#extremely experimental I just kind of slapped things on it to see what stuck

[scalacaelumx]

I will return to this land...and protect...my friends!

Day 7 of KHtober

[commander-diomika]

Wild What the Heart Wants

Fandom: Rusty Quill Gaming Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~4000 Additional Tags: Somnophilia, Drugged Sex, Rope Bondage, Japanese Rope Bondage, Frottage, Dubious Consent, Magic Made Them Do It, (sort of), pining Summary: "It was hour three, or thirty three, when Zolf heard clunking sounds.

Turning to look, he saw Wilde, his scruffy hair and shoulders of his furred jacket, emerging from the hatch a few feet behind the helm.

“Wilde?” Zolf asked, peering over his shoulder.

Wilde didn’t respond and continued to rise from the hatch with a very unnatural movement. It took careful consideration for Zolf to make sense of it, glancing repeatedly back over his shoulder. Wilde wasn’t climbing out of the hatch; he was wrapped in a thick length of rope, unconscious, and was being dragged up out of the hold.

The ship had been quietly tacking itself for some time now, but this was new."

Read on Ao3

OR

Zolf had lost track of time.

The shifting phases and ribbons of the borealis were hypnotic. It was like a heat haze inside his mind, contrasting with the chill air on his cheeks. The ship seemed to respond eagerly to his every touch, anticipating and giving Zolf exactly what he wanted. He didn’t know if he should be fighting it, or simply accepting his good fortune.

He shook his head as if to clear it, for the hundredth time that hour, for the tenth time in as many minutes, for some fractions of moments of time. He could hear nothing but the gentle chimes for what seemed like an eternity, or a brief moment. He could still see the inky black sky and stars above if he strained.

It was hour three, or thirty three, when he heard some clunking sounds.

Turning to look, he saw Wilde, his scruffy hair and shoulders of his big, furred jacket, emerging from the hatch a few feet behind the helm.

“Wilde?” Zolf asked, peering over his shoulder, not taking his hands off the wheel. “Everythin’ alright?” He couldn’t quite process what he was seeing through the haze.

Wilde didn’t respond and continued to rise from the hatch with a very unnatural movement. It took careful consideration for Zolf to make sense of it, glancing repeatedly back over his shoulder. Wilde wasn’t climbing out of the hatch; he was wrapped in a thick length of rope, unconscious, and was being dragged up.

The ship had been quietly tacking itself for some time now, but this was new.

“Wilde?” Zolf asked again, pitched a little higher than last time. The bundled form that was Wilde fully emerged, and was carefully deposited on the deck, flat on his back, for all appearances looking like he was being moved by a giant, gentle hand.

Zolf looked back at his instruments grimly. “Maybe it just thought I'd like some company.”

He took a scant moment to assess the situation. As much as Zolf had been apprehensive of what the borealis had to throw at them, so far it had been not much of anything except extremely unsettling… and exhausting. He locked the wheel and spun to check on Wilde.

The man was unconscious, bundled from hips to shoulders in rope, arms pinned, in a way that looked to Zolf’s eye quite comfortable. Zolf knelt and checked him over; there didn’t appear to be anything wrong with him, aside from the fact that he was fast asleep.

Sleeping in a way that kept on, even as he was being dragged up out of the hold. Zolf thought, lips pursed. If being hauled about hadn’t woken him, Zolf doubted anything he could do might change the situation, but he tried anyway.

“Wilde,” Zolf said again, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him, taking care not to knock his head against the deck. Nothing. No response.

“Oi!” Zolf shouted down into the hold. “Anyone alive down there? Cel? Azu!”

No sound of movement. No sounds at all except for the bright ringing in his ears.

He took a quick glace up at the bow, as a particularly lurid ribbon of colour wafted past his eyes. Nothing needed his immediate attention, but Zolf’s instincts were rattling. This could be a trap. A distraction. Why else would the magic have brought him Wilde? Of all the people it could have hauled up here, why Oscar bloody Wilde?

He repeated Wilde’s name, leaning down to speak almost conspiratorially into an ear. “Wilde, I hate your hair.” Still nothing.

Steeling himself, and wondering why this felt so wrong, when once upon a time he’d dreamed of doing just this, he moved to crack a hard slap across Wilde’s face. Zolf felt like his hand moved through water, sluggish and thick, but the impact went as planned, as if there was no resistance in the air at all. Wilde’s head jolted to the side, overly long hair flopping into his face, but no response. Zolf was stuck there in that moment, watching as the impact slowly brought up a red outline on Wilde’s cheek.

He was much more attractive when he wasn’t talking.

Zolf knelt up on his haunches, nonplussed and shaking off the fugue for the umpteenth time. No kind of magical sleep he was familiar with would hold up after that, which was deeply worrying, but not surprising. With another quick glance over the supine man, Zolf decided this wasn’t an immediate problem. Hell, maybe it was better that Wilde was unconscious, because at least he didn’t have to listen to the man talk.

