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sanccharine · 8 months ago

Text

loser's game | jh

pairing: jihyo x reader

genre: (questionable) comedy

word count: 6.1k

warnings: descriptions of blood, gore, violence. includes popular monsters/villains from horror movies.

summary: when you and jihyo lose spectacularly as the mafias in the mafia game, you are both are forced to endure a horror house as punishment.

a/n: this started on feb 20, 2021... finally finished on oct 31, 2024 ·_· the banner is so serious for such a ridiculous fic, im sorry. this was inspired (100% stolen and copied) from run bts, going seventeen, and time to twice — like it is literally scene for scene going seventeen the tag. anyways thanks to my gorl indigo (@eternallyghosting) for correcting the shit out of my spelling...it was bad. and happy diwali and halloween (diwalloween if you will)

A soft curse escaped your lips as you observed the meticulously decorated building in front of you.

Granite statues of goblins guarded the front steps, which seemed like they were a second away from falling apart. Along with their pointed ears and wrinkled foreheads, they had a grotesque grin etched across their face, more to showcase their rows of sharp teeth instead of a welcoming smile. The worst part was their eyes, hidden away from the rain by protruding eyebrows, they were caved in and greasy, making them twinkle in the night.

The stairs were also of the same stone, splattered with what you hoped was dirt and grime, leading up to the entrance of the mansion. Beside them, led a staircase to the right side of the house all the way up to the upper floor. It was a beautiful house, truly, with its high roofs and many windows. Maybe in its prime, you would have been able to appreciate its beauty, maybe even dreamed of staying in such a place.

However, in the darkness of the night, the pastel pink walls turned into an ugly shade of grey similar to a trodden sidewalk. It didn’t help that the paint was cracked and peeling to show the large splotches of mould. Then there were the overgrown vines spewing over the railing beside the entrance and crawling up the walls, reaching the open windows which creaked eerily with wind, barely hanging on.

It was the type of house the protagonist of a horror movie would have to move into at the start of the film. Even with cleardistaste for the house and the knowledge of its past from the neighbours or rumours, they’d choose to stay there. The mere sight of it had you wrapping your arms around your stomach and pulling at your overcoat.

For a random haunted house at an amusement park, they had spent quite the money to make it look…convincing.

Beside you, Jihyo’s torso heaved as she inhaled and exhaled deeply, allowing a misty cloud to escape her lips. When she was done collecting herself, she spun on the balls of her feet as she proclaimed. “We’ll do the dishes, Jeongyeon! And vacuuming! For a week!”

Normally, you would’ve nudged Jihyo, gesturing that you wanted nothing to do with cleaning duties. What with Jeongyeon breathing down your neck for every second of it? Absolutely not, you did not have a death wish. However, considering your current predicament, between cleaning with Jeongyeon badgering you every second or entering this haunted house of horrors, you would easily pick the former.

Nayeon scoffed at Jihyo’s pathetic attempt at bargaining which caused you to turn as well. Next to the oldest, stood Jeongyeon with her hands in her pockets, completely relaxed at the knowledge of her friend’s imminent suffering. Beside the pair, stood Sana and Momo, who clung to each other for any sort of warmth during this late October night. However, there was no warmth in their mischievous eyes.

When Jeongyeon’s face stayed as expressive as the stone behind you, Jihyo continued with hands clasped in front of her chest. “Seriously! For two weeks, then?”

But, of course, Jeongyeon was not easily convinced.

“No,” Jeongyeon said with a composed smile as her eyes moved from the begging girl to you, who remained as stiff as a board. “Neither of you can properly clean. It’s just more work for me.”

Nayeon folded her arms as her eyes flitted to the ground to suppress the cackle that would surely burst out. Jihyo’s clasped hands parted, shaking as they dropped. The corner of her lip twitched as she straightened herself, the facade of a begging innocent transformed into a character dead set on spilling blood.

Before that could happen, finally coming to your senses, you offered. “I’ll pay for dinner.”

Jeongyeon tilted her chin up to consider. Even Jihyo turned, waiting for you to continue.

“I’ll pay for tonight,” you nod, resolving yourself. You need to sound confident. “Dinner at the new restaurant that opened down the street. Tzuyu wanted to go there, I’ll pay!”

Sana and Momo started giggling like schoolchildren at the thought of free food, while Nayeon nodded her head with satisfaction, convinced. However, Jeongyeon only raised an eyebrow at the offer, clearly mulling it over. The only thing that could distract the group of demons you call friends is food, they were primitive that way. You turned to meet Jihyo’s stare, which was oddly inexpressive, but all of you knew better than that. It was all just a mask, to cover the rage simmering right underneath, waiting to be unleashed.

“No,” Jeongyeon said with a clenched half-smile, one that would accompany an apology, but she looked anything but apologetic.

Right next to you, a shrill yowl erupted that nearly shattered your eardrum. Instinctively, you shifted and threw your arms around Jihyo’s waist. Fortunately, you’d caught Jihyo just before she could pounce and tear out Jeonyeon’s bleached hair strand by strand. Although, with the way she thrashed in your arms she was only a second away from escaping and doing just that, maybe you’d even join in. Nayeon let out that cackle while Sana and Momo continued to giggle, all at the sight of their friend going absolutely feral. What must’ve irritated Jihyo even more though was that Jeongyeon stood in the middle, completely unaffected.

“You set us up!” Jihyo shrieked, but the ringing in your ear didn’t deter you from your task. “Jeongyeon, you set us up!”

Joining Jihyo, but also tightening your hold on her, you agree. “She’s right! You purposely put Chaeyoung as the police and Dahyun as the doctor, while Jihyo and I were the mafia. Obviously, we’d lose!”

“Lies and defamation,” Jeonyeon shook her head before placing her hand over her heart, “I did no such thing. I would never, ever, do that.”

“Or maybe you’re just bad at playing mafia!” Sana said, sticking her tongue out. Momo let loose more giggles while Nayeon let out another hearty cackle, this time, smacking Jeongyeon’s shoulder in the process.

“As if you’re any better!” Jihyo growled, panting but still caged in your arms. “As if you–”

“What’s going on?” Mina’s small voice asked as she came over, holding two ginormous sticks of cotton candy. Behind her, the three youngest members of your circle followed like little ducklings after their mother.

Dahyun was busy counting leftover change and checking bills to see if everything was accounted for. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu, on the other hand, lugged in more carnival food—enough snacks to skip dinner. Of course, they’d never actually skip dinner. They’ve bought buckets of popcorn as if they’re out to watch a movie, which was true in a way, your misery will be their entertainment.

Sighing at the image, you accepted your fate.

Momo eagerly took a stick of cotton candy from Mina, while Nayeon answered. “Jihyo and Y/N are trying to weasel their way out of their punishment, you know, like a bunch of weasels.”

Nayeon shook her head with two fingers pinching the bridge of her nose in feigned disappointment. Mina flashed her gummy smile just as a carnival worker came out to call you. Jihyo turned to offer a small bow, as your friends began to holler. The woman arrived with two selfie sticks in her hand attached to cameras and handed them to the two of you. She offered a kind smile, completely missing the dread swirling in your eyes.

“Welcome to Mysterious Mansion! Your objective is to find the four keys necessary to escape the mansion in under thirty minutes. That’s it!” She said with a small shrug and you narrowed your eyes at that obvious lie. “Once you enter, there will be a map of the mansion to your right as well as a few rules outlining the gameplay, please read them before proceeding. When the two of you are ready, just raise your hands above your head and you’ll hear a buzzer which will be the start of your time.

