#actually deeply deeply embarrassing company to work for in every conceivable way

[steeleyespan]

am actually gonny get sacked because my manager is the most annoying and stupid person ever and whenever she asks me to do something stupid and annoying (minimum once a shift) i cant help but be rude and bitchy back....Actually think we're all kind of unsackable due to no staff but yknow. I get scared

[shewhowantsmouseears]

Love Like Lava, 7

Notes: As always, big thanks to my wonderful editors, Drucilla and BlueShifted!

See the light where the sky meets the sea, it calls me~ Hahaha, yeah, I'm amused that I chose a story that's deeply connected to the sea while Moana is a smash hit. But just how connected is Minnie and the others to the sea? You'll just have to see how far I'll go ;)

I'd like to thank some extra people for this chapter - my pals known as Zumi, Greta, LoneWolfPrincess, and Tsa. These duck fanatics really encouraged me to make this feathery chapter.

Summary: Legend says that Hades kidnapped Persephone to be his bride. But now Minnie will learn the truth from the victim's own mouth - if she is a victim at all.

As much as Minnie wanted to devote every single second she had to learning about Mickey, she didn't want to neglect time with her dear friends. So on this crisp windy day as Daisy encouraged Minnie to follow her, holding her hand as they moved around thin trees and ignored wildlife. Of course, that didn't stop Minnie from speaking of Mickey, Mickey, Mickey - amazing Mickey, handsome Mickey, Mickey who loved his family and protected them with his words. Daisy could barely get a word in otherwise, but she found the puppy-love charming. Besides, Minnie was still new to many ways of the world, including the emotion she was supposedly in charge of. Maybe she'd calm down once she was used to it, so Daisy told herself.

When Daisy noticed Minnie pausing in her words, trying to exactly describe the adorable way Mickey's tongue stuck out when he worked on something that required delicate patience, she seized the chance to speak. “Today's going to be a special day for you and I.”

It did the trick and Minnie was instantly distracted, blinking rapidly to remind herself that, oh yeah, they were walking towards something instead of aimlessly wandering. “Huh? Why is that?”

“One way or another, you've become my friend, so you're going to have a privilege very few gods or goddesses know of.” Her beak tilted upwards, pride shown in boastful sunflowers trailing through her hair. “I know I can trust you not to tell anyone else, without my explicit permission.” She had a feeling that Minnie would try to get said permission to tell Mickey.

“What is it, what is it?” Minnie inched up closer to her friend, holding her entire arm in anticipation. “I won't tell a single soul, I promise!” A pause as Daisy awaited the expected. “Unless you'd say it's okay to tell Mickey. But I won't even tell him if you say no.”

“Good girl,” Daisy chuckled, a little embarrassed at how easily Minnie could push a smile onto Daisy's face. Daisy had distrusted others for so long that to have someone so casually take up a spot in her heart was confusing. She wanted to believe it was Minnie's sunny personality that won her over, but there was always that nagging worry far in the back of her mind – that perhaps Minnie was so beautiful, or that just by being the goddess of love, you had no choice except to love her. That worrisome thought was a smidgen louder today, in that only one other person knew of what she would show Minnie. “Watch your step, the shore is pretty steep here.”

“Shore?” Minnie slowed down their walk as their feet hit the sand. Daisy had said time and time again that coincidences didn't truly exist, and now Minnie was starting to believe it. Over and over Minnie found herself back at the sea – it was where she had emerged, where Goofy had lost his lady fair, where she learned of Mickey's existence and soon after discovered Mickey herself. Was there a deeper connection hiding in the waves? She almost didn't hear Daisy call after her – the demi-goddess of plants had let go of her hand to heartily run towards the water, and there was the special surprise.

Minnie was expecting something a bit more grand than a weathered old sailboat that sat halfway in the sand. There wasn't even a port for it to dock, and it lay wedged into the sand.Age hadn't been kind to this boat, with worn out sides and chipped white paint. The sails had been ripped and sewn back together more times than anyone could count, with different colors showing that the original cloth was long since gone. Yet Daisy raced toward it as if it was a beautiful treasure, running her hands along the bow as a noble woman would touch fine silk. “This is my most prized possession,” Daisy declared, turning around with her hands on her hips. “Mine and Donald's! And only you get to see it.”