He did need to keep an eye on him, however. Lacing his hands into the rope at Wilde’s collarbone and waist, he easily hefted the sleeping body up and forward on the deck, toward the nook at the prow where the crew had taken to socialising of an evening. Again, taking care not to knock Wilde’s head about, he wedged Wilde in a spot where he would hopefully be secure. The ropes were now still, but when Zolf went looking for an tail end or a knot, they slithered eerily, keeping any point of ingress away from Zolf’s searching hands. There was something teasing in the movement, as though the ropes were laughing at his attempts.

“Ok, you want him, you can keep him.” Zolf shrugged bemusedly and returned to the helm.

The travelling was smooth. Smoother than it was outside the borealis. The glide of the Vengeance through the air was unnervingly even, with none of the wafts of turbulence that normally shook the vessel. Even the chimes were soothing. The ship barely needed him anymore, rolling itself through the sky with a will of its own, a will that so far, perfectly matched Zolf’s. He lost himself in it, keeping his gaze steady on where he guessed the horizon might be through all the colours.

He was brought back by sounds of shuffling movement. He glanced over to Wilde and noted the rope had unspooled itself. For a heartbeat Zolf thought that maybe this dreamscape was coming to an end. Then the ropes started tendrilling their way into Wilde’s clothes. They travelled a slalom through the line of buttons down his coat. Zolf watched, still feeling dreamy and distant.

He snapped back to himself when the wiggling rope started to work the buttons open.

“Hey!” He yelled. He gave the instruments a rushed glance, snapped a look out to the imagined horizon. In the time it took for that quick check, the rope had completely opened the jacket and was working on the line of buttons of Wilde’s ivory undershirt, bizarrely fast in comparison to the dreamy quality of evening air.

“Oi! It’s cold out here!” was the first thing that popped out of mouth. He had no idea why that was his first thought. He couldn’t think about the deeply surreal situation he was in. He was yelling at a rope which was undressing his, friend, on an airship flying through the most peaceful of storms, and every other living creature on the ship had slipped into an impossible sleep. He didn’t know what he was doing and this was beyond the pale. The rope had finished its work on the soft undershirt and was moving toward the clasp of Wilde’s trousers, and Zolf’s cheekbones felt high and hot against the gentle touch of the passing wind.

He let go of the wheel and rushed over.

In the process of the rope unspooling from around Wilde’s torso, he’d gradually been laid flat on the deck, in the lee of some crates. Both layers on his upper body had been efficiently unbuttoned, baring a line of skin from clavicle to stomach. Zolf’s eyes drew unthinkingly to the soft line of dark hair that ran from Wilde’s navel to the top button of his trousers, which a rope was just starting to experimentally pluck at.

Zolf dropped to his knees next to the sleeping Wilde, reaching for the moving rope. It seemed to predict his movements, slipping and sliding away from his hands. Zolf’s fingertips brushed over the skin of Wilde’s stomach and he yanked the hand back as if burned. One rope-end wound out of the busy mess and waggled, like a scolding finger saying no no, none of that, just let us do this for you.

With stunning dexterity, the rope dodged Zolf’s grasp again, and popped the first button on Wilde’s slacks.

Zolf frantically ran through his mental list of spells and tools. He cast Dispel Magic with a wave, and for the briefest of moments the searching ropes stilled. He had time for one relieved exhale before they twitched back to life. Of course. The whole bloody ship was marinating in the borealis, there was no way he was going to win this fight going toe-to-toe magically.

“Arrgh! Stop it!” he cried, once again trying to get a hold of the ropes and failing. “What d’you think you’re doin’?”

He knew it was bonkers, completely unhinged, to feel like the ropes were replying to him, but somehow the waggling end reappeared and with a little shrug-like wave, he knew it was saying we’re helping.

“You’re not- do you- do you think you’re doing me a favour?!” The ropes had briefly lost their hold on Wilde’s fly and instead now were working on shimmying his arms free of his shirt and jacket. The effect was nauseating to watch.

The ropes didn’t deign to respond to his comment, and Zolf, utterly poleaxed, sat back on his haunches again. It was a good thing that the ship was taking care of itself, because Zolf Smith was not currently in any position to help.

Wilde, still peaceful despite this flurry of activity around his body, gave a small sigh. A contented, pleasured sound, and Zolf realised with dawning horror that even though Wilde was out for the count, his body was still responding. Ropes, now weaved and wiggling through the trouser buttons, shifted slightly from the pressure of Wilde’s erection.

“Oh no no, shit,” he moaned, and ran his hands through his hair.

Pop pop pop, the last three button’s on Wilde’s fly gave and Zolf made a sudden decision. This right here? Was just not something he had to deal with. He also decided that he wasn’t curious, that he wasn’t thinking about the soft press of his lips against Wilde’s cheek, and that he had more important things to be doing than watching this perverse unwrapping.

On the few steps back to the helm, a thought coalesced. It was the thought that this whole situation was responding to something that he had asked for, had yearned for. Then the thought wafted away like one of the incandescent and ephemeral light streamers passing through his body.

