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oddproperty · 2 days ago

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change of heart

masterlist here

✧ hi!! just a bit of writing for fun, enjoy :)

✧ word count: 2.3k

✧ pairing: lando norris x reader x (somewhat charles leclerc)

✧ 'suddenly unapproving of your interest in charles, lando reminds you whose guest you are.'

***This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.***

passing through the lobby of lando's apartment, you caught your reflection in a mirror, stopping to smooth the red silk dress against your body. having bought it only a few hours ago, you were pleased with how well it fit. the material of the dress fell over you just right, bringing attention to your curves. usually you don't wear red, but tonight it seemed appropriate.

"lando…this is so last minute," you sighed into the phone.

"it seriously should not take you that long to get ready…plus, charles will be here," he teased. this taunting behavior between you two was normal, having been friends for years.

"wow lando! that'll definitely make sure i have a dress for tonight!" you feigned excitement. “is he going to buy it for me too?”

"i'm sure he will in return for something else," lando joked slyly.

you were lando’s closest friend. when he made it into formula 1, it was common for you to be at his races and afterparties. you were able to meet all the racers and have good friendships. however, it was clear that charles enjoyed your presence in the paddock seemingly more than lando. never failing to talk to you after every race, holding your attention at the afterparties, and similar things were normal practice. lando noticed you showed interest back, and he never seemed too fond of this connection. you assumed it was because, at times, you and lando had been flirty with each other…although it never went further than sly comments and a light touch here and there on nights where you both had been drinking too much.

"you're sick…i'll be there."

arriving at his door, you heard the music already sounding. you got there early and were surprised that it sounded like the party already began.

your knocking on the hard door received no answer. after trying twice, you began fiddling through your purse to find the spare key he had given you in case of emergencies. slotting it into the door handle, you looked into his living room where a dj booth stood, but no lando.

"lando?" you called out over the music. no answer.

having been in his apartment probably more than your own, you made your way to the hallway with his bedroom. you hoped your heels clicking on the hardwood flooring would be loud enough to alert him. trying to call out his name once more, you received nothing back.

entering his bedroom, you caught the reflection of him dressing in the overly large mirror that always faced his bed. you never thought too deep into it being there, and frankly, you didn't want to. you remembered all the times lando made sly remarks of showing you why he had it there.

he wore an all-black suit with the first two shirt buttons undone. the shiny necklace he had worn for the majority of his life shining brightly through the gap. a glass of whiskey rested on the table nearby. of course you thought him attractive at least once in the duration of your friendship. his curly hair, hazel eyes, and of course the physique that formula 1 training had brought him. this outfit pointed all of his features out to you more than normal.

"pregaming?" you ask, pointing to his drink as you enter the room. he jumped at the intrusion, but relaxed when he sees that its you. you see a look of disappointment quickly show on his face as he leans against the table, grabbing his glass to take a sip. you watch as he takes the strong liquor with no reaction, making a quick glance at the half-rolled sleeve that displays his tanned, strong forearm.

"you know that papaya would have been a much better option. think it suits you waaay more," lando drug on, obviously displeased at the red dress.

you roll your eyes playfully, ignoring his sly comment, "where can i get one of those?" pointing to his glass.

he makes his way toward you. you carefully watch his strides as they close in on the doorframe you're standing in. his broad shoulders dwarf your own.

pointing at your dress and touching it lightly, you already feel overwhelmed by his small touch. "maybe charles can fix you one when he gets here,” he taunts you.

anytime lando could use your crush to embarrass you, he was on it. this playful banter was usual between you and him, though he currently seemed a bit more adamant.

"actually…i think this one is perfect," you say, taking the drink out of his hand. finishing it, you turn on your heels, making your way back to the living area. you hear lando trail behind, grumbling.

as the night continued on, you realized this party was a lot bigger than you had expected. the entirety of lando's living room, kitchen, and balcony were overcome with people. you were able to hear conversations coming from every angle, along with the semi-loud music that blasted through the speakers. you sipped from a complex and tasty drink he had made you earlier (after he got over himself) that made you quite tipsy. admiring the environment around you, you frequently saw lando djing his heart out. given your state, you began to notice just how nicely his defined arms flexed from under his black shirt. how his curly hair lightly fell over his forehead as he focused on the turntable in front of him. and the way the necklace he wore sat perfectly over his (admittedly very kissable) toned neck and chest. thoughts flit across your mind about how you should've taken him up on his offer to learn why his mirror is facing his bed.

breaking your one-sided staring contest - and to remove these thoughts about your best friend - you shook your head slightly. when you glanced back up, you caught his eye, and noticed the look of slight concern on his face. he raised his eyebrows in a questioning expression, to which you smiled back at him languidly.

suddenly realizing just how much you liked the drink he made - and your sudden interest in being near him - you made your way to lando to ask for another. brushing against everyone as you made your way through the crowd, you almost missed the large hand feather over your lower arm. when looking down, you noticed the signature richard mille timepiece.

turning around, you exclaimed, "charles!" while pulling him into a hug. his hands rested gently on your waist as yours laid across his neck. the scent of sandalwood and bergamot enveloped you, making you pull him impossibly close. the alcohol in your system was not working in your favor around him, but you were glad to center these thoughts on him and temporarily forget the ones of lando.

after a moment, you began to pull away. admiring him in the dim lighting, you noticed the black and white suit he wore, along with the thin red tie that almost matched your dress. it was more formal than what most were wearing, but he looked amazing. you slowly ran your free hand down the arm of his suit jacket, taking in the soft material. his hands remained on your waist as he watched you closely. you felt shy under his gaze.

removing a hand, he brought it up to caress the side of your face. he pulled you in, angling your ear to his mouth in order for you to hear him. you felt his slight stubble gently graze your cheek.

"you are so pretty," he expressed meaningfully, "red is gorgeous on you."

"i’d say it looks good on you as well," you responded, moving your hands to gently pull on his silk tie.

"wish i could see you in red all the time," he suggested, using the hand that was on your lower back to delicately bring your core flush to him. even in your inebriated state, you immediately knew what he was hinting at.

pulling away from his face slightly, you felt the warmth of his breath graze your cheek and could smell spiced rum from his lips. you could've melted into the strong hand on your lower back. you're not sure if it was the alcohol amplifying the sensations, or if the moment was truly that intoxicating, but you felt warm all over.

gaining awareness of the situation, you returned to the side of his head to whisper in his ear, "i'm not sure how much lando would like that," your lips brushed the top of his pronounced cheekbone.

charles quirked an eyebrow at you and responded, smirking, "why are we asking lando for permission?" the sweet, delicate demeanor he had when he approached you was fading, slowly replaced by a drive to assert his feelings for you with no regard to anything in his way. it was alluring to see him in this new light, so confident to show you what he's truly thinking. this possessive streak sparked a flaming heat in you that went straight to your core. using the hand that was already on his arm, you gripped it slightly tighter, steadying yourself to avoid becoming dizzy from the overstimulation of the moment.

having not heard a response from you, he pulled back from your ear slightly to analyze your face. it was clear he was looking for any signs of apprehension. there were none.

"hopefully i do not have to ask lando about the other things i want to do," he added, dangerously close to the shell of your ear. your skin erupted in goosebumps from his warm breath.

you paused to take in this moment. your slightly inebriated state allowed you to feel everything much more. you could tell his breathing had increased from your hand on his chest and your core, which was still pushed flush against his. you gazed up at him, noticing the slight lowness of his eyes. evidence that he was, as you were, in the 'drunk and interested' state.

between the alcohol having its effect on you, the heat of this moment, and most importantly, the man in front of you, you pull back slightly and shift your eyes away to lighten the intensity you were feeling. almost immediately, you make eye contact with lando. he is once again behind the dj booth, drink in hand and holding a suspicious look on his face. you notice his eyes glance down to your core, where charles is connecting the two of you. lifting both of his eyebrows slightly, you can almost sense a twinge of jealousy on his behalf. watching him, you see him take a sip of his drink before drifting out of your view.

your suggestive thoughts about lando from earlier in the night come rushing back to you.

"what are you thinking about?" charles asks lightly, bringing your attention back to him. you gaze into his blue eyes, feeling dizzy once more.

clearing all inappropriate thoughts of your best friend from your brain once more, you respond, not breaking eye contact, "was thinking about getting another drink."

"another one?" a throaty british accent spoke, almost as if on command. you glance over your shoulder, unmistakably recognizing the curly haired man beside you. "i knew you'd like that one," lando states, pointing at your empty glass proudly.

before you can fully acknowledge lando's presence, you were being guided away by him to the kitchen, his hand replacing charles' on your lower back. his, however, was a rougher and more urgent touch. as you brushed against everyone in the crowded room, you turned around to look at charles, shooting him a pained glance and an 'i'll be right back' look.

directing your attention back to lando, you stopped in your tracks. he looked down at you, pleasantly diluted and arrogantly smirking.

