#Radar Award(
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Rewatching act 2.... yeah ISHA WATCH OUT FOR THE CYCLE ISHA!!!!! NOOOOO
#ambessa setting up the logs on a fireplace while literally adding fuel to the fire with cailtyn... subtelty#silco spent his whole life trying to rile the undercity together STUPID JOKE THAT IT IS you have the chance to pull it off#isha is the true revolutionary after all... jinx get up to her level#was jinx scared of having hallucinations when the girl she released was gonna touch her shoulder??? and then she didn't#what i find really funny is that warwick knows how to use elevators and that funicular to the prison#also there is a lot of blood when he appears in the prison.... it was surprising#vander recognizing jinx with the name of powder after she complained about it eariler its just crazy crazy crazy#people commenting that its unrealistic how caitlyn bests vi when they meet in episode 6 as if there wasn't a montage about how she lost her#edge because of alcohol and living like shit.... she's not like jinx lmao....#rewatching so recently is so weird i imagine it is as close as being dr manhattan as i can get it is literally happening all at once#also the people of piltover are so dumb... lets let the government implement martial law and put this 20 something with 0 political#experience on charge with the army of this outsider agent. alright. i can tell you guys dont vote in this oligarchy you know fuck all#well i guess in that case it isnt the people of piltovers fault... just the important families that contribute in this oligarchy...#putting count fagula in charge.... salo is speciallt dumb but we all knew that#katie leung needs awards btw.... and interviews#“do not test this or you will yearn for caitlyn's dungeons” be careful singed my friend vi fell for that and look at her... her dungeons...#vander reaching for isha not jinx.... OR VI.... she just stopped him#“hes gonna kill you” and vi fighting vander to protect jinx.... yeah#and then she trusts jinx and the beast turns into vander... he serves as a recognizing tool for their true selves...#their mom being so worried about how to name vi and then names the second one POWDER kahdksjsk never not funny... also the barber of zaun#when vi joins with jayce she unlocks this loser flop aspect of her mother's inheritance.... two losers joining to maximize their joint flop#also vander kinda giving up this promise to protect the girls instead of bettering zaun... how it puts him in a standstill bc it's either or#like damn there is nothing as undoing as a daughter for reals. she didnt experience that bc she died so now vander has to and here we are#episide 6 starts with the end of the episode when viktor drops that metal piece..... hello..... is this anything#“do you think this place could work” underground utopia.... DYNASTIES AND DYSTOPIA FEAR IS NEVER AN OPTION SO DYING'S NOT A REAL PROBLEM#didnt ambessa suspect anything when they spent loke a full minite staring at each other 😭😭 she's lost her edge...#just like when she clocked sevika but not jinx... when there's a strong butch in the area her radar gets jammed up#and caitlyn leaving her weapon behind... ambessa thought she was gonna fistfight warwick or something#the metal thing falling when viktor dies repeats THREE TIMES WHAT DOES THAT MEAN#watching arcane season 2
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I still CANNOT BELIEVE the only acting award off jumpol has ever received is for his worst most boring role in astrophile, like... honestly thinking about it it's legit insulting LMAO
#axelle rants#off jumpol#astrophile#like literally giving him an award for ANY OTHER ROLE would've been better bruh what were they smoking#they just chose this show bc bright was in it so it got on their radar be FUCKING for real#to be fair off did great on astrophile but his role is literally empty bruh the writing of that show was so boring
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Read and Watch the interview here!
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How it all started. Happy anniversary to this parasocial relationship, I guess.
#samblogging#it's actually all bc of my OC#i made sam his faceclaim#i think the dec 2018 post indicates when i decided on it first#after i watched snow white & huntsman which is still one of my faves#i first saw sam in my cousin rachel in 2017 which was incidentally out in june too#i'm making june my samiversary month instead of may. it's also his bday month#so what i'm saying is sam had been on my radar for a while even tho i hadn't watched thg (bc i how i am with that series)#i watched him in peaky blinders and he blew my mind. one of his best performances#this time last year was hard tho. i thought that maybe i should just end it bc i couldn't cope#and all the while he must already have been cast as monte cristo!#and now all those amazing projects honestly i think billy dunne was just a transformative role for him. he's only coming into his prime!#the awards will come#mypost
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Interview: Gordon Cormier on Bringing Aang to Life in ‘Avatar: The Last Airbender’
Avatar: The Last Airbender kept viewers from all over the world on the edge of their seats when it premiered earlier this year, as an animated Nickelodeon classic made the jump to live-action thanks to Netflix. But the story of how Aang began to prepare for his destructive battle against Fire Lord Ozai (Daniel Dae Kim) couldn’t have been told without Gordon Cormier, the actor who stepped into the shoes of the titular hero.
Awards Radar had the opportunity to interview Cormier, who was more than excited to talk about how the Netflix series was a challenge for him as a performer. With a combination of digital and practical effects, the team behind the streaming platform’s latest hit creatively gave new meaning to the bending performed by people from the Four Nations, as Aang continued to learn how to master his powers in order to save the world.
Awards Radar: What was it like to see yourself in costume for the first time for Avatar: The Last Airbender?
Gordon Cormier: Seeing myself in costume for the first time was crazy. I was just bald! (laughs) It was awesome. I didn’t have the arrow at the time, so it wasn’t the full thing.
AR: Did you picture it in your head?
GC: Yeah! (laughs) I was like: “That arrow will be on. Give it three more days!”
AR: Could you talk about the challenges related to the physicality of the role of Aang?
GC: All the fight scenes were really complicated. I remember when I watched action fight scenes when I was younger. I thought it looked super cool, but I never thought that it would’ve taken them five days of preparation. (laughs).
AR: The friendship between Aang, Katara and Sokka had a lot of chemistry on the screen. How did the performances from your co-stars affected yours?
GC: While shooting, we were all really close. We were basically family. Bringing our lives from outside of work to inside of work was actually really easy. It made my character, and everyone else’s, really real.
AR: When Avatar: The Last Airbender is done, you’ll find yourself at a very different point of your career. What would you like to work on next?
GC: I heard Naruto was making a live-action, and I thought that would’ve been really sick. But I think they’re shooting somewhere around the time when we’ll be shooting. I’m not sure that’s something I’d be able to do. But I’ve been bingeing it lately, so if they ever want to delay it… (laughs). But doing two live-action animes would be pretty crazy. Starting with Avatar and then immediately jumping to Naruto would be fun.
AR: I spoke to Jabbar Raisani (director and future co-showrunner of Avatar: The Last Airbender) recently, and he said that you’re a brillant kid and that you have tons of imagination to work with things that aren’t present on set, but will later be inserted as digital effects. Can you talk more about your experience working with such additions?
GC: First things first, thank you, Jabbar! As a twelve-year-old, I had a pretty big imagination. I almost thought about everything like it was real. It was interesting because things like Appa were a huge upper body portion of him. And we had the giant Volume, so it felt like I was flying on top of him.
AR: What was your acting technique for the object that weren’t physically present on set?
GC: For some of the Momo scenes, we had a big green box. For others, we had a live-action doll of him. Interacting with those wasn’t really hard for me because we pictured the animated characters with the green dolls.
AR: Have you read any scripts for the second season?
GC: Netflix has my mouth sealed. But I haven’t really gotten my hands on anything yet. Hopefully, I can do that soon. But, as of now, I’m just as in the dark as you are.
AR: As a performer, what are your expectations for Aang’s emotional arc moving forward?
GC: This is all theoretical, because I don’t have any of the scripts yet. But I really want Aang to realize, from beginning to end, that he’s the Avatar. I want to see him taking care of his responsibilities. But who knows? The writers are very smart and creative, they might find something new to do. Or they might do exactly what I guessed. It’s all up in the air.
AR: This has been the biggest role of your career. What was it like for you to find out you were going to play Aang?
GC: It was huge because I was a little twelve-year-old. This was my first ever big role. To take on something so big with a beloved fan base was really interesting, life-changing and awesome because it’s a huge role to take on. I’m kind of just realizing that now.
AR: Throw someone under the bus. Who was the smelliest person on set. Because those wear heavy outfits in hot temperatures outdoors and in the studio.
GC: I’ll tell you who smelled really good! (laughs) Almost everyone had amazing fragances. The first time that we did an event together was TUDUM, and my dad picked up on Dallas’ cologne, he immediately got it. And I think Ian was wearing something, I don’t know. But the whole crew and cast is crazy with their fragances, and they got me on it now. They recruited me. They got hooked on everything. Now I go to cologne stores sometimes (laughs).
AR: After you got the role, how did you perfect all the mannerisms and ways of presenting yourself that became very tied to Aang in this series.
GC: It was a lot of stage directions. Because in the script, we have little thingies under our lines telling us what oiur characters do and how they’re reacting. I kind of went off of those a lot. But it was also some of my creativity depeding on what happened in the scenes. It was cool figuring it all out.
AR: We all know how Aang’s love life goes in the animated series. But if you could ship him from any character from this world, who would it be and why?
GC: Oh! That’s gotta be a no comment! (laughs). I’m sorry, man! Netflix has my hands tied!
AR: Have you played the Fortnite Avatar: The Last Airbender update?
GC: Actually, not yet! I had to stop gaming because, when I was really young, I was really obsesed with Fortnite. A lot of friends are telling me that they’re buying the Avatar skin, so it’s been really interesting!
AR: You were addicted to it, and now that you’re in it, you can’t play it?
GC: Yeah! It’s kind of those things, almost ironic, because I was so into it and I realized that I almost had a problem. Because I wasn’t submitting my homework. Now it’s the time when I should be playing, but I’m not playing Fortnite.
AR: Do you think your interest in colognes is filling the void left by Fortnite?
GC: I’m not going to say anything specific, but yes, a little. (laughs).
AR: Can you talk about your impressions when it comes to the writing on Avatar: The Last Airbender? Do you rely more on the stage directions given to you by directors or on what’s written on the page?
GC: On the table reads, everyone gets together and we read the scripts while getting familiarized with the stage directions. But on set, the directors sometimes tell me if I misinterpreted something, ot if a creative decision isn’t going as well as I thought I would go in my head.
AR: When you had scenes with Dallas, who plays Zuko in Avatar: The Last Airbender, what was that relationship like on set?
GC: Dallas told me his experience for this, because it was really funny. I remember that, on the day, he would just be giving me the cold shoulder. As a twelve-year-old, I didn’t know what it was. But it really helped him get into character. I was trying to talk to him and, at the same time, I was bringing out my Aang. I was trying to reach out while Zuko tries to shove Aang away. I think that worked out really well and it helped with our performances.
AR: Netflix owns live sports now. You should settle your differences by wrestling.
GC: (laughs) Dallas would crush me with his pinkie, I would walk in, extremely confident, after a six-week boot camp. And he’d say: “Hey, look over there!” Pow! (punches the air). I’d go out like a light.