He stared, dead ahead across the wheel, glancing at the instruments but not taking anything in.

The chimes seemed softer now, as thought he was hearing them in his mind and not with his ears, and the whispered noises of cloth and rope on skin pressed in on him. He ignored the insistent part of his mind, begging him to dip his eyes slightly left and see… whatever the animate ropes were up to now. He tried to slip back into that dreamy, relaxed state that had typified the journey through the aurora before Wilde had been dragged up here.

“I don’t want this. I didn’t ask for this,” he said to himself, to the magic around him and passing through him, his eyes locked on the prow slicing silently through the night.

The passage of time slipped through his grasp like water. The chimes seemed to draw nearer in waves then form eddies that he swore he could feel tickling his sensitive ears.

He had no memory of the rustling of clothes ceasing. He didn’t remember leaving the wheel to stand over Wilde’s sleeping body.

The ropes had finished their task of stripping him naked. He lay bare atop the cushioning of his furs, and the ropes had wrapped themselves artfully, carefully, over the body. A row of expert knots walked a line over his smattering of chest hair, from the hollow of his throat to his navel, lines of rope radiating out to loop around his ribs, back, twine together and spiral around his arms, holding them to his side. The radiating diamond shapes continued down his legs to the anti-magic cuffs in impressively complex patterns.

Now, Zolf was good with knots, and he’d seen Wilde naked, but he’d never seen anything like this before.

His legs felt heavy as he dropped to his knees with a metallic clank. He noted a detail that had been missed with the first sweep of his eyes; low on Wilde’s stomach, just above his half-hard cock, the ropes came together to make an absurd bow.

Like a present.

Zolf slapped himself in the face, ground his teeth together, and stood. He half turned with the intention of getting a blanket, because aside from the hot embarrassment churning in his stomach, the deck of an airship flying through the Northern Wastes was no place to be naked. As he turned, however, he noticed that he wasn't actually cold. The closer he came to this small lee on the bow, the warmer he felt, and not just from the heat in his face and ears. If he squinted, he could even see that the wafts of the visible spectrum of the wild magic seemed to have taken on a warmer hue.

“Ok,” he muttered. “I get it. At least you’re not tryin’ to kill him.”

The trailing ends of the bow undulated, as if to say We know! Didn’t we do a good job?

Zolf sighed, and slumped down next to Wilde. He’d lost it. He’d completely lost the plot somewhere in this borealis and this was all a nightmare of the most ghoulish and punishing kind. He’d been expecting strange, even dangerous. He hadn’t been expecting targeted.

Defeated, he looked at Wilde’s sleeping face. The man looked… peaceful in a way that Zolf rarely saw these days. No frown adorned his forehead, no smirk on his lips. Even the scar dragging at his mouth seemed less tight, less painful in sleep.

Instinctively, Zolf leant down and pressed a closed kiss to Wilde’s lips. They were soft, much plusher than Zolf’s ever had been. The sleeping man didn’t kiss back of course, but Zolf was overwhelmed by the vision of what that might feel like, to have Wilde part his lips into the kiss, to have him wind his long-fingered, delicate human hands into Zolf’s hair.

He sat back up quickly. It wasn’t like that, of course. Or if it was like that, he couldn’t hope to have that desire reciprocated. It was laughable that someone like Oscar Wilde, practically a professional libertine, would ever… anyway.

Zolf cast heavy eyes over the ship. He’d given up trying to give the ship orders. If he tried to work against his own instincts for the sailing, the ship simply read his mind and continued on the optimal path anyway. If the Vengeance decided to sail itself into the side of a mountain, there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it. And he was so tired.

The now-familiar sound of rope moving on skin started up again, breaking Zolf out of a moment of reverie. The ropes around Wilde’s legs were shifting again, pulling and sliding over themselves in a complicated series of hitches, and Wilde’s knees bent and started to lift away from the deck.

Zolf stared, tired and numb for a moment, before he guessed where his new hempen friends were going with this.

“Oh gods, no!” Zolf said, and quicker and nimbler than he generally was, surged up from seated to straddle Wilde’s thighs, flattening them back to the deck. The ropes, however, were insistent that Wilde’s legs continue to bend, wanting him to bring his knees up into his chest.

The ropes were strong, strong enough to drag someone wholesale from below deck. As they fought to enact their vision, against the pressure of the dwarf straddling Wilde’s thighs, they started to restrict, pressing hard into the pale skin of Wilde’s legs, digging into his hips

“Stop it!” Zolf yelled. The fact that he was now just unabashedly arguing with a rope was a piece of lunacy he’d stopped questioning. “You’re hurting him!”

That… didn’t exactly seem to be true. It was clear that Wilde didn’t mind the sensations of the rope constricting his flesh, dragging on his skin. There was now a flush high in his cheeks, and his breath was catching into small, pleasurable whimpers. Glancing down before he could stop himself, Zolf noted Wilde was as hard as he could be, cock flushed and pulled tight against the plane of his lower stomach.