“As for the rest of the group,” the woman leaned to Jihyo’s right to offer a kind smile to your already snacking friends, “please follow me to the back where you can watch them play the game.”

When the girls hollered, you slowly turned to Jihyo’s stare. There was a mismatch of emotions passing through them, none of which you could make any sense of, apart from the fact that neither of you wanted to do this.

One last attempt at a saving grace, your eyes landed on the cost for one run of thirty minutes. It was quite pricey. “Damn guys, this punishment looks like it will be really expensive, instead I’ll just buy dinner—”

“Just go already,” Tzuyu deadpanned to your offer, her voice muddled as she munched on popcorn.

“Plus, we paid in advance. All of us!” Dahyun added in her chirpy manner.

“Right, of course, you did,” you muttered to yourself. “Why did I even bother?”

What were the five stages of grief? Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance? Yeah, well it was about time you accepted your demise. Jihyo must’ve come to the same conclusion after having gone from being scared to offering to clean to going absolutely mad, completely skipping the depression stage as an odd light filled her eyes.

“Thirty minutes, right?” You snapped to your right at Jihyo’s words. “What’s the record time?”

“Eight minutes!” The worker said in an unnecessarily chirpy tone. “Three guys made it out in a flash, best run we’ve seen!”

Jihyo mumbled something and nodded to herself while Nayeon began to snigger, completely aware that Jihyo’s competitive spirit would be a thousand times worse than whatever was waiting for you inside.

Jihyo offered her empty hand and you sighed dejectedly as you took it, your fingers quickly entangling. Your so-called friends giggled and howled like the irritating children they were, offering encouragement that was mostly empty. You were sure Jeongyeon had a wicked grin plastered on her face, you didn’t have to turn around to know that.

With a camera stick in your left hand and your right in Jihyo’s, the two of you approached the steps. You tried to drown yourself in the giddy laughter of little children visiting the carnival, the same overplayed pop music blaring from speakers, and the vibrant flashing lights adorned on various rides to remind yourself that the horror house you were entering was just another ride. None of it was real, and you were not going to get hurt. As the worker put it; just find the keys and escape, that’s it. Simple.

With a final few rowdy howls from the young college girls, the entrance to the mansion closed behind you. To say the place was dark would be an understatement. You could just barely make out the grand stairs leading to the upper floor, and by baseless deduction, you assumed there were rooms on either side of the staircase because right now all you could see was black. Jihyo squeezed your hand and you stopped staring blindly into the abyss to stare at something you could see.

As the worker had mentioned, there was a map to your right. It was lit up by flickering yellow light and detailed both floors. There were a total of six rooms aside from the three bathrooms, the kitchen, the dining room, and the main hall. Basically, the place was ginormous—again, quite the budget for an amusement ride. The exit was marked with a large red ‘X’ on the upper floor.

Jihyo quickly read aloud the rules as you let out another dejected sigh, bringing up the camera to glare at it, you mumbled. “You know this is all your fault?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Jihyo scoffed, turning to you before yanking her hand out of your clasp. “My fault? If anything, this is your fault?”

“Oh, please enlighten me.” You replied, throwing your arms up, sending a scathing glare her way, though she probably couldn’t see it well.

“If you didn’t look so suspicious, then—”

A loud buzzer sounded and the two of you froze—both of your hands had been raised, even if it was only for a second!—as the dim yellow lights changed instantly to hues of crimson.

Jihyo’s hand grabbed yours and brought it down before interlocking fingers again. She then hissed as she took the first step. “If you didn’t look so damn suspicious, then you would’ve lasted more than two rounds and we would’ve won.”

“That’s just my face! If I smile too much I’m suspicious, if I don't smile at all I’m still suspicious! What am I supposed to do?” You hissed back, squeezing her hand tightly. Clearly, both of you have regressed back from acceptance to anger. “And what about—let’s go left—what about you?”

Jihyo turned left, dragging you along, and entered a grand dining room. In the centre of the room stood a large mahogany table, large enough to feed eight people and was neatly adorned with plates. If you squinted, you could make out the beautiful patterns on the plates and the intricate engraved details on the ends of the cutlery.

Letting Jihyo lead you around the table, you continued. “What about you, huh? The second Nayeon mentioned your name, you blew up. It was clearly a trap, and you walked right into it!”

Jihyo sighed, leering over the table to check for a key among the silverware, and admitted. “I should��ve killed Dahyun after you were voted out.”

Dahyun was too good of a doctor and managed to save everyone you tried to kill. If Jihyo had taken her out, that would’ve given the mafias an easy win. You grumbled your agreement while eyeing the strange baroque painting at the end of the dinner table.

The painting was of a woman in a silk gown, glancing to her left, wholly uninterested in the elaborate platter she held. Strange since the platter held a severed head. The man was bearded, his mouth frozen agape in shock as his sockets had been carved out, devoid of eyes. He was adorned with pomegranates, grapefruits, and plums—the juice of the fruit and the blood from his neck pooled and dripped down the woman’s hands, soaking into her sleeves. What a terribly morbid painting, it disgusted you but for some reason, you couldn’t look away. Deciding to search the table along with Jihyo, you opted for one last glance.

Probably the worst decision you’ve ever made, as your heart nearly burst through your ribcage.

The woman’s eyes in the painting looked straight at you.

If Jihyo sensed you crushing her hand in a panic, then she ignored it. Instead, she shuffled around, tugging you, and aggressively prodded the table with the camera stick, prioritizing finding a key over a broken hand or the camera. Not trusting your voice, you nudged Jihyo to warn her, unable to break your gaze from the painting. Of course, completelyused to your irritating behaviour, she overlooked it. Jihyo only offered low grunts, much like a caveman, when you nudged her more frantically, panicking after you caught sight of the blood dripping from the painting and onto the floor.

Jihyo was about to reach her limit from all your nudging, especially when she was the only one trying to find the keys. You knew she was preparing to give you a verbal lashing when suddenly she went taut under your grasp. Jihyo let out a guttural scream, loud enough to break the sound barrier, and jumped a meter into the air. In response to that, a horrid screech escaped from you and as you were still very much stuck to Jihyo, you were yanked harshly out of the dinner hall.

“There was something under—something grabbed my leg!” Jihyo repeated frantically, shivers passing through her body as she ran back to the entrance. Jihyo let go of your hand, though with a lot of difficulty, to try opening the door. No such luck because the door was locked shut.

You swore profusely, before obsessively jangling the door handle with your now free hand. Rage had quickly enveloped your fear and this was the only way to let out your frustration—bullying an inanimate object. You sent a kick to the handle after trying to slam the door open with your shoulder. When these failed, you finally acknowledged what had already been proven. “Damn it, we have to find those stupid keys!”

“Should we split up?” Jihyo asked, already studying the map, while you glimpsed at the dining room. It was difficult in the dark, but you were sure you saw a shadow moving. “How about you take the ground floor, and I’ll take the other?”

Jihyo glanced at you as if she was offering you the better option as if she was being generous. Yeah, the ground floor had fewer rooms, but that was only because the rooms were larger. Plus, the dining room, kitchen, and the main hall were all open spaces. Your only proper refuge would be the smallest bathroom, which was at the very far end to the right.