#natla#atla#avatar the last airbender#netflix avatar#avatar netflix#netflix atla#atla netflix#gordon cormier#interview#awards radar
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#when i was in high school i played a party game with some of my classmates at a get-together where you had to rank people on questions#yearbook style awards really. whos the most handsome. who's the most annoying etc etc#i flew under everyone's radar except for the question who do you think will die a widow#i dont know. i think about that alot. because i was still so unsure of myself and my relationship to gender and sexuality#it sort of felt like everyone in the room pointed a finger at me and labled me UNLOVABLE#and sure. the events of a house party in 2017 shouldn't still effect my day to day life but its sort of hard to ignore that feeling#it wasn't an especially kind thing to leave me with when i graduated and went off to college#i never tried dating in college. i think that unlovable label sort of hung over my head for my entire formal education#i had friends who did date during college. with varying degrees of success. and im really happy for them#but i couldn't bring myself to try and put myself out there. i didnt feel like i was a suitable enough person to even attempt it#idk. then covid hit and i jjst dont enjoy meeting new people#and now im 24. my little sister has more dating experience under her belt and I'm really starting to love up to that dying as a widow omen#whatever. i dont wanna be annoying and sad on everyones feeds I know thats bad manners#but i dont talk about it and ive been thinking about it alot#ill delete this later or something. if i remember to#personal
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jacob elordi bafta nominee iktr!!!
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i know that a lot of film people note that you don't really get like. movie MAGIC or a sense of authenticity in movies and i dont think that's UNtrue but i also don't think it's wholly true either. idk. there's stuff out there, even stuff that you can go see in theaters sometimes that really does evoke a sense of like oh this is a MOVIE. this is a great experience and there was so much work and love put in here and it kind of radiates through the screen as you watch
#like i get marvel fatigue and reboots and remakes and a lot of stuff that feels like soulless cash grabs but#even between the range of stuff that we saw in awards season AND independently made stuff that flew under the radar#i dont know. you can always find something to feel excited about in any contemporary era i think#there are a lot of people who love that they do and what they make and they do it WELL#and it can be anything from a critically-acclaimed super polished production to a low-budget genre love letter that seems a little rough#and anything in between!
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NASA Awards Contract for Earth Radar Data Operations Management
NASA has awarded a contract to the University of Alaska at Fairbanks, Alaska, for the continued development and operation of the Synthetic Aperture Radar Distributed Active Archive Center for NASA’s Earth Observing System Data and Information System. from NASA https://ift.tt/U4lZCFE
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Beebadoobee【Talk】和訳解説 人生を楽しむ私たち We Who Enjoy Life
Beebadoobee【Talk】和訳解説 人生を楽しむ私たち We Who Enjoy Life Lyraのブログへ #beabadoobee #ビーバドゥービー #talk #beatpia #DirtyHit #Lice #PatchedUp #Loveworm #RadarAward #SpaceCadet #NME #OurExtendedPlay #beatpia #TheSmashingPumpkins #SonicYouth #MyBloodyValentine #ElliottSmith #BeatriceKristiIlejayLaus
絶対に前作より音の厚みが増した! 今流行りのベッドルームソングよりロック色強めになっているのが嬉しい。まあ流行りも嫌いではないが、Rockな女と呼ばれて来た身としては聴いていてこちらの方が居心地が良い。 よりパワフルになった2nd アルバムをリリースしたBeabadoobee。 Lyraが大好きなあの男達のバンドの音に近いから郷愁の念に駆られるこの曲を今日は和訳しちゃう! (more…) “”
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#beabadoobee#Beatpia#Beatrice Kristi Ilejay Laus#Beebadoobee【Talk】和訳解説 人生を楽しむ私たち We Who Enjoy Life#coffee#Coffee beabadoobee#Dirty Hit#Dirty Hit: Lice#elliott smith#Lice#Loveworm#My Bloody Valentine#NME#Our Extended Play#Patched Up#Radar Award beabadoobee#Radar Award(#Sonic Youth#Space Cadet#The Smashing Pumpkins#ビーバドゥービー#ベアトリス・クリスティ・イレジャイ・ラウス
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Should I post my SNTV album concept edit tonight?
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PERSEPHONE — ryomen sukuna x female reader [chapter 1]
summary: ryomen sukuna, ruthless tycoon of the alcohol industry, is used to crushing rivals. but when his former meek secretary walks into his office as his newest competitor, he’s blindsided. you’ve transformed into a powerful force, ready to go head-to-head in a high-stakes battle for dominance. as tension rises between you — both in business and something far more dangerous — sukuna realizes this fight might cost him more than just his empire.
content warnings & tags: enemies to lovers, modern au, business tycoon sukuna, mentions of depression and alcoholism, angst, slow-burn, mentions of other jujutsu kaisen characters (suguru geto, choso kamo, yuuji itadori) - this takes place in the same universe as my upcoming salaryman!choso fanfic
word count: 6,203 words
notes: and the award of best liar goes to.....in my defense i needed a break from all the smut writing, so please! please, enjoy the first official chapter of an impulse project. there will be multiple parts to it, so worry not! and please, grill me in the comments. get as critical as you can get, i need the advice. thank you for reading!
masterlist
"you’re fuckin’ shit at your job! pathetic, you hear? if i see you here ever again, god so help me, you’ll never find another job again."
those words still echoed in your mind. sukuna's sneer, the disgust that dripped off every syllable. that day, three years ago, you were swiftly replaced, just another disposable pawn in his empire. it wasn’t that you lacked skills. in fact, you were precise, efficient — everything a good secretary should be. but no one could keep up with him. sukuna’s fiery temper was like a storm you never saw coming. always brewing, always on the verge of eruption. the minute you faltered, even slightly, he was there, leaning over your desk, barking down at you like you were nothing.
the flashbacks always left a sour taste in your mouth, but you weren’t the same cowering woman anymore. back then, the memory of his cruel words had left you teary-eyed in the restroom stalls, wiping away mascara smudges and biting back sobs. but after you left, you swore you’d prove him wrong. you refused to be just another forgotten casualty in sukuna’s warpath.
and now, you had your own wine company.
persephone.
sukuna found the name laughable at first, but the numbers? they didn’t lie. your brand was making waves, quickly becoming a sensation in the high-end wine scene. it wasn’t just some trendy label either — it had substance. the quality was undeniable, and the industry was taking note. especially his industry.
“fuckin’ ‘persephone,’ huh?” sukuna muttered under his breath, leaning back in his sleek office chair. he was alone, fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest, his expression unreadable. “she’s really givin’ me a run for my money now.” he chuckled, but it wasn’t from amusement. it was that low, dangerous sound he made when something — or someone — was starting to piss him off.
he was the king of the alcohol game, dammit. ryomen had become a powerhouse in just four years, dominating the market with everything from vodka to rum, sake to whiskey. his brand wasn’t just a name; it was a status symbol. people flaunted his bottles like designer bags. you had ryomen on your bar? you were in a different league.
but lately, his sales were dipping in a very specific category. wine. your wine.
“you’re tellin’ me,” he grumbled, looking at the sales report, “that some chick i fired is takin’ a bite outta my profits? unbelievable.”
his current secretary, a polished woman with the demeanor of a robot, stood nearby, silent. she knew better than to interject when sukuna was simmering like this.
“it’s just wine, boss. nothing we can’t —”
“shut the fuck up,” he snapped, cutting her off. “i’ll tell you when it’s ‘nothing.’ right now, it’s a goddamn problem.”
his thoughts raced. part of him hated the fact that you were even on his radar again. you, the same woman who used to flinch when he raised his voice, the one who could barely get out an apology without her hands trembling. he could still remember how you’d stammer through excuses when he’d tear into you for something as simple as a typo in an email.
“god, she was useless,” he muttered to himself, leaning forward and running a hand through his pink hair. but then, a frown crept across his face. useless… or just unlucky enough to work under him?
he shook his head. no, he wasn’t going down that road. feelings, regret, all that emotional bullshit — none of it mattered. it only got in the way of the goal. sukuna was focused, driven, and nothing could pull him off track.
except maybe you.
he hadn’t dwelled on it much back then, too busy building his empire. but now, here you were, with your fancy brand and your goddamn ‘persephone’ label, threatening the wine segment he’d dominated for years.
“she must think she’s somethin’ special,” sukuna muttered under his breath, a smirk playing on his lips. “bet she’s struttin’ around now, huh? all high and mighty.”
he could imagine it — you, standing in front of a boardroom, confident, assured, looking down on everyone the way you probably thought he’d done to you. but that wasn’t going to last.
he rose from his chair, walking over to the window of his penthouse office that overlooked the city skyline. night was starting to fall, and the lights of the city below twinkled like stars.
“well, brat,” he said quietly to himself, voice low and dangerous, “you better enjoy it while it lasts. ‘cause when i’m done with you, you’ll wish i never fired you in the first place.”
he smirked at his own reflection in the glass. maybe he’d underestimated you back then. maybe he’d been too quick to write you off. but that didn’t change the fact that he was going to crush you now.
and this time, he wouldn’t even need to raise his voice.
saying that you were fucked was the understatement of the century.
the alcohol industry? you picked it on purpose — almost like tempting fate itself. it started innocently enough, with your last paycheck crumpled in your hand, drowning your sorrows in ryomen wine — the same wine you used to grab for sukuna when he’d bark orders at you. you swore you could still hear his voice every time you cracked open a bottle. the sharp aftertaste didn’t help, either. you switched to other brands when your wallet allowed: cloudy bay sauvignon blanc, stags' leap cabernet sauvignon, anything that felt like an escape from his shadow. but your funds ran dry faster than you expected, and soon enough, you found yourself back at your mother’s place, sulking like some NEET loser who couldn't face the real world.
and sukuna? that scumbag was true to his word. not only had he fired you with no remorse, but he made damn sure no one else would touch you with a ten-foot pole. rumors spread fast, and he made sure every single one painted you as the problem. you couldn’t get a job to save your life. so, you hustled. babysitting, tutoring, walking dogs — you did whatever you could just to scrape by. but it was humiliating, feeling like you were clawing at survival while your old boss sat on his throne, sipping his overpriced sake and not giving a second thought to you.
the worst part? you craved a drink. every time you got a little extra cash, you were tempted to blow it on just a bottle of something — anything — to numb the exhaustion. but your mother’s concerned eyes on your gaunt face made you stop. she was already worried enough.
then, one night, as you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone in your cramped childhood bedroom, you stumbled across a buzzfeed article: "how to make your own wine in ten easy steps!"
it was absurd — who the hell makes wine from scratch? but you clicked it anyway. the gears in your brain started turning as you read it over. step by step, you memorized every detail. the next morning, you raided the supermarket like a woman possessed, stuffing your cart with grapes, yeast, and whatever else you could get your hands on. you were going to make your own wine, because if you couldn’t afford it anymore, then screw it — you’d just make the damn thing.
you spent hours in the kitchen, your hands moving frantically, following the recipe to the letter. and somehow, against all odds, the first batch tasted… good. like, really good. your mother, usually uptight about everything you did, even cracked a rare smile when she tasted it.
