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popculturebuffet · 2 years ago

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It's Not the Years It's the Mileage: An Indiana Jones Retrospective: Raiders of the Lost Arc (Comission for WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy people! And welcome to the first part of a grand adventure. I welcome you all to It's Not the Years , It's the Mileage: An Indiana Jones Retrospective. For the next few months i'll be taking a look at all 5 indiana jones films, revisting the first four just in time for the fifth, all courtsey of good ole Weird Kev and yours truly.

This is also going to be an intresting trip as i've watched most of the films a grand total of .. once

This film's the exception, but yeah, i'll be watching these with mostly fresh eyes. While I LIKE this franchise quite a bit, I simply didn't grow up with it the way other young nerds did. Part of it is the times: the late 90's was full of great franchises for kids, and Star Wars and Marvel Films of the time appealed more to my sense of nerdy wonder. Indy isn't bad, but younger me just wasn't intrested in mostly realistic locations and nazi punching.

That's changed though: Since becoming a fan of Scrooge McDuck and TinTin (Though I REALLY need to read all those at some point, I own em all, and the movie is a guaranteed review at some point and honestly feels like a fifth indy movie simply with the protagonist swapped), I really love a good globetrotting adventure story with lots of love to history, big set pieces and likeable heroes with interesting flaws… okay the last one's more Scrooge but while I covered the Seven Cities of Cibola, it's clear in hindsight just how much Stephen and George were inspired by those comics. So i'm curious to revisit a franchise in a genre I now love to see how it holds up , to see if the low points are really as low as people say, the highs are as high, and the creamy middles as creamy and your welcome to join me under the cut as I take it from the top.

Constructing the Arc

Raiders of the Lost Arc was the brainchild of George Lucas, who had the idea in college, being a fan of old adventure serials and deciding to make a b-movie based on that, though it kept getting shelved for certain space things.

It was said certain space things that ended up bringing Lucas and Speilberg together on this. Nervous about bad reviews for Star Wars, lucas decided to spend his vacation with his wife away from it all for his own mental health's sake and invited Senior Speilbergo along. Lucas pitched the project to him and when his first director choice fell through, Lucas asked Stevie to direct, something he gladly did and it's clear the two really jelled as they came up with a lot of great set pieces… but being busy with pre production, other films and stuff they needed someone to glue it all together with an actual plot. That's where Lawrence Kasdan came in. Kasdan had just started his career but if the name isn't familiar he's the man who'd go on to write Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi and co-write the force awakens so with Speilbergs help they hammered out the full plot of the script including a few key set pieces like the bolder scene which as discussed in our prequel look at the seven cities of cibola wa cripped. Raiders is one of those cases where it took a lot of hands but the resulting script was great.

The problem was.. no studio would bite. Knowing what he had Lucas wanted control of both the lisecne and any sequels while the Studio would get no say. Most studios .. had the reaction you'd expect

It wasn't helped by the fact that while Speilberg is known as a creative visionary to this day, his recent oscar noms proof he's still got it, back then… stuidos more saw his last few films had come in over budget and in the case of 1941 performed badly in the box office on top of that. Lucas rightfully stuck by his friend though, and ended up coming up with a compromise for paramount: everything he asked, but in exchange Paramount got exclusive rights for a sequel and any going over budget or production time would result in harsh fines.

So with that the film went ahead and for the lead Lucas wanted.. a complete unknown. Yeah while Ford was always considered, Lucas wanted to avoid being pidgenholded as a director who just used the same actors over and over again. Hence king of all mustaches Tom Selleck was the frontrunner and even had an indy costume built for him.. but this backfired as the intense intrest for him in this role meant the producers of his star making role magnum pi could up their offer and lock him in. They went with ford and the rest was history.. and a lot of dysnetary. Seriously so much dysentary, to the poitn one of the most iconic scenes in cinema exists entirely because Harrison Ford could barely move.

Otherwise the shoot went decent, and with expert modelwork, effects and stunts the film was a GIANT success both critcially and comercially.. something that's nice to see for a change. Usually films i cover on this blog are good.. but have to get their revulation AFTER the fact like A Goofy Movie or Muppets Christmas Carol. But this film was seen for what it was by most, though looking at wikipedia Pauline Kael apparently did not like it and Lucas maturely responded by naming a villian after her in Willow.

So with a singed but ultimately triumphant history out of the way we can talk about the film itself.

The Find of a Lifetime

Raider's story is simple yet excellent: it moves fast, not a moment's wasted and it gets you from set piece to set piece while still letting the characters breathe and really feel alive, and has plenty of neat setup.

Raiders follows Indiana Jones, a down on his luck archeology professor and adventuerer whose latest mission, a raid of a culture's sacred temple in Chile, goes bad with both his guides trying to kill him, him barely escaping a certain boulder and the whole thing being made moot when his oldest ally Rene Belloc shows up with the indigenous people Indy's screwing over to screw them over himself and pit both his enemies against one another, stealing the idol because there's nothing jones possess that he cannot take away.

Indy does have a plan to bounce back though, a dig to find the Arc of the Covenant, the artifact the ten commandments was kept in. I did some digging, which is my fancy way of saying I looked up it's wikipedia entry and found it's specifications were given to Noah by god, made by artisans and naturally something like this was shuffled all around till being lost after the bible. It's the perfect kind of artifact for a big adventure like this. Granted it opens up some thorny religious questions, but given the sequel shows Kali is also real to a degree, it comes off as less "HEY GOD FEARING RELIGIONS YOUR RIGHT AND EVERYONE ELSE IS WRONG" and more as simply a cool historical artifact with a lot of mystique around it to build a story on that a lot of people would know of and those who didn't, the film explains it for you. Seriously the exposition scene where Indy explains the arc to some government agents sent to talk to him is incredibly well done, showing off both his sheer excitement for this find, and contrasting Indy's usually gruff demeanor in the film with some wide eyed dorky wonder, and you can tell Lucas' own love of archelogy is peaking through it.

Said goverment agents are here because naturally this being the 30's, Hitler is after any mystic artifact he can get his genocidal racist bastard mits on, and have gone after Abner Ravenwood, Indy's mentor who he had a falling out with after he slept with Ravenwood's at the time teenage daughter Marion.

Naturally Indy is forced to rely on Marion who while pissed at him, figures she's safer on his side than without him, especially when said Nazi's show up and try to torture her for info, lead by the truly chilling Major Arnold Toht end up burning down her bar. The two make their way to Cairo and team up with Indy's good Egyptian pal Sallah, played by the wonderful Jonathan Rhys Davis. He really SHOUDLN'T havfe as while Rhys Davies is great.. he's also you know.. white and the film has a very bad penchant for brown face that has aged like wet cheese left in a sunbaked canoe for 87 years. The two deal with the Nazi's at every turn and Marion apparently dies, leaving Indy despondant.. and if that wasn't enough finding out Belloq is naturally working for them, with Indy only surviving thankst o a cloud of children

Thankfully Sallah encourages him and while the Nazi's are digging thanks to a copy built from the original being burned into Tohts hand, it turns out their digging in the wrong place, allowing Indy and Sallah to sneak in.. and Indy to abandon marion when he finds her, not out of malice but because he reallyc an't free her without blowing his cover and endgangering her both which she takes well

He ends up in the well of Souls which is full of snakes, it had to be snakes, and finds the arc.. btu the Nazi's flank him,s teal it and throw marion down. Thankfully INdy and Marion are both able to escape and rekindle things while on a boat. Unforutnately marion ends up kidnapped and while Indy is able to follow them to the island Belloq is going to demonstrate the arc on, his threat to blow up the fucking thing.. end sup ringing hollow as Belloq succesfully plays on Indy's love of history: even with Marion at stake and him fully WANTING to destroy the thing if it means sh'es okay.. he just can't.

Thankfully for our heroes while they end up tied up , Belloq DOSEN'T kill them himself and Indy is smart enough to tell her DON'T LOOK MARION DON'T LOOK, saving them both as we get one hell of a climax with great ghost effect sfor the time, some truly haunting music.. and of course Belloq and the nazi's melting, barring Toht who just.. fucking explodes!

So our heroes bring the arc back.. but sadly for Indy the Goverment is being a bit cautious about God's faviorite doomsday weapon and have it examined by "top men"… aka shuttled off to a warehouse. but while bummed Marion gets Indy to cheer up and while he lost the treasure really, he still also lost a rival, got the girl, and got his spirit back.

Setting the Pieces

As you can tell the plot of Raiders is decent and well set up.. but what really makes it fantastic.. is the presentation. The opening alone is so iconic because it just has so many moments crammed into 15 minutes: the fade in from the paramount logo to an actual m ountain, the slow build up to indy, him easily deflecting an attempt to shoot him in the back with his trademark whip, the MOTHERFUCKING GIANT AMOUNT OF SPIDERS ON ALFRED MOLINAS BACK GOD DAMN WHY, Indy compensating for the idols' weight slowly and carefully and of coures the finale as Indy runs for his life from a boulder, has to "throw him the idol and i'll throw you the whip". All just great adventure stuff. This one set piece alone really sets the tone, who indy is , gruff and graverobbery but still smart, charasmatic and resourceful, without much dialogue. There's a reason just about every part of this scene has been homaged to hell and back.