You were just about to decline and suggest you stay together when something—well someone—came growling from the kitchen. The two of you screamed as much as your lungs would allow you. Without a second of hesitation, Jihyo bolted up the stairs still yelling, successfully leaving you for dead.

Well, guess you would be taking the ground floor then.

Personifying the fight in the fight or flight response, you wielded your camera stick like a bat and stood your ground. You jumped side to side on the balls of your feet, swinging the makeshift bat as the monster came to a slow stop in front of you. It was too dark for you to make out the costume and makeup, but with the tufts of fur and leaves hanging from the torso, you’d assume this was some sort of swamp monster. Perhaps you would have criticised how a swamp monster took away from the immersive experience considering you were in an elaborately decorated mansion, but at the time, you were too busy screaming to think of such things.

“I swear I will hit you—don’t come closer!” You shrieked, with only the stick in between you and your murderer.

Whoever this poor actor was, was probably not paid enough to do this every night, especially with the makeup and heavy costume, but right now, that wasn’t your biggest worry. If this person were to make any sudden move, you were more than ready to whack the life out of them. You could live with that. Covering their medical bills and assault charges will be a problem for you in the future.

The two of you circled each other until your back was to the dining room entrance and you let yourself be backed into the room. However, the second your back hit a chair, you grabbed whatever silverware you could find and hurled it in your attacker’s direction. Lucky for you, the cutlery was not attached to the table, or worse, made out of porcelain. The spoons, knives, and forks clattered to the ground while you dashed to your left, moving to the kitchen.

There was a strange bubbling noise but you decided to return to this place when you’re not so close to being killed. You exited the kitchen through its proper entrance and opened the door on the left. It was a small storage room, littered with nothing but a few discarded canvases on the floor—you don’t remember this room on the map.

Oh, also, there was a crying woman in white, huddled in the corner.

Greeting her with a quick bow, you immediately shut the door before you could register what you’d seen. Ignoring the violent shudder that passed through your spine, you ran back towards the main entrance, just about to cross the staircase to follow through with the plan you never agreed to when a blood-curdling scream came from the first floor.

Your self-sacrificing instincts kicked in and you climbed two steps at a time while cursing your feet which carried your body towards Jihyo’s screams. Crashing into the first door on your right, you burst into the room screaming all the while swinging your camera stick strong enough to make baseball stars weep… only to find Jihyo backing her assailant to a corner.

You paused, chest heaving violently, as you witnessed Jihyo in her warpath. Her hands were clenched in tight fists as she stomped forward, making the poor actor back up. She let loose those guttural gnarls that would have one’s throat grating as if someone were pulling it taut. Surely, by the end of your punishment, Jihyo would end up with a sore throat that no amount of honey could cure. Her attempt at asserting dominance slowed down to snarls and hissing before she came to a stop at the sight of surrender. You would have been impressed had she not looked completely mad.

Jihyo heaved and moved back to the enormous bed in the room, with her eyes still trained on the poor zombie, who tried to become one with the wall. When she sat down, huge plumes of dust wafted into the air and she began coughing violently but had no energy to move away.

Catching yourself on the door frame seeing that Jihyo had saved herself, you whimpered out. “Got all your anger out now?”

Both the actor and Jihyo stiffened at your voice before Jihyo said. “I’m going to kill Jeongyeon.”

You cringed at Jihyo’s hoarse voice, which was nothing but air, she seemed to speak every word as if it pained her. You close your eyes to collect yourself before asking. “Did you find a key?”

Jihyo wordlessly raised her hand, holding a whole ring of keys, glinting in what little moonlight the tattered curtains allowed. You gasped and walked forward, reaching over the bed to take them. Ignoring the dust being released when you dropped your camera stick carelessly, you counted the number of keys. There were exactly four, all seeming to be in different colours, shapes, and sizes. One of them even had the number three on it.

Before you could ask, Jihyo pointed behind her and croaked. “Drawer.”

You repeatedly muttered okay to yourself, giddy to finally be free from this mad house.

So giddy, that you failed to notice the traumatised actor in the corner shaking their head when you exited the bedroom. Getting a head start, you made it down the corridor and found the room where the exit was supposed to be. You opened one door and were met with four other doors. Two to your left, one to your right, and a metal one in front of you. Otherwise, the room was completely barren.

This was not good. All of these doors were closed meaning you had no idea what monstrosity was hiding behind them. Hearing the muttered curses and stomping, you know Jihyo wasn’t far behind. Quickly, you pulled apart the ring, separated the four keys, and laid them out in the same order with key number three in its place. The door right in front of you was clearly the exit, as it had four coloured and numbered squares with keyholes in the centre.

What do you know? The colours of the keys matched the squares!

Even then, your mind in all its excitement failed to see the obvious trap, like it had failed to predict Jeongyeon’s plans to frame you and Jihyo. You hurried and put all the keys in their respective holes, some with difficulty, with you standing in front of keyhole numbers one and two while Jihyo was in front of the others. With one last glance at Jihyo, you tried the first key.

Except that it didn’t turn.

“No,” Jihyo mumbled before harshly turning key number three which worked. She tried turning key number four but it wouldn’t budge, she pulled it out and threw it to the ground. “Damn it!”

Right at that moment, the door on your left swung open revealing a person with the Jason Voorhees mask and a machete to match. Once again, in unison, you and Jihyo were screaming as much as your lungs would allow. However, this time, both of you bolted out the door you’d entered and Jihyo closed the door behind you just in time, so your attacker couldn’t come. Panting, you leaned on the wall by the door, hand wrapped around Jihyo’s own hand which clung to the door handle.

“Swamp monster, crying ghost, zombie, and Jason,” you count out as you catch your breath. “Four monsters so far, you think that’s it? Four keys, four doors, four monsters?”

Jihyo, panting herself, nodded. “Has to be.”

“We need to get those stupid keys,” you sighed. Even panicked and running high on adrenaline, you could feel your fear giving way to frustration. You were ready to get this game over with. “I didn’t find any, but I’m assuming it's two per floor.”

Jihyo nods again, while her attention is on the door, pressing her ear to make sense of the killer behind. But it was silent.

“Do you want to stay here, and I can find the keys on the first floor?”

“I’d be a sitting duck,” Jihyo shook her head. “I’ll ransack the top floor, there are still the bathrooms.”

“Dining hall is a red herring with too many clues,” you said, unsure if the room was to be misleading, but it definitely was a waste of time. “I’ll recheck the kitchen and main hall.”

You glance back at the door and frown.

“Give me some time before running to the bathrooms, I don’t have places to hide downstairs,” you say and gently take your hand from the door handle, shaking off your nerves.

Again, Jihyo nodded as she leaned beside the door, taking your place.

Nodding back at her, you headed towards the stairs. Forgoing the steps, you sat on the railing and quickly slid down, landing easily at the bottom. Your first location was the kitchen.

You knew the swamp monster had to be waiting in the dining room for you. As well as the crying ghost in the nearby storage room. You’d take your chances with the ghost any day. Taking the route from the back, you entered the kitchen. Walking to the nearest cabinet, you tugged on the handle—it was glued shut. Nodding to yourself, you squinted at the marble counters for anything, nothing seemed to stand out apart from the bubbling pot on the stove, lit up by a flame—it was a light, not real fire.

