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hhjs · 4 years

Text

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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the-fae-folk · 4 years

Text

What is a Fairy?

I suppose they probably need some explanation, especially nowadays. Fairies (Faeries, Fay, Fey, Fae, or even Fair Folk) could be considered a type of mythical being. Some have described them as spirits, others as ghosts of the deceased, some deified ancestors, prehistoric precursors to humans, personifications of nature, pagan deities, or even angels and demons in the way of Christian traditions. Often they encompass a metaphysical aspect, being depicted as spirits or beings who transcend the physical universe and world that we know. Or given features of the Supernatural, such as magic or extrasensory perception, which allow them to violate or go beyond the laws of nature. Even sometimes Preternatural, which something abnormal or strange and explainable but still within the boundaries of the natural laws of the universe (for example I could say someone is a preternaturally good cellist, and mean that they are impossibly good beyond expectations or even belief, but I’m not saying that they are actually magical...just that their apparent abilities and how they gained them are unknown and very strange to me.) But what is a fairy? Well you already know what some of them look like. Many people might immediately picture Tinkerbell from the animated Disney feature film, or even from the original Peter Pan novel by J. M. Barrie. And they would be correct, in part. Tinkerbell is a depiction of a Pixie, a specific type of fairy. But there are lots of fairy types, I don’t actually think there’s a complete list. (I should probably try to make one at some point, but no promises.) During some points in history the label of fairy was used to mean magical beings who had a mostly human shape. Gnomes, leprechauns, goblins, pixies, dwarfs, elfs, etc etc etc. And at other points it also included non humanoid magical creatures such as Unicorns, Dragons, Kelpie, Basilisk, and more (Sometimes these were referred to as Fairy Creatures). So where did they come from? Well the funny thing is that Fairies don’t actually come from only one area or set of myths. They are a strange combination of the folklore from all over Europe (and possibly beyond) and include ideas and stories from Celtic, Scandinavian, Nordic, Germanic, French, and English Folklore and Mythology. As these stories were passed around and intermingled and changed they brought about the collective creatures we know today as the Fae or Fairies. The Renaissance, Romantic Era, Victorian Era, Edwardian Era, and even the Celtic Revival Movement of the 19th and 20th centuries all had their influences on the stories and ideas connected with the Fairy folk, some significantly less helpful than others. Even the Fantasy Literature Genre, with Tolkien at its forefront, has added and changed much about people’s view on these creatures. So lets talk about some basic things you’ll want to know when dealing with Fairies. The first thing you might want to remember is that many people view the Tuatha Dé Danann (Supernatural gods, goddesses, heroes, and kings of Irish Mythology) as being the source for Faeries, or at least one of the strongest influences. Celtic Folklore and culture is easily one of the most visible bits of Faerie lore that you can find these days, but there’s a lot more that starts showing up when you begin to dig. Another thing to note is that the Renaissance, Romantic Era, Victorian Era, Edwardian Era, and the Celtic Revival Movement had a massive influence on how people saw fairies. They would mix folklore from different areas of Europe, attempted to prove the existence of fairies through scientific means, created artistic depictions of fairies, and much more. Often they sanitized and shrunk the fairies until they were mostly harmless or relegated to the outskirts of human life as a curiosity. Which brings me to the next point. In a lot of older folklore, from all over Europe, fairy beings are often depicted as being incredibly dangerous. Kidnapping humans or human babies, causing crops to wither, water to dry up, food to rot. They could lure people in with magic into a fairy ring of mushrooms and make them dance forever or make them forget their life. Sometimes they even played with time itself. A person could dance with the fairies only to find that they’ve been gone a hundred years when they try to go home. And many beliefs have depictions of some kind of Otherworld, a world apart from our own, or layered over it like an extra dimension we are unable to perceive or directly interact with. Sometimes its a land of the dead or a hidden underground kingdom, other times is a strange and fantastical country with its own laws and ways of doing things. As these stories meshed together we got what is known as Fairyland. The land which the fairies dwell in. Though some believe they simply live on Earth, hidden in the wild, or among us. Some reoccurring ideas are often connected with fairies, though not all have stayed the same as the original lore they were born from. The idea that Faeries, for whatever reason, are unable to or will not lie. This is a very important idea because the Folk are also simultaneously depicted as deceptive. Like particularly vicious lawyers they will play with words, never quite lying, but purposefully leading you astray or tricking you into a bad deal. They will often obey an oath, promise, or deal exactly to the letter, but ignore the intent behind it in order to twist it to their own benefit or amusement. Whether or not fairies are immortal depends entirely on where you draw your folklore from. Sometimes they are immortal; deathless, not mortal. Unable to die in spite of starvation, terrible wounds, age, or anything else. They are bound to life for all time. But some stories depict the stranger Fae Folk as being Eternal. Beyond time, always having existed and always existing, sometimes cycling, sometimes directionless and boundless and everything. Some tough concepts to get your head around, but nobody really agrees which one fairies are. In some folklore they’re even depicted as mortal, same as you and I, but a lot longer lived and harder to kill. A reoccurring motif in older Folklore is the need of humans to try and ward off fairies with charms and totems. When they were not depicted as outright malicious and dangerous, sometimes being thought to cause illness and death or bring about disastrous misfortune or steal a person’s name and voice, fairies were still mischievous and valiantly unhelpful. So people had all kinds of lucky charms to protect from them: like four leaf clovers, various plants, or actions like wearing your clothes inside out to confuse them. Iron is said in many beliefs to burn them, and certain herbs they view as sacred and will refrain from touching the bearer. A few more things. Christianity plays an important part in this discussion, though many people don’t like that. In many places myths and legends were wiped out by Christianity, either intentionally or simply by the very fact that it was trying to convert people in Europe and old pagan beliefs were seen as nonsensical. But still stories persisted despite this. Many old Myths and Folkloric beliefs were recorded for posterity by Christians, and some stories were altered and we are unable to see exactly how much (Beowulf). A lot of fairy stories remained too, only Christianity painted them as fallen angels or even demons of a kind, who could be kept away from Holy Ground, or were forced to kidnap humans to pay a tithe to Hell (or be taken themselves if they couldn’t pay). So folk beliefs, though generally discouraged by the church as superstition, remained quite strong all over Europe for a very long time. The last three things you need to know. One, there are many people who still believe in Fairies, though their beliefs often vary, sometimes wildly. Witches who claim to work with them. People who believe in them through their religions (usually pagans and other non christian groups). People who claim to have encountered or been abducted by them. And many others. While I personally do not believe in Fairies (though I like to keep an open mind, just in case), I do believe that the beliefs, cultures, and and rights of these people ought to be respected. Which leads me to other mythical beings that are similar to Fairies but hail from cultures and peoples outside of Europe. It might be tempting to label some of the spirits from various Native North American Tribes or from Chinese Folklore (or many others) as fairies. Don’t do that. If Fairies are real, you have to consider that there might be other mythical beings who fall under different categories and groups. And even if they are not real, it is extremely disrespectful to the people of those cultures to take their stories, myths, beliefs, and folklore and try to mesh it in with European Folklore. (this is exactly what the Victorian and Edwardian Era were guilty of.) And finally... Some people might tell you that they know everything there is to know about Fairies. Don’t believe them. Even I, who have spent years and years studying European Faerie Folklore, find new things about them every day. I have sources I’ve found and haven’t yet had the time to look into, areas of study I’ve had to neglect. There is so much about Fairies to explore that it’s quite literally impossible for any one person to know all of it. Personally I’m doubtful that a single person can even know an eighth of it all, you can hardly imagine how much there is. And while there is a great deal of it buried on the internet, there is even more offline. Books which are out of print or have never had their contents uploaded, cultural stories passed down in various European groups which are saved from oblivion only by the oratory tradition, and the remains of all kinds of long dead or vastly changed civilizations who believed in the Fairies and tried to work with or avoid or appease them. All the misinformation and personal gnoses out there also make it a lot harder to find accurate information about traditional folklore. And that’s not even counting the multitude of inventions and ideas spawned by fictional literature surrounding fairies. There is simply too much. But of course... Since when has something being impossible ever stopped a human from trying anyway? If you’re still interested, then who am I to discourage you? Go, jump right in. There’s so much to learn about the Faerie Folk.

#what is a faerie #faerie #fairy #fae #folklore #mythology #european folklore #brief explanation #(hah. I've never been brief in my life. I'm not going to start now)

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mrslackles · 3 years

Note

what do you think are gg's biggest flaws?

Ooh, Anon! It’s like you’re in my head.

I’m busy making a video (that will probably never see the light of day) about this -- my distance from the show has really helped with some super objective clarity -- so I’ll use my notes from that to help me answer.

I’ll preface this by saying what I was most shocked by after putting down all the points was that Rio isn’t even mentioned until really far down??

Anyway, let's get into it.

These are Good Girls' greatest flaws in my opinion (and relative to season 1 -- while I think it had its flaws too, the list is far smaller and I think that's a separate post)

1. It didn't stick to its guns

What set this show apart from others in the 'Everyday person does crime (poorly)' genre was its comedic lightness, strong friendship element, relatability and emphasis on girl power.

a) By season 2, the lightness was already slowly disappearing to make way for season 3's darkness. (Quite literally; this show said sunlight scenes for WHO.) It also stopped being as fun. Remember how it genuinely used to be fun? I mean let's not forget The Best Scene Ever where Ruby shoots Big Mike by accident and we all laughed our asses off. (Compare and contrast to a similar-in-tone-and-context scene -- or even the whole episode -- like Boomer popping up behind them as Rio's package in season 3.) I think season 3 had some great lines and laughs, but in general, the fun element was completely missing for me.

b) As was the friendship. We already know Annie and Ruby basically became Beth's backup dancers in season 2, but at least then they still seemed to have some type of agency. In season 3, they rarely question Beth's (truly questionable) decisions, don't talk to her about shit like why she's still with her horrible husband and have very few true friendship moments as they did in season 1.

c) Which made it less relatable, but what also contributed was the major plot holes (it's less easy to relate when you're constantly having to remind yourself to suspend your disbelief). And, to be honest, their stupid actions. Just the most common-sense things weren't followed, like not taking your children to a crack den or not putting a hit out on a gang leader. It's frustrating watching a TV show -- where characters are supposed to learn things, have arcs and improve over time -- and feeling like you have more logical sense than all the main characters in every scene. (WHO would think a hitman was going to use a sniper rifle on people in broad daylight on the side of the road???)

d) You don't have to look any further than the title or the stans who shout "THE SHOW IS ABOUT THE GIRLS" -- or, hell, the first 10 seconds of the show where Sara is literally talking about the glass ceiling -- to know that the main characters being women is very important to the show. If not formally feminist, it was at least supposed to be empowering or feel like "girl power" (a term I hate, but we won't get into that now).

And I think it did it pretty well in season 1 -- it actually played on my favourite theme of the show, which is the world's perception of these women being what ultimately allows them to get away with so much. (Rife with opportunities for commentary about white privilege, but also a genius way to upend patriarchal beliefs.) But more and more it seemed like the show was asking you to accept empowerment as simply "these things are being done by women, yay".

And, well.

2. Its marketing

I'll keep this one short because I think we all know how messed up this situation is. Basically they're selling a show (every week!) that they're not making while ignoring all feedback on every social media platform. Which brings us to...

3. The marriage of Death

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times -- Beth's character development starts with getting rid of Dean. Her growth is stunted by him on multiple fronts and it's frustrating to viewers since she's constantly put forth as the main character. Not to mention how the audience, separately from Beth, was originally conditioned to see Dean as the scum of the earth (think of scenes like him crashing his car because he was perving on a woman jogging) so keeping them together is really... a choice. To actively root for this marriage (which seems like what the show wants, at least for the protracted moment) means either thinking Dean is a great person (which, as I said, we've only seen the opposite of) or believing he's all Beth deserves. Which leads me to...

4. Beth's (socio)path(y)

Is sociopath a 'good' word? Probably not. Have I seen dozens upon dozens of posts talking about whether Beth is one? Yes. And I see it from a huge variety of people -- from viewers who just binged the show last weekend to those who've been watching for years, the question keeps coming up. And I entirely blame the writing of the show that, by the way, I don't believe is deliberately creating Beth to get this reaction. I think she's written (and, to an extent, acted) in a way that is much too aloof and I'm not convinced it's meant to come off as cold and unfeeling as it does. Everything else leads me to believe that the audience is supposed to root for Beth, but it's just so difficult.

Beth does a lot of messed up shit that requires dialogue to sympathise with her and the inner workings of her mind, but in the later seasons Beth rarely gets to express herself verbally. And every time she does get to speak about her emotions, the dialogue is a pick-your-own-adventure between "She's in so much denial", "This person feels no emotions" and "I'll go find an analysis/fic later to explain this" (scenes like "Nothing" or "I was just bored"). Compare and contrast with some of the great scenes in season 1 where she emotes, like her paralysing shock after they first rob the store or admitting she enjoys crime, or (one of my favourites!) the one in the park where she's mimicking the other mothers beside her.

