#Physical Excavation

[amentainsularis]

July was as precarious and as messy as my working desk during field season

[miniagula]

movie sonadow would be so l umity-coded…and i say this bc their dynamic is similar to the games but with a different and tender perspective: they both empathize deeply with each other now, and this shadow is not as reticent or closed off bc of that. that being said: movie!sonic would ABSOLUTELY 'YOU'RE the sweet potato!' the hell out of shadow

[barghest-land]

Hi!! I'd love to know how you got involved with paleo expeditions, since you mentioned you're an art director! I'm just curious bc I do some paleo work in the US but haven't yet been on expeditions. Also your sketches and paleoart in general is so gorgeous, I'm absolutely taking notes as an artist myself. Ur rendering and atmosphere in your art is 1st class!!

helloooo and thank u!!<3 i'm not a paleonthologist; i just go to expeditions with paleo/geologists to places where it's ok to search for things (which in my case is... almost everywhere in my country. lol). sometimes it's big expeditions, like week-long, but they aren't field work! we don't do anything for museums and stuff. but if there's something found that it worth further examination, it goes to the museums :) tho some of expeditions are done to find what can be found there (going to new places i mean), so it's a geological exploration in a way. i'm not a geologist either (i wish i was), i'm just kinda vibing with the team cuz i like things they do, and i love to learn about all that stuff. and no if i find some Really Rare stuff, i'm not gonna be allowed to excavate it further!

[fisheito]

i swear i've played a game like that

[cousticks]

i think 16 year old chuuya (pre stormbringer) would have been less miserable if he regularly used power tools or perhaps even construction equipment. and i will not be elaborating. i just KNOW albatross had access to both a mechanic's garage and a forklift or two

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

I find TGI easy to digest and am still struggling with TTPD in parts. I relate to both in different ways.

I can see that tbh! TGI is so heavy, but I think the themes and the way they’re presented are fairly straightforward. Particularly the existential crisis in relation to confronting mortality— it’s in your face and making you really sit with the discomfort from the outset. (Which makes sense given the incredibly painful circumstances of the album.)

TTPD I think is obvious in a lot of ways, but it’s also layered under metaphor, allegories and general storytelling. Neither one is better than the other, but just reflect different ways to tell a story. In Taylor terms, I’d liken TGI to an entire album of “Soon You’ll Get Better”s and “Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve”s: powerful and raw and not for the faint of heart.

[shadowsandstarlight]

Local man with chronic pain has just shovelled snow off of entire very large back deck solo. Whole thing was covered in 6 inches to a FOOT of snow. I love Canada. This all showed up literally overnight, by the way, the deck was completely snow-free before yesterday afternoon.

[xtruss]

Excavating a Language at the End of the World

How an Old Dictionary is Revealing New Perspectives on an Indigenous Culture.

— By Katarina Zimmer | July 31, 2024

Image: Shutterstock

Deep in the southern hemisphere, where frigid waves lap against the toe of the South American continent, the sea has no single name. Locals have called it tāralömbi when the water is perfectly calm. Čilamaii are the swells that gather along the coast, mötālömön is the roughening of the water by western breezes. Döna is the term when certain winds ruffle the ocean’s surface in such a way that the movement of fish underneath cannot be discerned and canoes must return ashore.

The Indigenous Yaghan people who have spoken these words are native to Tierra del Fuego—the mosaic of islands, fjords, channels, bays, and coves created by the submerged foot of the Andean mountains in southern Argentina and Chile. The Yaghan and their ancestors are thought to have persisted in this harsh, windy, and cold seascape for thousands of years. There, they have built canoes, from which they hunted sea lions and seals with harpoons. They have caught fish, gathered mussels, made ornaments, and celebrated rites of passage. They have roamed far and wide.

The last truly native speaker of Yaghan, Cristina Calderón, died in 2022. Up to a few hundred members of the group are still alive today—including Calderón’s granddaughter Cristina Zárraga and others who are working to revitalize the language; Yaghan is classified as “dormant” by the Endangered Languages Project.

Dictionaries, it turns out, can be excavated for rich information missing from the archeological record.

Although archaeologists have long been fascinated by the deep history of this seafaring, nomadic people, many of the physical remains their ancestors left behind have been lost to time. Fortunately, they have also left clues in the Yaghan language.

The Yaghan words for the sea were exhumed from a 19th-century Yaghan-English dictionary compiled in the late 1800s by an Anglican missionary. In a recent paper in the International Journal of Historical Archaeology, a team of Norwegian scholars argue that studying this historical snapshot of Yaghan could yield important clues about these people’s lives over the centuries. The same approach could be used for potentially hundreds of other languages, dead, alive, or dormant, across the globe to better understand old ways of life, ancient ecologies, and humans’ connection to the landscape.

Dictionaries, Such As The One Created For The Yaghan Language, It Turns Out, Can Be Excavated For Rich and Nuanced Information Missing From The Physical Archeological Record.

“You could think about language in a similar way as we think about the archaeological sites in a landscape,” says the lead author of the new research, archaeologist Jo Sindre Eidshaug of the Norwegian University of Science and Technology’s Marine Ventures project, an international archaeological research effort. Eidshaug views language as something that “settles” a landscape just like physical artifacts, as people develop knowledge and vocabulary in places where they spent most of their time.

“This kind of research gives us a new tool to understand some [questions about] the life of these people in the past,” adds Angélica Tivoli, an archaeologist at the Austral Center for Scientific Research of the National Scientific and Technical Research Council in Ushuaia, Argentina, who wasn’t involved in the new work.

Today, while language revitalization efforts of Zárraga and others are underway, little Yaghan is currently spoken in Tierra del Fuego. The Yaghan culture and language underwent a devastating decline after Europeans arrived. In the 1880s, about 90 percent of the Yaghan people died from infectious diseases Europeans brought. The decline continued into the 20th century, when many Yaghans continued to die prematurely and faced discrimination for speaking the language. Today’s Yaghan people still fashion traditional harpoon points of whale bone and weave baskets, nowadays mostly to sell to tourists, but they can no longer canoe or boat freely due to restrictions by the Chilean Navy.

Thomas Bridges, who constructed the dictionary, first met the Yaghans as a teenager in 1856 and later lived with them for 30 years. Carefully documenting their language and culture helped Bridges to translate the Gospel of Luke into Yaghan, as part of Anglican missionary tradition to make the Bible accessible in local languages. But while a complete Yaghan Bible may never have come to fruition, Bridges’ dictionary includes about 32,000 words. “That level of detail he was documenting—it’s so beautiful,” says Oxford University ornithologist Andrew Gosler, research director of the Ethno-Ornithology World Atlas which collects Indigenous knowledge on birds. “To be able to document that kind of detail,” he says, demonstrates a closeness with the native speakers.

Grandmother Tongue: Cristina Calderón, pictured here, was the last known truly native speaker of Yaghan. She died in 2022, but her granddaughter Cristina Zárraga and others are working to revitalize the language. Historical perspectives, like that from the newly analyzed dictionary, help enrich contemporary understanding of the culture’s deep history—and connection with the landscape of Tierra del Fuego. Photo By: Víctor Alejandro Correa Rueda/Wikimedia Commons

Because Bridges was merely striving to record the Yaghan vocabulary as comprehensively as possible, his dictionary may be less colored by prejudices and personal agendas than ethnographic reports of the Yaghan by other missionaries and travelers, Eidshaug says. But still, the dictionary is limited in the kinds of questions about the past it can answer. Languages change over time, so it’s unlikely, for example, to shed light on deep archeological questions, such as the origins of the first marine hunter-gatherers in Tierra del Fuego some 7,000 years ago. Or to necessarily give a full picture of the richness and breadth of Yaghan life.

In other places, like Australia, male linguists have been historically more likely to ask men than women about their practices, documenting little on activities traditionally carried out by women, notes linguist Luisa Miceli of the University of Western Australia. Bridges also mostly worked with only one Yaghan couple—Okokko and Camilenna—to understand the language, possibly limiting his view of the communities’ activities as a whole, Gosler says. And, many concepts in Yaghan are so specific to culture and place that they’re hard, if not impossible, to fully encapsulate in other languages, adds Zárraga, who learned the language as an adult from her grandmother.

But the dictionary might have encoded detailed knowledge about the kinds of resources, practices, and deep environmental understanding that were assembled over hundreds or thousands of years in Tierra del Fuego, much of which hasn’t been preserved in the archeological record. “The kind of environmental knowledge that is picked up in this language has an antiquity to it,” Eidshaug says.

Most Physical Traces of Yaghan Culture, Like Any Remnants of Foraged Feasts, Were Lost To Time.

Wherever they went, Yaghans accumulated knowledge and vocabulary about their environment—the climate, the sea and its inhabitants, the coastline, the beach, and the forested hinterlands of Tierra del Fuego. Archaeological studies have mostly focused on shell middens along the coast—ring-shaped piles of shells that were discarded around dwellings—where animal bones and bone tools were preserved thanks to the alkaline chemistry of the shells.

The dictionary catalogs commonly hunted and foraged foods that don’t preserve—fast-degrading things like crab shells, berries, and fungi—in line with some ethnographic reports. Eidshaug counted 48 Yaghan terms for local fungi, many that describe their ripening in rich detail. For example, auačix, the round yellow summer fungus that grows on the šöšči tree: čikidönara describes immature fungi; pöša the second stage just before the fungus opens in holes and gets puffy; and dönara is when they are fully ripe, shortly after falling from the trees.

Most physical traces of the central vehicle of Yaghan culture, the bark canoe, like any remnants of auačix feasts, were also lost to time. Yet the dictionary describes in detail the resources and strategies involved in canoe-making. Bark is cut from the šöšči tree, and wood fiber called uri is used for sewing. Hūšun—seed stalks of wild celery—are sewn as pads into the seams to make them waterproof. Tstāgi soil is used to cement the seams. Tatega—pieces of young smooth bark—are attached to the canoe’s upper edges to protect paddlers from blisters. Through words like these, “we get a broader picture of the material culture,” Eidshaug says.

By Any Other Name: While trying to better understand the Yaghan language and culture—in order to craft translated Bible verse—a 19th-century Anglican missionary ended up creating a detailed map of the Indigenous group’s local knowledge and worldviews within his handwritten dictionary. Here, he documented the many Yaghan words for funguses. Credit: Yahgan Dictionary, 1865, hosted on Patagonia Bookshelf.

The dictionary also offers a window into some of the intangibles of Yaghan culture and worldview. Some entries pertain to rituals, such as kīna, an initiation ceremony for boys aged 12 to 17. The Yaghan word “to go” is often combined with prefixes to indicate direction; some denote the cardinal directions like north and south, but others indicate “toward land” or “away from shore,” illustrating how people mentally divided their landscape. Other entries explain how Yaghans kept time according to the seasonal changes in nature around them. Čgaiaŋgūta is the season for ripe auačix fungus. Čīyāgörana is the season when šöšči tree bark loosens, hākūa for making spring canoes. Iūan is the time when older crabs carry the younger ones, čīiūaiella the time after they’ve separated.

Information buried in the dictionary might also help interpret the physical archeological record. In the dictionary, for instance, Uštānim is described as a porpoise jaw used as a comb. Isöska is the lower jaw bone of a whale used as spear bones. Dictionary entries of this type could help archaeologists make sense of a hodgepodge of bones found underneath shell middens, and perhaps provide important context to certain tools, Tivoli says. “Maybe it’s a way of calling our attention to look deeper into the archaeological record,” she says.

Many nouns describe local animals, which represent a third of the dictionary. The wealth of different terms for certain animals—such as for shellfish—may reflect a recent increase in their importance as a resource relative to other creatures.

This new, linguistic approach to uncovering more about a long-lived culture as described in Eidshaug’s paper is quite valuable, says archaeologist Flavia Morello of Chile’s Institute of Patagonia and the Cape Horn International Center, both part of the University of Magallanes. It shows how dictionaries can act as gateways to unique cultures and in doing so help foster a deeper societal appreciation for cultural diversity and the kinds of relationships humans can cultivate with landscapes. “It’s very inspiring as a paper,” she says.

Archaeologists elsewhere are increasingly interested in leveraging language in similar ways. Miceli and her colleagues recently published a pilot study to explore what kind of information they could glean—from dictionaries of 10 Aboriginal languages in Australia—about domestic fire use, and whether this could be useful in guiding archaeologists in excavating sites, Miceli says. Past collaborations between archaeologists and linguists have often centered on answering questions about the likely homeland of ancestral languages, and how and why they spread, rather than using vocabulary to help with archaeological excavations. “That, I think, is quite new,” Miceli says.

Watertight Insights: Many of the physical artifacts of the Yaghan people—whose ancestors have occupied Tierra del Fuego likely for thousands of years—have been lost to time and harsh weather. By digging through the 19th-century dictionary, scholars were able to learn more about the details of how people once made the canoes that plied the area’s waters. Photo courtesy of Springer Link.

Eidshaug and his colleagues also applied this same proof of concept to a dictionary of Norwegian as it was spoken among coastal fisher-farmers and other people in the area in the 1840s. And there are many more old dictionaries of languages waiting to be excavated from archive shelves.

In the case of the Yaghan, the hope is that such investigations not only answer archaeological curiosities but also help the living communities engage more deeply with their past. “We’ve connected several times with archaeologists who study artifacts and middens, and it has always been an interesting topic for us Yaghans,” says Zárraga, who spoke with me through an interpreter from her native Spanish language.

Zárraga spent a decade living with her grandmother, learning Yaghan practices, values, and language—and about her grandmother’s experience as the culture around her eroded. “It was … very pure cultural knowledge that my grandmother had, through the language,” Zárraga recalls. She is working to carry this ancestral knowledge forward in time. She’s already written two educational books on the Yaghan language and has plans for a Yaghan-Spanish dictionary. Eidshaug, meanwhile, has digitized Bridges’ dictionary to make it more easily accessible.

Though media reports often described her grandmother as the last Yaghan speaker, Zárraga hopes her efforts will ensure that the language and its embedded information will not molder in archives, and that the unique culture it described won’t go the same way. “That’s why it’s very, very important, all of these things that my grandma gave me,” she says. “So we are not the last ones.”

— Katarina Zimmer is a Science and Environment Journalist Currently Based in Germany.

[myrtaceaae]

Idk that archaeology post really triggered my fucking. Landscape as an artefact and it pisses me off when the European changes in our landscape are noticed and held up as artefacts and then the indigenous artefacts are at best, At best ignored, and at worst an active part of promoting racism

[usedpidemo]

Instant crush (Ive Wonyoung)

This world is really something else.

Eight billion people on this planet alone. Billions of planets among the cosmos. And even more stars to count.

It’s truly amazing knowing that you still haven’t found the one. At this point, you might as well shoot for the stars. Perhaps the one you’re searching for might be up there, looking down with the same longing as you have.

—————

Even down on earth, you’re still in good company. 

Another clear night in the open fields, ripe for stargazing. Everyone’s brought their food, their sleeping tents, and their telescope, but most importantly: each other. It’s become your primary bonding experience over the last several months.

These days, however, you prefer gazing up at the stars by yourself. It feels more comforting to be alone. No one really looks for you or shows concern when you suddenly disappear from camp, nor do they wonder where you’ve gone when you come back. You could have been killed and there would have been no trace, no search.

If anything, you’re more surprised you still keep getting invited.