And it's not the only one: there's a LOT of great set pieces, with Kasdan REALLY having done his job well: there's a nice flow of big set piece, some smaller moments to break it up , and then another set piece without it ever felling like that. I only see it because i know the behind the scenes stuff and while you coudl spot it it dosen't really hurt the film: you get plenty of nice slow character stuff and nice slow methodical archelogly mystery solving. It's just the right pace for an adventure story: plenty of mystery, character development and brain work from our heroes, but also plenty of big flash adventure stuff to keep you invested and on the edge of your seat, as you dont know WHEN the next set piece will happen. One Minute Indy is simply tensely talking to an ex, the next Nazi's attack her and her bar is soon ablaze. A simple plane right segues into the two having to dart around the streets of Cairo through tons of nazi's following them, and into a tense jeep chase and one hell of a hangar battle. There's always something fucking awesome just waiting around the corner with the smaller moments being just as good: the "bad dates", marion's drinking contest where Belloq out manuvers her, the scene on the boat which while romantic also shows the sheer damage Indy's taken in this line of work. It's a really beautifulyl paced film Directing wise.. I mean it's one of the most iconic films out there from a director who has gotten TEN best picture nods all for films that were dearly loved and also Lincoln. It's no shock it's good but there's really a sense of grandeure, backed up by John Williams iconic score. Every shot feels delberate, every set piece epic, every moment useful and the result is a film you just can't hep but enjoy. Even if you know all the steps, as I did as I saw a stunt show for this film as a kid so a lot of the set pieces stuck in my head, you can't help but groove to the rythym of the film. But while the directing, writing and pacing is good there's one last piece that really brigns it all together.. the characters. And of course before we get to the others.. we have to start with our star of the show

Indiana Jones: How You Write an Anti-Hero

So during my little Seven Cities of Cibola prologue for this retrospective, I noted how the treasure hunting aspect of these stories hasn't exactly aged the best: going into ancient ruins to pilfer a culture's history makes "it belongs in a museum" less the big heroic statement it once was as said museum is likely an American one far from where this should be displayed, if at all. So going into these movies I was both curious and worried just HOW indy would come off. It dosen't help the iconic opening when you get down to it and strip away all the cool shit… is two white idiots fighting over an idol that really belongs to neither. And as it turns out that was always the point. While Indy was made to be a LIKEABLE character, he was never supposed to be uber sympathetic: when you get down to the core of it Indy is a throughly interesting hero and one of the best examples of an anti hero i've seen in fiction

Making a protaganist whose an anti hero, or unsympathetic in general is .. tricky. You have to make them charming enough you actually like spending time with them, but still enough of a bastard you don't forget their not exactly a great person. When it goes wrong.. you get stuff like this

When it goes right.. you get Indiana Motherfucking Jones. From the getgo we see Indy is badass: he easily deflects an assasination attempt, dodges the traps through his smarts and experince, and even tries to trick the weight trap for the idol. He's a super cool dude.. but the second he leaves the temple.. we see the mask slip and see the human underneath. He put in all the hard work.. but not only was it for something he really shoudln't be doing, it was all for nothing. We see him run, panickly asking for Jock to START THE PLANE nd finally see him scared of a snake. What makes Indy work is the same thing that made Scrooge work for a young George and Stevie as kids: He's a total badass and fun to watch.. but he's also a throughly flawed man with sketchy morals, and his humanity is what makes him intresting.

When we see Indy at college… it's not going great. It's made clear from his sell of what he could ge tfrom the temple that this adventure wasn't some grand endeavour but simply keeping the lights on, and his class is just filled with people who want to bang harrison ford. Which.. I mean I get. This is prime harrison ford. But it's not what he got a degree for.

That said can we just.. take a moment for the whole class scene? While I like how it shows Indy's intellectual and dorky sides… has anyone else ever noticed how.. weird this is? I mean for starters even for the early 80's the joke of "OH ALL THE WOMEN SIGNED UP BECAUSE THEY THINK INDY'S SEXY' is really dated and corny and while I get Indy is aping old pulp adventure serials did you really have to leave in the dated sexisim George? Did you? Or Stephen? Also the writing stuff on the eyelids… it just comes off like a VERY dated archie comics gag from the 30's and not a scene about the 30's from the 80's and i'ts weird and I hate it.

But the larger point is that we see the good again when the Feds arrive and Indy lights up about the arc: the idol may of just been to pay the bills.. but the ark is something he TRULY cares about, and WANTS to find, to share with the world. Sure he dosen't belivie in it's power.. but he belives in it's value. it's what makes him not shooting it later work: he's a guy who will bring a pistol to a swordfight.. but he's also someone who just can't destroy history even if it'd save his own life and the life of someone he loves. Indy may be gruff, not at all worried abotu doing a murder and a graverobber.. but he DOES care about history and wants to save it from those who'd abuse it. It's what makes him better than Belloq: both sank to the same low but for Indy, doing so is just a stop over and something he had to do for a second. For Rene tha'ts who he is: selling these things just to make a buck he dosen't need. We'll get more into him in a moment, but having that evil window into what Indy could be magnifies the good of what he is.

That said he's still a man with faults and we see those most with Marion: he's sexist at times, dismissive and most grossly brushes off her trauma. Yeah something that gets glossed over and that I didn't notice till this run thougH: Indy dated Marion at 16 when he was 20 at the least. And it's clear Speiblerg WASN'T defending indy either: while Karen Allen came up with the backstory for Marion, Speilberg put it in the film and could've cut the line "I was only a child" if he wanted to. He abused her trust, left her, and genuinely hurt her and while it's clear INdy genuinely cares for her, as we see over the film, it's also clear he wasn't sorry at least at first. I do interpet his "you knew what you were doing" as les shim being a TOTAL prick who undervalues her trauma.. and more him seeing so much of her capablities he forgets the age diffrence and the deep trust meant him hurting her emotoinally cut way deeper than he likely thinks. Just because she can take care of herself… dosen't mean she can't be hurt.

It's what makes the romance over the film work as character development: we don't see Indy soften entirely.. but ove rthe trip we see him open up: while he's still snarky with marion he goes form being openly hostile and entitled to her father's research, to seeing her as a MOSTLY equal partner. While the two end up teaming up because her bar got burend down, it's clear during the Cairo chase he sees her as an equal and even with her getting captured a lot he values her.. and when he thinks she died he's utterly broken. To him the adventure wasn't worth her life and nothing's worth living for. He ONLY goes on because Sallah encourages him to. To me his "you knew what you were doing" and other dismissive crap are the macho front he puts up. It's not OKAY mind you, but it's clear Indy puts up walls because he assumes that's how he's supposed to act and because it's hard for him to actually open up to other people. What I know of his later backstory helps support that: he was in the first world war at a young age, had a dad who wasn't exactly the most supportive or helpful and his mom, the one parent he liked, is gone at this point. Othe rthan Brody at the museum an da few contacts Indy really is alone and it's likely how he wants it. He could've apologized to Marion or her father way sooner, but it's just easier for his life to go on alone, take a few artifacts and move on. It's why later hwne Marion is in danger rather than sneak her out he leaves her kidnapped where she's ostensibly safer. He's afraid of actually getting close to her. It's pragmatic sure it also keeps it.. but in reality he's just scared of someone who can actually keep up with hima nd what that might mean. It's not a huge shock that by the next film Marion is gone and the two don't reconnect till indy is a good few decades older and can realize what he's lost. It's telling that when the two are alone his reaction to al lthe damage he's taken is a quip and yet the two only start really romantically connecting when he drops the front, is honest with her and the two hav ea sweet moment. It's sad it again takes a while for them to go anywehre, but the romance shows his human side.

Indy.. is a flawed man.. but he's ultimately a good one: he priortizes Marion over the artifacts and probably woudl've shot the arc had Belloq not appealed to his hisotrian nature and even when captured makes sure she lives. Indy is a man who simply dosen't WANT to care.. but despite himself will. It's also telling for his weakness he really.. dosen't get much out of htis. He gets marion back but he fucks that up. He gets the arc but the goverment hides it. And while it is a bummer for him he dosen't ge tot study it, and as much as I hate goverment coverups their not exactly wrong humanity, and especially other parts of the goverment probably woudln't handle the arc with care and tha tmaybe something tha tmurders on opening is best left in a box. But he keeps going because i'ts who he is. Like his inspriation.. ther'es always another rainbow and by the end while things aren't great for him he has what matters back: his love of the craft. It never truly left but it's telling after this as far as I can tell none of his future adventures are about treasure pilfering. Each of the sequels is about something important. He apparently takes osme work from a mobster next time, but it's clear he likely took it simply to get the remains and study them instead of actually hand em over to the guy. Indy may not leave this film 100%.. but he leaves it with the spirit of adventure and sense of purpose he was missin gat the start. I look forward to seeing where he goes and what he becomes.

How You Use It

Looking at the cast for Raiders while it has a large cast on paper from tratorious guides, to helpful and charasmatic ship captains, to children clouds, to giant dig sites , to lots and lots and LOTS of nazis', to men who get shot real easy and so on, the film's character focus is really on four people, with Sallah being a loose fifth. It's not uncommon for the genre: most scrooge stories generally have the freudian trio of him, donald and the triplets, Tintin mostly just him, Haddock, Calclus and the Thompsons off in the side doing something wacky, it's best to just focus on a few characters and let the story and set pieces and grandeaur of the adventure flow. So to cap off this look at the film let's explore the non indy cast and how they also are incredibly well detailed and thought out

Starting off we have Marion Ravenwood whose just spectacular. Karen Allen does a fantastic job, portraying her as giving no fucks, drinking men under the table and fairly compitent. The last part would normally be entirely hobbled by the fact she gets kidnapped or put in deadly danger with no way out a booker t amount of times and said cheap use of her for a constant hostage gets tiresome. It's easily the film's biggest weakness.. but it speaks to both Allens performance and the quality of the writing that even cliche sexist garbage like that.. dosen't undermine marion. She tries to escape as much as she can, contributes well to the quest with the head piece when she is around, and DOES try to outwit belloq with a drinking contest… and ONLY fails at that because of something she coudln't possibly know, i.e. that his family owned a winery. At the end of the day Marion simply dosen't badass her way out because sh'e's a normal non combatant: she's able to easily take bar bullies and what not, but she's up against throngs of soldiers, an experinced manipulative treasure hutner, and a relentless nigh inhuman nazi. She can only do so much. It's still not.. perfect. Marion should have more agency and more ot do and like I said using her as a hostage is just super lazy, but it speaks to the character that despite the film sexistly working against her she ends up awesome anyway and i'ts a suprise she didn't come back SOONER.