Zolf swallowed.

In a last-ditch effort, the ropes yanked, and Zolf’s arse slid forward, his upper body pitching, hands flung wide to catch himself before he faceplanted into Wilde’s sternum. He breathed out, hard.

Zolf had no memory of his own erection swelling. Had it been the kiss? Had it been the feel of Wilde’s thighs, trembling beneath his? The sound of rope sliding on skin? Had he been hard, throbbing, since the ropes started to shamelessly pluck open Wilde’s slacks?

He hadn’t been aware of it, but he was aware of it now, the laces of his trousers tight, pressed flush to the base of Wilde’s prick. Foggy, blurry, he lent weight into his hands and ground down, eliciting another whimper from Wilde. Arousal and shame were heavy in Zolf’s stomach, sick pleasure shooting up his spine from the contact. He sat up, the movement pushing their crotches together again.

“Don’t,” he whispered. To himself? To the borealis? To Wilde, as though he had somehow asked for this, the way that something inside Zolf had? To whomever he spoke made no difference, as Zolf unlaced his trousers. Wilde’s cock was unbearably warm as Zolf slid his fingers under it. He pressed the underside of Wilde’s shaft to his own, breath hitching, mind blank, and wrapped both hands around the two of them.

Wilde was achingly, pathetically hard, wetness caught in the hair on his stomach where the head of his cock had rested, and when Zolf firmed his hands, a moan escaped Wilde’s sleeping lips. Zolf pumped his hands, slowly, breath ragged. He closed his eyes, let his head fall back and just felt the heat of them together.

Wilde was whimpering, breathy, and Zolf opened his eyes to look again.

Wilde looked utterly fucking gorgeous. Zolf paused a moment, ignoring the sick swoop of shame in his stomach, and gave a practised, long wet lick of one hand. He returned them to let his saliva mingle with the slick of pre-come, and increased the pace, now unable to tear his eyes from Wilde’s face. The dreamlike quality of the borealis intensified, as though satisfied, and everything seemed to narrow down to wet slide of their cocks, and the sleepy whimpers escaping Wilde’s soft mouth.

When Zolf had imagined what it might be like, and he had, on late nights on the border between wakefulness and sleep, Wilde hadn’t been like this. In those nascent fantasies he was always perfectly in control, smirking, calculated. Never in his wildest imaginings had he thought of Oscar like this, helpless and desperate and softly whining under his hands.

Wilde’s eyelids fluttered. Zolf’s heart swooped in panic at the sight, but he quickly realised what was happening, as Wilde’s stomach tensed, and he came with a relieved-sounding sigh. Adrenaline mixed with desperate arousal smashed into Zolf as he felt Wilde’s cock pulse against his, a line of slick running onto his hands. Zolfs orgasm tore through him, and he let out a frayed moan.

He jumped up as though electrified. Hands shaking as he laced his trousers, he noticed the borealis abating. Almost as though it had been waiting for them to finish.

Zolf stared down Wilde, naked and splashed with their combined spend. A perverse thought flitted through his mind, that even if he didn’t have time to clean this up, it probably wouldn’t be the first time Wilde had awoken in such a state.

“… Fuck.” He whispered. Before he could panic or whirl back to the helm, a bucket and wash cloth scraped its way into his line of sight. As Zolf cleaned up, he noticed Wilde’s clothes themselves starting to move, something sheepish in their demeanor as they started to wind their way back onto their owner’s body. Ropes unknotted themselves and started to help and to tidy. A loose end gave a jaunty gesture that could only be interpreted as a thumbs up.

A slightly hysterical laugh broke from Zolf’s mouth. At least this particular problem was handling itself. Zolf shook off his laughter and dashed back to the helm. If the magic was abating, the ship was going to come to rights, that was, to lose the sentience that it had displayed during their time in the borealis.

Blessedly, Wilde was fully dressed by the time he came to. If he had questions about why he was on the deck when he’d started this adventure in the anti-magic chamber, he didn’t have time to ask them in the ensuing chaos, as the crew woke and discovered their bodies were no longer their own.

--

It was very easy to avoid being alone with someone on a ship the size of the Vengeance with a crew of eighteen. Especially if you are the first mate. Always things to do. Hell, you could even avoid talking to someone at all if you were as busy and important as Zolf made sure he was.

So it wasn’t until days later, as the crew drank and made merry on the night of the Grande Opening of the Bow Bar, that Wilde managed to ruin Zolf’s streak by catching a quiet moment and sitting down next to him.

“I feel like I had the strangest dream through the borealis,” Wilde began, looking sidelong at Zolf with an uncharacteristically impassive gaze.

Zolf’s stomach dropped. He went to speak, found his throat locked, and took a swig of his stout. He was hoping that Wilde would continue, but it seemed he was content to let Zolf stew. “You… you remember much of it?” Zolf rasped.