“It's...got a lot of history.” It was the only compliment Minnie could conceive at the moment. If it was owned by divine beings, why was it in such shoddy shape? She knocked a tiny fist against the hull. “Which one of you made it?”

“Neither of us did,” Daisy said as she took Minnie by the shoulders and pushed her up the tiny ladder on the back. “This is a mortal-made ship. Donald bought it long ago under the guise of a mortal. He leaves it here for me so I can go sailing whenever I want. Now, sit there and wait!”

“Wait for what?” Minnie didn't get an answer as Daisy began to push and shove the boat – inch by inch, it began to retreat back into the water. Once it was submerged, Daisy jumped onto the ladder, and once she was inside her hands worked on pulleys and ropes to make the different parts of the boat move to her command. Minnie's skepticism vanished and was replaced by the awe of the boat's mechanisms and Daisy's mastery of the sails. The wind blew into the cloth, and the boat slowly began to move off into the distance, leaving a gradual wake behind. “We're moving!” Minnie squealed with delight, moving to dip her hands in the cold water as they continued to sail on.

The boat was very small, and probably wouldn't have been able to handle another two on its deck. It clearly wasn't meant for great voyages and heroic trips with adventure. It simply moved from one place to the next, but that was all the girls could ever want. Soon the sandy shore was but a glimpse on the horizon, and they were alone on the water, the wind in their hair. Daisy inhaled deeply, the salty scent of the sea finer than any fragrance. “The ocean is never the same each time you come to it,” she said, slowing down her furious activity now that the boat was capable of going ahead on its own. “And that's what we love about it. On Mount Olympus, things are never changing, and as gods, sometimes we don't change for centuries. But each time we wade into the water, there is something new to see. The fish will always move to a different place, and the sun will greet you in a different direction. Do you understand?”

Minnie did, or at last she thought she did. What she understood most of all was that Daisy deeply and truly loved her friend – this wasn't a rehearsed speech, but one made of passion, where she wanted Minnie involved her world. Minnie couldn't stop smiling, resisting the urge to hug her companion – she feared doing so would send them both into the water. “You know, I heard a man named Poseidon is in charge of the sea,” she brought up. “With the way you and Donald love it, maybe he should've been in charge instead.”

Daisy had her back to Minnie, but her shoulders lowered, and muscles began to clench up. “Yeah...if all was right and fair in the world, Donald would be the god of the ocean. That was all he wanted when they were playing for their roles.” Daisy knew Minnie would ask, and Minnie knew Daisy knew, so she didn't even bother asking and merely waited for the answer. “Centuries ago, Zeus, Poseidon, and Donald took down their tyrant of a father in order to free the world. Funny enough, he'd done the same to his father. I bet Zeus crosses his fingers every day hoping it won't be his turn next.” She shook her head to return to the subject at hand. “With him gone, there were three important roles to fill -  ruler of the sea, ruler of the dead, and ruler of the gods. They didn't want to fight over it, so they left it to a game of dice.” A bitter chuckle. “To this day, I still believe they rigged it so Donald would have the one position the other two didn't want.”

Daisy began to turn around, and for once she seemed to be her true age, a worn down woman of decades long since past. “We all have our place in this world, but it shouldn't be decided for us. I worry about you a lot, Minnie. You had your titles thrust upon you, and you still don't even know where you came from, do you?”

Minnie slowly shook her head no. “The first memory I have is stepping out of that sea shell. There's nothing else.” By now she'd understood it made no sense, and that everyone came from somewhere. Yet she never bothered asking anyone upon Mount Olympus for answers, knowing that would be a fruitless endeavor.