Nevertheless, the night sky looks especially lovely tonight, with the countless stars shining at their brightest. While your friends prefer searching for the constellations, you’d rather admire them through your human eyes.

Every now and then, you hear your friends from afar, celebrating as the occasional shooting star passes by. It only emphasizes the loneliness you feel on a larger, painful scale.

On nights like these, you make a wish. You’re not the superstitious kind, but the faith and desperation makes you want to believe. Doesn’t matter if not a soul hears you, your innermost desire rings loud enough to be felt. The tears in your eyes show.

As the night goes further along, you’re about to make your way back to camp. Even from several feet afar, you can see them start winding down, the lights from their campervans flickering off. Everyone else begins to pack their belongings and settle in, when suddenly, another meteor flies past, its glow brighter than any other. You can hear the commotion, their voices loud and ecstatic, claiming they’ve never caught a star this close until now. 

Hell, you can see its physical properties with your own two eyes.

As the star descends at blisteringly high speed, you’re hit with the realization that it is, in fact, going to crash nearby. Sure enough, it passes through your line of sight with a blinding gleam before landing several miles away from where you were standing minutes ago. Immediately, a trail of smoke ascends to the sky, its exact location clear as day.

Given the circumstances, it’s your opportunity to finally be seen. To be the first. To be recognized as something more.

While everyone else in camp scrambles for their gear, you make a quick beeline for the crashed meteorite, having given yourself a significant head start. Based on how thin the smoke it left behind, you’d imagine it to be nothing special: just a regular space rock. As you approach the site, and see the shallow crater it made comparable to the average garden excavation, your assumptions would be confirmed.

However, a thick veil of white fumes surrounds the crater’s entire circumference, rendering any attempt to see the meteorite inside impossible. Common sense dictates that one should never touch anything foreign, especially if said object is of extraterrestrial origin. For a while, you contemplate the idea. After all; you may be dumb, but not that reckless.

Seeing as the smoke has no intention to dissipate, you may as well brave the storm. Worst case scenario, you disintegrate into ashes or die from poisoning, but you’ve got nothing to lose at this point. Still, the hesitation remains, as you constantly draw your hand and finger back the closer you get to touching the barrier.

There’s a still, small voice calling out to you, likely your subconscious, daring you to pass through the veil. Your heart wants you to take the leap, your mind tells you to stay back. It’s a surprisingly complicated conundrum. 

In the end, the heart wants what it wants. It wants to venture through the unknown. It wants definitive answers. It wants you to take that leap of faith.

Slowly but surely, you slip your finger through the thick white veil. Your skin doesn’t disintegrate nor does it burn. If anything, you feel nothing at all. There’s no smell or sensation as your hand completely disappears beyond the barrier, then to your elbow, until your entire arm is consumed by the fog. Your body moves of its own accord, seemingly getting sucked into an entirely new world beyond the smoke. 

As soon as you’re completely taken to the other side, the fog vanishes instantly. Your feet suddenly stop, realizing you’re no longer feeling solid ground. As the earth beneath you crumbles, it turns out you were one step away from falling in embarrassing fashion.

More importantly, there’s no meteorite at the bottom. It’s already cracked into pieces of dust. 

So you look up again. On the opposite end of the crater, an unexpected sight takes you off-guard. There’s a woman standing there, completely in the nude.

You can’t help but call to her. “Hey!”

With her back turned against you, looking left and right, your cry falls on seemingly deaf ears.

So you try again. Same result. Completely ignored.

You’ve got no choice but to run around and approach her, albeit cautiously. Even in the middle of nowhere, the danger persists.

The woman’s eyes turn toward you as you reach her. Nudity aside, her appearance is glaringly pretty. An unnatural beauty that you’ve never seen before. Long black hair, pouty lips, and a pristine face worth dying for. She’s really heaven-sent.

However, instead of showing concern or worry, her expressions show that of indifference and apathy. A little curiosity, even. As if she doesn’t know what she’s doing or where she is.

“Excuse me.” You’re trying not to stare at anywhere else but her beautiful face, and even that gets your heart racing. “I’m sorry, but you’re standing out naked in the middle of the cold,” you tell her, slowly falling into temptation. Eventually getting the better of you, you give yourself a tiny glance of her boobs, hoping she doesn’t catch on, and thankfully, she stares idly, “You might need some warmth.”

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she merely blinks and watches you intently. 

“Um,” you swallow, unsure of what to say or do, like anyone else in this situation. “Do you know where you are, miss?”

The woman continues to stare at you, occasionally blinking, before finally answering, “Planet 120121, codename Earth.”

Her monotone delivery and the peculiar string of words that came from her mouth take you aback. She continues before you’re even able to say anything, saying, “You are a resident species of planet Earth. Homo sapien. Codename Human.”

And she goes on by listing your complete biology, down to the smallest details. Your personal information, your biometrics, your history. Somehow, her voice saying your name sends shivers down your spine.

The revelation dawns on you, hits you like a truck. “You’re not human.”

Suddenly, before you can ask another question, you hear the shouts of your friends, having finally reached your location. They’re also calling for you, though not as lovely sounding as the alien right in front of you. You turn around and see as they emerge from the disappearing smoke. But as you quickly face her again, she has suddenly disappeared without any trace.

“There you are,” says one of them, the self-professed leader, before you can even react. “Thank God you were okay. We didn’t realize you left on your own, and lo and behold, you’re the first one in our group to discover a meteorite. Who would have thought?”

“There’s nothing here,” interjects another friend, surveying the crater with his camera and scanner, noting the lack of physical evidence. “That’s strange. Usually there should be a meteorite, but it’s just nothing but rubble.”

Unsurprisingly, they’re quick to jump to conclusions. Most of them. The leader narrows his eyes, though his voice remains pleasant and friendly, albeit incredibly shaky. “Look. I know it feels good to feel important, but how about you let us have a little peek? Promise, we’ll make sure you get the credit.”

None of them would ever in the slightest believe what you had seen even if you told the truth. If anything, it’ll be an excuse for them to finally ostracize you. Now you’re caught up in a rather inescapable situation with no clear outs.

“Um.” Your gaze avoids the four sets of eyes intently glaring, threatening to force information out of you with every step forward. You can’t do anything to save your life, including throwing a punch. You reason with them, “Look, I know this might seem hard to believe—”

“What? You broke the meteorite?” The leader interrupts, the three others right behind him, now visibly enraged. Besides the fun and fellowship, there’s plenty at stake. There’s money to be made. Fame and glory. It’ll be memorialized in museums and books. A lasting legacy broken with one simple mistake. “You just wasted us thousands, if not millions with your blatant stupidity—”

“Don’t. He’s correct; he doesn’t have a single trace of foreign material on him,” The guy with the scanner says, stepping ahead to protect you. At least someone in the party has a little common sense. “He’s correct; the meteor must have destroyed itself upon impact.”

You can tell by the leader’s disapproving stare that he doesn’t buy it. At all. Still, for his own reputation’s sake, and to avoid impulsively murdering someone in front of several eyewitnesses, he relents. As he walks away from the scene, you can see his lips moving, silently cursing you. 

“Right. Let’s get back to camp and rest up,” he gathers the party and takes his departure, leaving you on your own to catch up. 

Of course you don’t follow back. You spend some time looking around the crash site, searching for the mysterious extraterrestrial, but to no avail, having completely disappeared without a trace. It’s a reminder of not dabbling with strange elements you have little to no experience with. 

Still, the alien’s strange presence stirs in your mind. Something about it felt human. It certainly possessed a body and spoke like your fellow man, even though its speech could have been ripped from any computer. Maybe it was indeed an alien; you’ve never seen a face like that, so captivating, so dreamlike, yet so familiar. It really makes you think. 

Slap yourself a hundred times. It was a hundred percent real and not a hallucination or an illusion.

—————

A day later, you come home to your apartment. Life goes on. Turn on the TV, the noontime news is playing. You figure you’ll fall asleep on the couch after a little while. The night before, you didn’t have sound sleep, still reminiscing about your odd encounter and what it might have meant. 

Suddenly, the sound of running water catches your attention. You never stepped foot inside your bathroom, at least not yet, nor were you willing to. No one else lives in this apartment as far as you know, and you’re no believer in ghosts. 

So you grab an unplugged lamp from the living room and sneak around, quiet as a mouse. The bathroom door is slightly open as you approach closely, the sound of water growing louder. Someone is using your shower. Instead of rushing in, you wait on the corner, readying to strike at the earliest opportunity.

Your heart races wildly. Your breaths are muffled, deep, and heavy. The water stops, and you can only hear yourself. 

For a few tense, lengthy minutes, nothing happens. The intruder has no intention of stepping out, even though there are no vents or openings where they can escape from. It’s an enclosed space. You can easily wait a bit longer, but your impatience gets the best of you.

So you haphazardly charge in, guns blazing, screaming at the interloper. “Get out of here.”

You don’t recognize who you’re screaming at, nor do you careYour vision straightens out, and you’re taken completely by surprise at your uninvited guest.

It’s them. Or in this case, her. 

The woman doesn’t respond. In fact, she doesn’t react at all. No expression shift, no rebuttal, no displeasure, nothing. One of your bath towels is draped around her figure, and her body is soaking wet. God, she still has that alluringly gorgeous face, made even better now that’s in living color. You’re already regretting shouting in her face, even if it was in self-defense.

In your shock, you drop the lamp on the floor. 

“I—I’m sorry.” You’re struggling to put the words in your mouth. There’s so much running through your mind right now, countless questions. But the most important thing right now is focusing on her. Something about this woman is inviting you closer. The last thing you want to do is push her away. “I—I didn’t realize—”

“Do not apologize.” The woman’s lips try to form some semblance of a grin, and fails. It’s as endearing as everything else you know about her, and so is her robotic speech. “As a matter of fact, I should be the one to apologize for using your water to cleanse myself. I can see why your species enjoys bathing in water. It truly feels refreshing.”

Your eyebrows narrow and your lips twist into a frown. “You don’t shower?”

“Our culture showers, just not in water. You wouldn’t understand.”

And you’re not going to try. 

She steps aside, walking past you and out of the bathroom. “Excuse me.”

You allow her. 

Following her back to the living room, you watch as the mysterious woman lets your bath towel fall freely to the floor. Before you get an extended peek of her bare body, she waves her dainty hands all over herself, manifesting a white dress set out of nothing around her slender figure, perfectly fitting to a tee. 

In case you needed additional confirmation she isn’t human.

“How did you get here—”

“I understand that you have a lot of questions,” she interrupts, brushing a strand of hair aside, facing you with a proper, lovely smile. “And I wish to answer them, so as to not bring you any more stress. But I cannot. For your sake.”

“What do you mean—”

She lifts a finger, hushing you. “All your questions will be answered in due time. For now—” walking toward you, she puts her hands over your arms, “I would like to know you and this place some more.”

You don’t know what to say. This woman’s leaving you flustered and speechless. No one’s ever tried to get this close toward you, not a damn soul. Even a being beyond comprehension, it still feels real. You get a sense that she’s coming from a place of genuine curiosity.

“I—I don’t even know who—or what you are,” you tell her, tone low, overwhelmed. 

“You can call me anything you desire,” she says, appealing herself to you with her pretty eyes. “Please let me stay with you.”

There’s no hesitation, no second guessing. There was never any opportunity to resist. “Of course. Please stay as long as you like.”

—————

The woman notices a photo in your bedroom. It’s not a family member or any close friend, but someone everyone recognizes. She’s everywhere you look: on billboards, in magazines, in commercials. You can’t really escape her, no matter how far you go.

She also happens to resemble the alien you’ve been talking to.

“Jang Wonyoung,” the woman mutters to herself, intently scanning the photo of the person she’s the mirror image of. That's your primary reason for attraction. Even as an extraterrestrial, her appearance is the embodiment of Wonyoung. From the face, to the voice, down to the subtleties. “Jang Wonyoung sounds like a cute name.”

“You’re not her,” you bluntly tell her, despite her appearance bearing the exact image of the idol. “You may look like her, you may sound like her, but you’re not Wonyoung.”

Even though, deep in your heart, you’re gonna start calling her just that.

“How long have you been together?” she asks, taking the photo into her hand, presenting a core memory. The idol Wonyoung poses with you as you take a selfie, fresh after one of their concerts. 

“Oh—I wish. She’s an idol, I’m just a fan. She can’t date—at least publicly,” you tell her, amused by her lack of familiarity with earthly culture. 

“An idol? So she’s a god presiding over this planet?”

“I mean—to some people, yes, but she doesn’t have powers or anything. She’s also like me. A human. A really gorgeous human, but just that.”

“I see.” Wonyoung takes another minute to look at the photo, intrigued. “Why is she given the title idol, then? Idols are usually reserved for gods.”

“Well, it’s kinda complicated,” you’re scratching your head, figuring out how you can simplify yourself without having to chat up an hour-long video essay’s worth. “But she’s mainly a singer, okay? She sings and dances for a crowd of devoted fans, and everyone loves her for doing that.” 

“Sings and dances? Shouldn’t these so-called ‘fanatics’ be performing for her instead?” 

You scrunch your nose and shrug, barely hiding your chuckle at her sincere naivety. She’s half-right in a way. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Wonyoung follows you back to the living room, unsatisfied by how quickly the conversation ended. She shoots a cute pout that goes completely ignored. You call to her, asking if she wants anything to eat, but falls on deaf ears. Noticing the TV, she sets her eyes on the screen, her attention completely enraptured by all the fast moving action. 

As expected, she doesn’t watch TV like any normal human. She stands directly in front of the screen, resting her hand on top of the panel. You can only assume this is her absorbing information. Strange, but nothing you haven’t seen in other sci-fi media. 

And then, she begins to float a couple of feet off the ground. Her irises dilate before completely disappearing. Soon enough, objects in your apartment join her in the air moments later, including some of your appliances.

At first, it doesn’t seem remotely close to anything scary, only drawing your curiosity. But as she continues to absorb knowledge from the TV, a strange glow surrounds her body, her eyes glowing bright white. The lights in your apartment flicker on and off, the screen’s imagery changes to static, and all these other little tremors threaten to blow the place open. Nearly every appliance in your flat is going haywire from this sudden surge in power.

You have no choice but to step in before someone gets hurt.

“Wonyoung,” you’re calling to her, telling her to stop, trying desperately to snap her out this haze. She’s too numb to feel anything but the TV. Her body is surrounded with so much white light, it’s beginning to fill the entire room. An explosion is imminent.

You’ve got nothing left except to approach her, no matter how dangerous it may be. 

So with one last desperate cry, you shout out Wonyoung’s name, reaching her with your hand from behind. All of a sudden, a blinding flash fills your eyes, leaving you temporarily blind—and rendering you unconscious.

But it works. The light gradually disappears. She falls to the ground, overwhelmed by all this excess energy. 

Unfortunately, it comes at your apartment’s expense. To add insult to injury, the fire alarm in your apartment building activates, turning on the emergency water sprinklers. She’s left your entire flat a complete mess.

When you open your eyes, it’s raining everywhere; electronics everywhere falling apart, sparks occasionally shooting from the outlets and from tattered wires. Wonyoung’s lain unconscious in front of the TV, smoke coming out of the thin, shattered panel. Look around and see the aftermath; destroyed pieces of furniture, newly created holes in your walls, a clean break of your window, your life savings completely down the drain.

Still, none of those are your utmost concerns right now. You shake Wonyoung’s inert body, searching for any sign of life. Thankfully, she leans her head sideways moments later, staggered and confused.