We then have Belloq who might be my faviorite character in the film. Belloq is neatly composed to be everything Indy isn't: Indy comes from a working class background as we find out later, works a day job, genuinely cares about preserving things and his default mode is "gruff dick". Belloq in contrast comes from money, always wears fancy classy clothes, and while good at being an arcy, does it mostly for the money. Belloq is as I said who Indy could be if he lost his soul: a monsterous treasure hunter who will gladly work with the Nazis if it means a nice payday.

What makes him work is that he's just.. damn chaarming> He's a total bastard, that was never in question, but he just has a smooth air about him: from his first line he's charming and he always feels like he has control of the situation. Really the entire film he's playing just about everybody: He outflanks indy at the start, NEARLY kills him in Cairo and is only thwarted by the children cloud, succesfuly keeps his nazi bosses off his back, and nicely plays marion for info, not only using her undestimation of her to his advantage. IT's easy to see why originally there was a love triangle between her indy and belloq: he's a monster.. but he's just so effortlessly smart and charming he's fun to watch. He's a great villian and Paul Freeman deserves more credit. He also contrasts Indy in that he's not really a fighter: indy gets in there with his whip and gun while Belloq simply throws minons at him.

What weakens him though.. is his own ego: if you look at every encounter with indy and his tent talk with marion you notice that Belloq could've gotten rid of both sooner.. but just dosen't. With Marion he WANTS to woo her, only throwing her in the well of souls because he has to, and is fine dicking around with flirting with her. With indy though it's clear it's more just ego.. hec an't just KILL his arch enemy no no, he has to make a meal of it: he has to both humilate him and have him WATCH Belloq win. It shows in the first scene. He could've just shot indy the second he had the idol.. but just HAS to have indy chased by the tribe to die ironically. He just has to throw marion in the well of souls to twist the knife on his being trapped, just has to brag in the cafe long enough for the child cloud to come in. And of course.. he just HAS to show off that HE found the arc and open it first. While he has a pragmatic reason, he's absoltuely right hitler woudln't be happy if nothing was inside, the real reason is he just has to satisfy his own ego.

Finally we have Toht the film's othe rmain villian. Toht is pretty one note: he's evil, pure and relentless and i'ts very noticable next to belloq. He's also not subtle going into creepy laughs and being very fond of a good strangling. What makes him work is simple: Toht is nazisim in it's purest most creepy form: an unrelnting force tha tcan loose pieces, can stumbled, but is very dangerous if not stopped. Toht has set backs but it's that drive to dominate, to subjigate people he's deemed "lesser", to keep going tha tmakes him scary and it's what makes facisim itself scary: you can stop itk you can kill it's leaders.. but it just keeps coming back and creeping in again and again. You simply can't stop some people's need for power. It also makes the arc that impactful as someone who indy and co barely held off.. dies by fucking exploding. An unstoppable force an da genius creep.. are simply no match against the power of a god.

Wrapup

So that was Raiders of the Lost Arc and it IS everything it's hype to be. It has some dated bits, some shit that was acceptable at the time others that really never should've been, but it's ultimately a well done globetrotter with intresting laired characters, iconic set pieces, and a killer soundtrack. If you've never seen it. i'm shocked your here but go.. go do that. It's well worth it.

Next Time: We visit a less.. shall we say universally loved intry as an oscar winner becomes a mildly racist kid sidekick, Speilberg's wife screams a lot and a man's heart is ripped out of his chest baby! See you next month for temple of doom and thanks for reading.

#indiana jones #raiders of the lost ark #stephen spielberg #george lucas #harrison ford #marion ravenwood #renee belloq #pulp #adventure #80s

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satellitesoundwave · 2 years ago

Note

director’s commentary on (re)experience?

i was hoping someone would ask about (Re)Experience :) been working on finishing the final chapter (nine! the just-a-bit-of-fun character study turned into nine chapters!) these last few weeks and so have it on my mind near constantly.

commentary for this one is for the flashback in chapter 3. whole section's a bit long to quote so here’s the opening to jog the memory

– Minimus had surprised exactly no one when he’d volunteered to be the one to take inventory of the supplies they’d need to get off the Necroworld and reclaim the Lost Light from the mutineers. Rewind had found him cataloguing how much energon they could transport, to calculate precisely how long it would last them under strict rationing.

There are some conversations that will never be easy to start, no matter what direction you come at them from. Rewind opted to begin with what was most important.

“Are you alright?”

Minimus didn't look up from the cubes. “Hm? Fine, though I would be better if we had the proper medical logs rather than just Ratchet and Velocity's estimates for the crew’s energon consumption rates and fuel efficiency. Underestimating even one person's needs could leave us starving light years away from any supply outposts."

"That... sounds awful," Rewind said. "But I meant, um, about after what happened. With Dominus."

general context to help me explain why this particular bit jumped out at me to talk about: the whole reason for (Re)Experience existing is that the backstory we see for Rewind in MTMTE/LL gave me this strong feeling that he must have gone through some pretty drastic growth between then and now. V1 Rewind quoting “every shape serves a purpose” before he sacrifices himself to stop Overlord read to me (in retrospect with what we later learn about that slogan) like he must have internalised at least some functionist rhetoric, and we know what life must have been like for him as a disposable. but Rewind doesn’t act like someone who’s still viewing the world through a functionist lens, and he doesn’t act like he thinks of himself as disposable and never expects others to treat him like one.

that’s really interesting to me, because it makes the Rewind we see in the comic feel like the end-point of a character arc we never witness but can sort of sense in the drastic difference between how you would expect him to be based on his backstory and how he actually is. originally i wanted to write something that explored what that pre-canon character growth might have been like in a more straightforward way, but i know i don’t have the stamina to write the 100k character study fic it would need. instead, the importance Rewind puts on experiences making people who they are gave me an idea for another approach; what if a plot device cut Rewind off from his memories and put him back in the headspace of who he was in that very different part of his life, and i could explore what he might have once been like and how that differs from who he became, via the reactions of the people that know Rewind as he is now? and thus (Re)Experience came into existence

back to the flashback in chapter 3. i think this might have been the first concept i had for a moment to have Rewind re-experience? ever since the Dying of the Light arc revealed that Rewind’s other husband also made a habit of hiding stuff from him i’ve wanted to get into his head about it

funnily enough i actually wasn’t… that invested in Minimus before writing this? it took a while (plus some great fan meta) for him to grab my interest. but even though i wasn’t too huge on him at the time, i couldn’t deny that he was by far the most interesting person for Rewind to be talking to about Dominus. the personal investment of being his brother provided some great creative opportunities, and while i’m 100% a proponent of picking which characters to include in your fic based on how much you personally like them (see: Whirl turning up, Rodimus being given a key role), i just couldn’t pass Minimus’ narrative potential by. and then i got to thinking about how interesting it is to have someone who was actually there, when Rewind started working for Dominus. besides the broad overview, we don’t know a lot about what Rewind’s employment by Dominus was like. it’s possible that he was recognised as a fully fledged person and treated as such from the get go, but it’s also possible that the Ambus brothers had internalised the (at the time widespread) view that disposables were incapable of true sapience and were more objects-to-be-used than people, and it took time for them to fully reassess and reject that idea. for (Re)Ex i went with the latter, partly bc Chromedome saying befriending Rewind is what made Dominus realise how marginalised disposables were makes it seem more likely of the two, and partly bc of how it makes Rewind’s relationship with Dominus both more tangled and dynamic imo

and then while writing this flashback, i sort of slowly realised that i actually find this bit of backstory really interesting when applied to Minimus. as someone who can be very rule-oriented, i could see him as having incorporated functionist viewpoints into his perspective early in his life, and then interrogating and putting conscious effort into unlearning them later on. it’s this potential point of character development which isn’t actually in the canon iirc, but pretty readily suggested by what is there, just like what Rewind has going on. and i am an absolute sucker for parallels and mirroring, so after i noticed that Minimus’ role in (Re)Experience just absolutely ballooned. originally he was only going to be in this flashback, but then when i wanted to change up the status quo and introduce an outsider to the situation who is a safe ally for Rewind to trust, i thought about this similarity and it made Minimus the obvious option (and no spoilers for chapters i haven’t posted yet, but then i got invested in Rewind & Minimus being friends and just kept. adding Minimus into scenes he wasn’t supposed to be in. would you believe i actually solved the massive plot issue with (Re)Experience's climax i’ve been grappling with for years by doing this. i was like ‘but what if they didn’t get split up and Minimus was here for this?’ and it all just sorted itself out. turns out i can solve any problem with this fic by just adding more of this dude lmao)

#doing more of these now that work’s calmed down again and stopped draining all my energy #satellite speaks #(Re)Experience #ask meme #long post

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estellamiraiauthor · 2 years ago

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The Stars May Rise and Fall: The Annotated Re-read (Chapter 3)

Before I dive into chapter 3, I wanted to give a BIG thanks to everyone who has actually read and interacted with the first two installments of this. (Chapter 1 is here, and Chapter 2 is here, for those who need to catch up!) I was not really expecting this to get any reactions… just thought I’d do it for fun, but knowing that people are actually enjoying this makes me even happier!