“And you have those weeds-for-brains up on the mountain thinking you're everyone's girlfriend.” Daisy snorted, pacing up and down the ship's center. “You've been the biggest change they've had in years, and I fear for your future because of that.” She stopped, arms crossed, looking out on the still water. “I want to tell you a story, Minnie. You've probably already heard their version of it – how 'Hades' kidnapped me and now forces me to stay with him for half a year. I imagine to them it makes perfect sense. But that's not even remotely what happened.”

~*~

I guess the easiest place to begin this with would be about my mother, Demeter. She's the official goddess of plants, and you should see her work. Compared to her towering forests, I'm like a dandelion seed. She was one of the most beautiful and powerful goddesses on Mount Olympus, and all the men wanted a chance with her, Zeus included, and she let herself have some fun flings. But when she did fall in love, it was with a mortal man.

Now, it's not forbidden for gods and mortals to, well, enjoy each other's company. Zeus does it almost every day. But it's pretty much a bad idea to actually fall in love with one of them. Their life spans are incredibly small, especially compared to people like us who never age or die. Mother said she could handle it when he inevitably passed. Spoiler – she didn't. And it didn't help that he didn't even die of old age. A bunch of robbers broke into his place and killed him. Don't bother looking for tears on me, Minnie, I was still in the womb when this happened. I never knew the man.

Anyway, with him dead, Mother went nuts. First she blamed Donald, accusing him of taking away her husband on purpose because he was jealous of her happiness. Let me tell you right now, not only would Donald never kill anyone, he can't. He doesn't actually control death, he just keeps things organized in the Underworld. Every now and then he can try to bargain with the Sisters of Fate to keep someone alive longer, but it's always a risky gamble and never a guarantee. Not to mention Donald rarely visited the mountain in the first place. Not only does his work keep him busy, but they all treat him like a pariah. They assumed that because of his role, he must be gloomy and scary and depressing. They still assume that today.

Moving on. Out I came, and Mother went into full panic mode. She was afraid of losing me too, and never let me out of her sight. When I say never, Minnie, I mean never. For years I was forbidden to leave Mount Olympus, and I was like you for a while. I didn't know anything and no one bothered to tell me anything except what they thought was important. That's when I first learned about “Hades”, and all the stories about him. Like how he “laughed like a madman” when the dice rolled his way, and how he “stalks the souls of the living”, eager to have them die. I believed it all. Why wouldn't I, when no one would tell me different?

You know how dull Mount Olympus is. I was bored to tears, but I couldn't leave my mother's side. She decided what I ate, what I wore, even how I was supposed to sit on my throne. Then one day, she got this crazy notion that if I married one of the gods up there, I'd always be safe even when we wouldn't be together. I hated the idea, but my opinion meant squat. It was also a blessing in disguise, though, because while she was interviewing other gods to see who was worthy enough for my hand, it meant a chance to escape. So I headed right for the mortal plane, and just like you, I went wherever I felt like, learning everything I could.

Eventually I found that exact same shore you and I were just on. I saw this boat and thought it was absolute junk. I would have moved on, but that's when I saw a good looking guy – who I thought was a mortal - wrestling with the sailing rope, unable to undo a knot. Being the generous soul that I am, I offered to help him.

~*~

“HAHAHAHAHA! WHAT KIND OF MORON DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO UNDO A KNOT?!” Daisy “forgot” to mention that being under Demeter's demented eye left her a tad spoiled. So her snotty superior attitude had her howling in laughter at Donald's failed attempt, and doubly so when Donald was so startled he fell into the water.

If he wasn't flapping around in the water, Donald would have unwillingly poofed into his smoky form, but for now his temper wasn't as hot as it could have been. “Who're you calling a moron! I bet you don't know anything about sailing!”

“I'm pretty sure the first rule is not to go into the water!” Daisy cackled, holding her stomach due to how hard she was laughing.

“Why you doggone stubborn little...” Donald marched out of the water, squeezing what he could out of his robes. “I only have so much free time today, and I ain't gunna waste it listening to you giggling like a hyena! Sailing comes with all kinds of different knots! Why, I bet you don't even know what that is!” He indignantly pointed at what Daisy thought was just the boat itself.