5. Brio

I said in the beginning that I was shocked Rio doesn't get mentioned until this point and that's because I've always felt like he was an integral part of the show. When people say the show is about the girls, they're truncating -- the show is about the girls getting into crime. That crime is represented by Rio over and over again -- they never bring in another criminal at his level (which is another one of its flaws, but that's also a different post); Rio is it.

And though I stand by Rio's importance, the truth is that Brio isn't as essential to the show, by which I mean that if all of the above were done well, it wouldn't be as sorely missed. In lieu of riveting plot, a fun friendship, character development and empowerment, most viewers have glommed onto Brio like a lifeboat (or ship, heh).

Unfortunately it's also what the show has most stubbornly refused to develop significantly.

It's honestly a toss-up for why I feel Brio is a flaw: is the flaw that they got together? That they never got together well enough? That the writing keeps bringing in these 'chemistry-filled' scenes that are ultimately filled with air?

I don't know. Maybe all of them; maybe just one, depending on the day.

6. Its criticism falls flat without intersectionality

This is a big one because Good Girls is *trying* to do something very clever. As mentioned previously, my favourite theme of the show is how the women's apparent innocence/vulnerability in the eyes of society is their biggest strength. The show plays with this and other interesting themes with varying levels of success, but ultimately they all fall a little flat when they don't feel intersectional.

When Ruby gets sidelined. When Turner, who sees and all but calls out by name Beth's privilege, is portrayed as the villain. When Rio is told he's gonna "pop a cap" in his young child's "ass". When the racist grandma becomes a sympathetic character whom we must later grieve. (And she really didn't have to be racist, now that I think about it? It was just that one line for laughs and that was it.) When, despite the real-world implications, Dean can loudly announce in a store that he's buying a gun to kill someone with and the show just glides past it. When Ruby has to grovel for forgiveness from Beth for trying to protect her husband and family from the system, with no acknowledgement from Beth about how their realities are different. When Rhea gets booted off the show as soon as she's done serving Beth's plot. When Rio gets treated like a prostitute for absolutely no reason. (Oh, and is accused of raping Beth and is literally spoken of as an animal and starts only existing in zero dim lighting as a one-dimensional stereotype... the list goes on.)

7. PR/The actors

I'll risk my life here to sprinkle this in because I do think it's a massive problem. The Manny/Christina of it all is just the tip of the iceberg (although wtf Good Girls? There's nothing you could do to get these two into an interview together??). The main actors do the bare minimum to promote the show and it's weird. I also think it's the height of unprofessionalism to keep characters on the show against the wishes of the majority of the audience just because you enjoy their actors (Boomer confirmed; Dean highly suspected). While, on the flip side of the coin, limiting a character's screentime because you aren't best buddies with them. Having less and less Rio when he's such a fan favourite is dumb; as is not including him in any series marketing material. It feels personal and that isn't how a TV show should be run.

8. The entire hair and wardrobe department needs a stern talking-to

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kuronokiseki · 3 years

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A Few Years Had Passed, the BL Genre has Changed Alot... Yet I Still Love Romantica

But seriously, if you love something, is it necessary to have a reason? xD Can't I love something merely because I want to? Like, you don't need to have a reason to like fried chicken amirite?

Ahem. Anyway. Long post ahead.

First of all, it's merely because of a certain shot.

After seeing this for the first time, I was like "This is going to be one of my faves for sure. I'll enjoy every seconds of it. I believe this is a story that I will never forget. I'll constantly look forward to knowing the two and their story more and more."

Proud to say, this still rings true even now!

I have already listed the reasons why I love them so much, so I won't do it again in this post. But for this time, I'll explain why I still love them even after several years, even after I've transitioned from a teen to an adult which would affect my tastes over time, even after I've seen more BL works... even after knowing that there are things that other BLs managed to pull off better.

Flashbacks to the 2000s which I assume was the golden age of this series, where it was the only "watchable" BL anime back then and Sakurai Takahiro did a phenomenal job in portraying Misaki. Almost all of the fujos in internet would at least have heard of this series, and naturally it was massively beloved that 90% of the fujos would hold it as the no. 1 in their top BL list. However, since it is popular, of course there will be a fraction of people who strongly hate it because of a certain scene. Hence, citing it as the epitome of toxic BL lmao.

But of course, things will constantly change as time passed, just like how it's growing evident that BL is only consumed by cishet women is a huge myth, as queer men themselves have started to voice their love towards the genre as well. And it is also possible for ppl who aren't interested in men to enjoy BL, such as the straight guys, lesbians, and asexuals.

Likewise, BL itself is also evolving - newer ones are more aware about the idea of consent although some may still clueless of how healthy relationships work (relationship is more than just sex!). While this may sound subjective, technically there are more and more quality BL works to consume nowadays. In case you are bored with the slice-of-life BL, there is a plethora of fantasy and horror BL out there to choose, moreso when you're aware of webnovel sites like Syosetu. Isekai BL? They're out there.

And it isn't just from Japan, China and Korea are also capable of producing good BL as well. Even BL is getting praised for the more genuine M/M representation compared to how it's generally done in the West (coughcough performative diversity coughcough).

And it doesn't stop there. The series doesn't even need to have a BL label, the MC can still be gay, and the gay romance can still happen despite the plot not centering around that.

There should be no reason to think that it isn't possible for two men to fall for each other nowadays, the teases shouldn't amount to nothing, which alot of non-BLs were guilty of back then. Well, I'm talking abt series that would tease two male characters together but the creators will allow them to be anything but gay for each other. The only time you'd see them as canon gay is in doujins or fanfics.

Hence, you'd only get canon gay couples from series that have been labelled as BL. Luckily, it's no longer a reasonable thing to do in 2021 onwards.

So, thanks to this new golden era of BL or LGBTQA+ representation, since there are so many quality works to indulge yourself, the Junjou Romantica series is getting outdated. I believe alot of the new generation haven't even heard of it ahahaha. When compared to other BL, I'll admit that Junjou won't even fit to be the best or the worst. I'm not saying that Junjou is bad, but it's simply because there are so many BL works now compared to in 2000s. To the point I bet they would discover Junjou because of sheer luck.

Now, I'll get to the point. Why I still love Romantica through these years? Well, just because there are more and newer BLs, doesn't necessarily mean that it is better. While it's true that there are stuff that other BLs do better such as the plot, the characters, and the art, there's something that Romantica does better than others too, in my opinion. That is, Misaki and Akihiko's dynamic.

I love how Misaki and Akihiko are characters of their own whilst loving each other very much. In many BLs I've seen, the dynamic doesn't feel equal, where the MC is generally too busy to think about the ML most of the time (to those who are unfamiliar, it's referring to the main love interest), whereas the ML serves no other purpose to the story other than being the MC's love interest. In comparison, as the MC, Misaki's POV is always 90% USAGI-SAN USAGI-SAN USAGI-SAN in every chapter although he faces different problems every single time. As for Akihiko, yea he loves Misaki so much but his character arc isn't limited to that. As outdated as the series would be, this aspect of their relationship, will always be timeless to me.

I've grown to love them so much, that I'll get happy from merely seeing them. Yea I do understand that others will get disappointed of the slow and repetitive plot, the bad art, not to mention after waiting for months for the update, spending money to get it... but all I think when looking at new acts is "OMG it's my babies I miss them so much T-T".

So yea, that's it. I don't ask much, I just want to see Misaki and Akihiko, and nothing more.

#junjou romantica

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kiirokero · 4 years

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Seashell (KNJ)

Pairing: Merman!Namjoon x MarineBiologist!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Merman!Au, Strangers to friends to lovers

Word Count: 4,393

Summary: Working as a marine biologist was a dream. You loved the ocean and its creatures, and one of those creatures loves you back. What happens when things go sideways and you have nowhere else to go besides to the one person who felt like home?

Warnings: Slight allusion to animal mistreatment.

Note: This took way too long...

You breathed in the fresh salty air of the beach; it stung your nostrils pleasantly as you sighed, content laced in the action. The sunset on the horizon was beautiful, decorating the soft sand and calm waters delicately. Every day after work, you would walk down from your house that was up the hill, towards the soothing beach you saw every day. You could clearly see your small beachside house from the shore, making the rarely visited beach that much more intimate.

Just like always, you played along the shore like a little kid. Drawing things in the sand, splashing around in the shallow waters, collecting seashells. It was just the thing you needed after a long shift at work. The sand between your toes and the salty air in your hair calmed the tension you had from the hours before. Being a marine biologist wasn't easy, especially when you were constantly getting into arguments with your boss over the health and safety of the local coral reef. He always said it wasn't a huge priority, but in imminent danger or not, you felt it needed to be protected more.

"Why can't he understand that it's better to protect it now rather than later?" You grumbled, taking a seat on a rock that breached the barrier between shore and ocean. A cliff stretching overtop half-way, giving the area a cave-like feeling. You walked to the edge and put your feet in the cool water, smiling as the familiar tide of the salty water caressed your skin. You splashed the water around, watching the deep blue swirl in a smooth dance, the deep orange light of the lowering sunset blushing the surface with blinding sparkles. It mesmerized you. So much so, that when you felt something brush up against your feet, it gave you a heart attack.

You shot your feet out of the water and slid away from the edge of the rock. Breathing unevenly as you looked down at your feet for any abnormalities. After you calmed down, you chuckled at yourself for overreacting, "Gosh, it was probably just seaweed... Scardy cat." You moved back towards the edge, peering into the deep blue, tumbling backward when a sudden splash caught you off guard. You shrieked, falling on your back, groaning at the sudden, sharp pain it caused.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" You heard a deep voice say, you sat up and looked at the source of the mysterious speaking. Eyes landing on a muscular man with honey tan skin. Deep, sparkling brown eyes. Wet dark blue hair saturated with water. But what caught you off guard the most was the fin-like appendages protruding from the man's forearms, resembling those of a fish, the shape familiar to you as you saw the same appendages on the little creatures you interacted with on a day-to-day basis.

You didn't even realize you weren't moving or speaking until he spoke up again. "Um... Hello? Are you okay?" You blinked before nodding a 'yes', not trusting your words flow out of your mouth. He gave you a smile, and you didn't miss the beautiful dimples that adorned his equally beautiful face. He placed his hands on the edge of the rock and pushed himself out of the water, landing on the edge with a thud. You gawked at his toned body and strength. If only you knew what to expect when you looked down.

Your eyes almost fell out of your head when you saw that instead of legs, the man had a beautiful blue tail. Scales shining in the light as they effortlessly flowed down the limb. Scales also dotted around his abdomen, creating a satisfying transition from human to sea creature. The man noticed you staring and chuckled, the sound deep as it vibrated against your ears.

"Never seen a merman before?" He teased.

"M-merman?" You echoed.

"Yeah, you know, half fish half man."

"You guys are real?!" You shrieked.

"Ouch, yes, of course we're real."

You realized your harsh words and quickly apologized, "I was just surprised is all... This isn't a prank... right?" You cautioned. He shook his head and motioned you to come closer, which you did. Something was telling you the man should unsettle you, that you should scamper back to your house, locking the door, far away from the mystery man. But another part of you trusted him. Maybe it was the fact he resembled a human, or maybe it was the curiosity of the marine biologist in you, you weren't sure.

The man gently took your hand and placed it on his tail. You let out a quiet gasp as the familiar feeling of fish scales met your fingertips. No doubt it was entirely fishlike, the way it felt semi slimy but smooth. He took your hand again and put it on the fin that was attached to his forearm, and yet again, it felt just like a fish, down to the T.

"Believe me now?" He asked.

"Y-yeah," You nodded, "I'm Y/N by the way..."

"Namjoon."

"Nice to meet you, Namjoon."

You didn’t go back to the beach for a couple days, scared to face the reality that you thought was just a dream. But it wasn’t, the pain in your back told you otherwise. Merman. The word ran through your head over and over. Merman. The creature that originally made you curious about the ocean was real. It breathed, swam, talked.

How was this even biologically possible? You always thought that if Merfolk were real, they’d be bald for less traction in the water, have more scales than skin, no nose even. But Namjoon was handsome. Like a siren. His skin had this beautiful honey glow and he seemed to be sculpted by Poseidon. He had the looks of a god, yet when he smiled he turned into a cutie.

You sat on your back porch thinking about him, the setting sun a familiar memory. Why are you thinking about him? You wanted to say it’s because you're a scientist and he interests you biologically, but deep down, you know that’s not the truth. He interests you as a person. How could someone so good looking be so shy and clumsy?

You sighed, opting to go see if he was there at the rock. It wasn’t a long walk; you got there in no time, but the place seemed to be vacant. Nothing but you and the waves brushing up against the rocks. It was quite calm today, calmer than normal, which made you want to stay here for a bit. The sight was familiar, the setting sun, orange rays, sparkling ocean. You took a deep breath, humming at the distinct smell of sand and salt. It was always so lovely.

“You’re back.”

Surprisingly, you didn’t jump six feet in the air when you heard his voice, you just calmly turned your head to the side. There he was in all his tan glory, the setting sun making him look ethereal. “Yeah... I am.” You sighed. “I thought I scared you away...” Namjoon said gloomily, swimming over to where you dipped your legs in the water. You didn’t say anything back, what could you say? ‘Hey, you’re literally defying everything I learned in college and I don’t know what’s true anymore’? That was one reason, but the most damning one was, ‘You interest me as a person, and nobody interests me. It’s scary how we seem to click.’ How do you say that?