“What—what happened?” she can barely open her eyes, let alone move her lips.

“Christ. Wonyoung, we gotta get outta here,” you tell her, lifting her off the ground, wrapping her arms around you. “You blew up my apartment and if anyone finds out, we’ll get in so much trouble.”

She ends up passing out again as you drag her outside your apartment and out of the building.

—————

Mercifully, it appears to be an isolated incident. No one besides you or Wonyoung were injured in some capacity. Still, you’ve come to the grim realization that never step foot inside your apartment ever again.

Emergency services rush into the building, while the police seal off the entrance for the other residents—at least temporarily. You’ve hidden Wonyoung’s motionless body behind a pair of sunglasses, hiding her behind some bushes at the nearest park, keeping yourself distant from her to avoid any suspicion. Your friends, devoted astronomers and stargazers, aren’t ready to accept the existence of alien life, much less the authorities and the public. Especially since her appearance is deeply tied to someone well-known, a star in and of herself.

Everyone knows the fire is coming from your apartment. The smoke from your window reaches up to the sky. So of course, when it’s time for questioning, all fingers are pointed toward you.

You tell them the exact same thing: a power surge, an electricity overload. Faulty cables and appliances. Whether it’s the police, the fire department, the medics, or the media. Anything to keep her existence hidden from the world. Sure enough, everyone buys it. Freak accidents occur all the time. It’s one of those days. Shit happens.

The only one who doesn’t look happy or at least concerned is your landlord, obviously. You’ve destroyed his property after all.

“I was gonna tell you to get out, but it looks like you’ve done that yourself,” he tells you, tone condescending, showing no empathy towards your situation. You can tell he’s wanted you gone for a while, but wasn’t legally able to.

“I was planning to move out anyway,” is your rebuttal, equally as snarky. Rubbing your arm, still wincing in pain from earlier. A lot has happened and there’s plenty more to do, but your first priority is Wonyoung. It’s been almost an hour since you’ve left her in the park.

So you run back to the spot where you’ve hidden her, only to find that she has completely disappeared. Panic sets in. Your search leads you to other parts of the city. Hours pass, with your efforts coming up empty. The sun is beginning to set, with you having quite the conundrum: she’s not only gone, but you have no shelter.

As fate would have it, you find Wonyoung in a different park on the other side of the city. She’s watching a group of skaters from afar, still wearing your sunglasses. 

You call out her name, and she turns to you, her expression stone cold. She raises a hand though, presumably waving without actually motioning.

“Hey. I’m—I’m sorry for what happened back there,” you tell her, taking a seat beside her as she turns her attention back to the skaters. “Look. I know you’re upset that I left you back there, but you gotta understand that you can’t just do that. You were wrecking up my place. Well—you did wreck it, actually.”

“So is that what the smoke was about? I did that?” Wonyoung asks with zero awareness or alarm, as if she really didn’t know what she had done.

You gently nod, frowning. As much as you don’t want to, she has to know the truth. “Yes. You were scanning the TV, and you got into this weird state where you were floating. Other objects were starting to move too, the electronics were surging with power, and—” you swallow, your lips trembling, “you hurt me.”

Wonyoung’s mouth slowly drops at your confession in utter disbelief. She takes a moment to collect herself. Based on the frown on her lips, you get the sense that she’s feeling guilty, even if it wasn’t her intent. Even behind sunglasses, a tear falls from one of her eyes.

“I—I’m sorry.” She reaches her hand out to you, a familiar glow surrounds her, this time fainter than what you saw earlier. As she touches your arm, the gleam passes from her skin to yours. It’s a soft, warm, comforting touch. More than that, it’s a healing brush; your scars, scrapes, and wounds gradually seal themselves clean, curing any and all forms of physical pain. Then it stops. “I hope I can make it up to you.”

“What are you then? What planet do you come from?” you ask, finally removing the bandage that you’ve plastered between you. 

“I cannot tell you that,” she says, blunt and to the point. “Our intentions cannot be made known by species other than our own.”

“You destroyed my apartment. You owe me an explanation,” you tell her, frustrated by her response.

Wonyoung gives herself a moment to think in silence. As the city lights turn on, she looks up. High in the sky, a shooting star flies by, similar to the one that led you to her.

“They’re coming,” she says to you, her gaze lingering on that falling star. Another one trails not too far behind. “Perhaps they’ve already arrived.”

“Who are? There’s more of you?”

She nods, confirming your answer. 

“We’re a conquering intergalactic species,” she tells you, still looking up to the heavens above. By the weight of her voice, this is something serious. “We search for hospitable worlds we can inhabit and rule by slowly assimilating into their culture before destroying the host planet and reforming it as our own.”

“So you’re like a race of body snatchers,” you comment, staring at her side profile, unable to tell yourself you’re speaking to a hostile alien, even if it’s apparent by her outlandish diction. In your eyes, she’s still Wonyoung. You quip, “I can see why you would choose Wonyoung.”

“Yes. Upon further research, I can come to the conclusion that this Jang Wonyoung is an exemplary sample of the human race,” she tells you, smiling cutely. “It’s such a shame that humans like her must be destroyed along with everything else on this planet.”

“But why? Why destroy Earth?”

“It’s a planet that will ultimately destroy itself,” says Wonyoung, putting her head down, looking at the ground beneath. “And from what I see, the only way it can be saved is by wiping the dominant species from existence. Humans.”

“There are still good people. At times we go to war, at times we can be selfish—but we still come together in times of need. At the end of the day, we still need each other to survive.”

“Your friends—they seem to not trust you at all,” she says, referring to your fellow stargazers. “Why do you still call them your friends?”

It’s a question even you yourself are struggling to figure out. Maybe it’s all about the fellowship and camaraderie, but you’ve never once felt welcome or important. No one ever bothers to keep a lengthy conversation with you. You’re often forgotten and overlooked to the point where your presence is nigh-invisible. To them, you’re mostly just an extra body, sometimes a liability, as seen during the meteorite incident. And yet, you still ride along whenever they come calling.

“To be honest, I don’t really know,” you tell her, lowering your head while sighing wistfully. “It’s been really lonely these days, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Then why did you trust me, knowing now that I am your enemy?” she asks, staring at you intently.

“You’re not an enemy to me, Wonyoung.” You face her, tilting your head away from the ground, under the delusion that some part of her is indeed human. “I don’t care if you’re an alien or if you want to kill me. What’s important is that I protect you right now, even if that means dying or whatever.”

Everything boils down to a simple question: “Why?”

At first, you don’t really have a definitive answer. But looking at the splitting image of her, your favorite idol, you know exactly why. You smile.

“Because I like you, Wonyoung. I can’t help but think it’s you, no matter how much I try to deny it.”

“I am not your so-called ‘Wonyoung.’ You are beyond irrational.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” you tell her, looking up at the stars. “I believe you’re here for a reason.”

“And what reason may that be?”

The question goes ignored, and for good reason: you don’t exactly know. However, as you grow more acquainted with Wonyoung, perhaps you’ll figure it out. Something tells you it’s divine intervention, an answer to your heart's innermost desires. 

“Humans like you genuinely puzzle me,” she remarks, still watching you closely, like you’ve got something to hide. Secrets upon secrets.

“I feel the same way about us,” you quip back, quietly chuckling at her comment, because it’s true. Seeing how dark it is outside, you get up. “It’s getting late though, we should probably find somewhere to stay for the night.”

“I can take care of myself.” She says it exactly the way the real Wonyoung would—with a dash of sass and a charming attitude. Her body morphs into a clear formless liquid, showing you she can disappear and reappear anywhere at any time before transforming back into the girl of your dreams.

“I know, I know,” you tell her, reaching out your hand, undeterred. “But don’t you wanna see what Earth is really like before you destroy it for good?”

She blinks twice, contemplating the idea. “You’re right.”

—————

Wonyoung’s attention is scattered all over the place. Bright lights, big city, Wherever she turns, something new happens. Crowds going in and out of buildings, families bonding, everything else in between. There’s a childlike wonder in her eyes, in awe of our species and culture, seeing everyone from all walks of life grouped together. 

She sees herself everywhere—on billboards, on the TVs for sale, on little posters. She sees the real one performing on screen, and recognizes why you and many others hold her in such high regard. In the same way she’s captivated you, it’s dazzling her too.

Maybe Earth isn’t as horrible as initially thought.

“Yeah,” you tell her, slowly tracing back your steps as you’ve realized she’s vanished again—a lot more than you care to count. Smiling from ear to ear as you look at the TV, then at Wonyoung, as if to say ‘I told you so.’

Wonyoung grins back. She waves her hands around like a wand, magically turning her little dress into an all-white jumpsuit, looking like a million bucks, as she should. 

“Just had to rub it in, huh,” you remark, ogling her new appearance from head to toe.

She chuckles, placing her hand on your shoulder in the most attention-seeking way possible. She’s a natural at looking and acting hot, which doesn’t surprise you—it’s Wonyoung, after all. Seeing herself on screen has given her a template to follow.

“I bet you’re a little hungry now,” she remarks, whispering against your ear, her voice skin melting. Again, effortlessly seductive.

A million thoughts instantly come to mind, most of which are best left unsaid. But then you hear your stomach grumble, by far the most embarrassing to admit defeat. Of course she hears it, makes it a big deal by laughing heartily. 

“Unfortunately so.”

“What is the best place to eat around here?” she asks, as if you’ve got a whole reserve of money lying around—which you don’t.

“You serious? I can barely find a place to stay, let alone something good to eat,” you admit, coming to terms with the fact you may be in serious trouble. Having vacated your apartment because of her, you’ve left most of your belongings behind, leaving with nothing but your phone, wallet, and the clothes on your back, which are in slightly poor shape.

“I see.” She presses her hand tightly on your shoulder, using her powers to transfigure your clothing into something matching hers. A fine, expensive two-piece suit. Still, it’s not changing your current predicament.

“I appreciate the thought, but let’s not get carried away,” you comment, holding your coat and examining yourself. “I mean, we’re still in public and it kinda beats the point of hiding you.”

“No one cares,” she replies back, glancing at the surroundings to back her statement. She’s right; everyone’s got places to go, people to hang out with, that you’re both merely passersby. However, you also notice a heightened increase in police activity. Cops everywhere in the wake of today’s incident, still fresh in your minds. It’s a crowded night with a lot happening. You can get away with almost anything—time to see just how much that means.

“All right. If that’s the case, then I sure wouldn’t mind having a lot of money right now,” you tell her, pulling out your near-empty wallet to see if she can make bread from stones.

Wonyoung shakes her head, more baffled by your actions than anything else. “What are you doing?”

“You said you could do anything and no one would bat an eye,” you say, hiding your rather selfish intentions from her. 

“Oh, absolutely. But I cannot make something out of nothing. Unless you want me to turn your wallet into cash, in which case I can only convert it into the highest value of whatever currency—”

“Okay I get it,” you interrupt, unwilling to listen to all the needless semantics. So you look around and immediately find an alternative—an ATM. Taking her across the street, you lead her to the machine and point your hand towards it. “I suppose you could do something with this then?”

“You do recognize that this is a form of theft and is therefore punishable by law?”

“I thought you said no one cares,” is your reply, slightly raising your voice in frustration. “What the fu—”

“I was merely joking.” Wonyoung shakes her head, smirking at your now dismayed expression, much to her delight. “Hand me your wallet.”

After you do so, she slips your card into the slot and this is where the magic happens. Holding out her hand against the tiny screen asking for the PIN, a faint pinkish glow emanates from her hand before waning out. She correctly enters your number without having to ask, then withdraws the highest amount of cash allowed from the machine.

You squint your eyes looking at the screen, examining the amount of money left in your account as she places the cash into your wallet. Millions, where there wasn’t any. Wonyoung is truly a miracle worker, her powers vast and beyond measure. The possibilities are endless.

“Would you like me to withdraw some more?” she kindly asks, as if you’re a beggar asking for money. You can only stare at her, utterly shell shocked and in disbelief.

Trying to play it cool to futile results, you end up submitting in the littlest voice possible. “I guess we could withdraw enough just for tonight—who am I kidding, do it four more times.”

—————

“Good evening, sir. Ma’am.” The host of this five-star restaurant greets you with a customary gentle bow. It’s a place Wonyoung picked after going through the options on your phone. She already knows this city better  than you do, and you’ve lived here for over a year. “Do you have a reservation?”

Even though you’ve warned her numerous times about the dangers of going out and about in public, she doesn’t listen, insisting you trust her instead. Seeing what she’s done with her powers so far, you’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. All this time, she’s never taken off the sunglasses you’ve given her.

You give Wonyoung a trusting nod. Let her do all the work. She gently presses a finger on her cheek, and out comes that familiar glow of energy bursting from her. The host blinks a few times before seemingly leading you inside without any further questioning. “This way.”

Finding a table for two, you scan your nearby surroundings; the chatter inside the restaurant going radio silent, leaving only the music. Her powers have affected everyone within her vicinity, turning them into mindless zombies. Everyone—except you. 

With your safety guaranteed, Wonyoung finally removes her sunglasses. The way she looks at you with her own two eyes gives you butterflies in your stomach. You have to remind yourself she’s only a mirror, a phantom and not the real Wonyoung. And yet you can’t; you’d like to imagine this is how she would treat you in real life, superpowers or not. Only God knows how you really feel about her. She makes you feel special in a way that’s incomprehensible. It’s hard to act normal in her presence.

With her, you feel like you can do anything.

“Our order’s not gonna be ready for some time,” Wonyoung comments, her eyes skating around the place, ensuring no one escapes her mind control. Her strange dialect and behavior is the clear giveaway, no matter how much you spin it, even if she has incorporated some of your culture into her vocabulary. “So let’s pretend that you’re dating me. How would you satisfy me?”

“Satisfy?” Even though you understood the context right away, your mind is already going there. To places where it shouldn’t be.

“Yes. As in, how would you make a good first impression on me? Or her?” 

Truthfully, you have no idea where to start. For one, Wonyoung’s a celebrity with a status only surpassed by a certain few in her profession. Secondly, you’re working the nine-to-five like most people in this country. There’s no buying your way into her heart, that’s never gonna happen. If anything, she could own you. She has an air of prestige surrounding her, one that makes her nigh untouchable and above everyone else. Sharing a moment, no matter how brief, is a privilege, a miracle in its own right; how much more that you’re out with her in public? It would draw so much attention that you could never live a normal life. Every little thing, every little action, every little mistake would be a damning attack on your character. Something you’re all too familiar with.

So even in a make-believe scenario, you just know you’d lose no matter what. Her question brings you back down to earth.

“What’s up? Was it something I said?” Wonyoung notices the sudden dour expression on your face. 

You can’t even muster the strength to face her. Looking down at the table is the only thing you can do.

“Reach out your hand,” she asks, hoping to get to the bottom of your predicament. It falls on deaf ears, worrying her. 

So she does it herself, grabbing you by the hand, diving headfirst into the recesses of your mind. Her body trembles, levitates above the ground as she runs through your memories, through years of images and moments, both the good and bad.

The emotion is too much to handle. She snaps her eyes wide open, tears falling from her eyes. It’s happening again: a powerful burst of energy ripples through the area, sending everyone and everything flying back. Anyone under her mental spell is taken back to reality, with seemingly no recollection of their actions during her control.

Immediately realizing what she’s done, she tries to fix everything by herself, ignoring that you were pushed back by her blast too.

