written

兔子 wen jun hui | twenty-one serial part-timer and amateur man(hua)ka

[hpjwen-blog]

phew! the hols are finally over. and i’m finally back in the sanctity of my own bed and ready to hop back into things. gradually. for everyone i owe replies to, please bear with me for like - another day or two while i draft and search the dash for more. potentially. and for those i’ve been plotting with, maybe like this or message me if you’d like to continue our attempts or to just, you know, start from scratch. and for all the lovely new faces (and second characters? i’m going to make a fool of myself welcoming people, i know it), i’d love to belatedly introduce my son, the glorious background character that he is. wen junhui: *fetchingly drapes himself against a wall or smth probably like an embarrassment* and here are some crudely bulleted plots below? maybe? if you’d like to check them out.

a case of liquid luck, love, and other delusions ! open to anyone, really. jun’s pretty easily taken by people sober, so it’s not a stretch to think that that abhorrent affliction he has called love at first sight runs even higher when he’s a little inebriated. and as Genuinely Smitten and Devoted as he thinks he is for that night or so, it probably is a little short-lived. honestly, the post-dynamic could go anywhere. probably embarrassment? maybe friendship?

or maybe another more run-of-the-mill kind of whirlwind romance plot device. thread and plot probably set a little ways in the past. a month and a half of reciprocal affection where he could’ve sworn he was in love. as fickle as he can be, junhui is nothing if not a foolishly hopeless romantic. i imagine they may not presently get along? or maybe they’re still Buds.

alright, this one is open to a muse a little closer to his age. maybe one or two years off at most. (probably 19 to 23) this person is reluctant friends with that quiet foreign kid throughout his segmented, serial half-a-years in seoul. gradually became pretty damn close. probably the only constant in his school life before he actually graduated and moved to korea fr. we can expand on this as we go along.

something lighthearted? junhui has never known the consequences of his frequent, though small and often negligible, life choices. as such, he frequents bakeries. and, coincidentally, so does another hapless individual. it becomes routine, incidental rendezvous in the early hours of morning. they exchange casual conversation here and there but nothing too daunting. that is, until they meet somewhere other than the bakery. “oh hey, it’s strawberry macarons!” or smth???

is it strange that i kind of want something messy? like he’s always shied away from confrontations on principle. but there’s something about this person that manages to drive him up the wall, manages to crawl under his skin and pick at his worst nerves. they’re not friends, and he understands that, but he can’t even manage the pretense of indifference around this person. it’s unhealthy, but he could never stay away from confrontations with this person??

[seokmin---s]

[fyeahwonhui]

170616. Jun’s Weibo Update.

[hpjwen-blog]

hpjskip:

( SUMMER SALT )

He looked up at his roommate from his position on the ground, putting on the most pained expression he could muster. 

“…You wanna write my eulogy?”

junhui’s fingers are a whirlwind of deft flicks and clicks, thumbs idling over a series of inputs that provide a paragon of rote memorization at its finest. wholly necessary, junhui muses through his lethargy-addled brain, since he’s certain the dud’s been functioning at (optimistically) a quarter of its full capacity since the weather peaked thirty-one degrees. and disintegrated further, still with every stilted wash of summer air through their open window. for the fourth time in the last hour, junhui laments not investing in centralized air conditioning. 

with his hair in tousled disarray (something not likely resolved any time soon what with the sporadic treks of his free hand though it between levels) and the fabric of his shirt tugged absently somewhere above his navel, junhui paints the picture of Tentative Resignation. an understandable relationship, he figures, to have with midsummer seoul.

on the screen, his character plummets to an untimely demise. relatable.

from his perch against the armrest, dark eyes slide from the carnage on the screen to his roommate, splayed out at the bottom of the couch as if the position itself would expedite the whole evaporation/cool-down process over his gangly limbs. skip, he imagines, looks almost as miserable as junhui feels.

“not particularly,” he offers without a beat of silence, before he considers an amendment. “but why the hell not? ‘skip, son to - his mother. and friend to all. or most. some - people. i think. made some kick-ass paninis once. they will be missed.’” idly, he fishes out an ice cube from the glass of water that had been left mostly forgotten and drops it down the back of the younger boy’s shirt charitably. “you’re welcome. now write mine.”