“this is actually delicious,” she admitted, setting the glass down. “you should bring some to my gardening club next week. the ladies would love this.”
it was a small suggestion, but it lit a fire in you. making those first few test bottles for her friends? it wasn’t just a distraction anymore. it was the first real sense of purpose you’d felt in months. and when they praised it — truly praised it — you realized this wasn’t just a hobby. this was your way out. your way to rewrite the script that sukuna had burned into your life. you weren’t just going to survive. you were going to live.
what you didn’t expect was for your little wine experiment to become such a big hit.
the ladies from your mom’s gardening club practically lost their minds over your creation. they praised your "natural talent" for winemaking, showering you with compliments and, more importantly, money. they insisted you make more, some even handing over cash in advance just to guarantee their next bottle. you were floored. you could practically hear the sound of money flowing in as you eagerly took order after order, working day and night in your makeshift wine lab — your old side hustles as a barista and a dog poop scooper long forgotten.
now? you were a businesswoman, and damn if you didn’t love saying it. your mom did too. she proudly bragged about you to anyone who would listen. whenever someone asked that tired, familiar question — "what’s your daughter been up to these days?" — your mom would light up, puffing her chest with pride as she told them all about her daughter’s successful wine venture.
time blurred as you threw yourself into your work, orders coming in steadily, and with them, a steady income. it wasn’t long before you had enough to take your mom out for a nice dinner — your treat. the look of pride on her face when the waiter handed you the bill? priceless. you didn’t even feel the pull to drown your sorrows in alcohol anymore. sukuna’s wine? fuck that. the high you got from creating something that people loved, the thrill of turning your passion into profit — that was better than any drink could ever be. but, of course, ambition is a funny thing. once you start getting a taste of success, you start wondering — what if i could get higher?
that’s when suguru geto crash-landed into your life. literally.
one day, his car broke down in front of your house, a random stroke of luck that led to something unexpected. what started as a quick fix turned into a fast friendship, and in just a week, you went from being casual acquaintances to best friends. turns out, suguru’s aunt was part of your mom’s gardening club, so you two started seeing each other more often, and he quickly became your biggest supporter.
“you know,” he said one afternoon, lounging on your couch, “you should make this a real thing.”
“it is a real thing,” you laughed, raising an eyebrow at him.
“no, i mean like — patent it. sell it in supermarkets. let the whole damn world know about you.”
his words struck a chord in you. you stared at him for a moment, your mind spinning with the possibilities. could you really do that? could you take persephone to the next level?
“i don’t know, sugu,” you murmured, biting your lip. “that’s a lot of pressure. i mean, i’m doing fine as is —”
“fine?” he cut you off, grinning. “you’re thriving. don’t sell yourself short. you’ve got something special here, and you know it.”
his confidence in you was almost overwhelming. it made you wonder — what if he was right? what if this little wine brand of yours wasn’t just a side gig anymore, but something bigger? something that could rival even the big names like… ryomen.
the thought sent a chill down your spine. sukuna.
no. this was your time. your success. and this time, it was on your terms.
your confidence, once sky-high, was quick to deflate as reality hit you like a brick wall. how the hell were you going to get the money to start? you weren’t exactly rolling in cash, and even with all the orders you had, it wasn’t enough to cover what you needed to expand. you were, in every sense of the word, still a nobody in the business world.
sitting on the couch, your mind raced, spiraling through all the worst-case scenarios. that’s when suguru, ever the calm one, leaned back casually and smirked.
“honey, you forget,” he said, shooting you a knowing look, “my talent is breathing money.”
your eyes widened. “you’re seriously gonna fund this?”
“why not?” he shrugged, the confidence in his voice unwavering. “i know you’re serious about this, and i’d rather bet my money on you than anyone else. plus,” he added with a grin, “this is gonna be fun.”
his belief in you left you speechless, and soon after, your mother chipped in too, offering up what she could. “you’ve got something special here,” she said softly, her eyes shining with pride. “we both believe in you, and you know what you’re doing.”
with their help, you pooled together just enough to get things rolling, investing everything accordingly. you finally gave your company a name — persephone. it felt like a declaration. this wasn’t just a passion project anymore; it was your shot at proving yourself, at rewriting the story that sukuna tried to burn into your life.
you managed to get your first stock sent out to the supermarket you used to work in, thanks to your old manager who, having tasted your wine himself, vouched for it without hesitation. he agreed to stock your goods on a trial basis, just to see how the public would respond. you sent the stock out tentatively, crossing your fingers and hoping against hope that you could sell out, just maybe.
you spent that afternoon waiting for a response, nerves gnawing at you, until exhaustion pulled you into sleep. you weren’t prepared for what you’d wake up to.
when you blinked awake, the first thing you saw was your phone screen flashing — seven missed calls from suguru and three from your manager. panic gripped you as the worst thoughts raced through your mind. what if something went wrong? what if people got sick from your wine? what if —
you quickly dialed suguru back, your heart hammering in your chest.
“y/n!” his voice came through, excited, breathless. “you’re not gonna believe this. your entire stock? sold out in four hours. people are demanding for more! even the other supermarkets are calling in, asking for you!”
you blinked, the words not fully sinking in. sold out? your whole stock? your mind spun as you processed what he was saying. a rush of disbelief and euphoria flooded your senses all at once.
“i — what? are you serious?”
“dead serious,” suguru chuckled. “this is just the beginning, y/n. your life’s about to change, and fast.”
and in that moment, you knew — this wasn’t just a lucky break. this was it. your life was about to change forever, and sukuna? he wasn’t looming over you anymore. you were about to loom over him.
all of this was just one year ago. persephone blew up like dynamite, becoming the “it” drink with gen z practically overnight. people everywhere dubbed it “the hot girl drink,” and it spread like wildfire on social media. celebs, influencers, and even rappers were endorsing it — rihanna, beyonce, hell, even international actors from countries you never thought would give you the time of day. your pet project had turned into a full-blown empire, something you never even dreamed of. the insane part? it wasn’t just a fad — it was here to stay. persephone was the new, unbeatable champion of the wine industry, holding the number one spot for the entire year. nothing — and no one — could touch you.
market experts were scrambling to crack the secret behind your success. every business magazine, blog, and analyst was pouring over the data, trying to figure out how the hell a tiny, unknown brand could rise to the top so quickly. when forbes asked you to explain it, your response had been simple:
"all you need is a little bit of love in the mix. that's why everyone loves us."
love? bullshit.
sukuna scoffed, slamming the magazine down on his desk as he glared at your interview in the newest issue of forbes. his eyes burned with frustration as he scanned the glossy page, your face plastered on the front cover — forbes, of all things. he remembered when he was the one on the cover. and now it was you, alongside some other guy, suguru geto, your so-called "business partner." his hands fisted the edges of the magazine as he forced himself to read through the article, bile rising in his throat.
"fuckin’ love," sukuna muttered under his breath. "what a load of crap."
what really pissed him off wasn't the fact that ryomen wines had dropped to number two in the market. no, they were still crushing it in vodka, rum, and sake — dominating, even. sukuna still smugly held onto that victory, and in truth, ryomen's other sectors were thriving. but it wasn’t about the numbers.
it was about you.
you, of all people, had stolen his top spot. the quiet, cowering secretary he’d dismissed without a second thought had somehow clawed her way up to rival him. beat him. and that, more than anything else, was what grated on his nerves. it was like a personal insult, like every bottle of persephone on the shelves was a slap to his face.
he didn’t understand it — couldn’t wrap his head around how you, someone he once considered nothing more than a weak, insignificant nuisance, had built something this big. this powerful. it was unthinkable.
but it didn’t matter. because if there was one thing sukuna hated more than losing, it was losing to you.
“get ready,” he muttered, tossing the crumpled magazine into the trash. “this ain’t over.”
he wasn’t about to let you bask in your victory for long. oh no, sukuna never did well with defeat, and you were about to learn exactly what that meant.
sukuna’s sundays were always a mixed bag when his brothers came over. on the one hand, he secretly enjoyed not being alone, the house filled with chatter and energy he rarely allowed himself to admit he missed. on the other hand… they had their quirks, quirks he didn’t always have the patience for.
today was no exception.
“oii, nii-chan!! is it true you’re cooked?” yuuji’s loud voice rang through the kitchen as he leaned over the counter, his face full of boyish excitement. at eighteen, fresh out of high school, yuuji was all energy and enthusiasm, completely missing the tension in sukuna’s glare.
“we are not cooked, brat. now scram!” sukuna growled, his patience already wearing thin. it wasn’t that he didn’t like yuuji; he loved the kid in his own harsh way. but today was not the day to bring up the one topic that had been gnawing at him for weeks now — persephone.
yuuji, of course, remained completely oblivious to his brother’s thinly veiled rage. “dude, we need to try it out — for sampling purposes, of course!” he corrected himself quickly when sukuna’s eyes darkened, the older man’s low growl sending a shiver down his spine. choso, standing quietly by the side, let out a silent sigh of exasperation that went unnoticed by both of them. as the eldest brother of the three, choso was used to playing mediator between sukuna and yuuji’s endless energy.
“talking about that cheap wine in front of your brother? seems like choso here isn’t teachin’ ya manners, brat,” sukuna scoffed, throwing a sharp glare at choso. but choso wasn’t fooled by the display — he knew sukuna well enough to recognize the silent plea in that look. sukuna wasn’t just angry; he was frustrated and on edge, and right now he needed choso’s help to avoid losing face in front of their younger brother.
choso, ever the calm and rational one, stepped in smoothly. “sukuna’s right, yuuji. why don’t we try some of his wine instead? ryomen’s pretty coveted, you know. you can even tell your friends you’ve got the inside scoop on the best stuff,” he suggested, his voice soft and persuasive. he knew yuuji’s weak spot — flexing on his friends — and wasn’t above playing that card to steer the conversation away from persephone.
yuuji’s eyes lit up at the mention of flexing to his friends. “yeah, that’d be awesome! ryomen’s, like, top-tier,” he agreed quickly, the previous excitement over persephone fading as he eagerly darted toward sukuna’s personal bar.