"are you seriously that dull?" you shout at him, ensuring he could hear you over the music. a couple glances were thrown your way, but it didn't phase you.

he watches you for a moment with the same languid expression, making you shift your weight between feet, slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. that is until he leans down, nearing the shell of your ear. you slightly shiver, both from his warm breath trailing down the side of your neck, and the idea of him being so close to you. your thoughts of him earlier resurfacing in your mind. suddenly you were very aware of how low his hand laid on your back. you clenched your legs slightly.

"if you knew who you belonged to, i wouldn't have to be dull," he teased lowly. "whose hands belong on you, hm?" you felt the hand on your lower back grip the fabric of your dress tighter.

goosebumps formed over your exposed skin at his vulgar words. this possessiveness was so completely different from charles' it made you squirm. feeling his smirk grow against the edge of your ear, you knew he noticed your change in behavior...and it was clear he liked it.

you were not at all pleased with him pulling you away from charles, but you were interested in seeing how far you could make him go. his words obviously showed his interest in blurring the lines of your friendship, so you decided to match his attitude. sure the drink you had was probably spurring this behavior on, but it wasn’t the first time you had thought about this.

looking up at him, you could see his blown pupils. the hat he had put on earlier was now turned backwards, pushing his curly hair down to his forehead, which glistened slightly. thoughts of charles slowly left your mind for the final time tonight.

you moved closer to his tall frame, slightly pushing your chest against his, "can’t stand not getting what you want?”

he shook his head left and right slightly with not a shred of shyness in his gaze, “can’t stand when someone touches what’s mine.”

#charles leclerc #lando norris #formula 1 #f1 #lando norris smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fanfic #lando norris fanfic #charles leclerc x you #lando norris x you #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #writing

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prof-peach · 3 days ago

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Heya Professor! Kinda strange question, and I'm not entirely sure if you're the right person to ask, but as someone moving to a rural community to give my hand at some good old fashioned farming, what kind of partners would you recommend for good farm companions or help around the farm? I'm ok with pretty much any kind of pokemon out there, I just don't know where to start looking. Thanks professor, stay safe this Halloween!

Well, speaking from experience, you need a nice even spread to make your life easier work wise, but with a wide selection of pokemon, you end up with more work on top of an already long days schedule.

fire types can be used for destroying diseased materials, controlled burnings, and tend to be great at pest control.

water types obviously help to keep produce watered, and can reduce time spent hose in hand.

grass types have a natrual affinity to the work, many showing beneficial properties that aid in plant growth.

rural may mean power cuts, not great if youre storing goods that are perishable in freezeres and such. Electric types can pick up the slack if theres blackouts.

ground and rock types for tilling soil and improving the dirts quality easier. Steel types can do this work well too.

flying types for pest control, pollination aid with certain crops, and keeping your location observed and secured. they also do well to fight wildfires if youre in a vulnerable area.

fairy and dragons dont serve much purpose, but in their own right can lend a hand, pick up a watering can, move heavy items, and otherwise muck in.

bugs are often seen as pests but some will eat others, and keep the invasive bug types down, and away from crops.

ghost and dark types make great night patrols.

psychics can see when the weather will roll in bad, and give you a heads up.

Normal types are the single most adaptive species out there, and can do a number of thes tasks with the right moveset.

poison even hold their place in the environment. Some being able to pull toxins from the soil or water, or dispose of otherwise non-recyclable waste.

fighting types are great guards and can lift and shift the heaviest of things with relative ease.

This is not even considering if youre breaching into livestock keeping, i assumed youd just be a produce grower. If you want to grow cut flowers, or herd pokemon, its a whole other set of options.

Look, all im saying is you got a WHOLE heap of options. If it was me, i'd see what comes my way. Get working, dig in, and pokemon who want to be part of it will find you, and partake. You'll natrually form bonds and friendships with time, and isnt work so much nicer when you actualy want to do it? and have things around you who also want to be there?

#prof.peach #pokemon #peach talks

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growthhyp · 19 hours ago

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Hey there, have you got any spare sneakers for sale? Mine are on their last legs... Actually, I dunno why I asked. I'm a size 8, there's no way you'd have shoes that small in your garage sale. Sorry for bothering you, sir.

The White Sneakers

You've always felt like a leaf blown by the wind of life's harsh realities. Small and insignificant, people often overlooked you, assuming you couldn't handle the weight of the world. Your slender frame and high-pitched voice didn't scream 'college student'. More like a lost high-schooler who'd stumbled into the adult world by accident. But beneath the surface, you're made of sterner stuff. The academic scholarship that kept you afloat was a testament to your iron-clad determination and the hours spent in solitude, burning the midnight oil in your dorm room.

This weekend, however, you faced a new challenge. Your one and only pair of sneakers, the trusty companions that had seen you through countless shifts at the local diner and numerous late-night study sessions, were on their last legs. Literally. The soles were peeling away, the laces frayed, and the once-white fabric stained with the grime of hard work. If they gave out on you now, it could mean the end of your scholarship. No shoes, no job. No job, no school.

You'd heard about a garage sale around the block from a classmate who'd whispered about a rumor of hidden gems at rock-bottom prices. Desperation had painted your cheeks with a flush of hope, so you found yourself meandering through the cluttered maze of discarded goods, eyes peeled for salvation in the form of size 8 sneakers. And that's when you saw him. A man whose muscles looked like they were sculpted, wearing a tight tank top that showcased his bulging biceps and black shorts that struggled to contain his powerful thighs. He was the antithesis of your frail physique.

As you approached the makeshift counter, you felt your voice quiver with a mix of nerves and doubt. "Sir, have you got any spare sneakers for sale?" you squeaked out, your eyes scanning the pile of shoes that looked like they could swallow your feet whole. "Mine are on their last legs…" You gestured down to your sad, worn-out sneakers, the tattered soles flapping like a white flag of surrender. "Actually, I dunno why I asked. I'm a size 8, there's no way you'd have shoes that small in your garage sale. Sorry for bothering you, sir." The words tumbled out of your mouth faster than you could think them, the stutter betraying your lack of confidence.

The muscular man looked at you, a smile stretching across his face, revealing a set of gleaming white teeth. "Don't you worry, son," he said, his voice deep and reassuring. "I might just have what you need." He turned and disappeared into the depths of his garage, his broad shoulders and thick arms moving with surprising grace amidst the clutter. The anticipation grew as you heard the sound of boxes shifting and the occasional thud of something being tossed aside in his quest.

When he emerged, he held out a pair of sneakers like a trophy. They were a brilliant white, as if they'd never seen a speck of dust. "Here you go," he said, his biceps flexing as he offered them to you. "These should fit you just fine." You stared at them in awe. They were practically brand new. "How much, sir?" you managed to ask, your voice still quivering slightly.

The muscular man looked at you, his eyes twinkling with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. "For someone as eager and hardworking as you, just a dollar," he said with a wink. "And remember, it'll grow you." You nodded, not quite sure what he meant, but too relieved to question it. You handed over the crumpled bill and took the sneakers, feeling the smooth material against your palms. "Th-thank you so much, sir," you stuttered.

As you made your way back to your dorm, the sneakers felt like a treasure trove. You'd never owned something so new, so pristine. The muscular man's kindness was a warm balm to your soul, a stark contrast to the arrogance of the muscular jocks you'd encountered in the past, who looked down on you as if you were invisible or a pesky gnat. You couldn't help but wonder if he'd really just been that generous, or if there was something more to it. But you shrugged it off, deciding to just be grateful for the small miracles that life threw your way.

Once in the sanctum of your dorm room, you lovingly placed the old sneakers into the trash bin, whispering your goodbyes to them. "You've been with me through thick and thin," you murmured, "but it's time to make way for something new." The white sneakers, still in their oversized glory, were next. You slid your feet into them and laced them up, feeling the cool embrace of the fabric and the firm grip of the laces around your ankles. The fit was snug, but not uncomfortable, almost as if they were custom-made for you, despite being two sizes too large.

But something strange began to happen. A warmth, akin to a gentle summer sunbathing session, began to spread from your feet up through your legs, a sensation that was both foreign and oddly comforting. It grew, enveloping your entire body in a warm embrace, and with it came a surge of something primal, a feeling of power that you had never experienced before. Your jeans grew tight around your groin as your cock began to swell, straining against the fabric with a newfound vitality that made you gasp and grunt with surprise.

"What the…?" you murmured, your voice trailing off as you felt your cock growing longer, thicker. It was as if your body had been a canvas, and the muscular man's words had painted on it a new, more potent reality. The fabric of your pants protested with a groan of its own as it stretched to accommodate your burgeoning manhood. You couldn't resist the urge to reach down and touch it, the heat of your hand against your skin sending shivers of pleasure up your spine. It was like nothing you had ever felt before, a mix of pain and pleasure that grew more intense with every passing second.