“I... don’t scare you, do I?” Namjoon asked, making sure to keep some distance between the two of you. “You don’t have to be scared, I’m not dangerous.” You giggled at his words. No, you didn’t think he was dangerous, if he wanted to kill you he would’ve done it earlier. What was dangerous is the way you want to be around him. You wanted to make him smile, you wanted to get to know him. You never felt that with anyone else. It was dangerous how much you wanted to have him as a friend. “I know that, but finding out that Mermen exist was a shock.” You partially admitted. “I guess it would be for anybody.” He chuckled. “But you came back.” He pointed out.

“Yeah, I did.” He swam closer, testing if you were going to push him away. “Why?” He whispered. You bit the inside of your cheek, you were never good at lying, and he’s asking the question you desperately wanted to answer with a lie. But you couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like you weren’t a selfish human. “I’d like to say it’s because the scientist in me is curious about mermen.. But the truth is, you just interest me as a person.” Namjoon was silent for a bit, contemplation clear on his face.

“You’re a scientist?” He finally said. “Marine Biologist.” You clarified. His eyes lit up, and in his excitement, jumped up on the rock and cupped your face in his soft hands. “So you like the ocean?” He gasped and you swore you could see stars in his eyes. “Yes, I love the ocean and everything about it.” You chuckled. “Then we’d be great friends!” His smile was huge and you couldn’t help the urge to poke one of his dimples.

Friends... Could you be friends?

"Not fair, fish boy!" You yelled. "Oh, it's totally fair!" Namjoon retorted, splashing you with water once again, using his massive tail to his advantage. It felt like getting hit by a tidal wave. "You play so dirty!" You complained, sending a splash towards him, weak compared to his tsunami. It had been two years since your first encounter with Namjoon. The day you went back to the beach again, the two of you talked and got to know each other. At first, you planned to go home and finally forget about him, but after a lot of begging, Namjoon convinced you to come back, and then it became a habit.

Namjoon swam up to you and pulled you close into his arms. He usually did this when he saw you were tiring from keeping yourself afloat. "You're not fair." You huffed as you rested your head on his chest. You heard him laugh, deep and smooth, causing you to smile. Namjoon became your only friend since you could never connect with the people you interacted with daily. He would bring you shells, pearls, flora, and much more. Your house looked like a beach itself.

"I'm so lucky I found you, Y/N." Namjoon sighed, you looked up at him and smiled, "What makes you say that?" You tilted your head to the side, awaiting a response. "You're just so.. awesome. You teach me things about humans and you've always been there for me. My brothers have heard so much about you that your name is a regular topic in our house." He admitted. He had mentioned his brothers before, all 6 of them. You always laughed at the funny stories that Namjoon would tell you about the energetic Jungkook or the grumpy Yoongi. Confining in you whenever he had a fight with his older brothers, mostly Seokjin, and you sat there as he complained about his younger brother's shenanigans.

"Your sure they're fine with you hanging around with a human?" You questioned jokingly. Namjoon threw his head back and groaned, knowing the question all too well. You used to ask seriously, honestly worried about him, but after the eighth time, it just became a joke to annoy the merman. "I'm not answering that." He grumbled. You couldn't hold back your laugher and Namjoon begrudgingly joined you, laughing along.

You couldn't help but admire Namjoon. His pretty eyes, cute dimples, plump lips, everything about him screamed perfection. His muscular arms and toned body always seemed to make your legs weak, his smile made your heart thud, and his personality mirrored a charming prince. You always admired him, and it scared you.

"Y/N, you're staring~" Namjoon's sultry voice caught you off guard, you quickly looked away, hiding your red face in embarrassment. "You're adorable!" He mused as he poked your cheeks, causing you to whine and swat his hands away, "Stoopp," You complained. He chuckled and pulled you close, stroking your hair, making you look up at him.

The look in his eye was comforting, homely. It made your heart soft, wanting to melt into the warmth of his tan chest, to fall asleep to the melody of his breathing. You missed feeling warm. You missed hugs. You were touch starved and this god of a merman was giving you what you needed. Even if the two of you said nothing, the only noise filling your ears that of the ocean's wave, it wasn’t awkward. It was never awkward with Namjoon.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked.

Until now.

"W-what?"

"Can I kiss you? Do humans not kiss?" He tilted his head like a lost puppy.

"Y-yes humans kiss, but why do you want to kiss me?" You blushed.

"I like you. I really like you." He admitted.

"Don't play jokes, Joon..."

"But it's not a joke, I really do! I love your hair, your voice, your eyes, the way you scrunch your nose at the mention of sea kelp ramen." You scrunched your nose, and he giggled, "Yeah, like that, so, can I seal my confession with a kiss?" He asked, a silent plead hiding in his eyes.

Your brain was frying, thrown for a loop. Yes, you found Namjoon majorly attractive, not just in looks, but in personality. How he could go on and on about the botanical world of the ocean. How sometimes he was clumsy with the huge blue appendage that he’s dealt with for years, yet still fumbling over it from time to time. How he spoke so lovingly of his brothers.

However, you were a human; he was a merman. You had two legs; he had a tail. How was it supposed to work? How could you give him everything he needs? You couldn’t hold him at night, you couldn’t go on dates, you couldn’t even see each other unless it was here.

But you were selfish. You were selfish and wanted to be with him, despite all the reasons why you shouldn’t. Why you should back up and tell Namjoon that it could never work, that you couldn’t be the one for him. But you were selfish, and you nodded your head, pushing down the bubbling guilt you felt in your chest when you saw him smile. It was blinding.

He leaned in and you felt his plump lips meet yours, fitting together like a puzzle piece. It was soft at first, gentle as if your lips were glass, easily broken. He wrapped his other arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He tilted his head to kiss you deeper, pressing his warm lips against yours eagerly, desperately wanting to imprint the shape of your lips in his mind, remember the curve of your cupids bow and the warmth that made his heart beat faster.

If you were standing, your sure your knees would’ve wobbled with the way his soft touch sent your heart soaring. You couldn’t focus on anything but him, the merman in front of you. His slightly calloused fingers rubbing circles on the small of your back, his tail wrapping its way around your legs, his wet hair dripping salt water down your face.

His arms flexed as he gripped your waist tighter, waiting to keep you there, flush against his body forever. Nothing but the two of you and the ocean, lovingly caressing you with its calm waves. The thoughts of the long-term nothing but ghostly whispers, lingering in the back of your mind. You wanted to stay here forever, in his muscular arms, wrapped up in his beautiful tail.

Unfortunately, you had to breathe, so you pulled away, huffing to make up for the lost oxygen. You looked up at Namjoon, eyes half lidded. "Wow," Namjoon sighed, "I want to kiss you forever," You giggled and buried your head in his chest. "Can we... be a thing?" He asked, hesitance laced in his voice. It was a question you secretly dreaded, because you knew you couldn’t refuse him."As long as your brothers are fine with you dating a human." You teased. Attempting to swallow your guilt.

"Y/N I swear to god."

Today was a rough day, and that’s putting it lightly. You woke up feeling amazing, the memories of your fun with Namjoon still fresh, even if it was yesterday. However, when you stepped into work, things turned sour.

You never had a terrible relationship with your co-workers per se... But you weren’t a people person either. You found it hard to have a conversation with someone who you just didn’t click with, unlike Namjoon. Though, you weren’t expecting this.

It was no secret the company you were working for was going under. They just never seemed to make the right decisions, always favoring money over their actual job. Protecting and researching sea life. It ended up being there downfall after a lawsuit ended up on their way too shiny desks. You don’t know exactly what happened, but pieces of information made its way through the grapevine.

Apparently, they made another greedy decision. The local sea otter population was dwindling slowly. Sadly, you’d see less and less of the little guys. It was the company's job to humanely capture and help the otters, eventually releasing them when scientists, like you, found out why they were dying. Humanely was the key word. A key word they didn’t pay attention to when a cheaper, crueler way of capturing the otters arose.

You already felt shitty. If only you’d known, you could’ve done something about it sooner. However, you were at the bottom of the food chain. Your job was to utilize those years of college to research these animals. Everyone knew you were always extra caring towards these creatures. How could you not be? They had no idea what was happening, you at least wanted to ease their anxiety in the form of positive reenforcement.

Little bits of fish here and there, pets for the animals that you could touch, giving the water bound creature the extra large tanks. It was the least you could do. You always wanted the animals to feel okay, because they shouldn’t be away from home in the first place. But your ways of comfort caused time, and money.

Which was the perfect reason for your boss to lay you off. Of course it was a coverup, they needed to let employees go, to keep their money, you understood that. But they couldn't do it without a sound reason, So, when you found out all of your co-workers threw you under the bus to save their own asses from getting fired, it infuriated you.

How could they? What did you do to them? Nothing. It was a dog eats dog world here, and you knew it from the beginning. It was obvious most of the people here were in it for the hearty amount of money being a marine biologist could get them, not for the animals.

You didn’t know what to do, the closest place that would hire you was 30 miles away, meaning you’d have to move. You’d have to leave without Namjoon, and that broke your heart. The thought of not seeing his dorky face every day after work tore your heart apart. This is what you get for being selfish. The universe was turning on you, making you feel the pain of heartbreak and the hopelessness of your world crumbling before you.

Soon, you find yourself sitting on the rock that is full of memories. Some good, some bad. Like the time the two of you had your first argument, idiotically about who knows more on sea life. Or the memory where Namjoon gifted you a seashell necklace that you still wear till this day, you never take it off. The sudden sound of splashing water tore you out of your thoughts.

“Darling!” Namjoon’s warm voice flowed through the air, blessing your ears with some sort of comfort. He smiled at you, his cute dimples showing, giving you the urge to poke them. However, his smile faltered when he saw the tear stains tainting your cheeks.

“Seashell, what’s wrong?” He called, heaving himself up on the rock. Seashell, the nickname made you smile. You never thought it could be a pet name, but Namjoon seemed to make it work, insisting he’d use it since they were your favorite thing to collect and the ones he gave you sat proudly on a designated shelf.

“It’s been... A bad day.” Your voice came out rough and shaky. Namjoon reached out to you, pulling you into his arms. He was wet, and the water saturated through your nice work clothes, but you didn’t care. You wanted to be selfish again and have Namjoon hold you before you told him the news. News that would not only shatter you, but Namjoon too.

Tears flowed out of your eyes as sobs wracked through your body. You wrapped your arms around Namjoon’s semi-scaly waist and held him closer, desperately wanting to burn the feeling of his warmth into your mind. Namjoon let you cry before trying to calm down your frantic breaths. “Hey... Y/n. Breath darling. Calm down.” Namjoon whispered to you, resting his forehead against yours.

“Breathe with me.” He ran you through a basic breathing exercise. In through your nose, out through your mouth. After you calmed down, you felt the pressure building up behind your eyes and you dreaded the headache that was to come tomorrow.

“There you go.” Namjoon smiled, pulling you into a chaste kiss. “Now, talk to me, seashell.” You weakly smiled, gathering the remnants of your courage that laid in pieces around you. “I...” You took a deep breath, “I got fired today...” You choked out, almost breaking down again. Namjoon cupped your face and rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone. “Oh, darling...” He pulled you closer to him once again, holding you tight. “But... That’s not all...” You murmured into his chest.

Namjoon pulled you away, giving you a look that said ‘Carry on.’ “T-The closest place that can hire me is 30 miles away...” The tears started coming back. “And... And that means I would have t-to leave but... Joonie, I don’t want to leave...” You choked down a sob and buried your face back into Namjoon's chest. He said nothing as he held you closer, silently comforting you the best he can.

You can tell by his slumped body language that he was feeling hurt, lost, heart broken. Your selfish actions have led to somebody’s despair and it made you sob harder. Guilt wracked its way through your body, and you collapsed in his hold. “Come with me...” Namjoon whispered, petting your hair.

You shot your head up, looking Namjoon right in the eye. “W-What? I can’t Joonie. I’m not like you...” He held your hands and started scooting towards the edge of the rock. “Yoongi hyung! He can help!” He exclaimed with a newfound hope. “How?” You chuckled somberly at the excitement in Namjoon’s eyes. “He’s what we call a sea witch. Remember when we talked about them one day?” You nodded, remembering how you glowed like a child when you found out about Merfolk magic. “Yoongi hyung might know a spell... To help us.” He lowered himself into the water, placing his hands on your knees.

“What are you saying Joon?” You pressed. “I-I don’t want to lose you... So... I want to be selfish and take you with me.” He sighed, eyes a mix of intangible emotions. You froze, Namjoon? Selfish? Never. He was the most selfless person you’ve met. Always willing to help you, hold you, gift you things, make time for you. If you’d ask him to pull a scale and give it to you, he’d do it in a heartbeat to make you happy.