“Bits and pieces,” Wilde replied. “Combined with where and how I awoke, it certainly paints an… interesting picture.”

Zolf stared down into his drink, unable to meet Wilde’s eyes. “Listen. You know I gotta see this through but, after… after Svalbard and whatever happens next, I’ll leave. You’ll never have to speak to me again.” Zolf’s stomach hurt. That it would end like this… it was unbearable. “I- I’m sorry.”

Wilde sighed, deep and world-weary. Zolf glanced up and to his confusion, there was a familiar, indulgent smirk on Wilde’s lips. Zolf was expecting disgust, disdain, and yet.

“Zolf… The ship was flying itself, and from what I can tell, it was leading us to where we all wanted to go. You can be so… wilfully blind. Stubborn, too.”

Zolf’s jaw hung open, as Wilde stood and clasped his shoulder with a warmth that Zolf didn’t deserve. Dropping his voice a touch to prevent the other merry-makers overhearing, Wilde continued. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll be awake next time. The rope probably not so much, but I’ve seen how good you are with knots.”

Wilde smiled winningly, let go of Zolf’s shoulder, and returned to the party.

[whoisaditya]

A love letter to The Wombats

First, a brief background about The Wombats: The Wombats is an interesting English Indie Rock Band. They started back in 2003 in Liverpool, United Kingdom. The most interesting thing about them is how experimental they are with their albums — considering their vast range. One might think that The Wombats don’t care about what you and I think. They care about their art and what that represents. This is what makes them free to do whatever they want. Now, the album that I want to talk about is some of their earlier work. It was released back in 2007. Damn, that feels like an eternity ago. So let’s begin our journey.

The first track: Tales of Girls, Boys and Marsupials. For me, this track prepares you for what’s to come. It is a good melody and relatively simple. I’ve always enjoyed it because of how strange it is. From this, we move onto the second track.

Kill the Director. This is the song that brought me to the album, and for a long time, it was one of the most played songs for me on Spotify. When I think of this song, I think of the music video which you should watch. The song is different from the first track, and it is faster and has a lot of content. My favourite things are British pop culture references. The nods to Bridget Jones’s Diary and EastEnders make this a quintessentially British song.

Track 3: Moving to New York, this song has always been close to my heart because it is edgy. It tells us what the British think of American cities like New York. I have always had trouble understanding this song due to multiple reasons. Even right now while I’m reading the lyrics and thinking about what to write about them, I am confused. If you look at it literally, the song talks about sleeplessness and Christmas for some reason. Now, let me tell you what I feel about it. This has always been a song to which I headbang and do the air guitar. I never really understood the lyrics. I probably never will. Though, my favourite part has been these lines.

“I put one foot forward and ended up 30 yards back.

Am I losing touch, or am I just completely off the track?

And I don’t know why I want to voice this out loud.

It’s therapeutic somehow.”

Especially the line, “Am I losing touch or am I just completely off track”. Back when I first heard this song, the pandemic was at its peak. I was preparing for entrances, and life was a mess. I related to this, and I’m sure you guys will as well. This song will make you feel things and reconsider life as a whole.

Now, moving onto track 4, Lost in the Post. This is the most popular song on the album. The song sounds surprisingly happy, but when you pay attention, the lyrics are depressing. It is my kind of music because it tells us a story with a catchy chorus. The line that has stuck with me is “She Wanted Mary Poppins but I took her to King Lear”. It represents so much more than you and I can comprehend. It represents not being enough and a theme of overcompensation followed by under-compensation. Its a simple song but the Wombats have done a good job of packing it with references. It is a song about insecurities and love, the two things that are fundamental to any artist.

Track 5: Party in a Forest(Where’s Laura?). Laura, oh, Laura. I will never truly understand this song. Is it a love letter to Laura or is it a desperate man singing for a girl who will never love him back? Throughout the song, he keeps calling out to Laura, but there’s no response. By the end of it, it seems like he has almost given up. Maybe I’m just reading too much into music, or perhaps this boy is writing songs about a gender he doesn’t understand.

Track 6 is something most of us can relate to. Titled “Schools Uniform”, it is literally from the perspective of a teenage boy going through puberty. It is not the typical “Oh. I miss school” song, but maybe a more realistic approach to what school was. Those uniforms, which most of us claim to miss, perhaps made a joke of us. He sings about a girl he likes and who he used to be friends with, but now she has an older boyfriend. The most important thing about this song is how teens romanticise/think that smoking is cool. It’s the whole trope of doing something because someone else is doing it. After all, someone has deemed it cool. The song does an excellent job of talking about how teenagers try their best to fit in to get the validation they so desperately want. This is generally executed by doing things that most of the time is not good for them, and here ends track 6.