As you began to stroke your cock, you felt your biceps flex, the muscles swelling beneath your skin. The biceps grew, the two heads of the muscle forming a peak that bulged against your shirt. The fabric strained, the seams popping as your newfound strength began to show. Your forearms, once spindly and weak, grew thicker, the veins popping as the muscles beneath grew more defined. Your triceps grew to match, the horseshoe shape becoming more pronounced as you flexed your arms in amazement.

The warmth grew stronger, moving from your chest to your back. As your chest grew, you felt your pectoral muscles swell. Your once concave chest was now a broad plateau of power, the muscles pushing outward, creating a formidable presence. Your lats began to expand, the muscles stretching and thickening. The 'V-taper' grew more pronounced, pulling your waist in and making your shoulders appear broader than ever before. The shirt you wore was now nothing but a tattered mess, torn to shreds by the unstoppable growth of your back muscles. You could feel the power in your back as it grew, the muscles rippling and shifting, the strength of the transformation coursing through your body.

Your traps followed suit, the diamond-shaped muscles stretching and swelling. The growth made your neck look thicker, more powerful, and your shoulders even more defined. The sensation was unlike anything you'd ever felt before, a mix of pain and exhilaration that left you panting and gasping for breath. You could feel your posture changing, straightening, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders.

Next, your abs began to tighten, the weak, soft layer of flesh that had once covered your stomach retreating to reveal the beginnings of a chiseled six-pack. The muscles grew more prominent with each flex, the lines becoming sharper, more defined. Your shirt was now in tatters around your waist, the fabric unable to contain your newfound physique. You could see your abs rippling with every breath you took, each contraction sending waves of pleasure through your body.

The warmth traveled down to your legs, reaching your quads. The muscles grew, bulging with power as if they had a life of their own. The fabric of your jeans protested, the seams straining to hold back the growing mass of muscle. The sight was mesmerizing, your legs swelling before your very eyes. You felt like a Greek statue come to life, your legs now thick, powerful pillars that could bear the weight of the world.

As the transformation continued, your hamstrings followed suit, growing in tandem with your quads. The backs of your legs began to take on the sculpted look of a marble statue, each muscle defined and powerful. Your jeans, once snug, were now in shreds, hanging loosely around your bulging calves. The fabric was no match for the newfound might of your legs, and it tore away like paper, leaving you in your black boxer shorts.

Your feet grew too, stretching and filling the space that had been so vast in the sneakers. The sensation was strange, almost as if your bones were being rearranged and lengthened. You watched, fascinated, as your toes spread out, and the muscles in your feet bulged and grew. The sneakers that had once looked so oversized now fit like a glove, the leather stretching to conform to your growing physique. Each movement was accompanied by a delicious ache, a testament to the change that was occurring.

As your orgasm washed over you, your body released a flood of endorphins, and with it, your anxiety and fear drained away, replaced by a surge of raw, primal confidence. The feeling was exhilarating, like you'd been reborn. Your hand still wrapped around your cock, now slick with cum, you felt a newfound sense of power. You looked around the room, the shredded clothing a testament to the transformation you had undergone.

Reality had indeed shifted. You had always been a fitness enthusiast, but now you were something more. The muscles that had once been hidden under layers of self-doubt now bulged and rippled, ready to conquer the world. And so, it was with this newfound confidence that you decided to help others find their strength. You'd become a fitness influencer, sharing your journey and advice with those who sought to improve themselves. It had been a profitable venture, allowing you to live comfortably and focus on your studies.

The business course you'd taken had been a boon for your burgeoning online empire. You'd learned the ins and outs of marketing, turning your channel into a well-oiled machine that churned out content that resonated with your audience. You were no longer just a college student with a passion for fitness; you were a brand, a symbol of determination and growth. And as you flexed for the live stream, the camera capturing every bulge and curve of your sculpted form, you knew that you had truly found your calling.

#muscle growth stories #jockification #jock tf #personality change #male transformation #ai generated #nerd to jock

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two-entire-bits · 8 hours ago

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Deaf Outsiders Headcanons

I'd like to preface this by saying I'm hearing, and I've only been studying sign language, deaf history, and Deaf culture from a Deaf professor for the past couple months, and I do not know everything. I've researched the medical backgrounds for the genetic conditions and injuries mentioned, but some information might be incorrect and/or I might've misunderstood some things. If it is or I have, please tell me! I don't mean any misinformation or disrespect and I apologize if I cause any offense.

These also include some other disabilities!

Some world-related stuff:

There's no deaf schools in Tulsa, but the Oklahoma School for the Deaf was founded in 1908 so the time periods would hypothetically work out

In this alternative story there would be a deaf school in Tulsa and the Curtis brothers would all attend/have attended said school

I know it's Gallaudet University, but before 1986 it was a college

For the Curtis family: all of them are deaf. I think they'd have Autosomal Dominant Non-Syndromic (DFNA) deafness, maybe a variant in the MYH14 gene, which causes those with the variant to progressively lose their hearing within the first 3 decades of their lives. The Curtis parents taught their boys how to sign ASL, which they'd use at home, speak English, which they'd only use for hearing people, and lip read, also for hearing people, to an extent when they were young. The Curtis parents encouraged their boys to talk in sign as much as possible, but also were very upfront about ableism and how the world is built for hearing people.

Ponyboy:

Completely loses his hearing around 7-10

He's good at talking but doesn't like to, and very good at lip reading so he can watch movies

He still likes to write and caught onto English spelling and grammar quick

He often carries a notebook around to write in but mostly writes quick in ASL's grammar

He also uses it to write things to hearing people when he doesn't want to speak

He signs REALLY fast, he has a lot of things to say and good motor skills and sometimes even his parents have to ask him to repeat himself

Lexicalizes words all the time on accident

Signs to himself all the time, especially when he's alone

Likes to try and figure out what the actors are saying in movies and figure out the plot without the dialogue and sign along with the lines he can follow

VERY visual storyteller

Darrel:

Completely loses his hearing around 12-15

He can talk and lip-read very well, which he doesn't prefer but it's useful at work

Always kind of dreamed of playing football at Gallaudet, but always knew it wasn't really possible

Also signs to himself, but only when he's alone

Soda:

Completely loses his hearing closer to 3-5 and struggles with speaking compared to Darry and Ponyboy.

He always had hard time understanding English, and that plus being deaf and dyslexia contributed to him feeling stupid and dropping out of school (especially compared to Ponyboy)

He and Ponyboy talk in tactile sign at night before bed when everything's dark

His parents told him "Darry" rhymes with "Dairy" in English when he was really young and half the time he just signs "milk" instead of Darry's sign name to tease him. He got Pony in on it too

Johnny:

Hearing, but mute

Medically or selectively, either way his parents hate him for it and sent him to public mainstream school anyways

The Curtis parents taught him ASL after they met him

Him being mute contributes to why his teachers "give up on him" and to him having to repeat a grade in addition to other learning problems he was having and struggling to get the material quick enough for the curriculum

One reason why he was so scared in the hospital was because his hands were so burned he couldn't sign

Steve:

born with x-linked recessive deafness to hearing parents. His mother carried the gene and passed it to him

An especially good driver because of this

He goes to the same deaf school as the Curtis brothers and met Soda when they were in grade school, same as the book

Doesn't know how to speak English and doesn't want/care to learn it

When he was younger, he almost got caught stealing a car's hubcaps because he didn't realize how loud it was until he was telling the gang later about how the owners came outside and spotted him and Two-Bit told him that they probably heard the clattering of the metal hubcaps on the tarmac

Two-Bit:

Hearing, but his mom and sister (Tammy) are both deaf, he just didn't get the gene

Speaks English and ASL fluently but still stutters while signing because of motor skill issues

Purposefully messes up his grammar or signs sometimes just to annoy Tammy

Dallas:

Born hearing, but has Ménière's disease because he was jumped or in a car accident (something that wasn't his fault) when he was around 13-15 and the head trauma caused bleeding in the inner ear and his hearing is fluctuating at the time of the book

He's scared and angry because it'll get better and then worse and he never knows how or when it's going to change

He gets annoyed by the tinnitus and dizzy spells, and will often hole up somewhere when he feels a vertigo episode coming on and won't leave until it's over

The Curtis parents start teaching him basic sign and things to expect and things to know if he ends up permanently loosing his hearing, but he stopped trying to learn anything after they died

On one particularly shitty day when he didn't realize how loud he was being and Two told him he was yelling and he got so pissed at everything and that he didn't even realize he was being loud that he punched Two in the face

He's angry that it was something he could've stopped, that it happened when he wasn't actively looking for a fight or driving recklessly, or that it wasn't genetic because then he'd have someone/something to actively hate and blame. He never found out who jumped/crashed into him

Bonus: Socs!