You were the selfish one, knowing that one day you’d have to part ways. Falling in love with someone who felt like the home you lost long ago. You were the selfish one for giving in, for desperately wanting happiness, even if you knew it would hurt everyone in the end, Life throws wrenches in your road all the time, but you still let him fall in love with you. You let him kiss you, hug you, hold you, all for your selfish desire to be loved. “Your not selfish, Joon...” You sighed, and he gave you a soft smile.

“Yoongi knows this transformation spell. He showed it to me a month ago... I thought maybe it could help us... Be together.” Namjoon was desperately dancing around the subject, but the hints he gave you were enough. “He can turn me into a mermaid?” You gasped, Namjoon nodded, taking both of your hands in his, kissing each one.

“I-If you want to...” He stuttered, nervous. If you wanted to... Did you want to? What did you have to lose? You don’t have a job, or friends... What about family? You're a single child to deceased parents, the only connection you had with your family was the New Year's postcards you got from your second cousin who seemed adamant about keeping it peachy with everyone who has your family's blood.

So what did you truly have to lose? If you went off the grid, who would look for you? Would they care enough to look for you? Your cousins are all married with their own lives, and your aunts and uncles only seemed to acknowledge you when they disagreed on your political opinions. The only person who ever made you feel loved in a way you lost when your parents passed was the merman, who looked on the brink of tears, floating in front of you.

If you went with him, you had nothing to lose, so why refuse?

“Go get the grumpy old man. I’ll be here.”

“Really? You’ll come with me?” Namjoon gasped.

“Yes.” You smiled.

“I love you so much, Seashell.”

“I love you too, Joonie.”

#bts #bts fic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts merman au #kim namjoon #namjoon #bts namjoon #namjoon x reader #oneshot #s2l #strangers to lovers #bts imagines #bts one shot #im not good at tags #namjoon fic #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic

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ideahat-universe · 2 years

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This is what peak performance looks like.

So the next chapter of Poppy's Playtime came out and it looks good. Well, good for the genre. We have yet to get a serious fnaf style horror that is a full fledged game, most if not all of them are just puzzle games with stealth or resource management elements which is fine!

Most of us aren't playing those games so why bother doing more than the minimum?

I am aware of the controversies surrounding it which is a shame although it's apparently a standard and not an exception.

Fnaf has it's controversies, we all know what they are so lets not get into it, Hello Neighbor was a massive disappointment (I remember when their kickstarter failed, I actually asked them if they were throwing in the towel and they replied saying that they weren't going to give up so good on them regardless), Bendy and the Ink Machine is an ironic disaster, Yandere Sim is so bad that even fan games about Yandere Sim turn into a mess.

What I'm saying is, scope seems to do something to these Indie Horror projects. The bigger the project the more drama there will be. Stay in your lane with either a simple game or a no game at all and you can avoid controversy.

Branch out for that and you're asking for it and boy did Poppy Playtime ask for it but here's the thing.

Poppy's Playtime is peak meta.

It is the most Fnaf inspired game to exist. It doesn't just capture the feel of Fnaf (as well as Bendy) in terms of gameplay, theme, and presentation, but also captures the meta elements of Fnaf and Bendy like the commercialization that goes on when these products become successful.

The whole game is set in a toy store so every character that appears is instantly marketable and can be easily turned into a product and they did this specifically because Fnaf makes most of its money from merch. Additionally, this is why the gameplay is relatively straight forward and simple, most people aren't going to play the game, they'll watch it so you just need set pieces to make watching it entertaining and puzzles that are easy enough that the average caveman can do it.

Don't forget to scatter clues throughout the game so the cluefinders will buy it just to comb over the game data and files.

This game is not just streamer bait it's puzzle solver bait as well. After all, if Poppy was just a faux game like Petscop where everything that happens is of someone else playing it you'd have the same end result but you'd make less money because you weren't selling the game.

That's also why they put a price tag on the chapters, because anyone who makes channels centered around this content will buy a copy of this game because they can very easily make their money back with a sponsor or from ads and patron users supporting the release of the video.

Only normal people will be ripped off but normal fans of the franchise will more likely buy the merch and never buy the game (or buy it in solidarity in which case the price doesn't matter).

And as far as the NFTs are concerned. Putting aside the questionable value of a collectible non fungible token that has no utility, If you're making an environmental argument against NFTs, stop, please stop. Don't tell me how wasteful pictures on a computer ledger are when you have a youtube channel. Do you think youtube is powered by windmills or is it in fact the most wasteful resource hog to ever exist in the history of entertainment?

We need to be discerning about how we spend the finite resources on the planet so let me record a youtube video where I talk about horror games because my contribution to a fandom in a niche genre is worth adding to the fossil fuel demand that a mega corporate website uses.

No, the only objectively bad thing Mob games has actually done is bully that one animator who didn't play ball with them. I don't know why they obsessed punching that kid but they sure loved punching him.

I understood what they were doing with the NFTs. Again, it's to generate more sales and as absurd as the idea of pitching a movie this early on is (and it is bat shit crazy) all you really need for the movie to be made is a good outline.

Mediums being what they are mean that whatever happens in the game can't be completely replicated in the film so they would be different and they wouldn't be burdened with coming up with game play mechanics and sequences and the whole thing would just be characterization and set pieces which they've already shown off is something they know how to do.

You can make a film if you already know what the plot is going to be and you have people dedicated to that project work on it while you develop your episodic game of mostly puzzles and set pieces that will only need to be re-arranged for a watch only format.

You can do all that. You're just awfully cocky letting people know off the bat what your plan is long term.

It's not like they have experience writing and developing a watch only product. Their entire channel consists of evidence of what they are capable of doing.

The people at Mob Games don't seem like good people. They want all the money and they want it now. And they're probably going to get what they want because of two reasons.

The bar for excellence is low: It's very easy to make a lot of money in this genre because your target demographic will eat up anything that looks slightly creepy and if it has a cast of creepy yet colorful characters you double what you would have made from game sales alone because teens, and tweens, and little kids (or adults who can't kick their toy collecting habit) will buy your merch.

They've done their homework: Most projects don't fail because someone decided to boycott or stir up drama because you were doing something you weren't supposed to do. Most projects fail because the people who only like your product for what it is didn't like what you made. And right now Poppy's Playtime ticks all the boxes to an almost methodical and sinister degree.

They would have to mess up one of the chapters to ruin the franchise and they are 2/2 right now.

Personally, I want to see where the ride goes. Episodic projects always peter out in the end but Poppy's Playtime is the real deal we could see the Apex of the genre. People will have to do more than fix the mistakes of Fnaf to make a good indie horror. They would have to top Poppy's Playtime.

That's the end game for the creator by the way. To place Huggy Wuggy ontop the indie horror throne and to knock Freddy Fazbear off.

Can Huggy Wuggy be King? Now there's a story that I want to watch.

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bcdrawsandwrites · 3 years

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Fandom: Return to Oz

Rating: T

Genre: Angst (with a happy ending)

Characters: The Wizard of Oz, the Gump, Tik-Tok, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion, Princess Mombi, Princess Ozma, Jack Pumpkinhead, and Dorothy Gale

Warnings: Gun violence, character death, isolation, solitary confinement, dissociation, neglect, child abuse, OH GOSH THIS COVERS A LOT OF TRIGGERING TOPICS BUT IT’S ALL CANON

Description: "The last thing I remember is walkin' through the forest and hearin' a loud noise." "His Ma-jes-ty the Scare-crow locked me in here and told me to wait for you." "Well, my mother built me to scare that awful witch Mombi..." It was all only a glimpse of what they went through. Dorothy may never know the full stories, but they would not forget.

Beta Readers: @jaywings and also my sister!

Notes: THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH RTO FICS OUT THERE AND I MUST RESOLVE THIS IMMEDIATELY also this is a multichapter fic but it’s all complete, so you can read the whole thing under the cut!

—~~~—

Chapter 1: On a Hunting Trip

For a land as fantastical as Oz, it could be dreadfully boring sometimes. Though Oscar chalked it up to how much time he had to spend holed up in the palace, dodging probing questions and pretending to have magical powers. A great deal of his time here had been spent coming up with his dazzling effects to keep the Ozians (and the Witches) wowed (and keeping... other meddling Ozians out of the Emerald City), but goodness knew he could use some leisure time.

So that was what he was out doing now, tramping through a nearby forest with a rifle on his shoulder. He'd bartered it off a local Emerald Citizen, who had little use of it, but who had much appreciated some delicacies from the palace kitchen.

Of course, he knew that one of his own citizens would be more than happy to give him whatever he asked for. But Oscar had elected to leave in disguise, informing his attendants that he would need some time alone in perfect silence and was not to be bothered for any reason... while he changed into a green hunter's outfit and sneaked out the window.

He'd never been much of a hunter back in America, but as a boy he'd once gone deer hunting with a friend. He recalled it being an exciting experience, trekking through the wood and tracking an animal to bring home for supper. Though in the end it had been his friend to do the deed, for at the last minute his will had failed him, and he could not bring himself to shoot the beast.

You've too soft a heart to kill a hart, Pinhead! his friend had teased, much to his embarrassment.

"A hart, maybe," Oscar muttered, "but wait till I bring back a magical beast from this country!"

It wasn't until he'd spoken those words that he realized he had no idea what sort of monsters lurked in these woods. He'd heard talk of terrible lions here, and even enormous beasts with the heads of tigers and bodies of bears--kalidahs, they called them. What if he met one of those monsters, rather than a beast of prey?

Crunch, crunch.

Swallowing a yelp, Oscar spun around, pointing his rifle this and that way, eyes straining to see what sort of creature was lurking in the shadows of the forest. What had he gotten himself into? What hellish monster was treading through the fallen leaves of the forest bed?

Crunch, crunch.

The sound was closer, and Oscar stood stock still. But the sound drew no farther than that, and he risked to creep closer, tip-toeing through the undergrowth. In the stillness, he could hear the soft breathing of a being much larger than himself, and held his breath as he poked his head around a tree trunk.

There was a clearing ahead, and within it, a pond of crystal blue-green water (so he must be closer to Munchkin country right now). And before the water stood an enormous beast, albeit not one quite as frightening as he expected.

It was tall and broad, almost reminding him of an ox, but its legs were longer, and its head looked to be more like an elk. Bizarrely, its tail consisted of a great deal of feathers like a rooster, and its entire body was green.

Stooping down over the water, the beast kept its mouth near the surface, but it did not drink. Rather, it seemed to be regarding its own reflection in the water. It hadn't seen him at all.

Some of the tension eased from Oscar's body as he watched this strange creature. If it hadn't been for the feathers and green complexion, he would have entirely mistaken it for an American animal. And while its size was intimidating, it was clearly not a predator, as far as he could tell. (But then, Oz was a strange country.) He very nearly turned and left before he remembered why he'd come here in the first place.

It had only been to alleviate boredom, not out of a true desire to hunt, but it seemed to be a waste to come out all this way to return back empty-handed. At the same time, what would he even do with a beast like this? It wasn't as though he needed food, when his own palace was well-stocked. Perhaps its fur would be valuable? But then... for what? No one had need of any riches in this place. Perhaps he could use it for a--

Crunch crunch crunch crunch--snap.

Something was rapidly approaching him, and fear bolted up his spine, causing him to raise his rifle. Simultaneously, the beast raised its head, ears perked, and Oscar had no time to think.

BANG!

The creature stumbled backward, but whatever was behind him had quickened its pace. Oscar spun around, aiming his rifle, and a human-sized shape jumped back.

"Woah, there! Woah!" the woman cried, holding up her hands. "Watch where you're pointin' that thing! I was just wonderin' what you were doing out here."

"Ah," Oscar breathed, lowering the gun. "Sorry, ma'am, you startled me."

"Bad thing to be startled when carrying one of those," she said, gesturing at the weapon. "You could've hurt someone or--"

She froze, staring at something over his shoulder, and without another word ran past him.

"Now see here--" Oscar turned to follow her, but stopped.

The creature he'd seen earlier was now lying still on the forest floor, and the woman was kneeling next to it. "You've... you've killed it!"

The sight sent a tremor up his spine as he realized what he'd done, but he couldn't balk now.

"Well, yes," Oscar said, shrugging widely as he stepped closer. "Do you think I wear this hunter garb and carry this rifle for fun?"

Running a hand through the beast's mane, she glared at him accusingly. "What would you hunt a gump for?"

For a moment he thought the woman was insulting him until he realized that must be the name of the creature. Thinking quickly, he pointed at the gump's lifeless body. "I'll have you know, ma'am, that a gump possesses many important magical properties!"

"You needn't kill it, then!" the woman cried. "If you should need its magic, you need only ask it for help."

...Oh, right. Ozian beasts could talk.

Shaking himself, Oscar stood his ground. "Ah, but you see, much of a gump's magic is only usable when it is dead. I had planned to bring it to the Wizard, but I suppose if you don't want him to do anything about the Wicked Witches--"

The woman's face had gone several shades paler, and she stood upright. "No, of course! I'm sorry, sir, I-I didn't..."

He stepped closer, examining the fallen gump before grabbing one of its legs. "Well, don't just sit there. Help me get this beast back to the city! The Wizard is quite a busy man, but I'm sure he'd forgive your interruption if you gave me a hand."