A shuffle in the dining room, made you snap your neck to the left. Your eyes, like magnets, turned to the eyes of the morbid painting, glaring into you. Any moment, the swamp monster would return. Turning your attention to the pit, you lifted the lid to see stagnant liquid—so the bubbling was just a recorded sound—that helped break the immersiveness. Rolling up your sleeve and steeling yourself, you stuck your hand in the freezing cold water—or what felt like water. You were grateful for the low viscosity, anything else, and you would have given up finding the key.

Speaking of, your fingers brushed against shaped metal and pulled out a handful of keys. Cringing at the metallic clangs and clinks as you dropped the wet keys on the counter, you easily found the only key that had a number on it.

Just as you pocketed the key, the swamp monster made itself known.

“I’m so sorry,” you muttered and tipped the pot over. They really should glue that down too.

Water splashed onto the tiled floor, covering the space between you and the monster. Yes, there was another door leading straight to the main foyer from the dining room, but the distraction was all you needed for time.

Taking the back entrance again, you sprinted out of the kitchen, past the main foyer, and into the room you’ve never been to before. The main hall.

The moment you entered you had to clasp your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from shrieking.

Every corner of the room, every shelf, every breathing space from the mantle of the fireplace to the couch to the emptyspace of the majestic piano were seated with antique dolls. Dolls of all kinds, and colours, and clothes with their glassy eyes and rosy cheeks and perfectly brushed hair. Not to mention that all the oil paintings of young girls, similar to the antique dolls taking up every inch of the walls.

Somehow this was worse than the painting that dripped blood onto the floor.

But much like that painting, it was like all their eyes followed you. That couldn’t be.

The dolls’ eyes were all looking in one direction, up at the paintings. And the paintings looked up at the ceiling, following them, your head tilted up.

If you didn’t have trypophobia before, you certainly did now.

The ceiling was filled with magnificent glass-painted lights, barring the eye-like structures all clustered to look into a direction. Letting the hairs on your neck raise, you followed down the ceiling to the back of the room, once again met with paintings on the wall as your eyes landed on something marginally worse.

A clown.

Gulping so loud, you stayed frozen.

Had the actor just waited until you figured out the eyes?

Their grin widened as their head tilted in an almost robot-like manner.

Trypophobia and clowns were not fears you expected to gain tonight, but life works in mysterious ways.

“Come on, man,” you hoped to sound a little relaxed, but with the way your voice shook, you’re doubtful cool confidence came across well.

When the actor’s grin only widened, you let out a pained whine, like a child throwing a tantrum.

Regressing to your throwing habits, you glanced at the dolls. If they weren’t glued to their places, and also if they weren’t porcelain, you could kick a few to the ground as a distraction. However, touching or holding any part of the dolls matched with those lifeless dead eyes, chubby rosy cheeks, and coloured pouting lips was a thousand times more revolting than facing discount Pennywise.

“I will swing the camera stick and I know you’re not getting paid enough to take that,” you bartered instead, both hands on the camera stick, once again like a bat.

The actor chuckled and shook his head. “It happens more often than you think, even though it's against the rules.”

“Rules?” you question, camera stick slightly lowering.

“The ones under the map,” he offered.

“Shit, yeah. No, we didn’t have time to read those,” you frowned, completely dropping your stick to your side. “Assuming, we’re not supposed to throw and spill stuff either?”

“Generally, not proper etiquette but it happens,” he shrugged. The casual action was so odd when he was dressed as a horrifying killer clown.

“Really sorry about that,” you frown deeper with a sigh but he only shakes his head, dismissing your apology with a wave of his hand.

“You’re all good,” he smiled. Now, you knew he was trying to be friendly and accommodating, but in his make-up, his grin was chilling. It was exactly the reminder you needed.

Lifting up the stick, almost as if going into an act yourself, you steeled your nerves. The clown followed you as he lowered himself, his eyes narrowing while his grin widened. “Where’s the key?” you asked.

You were sure he was about to recite some quote from the source material, or just something to elevate his performance. However, both of us were distracted by the ear-shattering scream that could only be Jihyo’s. Perhaps, you’d have jumped the couch and run to her, that is if she wasn’t swearing like a sailor.

Knowing she had herself covered, you used the distraction to run. The clown followed.

Maneuvering in a room filled with dolls was difficult, but it was difficult for the clown as well. Following the eyes and where the clown had just been was key number two, all the eyes had been pointing towards it. Such a simple find, but the dolls and clown were such huge deterrents.

In a sprint, you made a grab for the key notcaring as you rustledsome dolls and exited the main hall. Swamp monster, much like a game character, was waiting at the entrance to the dining room, and themoment he saw you run to the stairs, he was activated.

“Jihyo, get to the door!” You screamed climbing the stairs two at a time and ignoring the fact that swamp monster and Pennywise himself were on your trail. Jihyo’s answer was only a snarl back, no doubt fending herself from Jason Voorhees.

Making a quick right, you entered the room and sprinted straight to the metal door. Jihyo was in some circling match with Jason Voorhees as you slotted in key number two and turned it. When you slotted key number one and turned, the swamp monster, the clown, and the zombie piled into the room.

“Jihyo!” You shoved open the door, which to your embarrassment, while coloured like metal, was not metal, so you nearly planted head-first into the ground when it swung open with ease.

Catching yourself on the corroded metal railing, Jihyo followed you out and slammed the door shut. Both of you panted, staring at each other as noises from the carnival once again surrounded you. The back of the mansion was… barren to put it kindly.

None of the money that was spent at the entrance and inside was spared for the back. It looked merely like a storage container.

You crumpled to the floor, leaning on the railing, and sighed. Your camera stick fell by your thigh with a thunk as Jihyo closed her eyes. You were done. You made it out.

“Well done, losers!”

You looked over your shoulder, following the taunt and the clapping. Nayeon giggled as Jeongyeon slowly clapped from the ground.

“Come down!” Jeongyeon said with a blinding grin as you pulled yourself up to stand. By the way, Jihyo held her jaw, you knew she was seething. However, she was far too exhausted to do anything.

The pair of you took the stairs down and headed into a smaller shed by the mansion followed by Nayeon and Jeongyeon. Inside, the rest of your friends were gathered as well as the worker who had greeted you. The room was filled with cameras inside the mansion, two screens still transmitting from your camera sticks even as you handed them over.

“Good job!” The worker said with a forced smile, though you glanced behind her. One of the cameras caught the swamp monster pulling off his mask and taking a seat on one of the chairs while Jason Voorhees just flopped to the floor, his head tilted to the ceiling. All the while Pennywise and the zombie helped clean their respective rooms with the help of cleaners.

“We’re sorry,” you sighed, Jihyo only nodded, her eyes were still narrowed. She looked anything but apologetic, but you knew she was. “Adrenaline just—poof, you know?”

“It’s alright,” the worker sighs, her taut smile dipping more into a genuine one. “It happens.”

“Yeah, Pennywise said that,” you gave her a small smile. “Good experience, good game. Terrified the shit out of us.”

You ignored the way your friends laughed behind you.

“Please rate us well on the website,” you nodded as the worker pointed out a QR code printed out on the wall.

While Jeongyeon pulled out her phone to do that, Jihyo sighed and stepped forward. “What was our time?”

There was no point in asking. The pair of you definitely did not beat the eight-minute record.

With a frown, the worker answered. “Twenty-seven minutes and fifty-four seconds—”

“Twenty-eight minutes,” Jihyo’s entire form deflated like a burst balloon. You rolled your eyes at her while your friends laughed.