Marcia:

Acquired hearing loss due to a recent head injury while barrel racing

It's not too bad at the time of the book, but they don't know if it'll get worse or not yet

She's not too worried about it, but every once in a while when she thinks about it a lot she gets really scared about what will happen if she loses her hearing permanently

She's scared she'll have to quit dance

Her mom kept her in high school and got her hearing aids eventually when it got worse

When she starts dating Two-Bit, it's another reason why she gets along with his mom and Tammy so well

They help teach her some basic sign and about Deaf culture, and kind of quench any fears she had about not being able to be happy/live if you're deaf because she didn't know anything about being deaf

Once she's learned enough sign to have conversations, she starts taking her hearing aids off at their house

Cherry:

Hearing

She was there when Marcia crashed and comforts her when she gets really worried about her future, but she doesn't really get it or know much about it

She wasn't rude about the way Pony pronounced things or later that night, when she was waiting for Ponyboy to write out what he wanted to say at the Drive-In and he got tired enough he didn't want to have to speak, which really surprised him

Bob:

Hearing

Knows nothing and could not care less about d/Deaf and generally disabled people

Thinks he can make Johnny talk if he beats him hard enough (partial motivation behind him and the Socs jumping Johnny before the book)

He knows Marcia's losing her hearing and is kind about it

Rolls his eyes sometimes when Marcia asks Cherry to repeat herself

Randy:

Hearing

Has no clue how to deal with Marcia's crash or her losing her hearing

Just tries (key word) to comfort her but doesn't do much else, just kind of goes on as normal

Similar to Bob, he'll get annoyed if she asks him to repeat himself too many times but feels a little bad about it

Paul:

Hearing

Learned some signs when he was friends with Darry

He didn't care to remember them when they stopped seeing each other

Felt "betrayed" when Darry said he dreamed of going to Gallaudet to play football because Paul just always assumed they'd go play together at some hearing mainstream college and he doesn't want to "learn all that shit" or "be around those kinds of people that much" just to play football at the same college as Darry

Bev:

Hearing

Knows about Marcia and says she doesn't care, but every once in a while she'll say something or make a joke that's just rude and shitty

Like Bob and Randy, she also doesn't cut Marcia a lot of slack if she doesn't hear something one of them says (Cherry is pretty much the only one that does)

She purposefully tries not to think about Marcia's future because she knows she'll get really upset about it, cos she thinks (and pretty much all the Soc's and hearing population, including Marcia) being deaf means you can't live or be happy

#deaf outsiders you are so dear to me #I'm not sure how the shepards would add into this #although I think it'd be interesting if they/one of them were blind #I feel like this is kinda preaching “deaf people have to learn how to speak”#let me be very clear that that is not true #but it was the 60's #and that would've been the expectation from hearing people in that area at the time unfortch #the ADA wasn't even signed until 1990 #but anyways yeah! if I got anything wrong or said anything rude I'm sorry and I very much did not intend to #and if you have the time please tell me and I'll fix it asap #the outsiders #the outsiders 1983 #the outsiders musical #ponyboy curtis #darrel curtis #sodapop curtis #johnny cade #steve randle #two bit mathews #dallas winston #marcia meyrink #marcia the outsiders #cherry valance #bob sheldon #randy adderson #paul holden #and yes that can definitely be parrel #bev the outsiders #deaf outsiders #headcanons

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does-it-introject · 3 hours ago

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UPDATES

Long time no see, hello!

Remember when I said I'd come back at the beginning of the year... well I was very busy sorting through 400 inbox messages and putting everything in an place where I can actually sort through them properly. SO, updates:

The Account currently features (according to my knowledge) 102 posts. Insane already. You know whats worse? The hypothetical queue planned to 630 posts so far.

That means we have 528 posts waiting for me to be queued.

Posting will begin on Feburary 1st, So I have enough time to queue a bunch of stuff for you. Four posts a day, to keep the rhythm going.

Thank you so much to everyone that requested so far, I already want to apologize for the time some of you will have to wait lolol,, but I still hope you have fun seeing all of these different medias and sources others submitted!

Posts that, from my knowledge, contain commonly triggering elements will be put beneath a cut, with a Trigger Warning in the top and #unsafe in the tags, so block that tag if you don't want to risk anything.

I'm specifically mentioning this, because horror and not so safe for younger audiences material has been submitted. I want this to be a safe place for everyone, this includes those from these sources, as well as those who may be uncomfortable with such medias.

I think adding TWs is the best option here, but if you think differently feel free to send me an ask or something. I'm sure we can work something out.

If you think there's a post without a TW, that should have one, let me know too! I'll see what I can do!

I deleted the Queue Checklist, because it's geniunely really hard to keep track of. Unsure if something has been submitted? Submit it! I really don't mind.

I figured out a good way to keep track of Queue, but have no safe way to share that with others. So just... trust me on this.

Lastly, thank you all for the kind comments under my hiatus post and the anons who send in asks!! I didnt use Tumblr much so I only got to read most of them now, but it geniunely made me very happy!! Thank you!

So... I will spend my days queueing posts. See you on Feburary 1st with new polls!!

#actually plural #endo safe #plural community #introject #plural #plural culture #plural stuff #plural system #pro endo #not a poll

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dross-the-fish · 2 days ago

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Hi. I love your goth lit stuff and your Hyde and I wanna know your thoughts. So, I know you don't like TGS (I discovered it recently and am kind of obsessed, lol) but I'm curious to know what you think of Hyde being viewed as "evil" because Jekyll is harder on himself than he would be on other people who do similar things as Hyde. I have not read the book and probably never will so idk if that contradicts. I remember in one post you even have said Jekyll experiences self-loathing. So, what if he held himself to impossible standards and Hyde represents a desire to break from those? What about Jekyll splitting into personalities that don't fit into his "Hyde" version? In the comic there was one that he created one that was a copy of Lanyon as his image of a perfect gentleman. Feel free to ignore if it's not your thing, I just like your analysis :)

Ok I've been looking at this one awhile because I wasn't sure how to answer it. I haven't read enough of TGS to know what you're talking about so I have zero context for Jekyll having a copy of Lanyon as a secondary personality (wtf??). I will say as a general rule I do not like the idea of multiple alters for Jekyll. I don't even like the idea of Hyde as an alter. By all means, if you enjoy that interpretation have fun. It's not on me to tell you how to engage with the source material. But I do largely disagree with this interpretation. In terms of Hyde's evil being exaggerated because Jekyll is so deep in his self-loathing I feel like there is SOME truth to that when it comes to Hyde's sexuality. Hyde enjoys things that aren't dangerous or destructive but they are taboo and against the law in Victorian England. However, it doesn't negate the fact that among Hyde's more harmless crimes there are full on cases of assault and murder. You can't really downplay murder. Henry also admits that he enjoys hurting other people in his letter. That's not a thing that is subtextual, Jekyll says it in his own words.

"This familiar that I called out of my own soul, and sent forth alone to do his good pleasure, was a being inherently malign and villainous; his every act and thought centered on self; drinking pleasure with bestial avidity from any degree of torture to another," There are some things that can be left up to interpretation, but that Edward Hyde derives pleasure from the pain he causes isn't really one of them. I'm sorry, I just think it's too much of a stretch to say that Edward is doing relatively mundane things that are only harshly judged because Henry has impossible standards for himself. To another point. I feel like downplaying Edward's cruelty misses the point of the book and it makes Jekyll's conflict a hollow one. If Edward isn't actually doing anything all that wrong and Henry is just caught up his own self-loathing then where's the horror? Why is Utterson shocked and desperate to find any means he can not to think of his dear friend, Henry Jekyll, as being associated with Edward Hyde? That aspect of the story is only compelling if Edward Hyde is the dark and terrible truth lurking under the surface of someone Utterson thinks he knows. I can think of few things more tragic for Utterson than discovering someone he's close to is a monster who has been struggling to control his urges and took desperate measures in a last ditch attempt to run away from his own nature. I love the idea of writing a character who has every capacity for kindness but is also ruthlessly cruel. Who commits atrocities and forces the characters around him to question how much are they willing to accommodate him and turn a blind eye before they share some culpability in his crimes.

In my AU he is at odds with the crew, he's not a hero, he's the villain that they are forced to work with. They need him to come up with a cure for supernatural diseases like lycanthropy and vampirism. He's the only one that can do it because he's the only one who's willing to push the envelope and embrace unethical means of getting results. His personality is also a double edge sword, swinging between hostile and destructive to genteel and even kind, he can love and be loved as much as anyone else can. That's what I like to write about. I like the duality of the character and how it forces other characters to introspect over what they'll excuse in another person as long as it's their friend or ally.