“but only a sip!” choso called after him, his tone firm but affectionate. yuuji grinned and gave a thumbs-up, too eager to care about the warning.
as soon as yuuji was out of earshot, sukuna’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his scowl remained. “thanks,” he muttered under his breath, leaning against the kitchen counter with a scowl that barely concealed his relief.
choso merely nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “you should really tell him what’s bothering you, sukuna. pretending it’s not a problem won’t make it go away.”
sukuna’s jaw clenched at the suggestion. “i’m not pretending anything,” he shot back. “just not giving that cheap wine any more attention than it deserves.”
choso didn’t argue — he knew better than to press sukuna when he was like this. but even as they heard yuuji clattering around in the bar, talking excitedly to himself about the bottles he found, choso couldn’t help but wonder how much longer sukuna could keep up this front before the tension snapped.
soon enough, sukuna bid choso and yuuji goodbye, grunting a half-hearted “good luck” to yuuji for his academics and giving a curt nod to choso. it was their silent agreement to continue taking care of yuuji, a bond forged through the ups and downs of their unconventional family. deep down, sukuna wished his brothers could stay longer, but he knew his work environment would be more chaotic than conducive to yuuji’s growth. the kid needed some normalcy, a chance to be a teenager without the weight of sukuna's world pressing down on him.
choso had that normalcy. he had a simple job and quiet life waiting for him back home, something that balanced him out in a way that sukuna hadn’t found in years. as he watched them leave, sukuna couldn’t help but wonder what life could have been like if he hadn’t run off at twenty-seven, leaving his twenty-two-year-old brother to shoulder the burden of raising a thirteen-year-old yuuji all by himself. it felt like a dick move, something no older brother should do. but he’d made up for it in his own way — by rapidly building a name for himself in the alcohol industry, ensuring his brothers were taken care of.
the weight of those thoughts pressed on him as he closed the door behind them. he had sent ample money back to support choso and yuuji, ensuring they lived comfortably and never struggled. yuuji’s education had never been compromised, and sukuna took a twisted sense of pride in that. everything he did — every deal struck, every bottle sold — was silently for them, though he’d never admit it out loud. they knew, though. they understood the sacrifices he’d made and the lengths he’d go to protect them.
leaning against the closed door, sukuna let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. the house felt empty now, the echoes of yuuji's laughter fading away. but he was used to this emptiness. it was part of the job, part of the life he’d chosen. yet, as he glanced at the bottle of ryomen wine sitting on the counter, the nagging feeling in the back of his mind grew louder. persephone was thriving, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just a business — it was a challenge, a direct competition that tugged at his pride.
he shook his head, pushing away the thoughts. no need to dwell on that right now. there would be time to strategize, to find a way to reclaim what he’d lost. for now, he had work to do, deals to make, and a reputation to maintain. but the tension lingered, a constant reminder that the game was far from over.
every business professional and their mother had heard of the forbes awards — one of the highest honors in the industry, recognizing outstanding achievements in categories like innovation, leadership, and entrepreneurship. it was a big deal, and of course, sukuna was invited. how could he not be? he was the face of ryomen, and ryomen was synonymous with him. it would have been a moral sin to overlook his presence.
but alongside him, in a stunning twist of fate, you were invited as well. your heart raced with excitement as you entered the grand hall, arm in arm with suguru, who wore his usual calm demeanor. the ambiance was electric, filled with murmurs of anticipation and the soft clinking of glasses. you felt like you were floating, clad in the prettiest gown you’d ever worn, the fabric hugging you in all the right places. your excitement bubbled over as you and suguru chatted animatedly, sharing whispers and laughter about the event.
sukuna sat a few seats ahead of you, his presence commanding attention even before the ceremony began. he glanced back at you and suguru, his brow twitching in annoyance. that bastard, he thought, irritation prickling at his nerves. was he annoyed because you were here, or because you were here with suguru? who the hell does he think he is, cozying up to you like that?
he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the stage as the lights dimmed. why the fuck does it matter? sukuna knew he should be above this, above whatever twisted emotions were gnawing at him. but it was hard to shake the feeling that your success was a direct challenge to him. persephone had blown up like a wildfire, and now here you were, practically glowing next to some random man.
the announcer’s voice boomed, echoing through the hall as the first award was presented. sukuna’s mind raced. everyone in this room is waiting to see me win. his heart pounded as he thought about the years of work, the sacrifices he made to build ryomen into what it was. these people need to remember who the real titan in the room is.
he couldn't help but steal glances at you, laughter dancing on your lips as you leaned into suguru’s space, that smile of yours bright enough to rival the stage lights. you think you’re some kind of star now, huh? the thought twisted in his gut. you don’t know what it took to get here.
as winners were announced, the crowd erupted in applause, and sukuna forced himself to smile politely, though inside he was a storm. you’ll never be more than a little brat who got lucky, he told himself. and yet, here you are, basking in the glory that should have been mine.
with every name called, the tension in sukuna grew. he could feel the eyes of the room shifting between him and you. they’re waiting to see what i do next, he mused, resentment and determination colliding within him. they think this is the peak. they have no idea what’s coming.
the night was still young, and the real competition was just beginning.
“and this year’s forbes most innovative company award goes to — y/n l/n & suguru geto for persephone!”
you sat there dumbfounded, too shocked to move, even as cheers erupted around you, your name being called echoing in your mind like a beautiful melody. suguru was beside you, his excitement contagious as he urged you on, “y/n, we won! go on, what are you waiting for?”
you won. you really won. the gravity of it settled in, and you felt a rush of emotions. you hoped your mother was tuned in tonight — oh, who were you kidding? your mother and every other mother in the room had tuned in, probably with their phones in hand, eagerly documenting the night. your mom's hourly reminders of “forbes award show tonight, my daughter is winning” played in your mind like a comforting mantra.
it took all your physical strength to push yourself up from your seat, legs trembling as you shakily walked toward the stage. the camera panned in on your nervous expression, capturing the moment for the world to see. when the award was handed to you, a giddy laugh escaped your lips, a blend of disbelief and joy.
“i — i don’t even know where to begin. i’m just… i’m just someone who started out in her mother’s kitchen.” the crowd chuckled, and you caught a glimpse of suguru, his face radiating pride. “and here i am, getting an award from forbes.” the room erupted into cheers, and you could feel the warmth of their applause wrapping around you.
“i….i made it, mom! i really did, i—” your eyes inadvertently wandered, locking onto sukuna, who was seated a few rows ahead. his expression was thunderous, livid anger practically radiating off him, his tattoos appearing to shift in the dim light as he stared you down. if looks could kill, you were certain you’d disintegrate on the spot.
for a fleeting moment, you felt like that meek little secretary from years ago — the girl who cowered at his angry words, whose confidence had crumbled under his disdain. your breath caught in your throat, palms clammy around the award that suddenly felt like a shackle, the blaring stage lights pressing down on you.
“t-thank you,” you mumbled quickly, and with that, you rushed off the stage, confusion buzzing in the air as people murmured about your abrupt exit. suguru’s brows furrowed with concern as you settled back into your seat beside him.
“hey, what’s wrong? talk to me,” he whispered, his hand finding yours beneath the table, offering a comforting squeeze.
“i saw him,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, the reality of your win overshadowed by the weight of sukuna’s gaze.
the moment hung in the air between you, an electric tension that made your heart race. you had won tonight, yet the thrill felt tainted, as if sukuna’s presence had darkened your moment. suguru's grip tightened, grounding you, but the storm brewing inside you was harder to quell. this victory should have felt like a celebration, but instead, it brought the ghosts of your past crashing back, threatening to overshadow everything you had worked so hard for.
you should be counting your lucky stars that you exited the stage as soon as possible because if you had stood there for even one more minute, holding the award and basking in the stage lights, sukuna would have popped a blood vessel.
how could you — of all people — have won the award? it felt like a cruel joke, a slap in the face to all the hard work ryomen had poured into every drink they crafted. sugary excuse of a wine — that’s what he thought of your creation. it didn’t matter that you had poured your heart into persephone; to him, it was a mere distraction, a gimmick that somehow managed to catch fire while he’d been left to stoke the flames of a legacy he had built with his own hands.
sukuna’s jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he tried to reign in the rage bubbling beneath the surface. what the hell did you do to deserve this? it wasn’t fair. i revolutionized the industry, he thought bitterly, a storm brewing in his chest. i put everything into ryomen, and yet here you are, stealing the spotlight with your little pet project.
he couldn’t even pay attention to the next awards being given out; they were just a backdrop to the humiliation he felt. this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. he scanned the room, trying to gauge the reactions of others. do they think this is a joke? he wanted to scream, to lash out at anyone who dared to think persephone was on his level. the mere thought of you being lauded for your success twisted in his gut like a knife.
you didn’t know the sacrifices it took to build an empire, he raged inwardly. you didn’t endure the sleepless nights, the harsh decisions, the pressure of making a brand that people could depend on. to sukuna, ryomen wasn’t just a company; it was an extension of himself, a representation of all he had sacrificed for his brothers, for his future. and now, you had waltzed in and claimed an accolade that felt undeserved.
every cheer from the crowd felt like a taunt, a reminder of how far you had come and how deeply he loathed that it was you who had taken this honor away from him. you’ll never be more than a flash in the pan, he promised himself, a mantra to ease the burning rage. i’ll make sure of that.
his mind raced, plotting and scheming as he gripped the armrest of his chair, knuckles white. i need to show them who the real titan is. he had to reclaim his dominance, to put you in your place. it didn’t matter how many influencers endorsed you or how popular your product became; this was just the beginning, and he would not be overshadowed by someone he once considered insignificant.
as you settled back into your seat, a shaky smile still lighting up your face, sukuna's gaze hardened. this isn’t over, he vowed silently, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and resolve. you may have won tonight, but I’ll be damned if i let you steal my thunder.
days had passed since the forbes award show, but the victory felt hollow for sukuna. sure, he walked out with an armful of awards: the stevie awards, recognizing achievements in management and customer service; the international business awards, celebrating excellence in global innovation and leadership; and the business excellence awards, which honored outstanding performance across the board. it was a haul that solidified his status as a titan in the industry. but even with all that, his mind was consumed by the nagging echo of your name.
how the hell did you manage to steal that one award? it nagged at him like a splinter, refusing to be ignored. it didn’t make sense. even though your win seemed like a mere trinket compared to his accolades, it felt like a theft — a theft of something more precious than gold.
wasn’t it enough that i built this empire from the ground up? he thought, frustration simmering just below the surface. i sacrificed everything to get here, and you — of all people — come in and claim a piece of the pie? it infuriated him to think of you standing on that stage, giggling with disbelief, so carefree and unburdened by the weight of the industry that he had shouldered for years. i’ve earned this!
flashbacks from the award show rolled through his mind like a montage — standing on stage, the lights shining down on him as he accepted award after award. the applause ringing in his ears, the pride swelling in his chest as he shook hands with industry leaders, the kind of recognition that validated every sacrifice he had made.
“congratulations, sukuna,” one executive had said, clapping him on the back. “you’ve really outdone yourself this year.”
“what can i say?” he had replied with a smirk, “i’m just that good.”
yet, while those moments should have felt triumphant, all he could think about was you. that fleeting moment when you stood up there — why couldn’t he shake the image of your smile, your shocked expression? it stirred something within him, an unsettling mix of envy and anger.
you didn’t earn it, he seethed inwardly. you didn’t work your way through sleepless nights or the pressure of making decisions that could sink a company. you just made a drink and got lucky with some influencers.
he wanted to dismiss your success as a fluke, but something about it gnawed at him. why does it bother me so much? he questioned himself, feeling a surge of confusion mixed with annoyance. you weren’t a threat, you were an annoyance, a temporary blip in the industry. yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were becoming something more — something significant.
the thought of you overshadowing his hard-earned victories was infuriating. i won’t let you steal my thunder, he promised himself, his resolve hardening with every passing day. he could not let the narrative shift. this isn’t over; i’ll make sure everyone knows that ryomen is the name that matters, not your little hobby.
but as the days turned into weeks, sukuna found it increasingly difficult to focus solely on his empire. every time he turned on the news or scrolled through social media, your name surfaced, wrapped in praise and admiration, while he was left wondering how you had somehow infiltrated his thoughts, stirring up feelings he had long buried. it’s just a phase, he told himself, clenching his jaw. i’ll crush this little competition of yours. soon, no one will even remember your name.
but deep down, a flicker of doubt loomed. what if they do?