Moving on to track 7, the song I’m most excited to write about. Here Comes the Anxiety is the epitome of a cry for help. It is probably the most painful to listen to because it doesn’t even hide that it is sad. I have to give it credit for being honest about its message. In a messed up way, this taught me how to be honest about myself. The song starts by calling out what I think is all music where creators hide the real message behind catchy hooks and other techniques. The essence of the song is hypocritical; it has a catchy hook line(It is literally in the title). The song is just lying to you; it tries to sell an honest image, but it is not. Don’t get me wrong, it is a good song, but it is just like everything else. It is a dark song like it claims to be. It is a song about a lonely man who doesn’t want to be alone, and that’s about it for track 7.

Let’s Dance to Joy Division is one of my favourite songs. So, I have a sort of personal bias towards it. It is happy and real but also quite sad. The lines

“Everything is going wrong but we’re so happy” perfectly captures the essence of this kind of music. It is happy music, so don’t question it. You don’t need to be comfortable while listening to it, maybe sing along and pretend that your life isn’t going to shit. My interpretation of this song is, you shouldn’t question life while it is happening. If something has to go wrong, it probably will, so why even worry about it. Just be happy and maybe play this on a loop.

Track 9 is Backfire at the Disco. It describes a heterosexual first date. A guy gets ready at 8 pm, meets the girl and then gets slapped. The story is pretty straightforward. The guy makes a move at the wrong time. The girl slaps him in response and has to go back home alone at 3 am. What’s important to me isn’t the story but how it’s told. The song starts with how everything is fine and how it is all going okay. It sounds like the girl is in the wrong and that we should feel bad for the guy. The song gets pretty misogynistic when he calls her dress whorish. To give him some credit, he does admit his mistake by the end, but then it is too late, and the narrative has been set. This victimisation of the perpetrator is extremely harmful. It creates a story that men don’t know what to do and how it is an honest mistake. This message is toxic, and anyone listening to this should keep this in mind.

Little Miss Pipedream describes a toxic one-sided relationship. The song is comparatively slower-paced, where the stress is on the lyrics. The song expects us to feel sympathy for this man who is madly in love with this girl. The protagonist is portrayed as a friendly guy who is willing to wait for this girl. This man has selfish ideas of love, and he’s trying to convince the listeners to sympathise with him. These ideas are selfish because they are all based around him. Lyrics like, “Don’t leave miss pipedream cause I love you.” is an example of what is incorrect with this song. Pop culture has often romanticised these ideas and portrayed these men as heroes.

Track 11 is about a therapist named Dr Susan. It is clear that Dr Susan is treating and is prescribing him narcotics. He is infatuated with her and is willing to do anything for her. This is clearly some toxic behaviour. The singer keeps repeating “This Time” which means that he has done this before. The most concerning thing is “Help Me Help Help Me, Susan”. We can see a theme where he asks for help but no one gives it to him and there ends track 11.

Track 12 is about loving a woman who doesn’t want to be loved. The singer has fallen in love with a stripper and is willing to do anything to be with her. His behaviour indicates that he has lost track of reality. In his head, his actions are part of a grander love story but it is psychotic behaviour. This is ironic cause the last song was about a therapist. He clearly knows what he is doing is wrong but he still continues to do so. This entire song does a good job of showing a messed up, toxic relationship between a desperate man and a stripper.

The story of Track 13 is set at the wedding of the protagonist’s ex-girlfriend. It does something unusual by portraying alcoholic tendencies at a wedding. The lyrics make it clear that he still has some feelings for his ex-girlfriend. I don’t know where the blame lies on this one because of the conflicting narratives. The repetition of the line, “She’s not that beautiful” shows us his hatred towards the bride and how our emotions are more complex than they seem. One would assume that after all this time he wouldn’t resent his old partner but he does. This is because humans are complicated and irrational and there’s nothing we can do about it. This also shows how when we are with someone everything seems romantic but when they leave we criticise all their actions. To conclude, the song is quite entertaining and definitely worth listening to.

If you have read this until now and not skimmed as most people will, you must be thinking that all these songs sound somewhat similar. It’s a simple boy loves girl plot which is portrayed in multiple different settings. Before I started writing this, I thought that I would have something unique to write about each song, but I don’t. As I moved on from track to track, I realised that most of these are about the same thing. Does this mean the songs are not great? No, of course not, they are amazing. Each track is unique and has a storyline, the music is good, and that’s why people enjoy it. Music is subjective, and at the end of the day, my opinion means jackshit. Yeah, enjoy the music; I hope what I wrote made you think and introspect about the music you listen to.

[childofmyth-art]

A LeafGreen Myth - Chapter 2: Blue Attacks

Mild Violence Warning

We arrived at Viridian City again, and after a quick visit to the Poke Center, we headed straight for Route 22, upon rumors that it leads to Victory Road.

I released my team, now back in their Pokémon forms, and clapped my hands together, an eager look upon my face.

"Let's get another member!" I declared. We spread out and walked through the tall grass in different sections. I searched extensively but found nothing. I was beginning to feel it again. Deep in my chest the sensation of--

"ARAHH!"

My head whipped up at the scream and I dashed in its direction. It sounded like a Pidgey, might even be Nicole. I pushed through a bush frantically, weaving along the grass to find Nicole roosting on an extremely annoyed Mankey's head.