#Jekyll and Hyde

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heartepub · 12 hours ago

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pulling a page from kae's book (ha), annotations of annotations—because every day I think about how lucky I am to know someone I can trust to handle my stories with care, unpolished as they tend to be even as they are posted :"))) I feel like I yapped way too much and this isn't even all I have to say about SITO—yikes I will be very easily tempted to do a deep dive into SITO I'm not even joking nobody test me

this is one of the best pieces of work you will find not only on svtblr, but on the internet as a whole.

cried a lil actually!!!! it's such ridiculously high praise, but I'm happy that out of all my works (including the ones I will be writing in the future), it is this one that received these words. it's probably very early to be so sure, but I'm not joking when I say I wouldn't mind SITO to be the work I will be remembered by as heartepub.

this was a stellar device used for getting into the characters' head and describing them, and the eventual payoff of it just makes the story all the more heart-wrenching.

if I think too much about this praise from a comm major I fear I will start bawling—the screenplay format was a challenge insofar as it assumes a translation into a visual format (the film itself). so there are bits where you can get into the interiority of a character, but it's not as conducive of a format as prose conventionally is (at least if u consider, for example, tolstoy explaining his characters' thoughts vs what happens on the onscreen adaptations of anna karenina). still, the screenplay format plays with exploring what is captured and shared vs what remains privy only to the characters, which you also mentioned :')

having seungkwan and the MC discussing [shotgun] marriage afterwards feels like a smoke screen. 'look, the world may be ending, but there is a young couple asking hypothetical questions and falling in love.'

the images of walks home, shaky confessions, button exchanges. and the hints of what's happening, what's to come: mild dust storms, a barren world.

this was such a lovely way to put it, and I think of the tensions between literature and history, as far as stories of ordinary people are concerned (ie pachinko with "history has failed us, but no matter.")

the blight and its effects are lifted from interstellar—the famine that eventually resulted in finding other worlds to inhabit. the shohikigen mv got me thinking about setting all the d+ scenes after sk was in a spaceship, or smth like in love wins all mv where they are targeted, but I ended up with this universe, exploring the period from the start of blight to the resource wars (ie this is pre interstellar movie, set not in america but in south korea). hence that scene w the jokes about a spaceship w funky gravity as a nod to the source material

on button exchanges—it's a thing in japan where boys can give the second button of their gakuran as a way of confessing. probably the uniforms in this universe are different, but one of the reasoning for it in its original iteration is that the second button is closest to the heart. felt apt for this couple hehe

we've been privy to their romance so far, but this moment— what might be considered A Last Good Day, even, since this is d-4— isn't even perceivable in its entirety. there is only so much that we can see about their relationship on-/off-screen, both in a literal and metaphorical sense.

oh, the last good day as something not perceivable in its entirety got me. on tears of mokpo—surprisingly the melancholy of the song in the sense that it speaks in the voice of a heartbroken lover was not the forefront of my choice, but I adore how it was what you grasped from your reading. I think it's smth that would be especially melancholic retrospectively, when sk would have been rewatching the footage and remembering what the song was about.

in another vein, though, the main reason i chose tears of mokpo was to hint at the war—jeju had been just ceded, and though I didn't say it was japan, tears of mokpo was a song that had allusions to the harsh occupation korea faced as an annexed territory. alternatively to both the lovers reading and the revival of tensions w japan, it can be read just generally as a hint on conflict and the suffering that awaits, or just sk being an boomer soul and singing a trot song about mokpo since you're in mokpo

we look, and memorize, and catalogue.

we r back at didion (chz)—lists and inventories initially had a bigger role in SITO, but I like how looking and memorizing played a role at multiple points: the looking before the joke on shotgun marriages, before leaving for the trip, when mc would look at him for longer every morning anticipating the conscription, and at the final moments in d=0

and of course seungkwan looks and catalogues as he goes through his memories—both the ones in his mind and ones on film, and their interstices

i was struck between the eyes by the violence of that act [cutting any scenes], because this very much feels like the crux of reconstruction/memory/narrative. seungkwan is in charge of what will be remembered; how the MC will be remembered. i adore the ambiguity of whether the scenes reflect a stitched-together film or whether we're following along seungkwan's review. equally, there's just something gutting about this playing out in some perverted version of what MC and seungkwan joked about i.e. a world with electricity, where seungkwan had free reign to do what he wanted with all the gathered clips.

the blurred fiction and reality was largely inspired by the manga goodbye eri, which [spoiler-free summary] follows a boy who was asked to film his mother's final moments, and how the output led him to meeting eri and filming her as she went through her final moments as well. (pls read it the twist halfway through made me gasp). the screenplay format also was a bit of a nod to fujimoto's paneling being quite cinematic, in that it wouldn't look out of place in a storyboard (true not just for GE but for chainsaw man n look back as well!)

one of the hardest parts was deciding the order of the scenes—though I was set on it being nonlinear, and that there should be a mix between screenplay formats and regular prose, the sequencing was the hardest. the only one I was really set on was that there had to be a screenplay format scene before the line "Seungkwan replays the footage again". [Actually that conversation w Vernon is my favorite scene and one of the first ones I wrote; many things were structured around that so that it could stay in the final version haha]

I chewed a lot on a lot of things as I wrote. how memory can be altered by trauma. how every time you remember something, especially a traumatic memory, small details may have changed; until at your nth recollection there is another story entirely. how there is a line between being the subject of your memory and being subject to it. how building something back implies it was lost—and isn't that us with all our memories, as there is no way to live them again?

film as narrativization, and memory as self-narrativization, to a certain extent. the intentionality that both have, and some of the unintentionality of memory as well, or the unconscious ways trauma may shape it. hence: remembrance is reconstruction, reconstruction presupposes loss.

there is so much to love here, so much to adore in the stylistic, technical sense, but what comes to fore for me is this: viv's respect for the dead/dying.

as someone who has experienced loss, it bled into my writing, and I remember seeing a lot of myself in the vulnerabilities seungkwan and wonwoo but that's neither here nor there had. how deeply personal some parts of SITO were :') as you said—"how do we even begin to prepare for loss? and how do we live with the knowledge of how much we're about to lose?". some losses you grieve for before it even happened, others hit and you're left trying to fit your arm inside the stump that was left

the initial SITO draft had the death offscreen, hinted only through d- and d+ scenes. it was a nod to the greek tragedies (I am never beating the ancient greece nerd allegations)—despite having much death, they always occur offscreen, as a way of keeping the dying moments sacred (and not a spectacle for theater). so I'm glad and comforted to know that the death here, at least, was handled well.

a heart's a heavy burden. and you were seungkwan's heart, weren't you?

see gakuran trivia :) i swear this bowled me over. what a lovely lovely way to summarize the overarching narrative of his grief

i'd skipped over seungkwan's line here. twice as many stars as usual. let's look up together.

this scene came to me last, but i do think it was the best way to end the fic—also the only scene I teared up writing :') mentioning the two headed calf wasn't even in my original outline but! here we are and I'm glad it panned out like this. the two headed calf lore—that it barely lives past 24 hours, and the part about the museum in the poem itself—are all intentional details + allude to the conversation mc and sk had on what if our story makes it to some funky museum someday.

kae is right in that it presumably happens the night before d=0—but I present one more possible interpretation for extra pain w a side of blurred fiction and reality and memory:

it's the same cornfield as where mc dies. the stars in the screenplay are described as startlingly clear, with a low POV, but there's a bit previously (their convo after the sunset) where it was mentioned that the footage becomes grainy once there's not enough light. the good night as a goodbye. you don't know if the […] before sk's reply was just by chance, or because he knows it is a goodbye and he is reliving the memory (in his narrativization, is the "let's look up together" a final entreaty, and the "I'm tired" proof that it fails?), or if it s a made up memory entirely. :)

smth smth that one quote that goes "we find ways to cope, if not heal", etc.

a discussion i've had time and time again is whether a person can be complimented on their ability to write grief. is it a insult, to be told that you write about grief well, when it takes an acute understanding of loss to be able to pull it off? i haven't figured that out yet.