Instead, you asked a question that bugged you most as you studied the camera screens.

“Where is the fifth one? Ghost lady?”

The worker frowned as your friends became silent. Both you and Jihyo looked around to meet everyone’s faces, their expressions ranging from confusion to apprehension.

“The one in the storage room? She was crying,” you prompted again, glancing back at the cameras to see the four monsters now all in the dining room picking up the utensils you spilt.

When the worker cleared her throat, you and Jihyo turned back. Her face ashen as she gulped.

“There is no crying ghost.”

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: i believe the house was based off of coraline house and the painting i described was judith slaying holofernes by artemisia gentileschi :] gonna go binge gose now, good day/night everybody !

tagging: @someone-who-likes-broccoli

#mala’s collection #sanccharine #jihyo x reader #twice x reader #twice comedy #jihyo comedy #twice #twice imagines #jihyo imagines #loser's game

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mochinomnoms · 2 years ago

Note

Hiii! For the Hanahaki event can I request Vil (romantic) with prompt #7? A gender neutral reader would be appreciated, thanks!!

Also if youre up for it maybe prompt #12 with Ace (Platonic) with the reader’s object of affection still being Vil? This prompt with Ace is too funny for me to ignore I just HAVE to sneak him in 😭😭

vil schoenheit, platonic!ace trappola x gn!reader [tags] – fluff, humor, semi enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, sickenly sweet [wc} – 3,458 prompt 7: “I've heard of wearing your heart on your sleeve, but wearing petals in your hair is a whole new level of fashion statement.” prompt 12: "No, I haven't been growing marigolds out of my ass. Why would you even ask that?!” note - writing this was surprisingly hard. but i got it and i think it's very cute, i just hope Vil is mostly in character :skull: also i don't know german so idk if the nickname is an accurate translation! comments loved and appreciated! a floral inconvenience

Marigold: often used during festivals like Diwali and Navratri, marigolds symbolize purity, auspiciousness, and the divine.

You were going to murder him.

“Heyyyyyy Prefect!” Ace gave you a cheeky grin as he held your glass bottle of very expensive salicylic acid serum, balancing it precariously between his fingers. “What about this? Can I take this—whoops!”

“ACE!”

You shrieked as the bottle slipped from his fingers, only to be caught by his other hand, an infuriating grin still on his hand.

“Hehe, relax! I’m just messing around—oh shit!” The bottle slipped again from his fingers as a now panicked Ace scrambled to capture it. “Oop. Got it. It’s fine.”

“Oh my gooooooooood, Ace, I’m going to fucking kill you, give that back!” You snatched the bottle from his hands, giving him a good kick behind the knees as you walked past him.

“Owwwww, Prefect, why are you so mean to me?” Ace pouted as you put your serum back on your desk with the rest of the skincare Vil had gifted everyone at the start of the SDC training. Ace continued whining as he packed his bags to go back to Heartslabyul, being left behind by Deuce who went to get snacks from Sam’s with Epel.

He felt bad that all the food you had was cursed by Vil at the beginning.

“It’s almost like you want me out of your dorm, kinda rude, you know.”

“You know what’s rude?” You smacked down the pillow Ace threw your way as you huffed, “Your face. Ugly ass, you know you had a room next door, how’d all your stuff end up in my room?”

Ace shrugged as he shoved his wrapped up sweater into the now bulky backpack he’d brought over, throwing himself onto your bed and grunting as he bounced on the squeaky frame.

“I don’t know, how’d you burn the Queen of Hearts’s statue—”

“That was you—”

“—the world will never know.”

You rolled you eyes as you laid on your stomach next to him, hugging a spare pillow to your face. Closing your eyes, you sighed as the events of the last few weeks replayed in your head. Between acting as manager for the SDC group, to barely keeping up with classes, to Vil’s overblot, you were utterly exhausted. Speaking of Vil…

“Ah, that’s right, I should check on Vil before he leaves. I wonder if he’s doing okay?”

“With you at his beck and call? Perfectly fine, I guarantee you.” Ace yelped as you smacked his side, giving him a red-faced glare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ace turned on his side with a teasing smirk. The kind of smirk he gave you whenever he wanted to fluster and embarrass you in front of your friends and teachers.

“It means whatever you want it to mean. Maybe someone should consider not acting like a little kid with a crush whenever they’re around Vil—owowowowowow—stop hitting me!”

You pounded your fists onto Ace’s sides and back as he tried to roll away from your reach, arms cradling his head in meek protection. He managed to roll off the bed, turning over to look at you briefly to stick his tongue out and politely flip you off. Ace let out a small shriek as you launched off the bed after him, running out of the room into the hall and turning into a goosechase. You could practically hear the yakety sax song playing in your head as the two of you pushed past Jamil and Kalim, the former crying out at you in annoyance.

“Watch it!”

Ace practically threw himself down the stairs, jumping past four whole steps, using the banister to whip him around into the main hallway where he ran into the living room. Finally catching up to him, Ace positioned the coffee table between you two as he continued egging you on.

“Ayeeeeeee, embarrassed Prefect? Gonna throw a fit?” Ace let out a low cackle as you both shifted around the table.

“Gonna throw your ass into the fucking sun, little bitch ass! You got something to say then fucking say it!”

Ace snorted as he pointed behind you. “You’re one to talk, you wanna talk about the marigolds coming from behind you? It’s like you’re growing a garden out of your ass, wanna talk about that?”

“The fuck? I haven't been growing marigolds out of my ass. The hell you’re talking about,” You turned your head to look behind you, still growling at him now with confusion. “Why would you even ask that—WHAT THE FUCK!?”

You hissed as you jumped backwards into the table, the edges jamming into your skin. Behind you had been a long trail of beautiful, shimmering orange flowers. Upon closer inspection, you were pretty sure they were marigolds.

“...Ace, this is your fault.”

“What! Nuh-uh, I’m not the only with flower sickness—”

“The fuck is flower sickness?”

“You know, hanahaki? The love disease? How do you not know what flower sickness is, it’s like basic 8th grade bio—”

“I didn’t go to school here, dumbass!”

Ace’s mouth formed an ‘oh’ shape as he remembered. “Oooooh yeah, I forgot.”

“Forgot what? You little potatoes are acting awfully rowdy so early in the morning.”

You looked up to see Vil standing in the hallway, a bemused Rook behind him inspecting the flowers on the ground. Vil briefly made eye contact with you, both of your sharing a small smile before an irritating, itchy feeling made its way in your throat.

You felt a hand pack your back as you started roughly coughing up several bunches of marigolds into your hands as Ace grimaced.

“I forgot that they’re not from here, so they got no clue about hanahaki…or any other illness…huh it’s kinda a miracle they haven’t gotten sick from something else yet.” Ace hummed, as he leaned down to look at your face.

You made eye contact with your peripheral vision, motioning Ace to lean closer into you and horasely whispered, “Come… closer…”

Confused, Ace obliged, ear up to your lips, giving you the perfect opportunity to sock him straight in the gut. Your dear, beloved friend gagged from the pressure, hands cradling his stomach as he fell to his knees, groaning in pain.

“Y/N…” Vil sighed in exasperation, walking over to give you a gentle flick in your forehead as he chastised you.

“It’s unbecoming of a friend of mine to be so belligerent, do you really have to be so crass with all your friends?”