“Wonyoung? What did you do?” you ask, before looking around and seeing the complete clusterfuck. Your concern turns to panic. “Not again.”

She’s too focused on correcting her mistakes to hear you. She immediately uses her powers to brainwash everyone again, placing a finger on her temple, resembling that of a familiar professor. Under her command, every person in the building autonomously works on cleaning her mess, though some damages, like the cracked walls and the broken lights, are far beyond fixing. 

But the strain of using her abilities excessively catches up with her, causing her to snap violently before quickly collapsing to the ground. Soon after, everyone is freed from her mind control again.

“Oh God—not again, not again.”

While everyone in the restaurant tries to collect themselves and figure out what’s happened to them, you drag Wonyoung outside and conceal her behind the darkness of an alleyway, fanning her with a rolled up magazine to keep her conscious. Thankfully, she’s groaning audibly in pain, which means she isn’t as hurt as you initially thought.

Tilting her head to the side, unable to open her eyes, she weakly murmurs, “It happened again?”

“It happened again. We’re not doing this anymore. Let’s just find a hotel and call it a night.”

—————

You weren’t taking any risks this time. You’ve booked yourselves the cheapest, nearest hotel you can afford, even with all the money at your disposal. It’s not like you’ll stay here for days. After all, you’ve called in a favor: a friend to borrow their car, intending to drive as far away from civilization as possible. 

Wonyoung has kept herself quiet and distant ever since. You can hear her mumbling something, but you’re unsure exactly what. She stares distantly at the wall, deep in thought.

“Get plenty of rest. We’ll be traveling quite a lot in the coming days. It won’t be comfortable, I tell you now,” you say, offering her a glass of water to recuperate.

Snapping from her haze with your voice, she turns to her side, seeing your kind gesture toward her. She’s unable to bring herself to look directly into your eyes, frightened about the possibility of hurting you again. She tries to reach out her hand, almost takes the cup from your grasp, but ultimately gives in to her doubt and pulls back, unable to accept your offer.

So you place the drink by her bedside and leave her alone with her thoughts.

After having quite the eventful day, the couch is looking like the most comfortable place to be in right now, even more than the bed. All of it is barely sinking in; you’re still under the impression that you’re in a rather elaborate dream that you’re more than ready to wake up from. Everything feels too good to be true.

Right as you’re about to fall unconscious on the sofa, you hear Wonyoung calling your name from the bedroom. You try to sleep it away, but she calls out again. So despite your exhaustion, you decide to check in on her.

She’s still sitting on the bed’s edge, her water partially consumed. You genuinely feel sorry for her. She can’t bring herself to look at you, but she does mutter a little ‘thanks’ in appreciation for your kind gesture.

Sitting beside her, your hand intertwines with hers. Warm, calming, comforting. 

“It’s getting late,” you murmur, glancing at the clock set next to the bed, 10 minutes past 11 in the evening. Your ride will arrive early in the morning. What happens after, you don’t know. “Go to sleep, Wonyoung. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“I don’t require sleep,” she tells you back, reinforcing her status as an alien.

“Well that doesn’t matter to me. You still need some sleep, for your peace of mind—and mine,” you reply.

Wonyoung leans her gaze in your direction, cautious, yet highly fascinated. Even after going through the depths of your mind, there’s still plenty that’s beyond her comprehension. Her observations have reinforced her opinion of you: that you’re truly one of a kind. An anomaly.

“You are quite the lonely soul, and yet you choose to be kind towards those that are cruel towards you,” she comments, softly breathing against your cheek. 

“I wouldn’t say cruel,” you quip, meeting her in the middle. “That sounds a bit excessive.”

“Your memories—they only bring me anger and sorrow,” Wonyoung replies, narrowing her eyebrows thinking about them. “I cannot believe people would choose to hurt others without sound reasoning.”

“That’s just how it is in this world, sadly,” you tell her, blunt and to the point. “But regardless, Mom taught me that a little kindness goes a long way.”

“So, about this Wonyoung: what is it about her? Why are you so attracted to her?” she asks, and you’re staring into her eyes, pretending she’s asking this question herself directly to you.

You pause, contemplate your answers for a moment, before finally responding, “Aside from being the prettiest girl in the world, she just—seems like the ideal girl to me. I mean—she’s really beautiful, she can sing, she can dance, she can write lyrics, and she’s got this natural attitude about her that makes her the perfect celebrity. ”

“Your reasoning sounds—very superficial. Surely there’s something that resonates deeper than merely being a celebrity crush.”

You roll your eyes, feeling a little called out, and admittedly a bit ashamed, even if you’re staring down a phantom of Wonyoung. You’re taken aback by how real every word sounds from her glossy lips. It’s a wake-up call, a vicious but much-needed reality check.

“And as I go through your mind, you have nothing but shallow thoughts and sexual fantasies about Wonyoung,” she continues, using your hand as an outlet to dig through your brain and dissect you. “Perhaps that is why you have taken a liking to me as well. I just so happen to inhabit the form of your greatest desire: this woman.”

She’s caught you red-handed, and well, there’s no getting around it: you want Wonyoung more than anything, even if it’s an impossibility.

“Have I ever told you that your eyes can only see whatever they wish to see?” She’s leaning closer toward you, a bit too dangerous for comfort. “No other being in the universe can gaze at our true form other than ourselves.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but yeah—you do look quite a lot like her,” is your reply, like you’ve just uncovered a world changing revelation.

“Still, I can’t help but wonder: you like this Wonyoung for more than just her looks, but you can’t tell me exactly why,” she says, greatly fascinated by the intrigue.

“I have no idea either. Dead serious. If I knew, I would have told you by now.”

Wonyoung stands in front of you, still holding your hands. Closing her eyes, her powers manifest again, transforming her white jumpsuit into a little black dress, without any skirt, her slender legs in clear view. Smiling sweetly, she offers you an invitation, “What do you say you come and find out with me?”

It’s an offer you’d be hard-pressed to refuse. Forget that she’s an alien. Forget everything that sci-fi media has taught you about fucking extraterrestrial life. If you’re gonna go down, you might as well go down on a high.

—————

You both should be sleeping by now. Instead, you’re making a bit of a mess in your hotel room. Nothing a little magic can fix.

Wonyoung makes sure your gaze stays on her at all times. Any second thoughts disappear the moment she takes you by the hand, and makes you meet at her level. She’s mostly slender legs and arms, of raven-colored hair; it’s easy to imagine what’s beneath her sole layer of skimpy clothing.

“I thought you said I liked her more for something other than sex?” you ask, as if that’s gonna change what’s about to happen.

“Let’s just say I’m trying to appeal to your—hmm—” Wonyoung dips her head, plants her hands on her knees, crouching before you, the word having escaped the tip of her tongue, before she recollects herself. “Humanity.”

With a flick of her fingers, she unbuttons your shirt bottom to top, but you hold the middle button as her magic climbs halfway through your clothing. “No powers,” you tell her, shaking your head. “It’s not as good without doing it yourself.”

She blinks. For a moment, you thought you might have offended her. To your surprise, she gracefully straightens herself out. Without complaint, she takes hold of your fingers, parting them to physically undo the remaining buttons of your shirt.

Taking a moment to feel your bare chest behind your shirt, Wonyoung closes her eyes. She’s wearing a light yet aroused expression on her face—and she’s only touching you. You’re barely scratching the surface of how dirty you can get.

“Oh, that feels really good,” she coos, breathing heavily, her cheeks flustered and flushed bright red. 

You caress her cheek, snap her from this haze. “You haven’t finished undressing me yet.”

In that moment, her eyes pop wide open, embarrassed in feeling herself so soon. “I’m sorry. This is all brand new to me. Our species don’t breed. We’re asexual—”

“Shush.” You place a finger between her lips. “We don’t talk a lot during sex.”

She mouths directly into your finger as if it were a microphone, speaking with a dash of urgency. “Then please show me. Guide me through this.”

“Of course.” 

Planting both your palms on her cheeks, you finally muster up the strength to do something you never thought you’d ever do: kiss Wonyoung straight on the lips. It’s as romantic as you’ve imagined in your wildest fantasies. While you put all your passion into it, she remains frozen in place, unsure of how to react or what to do next.

You take notice, drawing back. “Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?” Wonyoung blinks again, her movements robotic.

“You’re supposed to reciprocate your partner’s feelings,” you tell her, placing your hands on her shoulders. “When I kiss you, give yourself a moment to let it simmer.”

She’s slowly nodding her head, listening intently to every word you say. 

“Now are you ready?” You’re staring into her eyes, twinkling in the dark. You notice her head strengthening, determined to get it right this time.

“Yes. Please kiss me.”

And you’re more than happy to oblige. You grab her by the nape, slip your tongue between her lips this time. More than simply teaching her, you’re living out your innermost desires through Wonyoung. There’s so much electricity, you’re kissing her like your life depends on it. The sensation consumes you: tasting her sweet lips, pull her as close as you possibly can.

As you peek through one eye, you catch Wonyoung relishing in the moment too. Mirroring your hand, she’s gently tugging you close to her, your bodies dangerously close to intertwining. Her kiss feels incredibly warm, irresistible to the touch. Humming between your lips, you sense her fingers clutching deep into your scalp, wrestling for control over you.

A few more seconds interlocked and you would have pushed her hard against the wall.

Tumbling out of the kiss, you’re gasping for air, taken by surprise at how good Wonyoung is. It shouldn’t be; her lips are naturally designed to be smooched, to be felt.

“So what now?” Wonyoung leans back against the wall, still looking innocent and angelic.

You answer through action: coat, pants, shoes, and boxers quickly come flying off your body as you quickly undress before her. She takes a moment to stare you down intently, especially making your erection a point of emphasis. It should feel awkward, but it isn’t; if anything, you feel comfortable baring yourself like this.

Wonyoung pulls down one of the straps of her body-hugging dress, followed by the other. Gravity does the rest. Letting it fall down her slender legs, she’s reduced to—nothing. Only bare, naked flesh.

You can’t help but mutter out your thoughts to the wind. “God, you’re so fucking perfect.”

Likewise, you take a moment to drink in the sight of Wonyoung’s naked presence. You could honestly let her stand there and do nothing, and she would still end you every time. The thought greatly arouses you, your hand instinctively grabs your cock, begins slowly stroking right in front of her.

God, you really feel shameless right now. Your vision blurs, her presence far too divine to comprehend.

“What are you doing?” she curiously asks, puzzled—and a little amused—by your strange action. Her demure expression only serves to stir you further.

“Ah. Shit. I can’t help it,” you mutter, vacantly keeping your gaze at Wonyoung, mockingly shaking your wrists, playing coy to the fact she’s seemingly naive to your deepest intentions. Leading her back to the bed, you command her, “Get on your knees.”

She’s certainly pliant, down to do anything you say without a complaint. You take as many mental pictures of the scene: the prettiest idol on Earth, kneeling lowly before you, your cock inches away from her face. An unforgettable sight.

“You see this?” Pointing at your hard cock, aiming in the direction of her pretty lips. “I want you to put your lips between them.”

The instruction sounds ridiculous to her ears. “You want me to—kiss your penis?”

You nod your head, reaffirming your stance. “Yeah. Also, just call it cock for me, please.”

Wonyoung takes a moment, hesitant to follow through. You can wait as long as she wants, cupping her cheek and tilting her face up to meet yours. “Tell me if it’s too much. I won’t hurt you. Promise.”

Your little reassurance gives her the strength she needs. 

The tip of her tongue peeks out, carefully approaching the bottom side of your shaft, shaking the closer it gets. The initial point of contact makes her flinch, pushes her away, jerks you violently onto the mattress. You barely manage to hold yourself together. If this is only a tease, you can imagine how the real thing would be like.

Then she tries again, swallowing up what fear she has left—and everything clicks.

The moment her lips part, making way for your tip, you almost lose control. It takes every last bit of your resolve not to unload right then and there. The sweet sensation of her lips feels even better on your cock than against your mouth. You’ve never felt this much ecstasy till now. 

Slowly but surely, as her mouth fills itself with cock, her cheeks hollowing out, poking through her throat, she immerses herself in the feeling of taking you deep. Her nose is poking against your shaft; her bottom lip kissing the underside of your length. Little pleasing sucking noises escape her lips. 

It’s powerful enough to make you question your knees’ ability to stay upright. A fistful of her hair is your only lifeline here.

Even in this unorthodox manner, Wonyoung seems to have a natural way to overwhelm your senses. But like always, she manages to straighten herself out, and gets to properly using your cock. All she needs is a single touch for her to understand everything.

Soon, she’s all over the place. Releasing you from her mouth at random intervals, stroking you with her deft, slinky fingers while twisting and licking every inch of your cock, before popping them back inside with the lewdest expressions imaginable. All this insane suction builds a violent, twisting knot in your stomach. It gets to a point where your groans of pleasure muffle her gentle hums of satisfaction. 

You want her to stop, to keep her from ending you so soon. But the bliss is far greater and worth the early tradeoff. She appears so committed to the act, that interrupting her would be utterly disrespectful. Especially when your cock is so deep inside her throat, that unloading inside that mouth would be its deserved reward.

So you cling on. Cherishing the little glimpses of Wonyoung sucking you dry, relishing in what little you catch for as long as you can, because you know you’re on borrowed time. 

“Fuck—so fucking—good—fucking—amazing—shit—” you sputter, watching her bob up and down your shaft, shooting you a stare back, seeking for approval, which you’d happily give—if you weren’t drowning in bodily pleasure. It’s unbelievable how natural she moves, as if she never needed help to begin with.

As your vision narrows, the only thing left that remains are blurs, flashes, vague images and sloppy sounds. Of brown eyes. Of dark hair. Of plump, swollen lips. Any moment now, she’s gonna get it. The friction builds, and builds, and builds, until—

“Wait.”

It’s the loudest thing heard in the room. 

Wonyoung releases her velvety grip, but not without delivering one more parting shot: a slide of her tongue down to your base. You feel your whole world spiraling beyond comprehension.

At least you can save what little authority you have left.

Then you look at her, her face smeared in shades of you, and you’re already regretting not going all the way.

Too late for that, too late for everything. Your mind goes blank, unable to form a coherent train of thought, much less say a word.

Silence fills the room, with Wonyoung continuing to stare wide daggers at your soul, waiting in anticipation. Her breath barely a tickle against your skin, but still dangerously hot, sending chills all over your spine.

More importantly, she clears the fog in your head.

So you scoop Wonyoung off the floor, her slender legs wrapping themselves around you, then fall back onto the bed. Leaning back on the headboard, guiding her on top of your lap, making her straddle your waist, letting her above you. Her lips close the gap between you, sinking into you with a deep, passionate kiss.

The rest of the night could only be kisses and tender cuddles, and you would feel satisfied.

But as you spread your thighs wide, the pressure between you thickening, she leans to your ear, and gives you a simple request: “Let me feel every inch of you.”

In that voice—in that low, hushed, lethal tone—it’s a miracle you don’t come undone on the spot.

Bracing herself on your shoulders and chest, Wonyoung stares directly into your eyes as she sinks onto your lap. Taking her sweet time, leaving you on edge for a few tense minutes. 

You never see it coming, no matter how heightened your senses are. Her eyes go shut; her mouth hangs, slowly goes slack, releasing a deep, prolonged moan. “Fuck.”