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An eye for an eye.
assassin!hyunjin x journalist!yn. slow burn. suggestive and angsty at times. she/her pronouns. 7.4k.
it is perhaps the most decisive night of your life. what are the odds that at the same time and place, it happens to be hyunjin’s too?
warnings: mention of alcohol, guns, bruises and injuries. brief talks of grief.
a.n: this is prompted by how hot villain hyunjin looks in the ate era 😭 it was supposed to be a drabble and i didn’t plan on it to be this long.. but i hope you’ll enjoy reading tehee it’s different from anything i’ve ever written so please feedback would be so appreciated,, muah muah 😘❣️
A ruby red lipstick.
Your first childhood dream was to become a journalist, but not the complacent, obedient kind. You wanted to shed light on uncovered events, dig into the raw truth with your claws, and hold it up for the entire world to witness. You craved justice. You never believed in letting things flow their way, like a current that morphs into a torrent, destroying everything in its path.
No, you were a dam, forcing the water to change its trajectory. After all, you have always believed that all it took for change to happen was a trigger, a single flicker that would in turn burst into flames.
You wished to be it.
It was hard to grow into this specific kind of journalist, though. Not because you lacked drive, passion, or discipline. Especially not because you weren’t curious enough, brave enough. You were Seoul Press’s youngest and brightest reporter, after all.
But in a highly competitive field, you still needed your big story, your breakthrough which would put you on the radar of esteemed awards that all journalists venerate. Though you deemed it much easier to obtain a Pulitzer than to squelch your heart’s quest for truth, justice, and most importantly, in an unpredictable curb that life threw at you— revenge.
Your second childhood dream was to put on ruby red lipstick. Your thirteen-year-old self deemed it the ultimate show of power and confidence, each time you saw your aunt wearing one to her most important meetings. You dreamed of the day you could put it on as well, on your way to uncover the truth.
And tonight, as you applied your ruby lipstick precisely, gliding the vibrant color across your lips, you felt nerves tighten like thorny vines in your stomach, puncturing your tender skin and leaving you a bloodied mess from within.
Tonight, in your black gown and your ruby lipstick, in San Heo’s mansion, your country’s most prominent presidential candidate, and the man who ruined your life, it seemed like you were about to achieve both dreams at once.
…
The clock hand points nine on Hyunjin’s Tank Louis Cartier watch. He throws a fleeting glance at the Victorian watch, before eyeing the people mingling at San Heo’s party.
He knows all of the guests, memorized their faces and their habits. He knows the school where they drop off their kids and what bar they frequent every Sunday. He memorized their mannerisms and antics, knows what set them off and what did not.
This is the fruit of two years of work, after all.
He knows exactly why everyone is here, tonight particularly. Three politicians’ families and friends gathered as a show of power, to prove that they weren’t afraid of whoever’s been forcing politicians to come clean about their crimes for the past three months.
In the least glamorous manner, at that too, to put it delicately—ten bloodied tapes sent to the country’s most prominent media channels, where ministers and heads of multinationals are bound by ropes to a chair, recalling their most heinous crimes: money laundering and embezzlement for most, theft and murder for some.
The latter is Jung Cho’s case, San’s most successful competitor for the presidency, who has also mysteriously vanished from the police’s grasp since the release of his tape. No one can get a hold of poor Jung Cho anymore.
Hyunjin smirks lightly to himself. His knuckles seem to have healed well since he last dislocated Jung Cho’s jaw. Well, that was before he shot him through the roof of his mouth.
The golden cuffs of Hyunjin’s Versace blazer reflect the light of the dangling crystal chandeliers, and he runs a weary hand through his black locks. He never chose to gel them back; he wasn’t one for structure, preferring the feeling of his silky strands brushing against his fingers.
His eyes catch those of San’s across the room, who tips his glass of whiskey towards Hyunjin—a job well done, he reads in San’s stare. Hyunjin raises his red wine back, before settling it across the table once more.
It is a boring half an hour that awaits Hyunjin.
That is until he sees you.
You weren’t here two minutes ago, Hyunjin is sure of this. And, judging by the way you are leisurely sipping your sparkling water, your eyes gliding across the room in search of someone in particular, you had just stepped foot into the party.
Fashionably late, if he were to add.
But that is none of Hyunjin’s concern. What intrigues him the most is that your face isn’t familiar to him. That isn’t normal.
You weren’t supposed to be here, then.
Who are you?
As if hearing his question, your gaze locks onto his. He cocks an eyebrow at you; you mirror the gesture like clockwork.
Thus ensues an intense game of eye contact. You don’t break away from his gaze until two minutes later, a light scoff escaping your lips that he can discern even from afar. You then turn to look at San, your eyes morphing into something fiercer, more determined— a sniper finally locking eyes on its target.
Hyunjin feels a slight headache growing at the base of his temple. He downs his drink, before taking long strides towards you.
It’s official, you’re going to be his nuisance for the night.
27 minutes.
“Care to dance?” Hyunjin inquires as he materializes before you, a hand extended towards your body.
“Pardon?”
“A dance? To the lovely music we are hearing right now?”
“I know what you mean,” you roll your eyes, leaning your body against the chair right next to you. Hyunjin’s eyes glaze over your legs peeking through the high slit of your dress. Had it been another setting, the sight of your black sheer tights would have made this night turn much differently.
Your voice dispels his thoughts like morning fog. “I mean why are you asking me?”
“Because I’m bored.”
“How flattering,” you grin sarcastically and Hyunjin feels the smallest urge to return your smile, although he knows it isn’t genuine.
“I know. Shall we?”
Your gaze flees to San once again, seemingly debating something in your head before finally sighing.
In the few seconds of scrutiny you consecrate to his boss, Hyunjin’s gaze lingers on your bright red lipstick, and the way you tuck your lip slightly into your mouth as you ponder.
A beautiful nuisance, he corrects himself.
“Fine,” You place your manicured hand in his in response.
“What’s your name?” he asks, as he settles one hand atop your waist. The fabric of your black dress is too thin, he can feel the heat emanating from your body seeping through his palm.
Focus. You need to discover who she is.
“Julia,” your hand settles atop his shoulder, while the other entwines with his. “And you?”
“Sam. What are you doing here?” he quickly inquires.
You shake your head slightly, gliding your hand from the base of his neck to the end of his shoulder.
“Isn’t it my turn to ask you a question?”
Hyunjin tilts his head curiously at you, before smirking slightly— “Yes ma’am.”
“What do you work for?”
“I’m Mr. Heo’s political adviser.”
“You’re quite young, though,” you note.
“I know.”
“And I don’t see you by his side a lot.”
“I work in the background, mostly. I don’t do well with the cameras.” He spins you around, picking up speed as the orchestra picks up the violin. “How do you know Mr. Heo?”
“I’m Kang’s niece, you know, Mr. Heo’s economic adviser? Uncle Kang is ill, and my father is out of the country so both of them chose not to come.”
Hyunjin’s memory faintly brushes off Kang’s single niece, completing her architectural studies in Paris’ Sorbonne.
“C’est beau à Paris?” Is it beautiful in Paris?
You don’t even blink— “Même magnifique, tu devrais visiter.” Marvelous even, you should visit.
Checks out.
“I’ll hold you on to that offer,” he says, before spinning you around, your chest settling across his back. Hyunjin ignores how his heart skips a singular beat at your proximity.
“So, what are you doing here?” he asks, his lips tantalizingly close to the shell of your ear. He watches as your chest rises once before your airy voice floods his ear.
“Networking, though you didn’t quite allow me to speak to anyone but you,” you tease slightly.
“I fail to see what an architect has to do with politicians,” he muses, as he sways you gently from left to right.
“I want to oversee the building of Jamsil Sports Complex.”
“So you’re using your father for work connections?” he taunts and you swivel around, placing both your hands on his shoulders before interlinking your fingers behind his neck, caging him within the notes of your perfume.
“Is it a crime?” your voice is airy, too airy, everything you say sounds rehearsed, you don’t seem intimidated by him, by this setting, as opposed to how a newly graduated student, one who grew up away from her father’s world should.
“Depends on your definition,” he counters.
“Do you regard it as such?”
Hyunjin’s gaze flickers all over yours. He senses something urgent in your gaze, as if you are pushing for more, beyond what this simple question entails.
When he remains quiet for a tad too long, you let your hands drop by your body, taking a step away from him.
“I need to go,” you say. He grabs your wrist instantly. “Where to?”
“Bathroom.” And with that, you quickly turn around and walk away, leaving behind notes of your floral perfume and ghosts of your ruby lips.
Hyunjin steals a glance at his clock. 09:13 p.m.
He drags a hand across his forehead wearily. He won’t let you ruin this night.
17 minutes.
You are washing your hands obsessively in the bathroom, lost in thought as you gaze at your reflection, all blurry from your unfocused eyes. You only turn off the water once your skin starts to sting from the force of your touch.
The orange-scented soap doesn’t seem to get rid of the stench of blood.
A week ago.
“I don't understand your obsession with Mr. Heo,” Christopher Bang calmly removed his glasses, placing them next to the shiny placate reading ‘Editor in Chief of Seoul Press’.
“He is corrupt.”
“As all politicians are,” he spoke matter of factly, and it angered you how unfazed he seemed before your, you admit, far-fetched request.
“You don’t understand, sir. He’s different.”
“Did he do something to you?” Chris asked, leaning back against his chair. You felt exposed all of a sudden, like a flower left bare without its stem.
“Would my answer change anything?” You inquired tentatively.
“It would explain many things, yes actually,” he got up from his chair, before sitting on the one right across from you. “You are a talented journalist, Yn.”
“Thank you—“
“But you are utilizing the company’s resources to conduct your personal investigation on San Heo.”
He knew.
“You’ve been working on his case from the day you joined our media. Which was exactly 389 days ago. I know that you’ve managed to uncover quite some dirt, one that would make an explosive case if you get more information. That’s why I turned a blind eye to everything you did because I trust your skills and integrity.”
You remained silent.
“But now, you’re asking me to completely disregard my deontology by finding a way for you to break into Mr. Heo’s mansion. That is a crime.”
“Not break in. I want an invite to his party, it is the first time he organized one in his home, probably the last time, it is my only chance to—”
“Details,” he waves a hand disinterestedly in the air, cutting you off. “Your intentions aren’t to mingle with politicians, it is to dig in his office and find something of substance. While I admire the lengths of what you want to go through, I must stop you here.” He leveled his eyes with yours. “This can land you in jail, he is the most important man in our country right now.”
“What if I tell you he did something to me, that he ruined my life? Would you help me then?” your voice was hoarse, tears pricked your eyes as you tried your best not to avert your gaze. You hated displays of weakness, despised them even more in professional settings.
“What did he do?”
You bristled at the question, ugly memories flashing before your eyes like a blinding light, your body begging you to flee away from this question and the heavy response it entailed.
Still, you spoke.
Christopher remained silent as you recalled what happened on your doomsday, the night in which your world ceased to spin, and simultaneously, the reason why you joined his company, to begin with. When your sniffles subsided a few minutes later, he gently handed you a napkin, a silent invitation to wipe away the tears that had escaped.
He sighed deeply, running a hand through his weary face before finally speaking.