“It's a boat, duh,” Daisy snorted as she tried to catch her breath.

“Name that part of the boat,” Donald demanded, still pointing, water dripping from his beak. For the record, it was the rudder.

“It's...the...boat part.” Oh, what did she care what some foolish mortal thought of her? She was born better than him anyway. “Whatever it is! It's a hideous thing anyway.”

“HEY! Nobody insults my baby and gets away with it!” “I JUST DID!”

“YOU THINK YOU'RE SO SMART?!” He was seconds away from poofing at this point, but a wicked idea saved him from unknowingly revealing himself. Donald was also under the impression that this was a mortal woman, and while he didn't care about the rules of superiority and inferiority, he did care when people of any race dared to abuse his pride and joy. He suddenly scooped Daisy up into his arms – ignoring her shrieks and kicks – and tossed her onto the boat. “There, let's see you sail!”

Daisy was on her feet in seconds, snapping Venus fly traps curling in her hair. Donald might've taken notice if he wasn't so pleased by her furious reply. “How dare you – do you have any idea who I am?!”

“Nope! Couldn't care less!” Donald grinned devilishly as he began to push the boat onto the water. “Go ahead, toots, try and make me pay for it – if you can get back here!”

“I – I will! And you'll be sorry!” Logically she could have teleported to his side and given him the walloping of a lifetime, but her dignity would be gone forever. How hard could sailing be? But now she was in the boat and actually looking at all the handles and pulleys and ropes, it was like staring into the jaws of a wild animal. She stuttered at a loss, aimlessly trying everything and getting nowhere fast. She wound up smacking herself with the boom, and getting tangled in the sails. “Get over here and help meee!” she whined, flailing her arms in a pathetic motion to free herself.

“Apologize to my baby and I'll help you!”

“I AM NOT APOLOGIZING TO YOUR CRUDDY UGLY BOAT!”

“THEN STAY THERE FOREVER, SEE IF I CARE!”

~*~

We didn't get off to a great start.

I got fed up and vanished back onto Mount Olympus, which was probably Donald's first clue that I wasn't mortal either. I told myself that being bored there was far better than dealing with a cranky, violent mortal. Mother hadn't noticed I was gone, though her candidates for marriage had narrowed down. As I stayed there, stewing over what had happened, I told myself that I could learn more about boats and prove myself better than that silly man with a weird voice. That was about the time I borrowed Mother's Viewing Mirror, and she never bothered to ask why I even wanted it. I had to admit, mortals could be really interesting. I told myself I was only looking to upset that man, and once I had accomplished my task, I'd never look again. But let's face it, compared to the same old parties up there, the eternally changing mortal plane was a book you could never put down.

The next time around I pushed my mother to distraction, asking her to make positively sure that Apollo was a worthy man for me. She was so delighted by me faking interest that she didn't even question it. So I headed back down to the same shore, but while the boat was there, he wasn't. Donald can't come up whenever he feels like it, he has to schedule time in advance. While I waited for him to make an appearance, I tried to test my newfound knowledge on his boat. But seeing someone else do it is worlds different than trying it for myself, and I wound up a mess all over again, tied up in ropes and sails without the boat ever leaving the sand. Even worse, he never showed up that day.

Day after day I waited for him, telling Mother about different gods that could be good protectors, even demi-gods from below or children Zeus had fathered. It was weeks before I finally saw him again, and I thought I was ready to show off my new skills.

~*~

“You didn't attach the tack to its shackle.”

“SHUT UP! I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!”

“Well, whenever you get done with that, you have to pull the outhaul-”

“I'LL GET TO IT WHEN I GET TO IT!”

“I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU!”

“WHO ASKED FOR YOUR HELP!?”

~*~

By then we were kinda sure each other was a god and goddess, otherwise we wouldn't have survived the bruising we gave one another. It made me feel a touch better knowing that I wasn't losing to a mortal, but it still stung all the same. I wanted him to know how great I was, to acknowledge me as his better. Each time I would return to Mount Olympus, I would get praised on how pretty I was, but it felt...hollow. Like I hadn't done anything worthy of their compliments except exist. They couldn't praise my powers, since they were obviously weaker than my mother's, so my looks were all I had. Yeah, you know how that feels, don't you, Minnie?