[hpjwen-blog]

jihoonhpj:

or maybe he does that many jobs because he has to but the thought doesn’t cross jihoon’s mind as he squints up at the other, motioning with his hand for him to come down. a conversation when one half of the party is above you, he figures, isn’t exactly the easiest thing to accomplish. 

even so, he sighs and covers the glare of the sun with his hand.  “good. i think the last time you worked in a coffee shop served me a drink coffee anyways.”

the mild wash of stress titters briefly, momentarily lining the edges of his eyes. his lips. and, for that muted moment, he’s left a little unsure, his actions stilted and wrong. for all of a beat, junhui empathizes with that tired countenance reeking from each punctuated syllable dragged from the other male’s lips, and he feels that same lethargy hit him like a tonne of bricks. 

the sensation is gone as soon as it arrives. 

blinking, he tips his head, contemplating the question with as much solemnity as amusement. at that point, he;s leaning the majority of his torso over the edge of the bridge, one palm cupped unobtrusively over his eyes. “twin,” he echoes, incredulous, though the shock of amusement seeping into his expression remains constant. “i’ve been informed we all have at least seven genetically identical buds at any given time. so, i guess...” 

his lips twitch up a bit crookedly at one side at his own words before he allows the grin to overtake his features fully. “honestly, evil twins would explain so much. and it’s a lot more entertaining than the cold hard truth that i’m honestly just very easily bored. mostly.”

the grimace that accompanies memories of haggling and begging the coffee maker to make coffee should be understandable. “yeah - not my brightest moment. i seem to have a lot of those.” his gaze flickers to the pool of paper at his feet.

[hpjwen-blog]

✆ ☏ ✘ ☼ :^)

[ ✆ ] morning text

[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  good morning[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  good morning[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  good morning[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  can’t avoid the sun forever, jung soojung. i know you’re up. i can see you squirming all grumpily on the couch over there.[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  we have like ten minutes tops before the lobby gets busy[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  so if you’re not up in five, i’m not above carrying you

[ ☏ ] vague text

[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  just close your eyes[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  trust me

[ ✘ ] text that should not have been sent

[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  my greatest fear is discovering that i mean as little to you as i do to everyone else[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  or worse. to myself

[ ☼ ] congratulatory text

[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  partyhatcat_img[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  three guesses on who just hit 900,000 on weibo[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  THAT’S RIGHT BABY[ ᴛᴏ 狐狸 ]  wen junhui and jung fucking soojung, that’s who

[hpjwen-blog]

✆ ♠ ✘

[ ✆ ] morning text

[ ᴛᴏ 水母 ]  dear jieun noona, remember that one night we were Contemplating Stars or whatever[ ᴛᴏ 水母 ]  like how it was kinda a shame that we couldnt see any from the city[ ᴛᴏ 水母 ]  well[ ᴛᴏ 水母 ]  last night, drunk junhui, funny guy, decided to leave the blinds wide open[ ᴛᴏ 水母 ]  and let me tell you[ ᴛᴏ 水母 ]  i definitely counted that star[ ᴛᴏ 水母 ]  thoughts for next time

[ ♠ ] drunk text

[ ᴛᴏ 水母 ]  noona do you eve r think abt how many people have voo doo dolls of you[ ᴛᴏ 水母 ]  like[ ᴛᴏ 水母 ]  i would like one o f me. id give myself the bestback massage of all time

[ ✘ ] text that should have never been sent

[ ᴛᴏ 水母 ]  ujsdf ogl fd dsfkd dkl sskap a ;;a dwpaelrfgtrhtyuterbthwryj wqwe

[infinitblaq]

[hpjwen-blog]

✺

[ ✺ ] saucy text

[ ᴛᴏ 蚂蚁 ]  hey[ ᴛᴏ 蚂蚁 ]  whatre you wearing[ ᴛᴏ 蚂蚁 ]  describe it all in detail baby[ ᴛᴏ 蚂蚁 ]  don’t leave Anything out[ ᴛᴏ 蚂蚁 ]  ;)[ ᴛᴏ 蚂蚁 ]  no but really if we end up wearing the exact same thing as each other again by accident i’m cutting all ties with you[ ᴛᴏ 蚂蚁 ]  also sorry for calling u baby i got carried away[ ᴛᴏ 蚂蚁 ] baby ;)))))))))))))))

[hpjwen-blog]