“I’ll give you the invite tomorrow. Say that you are Kang’s niece, her name is Julia. She went to Paris for architectural studies, and that you are back for a vacation. Kang is ill these days, he won’t attend the party, and his brother is out of the country, no one will question you.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because I know them,” he toyed with his lower lip lightly before a tiny smile drew upon it. “An eye for an eye, right? I’m Kang’s cousin. I changed my last name because I didn’t wish to deal with them anymore.”
“So Bhang isn’t your real last name?”
“No.” He ran his thumb across his lower lip, seemingly debating adding something. “San’s office is on the far end of the third floor.”
You heaved a sigh of relief.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t get yourself killed.”
13 minutes.
It was one thing to stare at photographs of San seared behind your reddened eyelids or to stand at the far end of his press conferences. It was another to step foot into his mansion, to stand amidst powerful people who are capable of ruining your life had they known of your motives.
But you didn’t have time to dwell on your personal feelings. Fear, nerves, all of those feeble emotions pale before the chance you have today. So, you nod at your reflection in the mirror, count to three in your head, and finally head out of the bathroom.
“Five minutes, were you crying?” Sam’s bored voice startles you as soon as you set foot outside. He’s leaning on the wall across from the door, hands deep into the pockets of his suit.
Not again.
“I know that I’m very pretty but don’t you have better things to do than to follow me?” you ask, pausing right in front of him.
“I’m not following you, I just happen to be particularly fond of the architecture of this corridor,” he jokes and you ignore his words, walking past him with a renowned determination. He pushes himself off the wall, only to grasp your wrist once again, spinning you around until you’re facing him.
He chuckles softly, tilting his head to the side. His icy blue contacts pierce through your skin like a puncture needle. “You know, I’m curious, Julia. You seemed very eager to get away from me.”
You take a step forward, closing the distance between you two. “Have you considered that I found your company utterly boring?”
“You wound me,” he places a hand on his heart, any trace of humor absent from his voice. His grip tightens on your wrist for a millisecond. A warning. “I need you to leave.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m serious. You shouldn’t be here tonight.”
“And why should I listen to you?” you challenge and his eyes darken further.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then let me go,” you mutter, slipping your hand away from his grasp.
“Julia,” he says sternly, pulling you back till your back is against the wall, his hands rooted on either side of your body.
It is a dimly lit hallway, and the sound of the orchestra barely reaches you. Your worry intermingles with a new kind of nerves, all orchestrated by his proximity, and the way his gaze brushes against your body like a skilled painter.
“I’m not joking, leave.” His voice is much softer when he adds, “It’s for your own good. What will happen later doesn’t concern you.”
He knows something that you don’t know, something that, from his tone, none of the guests are aware of. You see something human in his eyes, in the slight crease doting his eyebrows. He seems genuinely worried for the innocent civilian he thinks you are.
Your eyes turn to look at his hand near your head, only to notice his faintly bruised knuckles, shades of purple and green doting a delicate porcelain skin. They have healed well, then.
Should you unearth the memory from two weeks ago— pleas for mercy, a deafening gunshot, and an excruciating silence afterward, the quiet after the murder that you remember most?
Then, another scene rings in your head like bells of an ancient church— a bruised hand brushing against your own in an art gallery from two days ago, raven locks, and familiar, melancholy-tinted eyes.
Could it be?
Your voice turns sweet, tender, “should I trust you for the night?” your thumb brushes against the skin underneath his eye, wiping away the concealer you knew you spotted.
There it is, the eye mole you thought he covered.
It clicks in your mind in an instant, pieces of a puzzle falling into place, there are still a few missing but you manage to grasp the bigger picture.
If he’s not letting you go then he could be of good use.
What other choice do you have but to gamble with a killer?
Your sharp nails drag across the nape of his neck, before settling right beneath his jaw. You mimic a gun, his eyes narrow in response.
“Is this how you killed Jung Cho, Hyunjin?”
You feel a cold barrel instantly press against your stomach. “Police officer?” he asks.
“No.”
“Journalist ?”
“Yes,” you slowly mutter.
“What’s your name?”
“I don’t wish to tell you.” The gun only presses further onto your skin. You feel a cold bead of sweat roll down your exposed spine.
Breathe.
“It’s Yn.”
“What do you know?”
“It’d be easier for me to talk if you removed the gun,” you smile lightly and Hyunjin only leans further, a distance as thin as a blade between you both.
“Speak.”
“You killed the only candidate that stood a chance in front of San. You drove him to the empty deposit near Inwangsan Mountain, tortured him for three days, filmed his confessions, and then sent them to many media outlets. Ours included. I know it because I followed you.”
“Why did you follow me?” he questions. Your eyes flee to the end of the corridor where an impossible staircase sits. You are wasting your time.
“Because I am investigating San. And through following him I ended up getting to know you. You are different from everyone he meets. Very secretive. So I figured it’d be worth a shot following you too,” you explain as calmly as you can. You’re sure the barrel of the gun will leave a bruise on your skin.
“And why didn’t you write a piece about me? Everyone is dying to know who I am.”
“I have, I just haven’t released it. If I don’t come back home in an hour my head chef will post the video of you murdering Mr. Cho on every SNS. The public loves you for what you’re doing. But the politicians will come together to kill you. They have a price on your head. You are threatening everything they ever built.”
Hyunjin drags his gun up your stomach slowly, trails it across your collarbones before it settles on your jaw.
“I could kill you too, right now.” His tone is cold, evil. Very different from the man who asked you to dance. You know that I can.”
“My death would only sign yours.”
Hyunjin’s forehead rests on the wall right next to your head. You can hear him inhale deeply, hear the gears turning in his head. “Fuck, you are driving me crazy.”
He drops the gun and takes a step back. “Why didn’t you expose me?”
“You are not the one that matters to me.”
“What do you want from me then?”
“Three minutes. Open San’s office, and then I’ll go. No one will ever know of your identity.”
He remains silent.
“Hyunjin, please.”
“Fuck, fine. But whatever happens next you’ll have to trust me, okay?” his hands settle on your shoulder, his eyes leveling with yours, “if you’re not leaving then you’ll have to trust me enough, for tonight.”
8 minutes.
“After you,” Hyunjin bows slightly as he opens the door to Heo’s office. You step in first, and he steals a quick glance behind him—no one’s here, for now.
“That saved me the hassle of breaking the door.”
“You know how to do that?” he asks, slightly impressed.
“One of my hobbies,” you shrug before walking directly to the desk. Hyunjin leans against the wall, watching as you lift your dress slightly, revealing a small packet tucked into your garter. The sight drives Hyunjin a little crazy, and he closes his eyes for a second.
He really, really wishes he hadn’t met you here tonight.
You take out a listening device, tapping the bottom of the desk until you find a suitable spot, and then you stick it in place.
“Another one of your hobbies?” he smirks.
You giggle. “Mm, aren’t I the most fun?”
“You are,” his eyes drag across your figure, and he notices a slight falter in your posture, “the most beautiful too.”
You blink, and he’s suddenly in front of you, trapping you between the auburn desk and his toned body. You don’t seem intimidated, placing a palm on his chest as you tilt your head to the side.
“Aren’t you curious why I’m going after San?”
“No, he angers a lot of people.” His thumb caresses your cheek, a touch so soft in contrast to his next words. “A lot of people fantasize about his death.”
“Are you one of them?” you question, cocking an eyebrow at him.
“Right now, all I’m fantasizing about is you.” His voice is husky, and he finds it comes out much easier when he actually likes the person he’s attempting to seduce.
It takes you a few seconds to speak again. “Is that so?”
“Mm, let’s dance.”
“Didn’t we dance downstairs?”
“That was Sam and Julia dancing,” he says as he entwines his fingers with yours. “You see, Hyunjin is a different kind of dancer.” His hand presses against your back, snaking against your bare skin. “Can I pull you closer?” he asks, and you simply nod, eyes fleeting widely all over his face.
His chest presses to yours, so close he’s sure your hearts are syncing with one another, his inhales alternating with your exhales.
“Yn,” he whispers your name, as you look up at him through the curve of your eyelashes.
“Yes, Hyunjin?” His name sounds soft as it stumbles from your ruby lips, innocent from all the blood that drenches his soul.
“I like the way you say my name.” He glances at his watch above your head. 9:57.
“Hyunjin,” you repeat, as your hand drags up his neck, grabbing a fistful of his hair and gently dragging it backward, exposing his enticing neck to you. “You are always looking at your watch, what are you waiting for?”
He chuckles faintly, grabbing both your hands and spinning you around till his chin rests on the small of your shoulder. “You’re perceptive,” he mutters, as his fingers drag down your bare arms. “But so am I,” he says coldly as he grabs both your hands, bringing them behind your back. “Look, your hands are shaking just from my proximity. I don’t think you have it in you to film me killing Jung Cho. I don’t think you have it in you to watch me torture someone for three days.”
Click. Cold metal wraps around your wrist in an instant, handcuffing you to the leg of the table before which you’re standing.
“I think you lied to me, Yn. I don’t like being lied to.”
“What are you doing?” you ask disoriented, panic spilling from your being like an overflowing cup.
Hyunjin pays you no mind, taking out his phone and dialing a number. “Boss, we have a problem. I caught a journalist trying to get into your room,” he taps his chin slowly as he looks at you. “No, no need for security. Just come alone. Don’t alarm the guests.”
2 minutes
“Are you serious?” you ask as soon as he hangs up, a prominent lump in your throat. “You told me to trust you.”
“Did I say I was worth that trust?” he pouts, seemingly mocking the vulnerable ordeal you found yourself in.
A loud chuckle escapes your lips, your head thrown back as if before a hilarious spectacle of sorts. Hyunjin frowns, crossing his arms in front of his chest as your giggles slowly quiet down.
“You’re a peculiar person, aren’t you Hyunjin? You need to hide your identity but you crave normalcy still, so you open your art gallery. You go to crazy lengths to cover your moles and wear contacts because you wish for people to look at you with admiration in their eyes, kindness. But you don’t deserve it.” There is a fire lit in your eyes, flames latching into his black suit and burning his already scarred skin. “You’ll always be as evil as them.”
Hyunjin doesn’t respond for a while, his eyes simply softening at your words.
“I know,” he whispers.
“Who’s this?” San’s voice booms loudly as he sets foot into the office. Hyunjin’s eyes break apart from your figure to look at San, bowing slightly to greet him.
“Julia, she infiltrated the party,” Hyunjin explains, stealthily locking the door behind San. “She’s been investigating you for quite some time now. And… She knows about the murders.”
“Mm, she’s clever. Should we hire her?” San jokes and Hyunjin smiles politely, dragging his eyes over your face. You simply roll your eyes, seemingly more bored than scared.
Cute.
“Anyways,” Heo stares at you for a fleeting second before tapping Hyunjin’s shoulder. “She looks easy to kill. Just get rid of her. But don’t stain my carpet though, it's expensive.”
“Sure thing,” Hyunjin nods, taking out his gun and pointing it at your temple. He steals a final look at his watch— 9:30 p.m. he reads.
Time’s up.
“You didn’t think I’d let you go?” Hyunjin mocks, cocking his head at you. In a split second, a bullet ricochets loudly, but not at you. It grazes San’s ear, making him pause near the door, his back towards you both.