"Yes, of course!"

The woman took the gump's other hoof in her arms, and the two struggled to lift both appendages up over their shoulders as they hauled the beast's carcass back through the forest. All the while, Oscar tried to hide his relief that his bluff had actually worked.

But then, of course it had. These simpletons believed anything they were told if you spoke with authority. They weren't too far off from Americans, in that regard.

As they walked, the woman stared down at the gump's hoof, feeling it with her free hand. "I'm sorry," she mumbled again. "I hadn't known..."

"Now you do," Oscar said, still staring ahead. "I tell you, this beast will be more useful to this country in death than it ever was in life."

Chapter 2: On a Mission

Every so often, someone stopped screaming.

The sound, or increasing lack of it, did not alarm Tik-Tok. Nothing did, nor could it--not even the frightened Emerald Citizens rushing past him or looking for a place to hide--for he was a machine, and was not capable of emotions such as panic or fear.

Nevertheless, the change informed him that he needed to be faster, as he marched through the city, past the statues of people dancing, playing, reading--statues that had not been statues a mere ten minutes ago.

The ground shifted beneath his feet, and Tik-Tok bent down to see a grotesque figure claw out of the stones beneath him. At least, that's what he had assumed at first, only to quickly realize (for his think-works were fully wound) that it had not clawed out of the rock at all--it was the rock. It opened its mouth, snarling at him, and he merely swung his body to the side, striking with a closed fist. One of the creature's fangs chipped off, and it sank back into itself with a defeated howl.

More snarling joined the increasingly-quieting screams, and there was suddenly a great crack.

Tipping his body back, Tik-Tok spotted two more of the rock creatures atop an arch, ripping a massive emerald from the keystone of it. They, along with the gem, merged with the stone pillars again just as the arch crumbled.

"Tik-Tok!" a metallic voice cried, not much farther away. A familiar roar cried out with it.

He moved his feet as fast as his gears would allow, passing the destroyed arch and around another corner, where the Tin Woodsman and Cowardly Lion were facing two more of the rock creatures. While the Emperor of the Winkies was not a machine as Tik-Tok was, he moved much like one, swinging his axe in swift, strong arcs, yet unable to hit the monster before him.

The sight of the Tin Man using his axe in such a way might have startled Tik-Tok, had he been capable of such an emotion.

"These creatures are the ones turning everyone to stone!" the Tin Man shouted, sparing a quick glance at Tik-Tok as he continued to fight. He raised his axe to deliver what may have been a killing blow. "You must stop them befo--"

The creature reached out.

And the Tin Man, in a mere instant, became a stone man, unmoving and still as the rest of the statues.

There was a slight hiccup in Tik-Tok's gears that prevented him from acting immediately. At the same moment, the Cowardly Lion let out a mournful yowl and raised his paw to swing at the creature before him.

The rock creature touched him, and the lion became a lifeless stone, his great paw still raised in the air.

Remembering his speech-works, Tik-Tok took a step forward, stomping one foot against the ground. "Stop this," he demanded, and the rock creatures turned to him. "You will no long-er hurt an-y more of the peo-ple here."

Growling, both creatures sank into the ground, only to emerge directly in front of Tik-Tok, both of them reaching out with their talons. The stone claws clinked harmlessly against Tik-Tok's copper casing, and he spun his body, striking them both in their heads. With another howl the monsters retreated, melting back into the stone beneath them. Now that they were gone, Tik-Tok could see the stone statues that had once been the Emperor of the Winkies and the King of the Forest.

"Everyone, I think I've found a way to--oh--"

Scrambling steps skidded to a halt somewhere behind him. He could hear these softer sounds, he realized, for the screams had grown more distant. Turning his top half, he saw the Scarecrow standing behind him, his painted gaze turning from one statue to the other.

"I-I'm... I'm too late..." the Scarecrow said, his tall frame sagging.

"Your Ma-jest-y." Tik-Tok clunked a hand against his helmet in a salute. "I am at your ser-vice."

Shaking himself, the Scarecrow stumbled up to him, but his smile did not return--an unusual sight for the ruler. "Right! Tik-Tok, I've found a way to contact Dorothy."

"Dor-o-thy Gale from Kan-sas?" Tik-Tok blinked, adjusting his vision as the King of Oz neared him. He'd heard of this Dorothy and how powerful she was, but his think-works could not work out how a small human girl could be strong enough to destroy not one, but two witches.

"The very same!" The Scarecrow's smile returned, if only for a moment. "But we must hurry!"

"Hur-ry to where--?" Tik-Tok began, but the Scarecrow was already pushing him somewhere.

"It might be too late for me now," the Scarecrow went on. "They're turning everything living to stone, but they don't want to do that to me. I think it means they want me for something..." His straw rustled. "I don't know what. But I do know they can't hurt you."

"That is cor-rect. I am not a-live, and ne-ver will be."

"But you can wind down," the Scarecrow added seriously. "And when you do, they can harm you. I need to keep you safe."

Disloyalty was not a command found in Tik-Tok's gears, but he couldn't help but protest: "But I am the Roy-al Ar-my of Oz. It is I who must pro-tect you, Your Ma-je-sty."

"Not right now." The Scarecrow guided him down a narrow alley and stuck a hand into his jacket, fishing for something in his body. "As Ruler of Oz, I command you to turn your protection to Dorothy once she gets here. She'll know how to help us! She's done it before."

A strange request, but Tik-Tok could not argue. "When is she to ar-rive?"

For a moment the Scarecrow faltered, but only a moment as they stopped at the end of the alley. He retrieved a key from within the straw of his body, and stared down at it. "I don't know."

A threatening rumble of stones echoed in the distance behind them, followed by another chorus of screams, and quickly he stuck the key into a hole in the wall. In a moment, the wall swung open, and the Scarecrow urged Tik-Tok inside.

Tik-Tok did as he was instructed, marching into the room and observing it. There was nothing there, however, but dusty walls and a dustier circular window that faint light shone through.

The Scarecrow stooped down, placing a cotton-stuffed hand on Tik-Tok's chest plate. "Stay here, and wait for Dorothy."

The polished gems of Tik-Tok's green eyes stared into the painted blue eyes of the Scarecrow. Though both were man-made, the Scarecrow's face was wrinkled and worn with worry... and an unspoken apology.

"Stay here," he repeated, and hurried out of the room. With a great scraping and a slam, the door shut behind him. The key was pulled from the lock, and through it, Tik-Tok could see the Scarecrow stumbling away.

For lack of anything else to do--other than conserve his gears--Tik-Tok stood perfectly still in the middle of the room.

Echoes of stone crumbling, unfamiliar creatures snarling, and rocks shifting filled the air outside, and the screams were finally silent.

---

"Your Ma-jest-y!"

Tik-Tok's voice echoed slightly in the tiny chamber, but it sounded quite loud compared to the utter silence outside.

Occasionally he could hear squeaks of wheels, and even rarer occasions he could hear the screech of a Wheeler. What they were doing in the Emerald City, he wasn't sure, but his think-works were sure enough that the fact that they had not been turned to stone was not a positive one.

But in the moments he could no longer hear them, he raised his voice:

"Your Ma-jest-y! I be-lieve that some-thing is wrong!"

And he did--something was wrong.

Several days and nights had passed since the Emerald Citizens had turned to stone, judging by the light from the solitary, circular window in the cell. It had been eight days and nights, to be exact, and Tik-Tok had remained still the entire time, hardly willing himself to think other than to observe the time passing. After all, the Scarecrow had commanded that he wait until Dorothy arrived, and he would not want her to have to wind him up too much so shortly after meeting.

But now that it had been over a week...

Tik-Tok could not worry, but he could be aware that things were not going as planned. The Scarecrow had not been sure how long it would take for Dorothy to arrive, but surely he had not expected him to wait this long. He would have said so, if that were the case. While the Scarecrow lacked perfectly-functioning mechanical brains, he did have wonderful brains given to him by the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. He was the second-best thinker in Oz, next to Tik-Tok himself.

"Your Ma-jest-y!" Tik-Tok called again. "You must o-pen the door!"

He had tried on his own, but there was no knob--seemingly no way to open the door from within. He had pushed, but it would not give, and Tik-Tok opted to preserve his action.

"I be-lieve I can find this Dor-o-thy on my own, if you o-pen the door!"

Dorothy Gale was in Kansas. And he knew where Kansas was--it was not in Oz. He would have to cross the Deadly Desert, which he was perfectly capable of doing, for its deadly sands could not turn his unliving copper into sand.

"Help me, Your Ma-jest-y, please! Come bac--"

Tic-tic-clunk.

One of the three keys on Tik-Tok's body ceased turning, and his voice-works ceased functioning.

Tik-Tok's voice joined the silence around him.

---

Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.

Five paces toward the door.

Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.

Five paces back.

It had been thirty-three days--just over a month since the Scarecrow had left him here.

Alongside the squeaks and cackles of the Wheelers outside, Tik-Tok could occasionally hear the distant sound of a musical instrument--a mandolin. It was not an instrument that could be played by the Wheelers, but to whom it belonged, he could not say, for he could not speak.

But even then, there was still the occasional silence, usually at night. It was then he chose to fill the silence with his pacing, his great feet stomping into the ground beneath him. He did this not because he missed the usual cheerful noise of the Emerald City, for he could not miss anything, but to keep his gears from rusting and keep the dust out. Even though each step he took wound his action down slightly more, it would at least prevent him from locking up entirely, even if he should be wound up.

He hoped Dorothy would be here soon.

But at this point, he was no longer sure what "soon" was. A month ago, he had estimated that she would arrive within days, if not hours, and that the matter would be resolved quickly. Now, however...

The Scarecrow had indeed admitted that he hadn't known when Dorothy would arrive. But surely, surely he would have been wise enough to send for her quickly, or to ask her to arrive swiftly.

Tik-Tok paused.

They're turning everything living to stone, but they don't want to do that to me. I think it means they want me for something...

...If he'd asked her at all.

His think-works must have gotten dust into them--he had not once considered that the Scarecrow could have been captured before he was able to summon Dorothy. If that were the case, then what was he to do?

He could not continue to wait for her--he must try to open the door on his own.

Tik-Tok turned himself around to face the door, and took one step closer.

Tic-tic-clunk.

And now he could not move, except to turn his head and blink. The rest of his body remained as still as the statues outside.

---

Ninety-two sunrises. Ninety-three sunsets.

He had watched the sun rise and set through the window. He had heard the Wheelers shriek to each other every day, and heard them racing throughout the town.

Every so often he allowed himself to blink to clear the dust from his eyes, so he could continue to observe the passage of time.

Sometimes he heard voices--not the ones of Wheelers. Sometimes it was a soft-spoken voice he'd never heard before, other times a harsher, snarling one that had a great wickedness to it. Other times he would hear familiar voices, ones he'd heard around the city before. He would wonder, in those moments, if things were going back to normal, if someone would open the door, if he would be wound up soon, but then he wouldn't hear the voice again for some time.

---

Ninety-nine sunrises. Ninety-eight sunsets.

...No, one hundred. One hundred sunsets, for he'd been let in here during the day.

He allowed his head a short shake--he had to keep track of time. He had to watch the light.

At one point he heard a soft, gravelly voice within the city, followed by a short discussion that he could not make out, for the Wheelers laughed and howled all the while. Still he strained his aural gears--linked to his think-works--to try to make out anything that would be helpful.

"...has not escaped..."

"...no sign of anything..."

"...has not spoken--"

There was a great crash, followed by shrieks of laughter from the Wheelers, and another voice shouting at them.

Who was it who had not escaped? Had they been discussing him? Or perhaps the Scarecrow? Or... had they captured...

...someone...

...there was someone he was waiting for. What was her name?

No, it didn't matter. Forcibly he slowed his think-works, only allowing them to sense the change of day and night.

---

One hundred and twenty-one sunrises. One hundred and twenty-twenty sunsets.

The room was very dusty, and he could no longer turn his head. He blinked again to clear his vision.

There was shrieking outside, but he couldn't remember why. He almost raised his voice to demand who they were, but he had no voice to do such.

But he was smart. He understood things. He was a machine. He knew why he was here.

He was here to wait. But to wait for what? He couldn't remember.

What was he counting for?

---

One hundred two hundred five hundred-ed-ed two.

Scarecrows and Wheelers, rocks and statues, girls and ladies and rooms.

A scream outside! He could not scream. Where was outside? Where was he? Was it light or dark?

What is light for anyway? He forgot. His eyes could not open and he could not see. What did he have to see? Who knew?

Statues and stones, silence and screams.

Never never never never never coming back.

Taken here, went away, left forever and ever.

Ever, ever, ever, turn turn turn, wind wind wind.

Tick-tick-tick.

Tic... tic...

Clunk.

Chapter 3: On a Whim

"...peaugh!"

"Oh! Don't yell at me like that, please! I'm not deaf."

He paused, taking a moment to consider the fact that he existed.