✆ ⁇ ♣

[ ✆ ] morning text

[ ᴛᴏ 老鼠 ]  god i just woke up and i swear i could still hear that. fucking. beeping.[ ᴛᴏ 老鼠 ]  it was going off the whole shift [ ᴛᴏ 老鼠 ]  like[ ᴛᴏ 老鼠 ]  DRYER SIX I CLEANED  YOU TWICE LAST NIGHT HOW DAR E YOUR BEEPS FOLLOW ME HOME[ ᴛᴏ 老鼠 ]  anyway, invested in ear plugs[ ᴛᴏ 老鼠 ]  Value Pack[ ᴛᴏ 老鼠 ]  got you covered 

[ ⁇ ] worried text

[ ᴛᴏ 老鼠 ]  hot pink leopard print leggings lady mentioned you again [ ᴛᴏ 老鼠 ]  she keeps asking when youll be back[ ᴛᴏ 老鼠 ]  i think she’s tired of hearing me say tomorrow …[ ᴛᴏ 老鼠 ]  please just stay safe

[ ♣ ] text not meant for you

[ ᴛᴏ 老鼠 ]  ( in mandarin ) human bones melt at abt 1381 deg so that won’t work on him[ ᴛᴏ 老鼠 ]  sorry meant to send this to my grandma

[borahpj-blog]

since it’s been approximately a week since the last meme was posted, here’s a new one to keep things #fresh and #fun. please note that responses to this meme will not count toward the next activity check. with that being said, reblog this if you want some sent to you, and don’t forget to send it to others!! 

Keep reading

[pabospoiler]

[hpjwen-blog]

jihoonhpj:

he thinks if he sees the same boy for the third time that day, he might scream.

see ㅡ it shouldn’t annoy him so much, but here’s the thing. every time the boy enters jihoon’s peripheral or if he’s quite unlucky, tunnel vision, he’s wearing an entirely different outfit to the last time he was spotted. at first it had been a tad amusing, from a chicken delivery outfit to a paper boy’s outfit. but over the course of a few days, a mcdonald’s outfit to a courier’s outfit or some other mix and just  ㅡ.. what the absolute fuck?

who even knew korea housed so many different outfits?

words are never exchanged between the two, however, just occasional squints of positive disbelief and deadpanned expressions are thrown every time they pass each other through the busy, busy streets of seoul. perhaps the entire situation doesn’t help when they seem to cross each other at every given opportunity like there’s some asshole of a deity up there going ‘hey, you know what would be funny?’ (spoiler alert, deity: it’s not funny.)

jihoon leans over the bridge, elbows resting on the railings as he takes a drag from the cigarette between his fingers. he exhales out the smoke and is about to flick the cigar into the waters below when he’s promptly aware that it’s raining. raining flyers about some restaurant that he’s walked past. he looks up, through the papers and catches sight of a familiar boy. as mentioned before, he almost screams.

“are you serious? what ㅡ what the fuck are you this time?”

he should feel sluggish. that’s the first thought that pops into his head as he steps foot outside for the nth time that day, the languid, warm breeze of early summer licking up his exposed forearms. three shifts with three different employers in a little over ten hours. it must be a new record.

whether that’s a good thing or not is yet to be seen. his sleep-addled mind isn’t prepared to deliberate.

but junhui is certain of two things in that precise moment: (1) an innate ability to brew coffee (or even operate any kind of senseless coffee-esque contraption) isn’t actually required to work for a café, and (2) he looks pretty damn professional (if not just the slightest bit silly) in a bow tie and apron.  success. his lips twitch up unevenly at the corners as he leaves yet another group of hapless bystanders in his wake, all of whom are clutching flyers with varied degrees of confusion. a job well done, if you ask one wen junhui. it’s only a mildly embarrassing how proud he is. it’s when his gaze shifts down to the sheer amount of papers still in his hands that the lethargy hits, and he exhales a soft noise of defeat. and then one of determination. and, twenty-six point eight minutes later, he’s down to the final ten.

leaning over the edge of the stone awning, some piece of architecture that is only just passable as a bridge, junhui catches sight of a group of students who look exactly like the type  to frequent a half-trendy, hipster whole-in-the-wall coffee joint. he catches their attention for a brief moment. like something out a of a movie. and his fingers release. until it hits him. he’s severely overestimated the breeze, he muses vaguely, as the papers flutter directly downwards. onto someone. 

the apology only stalls behind his teeth.