But I wasn't totally hopeless, and I did manage to get better.

~*~

“Watch your telltales. You're wasting energy like this, just let out the sail.”

“But if I do that, I'll have to let go, and you said to keep my hand steady!”

“I know what I said! Just – here, let me show you.”

“No! No! I can do it! I know I can do it.”

~*~

We wouldn't try to go anywhere in particular. Sometimes we'd just drift out onto the ocean and see the sun set. Other times we'd pass by mortal villages and watch fishermen take in their haul. Donald knew a lot of them by name, mostly because he knew their dead relatives, but I still didn't know “who” he was. It didn't really seem to matter. But in his head, he had his reasons not to tell me. If I'd known on day one that he was Hades, I would have run away screaming and never turned back. I told him easily enough that I was Persephone, that I was Daisy, that I was a useless daughter with no ambition save for a wedding ring.

~*~

After he heard that, Donald had taken her hand and turned the palm up. “It's a shame about the ambrosia,” he said, tsking. “Heals all of our wounds instantly, so you can't have the tough callouses the mortals have. They'd be proof enough that you've got more ambition than any of those lazy vagabonds up on the mountain.”

“Does that include all the bumps on my head I should've gotten every time the boom hit me? At that rate, I should've been the demi-goddess of concussions.” A tiny chuckle.

“C'mon, I mean it. There's nothing wrong with not having an exact goal right now.” The boat was smoothly passing between two cliffs, a creaky bridge far above them. The night was approaching and glitters of stars dotted the sky. The wind was dying down for now, and they felt safe enough to sit. “One man might think he'll grow up to be a farmer, and becomes a soldier instead. Even gods and goddess should have the opportunity to at least look for what they want.”

Opportunity – what a foreign word. Daisy had thought that because she had the blood of a goddess flowing through her, that this was enough to justify her existence. But now she wasn't sure of a lot of things. She wanted worth in a different form, she wanted equality, and so many other things she never even knew existed before meeting Donald. She was quiet for a while. “I don't want to be like my mother, deciding things for someone else and being afraid of things we can't control.”

“Then don't be like her. Be yourself. It's not as hard as you think it is. If nobody else likes you as yourself, it doesn't matter as long as you like yourself.”

She glanced up at that. “Do you like yourself?”

“You're darn right I do.” He grinned in that egotistical way she'd come to find entertaining. “I do my job and I do it well, and I'm the best sailor in the whole wide world. And if someone doesn't like me, then they're not worth my time. It takes effort to know people, and laziness just to guess and dislike without a chance. And you, little lady, are not lazy.”

“... Donald?”

“Yeah?”

“You're still holding my hand.”

So he was. “Uh.” So he was still was. “Uhhh.” Still holding it. “I was – just – um – I was going to – to help you practice rigging the preventer!” This involved nearly squishing Daisy's hand to the boom and tying yet another intricate knot. As the blushing ducks debated whether to speak of whatever happened between them, peeking at each other and then pretending they hadn't, Donald made a deep decision. How was she to like him if he didn't tell her who he was? “Daisy, I'm not sure how to put this.”

“Hm.” Daisy was no longer naive about the world, including the many interests of men, and she wasn't exactly objecting to the idea of being Donald's interest. With the knot completed, she rolled her shoulders, coyly fluttering her eyelashes. “I'm listening.” As she began to twirl hair around her finger, a red rose dropping petals tangled in her hands, she expected a confession of how jaw-droppingly gorgeous he found her and he needed her every night and day. She was still a bit spoiled.

But instead of satiating Daisy's fantastic ego, Donald rubbed his knuckles, avoiding her intense gaze. “What do you know about the god Hades?”

Daisy blinked slowly, the candle of lust promptly snuffed out. How disappointing. “That he's some creep who rules the Underworld and kills little children because their mother's cry is music to his ears?”