I don't have an answer for it either, but trust that I am honored if you say I write grief well, at this point in time. Perhaps when my own losses were fresh, the answer would have been different. There is a lot to chew on in conversations where trauma is often squeezed out for art. If not insult, it could definitely be something a person isn't quite ready to hear yet, if grief is still fresh. I feel this dilemma is one of those questions that is something you live with than find any concrete answers to (a la rilke). yet I think that writing grief well, for me, is being told I am doing justice to the memory of a person I still cherish :')

kae ohmygod . grief's familiar rooms genuinely making me vibrate rn cos . that whole bit of seungkwan walking through his home as it exists both in memory and film? just—yeah. bachelard's the poetics of space was among the things that held my hand as I wrote this (didn't reread it per se but I did remember the gist of topoanalysis). idk, something about how the house has embedded memories and emotions, and how the house you daydream in is often the house you have lost

ily and in return have one of my favorite poems on grief (since I already quoted cold solace in lrpd HAKDSDJ), as well as probably the song that not a lot of people know but I included in the recommended listening (paris paloma nation rise pls).

once again just . so so grateful to have befriended kae—I think that in the sea of trying to navigate caratblr as a baby account, feedback and friendship like this truly keeps me going and reminds me that there are people out there who hold my writing with so much tenderness :') in awe at just seeing how stories gain new life as they are received by different people, yet the reverberations of emotions persist as they move from one heart to another.

something in the orange

summary. remembrance is also reconstruction. reconstruction presupposes loss. a meditation on memory, narrative, and grief. and, of course, love. pairing. boo seungkwan x gn!reader genre/tags. ANGST, (semi-graphic) major character death, interstellar au-ish (just the blight), non-linear narrative, blurred fiction and reality if you squint (sorry I reread goodbye eri while writing), unbeta’d (mistakes are my own) wc. 5k suggested listening. love wins all, iu // 消費期限, seventeen // triassic love song, paris paloma // eight, iu prod. & ft. suga // yawn, seventeen // something in the orange, zach bryan (or niall's cover)

notes. midnight in korea now; happy birthday kwannie! this is very experimental, and admittedly i'm not fully satisfied w it, but I didn't know how to change it atp. sorry boo, it's your birthday but i give you pain. as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined 🫶🏼

D-17 EXT. SEOUL TRAIN STATION – KOREA – DAWN The sun rises over the ruins of Seoul Station. The air is clear of smoke and fog. A shot of the sun peeking over the heap of steel, glass, and cement that once served as the station’s framing. The train tracks run to the far horizon, to the left and right of the frame. Pan to YOU (young-looking though age is ambiguous, former writer, love of SEUNGKWAN’S life) squinting at an old, battered map of Korea’s train lines, and a compass. You’re wearing battered jeans that are slightly too big, boots, and a sturdy leather jacket. Behind the camera, SEUNGKWAN (male, young-sounding though age is ambiguous, former video producer) narrates. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) BOO-log number 529. We’re now figuring out how to get to Mokpo. Neither of us are any good with directions, but my partner decided that we could try following train lines since the none of them are running anyway. You look up at the sound of his voice, noticing the camera.

YOU (exasperated, but fond) Kwannie, are you filming again? We have 30 batteries, but not all of them might be working. You might need to save battery and memory if you want to video the view of Jeju Island. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) It’s okay, I really just wanted to record us before we start. Once we’re walking, I won’t use the camera as much. And I have twenty other SD Cards! YOU (not surprised) Okay, we’ll definitely figure something out for the batteries, then. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) Yeah. Now— Seungkwan’s voice changes to a more formal tone, as though he were imitating a newscaster. SEUNGKWAN (O.S., CONT’D) What are your thoughts as we start our newest adventure? The camera catches your grin. You follow along, changing your tone to an impression of those backpackers in TV documentaries. YOU Um, I’m excited to see Jeju-do, even from afar, because it’s part of Seungkwannie, and we had our honeymoon there. As long as we’re careful, I know we can do it. If we’re lucky, we may even find someone who can bring us across. Beat. You look ever so slightly awkward in front of the camera. YOU (CONT’D) Wait, here, give me the camera. I’ll record you this time. The footage shakes, briefly showing a tiled floor, then train tracks, before panning to a blurry face. The camera shakes for a moment before the image comes into focus, revealing a beautiful young man with dark hair. Seungkwan does a better job at the “interviewer voice”, but you’re no slouch either. YOU (O.S., CONT’D) So, Seungkwan-ssi, what are your thoughts as we embark on a new adventure? SEUNGKWAN (genuine) I think it’s about to be wonderful.

D–2183

When the Blight started, both you and Seungkwan were in high school. Though only having known you since that start of your third year, you’ve quickly wormed his way into his life—visiting his house, having dinners with your family, and he even managed to force you into joining the badminton club with him.

Bees now officially extinct, the news proclaims, an effect of the ravaging of nearly all plant life. Asia in particular has suffered; the widespread rice shortages due to it becoming impossible to grow resulted in widespread famine. The extinction of plants used for feed, made food prices across the board skyrocket. Corn, it seems, is the only crop that can resist the Blight—and the rest of the world now has to adjust its staple food to mimic the old Americas.

“Seungkwan.” You prod his ribs.

“Mm?”

“What would you do if the world ends tomorrow?”

“Marry you.” You laugh, until you realize he isn’t joking.

“What?” Your voice pitches to an incredulous squeak.

“Marry you,” he repeats.

“Why, though?”

“I always wanted to get married,” Seungkwan replies, after a moment of pondering. “And if the world ends tomorrow, as of today you’d be my best candidate for marriage.”

For a moment, you just look at him, eyes tracing over his features. Your steady gaze makes him shift, uncomfortable, wondering if he said something wrong. Eventually, you shrug, though there’s a twinkle in your eye as you quirk a smile at him.

“While I don’t support shotgun marriages, I’d make an exception for you and the end of the world.”

His breath catches, heart stuttering as he tries to parse your answer in his head. “Wha—you—”

“Come on, Seungkwan, don’t dish it if you can’t take it,” you groan, flopping sideways to plop your head against the armrest. Your legs tilt as you do, your foot brushing against his calf. He tries not to jolt at the contact.

“I’m sorry!” He pouts, trying to calm the uneven fluttering of his heart. You laugh, shifting your lean in the opposite direction, so your head lands on his lap. Despite having done it a thousand times before, he traces softly the way your hair falls, admiring the way its color contrasts with the color of his pants.

(Looking back, he’ll think about how that day changed things, even just by a little bit; how his gazes grew longer, noticing more how the sunsets glowed against your face as you walked home together every day, painting you golden. How you’d both gotten used to creative ways of shelter when mild dust storms come, thanking your luck each time that you had gotten home before it truly began.

He’ll think about how, a year from that day, he kissed you as he walked you home for the last time before you enter your separate colleges, swallowing the teasing took you long enough from your lips as he finished his shaky confession.

He’ll think of how you exchanged second buttons like those characters from that anime you liked did, and the quiet promises to make things work even as the world seems to turn more barren than both of you can follow.

He’ll think of how three years from then, he gets on one knee, to your tearful yes and salty kisses. Your small marriage, with just your families, batchmates, and some professors, followed by a beautiful honeymoon in Jeju. Despite it all.

None of these decisions had anything to do with the end of the world, but you and Seungkwan made them, nonetheless.)

D-9 INT. A TENT – A TRAIN STATION SOMEWHERE BETWEEN SEOUL AND MOKPO – NIGHT The footage is grainy due to the lack of proper lighting; the camera shakes as Seungkwan seems to be trying to balance it on something. The tent is quite cramped; the inside is sparse, with only two sleeping bags and your knapsacks—Seungkwan’s with two camping pans attached with a carabiner. The leather jacket you were wearing is now resting on one of the bags. You have both swapped your sturdy day pants for more comfortable, albeit worn, sweatpants. Out of context, it looks like a vlog filmed by two campers on a hike. The camera steadies as Seungkwan moves away. He moves to sit beside you. There is an easy intimacy as you thread your fingers together, almost mindlessly. SEUNGKWAN BOO-log number 531. We passed by a sign that said Nonsan. That means we’re probably halfway there. YOU We made progress better than expected, didn’t we? I estimated at least two weeks. SEUNGKWAN (nodding, excited) I thought the train tracks would have been ruined, since the stations are, but they’re surprisingly reliable. YOU It’s true; of course there were times when we had to find our way around the tracks, or climb above anything that fell down over it, or go through some cornfields, but mostly, it seems we’ve been lucky. SEUNGKWAN By the way—everyone, it looks like we’re in a tent in the middle of nowhere, doesn’t it? Don’t be fooled, we set this up in a convenience store. YOU (laughing) You ruined it! Now we can’t be funky backpackers with a tent on the train tracks. SEUNGKWAN (playfully lecturing) It’s good to be truthful, you know. What if kids watch this someday? We have to be good moral people. YOU (with the remnants of a laugh) Okay, okay. We set this up in the Seven Eleven inside one of the train stations. Abandoned, obviously. We made it in right before the dust storm hit. SEUNGKWAN Another good news today is that we managed to barter something for food. YOU Yeah. This one engineer or something—I think he’s a veteran? But we saw him tinkering on his porch and offered a trade, his corn for our cables, and now we have dinner. SEUNGKWAN (joking) It’s not jokbal, but it’ll do, I suppose. YOU (groaning) Oh my God, what I’d give for some jokbal right now. With bossam. And soju. SEUNGKWAN I’ll be dreaming of that tonight. YOU Anyway, everyone, we’ll end the log here, so we have enough batteries for a nice long BOO-log at Mokpo. Both you and Seungkwan wave your corn (dinner) at the camera. You reach forward, covering the lens with your palm. The clip ends.