Slowly pressing into your clutch, ensuring every inch of your cock fills her cunt. She makes you throb uncontrollably as she bottoms out, muttering these quiet sighs and little gasps. 

Reduced to nothing but ragged breaths, Wonyoung moves incredibly slow, like you’re both at a standstill. Carefully feeling every inch, every single pulse, every twitch of your cock resting deep in her pussy. You take lease of her back, then her tiny waist, running your hands over her skin, fitting so comfortably in your clasp, admiring her immaculate form. 

Not once has your gaze ever left Wonyoung’s pretty face. You take note of all the fine details; every scrunch, every nerve, every shift on her lips, the flush running all over her features, and she conveys herself so easily. Though tense, you can tell she’s acclimating well, relishing the sensation of your cock deep inside her.

Your fingers burrow deep into her waist, inducing some pressure to make her move faster. And she does. Gets into a slow, steady rhythm, gently bouncing on your lap, giving you a glimpse of your cock disappearing and reentering her cunt. Little squats that ripple through your skin, making music of your flesh slapping hers. Spilling slick that spreads over your thighs. She’s so tight, and so positively dripping.

“Oh God—oh shit—” you mutter, resting your head on her lithe chest, admiring the view right beneath her head. You’ve almost forgotten she’s an alien with how well she fucking rides you. 

“Should I stop?” Wonyoung asks, slowing her hips to a near crawl.

“No no. Keep going.” You look up at her, kissing on her neck, your bodies entangled in a passionate embrace. The bed begins to rock as she picks up the pace in return, crashing against your cock in violent waves that push your willpower to its absolute limit. “You feel so fucking incredible, Wonyoung. So fucking good—”

Even as you’re drowning in rapturous ecstasy, you get a sense that her face is loosening into a smile at your comment. You’re leaving marks on her neck and her collarbones—marks that will never truly disappear, even if she washes them away. 

Her body, on the other hand, is going erratic. Rough. You lean back, content to watch helplessly as she rides herself to oblivion. Her fingers dig into your belly, forming small punctures in your skin. Fucking the words out of her mouth freely, throwing caution to the wind: “Fuck—fuck me—I love it—”

You can’t take it anymore.

Still, you try to endure, to stave off the knot in the pit of your stomach, desperate to savor what little time you have left. At the rate you’re going, Wonyoung’s going to incapacitate you a new one. Brain full of static, it’s only a matter of when, not if. Gears turning everywhere in your body, vision blurring out again, a familiar sight—

And it ends abruptly, just like that.

Balls deep in her cunt, your loud groan bounces around the four walls of this tiny bedroom, with Wonyoung sinking herself down to your hilt. Her chest heaving, your breaths heavy, it’s all too much. The hefty load of cum you blast inside her is alarming. Spilling onto the sheets, onto your thighs, keeping you bound together to the soul. 

After quite the experience, Wonyoung’s all rosy cheeks and sweet smiles. As if she didn’t just give you the best orgasm of your life. 

She carefully shifts herself off your lap. Thick streaks of your cum keep your bodies together, until they gradually break apart. Staring at the ceiling is the only way you’ll make sense of this, and even after, you don’t know whether you’ll regret it or not.

“I don’t sleep,” she says, and that’s all you needed to hear. 

You cup her cheek, kiss her, and climb over her as you start making out into the dead of night. 

—————

“We have to go.”

Wonyoung’s voice stirs you awake from deep slumber. Hours have gone by and the last thing you remember is kissing her on the couch between your last orgasm. Opening your eyes, you’re greeted by the bright silhouette of her slim figure draped in a white bathrobe leaning forward in front of the window, peeking through the curtains. 

Gathering your bearings, you join her in scouting the situation. It’s dire. Half a dozen black vehicles parked outside the hotel with sunglasses-wearing agents asking everyone about seemingly suspicious activities, backed by men in hazmat suits wielding some kind of extraterrestrial radar technology similar to the one your friends were using. 

Then you turn to one of the clocks, and realize you’re already 30 minutes late to the meeting point.

You face Wonyoung with a look of great concern and unease. “Shit.”

There’s no time to waste; your friend has already sent a few texts saying he’s already at the rendezvous as recently as 20 minutes ago. Going down to the lobby through the main points would be the stupidest decision you’ll ever make, and you’ve had your fair share of blunders. The last thing you’d ever want to happen is for Wonyoung to use her powers and blow your already failing cover, so that option is off the table too. The only way you’ll both make it out in one piece is through one of the fire exits and marked escape points.

“I don’t think your powers are gonna get us out of here,” you tell her, hastily packing what little belongings you have. “And I think it’s for the best that you don’t use them.”

“How come? Just give me a chance. I promise I won’t mess everything up.”

“How do you think they know we’re here?” you question her, unconvinced with the idea that she can somehow control her powers overnight. “It’s because they’re aware of your presence. Two random incidents of a similar nature happening overnight?”

“They were both accidents, okay? I’ve got it under control. Trust me.”

You still don’t buy it, insisting she keep her powers in check, at least for now.  “Fine. But only when I tell you to. And only when I tell you to. Got it?”

Wonyoung nods, delighted that she’s gotten through you—even a little.

Taking the girl with you, you slip into the nearest fire exit of your hotel room’s floor, scurrying down the stairs as fast as you can. 

By the time you reach the ground floor, you learn from Wonyoung that the exits are a labyrinth in and of themselves. You can be found anywhere at any given time. Your safety comes at a difficult choice: to rely on blind luck, or to give her the green light to use her powers. 

Turning to Wonyoung, you can see her pleading with her eyes. To let her do her thing. The risk is far too great given the circumstances. And God knows if they’ve got an elaborate plan to isolate her and capture her, making your escape efforts all for naught. Nevertheless, you have to act quickly.

Backed into a corner, you give her a little nod, the signal she needs to shine.

And Wonyoung truly shines. As in, she tells you to cover your eyes before emitting a powerful flash of energy bright enough to cover a several mile radius. Even through your hands, the light proves to be blinding. Even as the dazzling gleam gradually fades out, you find it difficult to see, let alone walk straight. 

Then you feel a sharp tug of your hand, your feet dragging along by its pull, before you realize what’s going on and you just start running. No other thoughts, only run, run like your life really depends on it. Eventually, your eyes meet daylight, and your sense of sight is properly restored. 

She did it. Wonyoung got you both out of there completely unscathed. And she doesn’t collapse, doesn’t faint like she usually does after exerting herself. A miracle.

“What did you do?” you ask her, to which she replies with a gummy smile: 

“Kept all their electronics and radars down for a while. Give or take, I’d say we have 30 minutes to an hour. They didn’t know what hit them, and they never will.”

That’s more than enough time for you to make your way to the rendezvous point on foot a few blocks away. 

She turns herself into her liquid form, disappearing right before your eyes, but not without giving a request that you’re more than willing to do. “Lead the way.”

—————

You find your friend waiting by the restaurant’s entrance, bored out of his mind with all the waiting. He immediately spots you and rises from his seat, visibly frustrated. The poor guy went out of his way to travel from the countryside at your behest. “Man where the fuck were you? I’ve been here for almost an hour.”

“Sorry,” you tell him, pausing to catch your breath after all the running, your legs sore and aching. You’re still human, after all. “Got held up on the way. You know how it is.”

“Never changed after all this time, eh,” he quips, shaking his head, a little cross. “I should have expected this.”

“Fuck off, dude,” is all you can say, patting him by the shoulder. “I’m just glad you came on short order.”

“So you’re all alone? I thought you said you had someone with you.”

Looking around, Wonyoung is nowhere to be found. You weren’t all that worried; if there’s anyone who could look after themselves, it’s most certainly her, but the slight possibility of her capture still creeps in your mind. 

Then you see her emerge from behind the corner of the store, waving at both of you. She’s hiding her face behind your sunglasses, her favorite accessory. “Hey boys.��

“Is that her?” Your friend points a finger at the woman, taken by surprise. “I didn’t know you finally had a girlfriend.”

You laugh the comment off. It was only a one night stand, you’re telling yourself. “She’s—not my girlfriend.”

“Really?” It sounds too good to be true, especially when he looks at her, a perfect match. “She’s certainly your type, all right. How long have you been dating?”

Nervously laughing, you struggle to answer right away. “Well—it’s only been—”

“Two days.” Wonyoung answers for you.

“Two days?” Your friend pops an animated expression, taken aback by the response. “No wonder my boy is down horrendous. My man got into his first relationship and already wants to take her for a cross country road trip.”

She smiles. Regardless of the situation, the one constant is the reassuring gleam of her lips. The moment it disappears, you know something has gone wrong.

Amused by his own remark, his ego partially stroked seeing that he’s made Wonyoung snicker, he hands you the key to his car, a four-door estate wagon. “I’ll need him back in seven days. Grandma’s gonna be mad if she finds out it’s not in her garage.”

That’s more than enough time for you to let the heat around you die down. Perhaps find the answers to many of your burning questions, and maybe change Wonyoung’s mind.

Giving him a friendly dap and a hug, you nod. “Thank you. Really.”

“Hey hey, no need to act soft in front of your girl,” he jests, turning his gaze to the woman, smirking, before facing you again. “Just don’t wreck the thing, all right? Especially after what happened to your apartment.”

He can’t help himself from poking fun at you when you’re already down. Even though it’s only been a day, the apartment explosion feels like a lifetime ago.

Hopping into the driver’s seat, Wonyoung waves your friend goodbye as you drive off, his shape shrinking smaller before disappearing entirely as she looks through the side-view mirror. The destination? Only God knows where. Even when she asks, you simply brush her aside, turning on the radio to keep the mood inside the car less awkward. One thing’s for certain: you’re never coming back here again.

So you drive. As much as you can, only stopping for the occasional refuel. The farther you go, the safer. It’s the only way you can keep Wonyoung safe. From cities to highways, from crowds to empty roads. Eventually you no longer get reception on your phone, rendering all forms of communication impossible. Hours pass; day turns to night. Wonyoung opens the sunroof to get a clear view of the starry skies, the pass of comets and shooting stars. 

They’re calling to her. Her eyes gleam and dilate, as if the cosmos is speaking to her.

Pulling over at an empty motel, you can’t quantify how far you’ve traveled. But seeing as you’re surrounded by nothing but desert, you figure that’s enough distance to go off-radar. As you try to walk in, Wonyoung remains staring upward, stuck in one of those deep states again. 

You call out her name, but to no response. A few moments later, she seemingly snaps from her daze, turning to you, but without saying a word.

Looking up to the stars, you ask her what’s going on. As you did to her earlier, she brushes your concerns aside, telling you there’s nothing to worry about and to focus on settling down for the night.

So you get yourselves a room, unsurprisingly with only one bed. Seeing as Wonyoung herself said she needs no sleep, you figure you can rest easily.

But you can’t. Not when Wonyoung’s cuddled up so close against you, your eyes only fixated on each other. With your gazes alone, you’re both saying a lot without uttering anything at all. She makes the first move, a quick peck of your lips, before immediately pulling away, and just like that, you’re completely disarmed.

Both of you being near naked already makes it easier.

You like Wonyoung when she bounces on your lap, gently moaning between hops and thrusts, every part of her ripped to shreds as you fuck her. She loves it when you run your fingers down her slender frame, brushing her long flowing dark hair, kissing her tummy and chest, taking solace in her warmth. Her pussy fits you like a glove—perfectly snug, perfectly yours. You love it when she’s making these incomprehensible sounds in your ear, delivered in the most saccharine tone you’ll ever hear. She loves it when you tell her she feels so fucking good, so fucking tight—loves it when you gasp in desperation, unable to break free from suffocating hold, resulting in your rapturous climax.

And it hits. Sends devastating shocks all over your body. 

“God—please, let me cum all over that face—” you rasp, using the last of your willpower before your orgasm fully consumes you, calling to her gracious side, but to no avail. Wonyoung takes you for every drop you’re worth, riding you hard while you lean back on the headboard, staring down her tight figure, her stomach contracting between every crash of her hips on yours. She’s so consumed by pleasure to hear you, her eyes shut, biting down on her lip to keep herself muted as she keens out cries of ecstasy.

Even as your cock withers, she can’t bring herself to stop, instead using her powers to spring you back to life for longer. Her lust completely swallows you whole, so much so that you eventually fold and share in her passion, using each other’s bodies till you both give out and keel over.

—————

The day after, as you’re about to leave and drive to who knows where, Wonyoung grabs your hand and stops you. “We should go here,” she says, pointing out a specific area on the vehicle’s GPS. In what appears to be the middle of nowhere, being several hundred miles away.

“How come? We can’t drive there overnight,” you tell her. In a faster car, it’s possible, but your friend’s family wagon wasn’t built for speed.

“That’s fine. We don’t have to hurry, we just have to get there in 5 days.” She uses the built-in GPS to measure the average distance and speed required to reach her intended destination, and you see she’s right again. 

You finally put two and two together, realizing this is where she’ll likely be picked up by her fellow aliens. You obviously don’t tell her that you know, because you know it’ll be best for you to keep silent about the matter. And if they leave without a hitch, it’ll most certainly mean you can return to a normal life sooner. You’re already dreading the days ahead. When she’s no longer with you, you’ll have nothing to lean on. Thinking about living without her bothers you greatly. At some point, you might try to change her mind and make her stay. You recognize that for your own sake and hers, it’s best that you part ways, but it doesn’t change the fact that letting go hurts. Maybe there’s a better solution that doesn’t involve having to say goodbye.

So keep those thoughts in the back of your mind, only focusing on the now. Making the most of her presence while she’s still around, but still keeping other options on the table.

The next few days follow a near-identical pattern: you drive nonstop, only pulling over for fuel, until you reach the next rest area by nightfall. Every night spent with Wonyoung is exploring each other’s bodies, putting her in positions you never thought you’d ever be doing with your favorite idol. At this point, you’ve deluded yourself into thinking it’s the real her, especially as she’s come and fully adjusted herself to earth’s culture, finally nailing her mannerisms and speech. Whatever you want to do, she happily obliges. Whether it’s on the desk, in the shower, on her knees, between her legs, or from behind—for anything and everything, Wonyoung willingly submits. It doesn’t help that her powers keep you up all night, and you’ve never felt any better waking up every single morning than with her by your side.

For the first time in your life, you feel like there’s someone who truly cares. Someone who makes you feel special, makes you feel alive. Now you understand that this was a fated encounter, destiny coming to pass. Intentional or not, she was meant to provide something meaningful: a purpose.

The realization hurts. You’ve already accepted that you have to let her go. You know that when she leaves, you’ll be left with nothing. And that makes it worse.

While Wonyoung sleeps peacefully in your arms, you give her a soft peck on her temple, gently brushing loose strands of her hair. Looking at her sweet face, you can’t help but start sobbing. Fighting back the tears as the end draws near, remembering what your friend said, to keep a cool face while she’s around—

But you can’t.

Your quiet sobs go unnoticed. Looking out the window from the bed, the sky appears dark and gloomy, with bright flashes of lightning passing between clouds. 

The earth is going to cry on your behalf.

—————

You’re wishing the days lasted longer, but here you are, pulling up at the intended destination with hardly any drama. Like most of where you’ve been travelling these past few days, everywhere you look is nothing but empty desert and the occasional tree, even down to the tumbleweeds. As it turns out, you’ve arrived a few hours ahead of schedule. That’s what happens when you’ve been driving on empty roads. Admittedly, it’s a nice change of pace compared to the city. Less noise, less annoying people on the streets.