Sooo… Chapter 3. This is probably my least favorite chapter (though it definitely wasn’t the most painful to write; that would be 14 and 15), and looking back at the earliest draft I still have a copy of, it sadly hasn’t changed a lot since then (although it used to be Chapter 5, a lot of filler was cut!). Spoilers start below, click if you dare!

The chapter opens with a sort of montage of Teru trying to forget about Rei’s song. I’m actually really curious as to how this resonates with neurotypical readers (if I even HAVE any neurotypical readers?? LOL) because in retrospect, it’s definitely based on something I go through when I find a new “obsession” or rediscover an old one… it becomes literally all I can think about, and depending on whether a new obsession at the moment would fill a void or just get in the way of the rest of my life, I sometimes try to deny it like Teru is. This part used to be a lot longer, actually showing little scenes from his life, but all of that got trimmed down when I decided I wanted to try to actually publish this. Doesn’t feel like much of a loss, though. I think we get enough little snippets of their daily lifestyles by the end?

The first part of the chapter I think does do a lot to establish Teru’s character. Rei calls him and talks about sharing his song with the rest of the band at rehearsal, but Teru isn’t sure that he’s going to. He has the sheet music in his bag, though… so a part of him wants to, but he hasn’t quite convinced himself that he’s going to have the guts to bring it up. A lot of early readers didn’t really like how “wishy-washy” he can be sometimes but… not every protagonist has to be bold and pro-active. And I think Teru does grow and is able to stick up for what he wants when it’s really important later on. He’s just not quite sure whether this is important enough to stick his neck out for yet, which makes sense, since he literally met Rei like a week ago.

So Rei asks Teru to see him again after the show on Sunday, and again Teru feels like he’s doing something forbidden by saying yes… and he is. He’s essentially going behind his bandmates’ backs and being a part of Rei’s plan to turn the band into what he wants it to be, and then there’s the whole “going to a stranger’s house” (like, he KNOWS that’s not normal, I think that’s pretty well established), and then, what he doesn’t even want to admit to himself yet, that he is kind of attracted to Rei… So, yes, very forbidden in a couple of ways.

Up to this point, the chapter is not terrible. I go back and forth on whether I like or hate the line “the seventeen-year-old thrill of his first fuck”. Some early readers really loved it. Some said it was vulgar. I ended up leaving it in because I think he’s both simultaneously equating the forbidden-ness of seeing Rei with the ACT of sex and with the WORD, and very very very subconsciously trying to convince himself that sex with women falls into the same category as smoking (also mentioned as forbidden) and singing for Rei―i.e. something forbidden that he enjoys.

But anyway, it’s the second part that I really… well, as I said, “regret” is a strong word, but let’s just say that if I ever had the opportunity to rewrite this (say, as a teleplay for an anime or something, how cool would that be?), this scene would unfold a little differently.

So, Teru has Rei’s sheet music in his bag, and I think it’s again very telling of his character that he doesn’t actually SHOW it to the rest of the band, but they see it anyway and ask him what it is, and they start messing around with it while they wait for Bara, the singer, to show up.

Now, I think this scene really suffers from the same kinds of issues as Chapter 1, in that I originally was planning to publish this as a Phantom fanfic and was just really, really concerned with hitting certain notes from previous versions of the story. So this was supposed to fill the role of the “Notes” songs from the Lloyd Webber musical, or the letters from the Phantom in Leroux’s original novel. It doesn’t really work here, though, because in both of those versions of the story, Erik/the Phantom had been extorting the managers of the opera house for a LONG TIME, and while the new managers may not have believed all of the stories, people like Meg Giry and Joseph Buquet did… also, those notes didn’t even really WORK. The managers put Carlotta in the lead ANYWAY, even after the Phantom told them not too, so he made her croak like a toad onstage.

In this story, Minori and the rest of the band have no idea that Rei even exists at this point and definitely have no reason to do what he says. I was at least aware that THAT wouldn’t work, and had him kind of cyber-harass Bara instead.. but this is a super weak link in the story, and I know it. All Bara would’ve had to do was call Minori and ask what was up to figure out that it wasn’t him, and who really cares what an anonymous online stalker thinks? It also seems super petty and childish of Rei, and there were just better options.

If I had it to do over again, I’d probably just have Bara walk in as they were messing around with the song, maybe with Teru or Minori trying to sing along, and get pissed that Minori (as far as Bara knew) had written ANOTHER song that was completely out of Bara’s range and skill set. That’s a legitimate complaint―if you’re writing a song for a specific singer you really ought to try to cater it to what they CAN do as a vocalist, and Minori definitely isn’t innocent in their feud if you think of it that way. Since I had already established that their relationship was strained BEFORE all this happened and that Bara is an insufferable diva, that could’ve been enough to drive him to quit.

Otherwise, Rei has access to the equipment at the venue―he could’ve done the electronic equivalent of making Bara croak like a toad or whatever, if I’d really wanted to stick to the original story. Or he could’ve dropped a neon lightning bolt from the rafters and fried him a la Beef from Phantom of the Paradise… but murder is probably even more out of character than random cyber-stalking is. ;-)

I guess what I DID want to establish in this scene is that Rei is very good at A) emotionally manipulating people and B) computer stuff, and that Teru and most of the rest of the band is NOT really computer literate. That ended up becoming less important in edits, I think, but it was partly to stave off complaints like “Why didn’t Teru just Google Rei’s band to find out what happened to them?” (which no one ever actually complained about, and I’ll come back to another reason why he didn’t do what he could’ve done to find out more about them later) and also to just sort of establish how Rei DOES things. It would’ve been very difficult, technology-wise, to basically order everything online and work completely from home at this period of time, but not impossible, especially because he can and does physically go out when there’s no other option, and has Chizuru to actually sign the record deals and things.

ANYWAY, as awkwardly as it happens, the end result is achieved―Bara quits, and Yasu, who was kind of originally supposed to be the “fanfic Meg Giry” of the thing but of course grew into a much deeper and more interesting character (sorry Meg?), gets the “Christine Daae could sing it, sir!” moment―establishing at the same time that this isn’t really out of nowhere. Teru doesn’t really LIKE to sing in front of strangers, but he was known in high school for being good at karaoke.

I also made a point to mention here that Teru isn’t as good at the metal-style screaming as Bara is… this was PARTLY a nod to “I’m a singer, not a screamer!” from Phantom of the Paradise, but also just to set up that in this particular style of music, screaming (at least if you can do it in a vaguely musical way) IS a skill, and that Bara also has strengths that Teru doesn’t, kind of leading into the rivalry between the two bands that develops later on.

Whew! So, I’m actually kind of glad that I went back and did a deep read of this chapter. I still think the “Notes” thing doesn’t work, and I’ll definitely change it for that hypothetical anime, but there actually are a lot of things in this chapter I’m proud of too.

#the stars may rise and fall #annotated #writing #writing process

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niennandil-me-writes · 2 years ago

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2022 retrospective

I created this blog in January of 2022, so I would have a place that isn’t fandom-based to share my writing. Even then, I didn’t expect I’d post this much.

2022 is the year I wrote more than any other year of my life. According to my AO3 statistics, the writing I posted sums up to over 65.000 words (and that is just the work I was comfortable sharing publicly, that doesn’t even include all the smut and vent that I only let a select few see, nor the snippets on my nsfw account, though those are pretty short). That’s more than 3 times the length of the version of 10^infinity that I wrote in 2020 and never posted (which was the first longer story I have finished).

2022 is the year I stopped being a would-be-author and became a writer. I stopped thinking about those big projects that I’m going to write someday, and just started writing. What helped me more than anything was writing short form. With the stories I had tried to work on so far, I’d always been too preoccupied to getting as many words written as possible so I’d reach the good stuff, the few scenes I was writing this for, so I didn’t focus on writing the scenes I was already writing at in an interesting way, and often it felt hollow, like I had built a giant house with no furnishing. With the short oneshots I wrote this year, I was already at the good stuff and I could feel how that improved my writing style, since now I was thinking about every sentence and tried to make every paragraph a joy to read instead of a hurdle to get over. For the first time, I didn’t just think of writing as a complete story but a sum of parts, and that led me to write some sentences that I was proud of fully on their own.

2022 is the year I really got into gore. I wrote my first gorepiece in 2020 and was too ashamed of it to even jokingly admit I’d written something like that. In 2021, I wrote more, but was always careful to keep the descriptions short, so nobody would notice how much I liked writing it. Now “gore” is one of the most used tags on this blog. And of course, I participated in and finished my first Goretober challenge. I’m still quite proud of that.

2022 is the year I stopped writing for an imaginary audience of hundreds and started writing for myself and the few friends that are interested in it. That wouldn’t have been possible if I hadn’t met these friends (mostly through pen and paper), and I am forever grateful for them. I won’t tag you in this, but you know who you are. Your comments, whether fully formulated and constructive or enthusiastic keysmashes, keep me going in this, thank you.