There he stood in a dusty, dull room, with walls and windows and other things that seemed to be full of... holes, as though they were missing something. He wasn't sure what. In fact, he didn't quite know what he was, other than that he was taller than everyone else around him. Everyone else, that is, being... a very angry-looking woman in a very pointy dress, and a much shorter girl, a little over half his own height. The former was holding a tin can of a sort with a label that he couldn't read, and she stared down at, her rage giving way to amazement.

"It... it worked!" she cried, still far too loud for his own ears. (Did he have ears?) "It worked! Hah, that magician didn't fool me after all!"

"You're still yelling!" Wincing away from her, he suddenly felt his balance shift, and he began to topple. "W-woah...!"

Quickly the shorter girl stepped forward, catching him before he crashed. "Be careful," she said, her voice wonderfully soft and far more pleasant than the other person's. "I'm afraid I didn't build you to move, since I didn't know you would be... alive, later." She set him back upright, bracing him back against the wall he'd been standing against moments ago.

"You made me?" he repeated, holding one wooden hand against her shoulder until he was certain he was steady. "How did you do that?"

"I just put some wood and a pumpkin together, and dressed you." The girl stole a glance at the older woman, who was muttering to herself as she looked over the can. "And then I stood you here, against the wall."

He tipped his head, which, it seemed, was quite large. "What for?"

The girl leaned closer, lowering her voice. "To scare the witch, there, Mombi." She looked pointedly at the woman and then back at him. "I stood you in a place here, where you would meet Mombi face-to-face. She was scared... but then she was angry. She nearly destroyed you with a stick."

Shuddering, he cast another fearful glance at Mombi, who was hurrying away. He wasn't entirely sure what "destroyed" meant, but he didn't like the sound of it. "Sh-she did?"

"Yes, but then she decided to test that Powder of Life on you. She sprinkled it on, and... you came to life."

"I'm very glad for that," he remarked. "I quite like being alive."

The girl smiled up at him, and he decided he quite liked that, too. "I like your being alive, as well."

"We're agreed, then!" He tipped his head another way. "Do you... have a name?"

"Ozma," she said quickly, and stole another glance in the direction that Mombi had walked off to. "But that's not important."

"Do I have a name?"

At that, Ozma looked down, her face turning a slightly pink shade. "Yes... Jack. Jack Pumpkinhead. I might have given you a better name, if I'd known..."

"Jack Pumpkinhead," he repeated, then nodded. "Yes, I like that. And... you made me?"

"Yes I did, Jack."

"Does that make you my mom?"

Ozma took a step back, as though caught off-balance, as he had been before, and he held out a hand to steady her. But she smiled, putting her hand over his. "I suppose so. You may call me 'Mom' if you wish."

Though uncertain why, he felt the name brought a great deal of comfort to him, and it pleased him to say it. "Okay, Mom."

"You! What are you doing?" an unfamiliar voice snapped.

Both Jack and Ozma turned to face the new person, and Jack did so quickly enough to throw him off-balance once again, so his mother had to grab hold of him to keep him upright. The new person was another woman, who wore a strikingly similar dress to the one the witch had worn moments ago. If he didn't know better (which, he didn’t know much), Jack would think it was the very same dress.

"I was only talking with Jack, Mombi," Ozma replied, and Jack looked down at her in surprise.

"Mombi? I thought you said that other woman was Mombi."

"She is, but she has different heads. She's wearing head twenty-two right now." Ozma paused. "Her original is..."

"Head thirty-one," Mombi snapped quickly. "And just what do you think--"

"Where does one acquire different heads?" Jack interrupted, not keen on listening to Mombi's grating voice.

At that, Ozma gently pulled him away from the wall, helping him walk across the dusty floor. Walking was a new activity, and he found it did not come naturally to him, his long, thin legs wobbling all the while, but his mother kept him steady as she brought him to the window. Outside was a desolate gray place, with ruined buildings and walls and statues all about. In one spot, he could see a group of statues dancing, but without heads. "See there," his mother said, pointing at the group. "That's where she got them. Some of them, anyway."

Jack stared down at the statues, not fully understanding, but nodded nonetheless. "What a lot I'm learning today!"

"Enough of this!" Mombi snarled, suddenly between them. "What's the meaning of this? You're not seriously growing attached to this stupid pumpkinhead you made, are you?"

"I should hope so," Jack protested before his mother could reply. "She's my mom, after all."

"She's your--?!" Mombi looked from Jack to Ozma a few times before settling a glare on Ozma. "No, I won't allow it."

Jack stiffened. "What? Won't allow what?"

"It won't hurt anything," Ozma protested quickly, taking a step closer to Jack. "I can watch over him, and--"

"I told you you were never to talk to others like that!" Mombi snarled, and grabbed Ozma by the wrist.

"L-let her go!" Jack cried in protest, reaching out to pull Ozma away.

Mombi yanked her out of his reach, but otherwise ignored him, glaring down at the girl. "You know what I told you. Never speak to another person, never communicate with them--you are never to make yourself known to another person, ever. Not even your name!"

Had Jack not been so frightened in that moment, he would have thought it strange that his mother had, indeed, told him her name.

"Let me go!" Ozma shouted, pulling herself against Mombi, but the witch only growled at her, tugging her away and hurrying down the hall.

"Wait, no, Mom!" Jack cried. Shakily he moved to follow them, but without his mom's support, his body toppled and crashed to the floor with a great wooden clatter. No pain came with it--though he wasn't entirely sure what pain should feel like to begin with--but he did feel his wooden joints start to jostle loose. He tried to move his limbs in a way to crawl after them, but only succeeded in scrambling uselessly on the dusty floor.

"I'll be all right, Jack!" Ozma called out to him as Mombi carried her down a corner and out of sight. "I'll get us help!"

"You most certainly will not!" Mombi growled, her voice reaching a rather terrifyingly low pitch. Before Ozma could say anything in reply, there was an explosively loud KRACK-OW that rang throughout the palace, and within Jack's hollow head. Something about the sound filled him with terror, and he threw his hands over his eyes, wailing.

Only moments later everything was still, and Mombi gave a satisfied humph before her footsteps came back down the hallway. Jack shakily raised his head, only for his wooden body to seize up in fear. "Wh-where's Mom?"

Mombi did not answer, only marching up to him and regarding him with an expression he could not read (or see, for from his current angle he could only see the train of her dress, and it was hard to tip his head up further).

"Excuse me, Miss Mombi," he said, trying to push himself upright, "Where is my mom? That noise was very loud, and I-I'm worried about her."

Without a word, Mombi suddenly stooped down, grabbed Jack's left wrist much in the way she had Ozma's, and yanked.

"Oh!' Jack cried, immediately hating the pull on his arm, and even more the way it made his legs drag. He fought to put his feet beneath him, but Mombi did not wait, dragging him in the opposite direction she'd taken Ozma. "W-wait! I'm not standing yet!" He scrambled his legs, fighting to right himself, but Mombi was moving too quickly for him to do so. Then, realizing what direction they were taking, he fought all the more to get to his feet. "W-we're going the wrong way! This isn't where you took my mom!"

Still Mombi remained silent, hauling him down the hallway and finally toward a great spiraling stairwell, which she wasted no time in storming up, taking no mind for the way Jack's feet kicked and dragged behind them.

"Wait, no! P-please, let me get to my f-feet!" he whimpered. When she still would not answer, he looked back down the stairs. "I-I miss my mom. She liked answering my questions. C-could you please take me back to her?"

At one point Jack's right foot caught badly on a step, momentarily trapping him and causing Mombi to stumble. She braced herself against the wall before she fell, and turned to glare at him.

Jack didn't understand why she was so angry, but he took the opportunity to finally get his feet beneath him. His right leg, however, felt wrong--it was loose at the knee joint, and that worried him. "Miss Mombi, when we get to the top of this place, c-could you please bring my mom back, so she can--"

And again Mombi resumed mounting the steps, barely giving Jack time to match her pace. To his alarm, he found he couldn't, for her body was not built as awkwardly as his was, and once again his legs gave way beneath him.

While Jack had decided he did not much like shouting, he couldn't help himself: "PLEASE!" he cried over the clatter of his legs banging against the stairs. "I'm going to come apart!"

But at that moment, his legs finally stopped banging against things, for they had reached the top of the stairs. Here Mombi paused again, and Jack was finally able to get his legs beneath him, though his right one was wobbling terribly. "A-are we done moving around, Miss Mombi?" he stammered.

Now Mombi threw the door open, and once again began dragging him, though he fought to walk along with her, even as he felt the ropes that held his right leg together loosen further. He barely had time to look about the room around him, which was full of a lot of very, very dusty things. Mombi dragged him a short distance, then with a great amount of force, threw him into a corner.

Jack cried out as his wooden back slammed against an old sofa, jarring his whole frame terribly and nearly knocking his head off. Dazed, he reached up to touch his head, only to find that his left hand was missing--it had fallen off entirely, lying on the ground next to him. Turning his head, he found the same fate had befallen his right leg, which was lying a short distance from his body. "Wh-what was that for?" he whimpered. "You haven't told me why you're so angry with me, much less said anythi--"

In a moment Mombi was storming toward him, her eyes wide with anger, and at once he wished he hadn't spoken at all. "Shut up, you worthless pile of firewood!" she snarled, leaning down into his face. "You existed only so I could test my Powder of Life on you, and nothing more, and I can very well take that life away."

"NO!" he wailed, kicking his remaining leg to push himself further backwards. "Please don't do that!"

She pointed a finger in his face, and he stilled. "When I come up here again," she said lowly, "I'll chop up your stupid smiling head and make a pie of it, assuming it doesn't spoil first, and that will be that for you."

With that, she spun around and left the room, pausing only to give him one last glare before shutting the door.

Jack remained very still for some time, until an irritating clattering noise made him realize he was trembling.

"Th-this... has been quite an existence," he finally said, once he was quite sure Mombi could not hear him. "I wish I knew what I've done wrong..."

Remembering what the witch had told him, he decided that while he wasn't quite sure what a pie was, he would very much like to leave here before Mombi returned to show him. Bracing his hand against the floor, he tried to raise himself up, only to remember that he could not stand on one leg. He would have to tie it back on, if he could.

He tried to reach for the detached leg, and realized another problem--one of his hands was missing, and since it wasn't attached, he could not move it. He strained to reach for it for several minutes, but it occurred to him he had no way of tying it back on. While he was quite sure he could figure out how tying things worked (he could see the method his mother had used when he observed his own joints), he could not do it with only one hand. He needed use of both limbs in order to tie his missing limb back together.

As it was, he could only sit in that corner, his back against a sofa, his missing parts just barely out of reach.

"...I miss my mom," he said quietly, bowing his head.

She had told him that she would get help, so maybe she would be here later. He hoped she would... he did not like his body being broken like this, and not being able to move, and he wasn't sure when Mombi would come back.

And so he waited, sitting there in the stillness of the dusty room. Part of him wanted to call for Ozma, for he wasn't certain she knew where he was... if she was anywhere. (Mombi was a witch, after all, and that sound he'd heard... had she used magic on his mother? Magic was what brought him to life, but what if it could be used to take someone away, too...? What if she had become a statue, like the ones outside?) The thought, however, of Mombi hearing him kept him quiet.

But... Ozma had said she would get help. She had to. She had to.

She had to.

He kept that thought, repeating it in his mind... until he realized that it was very dark in the room, and growing darker. Something within him--the magic, he supposed, or perhaps the seeds in his head giving him basic knowledge--told him that this was night, and that the outside world alternated between the light of day and dark of night. Even so, the darkness chilled him--it was getting to the point where he could hardly see. What if Mombi came back, and he couldn't even tell?

Forgetting his fear of alerting the witch, he raised his voice again: "Mom!" he cried. "Mom, where are you?! I-it's dark here!"

But his voice only echoed slightly in the crowded room, and he heard no other sounds.

His fear left him undeterred. "Mom, have you found help yet? I-I want to get out of here!"

There was still no answer, other than a quiet wind from outside.

"Mom..." he whimpered, and finally fell silent.

Maybe his mom wasn't coming back after all.

Epilogue: On a Hope

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock...

The thought jumped into Tik-Tok's head, in the midst of the blankness of non-functionality:

How long has it been now?

He'd lost track of time, he realized. This was not good--something had clearly gone wrong with his mechanisms. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were still too heavy.

"Huh. I wonder what he's thinkin' about."

The unfamiliar voice echoed in the room, but with his eyes still firmly shut, he could not tell whom it belonged to.

"I'll wind up his speech," came a softer voice, "and maybe he can tell us."

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock...

His head turned slightly, suddenly able to, and his eyelids finally lifted.

"Maybe he can tell us what happened to the Emerald City."

Blinking once, twice, to clear the dust from his emerald eyes, Tik-Tok began to stammer as his speech-works came back to him: "I--you--uh--come back--Your Ma--"

A young girl with dark hair in twin braids stood before him, regarding him with awe.

"...Good mor-ning, lit-tle girl."

---

It had been a long time--Jack couldn't be sure how long, though, since he'd stopped counting. The thought of how many days it had been since he'd last seen his mother only made him...

He put his hand over his chest, where he felt the sadness the most, and wondered if that was what pain was.