“oh! it’s you!” he accuses happily, as if junhui himself hadn’t just been the sole reason for the circle of paper around the indignant looking man below. he shifts, scratching at the side of his neck only a bit sheepishly. “not-a-barista, i think. they wouldn’t let me near the espresso machine.” 

[hpjwen-blog]

hpjsj:

It always returns to this.

The stagnancy of a normal routine unnerves her. There’s something eerie about it, in the same way bitterness lingers on the tip of her tongue even after she’s long swallowed the pill. Because why should something that doesn’t exist — that has no space, nothing to take it up — make her want to crawl out of her own skin?

But the answer is something she doesn’t care (doesn’t dare) to know, so instead, she resists. Never stays too long in one particular place or form; leaves before the morning from a bed that’s almost home to seek newness, difference. Routines never last. Never the ones close to the heart, anyway. She’s a girl with no roots to gnaw on, and that’s just the way it is.

And yet here she is for the third time this week, sitting beside this boy that looks at her with kind eyes, and she figures that maybe some habits are just too hard to break. That maybe the mundane doesn’t have to be bitter. That maybe she can start to settle down.

Being beside Junhui entails the following: elbows tight against the ribcage, so that she doesn’t jostle him with her clumsy arms. Closed mouth. Attentiveness. She knows better than to disturb a work in progress — until, that is, she sees his fingers slacken and his eyes dim, because then she’s free to talk. “New chapter not going so well?” she asks, peering overtop gold frames curiously. “Want a distraction?”

(maybe She hasn’t been able to grasp routine quite yet.)

the persistent scritch, scratch of a half-gnarled pen tip against paper provides the sole soundtrack for the evening. the raw edge gnawed into the corner of slightly chapped lips. the shift of free fingertips through the fringe of uncharacteristically mussed hair. they provide the setting. it is a dimly lit vantage point, the tunnel vision of barely legible calligraphy over half formed faces, and, out of the corner of his vision, the flickering lights by the door pantomime something decidedly unsavoury.

it’s an uncomfortable feeling, like fingers closing around his throat, at every scribbled-over sketch, and he jolts both in frustration and - shortly afterwards - in realization. his lips part. and he settles back into his chair with an exhale, resigned.

“ah.”  

it isn’t his way to frustrate himself, senselessly. the next update can wait another day. 

worrying can wait indefinitely.

it’s then that the increasingly familiar sensation of company settles into his bones, and junhui tenses for all of a beat before the world dawns just enough for him to remember who it is beside him. he turns a sheepish grin to her then, chagrined at having lost himself in his work. again. (only half-chagrined, he reminds himself, because it’s soojung. and that’s enough to change the twitch of his lips into something that much more genuine.)

“new chapter’s - something,” he offers, wrinkling his nose a bit. “nonexistent, mostly.” how long have i been out of it? what year is it? then her words finally register, and he breathes out a heavy sigh, the tension purposely melting away into goo by his feet. “when do i not need one?” often, he doesn’t need to add. and it still surprises him how much he genuinely trusts soojung to know when that is.

[alecstasy]

[fyperformanceunit]

© the innocence

[hpjwen-blog]

@hpjhaesol​

there are a near infinite number of possible struggles, junhui muses vaguely, that he could have been prepared to encounter at nearing nine on a sleepy monday night. this hadn’t even been a possibility. in hindsight, he only has himself to blame as flickering brown eyes dart around helplessly in an attempt to wrack his limited vocabulary for the exact korean word for cactus. or the english word, even. something other than green and pointy and general gesturing. while the bored looking ikea employee merits him the most studiously unimpressed stare he’s ever seen.

coasters. that’s all he wants, honestly. those smiling cactus print coasters he’d seen while scrolling through his phone. the ones that he’d impulsively dropped whatever it was he’d been doing at seven thirty to immediately seek out. 

(and, now that he’s thinking about it, where is his phone?)

he shifts a little awkwardly on the balls of his feet and swivels around with an apologetic bow, before making a hasty little escape to find them on his own. any deity willing. and, thirty excruciatingly lost minutes later, he manages to emerge triumphantly with the coasters tucked safely in one hand and the phone he’d somehow (thankfully) managed to unearth in the other. he posts a picture of them to his instagram proudly as he heads to the counter.