2022 is also the year I started writing for myself. Of course, I’m still happy when other people read my writing, but I noticed that it just made the whole thing more stressful both for me and my readers if I had expectations on who would read my writing and would react to it. I’m now making a conscious effort to not think about that too much. When I write, I want to think of my words, not the responses of other people, and when other people read, they should be focused on the writing, not me figuratively staring at them over the edge of the paper and waiting for their reaction.

I’ve been thinking a lot about these changes in my writing process lately, and how they helped me write more and better than I used to, and I needed to put these thoughts into words, even if it just seems like rambling now that I’m writing this down on New Year’s Eve, with just a few more hours left where it’s considered appropriate to post sappy retrospectives like this.

As for my next goals...

After becoming so comfortable with short writing this year, I want to tackle something of medium length next, slowly working myself towards those epics I used to dream of writing. I’m thinking something with five to eight chapters, maybe around 10.000 words. I have ideas for that in mind already (2 of them fanfictions and 2 original works), but I’ll see where I will take it.

Thank you for reading. I hope all of you have a happy new year.

#not writing #well not directly #retrospective #rambling

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wixhing0nastar · 2 years ago

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So I’m finally sitting down and watching Season 2 of Warrior Nun (I’ve been super sick for the last two weeks but I’ve let it play in the living room over a dozen times for the views) but first I wanted to rewatch Season 1.

Season 1 rewatch thoughts below the cut! Season 2’s coming soon!

First thought: fucking hate Mother Francis or whatever her name is, like, as a disabled person myself learning what she’d done to Ava and the other kids at the orphanage was rough.

On that note though, I do want to give WN props for its surprisingly good representation when it comes to Ava’s disability. Maybe a little-known fact outside of disabled communities, but narratives like Ava’s where the person is magically cured by something are normally pretty unpopular (with us) and offensively written.

But the way it's handled is actually really good! Sure, Ava can magically walk and use her arms again, but we see repeatedly that she struggles with pretty basic (for an able-bodied person) things because she was never in a position to learn them. And even more impressive is how they managed to write Ava’s selfish/thoughtless behavior without demonizing her for it and acknowledging that it’s a result of trauma and something that needs to be worked on... like lots if things you have to work on after a long-term traumatic experience.

I suddenly really want to see Ava and Shannon interact. Like, I know it's impossible on account of Shannon being dead, but I’m very curious what their interactions would look like.

For some reason, I don't remember the OCS having this much screentime during the earlier episodes... which is good because tbh I really don't vibe with JC’s Drifter group... which is on purpose, we as the audience are drawn into Ava’s narrative and her thoughts and desires and outside of having some uh... Hormonal Feelings towards JC, she doesn't really care about the Drifters outside of having a good time, unlike how she eventually comes to feel out the OCS.

Which, on that note, maybe I’m noticing/paying more attention now because I’ve seen the back half of the season and have come to care about them in retrospect.

Me Vibrating In My Seat: Look! This random tidbit supports my “Ava is the WN universe’s Second Coming of Christ” theory!

Okay, another thing I don't think I’ve picked up before was that the flying levitating is a power that’s unique to Ava and that different Warrior Nuns have different “bonus powers” so to speak...

I wonder if, based on Lilith’s reaction during the scene, another one of Ava’s powers is either like... ridiculously high pain tolerance or super rapid healing to the point her brain doesn't register the pain from something as simple as getting hit by a stick?

Because Lilith and Mother Superion both seemed to think it should hurt and I feel like out of everyone they’d know what “standard” Halo-Bearer powers should look like best.

Ugh Lilith... what sucks is knowing where her character arc is going and this whole “hunting down Ava” thing feels (pardon the pun) saintly in comparison to where she’s going.

The Mary/Ava episode is probably my favorite episode of Season 1. Just, peek comedy with a mix of feels and lore, aka: perfection.

Camila showing up to a knife fight with an automatic machine gun (after Ava was just shot with an arrow) is also peek comedy. “I really hope I got God’s message right.” Which I only just realized is a call back to the last conversation with Beatrice.

Also just... knowing that Ava’s biggest fear is being alone, and like... the joy radiating off of her when Mary, Beatrice, and Camila are taking care of her while she’s injured hurts. Like... after the way Mother Bitch treated her for being quadriplegic, it was such a surprising experience to be taken care of so tenderly by people she’d only known for like... a week? After spending 12 years being told she was nothing but a burden by her own caretaker. No wonder she’s willing to die for them down the line.

Also, forgot to say anything during the episode, but I love how the two women we’ve kind of seen as primary antagonists up to this point (Jillian and Mother Superion) are both developed into sympathetic characters (and future allies) during the same episode, which is also right around the time Father Vincent starts seeming a little sus (even though it’s hard to tell because everyone else is even more sus).

Ah... the scene that started it all. I do love Beatrice’s coming out scene. It’s so beautifully done and I love Ava’s reaction, not just as someone who ships them. Like... Ava struggles a bit with empathy, when JC told her about his mom she didn't really seem to care all that much, but when Beatrice is opening up about her own messed up history and is clearly upset, you can almost see the switch getting flipped in Ava’s mind and she becomes genuinely serious and concerned for one of the first times in the show...

I love heists!

That’s it. That’s the comment.

The reveal that the main characters have been unknowingly aiding the bad guys the whole time is just... perfection.

AAAND THERE’S THE CLIFFHANGER! Can’t say I’m upset I won’t have to wait another two years to watch the next episode, lol.

#Warrior Nun #Avatrice #Not tagging all the characters for this one #No need to clutter the tags.#I don't know why I put a period at the end of that but I’m to lazy to change it

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funkymbtifiction · 2 years ago

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Does the following thing sound like Si? If so, where in the stacking?

"When I want to do something, I try to keep an outcome in mind. If small things get in the way of that, I can just shift the outcome in my head a bit without it being a big deal. If I have a lot of things I need to do, I can usually just visualize them all at once or write them down in front of me, which gives me a general sense of which I could do most effectively based on time of day, my mood, etc. And if I can't decide, it's usually better to just commit to one and make a decision, even if it turns out not to be the best choice in retrospect."

Sounds like an ISTJ. Order and direction and task-oriented.

Does the following sound like 3, 2, or something else?

"When I have a lot of social activities going on, I almost feel like I'm 'getting high' on affection for everyone. I kind of lose myself in being enthusiastic and happy all the time to feed off of others' reactions. Usually I'm pickier about how I respond to people, but sometimes I get really 'greedy' for positive social interactions so I'll pretend to be really engaged with everyone even if I don't feel that way inside."

Could be either one, plus high Fe and high social instinct.

#question #mbti

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hhjs · 4 years ago

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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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thehuggingisajustfortodaything36 · 3 years ago

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This is a little short story I wrote based on a @shychick-52 post saying there hasn’t been much stories about Gyro preening Boyd, so I hope you like it.

It had been weeks since “The Last Adventure” and due to the circumstances of almost losing each other that day Gyro has been doing everything he can to be there for his beloved son Boyd. That meant more hugs, bonding, and quality time between the definitely real boy and his wildly misunderstood father. One of the things they like to do is watch a movie together before going to bed and they had decided to watch the 1994 animated classic The Lion King, which neither of them had ever seen before and it would surely lead to some very interesting reactions. The movie instantly grabbed their attention with the majestic opening, afterwards the characters came into play and they proved to be quite likable, interesting, and entertaining throughout the epic story. When the time had come for the heart pounding stampede scene the mood had changed from suspenseful uncertainty in the beginning, to a little bit of hope in the middle, then final utter tragedy when the scene was over. That and the aftermath showcasing the death of the main character’s father is what got the most reaction out of Gyro and Boyd. Gyro had to pause the movie due to hearing Boyd’s sniffling and saw that indeed Boyd was crying. “Are you okay?” Gyro asked even though he knew that was probably not the smartest thing to ask at that current time. “Yes, I’m okay.” Boyd said but his overflowing tears told another story altogether. Gyro scooped his heartbroken son up into his arms with a hug so gentle and protective hoping it would help comfort him from all that was troubling him. “Dad, what would you do if I was in danger?” “I would do anything to save you. Even if it would cost me my own life.” Gyro said in a serious tone to really let Boyd know he meant every word. “But why would you do that? I’m practically indestructible anyway and you could always rebuild me if something were to happen. So why risk yourself for me?” “Even though what you say is true, I would risk it all because I love you Boyd with all my heart and I couldn’t imagine a world without you.” Gyro answered with pure honesty all the while still hugging Boyd. “I wouldn’t want you to do that though because then I would lose you like Simba lost his father” Boyd wept into his dad’s shirt. Gyro decided to comfort his son further by preening the top of his head, in retrospect he knew that Boyd didn’t need his feathers straightened since his body was more mechanic than organic but it wasn’t his logical mind taking control of his actions instead it was his loving heart that always had his son as well as his feelings and safety as his top priority. It seemed to be working since Boyd was starting to calm down a little. “Boyd there will eventually come a time where I’m no longer here and even though you may feel like you’re truly alone, I will always be with you in your heart. Believe me when I say that I want to stay around always protecting and loving you. Since life doesn’t always last long it makes the time we share all the more precious and worthwhile so that’s exactly what I want to do, spend the rest of my life with the people I love and treasuring every moment with them until the end.” Boyd looked at his father letting what he said sink into his advanced but still child like brain. “Really?” Boyd asked feeling hopeful after listening to his father’s comforting words. Gyro hugged his boy tighter, gave his head one last preening, sweetly kissed the top of his head, and said with no doubt in his mind “Definitely.”