He only had a little dust on him, though--not nearly as much as the things all around him. The giant head above him, the plants, the portraits, and all the other things--he'd taken the time to look at them all, for lack of anything else to do. He'd stopped calling for his mom, too--it felt pointless.

And then the door opened.

At once he threw himself back, his head hitting the couch behind him. He scrambled with his leg, at first, and then decided staying still was better, staying quiet was better. If Mombi couldn't hear him, maybe she would forget about him.

But Mombi didn't come into the room. Instead he heard soft footsteps, as well as two voices. One was harsh and grating... but the other was... soft. Soft and... comforting.

Just before him, he could see a young girl staring at some portraits on the wall. A young girl... that was about half his height.

"...Mom?"

---

"...peaugh!"

"Peaugh?!"

"That's it!"

He blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings. Why wasn't it daytime? And... this didn't look like the forest. It looked... nothing like the forest. That was odd.

There were also a couple other people around him, both of them quite excited. One was a tall man that he was pretty sure wasn't a normal Ozian, and the other was a little girl.

"What's going on?" he asked, trying to turn his head and finding it oddly difficult, so he swiveled his ears instead. "Where am I?"

"Getting out of here, I hope!" the tall man exclaimed.

"Jack's right," the girl replied. "We're in the palace, but we need to get out of here."

That didn't answer much.

Feeling the need to stretch his limbs, he did so, only to find them... a great deal shorter than they should be. And more numerous. He didn't recall having more than four feet in anything other than height.

Normally he quite liked looking at his reflection, but at the moment, he felt grateful that there was no pond nearby.

The girl was suddenly in front of him, looking him in the eyes. "You're gonna help us escape, okay?"

While not in pain, he felt... out of sorts. Even so, there was something about this girl that he felt drawn to... not that he was in any position to argue, anyway.

"Okay, I guess so."

The girl smiled, and he felt a bit better.

He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but whatever happened, he was pretty sure he could trust this strange girl.

#jack pumpkinhead #tik tok #the gump #dorothy gale #return to oz #my art #my writing #fanfic #scarecrow #tin man #cowardly lion #mombi #ozma #so glad to finally get this posted

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skrltwtch · 3 years

Text

Starving

Prompt: I work at the butcher shop and we've never spoken, but I recognise you from when you come in to buy fresh meat every month. I don't mind keeping the store open a little past closing since you're running late and seem kind of desperate. This may be weird to mention, but did you know your teeth are getting sharper while we talk? (Source in master list)

Word count: 2,782 words

Genre: Feels, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Someone had the bloody cheek to enter as I was getting ready to close up shop. Our opening hours were indicated on the door. The door. You couldn’t get any clearer than that. When did schools and parents stop teaching their charges not to enter business premises two minutes before closing time?

It was her.

I could make an exception this time, I suppose. She came in often enough and bought more than enough for me to consider her a regular. And she was a lovely person to deal with; I couldn’t say the same for a decent amount of my other regulars, whose business I accepted with gritted teeth.

‘I’m sorry. I know you’re closing soon. Just — please, I’ll take any cuts of meat you have left. I can pay extra for the trouble,’ she said.

Oh, God, what had I done to earn that kind of impression?

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Her pale skin and quivering form said otherwise. ‘I just — I just lost track of time at work. I got here as quickly as I could once I could leave the office. I’m really sorry.’

‘Don’t — it’s okay.’ I packed whatever I had left that would also match the typical volume of her purchases. From the corner of my eye, I saw her pacing up and down the shop, holding herself tightly. Every breath she made reached my ears. She wasn’t fine. Forget small talk then. Just like it wasn’t my business what she did with enough meat to feed a large animal in a day every month, it wasn’t my business why she looked close to falling over.

Maybe it was.

I called her over to the cashier, where approximately four kilogrammes of raw meat awaited her. Despite her stature, she never had any difficulties making it out of the shop with that much in tow. That might not be the case today. She was having a tough time simply getting her wallet out of her bag, and she looked absolutely sickly. Were those … were those tears in her eyes?

I really shouldn’t.

I really should.

‘Hey, are you alright? You don’t look too good,’ I said. Understatement: she appeared to be deteriorating by the second.

‘I’m fine,’ she insisted as she struggled with her wallet this time. I narrowed my eyes at her for a better look at what I thought I saw: her canines extending and swelling into fangs. A cross between a hiccup and a sob squeaked past her throat and into the open.

‘You can come back for payment tomorrow. I can help you with this to your car.’ No, it was now my social responsibility not to let her get behind the wheel. She was barely able to stand. ‘Or I can drop you off at your place … or somewhere nearby if you’re more comfortable with that.’

‘I’m fine,’ she growled.

Literally.

‘Shit, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘It’s … okay …?’ Sorry, my attention was hijacked by the sight of claws, honest-to-God claws, fucking splitting her fingernails open.

She left £100 on the counter and grabbed the parcels I made for her. ‘Please keep the change. You’ve been so kind. I can’t — I can’t come back here anymore.’

I wasn’t given a chance to question why she felt that way. Whatever was plaguing her — and scaring me a little, I had to admit — didn’t give her a chance either to make it out the door, as she’d collapsed not far from the counter. I had no idea how I could even let her walk out alone in the state she was in. I rushed to the phone. ‘I’m calling for help,’ I said.

She got to her hands and knees. That was … encouraging. I think. ‘No, please don’t. You need to go.’ Her voice was distorted and rumbly. Her blouse started to tear across her back, revealing a thin, but growing, layer of … hair. Fur, more like. Not so encouraging anymore.

‘I can’t leave you here alone. What is happening to you?’

She buried her face in her hands — or whatever they were becoming as they stretched and popped. Her feet burst out of her shoes, the same changes happening to them. ‘Don’t laugh.’

‘I promise.’ The rapid decline of her health from when she came in, the physical changes wracking her body, and the animalistic noises she was making drained what I was witnessing dry of any humour. I doubted there was any to begin with. I felt almost like I was seeing something I wasn’t supposed to.

‘Werewolf. I’m a’ — a bark, involuntary, broke up her sentence — ‘werewolf.’

I went to her. Outside, the shades of violet and orange the sky had been awash with were muddling into a dark blue. I ducked my head a little to verify the shape of the moon tonight. None of the passers-by thought to look inside. At this point, I was more worried about someone else becoming privy to her secret than I was about the image of my shop. I didn’t understand how this was happening. It made sense and no sense at the same time.

‘You can stay in the storeroom tonight. You’ll be safe.’

She kept her head down. ‘Your boss? Okay?’ Her speech was strained.

‘I’m the boss of me.’ I knew my decision not to hire extra help would pay off someday. ‘Come on.’

‘Thank you.’

She stood up. I shifted my gaze elsewhere, as tempting as it was to see what a werewolf looked like mid-transformation. I showed her the way to the storeroom. It was due for a cleanup anyway. Her constant twitching and whining next to me didn’t go unnoticed. I took it to mean that she was controlling herself from either changing completely until I was out of her way or hurting me. I could be completely way off base, of course. The only piece of werewolf media I ever consumed was An American Werewolf in London (I was more of a zombie person myself), and … well, from what I’d seen tonight, the filmmakers got the transformation right, I’d say.

She took off what was left of her clothes once she was inside, and her transformation … accelerated. I closed the door to give her privacy — and to drown out the horrific noises. Nothing about the human body should produce what I was hearing. Things went quiet, eventually. I opened the door ever so slightly. ‘I’ll be here all night,’ I said despite not knowing whether she’d know what I was saying, ‘so you won’t be alone.’ I should be safe on this side of the door: the change had stripped her of opposable thumbs. The keyword was ‘should’.

The darkness coupled with her black fur made it impossible for me to see the creature she had become. Did I want to see? I still couldn’t shake off the feeling like I’d been some kind of voyeur; her appearance mattered naught to me, though I’d understand if she thought — she likely did — it would. Then she threw herself against the door, slamming both the actual thing and the door to my maiden glimpse at a real werewolf shut.

She loosed a howl that drove home the point that I had a werewolf in my storeroom. That I had been selling meat to a werewolf for her consumption. That the sweet, cheery petite lady who came in once a month was a werewolf. I wondered, then, if what she was like as a human carried over to her wolf self. If it did, I should be safe, right?

… There it was again: ‘should’.

I went back to what I was doing before what I knew about this world had been violently upended. I thanked God — should I? Did He or did He not exist? — that tomorrow was my day off. I was going to spend it with a good book and minimal to no human contact in the comfort of my living room. Now I was only interested in contemplating my place in the universe. What else was out there? Were any of the people walking past as I went to advertise the shop’s official closure for the day harbouring similar secrets as well?

Baleful whines transcended the door and filled the air. I picked up the parcels she’d dropped. Could she be hungry? It was worth a shot. I unwrapped one parcel. The closer I got to the storeroom, the more charged she got. I never dreamt I’d get to know the extent of damage a werewolf’s claws could do to a door in this lifetime. I threw the slab of meat as deep inside as I could. While she went to examine what it was that I’d left to her mercy, I turned on the lights to benefit us both.

What I got to see at last was ineffective in reeling in my disbelief. Where I’d left a quaking, infirm woman now stood a massive black wolf rending raw meat like paper. Despite looking almost indistinguishable from an ordinary wolf, there was an unsettling quality to her proportions and demeanour that made it hard for me to remember my manners and stop fucking staring. She was … beautifully horrifying and frighteningly stunning all at once. In some sick, twisted way, it made sense that something like her — something like what she’d become — couldn’t have come about naturally.

She turned to look at me, her jaw dripping with blood and her tail … wagging.

I regained control of my senses quickly enough to leave. The slamming of the door failed to mute her whimper at — missing out on her chance at a tasty human? Being alone in the storeroom again? Best I didn’t read too much into it. I fed her the rest of the meat she bought. She refused to eat the last piece, yet she wailed when I left her be.

‘I don’t think I’d taste very good. I’m lean and stringy,’ I said through the crack in the door. ‘And bland, like most English food.’

I didn’t know what to make of the bark that followed my attempt at a witticism.

I felt bad for her. Wolves were social animals, weren’t they? Then again, who’d feel bad for me upon discovering my mutilated body in my shop? No one had attempted to romanticise werewolves like the likes of Anne Rice and the Twilight author had done with vampires, and probably with good reason, as I willed myself to remember how she, a soft-spoken woman an hour ago, devoured almost four kilogrammes of meat in record time. The ending of An American Werewolf in London wasn’t a happy one, for God’s sake! (Maybe I should stop invoking God’s name for now.)

‘Can you understand me?’ I said. ‘Bark … um, bark twice for yes’, so it wouldn’t be a coincidence.

And she did.

Well, fuck me.

I sighed. ‘Are you … are you lonely? Bark twice for yes.’

Silence.

For the longest time, until she barked again, softly, mournfulness plain to hear in the two notes.

✦✧✦✧

My back! G— fuck, my back. How the fuck did I sleep last night?

Right. I slept in a chair outside the storeroom.

I stretched to get rid of the kinks in my back. Yeah, that was it. That was the spot. No, that one. That other one was definitely it. Relief — sweet, glorious relief. How the hell did I even fall asleep in a chair anyway?

‘Hey, you’re awake.’

I turned to the direction of the voice that had no reason to be here at this time of day. Or at all. No one was allowed here but me. Why was I in the shop? Wasn’t today my day off? What happened last night? Why, of all things instead, did I remember not to use God’s name as a synonym for ‘fuck’? I also didn’t remember finding religion last night. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I needed water.

I focused my eyes on the figure in front of me.

It was her.

Oh.

‘Yeah, I am now.’ Without a doubt. ‘How are you?’

She declined my offer to have my seat. My legs demanded that I continue standing to get the blood flowing. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. I could believe her this time. She was wearing one of my aprons over the tattered remnants of her clothes. ‘Thank you for … um.’ Her pause made me think her admission last night was the first time she said those words out loud to someone else. ‘Thank you.’

‘It was nothing. You looked … really sick yesterday’: I took a leaf out of her book

She smiled. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to be polite. I know what I am.’ Her words were shaded with the same tint of sadness as when she confided in me about her loneliness.

‘No. You — the wolf — you were …’ Tame? She wasn’t an animal. She was … ‘You didn’t hurt — I’m fine.’ I held up both my hands to show her the absence of any marks, and she could very well see I wasn’t missing any limbs. ‘I’m fine,’ I repeated, ‘except for this sudden bout of scrambled egg for brains, but in my defence (or not), this is how I am a fair bit of the time. Who put me in charge of a meat slicer?’

‘You’re very kind. And cute,’ I thought I heard her say under her breath. ‘Thank you. How can I repay you for last night?’

‘You don’t have to. The meat’s on the house, too.’ Nothing to do with what I thought she said. ‘I’ll return you your £100 on the way out.’

‘No. Please. I could’ve done something bad to you.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘Please. There has to be something I can do for you. I’d feel terrible otherwise.’

I truly wanted nothing from her. I survived a night with a werewolf. That by itself was a fantastic reward. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. Well …

‘Were you serious about not coming to my shop anymore?’