“So this is it, right?” you ask Wonyoung as both of you are stepping out the car, searching for any signs of life. Nothing. You might be the only two people to have ever willingly stepped foot on this place, considering this doesn’t even have a name on any GPS, map, or on Google Earth.

She nods in agreement. 

“We’re just gonna wait here until something happens, right?” you add, almost slipping out the notion that you know she’s going to leave.

Having gone a few steps ahead of you, Wonyoung looks over her shoulder, catches you leaning by the car’s hood. “You’re going to miss me a lot. I will too.”

Your eyes go wide. Of course she knew all along. Either that or you’ve never been the best at keeping secrets.

“So what happens after? Will you try to exterminate all of us?”

“Truthfully, I have no clue.” Wonyoung turns around and approaches you. “We may be an invasive species, but we do not act until our judge gives his word to attack. But the chances of us sparing a planet? Next to none.”

“So you’re saying the odds are low, but not zero,” you remark, finding some solace in the fact. You’ve seen miracles happen, and you’re not referring to her.

She takes her place beside you on the car’s hood, drawing out a pair of sunglasses from the pocket of her pants. The same ones you’ve given her. Putting them on you, she says, “Protect your eyes, babe.”

Even now, Wonyoung makes you smile. Under her watchful eye and with her powers, she makes sure you’re not burning up under the sweltering sun. The last memory she wishes to impart with you is a reminder of all the good experiences you’ve shared with her. That in the end, she’s about as close to the image you’ve envisioned in her head.

No matter how distant she may be, you belong to her and she belongs to you. Your love for Wonyoung stretches out wider than anything in this universe.

Eventually the sun sets, and day turns to night. The entire time, you’ve never let go of Wonyoung—not until she says so, and she’s more than comfortable staying in your arms. You could honestly cuddle up with her like this no matter how long, God willing. She’s all you need to feel complete.

As the stars in the night sky come out in full force, Wonyoung gently disentangles herself from you as her body glows with a familiar pinkish light. Putting some distance away from you, she begins levitating off the ground. Large waves of dust begin to spiral in a circular direction, separating you further from her. You can’t see through the cloud of dirt other than her bright gleam inside the widening cloud.

Wonyoung floats higher and higher above the ground, met in the air by a faint silhouette in the shape of a UFO. It uncloaks itself and reveals its massive size, larger than the average commercial aircraft in every department. She gradually transforms into a form more resembling the aliens you’ve seen in other media; an incomprehensible silhouette of clear white energy. 

Though you can barely fathom Wonyoung’s appearance, you can tell she’s looking down at you as her and the spaceship rises even higher. No matter how much you’ve been preparing for this moment, you’re still not ready to say goodbye.

All of a sudden, you hear gunshots. Ear-deafening pops and crackles. The roar of other vehicles quickly approaching. You look, and a half-dozen black SUVs are moving angrily towards the direction of the ship, with agents firing from their vehicles. Right on their trail are a pair of white vans. Stopping a few feet from where you’re standing, men in hazmat suits emerge from the vehicles and quickly grab hold of you, pinning you to the ground. 

One of the men in biohazard suits is holding that same alien exposure radar you’ve seen before. “Dangerous levels of extraterrestrial radiation,” he remarks, evaluating his finding on a tiny screen. “You have no idea what kinda threats we’re facing. Who knows what these aliens have already done to you.”

Another agent is holding what appears to be a deadly weapon with the intent to kill. “Nothing personal, but this is for the good of our planet.”

There’s a lot happening all at once. On one hand, the alien is still high above the ground, seemingly frozen mid-air, along with their spaceship. On the other, you have several dozen government agents from an unknown branch trying to shoot the two entities down. And then there’s you, moments away from becoming forgotten forever because you spent a whole week with said alien.

You never wanted any part of this.

As the agent prepares to strike you down from behind, the bright glow in the sky flashes a blinding, colorful gleam of energy, drawing everyone’s attention—including yours. The alien descends down to earth by herself. Transforming into Wonyoung, her eyes gleam bright white, her body surrounded by a wave of power. 

One of the commanders shouts to his men to open fire at her, but she takes no damage from any of their weapons. She lifts her hand, creating a pulse that sends everyone flying back, helping you escape your captor’s binds.

She steps forward and approaches you as you get up from the ground, but the agents won’t quit. Without concern as to you getting caught in the crossfire, more weapons are used, but she casually generates a force field around herself.

Her body is charging up with a colorful flash of energy, threatening to destroy them all. The only thing keeping her from ending everyone’s existence is your voice calling out to her. 

“Stop. Please.”

In that moment, she sees you running toward her, and the fiery glow surrounding her weakens.

Suddenly, a loud bang rips through everyone’s eardrums. It’s a bullet aimed toward her, except your head is standing in the way. 

Mere inches from ending your life, time comes to a complete standstill. Including you.

Wonyoung floats over to you, sees the tears in your eyes, your mouth wide, crying out in desperation. To keep her from going down a dark path. She interlocks your hand with hers, placing her lips against your ear, giving you a gentle kiss.

It’s a bittersweet sound. “Goodbye.”

The last thing you see before your world goes dark is a radiant flash of light. A glimpse of heaven.

—————

You expected paradise to be a land flowing with milk and honey, not a sandy beach along the coastline.

You also expected no pain, no more suffering, not a mild headache as you wake up. So no, you’re not there just yet. But this place might be the closest heaven can be on Earth.

The sun shines directly overhead as you wander around aimlessly in your new surroundings, confused and still reeling from whatever happened in your dream. Luckily, there’s civilization nearby, people included. A welcome sight for sore eyes.

Approaching a man who appears to be waiting for a bus, you go on and ask him, “Do you know where we are?”

He looks at you as if you’re a crazy person for asking such a question. “Eh? You don’t look like you’re from around here. We’re in Lagos, man.”

“Lagos?” Your eyes widen at the response, as equally as confused as he is. The bus arrives in time for him to leave you high and dry, but you follow him inside, still trying to make sense of where you are. 

You ask the bus driver the same question. He gives you the same answer. You really are in Lagos. In a completely different country. A stranger in a strange land.

Upon arriving at the nearest town, you try to give the driver his fare, only to realize you’ve got the wrong currency on hand. But you still pay anyway, nonchalant about the amount, hoping off before he gets a chance to question you.

Soaking in the sights and sounds, the locals are conversing in a language you can’t understand. Even the signs are also a challenge to read. Why you’ve been transported here, you have no idea.

But not all hope is lost. Mercifully, the ATM you find still happens to be completely English. Checking your savings account, you can’t help but stagger back at how much money’s left. It’s more than enough to set you for this life and in the next.

In any other circumstance, you would have been pinching yourself, trying to wake up from this fantasy. But it’s not a dream. This is reality. 

You’re in a better place compared to yesterday.

—————

It doesn’t take long to acclimate to your new life. 

You learn the native language. You open up a small bakery in the heart of the city. The locals quickly accept you as one of their own; you’re in good company. For the first time in a long time, you feel at home.

When you’re not working in the city, you spend your nights staring at the beautiful sky. The little house you’ve bought resting on the hillside is ideal for stargazing. It also helps that Lagos is still a quaint, humble city compared to the metropolises of yesterday. Every now and then, a shooting star flies by; you’re wishing one of them is her. 

You’d happily trade it all for a heartbeat. Just one more opportunity to see her again.

Several months go by. You read the announcement: she’s coming to Portugal for the first time, bringing the rest of the group along with her. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her in concert, so of course you’ve already got the day and date marked on your calendar, as well as the best seats in the house.

She’s still the same person you’ve envisioned in your head after all these years.

At points, you get a sense that she recognizes you with her occasional passing glances. Brief moments in time where you’re taken back: moments that you’ve never forgotten, not in the slightest. But that’s what they ultimately are: fleeting glances.

She may not even be looking at you to begin with. Still, a guy can dream.

After the show ends, you’re ready to move on. Live your life like everyone else. You’re no longer fettered by the past; you’re going to leave it all behind. Everything is new.

As you’re about to open the door to your car, you hear a gentle, familiar voice calling to you.

“Hey.”

You turn around. What you see leaves you completely stunned. Lo and behold, it’s Wonyoung. The real Wonyoung. Live and in living color. Smiling, standing a few feet away by herself, carrying an air of sweet innocence.

You can’t help but drop your car keys.

“I don’t think I know you, but I feel like I should." She picks up the keys off the ground, placing them back into your hand. "Let me get to know you.”

—————

(A/N: In case you're wondering where I've been for a month, it's because of this! This is the longest fic I've ever written, clocking in at barely under 15K words. I've had this idea of a first contact/alien story ever since Supernova Love released (the song and Wonyoung herself fits the tone/concept I was looking into, a godly being not from this planet), so this has been in the works for quite some time. I got way too invested in the story that the smut ended up half-baked, but I hope you enjoy the overall narrative regardless. I considered just posting this without the smut (as I had written the whole plot and edited before even writing a single word of smut, but still wanted to add some fanservice XD). Anyway, I'm looking forward to IVE Empathy; not a big fan of Rebel Heart, but knowing IVE, their title tracks never miss.)

(I'd like to give special thanks to @msafterhours for helping me with the ending, as well as offering general advice in fixing the narrative; this is my favorite fic I've written since Too many nights in part due to the greater emphasis I placed on the plot and characters. Thank you for reading!)

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #3: Of Apples and Academic Frenemies

Au where Jason and Danny are attending the same college course on mythology and classical literature and they are always getting into debates about the depictions of the characters and the historical context of stories and stuff bc the both have a different exposure to the myths. Like Jason knows literal demigods and Amazons but Danny knows Pandora and the Greek myth related ghosts plus time travel from Clockwork and the infi-map. The debates can get heated at times but the respect each others intellectual takes.

This creates a peculiar situation where everyone in the class thinks they are academic rivals who hate each other (except for the few with their shipping goggles on and sense the homoerotic tension underlying their debates) and are deeply invested in watching them interact like their own personal drama even thought at this point in time they are at best friendly acquaintances and at worst annoying classmates.

Jason rants to his family about his debate partner/rival bc he’s happy to have some who will talk to him ad-nauseam abt this stuff but also bc he wants to complain about how Danny's a “smart but annoying little twink who’s got some real audacity”. And while the batfam is happy that Jason is experiencing some normal life things like an academic frenemy they’d love to stop hearing about this guy's “smug fucking smirk” and the “annoying gleam in his eyes". They are worried that Jason will snap and beat this guy up for being too annoying. Well, except Tim who thinks Jason would rather make out with this guy than debate with him.

One day the course decides to do a big themed party/fundraiser to save up for a class trip to an excavation site of some temple ruins or something. Both of them volunteer for the organizing committee bc of the offered extra credit. This encourages the two of them to start seeing each other more and to hang out outside of their classes so the can work on event planning. Over time they actually become pretty good friends (Danny's presence filters Jason's toxic ecto and cures pit rage due to increased exposure. It was happening anyways as classmates but the close proximity sped up the process) and Jason and Danny develop mutual crushes on each other.

For the event they do, like an Olympic games style format and have people sign up in teams for events a couple of weeks beforehand. Anyone in any sort of classical/mythology related course can join and they opened the event for public spectating. They have a few traditional events like a foot race, long jump and chariot race. But the also have some silly ones like Medusa's Snakes, where they shove their faces into bowls of whipped cream and fish out gummy worms, Pandora's Amphora, where they stick there hands into a box/jar of mystery contents (grapes, slime, a live animal like rats or kittens, a bunch of glitter, soda, etc.) and whoever keeps their hand in the longest wins, and Gladiator Fights, where they try to knock each other into a foam pit with those foam and rubber jousting sticks and the such.

Neither Danny, nor Jason want to participate for fear of their physical/supernatural abilities being discovered so the both get talked into doing the emceeing and commentary for the events. They make a really good duo, snarking and bantering with each other, playing off each other's energy and providing fun commentary to the events. Everyone, including the batfam who came to spectate, is a bit baffled by how well they are getting along bc last they checked these two were rivals of a sort, mildly annoying at best and actively antagonistic at worst. However, they really seem to be enjoying themselves.

The last event of the day is a trivia contest, which they both decide to take part in and let someone else take over the emceeing. The final winning trivia question is "what trope was falsely understood as a marriage proposal or declaration of love by misinformed media, that was actually closer to a ploy of seduction and indication of sexual desire according to Greek texts" and the both ring in at the same time to say "tossing an apple to someone" and an tie for the win. They both go up on stage to receive the prize (idk a gift card or smth) and shake hands before walking away in opposite directions.

Then suddenly Danny calls out to Jason just before he leaves the stage and chucks an apple he seemingly produced out of nowhere at him. The apple has a note with the time and date of a dinner reservation on it and when Jason looks back up at Danny he see the slightly flushed boy tentatively smiling at him.

" What do ya say Jase? Will you go out with me?"

And instead of replying Jason just straight up kisses him in front of everyone. Everyone else is gobsmacked by this whole turn of events except Tim who's cackling his head off, screaming "I FUCKING KNEW IT". When the two of them break apart they grin at each other widely and Jason drags Danny of the stage presumably to go make out somewhere.

[blueiscoool]

Ritually Bent Bronze Age Sword Found in Denmark

The sword, which has iron rivets in its handle, may be one of the earliest iron artifacts found in Denmark.

A metal detectorist has unearthed a long, bronze sword that was bent into an S shape during an ancient ritual in what is now Denmark.

The sword and other artifacts — which were found in a bog near Veksø, northwest of Copenhagen — date to about 2,500 years ago, during the late Bronze Age. They are thought to have been part of a ritual sacrifice, although this practice was no longer common at that time. Upon discovering the artifacts, the metal detectorist notified the Danish museum group ROMU.

"It's what I would describe as a very rare find," excavation leader Emil Winther Struve, an archaeologist and curator with ROMU, said in a translated statement.

Although such items were often deposited in bogs as sacrifices during the early and middle Bronze Age in northern Europe, "We don't know that many from the latter part of the Bronze Age," he said. However, the practice of sacrificing or killing people in bogs — leaving behind remains known as "bog bodies" — spans a longer period, from the Stone Age to the 19th century.

Ritual sacrifice

In addition to the bent sword, archaeologists found other Bronze Age artifacts, including two small, bronze axes; several large, bronze "ankle rings"; and what may be a fragment of a needle, according to the statement.

A few days later, the archaeologists also discovered a large, bronze "neck ring" just 230 feet (70 meters) away. The neck ring is only the second of its kind found in Denmark, and the archaeologists think from its style that it was imported from what's now the Baltic coast of Poland.

Bronze Neck Ring

The bronze sword's handle contains two iron rivets that may be the earliest iron ever found in Denmark. The ROMU statement described the sword as "almost a physical manifestation of the transition from the Bronze Age to the Iron Age."

The sword's design suggests it was not made in Denmark but rather in more southern parts of Europe that were dominated by the Hallstatt culture during the Bronze Age, the statement said. The Hallstatt culture thrived from about the eighth to the sixth centuries B.C. and was influenced by Europe's early Celtic culture.

The ritually bent sword was a genuine weapon and indicated a transition from more lightweight swords used mainly for stabbing, Struve said, "but now they are becoming tougher, more solid and have a different weight, so you can use them more violently and for chopping."

The Hallstatt culture had a warrior ideal that demanded conquest, war and conflict. "The sword is perhaps an image of that," Struve said.

By Tom Metcalfe.