“Oh, come on.” Donald slapped an open hand to his face, pulling it down hard.

“So what?” Daisy was about to drop her sleeve in an attempt for Donald to focus on something far more gratifying. “What does that monster have to do with you and me right now? It's got nothing to - ” But for all of Daisy's faults, and there were a great number of them, stupidity wasn't among them. Her hand froze as she understood exactly why he asked, and why he now looked so crestfallen, his entire body sagging. In that moment Daisy recalled every horrifying story she'd ever been told about Hades, most of them by her devastated mother. A beast, a merciless creature, a demon who relished in pain and suffering.

But a demon who relished in pain and suffering wouldn't have held her hand so tenderly.

“I don't – I don't care,” she blurted out, rising to her feet so fast that the boat began to wobble.

“Daisy, be careful!” “I don't care!” she shouted louder this time, hands rolled into fists, her eyes feeling hot. “I don't care what they say about you on Mount Olympus, because – because it can't be true, none of it's true! I know who you are, they don't!”

Color flooded Donald's white cheeks, but he tried to hold off her compassion, his hands out and ready to steady her if she tipped over. “It's more than that, Daisy! Once your mother and everyone finds out I've been spending time with you, they'll treat you like dirt too!”

“I don't care!”

“They'll say bad things about you too, and they'll trample all over you!”

“I don't care!”

“Daisy, you don't understand, they-”

“I SAID I DON'T CARE, YOU MORON, ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!”

“I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU OUT, YOU OBNOXIOUS BRAT!”

~*~

And that was the first time we made out. It was totally worth falling off of the boat. Anyway, it was obvious to me that once Donald took up ruling the Underworld, his family abandoned him. Despite all he'd done to help overthrow his father, they treated Donald like he was unworthy just because of a pair of dice. Yet despite all that, he was kind and caring and he helped me. How could you not fall in love with someone who wouldn't let centuries of hate and gossip destroy his good heart?

But I was spending so much time with Donald that I had long since stopped paying attention to what was happening on Mount Olympus. If you'll remember, I said that Mother was trying to get me hitched and I had pretended to be interested. I thought maybe she'd be so picky and fearful that she'd never settle on whoever would be my husband, and boy was I wrong. Not too long after Donald and I told each other how we felt, Mother dropped the bombshell – she approved of Apollo, and we were to be married.

Gladstone, right? I don't have to tell you that guy's annoying with a big fat UGH. Of course I said no, and I followed it up with that I didn't want to marry anyone. Mother said that it was for my own good, and that I couldn't possibly know what I wanted, that she knew me better than I knew myself. This from a woman who didn't realize her daughter was gone for weeks! It turned into a screaming match the likes of Mount Olympus had never heard before. The complaints poured in, and all the other gods and goddesses couldn't understand “what the big deal was”. Why not just marry Apollo and sit prettily by his side for the rest of eternity? No one was my ally, and surrounded by all sides by people who didn't care what I said to say, I knew I'd be forced into marriage. No amount of begging, pleading, or crying would get them to change their minds. So I did the only thing I could think of – I ran back to the mortal plane.

With all those eyes looking for me, I knew it wouldn't be long before I was found and forcibly dragged back. I ran to the only place I knew I could be comforted – Donald's shore, and mercifully there he was. I told him what was happening, and as far as I knew this was going to be goodbye. I'm amazed he understood a word I was saying through all of my sobbing. There was nowhere on the mortal plane I could hide that Mother wouldn't be able to find me, now that she was actually trying. I didn't want to let go of Donald, and he didn't want to let go of me. I guess that's what gave him the idea, though he told me after that it was a spur of the moment deal.

When I opened my eyes, the two of us were in the Underworld.

Is it dank and dreary? Kind of, yeah. It's an endless cavern lit by candles that never go out, and a green river flows through it, carrying floating islands filled with the dead. But they're actually really cheerful down there, reunited with their friends and family, getting to be whatever age they please at that moment. They share stories of their lives, and await those they miss most. But back to me. Donald instantly began apologizing, saying this was the only place he could think of to buy me some time while I thought of what to do. You have to give him credit – it was exactly the one place no one thought to look.