You clicked your tongue, licking the spit from your lips. “I’m not with you, besides Ace deserves it, you know how he is.”

“Mm-hmm, and how long have you been coughing out the flowers, meine Süße?”

A pleasant warmth flooded your cheeks at the nickname. You choose to ignore the tickling sensation of marigolds growing from the tops of your head, which instead formed into sneezing fits.

“I've heard of wearing your heart on your sleeve, but wearing petals in your hair is a whole new level of fashion statement.” He remarked, leaning down to observe the blooms. “Now, answer my question, meine Süße.”

“Achooo! Ugh,” You sniffled as you replied, “Um, not that long—achoo!—ago, ugh. Just today—”

“Ah! The little trickster started expelling the belles fleurs approximately a month and a half ago!” Rook chirped, a little too happily for your tastes. “Two weeks after we began training for the SDC.”

Vil let out another sigh as you whipped your head to glare at Rook, hissing out, “What. The. Fuck.”

“Excuse me?! Language Y/N!” Vil barked at you, making you flinch and burst into another coughing fit. Noticing this, he softened his voice, though the blonde still sounded angry.

“That’s nearly two months with the flower sickness, have you been taking potions to help with the symptoms?”

You shook your head, clearing your throat. “Ahem, no, uh. I didn’t know that there was medicine for this kinda thing, haaaaa I just figured I was being pranked by someone.”

You heard a snort behind you as Ace stood back up, grumbling, “Of course you would, dumbass.”

“I will actually kill you—”

“You will actually not.” Vil placed a gentle hand on your upper back, guiding you to the front door. “Rook, ensure everyone packs up and cleans their mess by the time we get back, I believe Kalim may still need help packing up.”

“Oui! How kind of you Vil to escort our lovely Trickster to get them a remedy for their affliction!”

Rolling your eyes, you let Vil guide you out of the dorm, calling out to Ace, “Don’t forget to grab the rest of your stuff, it’s still in my room!”

“Okayyy!”

With that, the door shut behind you two as you began a pleasant walk over to what you assumed would be Sam’s shop. A pregnant silence fell over you two as you walked down the pathway leading to main street, having to maneuver past the alchemy building and botanical gardens. You were hyper conscious about his hand that remained on your back, which is when you started another coughing fit.

“Oh you poor dear, did you really have no clue what was going on all this time?” Vil spoke to you in that soft tone that he’d been reserving for you since you first became friends, a few months ago. You’d gone into the Film Research Club interested in working as a stagehand, plus you had a good working knowledge costume design and general clothes repair, which was sorely needed.

It’d been an incredibly rocky acquaintanceship at first, as Vil made subtle, snide remarks on your disheveled appearance, while you shot back with loud, brass comments on his ‘Regina George wannabe’ act. Now, he didn’t know who Regina George was back then, but took offense that a ‘dirty, lumpy potato would have the audacity to insult him’.

He only kept you on in the club because no one ever willingly signed up for backstage work, and you only requested free access to spare cloth and sewing materials to fix your clothes. Vil was also more than happy to point out how scruffy the patches all over your uniforms made you look:

“You certainly fix the part of the ramshackle Prefect, now don’t you?”

Though, looking back on it now, you’re pretty sure he wasn’t aware that everything of yours was either found in Ramshackle’s attic or bought with the meager allowance Crowley gave you. Shortly before finals, Vil found you crying in an isolated part of backstage because another first-year permanently bleached your only jacket during a botched potions class.

“What’s going on back here, practice your scenes upfront with the rest of us, I don’t care how ugly you look crying—Prefect?”

You jumped, scrambling to get back up from the dusty corner you’d shoved yourself into. You awkwardly wiped the tears from your face, wrapping your arms around yourself as you gave Vil a feeble glare.

“What do you want Vil, I already told the others that their costumes wouldn’t be ready yet, if you want me to get stuff done, you gotta stop annoying me—”

“You’ve been crying.” His simple statement shut you up, as he approached you with a firm look on his face.

“…Yeah, stating the obvious much?” you muttered back, finding the scuff marks on the ground very interesting. Vil let out a sigh, reaching into his jacket to take out an off-white, embroidered handkerchief.

“I’m trying to be sympathetic. Ugh, you’re all red and puffy, let me see.” Vil tipped your chin up with his fingertips, gently patting at the tear streaks on your cheeks. “You look worse than normal…is the red bleach stain on your uniform meant to be a fashion statement?”

Pausing at the stuttering breath you took, sniffling, you answered, “No, some dumba—”

“Language”

“—Some jerk,” you drawled, “from my last class messed up his potion, and it got all over me. Stained my only jacket, right when it starts snowing, too.”

Vil raised a brow at you, leaning back once he was satisfied with your dried cheek.

“Only one? Even Ruggie has a few spare uniform jackets from Leona, did you seriously not think ahead to purchase a spare?”

You half-laughed, half-scoffed at his statement.

“You think Crowley gives me enough money to buy another jacket for his bougie ass—I mean, fancy, school? I barely have enough to feed myself and Grim between the roof caving in and the water pipes breaking. The bathroom flooded again last week.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you felt a migraine coming in, unaware of Vil’s growing horror.

“I was lucky enough to find my uniform in the attic, it waaay too big and makes me look homeless, but at least it keeps me warm…now it just looks even more like shit.”

You finally looked up at the blonde, expecting him to lecture you on your foul language. Instead, you were surprised to see Vil’s horrified expression.

“What do you mean, you barely have enough for food?”

It was then that you discovered that no one outside your group of friends were really aware that you were stuck on campus, victim to Crowley’s whims and needs. You know the others in Heartslabyul were faintly aware of your predicament, being from another world and stuck until Crowley found you a way home. Ace and Deuce did their best to help repair things around the dorm, but could only do so much. Savanaclaw and Octavinelle knew of the disarray of your dorm, but based on comments from Leona and Floyd, weren’t aware of just how much you were struggling just to eat and sleep.

Ruggie definitely was, seeing as he occasionally slipped you a spare meat bun or snack that he happened to buy extra of when running errands for Leona. Ruggie was a real one, as long as you didn’t point it out.

Since that day, Vil had sort of taken you under his wing, along with Epel who you hadn’t met yet at the time. You had to give him credit, he wasn’t the villain you’d made him out to be in your head. And Vil admitted, he enjoyed that you were quick on your feet and enjoyed your banter, as long as it was unique to him.

He spared you his previous uniforms that he’d grown out of his freshman and sophomore year, minus the band and vest, watching as you mended the waist and ends to fix your stature. More often than not, especially after hearing that you’d be stuck by yourself during winter break, Vil was sending you care packages with personal hygiene products from brand deals he never took. He’d send fabrics and sewing supplies with sewing patterns. Vil even started buying you breakfast and lunch once back to school, though you refrained from joining him for dinner in Pomefiore.

In exchange, you managed to replicate, with his help, some of the scripts for the more famous musicals from your world. You even told him who Regina George was! He still wasn't fond of the comparison, but did find the musical intriguing. Vil was fascinated by the works of art your world produced, and just slightly enamored in the way you described them with glee and fondness. Still, the exchanges still felt a bit uneven.

You’d once made the joke that he was practically a sugar daddy, just without the sugar. He snapped back, “Well, I’m not stopping you, now am I? I’ve never had a sweet tooth, but you’re more than welcome to give me thanks, meine Süße.”