[redsugarx]

青白之魅 5: Clothes & Accessories

1 Introduction & Presentation // 2 Background & Influences // 3 Hair & Makeup // 4 Set Design // 5 Clothes & Accessories // 6 Conclusion

This is the actual hanfu post of the hanfu series on this hanfu account! So if you’re here for HANFU and specifically HANFU this is it >:)))) We’re gonna get deep into the relics & archaeology with this one!

L: Cui Qing'er set, R: Bai Suzhen set, both Cloud9 Hanfu

So before we start. This was supposed to be a four-piece set. However, my dumbass (and Yulan’s dumbass I guess) forgot about the pibo ;-; So it literally just doesn’t appear in the shoot and We Will Not Speak Of It. It still looks pretty great! Just completely slipped our minds amidst the chaos x-x

Anyway: each of these are (SUPPOSED to be) a four-piece set. The four pieces are 大袖褶衣/da4 xiu4 xi2 yi1/large-sleeved top，九破裙/jiu3 po4 qun2/nine-panel skirt，腰封/yao1 feng1/wide sash，and 披帛/pi1 bo2/shawl. The sash & shawl are smaller accessory pieces, so the main two pieces are the top and the skirt: they are completely custom printed and custom patterned, the culmination of months of research. I will be focusing on these two pieces in this post (I’ll go over the last two briefly at the end, they’re just not as interesting). 

Background: Northern Dynasty

Background for these sets: Both of these sets are referenced from the 南北朝/nan2 bei3 chao2/Northern & Southern Dynasties, with more emphasis on the northern part. This was a very tumultuous time period that often gets looped in with the 魏晉/魏晋/wei4 jin4/Wei & Jin dynasties for a combination time period known as 魏晉南北朝. 

This means two major things in the context of hanfu research: 1) there’s a lot of very fast-paced exchange of culture and evanescent fashion trends going on, and 2) there are very few well-preserved textile relics to work off of. As a result, the sources for Northern & Southern Dynasty clothing often bounce off of chronologically adjacent artifacts. This also means that physical garment relics that we usually depend on to learn about the patterning/construction of hanfu from that time period have to be supplemented with figurines and carvings from the time, so we can see what they were supposed to look like. There’s a lot of educated guesswork involved.

Most types of hanfu have direct garment relics that their patterns are recreated/resized from. The strictest hanfu enthusiasts—called the 形制黨/形制党/xing2 zhi4 dang3/‘form party’ (party as in like political party, not like a rave)—only recognize hanfu that are constructed identically to an archaeological source, because a physical reference is the only surefire way to ensure that the construction is ‘correct.' All other kinds of hanfu are considered hanyuansu or modified, hanfu-influenced versions of clothing.

I used to be stricter about this too, but I realized after several years researching hanfu that when you get really deep into it, the lines become really blurry. So if you’d like to be stricter about it, feel free to consider this set hanyuansu! But because a lot of research went into it, and I personally think it's very very likely that these constructions existed, I feel more confident in calling it hanfu than guzhuang or some kind of ‘costume.’

大袖褶衣

The construction of this top is primarily based off of two archaeological relics from the Northern Dynasty: a sleeve piece and a 褶衣 (!注: 褶 is pronounced xi2 in this phrase) relic. There is very little material out there on the sleeve piece, but the Xiyi is very famous and was restored by the China Silk Museum.

褶衣/xi2 yi1/Xiyi

绞缬绢衣, 中国丝绸博物馆/China Silk Museum

This is the Xiyi. Its full technical name is the 絞纈絹衣/绞缬绢衣/jiao3 xie2 juan4 yi1/'twisted knot silk top,' but it's known colloquially as the 褶衣. Right now it's in the China Silk Museum's collection of artifacts.

It was originally excavated by the Gansu Institute of Archaeology from 甘肅花海畢家灘26號墓/甘肃花海毕家滩26号墓/gan1 su1 hua1 hai3 bi4 jia1 tan1 26 hao4 mu4/'Gansu province Huahai Bijiatan grave site #26,' which was discovered in May 2002. The burial site belonged to a woman who died in the year 377CE. A good chunk of clothing artifacts from the 魏晉南北朝 period that have been referenced in hanfu today came from this woman's tomb.

It used to look like this before it was restored by the China Silk Museum. You can read the restoration report here.

There's a whollllleeeeee textile analysis complete with microscope fiber images that I could go through here, but I'll save it for another post since my design doesn't have anything to do with the fabric of this piece, just the structure.

Now, I only used the torso portion of the Xiyi, since I used a different sleeve shape, so I won't be going over the Xiyi's sleeves either. The torso looks like this:

Fairly simple structure! It obeys all the general rules of hanfu construction. There are a few features to note though.

The back of the neck is very wide. Most open-front hanfu garments have a small gap at the top of the neckline. This garment, however, has a particularly wide gap.

There are no vents. I know it's not visible in the flat picture, but there are no side slits/vents, which is one of the main features distinguishing this piece from similar parallel-collar tops from the Song/Tang dynasties (usually known as 褙子/bei4 zi0/Beizi). This makes sense: vents are necessary for longer garments so that your hips don't get trapped, but for shorter garments they're not needed. This xiyi is 72cm long, which is still considered short.

There is no 'lan' piece. Modern convention dictates that a top with a lan piece be called a 襦/ru2 (again, modern convention in the hanfu community!!! This is not necessarily historically true). Since this top doesn't have one, it's not considered a Ru, earning its own name as the xiyi.

The root of the sleeve is narrow compared to the rest of the body. It's only about 1/3 the length of the torso.

Finally and most importantly, it's not a cross-collar garment, but the lapels aren't parallel either. Instead, they slope down diagonally from that wide-set neck and meet at a point at the bottom. There's a tiny portion that overlaps, but if you look closely you'll notice that it's actually only the trim that overlaps—if you took off the trim, the torso pieces would meet at the same point.

Keep these in mind as we move on.

錦緣綾大袖/锦缘绫大袖/jin3 yuan2 ling2 da4 xiu4/'Brocade Trim Silk Large Sleeve'

idek where I got this image, sorry

I spent a full three days scouring the internet for metadata on this thing (until I got hit with a 24-hour migraine and had to stop ;-;). It's a sleeve piece from the Northern & Southern Dynasties called the 錦緣綾大袖. Unfortunately, there is very very very little information out there about it.

From what I could find, this is because 1) it isn't a archaeological artifact excavated post-revolution (which is usually the case), it was an heirloom and doesn't have very good digital records, and 2) it is allegedly in Japan, and I don't know Japanese so I'm not very good at finding information in Japanese. Do not quote me on either of those points; I could be misinformed, but I wasn't able to find anything else.

According to 大唐女儿行/大唐女兒行/da4 tang2 nv3 er2 xing2, a book by 左丘萌 (Zuo Qiumeng) and 末春 (Mo Chun) published by Tsinghua University Press, this sleeve piece is in the Nara Shosoin Repository's southern warehouse collection, and was shown during the 58th annual Shosoin Repository Exhibit.

However, I looked up the records of the artifacts shown during the 58th annual exhibit and this artifact is not on the showing list, and I went through three separate databases of Shosoin relics and found nothing, so I have my doubts about the accuracy of this citation.

So all I have is this picture, which has been passed around the hanfu community for ages. Fortunately, that's basically enough: 90% of hanfu sleeve pieces are constructed the same way, just in different shapes. So probably if you unfolded it, it'd look like this:

This shape is called 窄臂大袖/zhai3 bi4 da4 xiu4/'narrow upper-arm large sleeve,' because, well, it's narrow at the upper arm but wide at the sleeve opening. This differs from later-dynasty wide sleeves, which do increase in width as you get closer to the cuff, but start out fairly large as well. The shape is backed up by a boatload of figurines wearing the same structure from the Northern & Southern Dynasties.

Putting It Together

Okay, we've got a sleeve reference, and we've got a torso reference, and they both existed at the same time. That's... all of the parts we need to make a whole top! Here is the approximate franken-hanfu chimera we have put together:

But how likely is it that this combination existed?

Pretty likely, actually, if we look at some corroborating evidence. Here is an article about 袴褶装/ku4 xi2 zhuang1 by the National Museum of China. 袴褶装 is a type of outfit (in the sense that t-shirt-and-jeans is a type of outfit) often worn by Northern & Southern Dynasty figurines. 袴 is the archaic form of 褲/裤 which means pants. 褶 refers to the 褶衣 from the previous section. 袴褶装 is the combination of these two garments in an outfit.

According to the article, 袴褶装 was a clothing trend that originated in the north, where nomadic tribes who were often on horseback (some still are today!) preferred to wear pants and shorter tops for convenience. This later got adopted by the Central Plains people, and the pants and sleeves got wider and wider—so it's very conceivable that a xiyi with wider sleeves than this relic existed.

Here are some figurine pictures from all over China:

L: 陶文吏俑，北齐，徐州博物馆，1985？徐州狮子山北朝墓出土 (Ceramic Statue of Civil Official, Northern Qi, Xuzhou Museum, excavated 1985？from the Lion Mountain site in Xuzhou, Jiangsu)

C: 侍从陶俑，北魏，中国国家博物馆，1965年河南省洛阳市元邵墓出土 (Ceramic Statue of Attendant, Northern Wei, National Museum of China, excavated 1965 from the Yuanshao site in Luoyang, Henan)

R: 陶彩绘男俑，北魏，故宫博物院 (Colored Ceramic Statue of a Man, Northern Wei, China National Palace Museum)

So! I think that this combination is more than plausible. Take a look at these ones:

L: 陶女俑，东晋，中国国家博物馆，1955年江苏南京出土 (Ceramic Statue of a Woman, Northern Wei, National Museum of China, excavated 1955 from Nanjing, Jiangsu)

R: 彩绘陶女立俑，北朝，徐州博物徐州馆，茅村内华北朝墓出土 (Colored Ceramic Statue of Standing Woman, Northern Dynasty, Xuzhou Museum，excavated from Mao town site in Xuzhou)

Notice how the wide-set collar allows a little bit of the inside clothing (camisole? Undershirt? Who knows) to peek out at the chest. The wide skirt head of this set's skirt peeks out at the top in the same way :)

Materials & Details

The fabric used for these tops is called 百合緞/bai3 he2 duan4/‘lily satin’ in Chinese, but a lot of colloquial fabric names don’t transfer well between languages. It’s a sheer polyester fabric that’s somewhere between satin and organza. I’ve heard similar fabrics referred to as crystal organza. It has a very pretty liquid-like shimmer to it on the right side, which I felt was good for representing our ethereal water-bending snake spirits.

I went through dozens of fabrics trying to find the right texture that was available in the green-blue color needed for Xiaoqing, but fabrics of this kind often only come in macaron pastel colors. The targeted color was very specific—too green and it would no longer be 青, too blue and it wouldn’t match Dragun’s coloring. In the end, I had the color’s CMYK code custom printed onto white base fabric, then sent it off to be cut & sewn (by hanfu tailor workshop in Nanjing).

There is also trim sewn onto the collar (出芽/chu1 ya2) and sleeve cuffs, which is made from a beautiful red damask with cloud patterns woven into it. This pattern is a Ming Dynasty cloud pattern called the 四合如意雲紋.

These embroidered sleeves are one of the most costly parts of the set.

I drew the embroidery pattern by hand on a raster file over the course of a few weeks (I use a tablet + Clip Studio Paint pro), then worked with an embroidery workshop in Quanzhou to digitize it.

In the process of embroidering Xiaoqing's top, the fabric got snagged in the machine, and ripped a hole in the front of the right sleeve, which was very sad. There wasn't enough time to remake the whole thing before the shoot.

We rescued it by undoing the seam, chopping a portion of the sleeve off, and re-sewing it back together, resulting in a narrower sleeve opening than the white top (thank you workshop in Xuzhou!!!). The difference barely shows up on camera because it was so wide in the first place.

九破後褶裙

This is the garment that has the most guesswork associated with it, so it's the one that's least plausibly 'hanfu,' because I guessed a lot of it and pieced together a lot of sources to make it happen.

I was originally inspired by 玩泥巴的豆角 (user 'String Bean Playing with Mud') on Weibo. She's an incredibly talented historical costume enthusiast who's been the first to recreate tons of rarely-made hanfu pieces in addition to historical clothing from Korea, Vietnam, Japan, Europe, and recently Mongolia. She's also done handcrafted textiles, shoes, and other accessories. If you can read Chinese I highly recommend going through her posts but be careful because if you're like me you'll get sucked in and then neglect your homework for like a week.

This is a post that I saw back in 2023. She points out a kind of skirt often seen in Northern Dynasty figurines that has narrow pleats in the back but not in the front:

太原北齐东安王娄睿墓单螺髻侍女俑（505，508）/ Northern Qi Taiyuan Dong'an Wang Lourui Burial Site（artifact 505, 508)

She posits that there are two likely possibilities for the construction of this skirt: the 破裙/po4 qun2/'broken skirt' structure or the 百迭裙/bai3 die2 qun2/hundred-layer skirt structure (more on that later). Her recreation is structured closer to the Song Dynasty baidiequn skirt structure, with the reasoning that it would be easier to modify into a poqun later if an excavation ever came out confirming that it was a poqun, but it would be much harder to turn a poqun back into a baidiequn.

玩泥巴的豆角's image, linework of figurines with pleated-back skirts

For various reasons, one of which being that I'm not claiming this to be historically immaculate, I wanted to explore the possibility of a poqun structure. In addition, I actually do think that this pleated-back skirt is more likely to be a poqun than a Song baidiequn.

My understanding is that the baidiequn structure, which is essentially a long rectangle with pleats on it that gets wrapped around your waist, only got trendy in the Song Dynasty. There's a report of a few rectangular pleated skirts from the Tang Dynasty Famensi site (Shing Mueller, Center for Sinology, University of Munich) as well, but not much before that, and the pleats are very wide compared to a baidiequn.

Poqun, however, have been around since at least the Warring States period. We know this because of the several excavated artifacts from the Warring States Period, the Han Dynasty, the Jin Dynasty, and the Tang Dynasty. (The Warring States Period is wayyyyy before the Northern Dynasty.) Since time only moves in one direction, I think it makes more sense to assume that an older cut of clothing still existed in a time period after there's evidence that it existed, rather than before.

What's a poqun anyway? I like to describe it as Ye Olde Circle Skirt (sector skirt if you want to be pedantic about it). It's a way to make the flared circle skirt pattern happen at a time when your fabric is only 74cm wide: you cut out a bunch of trapezoids, sew them together, and end up with this sunburst shape. Trim the hem and you've got what's essentially a partial circle skirt.

L: 江陵馬山楚墓深黄絹單裙（N-17-3), 中國古代服飾研究 p. 92, 沈從文 / Jiangling Mashan Chu Kingdom burial site dark yellow unlined skirt (N-17-3), Research in Ancient Chinese Fashion p. 92, Shen Congwen

R: 長沙馬王堆漢墓單裙，中國古代服飾研究 p. 159，沈從文 / Changsha Mawangdui Han burial site unlined skirt, Research in Ancient Chinese Fashion p. 159, Shen Congwen

The two complete poqun skirts excavated before the Northern Dynasty are a four-panel underskirt from 馬王堆漢墓/马王堆汉墓/ma3 wang2 dui1 han4 mu4/Mawangdui Han Dynasty burial site in Changsha, and an eight-panel skirt from 江陵馬山楚墓/江陵马山楚墓/jiang1 ling2 ma3 shan1 chu3 mu4/Jiangling Mashan Kingdom of Chu burial site. Later Tang Dynasty artifacts also show poqun with 12, 16, even 32 panels, often alternating colors. You'll notice that most of these are even-numbered, because the trapezoids are made by splitting one rectangular piece of fabric into two trapezoids with a diagonal line.