I was shocked at first, but compared to what was about to happen to me up above? This was paradise. Maybe if I stayed down here long enough, Mother would cancel the marriage and I could return to the surface and sail with Donald. Until then, I didn't mind staying there. It's really quite cozy once you get used to the place. He's got this adorable three-headed dog who is the sweetest thing, just expect three times the slobber when he licks you. The Sisters of Fate aren't exactly pleasant company, but they do know how to weave a good story. The dead were always delighted to have more company, and I got to see Donald at the role that “destiny” supposedly gave him.

And he does a dang good job. He makes sure no spirits escape, even if he has to grab them himself and yank them down. He helps the lost lovers find one another, and has even conducted a few marriages where everyone is invited. When little children who come there far too early have to wait for their parents, he plays with them and keeps them from crying. He told me he'd like little ones of his own someday – he has no confidence about himself as a father, but maybe as an uncle, with a gang of nephews to call his own.

I missed the sunshine and the sea, but I was allowed to talk to whoever I wanted and actually got full conversations back. I could go wherever I wanted on the river Styx, teach Cerberus new tricks, examine the strings that the Sisters would tangle, but I was given one rule – I couldn't eat or drink anything while I was there. I found that out after Donald slapped a pomegranate out of my hand. Turns out the food and drink keeps the spirits there, and if they left they'd just dissolve into nothing. No one knew what would happen if any god ate one, Donald had never dared, and I wasn't in a hurry to find out.

Whenever new souls found their way into the Underworld, I was with Donald, wanting to see how he reacted to new families finding one another. He's not a huge romantic, but he knew when I needed his arms, and I could erase his stress with just one kiss. We were happy, and curse whoever says otherwise!  There were days I thought I would be content never to return to the surface so long as I had my Donald.  But the longer I stayed there, the sooner we noticed that a lot more souls were coming in than usual. When I say a lot, I mean dozens at a time, then more, then hundreds. At first we thought some giant war was spreading across Greece, but the souls told us that they'd starved to death. The less I go into detail the better.

Did I mention my Mother was nuts? This was nuts into overdrive. When she searched every inch of the world and found no trace of me, she got so upset she didn't do her job – she didn't command the plants to grow. In case you didn't know, mortals really need plants in order to live. No grass, no trees, no vegetables or fruits, nothing was growing and what remained was dying. Animals starved, and it followed that mortals starved too. Zeus tried to demand Demeter to restore things, but she refused, and because he has the spine of a jellyfish, he couldn't think of anything else to do except demand things in a slightly louder voice. It's not like he could kill her. With the ambrosia that flows in Mount Olympus, all of our wounds heal instantly.

When Donald and I realized what was going on, we knew I had to return to Mother's side before everything on the mortal plane died. I cried and ranted and pulled out my hair at how unfair it all was, how everything was suffering just because I didn't want to obey her ridiculous orders. But Donald, sweet Donald, he said he wouldn't force me to go. He left it up to me. Which, in a way, was almost worse. So I asked to have some time to say goodbye to everyone before I went back.

I also did something extra, but didn't tell Donald. He'd definitely have stopped me if he found out beforehand.

~*~

Donald had gone to Olympus first to try and explain things, but the moment he said that Daisy was in the Underworld, he was blamed by every single soul. Demeter screamed that Donald had kidnapped her daughter just to see her suffer even more, and everyone agreed that this was “obviously” what had happened. When Donald ultimately lost his temper and screamed right back, it only made the gods and goddesses more sure that he was a dangerous man who would steal everyone's children for his own desires.

When Daisy joined the group, a hand on her stomach, there was silence for five extremely long seconds. Given how the men and women were surrounding Donald, she could tell right away that things had gone from bad to worse. She tried to reach for Donald's hand, but was clasped into a tight embrace by Demeter.

“Oh, my precious Persephone!” Her fingers dug into her daughter, as if her limbs would protect her from Donald. “It's all right now! I won't ever let that awful man get near you again!”