‘I … if that’s what you want, I can go elsewhere. If you’re going to tell the other butchers not to sell to me because of what I am, that’s okay, too. I’ll figure something out.’

‘No. G— shit. That’s awful. I’m not —’ Why did she always jump to the worst conclusions about me? ‘No, promise me you’ll come back to my shop. That’s all I ask. And … your name. You’ve been coming here for years, and I don’t even know your name.’ I knew some of my customers’ names — and not necessarily the ones that mattered. Like her. ‘It’s not about the business I get from you, by the way. I don’t care what you are. I don’t know why you are what you are, and I have so many questions, but I do know it’s none of my business. I won’t judge.’

She nodded. ‘Thank you. I promise. I’ll come back. I’ll come back when it’s not the full moon and I didn’t skip lunch because I was too busy with work. And my name’s Eloise.’

‘I’m George.’

‘It’s lovely to meet you, George. Now you know why I buy so much meat on one day of every month. You’re the only person who knows what I am.’

‘I won’t tell anyone. You have my word.’

‘Thank you. I know I’ve said that a lot of times already, but I mean each and every one of them.’ Her eyes roved around the space. ‘I should go now. I have work in a couple of hours at best … or I’m late at worst. And you probably need to get ready, too. You should be opening soon … or I’ve made you late. It’s on your door.’

‘I have the day off today. Great timing, huh? Are you sure you’re good to drive?’

‘Yes, I can definitely manage much better today than I would’ve have yesterday. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was just so hungry …’ She shook her head, expelling a breath signalling disapproval. ‘I’ll return this’ — she yanked at an apron strap — ‘to you tomorrow as well.’

‘Actually … one more thing. So we’re really even.’

‘Yes?’

‘Would you perhaps like to meet for coffee later, please?’ I could only navel-gaze for so long.

She looked taken aback. That and her response, articulated in three softly spoken words — ‘I’d love to’, led me to believe that what she was like as a human did indeed carry over to her wolf self.

#exophilia #terato #werewolf #monster love #monster romance #mine

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radramblog · 3 years

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Radiohead Retrospective Part 4: We’ve got heads on sticks

Your name is Thom Yorke. You’ve just released what is considered one of the best albums of the 90s, if not of all time, and you’ve achieved a level of fame that at least one band member considers akin to the Beatles. Through the release of OK Computer, you’ve proven that even if people are pretty much over Oasis at this point, British rock bands still rule the airwaves. You’re also stressed the fuck out over just about all of this, and having a very hard time accustoming to the life of a celebrity- let alone the usual mental health issues.

What will you do?

Apparently, the answer was to write the fourth album to be as far away from the previous few as possible, seeking influence from IDM groups like Aphex Twin, jazz stuff, and just some bizarro instruments and experimentation and leaving a lot of the “rock” stuff behind. The primary genre listed for Kid A is usually Electronica or Ambient, with various off-kilter rock subgenres lagging behind, crying “you’re still gonna do guitars and stuff, right?”

Well…not as much anymore. But this era of Radiohead, this career-suicidal swerve, still proved monumentally successful, and showed that the band still had it, and that sometimes artistic risks do pay dividends.

A side note: I usually link music videos for the tracks I discuss as part of each post, as you’ll have seen in previous parts of this series. Kid A, however, doesn’t have any singles, and it sure doesn’t have any music videos. So…maybe just listen yourself. I’m probably in over my head here anyway.

I think the first 5 notes of Everything In Its Right Place are some of the most iconic in all of music.

Some personal background- Kid A was the first Radiohead I ever listened to. A particular cool and good mate of mine was a fan in high school, but I’d never listened to them at all, and I trusted his opinion musically, so I went to buy one of their CDs the next time I was at the shop. And for whatever reason, the cheapest one was Kid A at 10 bucks, and I didn’t want to gamble more than that, so that’s the one I got.

So the opening notes of Everything In Its Right Place were the first Radiohead I ever heard. And considering how much I obsessed over this band, in high school and beyond, it’s no surprise that this song is one of my favourites.

Not only did this song introduce me to Radiohead, it was effectively a gateway track for electronic music in general. This was the early 10s, and the majority of what I knew as electronic stuff was the EDM that was drowning the airwaves at the time. I hated that stuff out of principle, because being a hipster like that was definitely a personality. I don’t think I would ever have gotten into Vaporwave, into IDM, or into any electronic music the way I eventually would were it not for Everything In Its Right Place.

Now that I’ve spent 250 words talking about myself and not the actual song, we should probably stop that. Everything In Its Right Place is defined by this steady build of layering vocals and effects onto the relatively calm synth line, distorted vocals and word salad lyrics and manipulated noises growing and getting more chaotic before it just stops- the vocals fade out, the effects drop, and you’re left with the synth line- except it’s been slowly changing itself the whole time, and you don’t realise because you’ve been distracted by everything else at the same time.

It’s worth noting (and I don’t know if this was the case with OK Computer, because I don’t have an original copy of that one) that this was an album without liner notes, without the lyrics in the cover booklet. But at least in this case, the lyrics don’t matter as much as the v i b e. At least, that’s what I think.

On the topic of unintelligible lyrics, Kid A has a title track! I believe literally two Radiohead albums do this, the other being The Bends (though Hail to the Thief and In Rainbows do appear as lyrics). The song itself is an ambient, quiet piece that feels something like a twisted nursery tune- incredibly affected vocals, a syncopated (?) percussion, and a synth (I think???) that…I don’t know how to describe it, but it feels nursery-rhyme-y. If you’ve heard this song a few times, or you know what to listen for, you can piece together the lyrics somewhat- and they are, frankly, kind of unsettling. What is standing in the shadows at the end of your bed, can it please leave? And imagery of the Pied Piper is always either extremely silly or extremely unnerving, with this clearly leaning towards the latter. There’s a lot going on here- especially for a track most probably wouldn’t listen to outside the context of the full album. I know I generally don’t- not the kind of thing I generally am in the mood for.

We’re at 850+ words, and we’re only up to The National Anthem? Fuuuuck. Well, anyone who wasn’t on board the IDM train can at least appreciate this one more, it’s got an actual bassline. A killer one, at that, that drives the whole track. Well, you know, that and the B R A S S. Seriously, it sounds like they invited a marching band to this bad boy. The combination ends up sounding mostly like controlled chaos, a jazz band traffic jam wound together by that B A S S. But the bass can’t hold it forever, and eventually that shit breaks free and just, it just honks all over the place.

I’m frustratingly running out of things to say about this song I really like, as opposed to the other songs I really liked. Unfortunately, ya boi forgot to take his neurotypicalification pills today, and so I’m getting very distracted. Hopefully, that slightly unhinged nature suits the album somewhat.

The next song, How To Disappear Completely, is a Big Mood with a fun story attached. The main lyrics- I’m not here, this isn’t happening- were allegedly something none other than Michael Stipe from R.E.M. told Thom to help him deal with that massive stage fright that came with Getting Big. Fun trivia aside, this song is gorgeous, luscious with massive strings, an acoustic bend, aethereal vocals, and a background drone running through the thing that makes sure your hair is always a little on end through the thing. It’s a song whose lyrics are an attempt to escape anxiety, whose instrumentation serves more to reinforce it- a calm, melodic piece that builds into nervous swells and threatening strings. A song about fighting your fear, and losing.

Fuck me it’s a bit depressing isn’t it. It’s potentially the most emotionally revealing song the album has- a lot of the lyricism on other tracks is more metaphorical, or subtle, but the meaning in How To Disappear Completely is evident even just from the title. You get lost in the strings and they go from calming, to imposing, to downright menacing (and then back again) in the song’s final minute.

Treefingers, on the other hand, has a lot less to say, and by that I mean it’s an instrumental. A very atmospheric, ambient one, and thereby one I don’t have a lot to say about. I’m not sure I’m particularly good at commenting on regular music, but this kinda thing is a whole different animal. I have no idea how to interact with discussing this. I like it? I will say, that one note right at the end, that echoes for a bit, the one piece of clarity in this muddled, reverbed sphere, feels especially poignant, for reasons I cannot describe.

We go from ambient instrumental to arguable the most rock-song-like track on this album, Optimistic, certified banger that it is. Some might argue that it doesn’t fit here, but like, did they even hear the lyrics? The bridge? It more that deserves its place on one of the best albums around. The little way the guitar scales up during the chorus is excellent, the proggy drums and riffs are glorious, it’s just a very good rock song.

Also this is the first song with the lyric “dinosaurs roaming the earth”, which, aside from being a bit of a non-sequitur, would return two albums later. And I’m really looking forward to that one.

In Limbo is a song I kind of always forget exists until I hear it again. It’s antimemetic, the way the song goes slipping from my mind until I hear those opening notes again. I’m going to be honest, it’s probably because it’s also the most mid song on the album. Far from bad, but it isn’t doing anything that How to Disappear Completely or Optimistic aren’t doing better. If I had to remove any track from this album, it might be this one?

Watch me get fucking lynched from the fandom for that one, if I ever post this to r/Radiohead or whatever. Which I might, though as much as I’d like more people to read my things I’m also extremely anxious about the potential response. Like the album I’m discussing today, I’m terrified of fame.

Incidentally, In Limbo is also the shortest track on the album (Treefingers beats it by 11 seconds), though this isn’t initially obvious online at least, because people keep messing with Motion Picture Soundtrack. But we’re not there yet, hang on.

We go from the forgettable (to me) In Limbo to the utterly mesmerizing Idioteque. Anxious but danceable, confusing but emotive, messy but tightly controlled. I love this fucking song to death. The reason I got the particular Radiohead poster that I did was because it has lyrics from this on it.

I’ve heard that lyrics for this album were largely pulled from a hat, and nowhere is that more clear than here (or maybe Everything In Its Right Place). Despite this, there’s a pretty clear theme in them, a continuation of some of the themes of this and the last albums. A condemnation of wealth and cowardice in the face of ecological disaster. In the form of an apocalypse disco.

What a lot of people don’t know about this track is that it actually samples an extremely old electronic music piece- one written in 1973, on a particularly old computer. The track, mild und leise, is a very interesting track considering its age- I’m reminded of Selected Ambient Works by Aphex Twin- not so much musically, but about how that reason was as influential as it was because it was the first time songs had sounded like that, because it was the first time songs could sound like that- I suppose it’s somewhat similar in that way, if older. These pieces and their composers inexorably linked by the allure of technology, and how that could be used to define new eras in music history- in Radiohead’s case, it certainly defined the next few albums in their lifespan.

Jesus mild und leise is long, it’s still going as I write this. I need to get back to Kid A, man!

Idioteque leads directly into Morning Bell, admittedly another less memorable song. Largely percussion lead, plenty of falsetto, and with a very unsubtle theme if you listen to the lyrics. I recall seeing someone saying that “cut the kids in half” was a really surprising and spooky line, and, yeah, sure, it sort of is, but it’s only particularly bad if you don’t pay attention for the rest of it. It’s about divorce, dude, it’s not subtle.

Or apparently not, according to one interview, but Thom said the interpretation isn’t invalid, so haha still winning baybeeeee.

I think the only part of this I really can’t do without is the outro, because the last minute and a half of this song is really cool. The mumbled lyrics go really well with the rising percussion and eerie effects that end the track.

Our final song is Motion Picture Soundtrack, or, Exit Music (for Walt Disney’s Depression Nap). This and Street Spirit I think are what really cement Radiohead’s reputation for brutal closers, both of them being tragic but hauntingly beautiful in different ways. In this case, it’s the instrumentation- glittering harps attempting the echo 50s Disney. There’s actually a version of this song from the OK Computer era with extremely different instrumentation, piano rather than organ, and no harps (and a third verse that is utterly brutal). Regardless, this is the song they chose to close the apocalypse that Kid A is on- the final lyric being “I will see you in the next life”, as the glittering echoes into the night. Poignant and tragic, but a little hopeful- the next life hopefully won’t have the struggles and pain of this one.

And then, of course, there’s the hidden track. Nicknamed Genchildren by some (that’s just the username of the dude who uploaded it to Napster back in the day), officially known as Untitled, and the true closer to the album. With Spotify slapping it right at the end of Motion Picture Soundtrack, it’s not clear the true nature of this song- it’s actually hidden on the original album, after several minutes of silence, just long enough that you’ve forgotten you left the player running (or you’re still crying from Motion Picture Soundtrack). I don’t think there’s a real word for what this sounds like other than heavenly, and incredibly brief piece I’ve heard compared to the pearly gates. After all, if we end on “I will see you in the next life”, then what can this be but that?

Thus closes Kid A, a gorgeous and powerful album, yet an insane swerve for any rock band to pull, not just Radiohead. A bold strategy, and yet it paid off for them- Kid A would not only be massively influential, it was also massively successful both critically and commercially- but not to the standard of OK Computer before it. But they obviously weren’t trying to do OK Computer part 2, just as that album was deliberately not The Bends part 2.

Kid A would pretty much get a Part 2, though, less than a year later. And it’s that album we’ll be discussing next week, obviously. Until then.

#ramble #music #radiohead #kid a #idm #idm has to be the most pretentious acronym on the planet

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