“Right boss?” Hyunjin’s tone is slightly whiny, annoying is the best way to describe it. You can hear police sirens blare loudly outside, see the red and blue hues reflect off the window. Loud shouts erupt downstairs, Hyunjin leisurely reloads his gun, one hand deep into his pocket, San’s posture slightly falters, his fingers digging into the skin of his palm.
“Do you hear that Heo? Your mansion is surrounded. All your filthy dirt is exposed. The police officers are arresting everyone downstairs right now. And they’re coming for you. The man of the hour.” Hyunjin makes a show of curtsying deeply. You stifle a giggle at his theatrics.
“You dare turn your back on me?” San yells, pivoting around to face Hyunjin’s barrel, the latter simply yawns as if it’s a regular Saturday activity for him.
“Oh, don’t get emotional on me,” Hyunjin pouts, before his eyes narrow down coldly. “Now kneel. Let’s end this without staining your carpet.”
You see San slowly lowering himself to the ground, Hyunjin’s gaze sets on you for a millisecond, his pupils dilated in apology, in concern, you don’t know, you don't get to decipher his look because San is taking out his gun from his back pocket, aiming it at Hyunjin. “Watch out”— is all you manage to shout, and hyunjin ducks in an instant, propelled by the sound of your voice to the ground.
He could have died, he could have died because he looked at you.
It all happens so fast, Hyunjin diving into San to take away his gun, both their weapons flinging into the air, San punching Hyunjin’s mouth and the latter retaliating by flinging his fist up against his nose. You’re struggling with your restraints, trying to reach out for the lone gun that fell to your right.
A bit more, tune out the sirens, tune out the punches, slowly, only a few centimeters left, your wrist is on fire but that is the least of your concern, almost, there, you grab it.
You fire the gun.
It’s quiet once again, for the first time in two years, it is quiet in your head.
It’s over.
You close your eyes, tilting your head back into the desk. The sound of your mother’s laughter floods your ears, her airy giggles as she brushes your hair and tucks you into her chest, her being a vision of beauty underneath the sun’s caress.
“Are you okay?” Hyunjin kneels before you, wiping away the tears rolling down your cheeks with his bruised knuckles. He is worried, even behind those icy blue contacts, you can still grasp his worry.
You nod, swallowing the sob that is lodged within your throat. Hyunjin is quick to unlock your handcuffs, entwining your fingers with his as he pulls you off the ground.
You slightly push him aside, your eyes set on San’s bleeding figure. He’s still alive, rugged breaths escaping his chest, his palm pressed to the bullet that punctuated his stomach.
“I want him dead,” you mutter, grabbing Hyunjin’s forearm to support yourself, “but I want him to rot in prison too.”
“He will, for all his crimes. I have it all documented. The police have it too,” his palm rubs soothingly against your back, you lean further into his touch.
“He’s a monster.”
“I know. They all are. That’s why I killed them,” he simply says, before guiding you back to a couch on the right of the office. He shrugs off his suit, draping it over your trembling shoulders.
“Give me a minute.”
You watch as he grabs the gun you fired off of the ground, before taking a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wipes your fingerprints, making sure to leave his all over the gun. He then walks to the table, taking away your listening device and crushing it to the ground.
He’s calm and collected as he rearranges the scene to his liking, it looks like he has done this a million times before, as if this is the element in which he thrives— a sunflower turning to face the sun, at long last.
He kneels before your freezing figure one last time, tilting your chin to the side so you’d look at him.
“I fired the gun. You had no idea any of this would happen, you’re just an ambitious journalist who wanted an insider scoop.” He senses you’re somewhere far, pulled by the ropes of memories that had long haunted your dreams. His warm palm presses to your cold cheek, your eyes are glossy as they rest on him.
“You didn’t do anything. I’m the one who used you as a scapegoat to bring San up here, just like I agreed with the police. Alright? You did nothing.You know nothing.”
“Alright.”
Hours pass in a cold blur, the weight of time lost on you as three police officers take turns questioning you. You repeat the lines Hyunjin taught you, your voice flat, devoid of emotion. Even as you step out of the police station, with Hyunjin's hand resting gently on your back, you feel nothing. A slight tremor runs through you when he mentions that San survived and will be transferred to prison once he's healed.
You don’t know why you’re disappointed you didn’t become a killer.
You don’t know anything, don’t feel anything as Hyunjin drives you home. You don’t question how he knows your address or the code to your elevator. It’s only when you unlock your door and he starts to pull away that reality snaps back.
Without thinking, you grab his wrist, suddenly aware of the loneliness that awaits you inside, an uninvited guest preying on your vulnerable heart.
“Would you like some tea?” you ask, your voice tinged with hopelessness, knowing just how silly you sound. Why would he stay? He has so many loose ends to thread after his finishing blow, you know he’s part of something far larger than you.
As if mocking your question, his phone buzzes for the tenth time in the span of five minutes.
But then, to your surprise, he turns it off.
“Yeah,” he says with a soft smile, “I’d like some tea.”
As you bring the water to a boil, Hyunjin rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt, casually wandering around your apartment as if it’s not his first time setting foot in here. He’s always at ease— with a gun pointed at him or while looking at the souvenir magnets on your fridge.
His calmness helps instill some peace in your heart too.
“I like your apartment,” he says, accepting the cup of chamomile you hand him. “It’s cozy, feels like a home.”
“Thank you,” you whisper as you sink into the couch, your head hung low. So much has happened in just half an hour, too much for you to fully comprehend and process.
“Let me see,” he says a few sips later, as he gently removes the cup from your clutch, before sliding his thumb across your right wrist. The bruises have already begun to form, the red marks from the handcuffs clear evidence of your struggle to reach the gun.
“I’m sorry I involved you in this,” he murmurs, frowning as he avoids your gaze, staring intently at your wrist as if he could will the blue hues away. “I didn’t plan for you to be at the party.”
“I involved myself,” you chuckle softly. You’re not one for physical touch, but you don’t feel the usual urge to pull away from his grasp. His hands are warm, the roughness of his fingertips a stark contrast to the softness of your skin.
“You’re a stubborn journalist,” he says with a small smile, finally meeting your gaze. you suddenly yearn to look into the rich brown of his eyes once more. Was its shade as deep as you remember?
“And you’re an excellent painter,” you retort, eliciting a surprised laugh from him. The sound is unexpectedly endearing, and you’re caught in a whirlwind of contradictions. Is this really the same man you saw taking a life? The same man now holding your wrist as if it were made of porcelain?
“Right, you figured out my identity. What gave me away?” he asks, still smiling.
“I heard about this new gallery where the artist’s only clue to his identity was the name signed on his paintings. So, I decided to see for myself. While everyone else was captivated by the artwork, I noticed you, standing in the corner, observing the reactions of everyone around. You smiled when someone smiled, and your grin grew wider with each compliment. That’s when I started to suspect that the artist was you, all along.”
“I remember it now. I bumped into you as you were leaving,” he says, and you nod.
“What stood out to me were your sad eyes. That’s what I remember most. Well, besides your bruised knuckles.”
“And that’s how you connected the dots.”
“Yes, and your eye mole, too. Even though you tried to conceal it with makeup, it still showed.”
“Very perceptive,” he says with a grin.
“Thank you.”
“Aren’t you worried I’ll expose your identity?” you ask, as his hand gently slides into yours, his fingers resting lightly on top of yours. A simple, innocent touch, yet it stirs something unknown in the pits of your stomach.
“I trusted you when you said I’m not the one who matters to you.”
“Why would you trust me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I miss putting my faith in someone, even if they end up failing me. Isn’t that the most human trait of all?”
How could an assassin create such heartfelt paintings, overflowing with emotions too hard to explain with words, let alone colors? Perhaps because this isn’t the life he always wanted.
“Did you choose this?” you ask softly, your voice barely a whisper. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from the interrogation, or the near brush with death, or perhaps the relief that this chapter is finally closing for both of you. But something compels you to keep talking, to ask, to hold on to Hyunjin just a little longer.
“Being a killer, you mean?” His voice carries a tenderness that seems at odds with the weight of his words. He’s a walking contradiction, balancing two identities within himself—Hyunjin and Sam. One feels heavier on his bones than the other.
“I grew up in this world,” he continues. “My parents run a large network of assassins—or vigilantes, depending on how you see it. Some people hire us, and sometimes we act on our own when we see injustice or corruption festering for too long. We conduct thorough background checks. We only kill those who truly deserve it. We always make sure of that.”
“An eye for an eye.”
He nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I always feel good in the midst of a case. One less evil in the world. But after, there’s just this emptiness. Now what? I always wonder. So I try to fill the void with painting.”
“Now what…” you repeat, your voice trembling as a lump forms in your throat. “Now what? What should I do now?” Tears well up and spill over suddenly, streaming down your face in an unstoppable torrent. “San is behind bars, but my mom isn’t coming back. So what now? What was all of this for if I can’t get her back?”
You find yourself burying your head in the crook of Hyunjin’s neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you, holding you close as if he could contain your sadness, preventing it from seeping from your soul and reaching your mother, wherever she may be.
You haven’t allowed anyone to hold you like this in two years, denying yourself any comfort until you could bring your mother’s killer to justice. It was a promise you made to yourself after San drunkenly ran her over and fled the scene, leaving you alone to hug her cold body in that sterile hospital room.
“It drove me crazy,” you sob, your words broken and incoherent. “He bribed everyone—the doctors, the paramedics, the stores nearby. Everyone acted like my mom didn’t d-die because of h-him,” you hiccup, and Hyunjin only holds you tighter, closer, enough to stitch your wounds with time, only if he remains this close to you. If he wishes to, if you allow him to.
“But now he’s behind bars, and I still don’t have my mom. What do I do now that I can’t bury myself in revenge? Hyunjin, what should I do when I miss her so much and I can’t see her?”
Five hours later.
“The article is perfect, no corrections needed,” Chris says, removing his glasses and looking at you with approval. “Excellent work, Yn.”
“Thank you,” you nod, feeling a mix of relief, but mostly exhaustion. “I stayed up all night working on it.”
“Goid, it’s only 6 a.m. so we know that no other media outlet has touched this yet. Our article will be the one to shape public opinion. This is a big win for us. It’s a thorough investigation, and I’m confident you’ll get the recognition you deserve,” he writes something down onto his notebook before looking at you once more. “Take a few days off—you’ve earned it. I’ll reach out if anything urgent comes up.”
“Thank you, sir.” You bow slightly before turning to leave the suffocating office. Or maybe it’s your own mind that’s suffocating you. You don’t have time to dwell on the question before Chris speaks again.
“Oh, Yn?” Chris calls out just as your hand touches the doorknob. “One last thing, did you ever figure out who was behind all those tapes?”
Your grip on the doorknob tightens imperceptibly. “No sir, no clue.”
One month later.
It’s a few minutes before the art gallery closes when you walk in. Hyunjin spots you before you see him, your distinctive walk etched in his memory as vividly as if it were only yesterday that he had seen it.
He approaches quietly, stopping behind you as you gaze at the newest addition to his collection.