#gyro gearloose #boyd gearloose #My first and most likely last story #Minor spoilers for The Lion King #I hope you like it even if it’s not a masterpiece

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asa-sauce · 4 years ago

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those forgotten things

❀ haikyuu!! x (ukai’s kid!) reader

flavor: honey mustard

warnings: none!

a/n: hi, sorry for the long wait! if you're coming from my tiktok, thank you for the continued support! i don’t know who the specific love interest is going to be, so for now it’s basically the entire karasuno team x reader.

note: ukai is your adoptive father. and this takes place at very very end of season 1/very beginning of season 2. you are 16.

+ Your dad, Ukai Keishin, forgets his water bottle at the convenience store before practice. You decide to bring it to him... Big mistake.

The bell on the door announces your presence with a gentle chime, and the cool air coming from the ancient air conditioner hits your face. It's a heavenly relief from the sizzling heat, and you thank heaven for the store being so close to school.

"Hi dad! I'm home!" You call out, but no answer comes.

"Where is he?" Misaki asks, head bobbing up and out like a buoy. There's a prep in her voice now, like a child at an amusement park.

"He's probably in the back or something, I don't know." There's no one else in the store.

She sets her heavy, multi-key chained school bag next to the chair, and you notice that the normally happy face of the plush bunny keychain is smushed against the table leg, smile distorted into a frown.

She starts her jaunty browsing around the store, weaving in and out of each aisle. You do the same, not knowing what you're in the mood for, and meet her at the candies and gum.

"Seriously, Y/n, how do you not find your dad attractive?" The question catches you off guard, and you find yourself quickly scanning the front of the store for any customer that might have just walked in. Did she really just ask that?

You swivel around in a slow, dramatic way, giving her an incredulous look that just about asks that question. She looks at you with that casual—but all too serious—charm, as if she had simply asked what the weather is going to be like tomorrow.

"'Cause he's my dad." She rolls her eyes, dissatisfied with the answer, then juts her head forward just enough to add more emphasis on her next words.

"But he adopted you. You aren't blood-related."

You stare at her. She can't be completely serious, right?

You and Misaki met last year on the first day of school. Meeting her was like something out of an anime. The rambunctious airhead meets the quiet, down-to-earth girl who just can't say no to people.

She literally proclaimed your friendship to the world on that first day of school.

So this: her apparent infatuation for your dad, is very far out there, yes. Yet in retrospect, it's nothing beyond her character.

"Jeez, you're weird," you say, deciding to smile it off. You turn to grab a neon blue bag of chips from the shelf beside you. Misaki laughs, head thrown back, in a maniacal way, and disappears behind the aisle end. "Did you get your food yet?"

"Yeah." She's chosen a popsicle today, already unwrapping it while she continues to peruse the aisles more, just for fun. Her fingers drag along the underside of each plastic price tag, making a clackclackclackclackclak sound that's almost ominous.

"How much is it?" You ask, to which she tells you. You go over to the cash register and take out the appropriate change from your wallet, placing each bill and coin into the correct spaces. Even though you're a member of the family-owned store, a business is still a business, and the small ones like this especially need anything and everything they can get to thrive.

Misaki sits at the table for a few minutes, and you guess that she's waiting for your dad to come back out. She's slouched over her brightly lit cellphone screen, her thumbs continually pattering as she responds to all her messages.

It's awkward.

Even though you and Misaki have gotten pretty close since meeting each other, those uncomfortable silences still sometimes appear.

But then she begins talking about a boy she's been texting these past few weeks, mostly talking it out with herself then seeking your advice. You give simple reactions, and comment when she expects it. A simple 'he did not!' or 'ugh!' will satisfy her.

Of course it's not all that one-sided. She talks, you listen; you talk, she responds. And quite frankly, you don't mind it.

But then the silence emerges once again, until she lets out a big, audible, intentional sigh and stands up.

"Well, I gotta head home, my mom's getting fussy about something again." She shoves her phone in the side pocket of her bag, short hair whipping around as she hoists her bag over her shoulder.

"Okay, see you tomorrow, Misaki." You can feel the breath of relief beginning to grow inside your lungs as she collects her things and heads for the door.

"Yup. Tell your dad I said hello!"

"I will."

No you won't.

And with a final automated jingle of the door chime, she leaves. You wait until the white bunny keychain on her bag is no longer in view to release that breath of relief.

And then, you smile.

"Alright, dad! You can come out now!" you announce, your head tipped back towards the blue curtains. In a comical way, just the face of your father appears, with tufts of yellow hair sneaking out behind him. With his eyes wide he scans the room, side to side, searching for any trace of your friend.

"Is she gone?"

"Yeah, she is."

The rest of him appears then.

Ukai sits himself on the slanting, rickety stool behind the counter that is literally almost on its last legs, with his feet propped up. It's his way of "intimidating" all the "shitheads" that come through after school—is what he says.

You hop onto the counter, splitting open the chip bag. A puff of flavored air travels up into your nose.

"How was that English quiz today?" Ukai asks, catching a whiff as well while you pop the first chip into your mouth.

"Good. I got a 97." you reply after swallowing.

"That's my girl."

You hum in response, munching on another chip. Looking into the bag, you spot a wider, saltier chip that curls at one end. It takes up half the amount of chips, you realize as you take it. It should be a crime, you think, to fill up more than half of the bag with air.

"I'm gonna leave here a little earlier for practice tonight. A few of the boys wanted me to help them with a couple new combinations."

He swings his legs off the counter and sits up, mumbling something about wishing he had taken a nap before walking back into the house to change.

You go through the motions of unpacking your school bag, decideding to work on math first.

You spread your textbooks and papers out on the counter, an organized mess as you like to say, of calculus.

Your pencil moves rapidly across the page, the little flower charm on dangling back and forth with each squiggle.

Your dad leaves around ten minutes later, but not before giving you a quick kiss on the head. The sun is still high and proud, and has no intention to descend until an hour or more later.

It's your favorite time of day. The sun falls through the glass doors in a way that makes the entire world seem just a little more fanciful. It's usually quiet in the store, and after an entire day of constant conversations from you and those around, you can't help but yearn for these peaceful moments. It's entirely why you agreed to take over Ukai's shifts ever since he began coaching Karasuno's male volleyball team.

If anyone comes in at this hour though, they're likely to be a student from Karasuno, but in about five minutes the store's most frequent customer, Etsu, will stop by, and will no doubt be mewling for a meat bun.

You plop down on the seat behind the counter, taking a moment to your self to breathe. You tug at the base of your long ponytail, releasing your unruly hair from the confines of your hair tie. Although you aren't directly related to Ukai, over the years you've inherited parts of his look. One of those being your 'lion's mane' (as your grandmother calls it).

Ukai had adopted you when you were ten, but the six years you've known each other feel like sixteen. You don't remember much about your biological family, and for privacy reasons Ukai doesn't know any more than you do.

You have no harsh feelings towards them--no contempt or ill-wishes for leaving their own daughter. Of course, there are days when you wondered where they are, and what life might be like if they kept you.

Perhaps it is for the best, you always came to. Maybe it is meant to be this way, because at least the life you are living now with just your dad and grandparents is good. It's good—

You hear a dull chip as the lead snaps. It flies off to the side, leaving a small pencil marking etched into your paper. It's minor, but still an annoyance when deep in thought or concentration. Still, it's nothing that can't fixed with two pumps at the end of the pencil. You start over again, scribbling out the final numbers when familiar happy mewl grabs your attention. Before you can even look over, your cheeks lift into a smile.

"Hi, Etsu!"

It's a reaction that happens as soon as the sound reaches your ears. You set your pencil on your paper, math equations and theories slipping from your mind.

Etsu hops onto the counter, his blazing orange fur shimmering in the sunlight. Despite him being a stray, his fur is the softest thing on the planet. You hope he is a stray, because that's how you connected to him in the first place. Sometimes you wonder if he's had those long, quiet nights alone.

"You ready for a meat bun?" You say, sliding a hand back from his head to mid back. He anticipates your touch, always tilting his head up before you caress him again. The mewl he gives, so meek and mild, is what you understand to be a 'yes'.

And so you go over to the pork bun warmer and carefully pluck a bun from the middle shelf, trying your hardest not to touch the metal racks in between. There's still a little splotch of red on your hand from the last time you burned yourself.

The doughy flesh of the bun is warm under your fingertips, and droops slightly, heavy with pork. Steam escapes from every pore, and then, as you slice the bun open, it billows out.

The soft sounds of Estu enjoying his meal brings you a gratification that only comes on—again—during peaceful moments like these.

But as you watch him, you notice your dad's tall, black water bottle and cellphone sitting next to the rotary.

I should probably go and give it to him, you think, watching the bottle now instead of Etsu.

It's about four minutes walking distance from the store.

It wouldn't hurt.

"Nana! Dad left his water here. I'll be right back!"

You wait until you hear the warm, candied voice of your grandmother to leave the store. For a moment, a part of you misses the cool air conditioning.

****

As you enter the breezeway leading to the gym, you realize that you've never been here after school. There's a different vibe, you immediately notice; one that has your steps slowing.

You have never seen the boys your dad coaches. It's not like he forbade you from going to games; and it's not like didn't have any interest in the sport. It's just that you...never.. saw them practice.

You can hear the shoes squeaking and the ball slamming against the waxed floor. It's starts to sound like a horror movie soundtrack, in a weird way.

You peep your head in, carefully clutching the metal door frame.

Five boys, the ones your dad mentioned about earlier, are the first things to catch your eye. One of them, with hair as orange and fiery as Etsu's, is mid-air.