(You spent that night screaming into your pillow with a red-hot blush while Grim looked on with concern.)

Truly, you two had developed an unlikely friendship, one where you both spoke your minds to the other with no hesitation or fear. Which is why the lack of conversation at the moment was slowly driving you insane.

You sneaked a peek at Vil, taking a sharp breath as your eyes met his own. It seemed that he was watching you with his very lovely, sharp purple eyes. The thought sent a hot flash through you as you sneezed a flurry of petals and pollen.

“Ooof, ugh, this is gonna make my allergies go haywire.”

“Sam will have some potions that will help with the symptoms, though you will have to confront the root of the cause.” Vil slid his hand down to rest in your mid-back, rubbing his thumb against you in a soothing motion, though it cause you to shiver and flush.

“Yeah, okay.” you managed to squeak out, groaning as you felt the tickle of glowing marigolds pop up on your skin and in your hair. “Ummmm, so how do you get rid of, uh, Ace called it hanahaki?”

Vil nodded and opened his mouth to speak before being interrupted by the faint screaming of your name. Both of you looked down the path, where you saw Deuce running over to you two, followed by a confused Epel chasing after him.

“PREFECT! PREFECTPREFECTPREFECTPREFECT—”

Yelping as Deuce skidded to a half and grabbed you by your arms, shaking you with intense concern, you managed to reply a stuttered, “W-w-what?”

Deuce paused his shaking to give you a concerned lecture, “You didn’t tell us you had the flower sickness!? Why didn’t you say something, you’ve been running around for SDC all this time—”

“You too—”

“But I’m not sick!” Deuce dug through the paperbag you’d just notice he was holding and shoved a pale pink potion in your hands. “Here! Take this!”

Before you could even touch the bottle, Vil plucked it from a confused Deuce’s hands, studying it with scrutiny.

“Hmm…This is an average allergy relief potion for hay fever, did you actually ask Sam for a hanahaki symptom relief potion, or did you just grab the first thing you saw off the shelf?”

Deuce visibly deflated, opening his mouth to sheepishly reply before Epel interrupted him with a harsh, “I told him to ask, but he got all riled up and started yammerin’—I mean, uh, talking about getting the Prefect help immediately.”

Vil sighed, handing Deuce the potion back and shooed the two away with a wave of his hand.

“Just go back, I’ll handle it, just make sure your messes are all cleaned up before we get back.”

The two replied, “Yes sir!” and continued on their path, waving goodbye to you. Though you could hear Epel mumble to Deuce, “Those are marigolds, right? I think Vil’s favorite flowers are those, you don’t think…”

You slowed down to ponder Epel’s words, remembering what Ace initially called the illness.

“Vil…Ace called it a love sickness…would these flowers related toooo, I don’t know, a hypothetical crush somehow?”

Vil briefly opened his mouth, closing it as he hesitated to speak. You think you could make out a soft blush on his cheeks.

“Yes. Your hypothetical crush must favor marigolds. Can’t say I blame him, I’m fond of them myself…”

The two of you made eye contact, a knowing look in his eye and tone making your heart skip a beat and you look down in embarrassment.

“Oh…I see…” You coughed awkwardly, a few petals flying from your mouth. “So you said there was a way to get to the root cause?”

Vil hummed, stopping at the entrance of Sam’s shop to turn to you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes, as an illness based on love, appropriately the cure is to confess your feelings to the one you’ve found yourself fancying.”

A cold flash went through your body as your stomach dropped. Again. “Oh.” The thought of confessing to Vil made you sick, like you could puke at a drop of a coin at any moment.

“I wish you’d mentioned something sooner, I could’ve helped you…ease into it.” Vil murmured, his hand moving to cradle your cheek. He squished your cheek with a fond look in his eye.

“I know it’s a daunting task…I won’t rush you into it.” Vil moved his hand to brush your hair away, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “When you’re ready to say something, just let me know.”

Leaning back, VIl covered his mouth to hide his amused smirk. Your face was a blazing red as the marigolds grew a trail down your neck and chest. He motioned for you to follow him into the shop, holding the door open as he held a hand out to you. At the moment, you’re having a hard time imagining why he’d only ever been typecast in villain roles, he looked more like an enchanting love interest catered for you specifically.

“For now, I’ll be by your side. I will wait for you, meine Süße.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vil shoenheit #twst vil #vil shoenheit x reader #vil x reader #a floral inconvenience #nnbrk

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anyroads · 7 months ago

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Here's the thing. I wouldn't have a problem with people just saying "Merry Christmas" if other major religious holidays were acknowledged too. If around late October everyone was like "happy Diwali!" and every Rosh Hashanah people said "shana tovah" or it was standard to wish people Eid mubarak, then a "Merry Christmas" would just be a marker of time and I would feel like it's someone else's turn to celebrate in the multi-cultural cycle of annual celebrations. Because the thing is, these holidays tend to happen off the radar of the dominant culture in culturally Christian countries. Christmas specials are a norm, but the Diwali episode of The Office was a one-off, the Jewish high holidays barely show up even in shows with Jewish characters, Chinese New Year is... where is it? Right? Where's the representation? I mean, the reason a holiday like Hanuka gets emphasized next to Christmas and rolled into "Happy Holidays" (as does Kwanzaa) is because that means these holidays can be gathered around being able to keep Christmas central to the season. Hanuka is a minor holiday; funny how Purim, which is of similar status among Jewish holidays, is a blip outside of Jewish communities.

If Christians were able to be as comfortable with Rosh Hashanah and Eid and Diwali and Chinese New Year and other festivals as they expect the rest of us to be with Christmas, then I'd say ok fair, everyone has their festivals and we all pay attention to each other and know how to give well wishes that are culturally respectful and it's wonderful! It would just be living in a society where people from diverse backgrounds respect and acknowledge each other (what a concept). What bothers me is that not only are no other religion or culture's holidays acknowledged or given thought in culturally Christian societies, but the only way to get any acknowledgment is to have your holidays timed around Christian holidays like Christmas. If the Maccabees had stayed up in the mountains for another month, Hanuka would be treated as the minor holiday it is. If Diwali was a couple months later than it is, then it would be called the "Hindu Christmas" and Hindu people could rightfully be frustrated about that.

It bothers me so much that Western culture is so deeply centered around Christianity that we have debates over whether "happy holidays" is an OK thing to say or not, instead of asking, "what if you just learned about other holidays too and respected them as much as you demand respect for yours?" And we're all thinking it. Non-Christians talk about this, btw. But we know that if we say it out loud, then it makes the Christians (including the atheist cultural Christians*) angry because they know it's a bad look to say the quiet part out loud: that they think they're superior and expect everyone to acknowledge this without them having to give non-Christian cultures basic respect in any genuine way.

*this is specific to atheists who consider themselves culturally Christian. if you don't belong in BOTH these categories don't @ me. there's no implication that the two go irrevocably hand in hand and your lack of reading comp skills isn't my problem. i don't have spoons for a baby Richard Dawkins tantrum.

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vincentstlouis · 6 months ago

Text

Elementia

Two December’s ago, I was listening to a podcast of a sermon, delivered at the Unitarian Universalist Community of Charlotte, North Carolina. The speaker was talking about the wonder of the Universe, and how she shared a passion for all things Space with her daughter. She shared that her daughter once asked her, “Why don’t we celebrate a birthday for the Universe?”