“Is this us?” you ask, not turning around. Hyunjin’s eyes follow yours to the abstract painting of a couple waltzing in a ballroom, their hands intertwined just like yours were, four Saturdays ago.
“Yes,” he replies softly.
“It seems I left an everlasting impression on you,” you tease, he can hear the smile in your voice without seeing it.
“You did. You looked beautiful.”
“So did you.”
“I’m glad you came,” he says sincerely. “I missed you.”
“But we only spent a day together,” you giggle quietly, and Hyunjin wishes he could capture your laugh and tuck it away in the veins of his heart.
“Didn’t that day feel like a year, though?” he muses, resting his chin gently on your shoulder. You lean back into him, closing the space between you.
“It did,” you admit before nervously clearing your throat. “Are you free right now? We could grab a drink, if you’d like?”
“Chamomile tea?” he chuckles, and your laughter vibrates through his being.
“No, something stronger this time.”
He hums, hesitating as he despises the words that would stumble out of his mouth. “I have some things to handle tonight. Urgent matters.”
“Ah,” your voice dips slightly, the disappointment clear in your tone. “Well, it’s okay. I’ll see you another time, then,” you say, finally turning to face him.
He really missed you.
“Okay. I’ll see you.”
“Okay.”
“Congratulations on your award, by the way,” he says, watching your expression soften, a delicate smile forming on your lips.
“You saw it?”
“I did. I read your piece, too. I’m sure your mom would be proud of you.”
Tears of gratitude well up in your eyes, and you squeeze Hyunjin’s hand tightly as you whisper, “Thank you. Really. Thank you, Hyunjin.”
Hyunjin’s words linger in your soul, echoing through your mind for the rest of your day, his voice the only sound that seems to fill the silence within you. That is until three loud knocks resonate through your apartment, just minutes before midnight.
You open the door to find Hyunjin standing there, a fresh bruise marring his jaw, his knuckles freshly scraped and bloodied.
“Let me guess, you had nowhere else to go?” you joke, trying to regain your composure at the sight of him once more.
“No,” he replies, his tone earnest, “I wanted to come to you.”
Your smile falters at the sincerity in his voice. You can’t quite place what it is about Hyunjin that pulls you toward him, how amidst everything that’s happened in the past month, the most vivid memory is how he held you gently as you cried and cried.
“I forgot something,” he says, pulling a tube of cooling cream from his back pocket and offering it to you. “I meant to give this to you for your bruised wrists.”
He’s a month late, you both know your wrists have long since healed.
“I… yeah,” he sighs before your silence, turning to leave, a light blush tinting his cheeks. But before he can, you drop the tube and grab his hand, spinning him back around.
“I forgot something too,” you say quickly before pressing your lips against his.
You don’t fully understand what draws you to Hyunjin, but you know his lips taste as sweet as cherry chapstick, that his hand around your waist feels like water flowing gently over your skin, warm and encompassing. That his brown eyes remind you of sunlight dancing on autumn leaves, that no one has touched your soul as deeply as he has.
You know you wish to make him feel as human as he makes you.
#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#skz x you#skz imagines#stray kids imagine#stray kids imagines#skz scenarios#stray kids scenarios#skz au#skz reactions#hyunjin imagines#hyunjin x reader#hyunjin x you#hyunjin angst#skz angst#stray kids angst#skz fanfic#skz fluff#hyunjin fluff
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Interview: Jabbar Raisani and Marion Spates on the Visual Effects of ‘Avatar: The Last Airbender’
Avatar: The Last Airbender impressed audiences with the way Netflix brought the animated Nickelodeon hit to live-action, telling the story of how Aang (Gordon Cormier) had to train in order to free the world from Fire Lord Ozai (Daniel Dae Kim) and the Fire Nation. But in order to translate the visual language of the animated series into a different medium, a wide variety of special effects were used to depict bending.
Awards Radar had the opportunity to interview Jabbar Raisani and Marion Spates, two people who were very closely involved with the production of this year’s Avatar: The Last Airbender. Raisani directed an entire block of the first season, and for the next installments, he’ll serve as the showrunner of the adaptation alongside Christine Boylan. Here are some of the highlights from the interview:
Awards Radar: How hard was it to create visual effects, in Avatar: The Last Airbender thatseamlessly blended with the cast’s performances?
Jabbar Raisani: Creating visual effects that blend with live-action photography and the performance of the actors is one of our biggest challenges. One of the things that we always try to do is talk with the actors about what eventually will be there. When it comes to something like Appa, for example, in the pilot episode, when Aang has this heart-to-heart moment with Appa before they fly off, we built a full-sized buck of Appa’s face that could be puppeteered.
It really gave Gordon something to perform with. Gordon’s a really imaginative kid. He really saw Appa when he was talking to that blue face. It happened to be a scene that I directed, so we just talked a lot about what Appa would be doing when Aang was having his different moments, so he could really visualize the other character that he was doing the scene with.
AR: Besides the original animated series, what were some visual inspirations for the bending effects seen in Avatar: The Last Airbender?
Marion Spates: Great question! As far as all the bending, and all the creatures, we lean into real-world photography to help us ground the show in a way that feels the most physical. For instance, with waterbending, we used the classic, I don’t know if you’ve seen an F-22, the back of it, when the engines are on. There’s a lot of heat distorsion. That was one of our main ingredients for airbending because you can’t see airbending.We had to figure out a way to depict it.
In the cartoon, they just use a color. An even sometimes I get confused. Is that the earth on the ground, or the color of the airbending? We used this heat distorsion methodology that we would run through smoke simulations to give us different amplitudes and frequencies so it would also give it some depth. The problem with heat distorsion, and distorsion in general, is that it can start looking very flat, so we wanted to make sure we gave it some depth.
Our last ingredient was, whatever world Aang is in, we need to pull elements from that world. So when he’s fighting Bumi, he pulls sand up. When he’s in the snow, he would pull snow. And when he’s on the ship, fighting the Fire Nation, he would pull water droplets from around him. With firebending, we used a slow motion flamethrower to help figure out the turbulence and the frequency. That was one of our main references.
JR: We’ve done a lot of fire on Stranger Things, so we know where to go from this!
AR: A normal day in the office! Shooting fire at kids!
MS: Yes! (laughs) So we leaned into physical things that made fire look real. With water, it was tricky because you can’t look up waterbending. It’s not obeying to gravity. But we found some slow motion water that was in zero gravity. We studied at least to understand what water looks like when it’s not actually falling and breaking apart. I thought airbending was harder and Jabbari thought waterbending was harder.
When it comes to earthbending, one of the things we didn’t want was for it to look as if there were boulders pre-determined on the ground, waiting to be pulled up. We just made it look as if they were creating the rocks from material under the ground and compressing it into that boulder, that would then be executed and pulled up.
AR: What are some important techniques when working with weight? It’s crucial to make things look heavy when they need to when it comes to visual effects.
JR: We start with real-world scale and physics. We’re very much into things existing in our reality, even if they’re only digital. So that’s one of the things we always do. Everything exists at a true scale. We start with real physics. If we need to deviate from there for story reasons, then we deviate, but we really start with physical reality in the computer.
For creatures like Appa, or even creatures like Momo, who are much lighter, it really is all about weight and proper balance. We got a lot of references for Appa, such as rhinos, hippos, elephants. And for Momo, we looked at lemurs, we had a lot of different kinds of monkeys just to see exactly how they move. When a monkey pulls his arm up, his body reacts in a very physical way, even though Momo has this big, over-sized ears, we don’t want him to be defying physics.
AR: When did the pre-visualization process begin for you in Avatar: The Last Airbender?
I directed block two of Avatar. For me, it almost started in “pre-pre-production”, because we also had The Volume, where we were shooting certain scenes on. We went back to six months before I ever was on set. We had VR goggles, headsets and video game controllers setting cameras in a three-dimensional space. As we got closer to production, the stunt coordinator, Jeff Aro, we worked together with him when it came to the big fight sequences, such as Aang vs. Bumi.
When we really had a good understanding of our shots, you start to figure out what direction you’re filming in. The wide shots where we get Bumi first, and then we’re going to turn around and shoot Gordon. And then Gordon had to leave set, because he’s a minor, and we had to bring in a stunt double. It really was a collaborative effort between pre-vis and the stunt team. And then taking all of those elements in post-production and then bringing them to life.
AR: Congrats on the double renewal! What are you looking forward to working with during the next two seasons of Avatar: The Last Airbender?
JR: So many sequences I’m excited about. But when it comes to season two, I’m excited about the introduction of Toph. She’s such a great character. I can’t wait to meet her. I can’t wait to cast her.
MS: For me, it’s getting to see Aang learning how to bend. We see him trying to become a waterbender over the course of the first season. Earthbending in general, too. And the work will be harder, because Katara will also be more evolved. I’m just excited to tell that story and see how they’re both progressing.
AR: Jabbar, what were you doing when you learned you were going to be the showrunner of the series moving forward? What was your initial reaction?
JR: I think I was walking towards working on color for some shots of the first season. My initial reaction was that I was so stoked. It’s a dream come true, it’s taking a long time to get here. And Christine Boylan, who I’ll be working with, is amazing. She wrote the episodes I directed. She’s a super talented person I look forward to continue working with.
AR: Could you enlighten people regarding your new responsibilities as co-showrunner of Avatar: The Last Airbender?
JR: It’s very similar to what I did in season one, but doing it earlier on. It’s just being involved with all the decisions and taking them in an earlier stage. There are tons of decisions to be made, and even going back to when we made season one, we were picking stuff out that would be told in seasons two and three. It’s just keeping everything in line so we define what we want the show to be once it’s ready and delivered.
#natla#atla#netflix avatar#avatar the last airbender#netflix atla#avatar netflix#atla netflix#interview#jabbar raisani#marion spates#awards radar
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TWO MONTHS BEFORE Hamas attacked Israel, the Pentagon awarded a multimillion-dollar contract to build U.S. troop facilities for a secret base it maintains deep within Israel’s Negev desert, just 20 miles from Gaza. Code-named “Site 512,” the longstanding U.S. base is a radar facility that monitors the skies for missile attacks on Israel. On October 7, however, when thousands of Hamas rockets were launched, Site 512 saw nothing — because it is focused on Iran, more than 700 miles away. The U.S. Army is quietly moving ahead with construction at Site 512, a classified base perched atop Mt. Har Qeren in the Negev, to include what government records describe as a “life support facility”: military speak for barracks-like structures for personnel. Though President Joe Biden and the White House insist that there are no plans to send U.S. troops to Israel amid its war on Hamas, a secret U.S. military presence in Israel already exists. And the government contracts and budget documents show it is evidently growing. The $35.8 million U.S. troop facility, not publicly announced or previously reported, was obliquely referenced in an August 2 contract announcement by the Pentagon. Though the Defense Department has taken pains to obscure the site’s true nature — describing it in other records merely as a “classified worldwide” project — budget documents reviewed by The Intercept reveal that it is part of Site 512. (The Pentagon did not immediately respond to a request for comment.)
#yemen#jerusalem#tel aviv#current events#palestine#free palestine#gaza#free gaza#news on gaza#palestine news#news update#war news#war on gaza#imperialism
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