You spot your dad fifteen feet away to the left, arms crossed over one another, head tilted down and eyes wound up--his Focus Face, as you liked to call it. He's deep in his concentration, watching every move of the players on the court. You don't want to interrupt him, so you wait till one of the sides makes a point.

That point comes no sooner after you decide, and after it does, the boisterous cheers of the side closest to you fill the room. You take one step in, more confident, then another, till you're past the metal threshold.

"Dad?"

The man in question turns on instinct. He knows that voice. For fifteen years he's heard the sound of that word, the specific pitch and inflection. So he turns, void of any hesitation or forethought, only wondering why you're here a good few seconds after he sees your face.

Everyone else turns too. The word is so foreign in that environment it feels like slime against skin. The cheers stop. Even the ball stops rolling, and all eyes are on you.

"(Y/n)? What are you--" your father begins, still wide-eyed and surprised. They stay like that for only that moment, however, before returning to their sharp gaze. He turns to the boys, and says, "Excuse me for a second."

You meet him halfway as he walks towards you, neverminding the boys' stares. Haven't they ever seen a girl before? Wasn't that a girl standing right beside your dad?

"You forgot your water bottle," you half-whisper. The stares are getting to you, and you start to feel like you're being cooked alive. "I thought you might need it."

Behind him, a soft murmur lays low in the air. You're hyper-aware of it. What are they saying?

"Thanks, sugarplum." Your dad smiles, something that you know others rarely see, and takes the bottle.

You follow the same path back towards the doors, every now and then peaking glances back at the curious boys. They look kinda goofy, you think, just standing there like they had just witnessed a miracle, like the Lord Jesus Christ himself had come down from the heavens.

But as you turn the corner, a wall that wasn't there before blocks your path. It takes two seconds to register this, but in that first second, you're already colliding into it.

You stumble back, and so does the wall, giving you enough space to look up and see two eyes staring down at you. They're brown and wide with fear, as if had just broken an ancient artifact and was about to be executed.

A squeaky sorry tumbles from your lips at the same time he apologizes.

"Are you okay?" The wall--boy...man?--says. You're still in a daze, but lucid enough to give him a reassuring smile. You've seen him around before. You've never talked to him, but always feel bad that others perceived him as villainous or criminal. Deep down you he know has a kind soul... and a cute face.

"I'm fine! Don't worry about it."

"(Y/n)! You alright?" Your dad calls out from where he is, leaning over to see who you bumped into.

"Yeah! Everything's good!" You pip.

The wall in front of you shifts to the side, clearing the way for you to exit.

You walk with your head down all the way back home, afraid that anyone and everyone could see how red your face was.

God, that was embarrassing.

****

"Coach, was that your daughter?!" Tanaka says, almost teasingly. He's the first to break the silence, and has an apparent death wish.

Soft eyes go razor sharp again. No way was he going to let any one of those hormonal teenage boys near his precious daughter.

"Get back to work, Tanaka!" Ukai barks. All the color drains from Asahi's face, who is still standing by the doors.

"Wait, you mean... I just ran into your daughter?"

"It's okay, Asahi, don't worry about it."

"But...but..."

"Does she go to Karasuno?" Hinata asks over Asahi's blubbering, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"Yes, but don't you dare even think about--

"Is she a first year?"

"SHE'S A SECOND YEAR, FIRST YEAR, NOW GO GET READY FOR PRACTICE."

"Y-yes sir!"

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #hinata shoyo #ukai keishin #ukai x y/n #ukai x reader #tanaka ryuunosuke #asahi azumane #haikyuu fanfiction

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years ago

Text

like the movies

summary: he’s the writer; you’re the muse. there’s a cup of coffee somewhere in there, too.

word count: 3.3k+

warnings: fluff & pining—so, a change of pace from my usual angst. :) also: a serious lack of dialogue because i am feeling verbose.

a/n: this is entirely @joemazzmatazz‘s fault. it was her idea (albeit given to me actual ages ago), but she said “do it” and who am i to say no? anywho, i’m relatively uncertain about how this turned out, but have it regardless!

your latte is hot, almost too hot. it burns your tongue on the first sip.

but you welcome the heat and the momentary burst of pain. the weather swirling outside borders on atrocious: freezing rain mixed with snow flurries, bloated, gray clouds, and a thin layer of ice on all surfaces. though the tip of your tongue stings upon that first sip, the heat that rushes to your chest pushes away the dreary weather you’d slogged through to get to the coffee shop.

you’re a regular here. not a regular regular, but regular enough that the interchangeable baristas recognize you and you recognize them. you exchange tight-lipped smiles and nods of greeting when you approach the counter, but nothing more than simple pleasantries. you don’t know their names, and they never ask for yours, but they remember your order: frosted blueberry latte with extra foam. it’s gotten to the point where you can simply walk up to the counter, money in hand, and the barista can repeat your order before you open your mouth.

it’s the little things, you suppose. in this little corner of the world, you feel seen.

today, you have your laptop open, latte pushed to the side, and a cherry and almond scone on a bright blue plate. you resist the urge to pull your foot up on the chair and rest your chin on your knee. though you’re here more often than you’re at home, this isn’t your living room. you settle for sliding your ankle beneath your opposite thigh.

being a paralegal is decidedly unglamorous. sure, it sounds highfalutin to the person sitting beside you on the airplane, but damn, if it isn’t stressful. you feel like a glorified secretary most of the time. pushing papers and getting signatures and making tens of phone calls to people and places that are not interested in speaking to a lawyer isn’t really what you signed up for. at least, it’s not what you ultimately want. it pays the bills for now, though; a partnership… that’ll come later.

you’re lucky enough that you can work remotely, hence your sturdy corner of the café. from where you sit, you watch customers enter and exit the shop. each time the door opens and the little bell tinkles above, a blast of cold air rushes into the cramped space. you enjoy watching the reaction of newcomer—the way they stamp their snow-covered shoes on the wood floor and shiver, turn to their companions with a smile, hurry to the counter to order something sweet and warm. in those moments, you grow wistful, your heart lurching with loneliness. it’s been a long time since you’ve had anyone to meet for an afternoon coffee date, friend or otherwise. your job doesn’t afford much downtime, and what downtime you do have is devoted to menial life responsibilities.

your phone buzzes, and you glance down. a text from your boss. time to refocus.

you work for a while longer, nibbling on your scone, sipping from your latte. the emails pile up, and your phone buzzes incessantly. a headache forms at the base of your skull as you struggle to keep up with the constant flurry of communication.

after receiving a terse email from your boss’s legal partner in relation to something that is no fault of your own, you shut your laptop. a five-minute break; you deserve that much. rubbing a hand down your weary face, you grab your purse, slide out from behind the table, and head for the restroom. in the poorly lit bathroom, you splash some cool water on your cheeks and sigh at your reflection in the mirror. you look tired, feel it too. the dark bags under your eyes bely how little sleep you’ve gotten in the last week, and your shoulders droop under the weight of the world. maybe by christmas…

who are you kidding? christmas is just as busy as any other time of the year. people don’t stop needing lawyers just ‘cause it’s the holidays.

when you return to your makeshift workspace, you immediately frown. you freeze several paces from the corner of the table and glance over your shoulder, tightening your grip on the strap of your purse.

someone had been at the table in the five minutes it took to freshen up.

nothing is gone, thank god. (in retrospect, you probably shouldn’t have left your laptop and phone sitting in plain sight. call it naivety, but you like to think the best of people. however, your line of work consistently reminds you that the bad in people often outweighs the good.) your laptop, though, has been nudged to the side, the movement causing the charging cord to fall out. several drops of dark liquid—spilled latte—dampen the corner of your yellow legal pad.

what truly catches you eye is the square piece of paper resting on your laptop’s keyboard like a discarded feather.

you look over your shoulder again, but the shop is largely empty save for the baristas and an older couple in the far corner. the weather is certainly a deterrent from lingering. perhaps someone had come in while you were in the bathroom and left you a note. had your car been hit? you hope not. you don’t have the extra funds for vehicular maintenance right now and even less time to fix whatever damage had been done.

leaning forward, you lift the piece of paper, and your chest tightens.

it’s a drawing—a drawing of you. blue ink scattered across the page in swirling lines forms the hazy outline of your profile. your chin rests in your hand, and the artist made certain note to emphasize your eyelashes, which are not that long in actuality. at the bottom of the page, a message in curling script: when you are old — yeats

your mouth runs dry, your palms moist with nerves. returning to your chair, you quickly type the words into the search bar of your browser. you remember enough from high-school english to know yeats is a poet, but when the poem loads and you read the words, you feel like you might fall over.

your neck snaps up, cracks at the sudden movement. someone had been here in the café long enough to watch you, to sketch you, and to think of the yeats poem in relation to you.

how decidedly… romantic. like something out of a chick-flick.

despite the warmth in your chest, you shut your laptop, fold the sketch, and shove it in your coat pocket, willing yourself to forget the random happenstance. things like that—serendipitous moments of romance—only happen in the movies. they certainly don’t happen to you.

whomever had left the note, well—at least they’d brightened your day. your mother would call it a gift from the heavens, an angel smiling down on you.

shaking your head, you gather your things and hurry out into the cold, wintery weather. you refuse to allow yourself to go home and daydream. you could use the note as a bookmark, sure, but there was no use in dreaming about the artist. no use whatsoever when you would likely never cross paths again.

except you do go home and daydream. why you ever thought you could keep yourself from mulling over a moment rife with potential is ridiculous.