“That’s a good question.” She responded, a proceeded to share how they had thrown an impromptu birthday party for the Solar System.

Well, that definitely got me thinking. It is no secret to anyone who knows me that Space has always fascinated me. Born in my own personal stellar nursery fueled by a dedicated membership to National Geographic, a fidelity to Star Wars and Star Trek, and the simple past time of just looking up at the night’s sky, I hold the strong conviction that the Universe is meant to be known, meant to be shared, and meant to be celebrated.

Therefore, the mere idea that the Universe should have its own birthday resonated like a Big Bang for me. After all, I love holidays, ALL holidays. Life can be hard, and redundant, and boring. I joke all the time that I could never be a Jehovah Witness. Every single day being exactly the same, forever. If there is a Hell, that sure sounds like it. Yes, I go after every holiday with a Clark Griswald passion. Of course Halloween and Christmas hold twin Sentinel status in the pantheon of yearly celebrations, but I’m also the one ready to throw-down for Cinco de Mayo, the Indian Autumn Festival of Lights known as Diwali, or the pageantry of German Reunification Day which now is the culmination of the Annual Oktoberfest. My son once came home extremely upset that his classmates had never heard (or celebrated for that fact) Mardi Gras. His own teacher told him it “wasn’t a real holiday”, which he no doubt passionately challenged in his knowledge that his father had taken off work and was probably at that moment boiling crawfish and sautéing shrimp for jambalaya as he filled the house with Second-Line Jazz.

When President Biden solidified Juneteenth into the Federal Holidays, he of course was behind the times for my household. Columbus Day rebranded as Indigenous People’s Day? Sounds great! Indigenous People deserve to be celebrated, Columbus was a genocidal maniac, and we all know that we can celebrate the Italian contribution to the American Experience on the Italian Summer Holiday called Ferrogosto on August 14th. So I digress, I love holidays, I am always eager to embrace new holidays, especially ones with deep spiritual significance. And what holds more deeper spiritual significance to the human experience than the Universe from where we are born?

As Carl Sagan so eloquently put in the opening of his timeless masterpiece “Cosmos”, “The cosmos is all there is, all there ever was, and all there ever will be.” All of us carry within ourselves the remnants of stars forged at the birth of our Universe, trillions of years ago. Without the precious balance of elements, the synchronicities of planetary orbits and molecular compositions we would not exist. Our galaxy is one of millions born, and one of trillions unborn. Our sun, one of millions forged in a stellar nursery, our Earth one of millions of pieces of rock spawned from cosmic collisions—-most of which burned away untold eons ago, but ours persisted to become our island home. The sperm that made you, the only one of millions to hit the mark, the others dying away in the chaos that permeates the fabric of existence.

We live in a time of increasing scientific ignorance. The rise of far-right extremism has an unfortunate parasitic companion, that of anti-intellectualism and science-denial. This is in turn fueled by a Anthropocentric ethic born out of a certain strain of Fundamentalist belief in Abrahamic traditions.

Despite the fact that engineers who build vast highways have been factoring in the curvature of the Earth for their measurements for centuries, the belief in a Flat Earth is on the rise. Despite the fact that if you tune any radio or television in between stations and get a giant burst of static—-literally the cosmic radiation from the Big Bang hitting our atmosphere—The so called Mom’s For Liberty continue to push for the teaching of the pseudo-science of Intelligent Design. Despite overwhelming fossil evidence and geological data to refute any idea of a global flood, Ken Hamm’s Ark Encounter Museum in Kentucky gets about a million visitors a year.

One would perhaps want to throw up their hands and say, “Oh what’s it hurting for people to believe what they want?” Well, I’m sorry to say, it hurts a lot. First of all, the idea that a certain segment of the population holds an absolute truth while the rest is either ignorant or an active enemy of that truth creates an Othering, and Othering leads to racial strife, war, class struggles, etc. Also, the idea that this Earth is a disposable temporary home, and one day we will all be taken up into a new plane of existence in some Day of Judgment is already causing profound negative effects to society.

The Abrahamic expectation of imminent divine judgment, wrapped up in those institutions embracing of Capitalism, leads to inaction when it comes to disease, famine, war, and environmental catastrophe. The idea that our rights are endowed by a Creator and are not contrived by the collective consent of the people, leads the hyper individualism that cost lives during a Pandemic, continues global hunger, and fuels the sense of disinterest and skepticism in regards to the greatest existential threat facing humanity: Climate Collapse.

“Why should we act on Climate Change when Jesus is gonna take us up on the last day?” This was said to me once by a Conservative Christian, as a result of a long conversation about why this person didn’t Recycle?! RECYCLE?! In 2025?! The same person also questioned me, in regards to my stated disbelief in Hell (due to the lack of Biblical evidence may I add) by saying, “Well what if you’re wrong?”, insinuating it would be better to avoid burning for eternity by just believing in something there is no evidence for.

My answer to that question doesn’t matter in the context of this writing. However, this is a question I could flip on them when it comes to scientific animosity and ignorance so prevalent in these communities. The fact is that there is uncountable evidence for a round Earth, a Big Bang, and Climate Change. Most is right in front of your face. The fact also remains that the evidence for a Flat Earth, a Rapture, and an afterlife, is pretty much non-existent. So what if you’re wrong?

If you’re right, so what. We made the Earth a better place by avoiding Climate Collapse, and toppling the systems of oppression that hold us back from the great commandments of the Prophets of Scripture, including Christ himself. Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, tend to the sick. In order to fulfill this mission, the straightest arrow in the quiver, would have to be science. Rapid data collection, the sharing of resources, the ability to distribute goods to all who need them isn’t a far flung Star Trek Utopia, it is technology we possess right here in this moment. In the words of Jacque Fresco: “If we look at things scientifically, there is more than enough food and material goods on Earth to take care of all people's needs - if managed correctly.”

In my Episcopalian upbringing, I remember the solemn celebration of Ash Wednesday. The palms of the previous year’s Palm Sunday celebration was burned in fire and the ashes of which used to mark the congregants’ heads in a visible symbol of repentance, and a symbolic gesture that the old sinful self dies and returns to dust.

“Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes." Job 42:6.

The Priest would impose the ashes in the sign of a cross on my forehead and say, “Remember you are but dust, and to dust you shall return”.

What an extremely powerful reminder that time if fleeting, we are mere mortals who will die, and as you look around a see your fellow congregants all being marked with the ashes, it is hard not to notice that we are all equally marked, all equally dust, all equally will die, regardless of race, creed or class.

Well this earth is fleeting. This galaxy will one day die, this Universe will one day be no more. Every Universe is equally marked with this fate, regardless of how big or impressive or spectacular it may be. Regardless of the fact that within it there’s small blue planet, orbiting a medium sized star, and on this planet is every person who has ever lived or will ever live. All of our art, music, culture, history, hate, war, causes…whatever. It will all be burned away in the cosmic chaos that holds up the fabric of existence.

But you are here now. In this moment. And this moment is all we have. So celebrate the Universe, it’s all we got. Look up. Wonder. Learn. And remember that you are but stardust, and to stardust you will return.

Happy Elementia

PS: I would like to credit my wife Hollie for the name “Elementia”. When we were trying to come up with names for the holiday, she came up with it and we all fell in love with it. We chose January 11th for the celebration of the holiday. It’s as good of a day as any other.

#science #big bang #universe #astronomy #space #outer space #holiday

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