The Mankey turned to look at me, but did nothing. If he would have gotten up he would have disturbed Nicole and for some reason he didn't seem peeved enough to chase off the one annoying him. That is adorable. I tossed a Poke ball and caught him with no problem, Nicole fluttering back into the air as he was sucked into the device.

I let the Mankey back out and smiled. "Listen, I'm about to do something, and Nicole will explain. I have to go find John." I put my hands on both of my Pokémon and after they turned, I quickly looked the Mankey over before leaving.

His hair jutted out in all directions in brown spikes, and his Pokémon ears, also fuzzy and brown, stuck out of the mess. He had an equally unkempt brown fur vest that exposed his chiseled abdomen with tan pants and black boots. Hung around his neck was his Pokémon snout as a necklace. It was fake, to my relief. A tan, brown-tipped tail whipped behind him.

I turned and ran off, calling for John. After I was a few yards away arms grabbed me from behind. A hand clapped over my mouth as I let out a surprised squeak, muffled by the palm covering the lower half of my face. I twisted defiantly, granting me a glance to see who was holding me. Blue was there, a crazed look in his eyes as he held me tightly, painfully.

He flung me to the ground and stood over my body. "I saw what you did." My old friend hissed in a hushed tone that I almost missed.

"You touched them and-- and they changed ..." He continued, waving his arms and looking crazily mystified. I was scared, too frightened to move. I knew what Blue was capable of, even back then. He used to bully me, violently, back in Pallet Town after he changed.

Blue looked down at me and smiled. "I want my Pokémon to change, too."

I shook my head furiously. "No, no, Blue, you can't. Only I ca--" I was silenced by a stinging pain before I finished my stammering when he slapped me out of nowhere.

"Don't lie to me!” he shouted, “I've read about people like you. There’s one of you born every hundred years. They have your eyes, black and white. They change their Pokémon into humans and... they can share this power." Blue paused, his eyes boring disdain and a seething fury into my very form.

"...but I never thought it would actually be you ."

My eyes widened in terror, a crippling fear that reared its ugly head from the recesses of my mind, displaying itself on my face at the realization that he knew.

"No Blue, Pokémon are to stay as creatures… that is the natural way. People can't just turn Pokémon into humans. It's wrong. You can't do this, Blue!" Against everything my mind was screaming, my voice stayed calm and orderly.

Blue reached into his pocket and pulled out a rectangular object clutched idly within his hand. He tightened his grip on it for a moment, and in a quick display, a dangerous gleam reflected upon the sharp metal that appeared. There were no words, only a firm pressure as he pressed the knife’s edge on my neck, too frozen to try and shake him away.

"Give me the power," he simply said, his tone demanding as he knew of the advantage and control that he had over me.

I gulped, feeling the cold sharpness of the blade as the lump on my throat passed through. "O-okay..."

I raised my hand to his temple, fingers visibly shaking as I hesitantly placed my palm upon his person. My eyes glowed a blinding white, and power surged through my arm. Blue caught his breath, seemingly dazed, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lower lip akin to experiencing pain.

I felt my strength waning, energy from my body quickly draining as the transfer happened in a span of a short moment, even though it seemed to stretch on for longer. By the time it was done, I grew dizzy, my breaths ragged, exhaustion ticking as my eyes returned to its previous, non-magical state.

Blue blinked his eyes open and flexed his fingers experimentally as he felt something coursing through him. A mysterious smile crept upon his features as he did, that manic gaze trailing back towards me. The knife jammed closer to my throat then, and my breath hitched at the more forceful pressure. He wasn’t laughing, but I could see that gleefully psychotic expression dancing within his eyes, a swirl of darkness I couldn’t even begin to understand.

"Now that I have this power, I no longer need you."

Bound to fear I was, I could only cower in place and look on, paralyzed. It was the only thing that ran through my mind, nothing I could do seemed to make any sense at that point. I was ready to accept my fate, tears pricking my eyes at the thought of losing my life, when a roar resounded somewhere around us. Blue turned around to discern what it was, just to get tackled in the face by a green blur. He cried out in surprise, and I took my chance to escape, crawling away from under that maniac in a frantic frame of time. I looked back, panting over my shoulder as I watched the scene that was unfolding.

John, using Blue's face as a launch pad, leaped away and stood in front of me, growling at my attacker.

Blue stood and brandished his weapon menacingly, unafraid. "You wanna go, Poke-freak?"

John stomped his foot, eager for action, ready for an attack.  My first thought was to scramble across the ground to put my hand on John's forehead before anything could happen. He was enveloped in a green light once again as Blue rushed him. Johnathon, now in his human form, leaped out of the glow and kicked Blue in the stomach, sending him flying back. John turned back and stood in a defensive stance in front of me.

Blue smirked and charged again, but this time at the last second he leaped and jumped over Johnathon. He landed smoothly on the ground in front of me, his hand clenched on his knife as he raised it up, aiming for my head. The moment was too fast for my still reeling mind, I couldn't even flinch.

