitchen, whispering furiously to each other. You only catch the tail end of what they’re saying—

“-didn’t think he was actually going to do it!”

—before John sees you in the doorway and smacks Paul on the shoulder.

“Heyyy there,” John says. You immediately know something is wrong. You walk shut the door behind you and eye Paul’s smile warily.

“What are you two doing?”

“Erm, we were making a sandwich for you.” Paul gestures exaggeratedly at the plate on the counter, which John holds up at shoves in your direction.

“Yeah, we knew you’d need a little pick me up after the test.”

You look around the flat carefully. It’s awfully quiet. Ringo’s at his twelve o’clock lecture, but you should be able to hear…

“Where’s George?”

This slaps the smile right off of their faces and neither of the boys can put it back on quickly enough for you to not notice.

“He’s doing yoga,” Paul says at the same time John blurts out,

“He went to visit his mum!”

Paul glares at John and you feel something twist in your gut. “Yes, you see...” Paul looks frantically to the ceiling. God won’t help you out of this one. “George went to pick up his mum… and they’re at yoga together!”

You walk into the kitchen, crossing your arms. “Louise lives in Liverpool,” you say slowly.

“Yup,” John says.

“And the yoga studio is ten minutes away from our flat.”

“Yuuup.”

You can’t believe he’s still keeping this up. “And the drive from here to Liverpool is four hours. And George doesn’t have a car.”

“Yuuuuuuuuu—”

“Oh, I can’t take it anymore,” Paul cries, ignoring John’s frantic shushing. “George went on a date with that Maureen girl from Tinder. He’s at the coffee shop now.”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

You must’ve said this out loud, because Paul gives you a sympathetic look. After a long moment of silence, John once again offers you the plate.

“Sandwich?” he asks, trying for a smile that comes across more as a grimace.

You take the sandwich and throw it right into the trash, plate and all.