D–20

Seungkwan walks around the house. He’s doing his last checks, checking between what’s in his bag and what’s in the rooms to parse if he’s missed anything—batteries, your wallets, matches, passports, birth certificates, first aid kit, water bottles, toothbrushes, all the canned food in the pantry, the sturdiest kitchen knife you both owned (wrapped in two layers of cloth), the Swiss knife he was gifted a few years back, flashlights, a whistle, and all the carabiners and hard cash you had were already packed.

He finds you in your shared bedroom. There are a bunch of wires there, evidently cut from various appliances. You’ve wrapped the cables as neatly as you could manage. On the bed, you’ve laid all your dry-fit shirts and the sturdiest pairs of pants you both have. Then, from the dresser, you’ve collected the most expensive jewelry the both of you own—well, all of them, but you separated the expensive ones in another pile. He points to the latter.

“What’s that for?”

“If cash fails, maybe gold won’t. I don’t know, just in case the currency collapses. But they’re worth bringing all the same.” Also, you hold out copies of both your health insurances. He opens his knapsack and quickly stuffs them in the same place as your other documents.

“Last resort kindling?” Seungkwan offers, showing the cluster of documents in his compartment. The remark draws a quick breath of a laugh from you.

“Probably.”

“How about the wires?”

“You never know when we’ll need some emergency engineer bullshit; plus, if it comes to it, the wires will probably be better barter material. Before you ask,” you hold up one hand, “I edited a zombie novel a few years back. But if that kid was pulling out of his ass, we’re fucked.”

Despite your disclaimer, the no-nonsense, matter-of-fact way you’re handling the situation makes something settle in him, as though all he needed was an anchor amid the chaos. He pulls you close, placing a kiss to your temple. The tension in your body melts as you press against him. For a moment, Seungkwan just holds you. A temporary anchor before you need to move.

Turning to him, you offer a quick peck to his lips before holding up his trusted camera bag, worn as it is. “Bring it,” you tell him firmly. “We need a little bit of happiness. Get all the SD cards you have, too. In case we just never leave Mokpo. It’s small enough to stuff in our pockets.”

Seungkwan can’t help it; he grabs your face and kisses you. The camera bag sits between you awkwardly, but he doesn’t care. He savors this, the familiar taste of it, the contours of your face that his hands have long since memorized. You pull away, but not before kissing his lips again, then his nose. He’ll never quite get used to the way you look at him, as though there is something new to love each time.

“We’re gonna be okay, my heart.”

D-4 EXT – A LONG STRETCH OF BEACH – MOKPO, SOUTH KOREA – SUNSET The camera captures a breathtaking sunset. The sky is a wash of oranges and pinks, the clouds purple yet lined in the light of the sun. Mokpo is on the southwest side of Korea; the view of the sunset is particularly beautiful, as the sun sinks down into the sea. There are faint silhouettes of islands both near and far from the shore. The waters are tranquil, and there are no sounds except for the steady wash of the waves on the shore.

The shot slowly pans to you. Your expression is tranquil, despite the dirt and tears across your clothes. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) (soft, so soft you don’t hear) Pretty. YOU (clueless) Hm? SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) Nothing. Can you see Jeju Island from here?

He already knows where it is. YOU (laughing softly, a little sad) To be honest, I don’t know which piece of land I’m seeing is Jeju. A finger appears at the edge of the screen. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) There, that’s Jeju. Right behind the blob that looks like a hat. YOU (squinting) Oh! Right, that’s what it looks like. Beat. YOU (CONT’D) The view is beautiful. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sea. Seungkwan hums the opening to Tears of Mokpo. You don’t recognize it until he softly begins to sing the opening lyrics. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) (singing) 사공의 뱃노래 가물거리면… YOU (laughing outright) That doesn’t have anything to do with Jeju! He sings louder just to spite you. You playfully roll your eyes. Bending down, you unlace your boots and take off your socks, sinking your bare feet into the sand with barely-concealed relish. Seungkwan stops singing as he knows what you’re about to do. SEUNGKWAN Careful; don’t step on anything sharp. As you move forward, the camera follows you. It is revealed that the beach is not so picturesque. The sea seems to have dried up some, and even here, bits and bobs of life float on the surface and linger in the sand.

There are the usual culprits: plastic bags, empty cans of alcohol and soda, and snack wrappers. Yet visible also on the camera are the following: bullet shells, shrapnel, a chair leg, a ragged pillow, and a cracked desktop monitor. As all this is visible, the camera centers on you laughing, splashing in the saltwater and enjoying the breeze in your hair. YOU (calling; audio faint) Kwannie! Come here! A beat. The camera zooms in on your face. YOU Kwannie, come on! Hurry up! SEUNGKWAN (proximity makes his voice loud) Okay! A rustle. The camera is laid down, cloth (Seungkwan’s jacket) obscuring part of the footage. After a nudge, the cloth disappears from frame. Another figure, barefoot, joins you.

D–119

Jeju has officially been declared abandoned, lost for some other country to use as farmland. The radio announced the treaty ratification today. Seungkwan is a spectre around the house, listless and heartbroken.

Months ago, when the conflict began to escalate in earnest, he began whatever arrangements he could to ensure his family was safe, moving them as near to the farming areas as he could manage and encouraging them to share whatever techniques they knew could help former cities now learning how to farm. The news does not make the sharp pang of grief dull any less.

He is at the age when he is to receive a conscription notice; Korea has since shifted its system to split soldiers into those who will either fight on the front lines of the Resource Wars, or serve by tilling the land and ensuring that there is enough corn for the population, however dwindling. There is no guarantee on which one he is to get, even if he did register himself as head of household (and should hypothetically be assigned the latter), but he is due to receive news in a few months’ time.

The promise of the notice hangs over both your heads. In the mornings, you spend ten more minutes just looking at him, as though you were memorizing the shapes and contours of his features. At night, he curls into you more tightly than before; once you’d have complained that it was too hot, now, you simply wrap your arms around him and let him sink his face into your hair.

“Hey, Seungkwannie.”

“Mm?”

“Let’s go on a trip.” The hand mindlessly running through your hair falters.

He pulls away, looking at you with a furrowed brow. You keep your head low, pressed against his chest. “What?”

“Let’s go south. Yeosu, Mokpo, whatever, just near the beach, as close as possible to Jeju. Just…just see it, even from afar.” At his silence, you barrel on. “If we walk enough, we can make it in two weeks—a week if we can hitch a ride with one of those crop trucks or something—and then just another two weeks back, if we don’t settle in Mokpo outright.”

“Food—”

“I can pack us as much as I can. We’ll need to ration, and possibly trade, but we can do it. The treaty is in place, and it’s most dangerous up north right now. Going south isn’t as big of a risk, and the weather has been looking good lately.” Finally looking up, you cup his cheek, tracing the skin with your thumb. He presses his lips to your wrist.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to Kwannie. I just thought you might want to say goodbye.”

“I…” he falters. It’s tempting. Unbearably so, despite the nagging at the back of his head that it would be better to leave it at that, keep his memory limited to the days you spent there dodging dust storms and falling in love. He doesn’t know how much it’s changed. How much the ocean might have even dried up. He doesn’t know if he can stomach to see it. “Give me a few days to think about it?”

“Of course, Kwannie. All the time you need.”

D+29

Seungkwan’s life has been demarcated into two. Before, and after. He goes through the motions of the government-run fields: waking up, clocking in, eating breakfast, tilling the soil, weeding, lunch, the occasional drills in case they were still expected to fight, transporting corn from one warehouse to another, dinner, sleep. Repeat.

Not a lot of people are here; many prefer to till fields they own, or collectively own; for once, agrarian reform straightened itself out at the start of the Blight. Yet with the dwindling population—slowly withering family trees—those lands acquired by the government grew.

Sometimes, Seungkwan thinks of home. He was lucky enough that the head of the center, Seungcheol, was kind enough to register his name as part of the deployed cadets under his supervision, despite the incomplete paperwork he had when he stumbled into his field, frail and dehydrated from lack of food and water.

Home remains now only in his memory, and in every replay of the Christmases he captured on camera. The soil is more unforgiving than before; it distracts from the loneliness.

EXT. A SMALL FIELD, WEDDING VENUE – DAY The wedding is humbly decorated with dried corn leaves fashioned into flowers, as there are no real ones anymore (none within the budget, anyway). Guests came as they are, though everyone has made an effort to clean up more than usual. It is currently the reception, and the speakers are playing a quick beat. The guests are dancing, laughing, and cheering, though their movements are blurry and almost smeared onscreen (step-printing effect). In the middle of it, you stand, the only still figure in the frame. You’re smiling softly to someone behind the camera, very clearly in love. Cut to Seungkwan, in a similar position, the guests around him dancing as but blurs. He is wearing a similar expression. He begins to walk forward.