Without turning, Johnathon reached a hand over his shoulder and latched onto Blue's wrist, halting his blade. He used both hands and bent down as he used his strength to fling Blue over himself and into the ground, face first.

Blue didn't even seem fazed as he rolled away and leapt onto his feet. He dashed towards John, knife held tightly as he flailed it about in the air.

With amazing precision, John caught both of Blue's wrists, and that's when the fight turned into a battle of strength. The boys pushed against each other, trying to injure one another while avoiding the steel’s cold edge. Sweat began to dot John's skin at the effort he put in, and he grimaced at the struggle and the boy in front of him.

I sat in silence, frozen in fear of failure. I should help, I should get up, I should do something at least... but I didn't know what to do, what to say. So I just sat there and watched, in a state of paralysis, looking on as my attempt to start over was straining and losing, as if it was never meant to happen.

John tightened his grip, arms flexed and slowly giving out as he made a low wheezing noise. His eyes squeezed shut as the knife drew ever closer.

Suddenly, a blinding light sprouted between John's shoulder blades, and green vines snaked out of his back. One struck Blue across the face while the other yanked the knife out of his hand. A wound opened up on Blue's cheek and he cried out in pain.

John pushed him down and stomped a foot onto his chest, "LEAVE!" he roared at a terrified Blue. The smug visage of my childhood friend seemed to have disappeared, and it was a surprise to see.

Blue nodded hurriedly and scurried away once John released him. Like a vengeful animal, he turned back and pointed a finger at me in an attempt to pick up what fragments remained of his pride.

"I'll see you again, Mythica. And trust me, I'll get rid of you one of these days." He spoke of finality, a dangerous threat that he planned to carry out, but then he ran before John or I could do anything else.

I curled up onto myself, wincing at his death threat and the painful weight in the pit of my stomach. Just like that I had almost lost everything again. I had almost failed, was almost left alone again with this crippling feeling eating me up from within. John probably couldn't even look at me. I knew it. I knew he’d want to leave me, I had almost let him die. I did nothing but watch. He hated me. Just like Blue… just like everyone.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as the dark thoughts in my head consumed me, yet I made no sound.

They hated me.

Footsteps approached me and I shook my head.

He hated me. Why didn’t he leave already?

"Master?"

Please leave.

Don't put me through this.

Johnathon crouched down beside me and his arms wrapped around me firmly, yet tenderly. He turned me around and pressed me against his chest.

"Please don't cry, Master. I'll protect you..." I desperately grabbed handfuls of his robe in my hands, holding onto something solid.

What? Didn’t he hate me?

"You don't.... want to leave? You don't hate me?" I was shocked as my voice came out timidly, a crack that broke my calmness, for once displaying any kind of emotion.

John's embrace became tighter and he shook his head. "No, never. It's my duty to stay and protect you, Master. That's just what I'm going to do." He didn't even question why I thought he would hate me. Somehow he knew not to ask, because I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell anyone. Not... yet.

I felt a heaviness weighing my chest, and I wretch out a sob from my throat, pressing my face against John's neck as I began to cry in earnest. I never made a sound when I cried, but there was something in Johnathon that seemed to calm me and bring something out that no one else could.

"H-Help…" My voice choked out before I could process what I had said. John pulled me back and wiped away my tears with a tender thumb. I looked up at John's face to find him close to mine, his gaze unreadable yet comforting all the same. A red flush spread across my cheeks, yet he seemed unfazed.

"Let me try," was all he said in a breathy whisper. I gulped but did stay still, and he moved closer. I instinctively closed my eyes, listening to his breathing, as his hand moved up to cradle the back of my head. The soft air stopped momentarily, when a pressure pushed against my lips. I inhaled sharply, shock overtaking me for a second, before relaxing to the sensation and pushing back against his lips. We moved together, perfectly synchronized. My first kiss was gentle and beautiful.

And wrong.

We broke away for air and I noticed that I was lying flat on the ground, John hovering over me. We gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, red meeting white, before his cheeks lit up brightly at the realization of our closeness. He quickly and clumsily shuffled away from me, sitting up a few paces as he fumbled with his words.

"I-I was just trying to make you happy…” he stammered, clearly confused. “I'm not sure what overcame me, Master."

I stayed on the ground, staring at the sky as I calmed down. This was wrong. I knew it was, it went against nature. It wasn't supposed to happen. Pokémon and people can't be together in this way.

"Master?" Johnathon asked, a nervous hesitance present in his tone when he called for me. He must be as afraid as I was, then.

My eyes shifted to his face, and slowly, I smiled. I didn’t care what nature said. I'm a freak. I'd go against nature as I please, for it abandoned me just like my parents. I'd do what I want. I wanted help, and John's the one to do it, so in turn I wanted John.

I climbed to my feet. "Let's go find the others."

Mankey | Male | George | Timid | Ability: Vital Spirit | Lv.3