all throughout the evening—as you make your stir-fry dinner, as you draw your bath, as you change the sheets on your bed, and fold the laundry—you consider the possibilities:

you’d been at the café for a handful of hours, but how much had you truly paid attention to the patrons coming and going? barely, if you’re honest with yourself. you had noticed the older couple when they came in; you’d wondered how they’d managed to get from the parking lot to the warmth of the coffee shop without slipping on the icy sidewalks. you’d noticed, too, a man who looked a lot like how you imagine paul bunyan: massive height, plaid shirt stuffed in worn jeans, impressive beard. no one else of note sticks out in your mind hours later.

what had you been doing all afternoon? hopefully you hadn’t done anything embarrassing. god, sometimes you have this habit of resting your fingers over your mouth in such a way that it pushes up your nose to resemble a pig’s snout. had you done that? sometimes you fiddle with your hair too much and bounce your knees and hum to yourself. you want to sink below the suds of your bathwater when you recall your propensity for talking to yourself.

your thoughts turn fanciful when you finally slip beneath your covers.

maybe the artist is like tom hanks in “you’ve got mail.” only instead of emails, you could exchange notes in a coffee shop and forgo the business rivalry part.

maybe the artist is like tom hanks in “sleepless in seattle”: soft and sweet and really good with kids.

maybe you just have a thing for tom hanks.

you turn your head with a girlish grin, tucking your lower lip between your teeth.

you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t daydream, but how could you not? yeats’s poem filters through your mind like the moon filtering through your curtains: how many loved your moments of glad grace, and loved your beauty with love false or true, but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you and loved the sorrows of your changing face.

with a muffled squeal, you allow yourself a moment to thrash in delight—like a schoolgirl with a crush and a note checked yes i like you tucked beneath her pillow. the idea that someone somewhere notices you, of all people, is simply too much to bear. you feel like your heart will explode and sunbeams will burst from beneath your skin. you feel warm and happy and drunk on possibility.

you settle, then, and sigh, smoothing your hands over the rumpled comforter. you’re a professional, though. a paralegal, for god’s sake. you’ll go back to the café. maybe not tomorrow, but you’ll go back. just maybe—maybe, maybe, maybe—you’ll run into your artist again.

you return to the coffee shop in two days, lugging your over-stuffed bag with you, earbuds snug in your ears. when you cross the threshold, you can’t help the way your eyes immediately scan the customers who have parked themselves in the various sitting areas. you’re looking for your artist, obviously, but you have nothing to go on other than the note tucked away in your jewelry box at home. a few words, a carefully drawn profile—that’s not enough to determine who had created the note from a simple glance.

begrudgingly, you remind yourself once again that life isn’t a movie. there’s no tom hanks waiting for you on the other end of the note. it’s silly to dwell on it any longer, really. you’ll get too wrapped up, too attached, and that wouldn’t bode well for the upcoming holidays.

the table you usually occupy is already taken by a man in a red sweater. his head is bent over his laptop, glasses slipping down his strong nose. you try not to take it to heart; the table was never explicitly yours. with a soft grunt of effort, you drop your belongings in an orange armchair across the room before meandering to the counter. julie (at least, you think that’s her name?) smiles when you approach, and she rings up your order, asking about the weather and plans for the holidays.

once your coffee is in hand, you return to your new seat and relax in the accommodating plush armchair. maybe the man in the red sweater had done you a favor after all. you glance up to look at him. if he stays as long as you often do, his ass will ache by the time he leaves. the wood chairs offer zilch in the way of comfort.

you quickly lose yourself in work, but the idea that your artist could be in the same room as you never truly leaves your mind. you find yourself glancing about the room from time to time, studying those who come and go, wondering if perhaps they were the one who saw something worthwhile in you. no one catches you eye; everyone is too busy with their own affairs, and you don’t blame them.

by the end of the afternoon, you find your latte completely and utterly forgotten. it’s cold when you take a tentative sip, and you sigh. maybe not five dollars wasted, but five dollars you had meant for a hot drink, especially considering the cold weather. rising from your seat, you take the latte to the counter and ask the barista to pour your drink in a to-go cup with some ice. might as well make the best of it, and you don’t like things to go to waste.

when you return to your chair, you nearly drop the plastic cup.

another note.

“holy shit,” you breathe. instinctively, your palm tightens around your cup, and the plastic gives a small crack. you wince and double-check to make sure no leaks have sprung before picking up the folded piece of paper on your messenger bag.

your fingers tremble as you flip open the folded note.

the same blue ink, same hurried penmanship. no drawing this time; only words.

she sat, much as i did, working fervently. i couldn’t help but watch, and maybe that made me a creep, but i’d been called worse. she sat with an heir of regality, her chin held firm, eyes dancing about the room like she owned the place. not haughty or self-possessed. just sure of herself. what did that make me then? alone in my corner? i didn’t like to dwell too long, so i—

the words stop in time with the seize of your heart.

you can’t seem to look away, to look around the room again in search of your artist, your writer. your heart pounds in your chest, flush rising on your cheeks. eyes—you feel eyes on you whether they are present or not. you feel dizzy. never have you felt so… seen, so noticed. not even in past relationships have your boyfriends took such care to notice the minute details of your being.

the strange urge to vomit rises in your throat. you aren’t afraid; you aren’t creeped out.

you’re just… overwhelmed.

so, you tuck the note in your pocket and leave, careful to keep your gaze on the floor as you exit. just in case your writer is still there, still watching.

you’re nothing special, nothing like the paragraph they penned. they should get that through their thick skull before they find themselves disappointed.

you don’t return to the coffee shop until after the holidays.

it’s not that hard to stay away. the hustle and bustle of work combined with the hustle and bustle of family gatherings keeps you from finding the time for an afternoon of solace anywhere, let alone the café.

you must admit that you think of your author often, try as you might to forget them.

by now, you have the cadence of the yeats poem memorized and the prose of the paragraph tattooed on the front of your mind. each time you pass a couple in a warm embrace, you wonder what became of your writer. you wonder if they think of you as much as you think of them; if they ruminate over the possibility of a life that cannot be.

if this were a movie, you would run into your author by random happenstance. you’d bump into them at the market, spill your legumes on the floor, touch hands in your haste to right the mistake, and—boom—as you look up, it would all fall into place.

if this were a movie, you would see them in the library or the post office or the deli or—

—or the coffee shop.

you sigh as you enter the café, wishing for your author to be there, knowing they won’t be. it is enough that you’ve experienced two mysterious love notes; things like that don’t come in threes.

that’s only in the movies.

the café still has its holiday decorations up. twinkle lights hang draped across the ceiling, and music filters over the sparsely filled tables and chairs. in the post-holiday haze, you didn’t expect the café to be crowded. in all truth, the sight of few patrons eases your mind.

less of a chance to run into your author. less of a chance to reveal yourself as the decidedly uninteresting person you are.

you set your belongings down at a side table, and as you reach for your wallet, a presence hovers over your shoulder. frowning slightly, you straighten, prepared to ask the person to kindly give you some space. when you do turn, your heart leaps to your throat, and the wallet in your hand clatters to the table.

it’s your author. you just know it.

there’s something vaguely familiar about the man, about his strong nose and groomed facial hair and crystal eyes. he’s tall, warm looking, like a hot drink on a cold day or a crackling fire. his eyes scan your face as though he is worried, as though he’s uncertain of what he should do now that you’ve actually faced him.

you speak before your thoughts catch up with your heart. “you wrote those notes, didn’t you?”

he nods, and the movement—so gentle, so reminiscent of a small boy on the verge of a scolding—makes you love him all the more. “yeah.” he sighs, lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “yeah, sorry about that. i wanted to apologize. wasn’t sure i’d get the chance, if you’d come back again.”

you shake your head. “no, don’t apologize. please don’t apologize.”

it’s his turn to frown, and he looks up from the table. you lose your breath momentarily. god, his eyes are blue. “when you left last time i thought… well, i thought i’d scared you off.” with a rueful chuckle, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “would serve me right, too.”

“why do you say that?”

“i mean, notes on your laptop when you aren’t looking? intently watching you? kinda stalkerish, huh?”

you can’t help but smile—smile at him, at the nervous twitch of his mouth, at the way he avoids your gaze. “i guess.” on a daring move, you reach out and touch his elbow. when you touch him, he feels like home. “but i don’t want you to apologize. i like the notes. i haven’t thought about anything else since you gave me the first one.”

“really?” there’s a hopeful tone in his voice; it sets your heart on fire.

“yeah.”

“i’m writing a book—a novel, really. i saw you so often that any time i got stuck, i just wrote about you instead.”

you could kiss him then and there. instead, you tell him your name, and he grins.

“i’m gwilym.”

“tell me, gwilym.” you pull out your chair and motion to the café counter. “how would you feel if i bought you a coffee? i want to hear more about that novel.”

“i’d—i’d like that.”

he follows you to the counter, his hand brushing the small of your back.

the barista—matt, you think—looks up from the register and laughs. “holy shit, i won!” he looks over his shoulder. “hey, julie! you owe me a fifty.”

you glance at gwilym, but he’s already looking at you. you smile.

matt continues. “we had a pool to see how long it would take for you two to get together. you were always looking at each other but never at the same time. you knew that, right?” still laughing, he rings up your orders without be asked. “coffee is on us today, guys.”

as you wait for your latte to be steamed and gwilym’s chia to be poured, you tuck your lip between your teeth to stem your widening grin. gwilym is strong by your side, the perfect height for you to rest your head on his shoulder. you look up at him, at the noble planes of his face, and your chest squeezes. when he looks at you again, your chest squeezes even tighter.

maybe life is like a movie after all.

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #bohemian rhapsody #j writes

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