So why is my design nine panels?

Here's my reasoning: First, I knew I wanted to stay around 8 panels, which seems like a reasonable number based on artifacts at the time (chronologically 8, 4, 6, 6, 12).

The 9th piece was inserted because of how pleating works. If you want full parallel knife pleats without messing with the symmetry, the fabric has to be rectangular. So one of my pieces has to be a rectangle, and it has to be in the middle. If I want the number of panels on each side of this rectangle to be the same (for symmetry), there's going to have to be an odd number of panels.

Now let's decide what's going on on either side of this pleated rectangle. Say we've inserted the rectangle in the middle of a uniform 8-panel poqun, which was my original intention. That means we get 4 panels on each side of the rectangle:

Traditionally, the panels are always right trapezoids. But now there's a problem: the legs of these two adjacent trapezoids are not the same length, so the angle of curvature on each side of the rectangle is different.

What if we turn the trapezoids on one side around, so that it's symmetrical? Well, now we have another problem: the different parts of the skirt are different lengths.

All right, so the problem is that the legs of the trapezoids are different lengths. Easy fix: use isosceles trapezoids instead.*

*Worried about fabric waste? Don't be! What do you get when you chop an isosceles trapezoid in half! Two right trapezoids. You can still use the same technique :) I just didn't for this skirt because lazy.

Lastly, to make it easier to do math, and since I've already bastardized the traditional poqun cut anyway, I made the last two panels rectangles (these will overlap with each other when the skirt is put on). This is to make it so that the number of rectangles and the number of trapezoids are both divisible by 3 (makes it easier to adjust calculations based on peoples' measurements).

This is the final structure of the skirt body:

What about the skirt head? One of the reference images on the Weibo post clearly showed thick shoulder straps on a chest-high skirt style. This is the style that op recreated. Most people consider chest-high skirts a marker of the Tang Dynasty, but skirt bands were migrating locations way before then.

河南洛阳朱仓北朝墓，新浪河南 / Zhucangcun, Luoyang, Henan Northern Dynasty Burial Site, Sina Henan

In 2022, a stone bedframe (artifact M260) from the Northern Dynasty was excavated in Zhucangcun, Luoyang, Henan. It was carved all over with unusually clear reliefs. One part of it depicted court ladies:

河南洛阳朱仓北朝墓，新华网 / Zhucangcun, Luoyang, Henan Northern Dynasty Burial Site, Xinhua News Network

As you can see, a very wide skirt head is clearly worn and tied over the chest. So let's tack a wide skirt head and some ribbons onto this thing. And because nobody has time to deal with chest high skirts falling down, a pair of adjustable shoulder straps. I wanted them to be adjustable so mine are very thin, but the existence of shoulder straps in general is supported by wall art and figurines, especially in combination with this back-pleated skirt.

Shitty brainstorming pen & paper sketches by me

That's the whole skirt! Congratulations.

After a shit ton of geometry and working with hanfu patternmakers from Fujian to CAD the design out digitally, each of these panels were printed directionally with a custom gradient onto satin, laser-cut (by fabric workshop in Shaoxing), and sewn together (by hanfu tailor workshop in Yangzhou) :)

腰封 & 披帛

I am unbelievably tired after writing all that and also I'm at tumblr's image limit so I will just put these pictures here so you can admire the pretty embroidery on the pretty fabric.

A yaofeng is a wide waist sash or 'corset belt' style thing. A pibo or peizi is a long piece of flowy fabric that acts as a shawl that women carry on their shoulders or elbows. The pibo didn't make it onto the set, but the yaofeng did. Its design is not that interesting (it's an extremely wide hexagon with ribbons sticking out of it to tie on your waist) so I will just let you use your eyes.

-

If you made it this far without your eyes bleeding you're doing better than me! This is the most technical part of the series—not much artsy symbolism going on but a lot of hanfu archaeology work. I am again very tired after writing this and am not sure if some of it is incomprehensible, but feel free to send me asks and stuff about it :) Only one post left to wrap it all together!

1 Introduction & Presentation // 2 Background & Influences // 3 Hair & Makeup // 4 Set Design // 5 Clothes & Accessories // 6 Conclusion

[failbettergames]

Estival: The Sixth Coil

The Tiger Keeper rises to his hind legs. "London!" He is bellowing now, gold eyes alight with zeal. "The Sixth Coil is opening at last!”

Summer of 1899 has come around again, and with it, Estival:  a time of celebration, intrigue, and, historically, disaster. This year, something stirs beneath the Labyrinth of Tigers, and London is awash with striped and toothy visitors. 

Closed to all visitors since the Fall, the Sixth Coil of the Labyrinth is opening at last – and the Court of the Wakeful Eye is holding a grand tournament to celebrate the occasion. The Coilheart Games will soon commence!

Delegations will soon arrive from all across the Neath: the tomb-colonies, the Khanate, the Wakeful Eye itself. Lend your support to your favoured competitors in events that span disciplines physical and mental. Throw your own hat into the ring, and compete for a share of the riches of the Sixth Coil. Investigate the visiting delegations, and the mysteries stirring deep in the Labyrinth. And when the Games are over, the Sixth Coil will open at long, long last.

What is Estival?

The Sixth Coil is Fallen London's summer Estival for 2024, beginning on the 1st of August. It's a free, limited-time mass-participation event, open to players of all levels.

Our annual summer festival is different to all others in Fallen London; it changes every year, both mechanically and in theme. In previous years we’ve excavated holes all over London (unlocking new activities), raised a Museum which became a permanent location in the city, and warred with Starved men from the Roof.

We expect Estival to last around two weeks, with new activities and mysteries opening up as time passes. It'll remain open for a few days after its conclusion for you to catch up and pick up any last rewards. 

In previous years, your participation has affected the pacing of the event. This year, however, your efforts will determine not when events progress, but how: the winners of each of the Games' four disciplines will be determined by your actions. Offer your allies chess tips from the Boatman. Test their scientific hypotheses in your lab. Defeat their nightmares, so they might fight unimpeded. And – perhaps most dangerously of all – influence the fickle attentions of the Captivating Princess. It is all to play for.

As with previous summer events, we will eventually bring the memory of this one to the Waswood, to allow you to revisit the story and obtain some (but not all) of the event's items, should you miss it.

New Items and Equipment

Items from previous summers will be available again, alongside six new items of equipment to collect. These can be purchased with Estival Tokens, the currency of our summer events. You'll receive 30 Estival Tokens for free this year, and more can be purchased for Fate. As always, you will be able to use any Estival Tokens left over from previous years.

In addition, owners of the Winking Gemstone Ring and the Strangling WIllow Ring – both items that were recently moved to the Adornment slot – will be able to swap them for new Gloves that offer the same bonuses, if they wish.

Finally, there'll be several unique qualities and items of equipment that can be earned by participating in this year's Estival storyline.

We hope you enjoy the Coilheart Games, and the opening of the Sixth Coil! As always, this is an experiment in finding new ways to surprise and delight you. We hope that among the action, events, intrigues and competition, there will be something for everybody to enjoy.

[chaotic-archaeologist]

So to make a long story semi short; during fall term a couple unknowing found a set of mastodon teeth and brought to my anthropology professor at the college, since then they conducted some field work and found more bone. They obviously stopped because of winter but in summer the college will be offering a field work class to go help at the site. I want to do that, but as mentioned before I have Cerebral Palsy which means I don't have a lot of upper body strength or flexibility. But I can still do a lot. My I guess problem is my Professors respect me and that's hard for me to get with all the ableism and I worked hard these last two semesters to break out of my shell to get here , I guess I just don't want to 1. make a fool of myself 2. be a hindrance and/or mess something up

any advice?

This sounds like an incredible opportunity, and I would definitely encourage you to pursue it! I hear your concerns about embarrassing yourself and being a hindrance, but I think you should reframe your thinking around facts that 1) everybody deserves learning experiences regardless of their physical ability, and 2) there are things you can do that will be an asset to the excavation.

Some of these things include taking notes and photographs, documenting and storing finds, and working with any digital tools like GPS units. You may also be able to do lab work and different kinds of analysis, depending on what they find and how they run the program. A good supervisor (although not all are created equal) will be willing to work with you to come up with a plan for how you can participate and what that will look like.

Usually, classes like this have applications where students list their relevant coursework and write a brief personal statement about why they want to participate. There are a couple of ways you could go about this in regards to disclosing your disability and seeking accommodations. You can either:

Disclose early: this would entail including something about your disability in your personal statement, in an email to the professor running the dig, etc.

Disclose later: submit your application without mentioning your disability. Feel free to mention how hard you've worked to get where you are, and if you want to talk about vague challenges with your health as part of that, it's up to you. If you are accepted to the dig, ask for a meeting with the supervisor where you can then explain your needs and what you are able to do.

Generally, I advise erring on the side of disclosing later rather than earlier. As I'm sure you're aware, prejudice and implicit bias are unfortunately a thing, and sometimes the only way to protect yourself from those impeding your application is to withhold information (although obviously this isn't an option if the professor already knows you). Additionally, you have legal protections against discrimination that are much easier to enforce after you have been accepted.

That being said, I've been heartened to see that more and more people in archaeology spaces are thinking about what accessibility means in field settings and how to include people with disabilities.—perhaps this is also the case with whoever is running this dig. Archaeology is for everyone, and there are many roles in an excavation for someone who can't do physical labor.

Finally, I'll close with some resources that might be helpful.

The Disabled Archaeologists Network: while I don't think they have a ton of programming for undergraduates (yet), membership is free and can put you in touch with

Field Tested: an article about a disabled student who was able to participate in a geology field school (similar levels of work to an archaeology one). It discusses some of the accommodations the student needed, and what they were able to do.

Here's an article by Dr. Anita Marshall, the professor who ran that accessible field school. Its content isn't substantially different from the one I linked above, but at the end it also cites some good literature about accessibility in field work. You should be able to access a lot of those publications through your institution's library or @jstor's free (or institutional) service.

Good luck, -Reid

[whencyclopedia]

Temple at Uppsala

The Temple at Uppsala was a religious center dedicated to the Norse gods Thor, Odin, and Freyr located in what is now Gamla Uppsala in Sweden. It is described by the 11th-century historian Adam of Bremen as the most significant pagan site in the region and was destroyed by the Christian King Inge the Elder c. 1080.

The site is also referenced in the Ynglinga Saga of the Heimskringla written by the Icelandic mythographer Snorri Sturluson (l. 1179-1241) and the Gesta Danorum of Saxo Grammaticus (l. c. 1160 - c. 1220). In every case, it is associated with the gods of the Norse religion and in Adam and Saxo with human sacrifice. At the time Adam was writing (c. 1070), Christianity was still contending with the old Norse beliefs for supremacy in the region, while in Saxo’s time, it was more established. Both wrote from a Christian point of view and so cast the temple and its rites in a negative light. Sturluson was recounting ancient myths for his age and so humanized the gods, making deities like Odin into great kings of the past rather than gods and so avoided having to demonize the site for a Christian audience.

Sturluson’s treatment of Uppsala drew on folklore and legend which maintained that the three gods the site was sacred to – Thor, Odin, and Freyr – were buried there each under one of the Royal Mounds, three large burial mounds still extant. These mounds were later associated with the early kings of the Dynasty of the Ynglings and so linked them with the historical monarchy of Sweden. Excavations of the mounds and site in the 19th century proved them to be burial mounds for royalty, but the remains, some cremated, could not be identified. Still, linking the site with ancient kings, rather than gods, further distanced Uppsala from an association with Norse religion.

The site is thought to have been modeled on Norse cosmography as it had a sacred well beneath a great tree, mirroring the World Tree Yggdrasil, which contained the Nine Realms of Norse cosmology, rising above Urd’s Well (the well of fate), manifesting the invisible realm on the physical plane. The site continued its religious importance in the Christian era when a church was built on or near the location of the ancient temple, and Gamla Uppsala became the seat of the Archbishopric of Sweden up until 1273 when the seat was moved. Presently, the church is still in operation and the surrounding grounds are a popular park and tourist attraction.

Norse Cosmography & Religious Rites

In Norse belief, the visible world (Midgard) was only one of nine realms existing among the roots of the World Tree Yggdrasil. The Nine Realms were developed from an earlier vision by Sturluson, who added Hel and combined Nidavellir/Svartalfheim so that, by the 13th century, they were:

Asgard – Realm of the Aesir, joined to Midgard by the rainbow bridge Bifröst

Alfheim – Realm of the elves

Hel – Realm of those who died of illness or old age and then of most people

Jotunheim – Realm of the giants and frost giants

Midgard – Realm of the humans between Asgard and Jotunheim

Muspelheim – Realm of fire, the fire giant Surtr, and Surtr's forces of chaos

Nidavellir/Svartalfheim – Realm of the dwarves beneath the earth

Niflheim – Realm of ice, snow, and mist near Muspelheim

Vanaheim – Realm of the Vanir

At the beginning of time, only Yggdrasil existed, growing from the misty void of Ginnungagap which was bordered by the fiery realm of Muspelheim and the icy world of Niflheim. The fires of Muspelheim began to melt the ice of Niflheim, and the giant Ymir emerged along with the cow Audhumla who began licking the ice and revealed the god Búri. Búri mated with the giantess Bestla who gave birth to the gods Odin, Vili, and Vé. Ymir, after self-fertilizing, gave birth to the giants.

The gods killed Ymir and the other giants except two, Bergelmir and his wife, whose offspring would become the enemies of the gods. After their victory, the gods created the other realms and the first humans – Ask and Embla – establishing order over the primordial chaos. Midgard was connected to Asgard by the bridge Bifröst, allowing the gods easy access to the world so they could quickly respond to any threats to their human creations. Prior to making any important decisions regarding humans or anything else, the gods would confer at Urd’s Well, a spring in the roots of Yggdrasil near the hall of the Norns (Fates) who wove the destinies of all things. The Norns were Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld, and their decisions could not be reversed.

The Norns had decreed that the gods of Asgard would only reign for a time before they and their worlds were destroyed when the forces of chaos broke free at Ragnarök. All the other realms beside Midgard and Asgard – located either underground or in remote areas – were equally accessible and interdependent to greater or lesser degrees and so all would finally be destroyed when the forces of the trickster god Loki met the gods of Asgard in battle. When this time came, humans would be able to recognize its approach by various signs in nature and their own behavior. The visible world was therefore closely connected to the unseen, and the earth was thought to be filled with all kinds of supernatural entities.

These beings needed to be honored – or placated – and Norse religious rites developed for this purpose. It is unclear what these rites were as the Norse had no written tradition, and the stories of the gods, as well as the rituals honoring them, were passed down orally through the generations. When Christianity became the dominant religion in Scandinavia, Iceland, and elsewhere, the tales were written down – usually to disparage the old faith as contrasted with the new – and reference was made to ancient rituals by Christian scribes trying to discredit them. Among these accounts is Adam of Bremen’s description of Uppsala which highlights human sacrifice and references "unseemly" incantations to emphasize the barbarity of the Norse religion as compared with Christianity.

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