You meet in the middle, still the only clear figures to the camera, and begin to dance. As though the dance were a spell, the surroundings cut to: INT. A MEDIUM-SIZED LIVING ROOM – NIGHT EXT. SEOUL STATION, IN RUINS – DAY INT. YOUR TENT (MAGICALLY ENLARGED) – NIGHT EXT. LONG STRETCH OF BEACH (UNPOLLUTED) – MOKPO – SUNSET Hold this image for a moment. The sea laps at your ankles. The bottom of both your garments brushes against the saltwater, but neither of you seem to notice. Both you and Seungkwan close the gap to meet in a tender kiss. Suddenly, cheers. You part, and are back to: EXT. A SMALL FIELD, WEDDING VENUE – DAY The newly-married couple smiles and waves. The bottom of their garments are damp.

D+167

It seems surreal to have all the batteries he wants, and even a computer where he can replay all his footage—more than 4000 hours’ worth of it. It took a few months of work to earn enough credits and rank to access it, but Seungkwan pursued the goal with single-minded purpose. There is enough electricity in this center to run a few computers, and Seungkwan is its most regular customer, painstakingly going through each clip on the dozens of SD cards he has.

For footage so far back, from when you had just been married, there are parts where he no longer remembers what happened after the clips end. They remain in his memory as but colored ghosts, warm-tinged with nostalgia. Cabinets that would never be opened again, now filled, in his dreams, with infinities.

The house of his memories blurs with the house of his oneirism. In both, he subsists on sleep and daydreams. But memory will betray; it won’t tell him if the house he remembers has been altered by each remembrance. So he watches his videos. He walks through his house, now only alive in video and reconstructed by memory. He sees himself and he sees you, in all the different iterations you both were. Wonders if he could stitch both into narrative. Wonders if he could even bear to cut any scenes. He’s never thought about the violence of that act until now.

Inventories do not just catalogue possession; they also measure the potential of loss. It was a quote from one of your writing workshops, discussed over a late dinner. You could still afford some meat then; Seungkwan had saved just enough for a small slab of cured pork, which you would cut tiny slabs from for both of you to enjoy before bed.

He has five minutes left of his designated slot with the computer.

Seungkwan watches, and he catalogues.

D=0

Seungkwan only remembers in flashes—a gunshot. A scream. It’s only when he replays that moment in his mind that he realizes it was his voice. Barely a thud as your body is cushioned by the corn leaves. Dark red liquid, somehow both grainy and slippery on his hands as he drags you into the thick of the field, away from the path, trying desperately to stem the blood while minimizing your trail. Until finally, he collapses, feet unable to bring him a step further.

More flashes—your eyes, only ever kind. Even at your last moments. The way you hold his hand and place it over the pocket you keep his SD cards, as though reminding him one last time. The way your eyes search his face, first desperate, and then resigned. The way he leaned in when you opened your mouth, to hear your final words, only to feel the ghost of chapped lips brush against his ear. The gush of blood that dribbles past your mouth that tells him you’re gone.

(The Resource Wars felt like more a backdrop than anything else; you had come this far without any altercation. Yet even as you screamed that you were not thieves, just travellers, the gunshot rang.

The cornfields weep with him as he leaves you behind, SD cards clutched in his bloody hand.)

D–4

TIME CUT TO: It is twilight, now. The camera is trained on the horizon. The sun has fully set, and night is beginning to settle in the sky. Only the barest hints of orange remain. The footage has already become slightly grainy due to the lighting. Neither you nor Seungkwan are on the camera. Instead, voices are heard while the darkness arrives. It is not evident whether the footage was taken accidentally, or on purpose. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) (softly) I’m glad we came. Really, even if we couldn’t get to Jeju. I’m glad. I’m glad it’s with you. YOU (O.S.) (just as softly) I’m glad too, my heart. You filmed the whole sunset, didn’t you? Start to finish? SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) Yeah. Yesterday and today. I have so much footage that I don’t know what to do with.

Breath. SEUNGKWAN (O.S., CONT’D) Actually, that goes for all the BOO-logs. Even the ones from high school and college. YOU (O.S.) (surprised) You never tried editing them? SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) I have, but what then? There are hardly any theaters now. Nowhere else to post. And electricity is expensive. YOU (O.S.) Okay, but if we both die, what do you think’s gonna happen to this camera? Seungkwan is many things; a prideful badminton player (before the Wars stopped sports events), a videographer, casual vlogger, and a corn field worker. You are also many things; an editor (before your company closed from too little employees), author, copywriter, and occasional tiller.

Both of you still enjoy nurturing sparks of creativity when they come. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) Mm. someone picks it up and it gets immortalized in a post-war museum. And our videos will be a special feature. YOU (O.S.) Oooh. And the war museum would be on a spaceship, with funky gravity and new plants and meat the astronauts domesticated from a different planet. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) And there’s a new jokbal. Call that out of this world delicious. YOU Stop! Despite the terrible joke, you both laugh, then let the conversation drift into comfortable silence. The sun has fully set. Nothing much can be discerned visually from the footage. YOU (O.S., CONT’D) Hey, Seungkwannie. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) Mm? YOU (O.S.) If you had the chance, like computers and steady electricity, would you edit all the BOO-logs into a short film? SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) (skeptical, but thinks about it seriously) What would the plot even be? A married couple traveling to Mokpo, dodging dust storms and chasing each other through cornfields? Watching the stars at night? YOU (O.S.) (earnest) Yeah! Or, y’know, make it semi-autobiographic, like two lovers wanting to visit where they first had their honeymoon. Or maybe I’m sick and you want to take me to the sea one last time? The footage earlier could fit with that storyline. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) Don’t even say that! YOU (O.S.) (laughing softly, apologetic) Sorry, sorry. But if you do make a short film, I want to be the first to see it. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you work. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) What about you, then? Would you write a book about us? YOU (O.S.) Oh, definitely. And you’d be the first to read it. The footage cuts.

D+182

Seungkwan replays the footage again. Beside him, Vernon fiddles with a pen.

“What do you think about making this a short film?” Seungkwan asks.

Vernon stops.

Seungkwan may be their newest addition, but the rest of the crew has grown protective. He brings light to their conversations, effortless in his ability to entertain and bring laughter. Mingyu asks him of his favorite foods, especially the ones he misses from Jeju, even if recreating them is near impossible. Seungcheol reprimands anyone who tries to bully him into giving up his share of rations. Junhui has begun to joke more, noticing how Seungkwan seems to be particularly into his humor.

Yet everyone recognizes the sadness that still clings to his heels.

Vernon looks, for a long moment, at the monitor, frozen with a picture of a smiling face he’s never known—never personally, only ever through the screen and Seungkwan’s stories, always shared in quiet whispers in the privacy of his room.

He knows, though. Knows that this person was real. They loved, and were loved. It speaks in how the camera follows whoever is in the frame. The cuts of certain clips, as though either the person behind the camera joined their partner or had a moment that could not be captured in film. Most of all, it was the way whoever was in the frame would, without fail, smile at the person behind it.

“I think,” he replies, choosing his words deliberately, “that you are in a unique position to dictate how someone is to be remembered by those who never knew them. And…” he hesitates, wondering if two months of these quiet conversations is still too little to be so candid with his friend, especially when talking of loss.

So, so much loss.

Seungkwan answers that question for him. “It’s okay, Vernon-ah.”

“…Well, I just wanted to say that it’s a burden to bear, is all.”

EXT – A CORNFIELD UNDER THE STARS – NIGHTTIME The stars have emerged, visible in all their glory. After the start of the Blight, when the population began to dwindle, electricity and many other resources became scarce. Much of the light pollution that was once a problem has disappeared. Brilliant dots twinkle overhead. To you and Seungkwan, it could pass for the Milky Way. The POV seems to be at a low point; stalks of corn are visible at the edges of the frame. Yet the stars are bright, captured exceedingly well.

You’re softly speaking aloud Laura Gilpin’s The Two-Headed Calf. It was one of the poems you memorized in college, as a creative writing major. YOU (O.S.) (as though from far away) Tomorrow when the farm boys find this freak of nature, they will wrap his body in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north field with his mother. It is a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual. Long beat. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) Twice as many stars as usual…let’s look up together. YOU (O.S.) I see the stars, my heart, but I’m tired…

A breath hangs in the air. Some rustle of cloth, as though someone had adjusted so you fit together. A soft sigh. YOU (O.S.) Good night, Kwannie. SEUNGKWAN (O.S.) …Good night, darling. End.

note. are the screenplay bits from the short film? the raw sd card clips? his memories? distorted memories? guess we'll never know. nonlinear bc grief is nonlinear. pls tell me your thoughts (even/esp if u didn't get the story lol) take care of yourselves always <3

#kae this is yet another public declaration of love #is annotations of annotations gonna be our thing now #mahal kita wtf!!!! the way I woke up today to THIS.#HAHAHAHAAH #.corals #.dive buddy: kae

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