“Awful? He's awful?” Daisy grabbed a fistful of her mother's hair, yanking her down so they were on eye level. “You let thousands die – you made them die! If you think I'm going to let you badmouth him after that murder tantrum you just threw, you've lost your mind!” Demeter tried to reason that they were merely mortals, but Daisy wasn't done, pushing her aside to snap and growl at the other immortals. “And all of you just let her do this! You all think you're so much better than mortals, but you...” Her rant was postposed as a sharp pain stabbed her stomach, and she hunch over, clenching her teeth. “You...All of you...What's the point of being so powerful, if all you do is just party and...”

“Daisy?” While Donald hadn't spent a lot of time in the presence of other gods and goddesses, even he knew that such sudden pain wasn't normal. He tried to reach for her, but Demeter violently slapped him away, screeching at him that this was his fault.

“Shut up, mother!” Daisy managed to hiss out while bent over, sweat dripping down her feathers. “He does the most important job in the whole wide world, and you all treat him like garbage! You...augh...” She held herself, her vision beginning to blur, yet she refused to stop speaking, needing her opinion heard even if it went ignored. “You...You don't even try to find the truth...You're just happy with whatever is easiest for you! I won't be like you! I won't stay here and...and turn into some empty-headed pawn! I won't let you control my future! I won't let you control me! I...Only I...get to...decide that...”

Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed onto the floor, her breath sharpening. Donald yelled her name in horror, and he knelt down to scoop her up into his arms, begging her to know what happened. Demeter burst into terrified sobs, while the other gods and goddesses didn't dare move – what if whatever Daisy “caught” touched them? As tears began to roll down Donald's cheeks, he only now saw the fruit that spilled out of Daisy's robe – a pomegranate with a fresh bite mark. “What?! This is...” He snatched it up, squeezing it in hot anger and grief. “I told you! I told you not to eat anything! Why did you...You stupid, stupid brat!”

Daisy curled up in his embrace, smiling despite the agony her insides were writhing through. “Because...I finally...found a way...to like myself...” A hard gulp of air. “Some people fight...with swords and shields...this is...how I wanted...to fight...”

But now that the source of the sickness had been revealed, all was not lost. Hera wordlessly stood up from her throne, plucking one of the flowers that grew between the throne of her and her husband. It was possible she didn't know if this would work, and equally possible that she didn't mind if Daisy died right then and there. No one dared to ask Hera how her mind worked or what her motivations were that day. She knelt down, tilting the flower toward's Daisy's open mouth, and the ambrosia poured in.

Daisy's body bucked, thrashing in quiet torment, and hundreds of vines sprouted from her body, popping off flowers of all shapes and colors that died instantaneously. The process repeated again and again, until finally the vines slipped away, and Daisy was breathing normally, the fever gone from her face. A voice dared to speak up – Gladstone's. “Is...Is she going to be all right?”

“I-I don't know,” Donald confessed, helping his beloved sit up in his arms. “The seeds of the Underworld can't be digested and they will never go away. This might work for now, but...she might have to go back to the Underworld for a bit to recover.”

“I won't let you steal her again!” Demeter found her voice and her anger again, towering over Donald as she shook with fury. “She is a bride to be, not yours to take!”

“Yeaaaah. About that.” There came Gladstone again, raising his hand upward. “I've never had bad luck happen to me before, so I'm not entirely sure if this is it, but...I'd really rather not marry anyone who's been in the Underworld. She's been around dead people. Kinda gross. No offense, Persephone dear.”

“None taken,” Daisy replied groggily.

Demeter's face fell, and with her momentum stolen, she faced the other men, trying to gain their support. “Well, she...She'd still be an excellent bride! Any one of you can have her, I trust you!”

“No thanks,” said Mortimer.

“No way,” said Pete.

“It pains me to say this, but I must pass,” said Zeus, fully aware that Hera was glaring daggers at him. It followed that every male god on the mountain, including the visiting demi-gods and all other types of creatures and beasts visiting their favorite deity, politely declined marrying used goods.

With each rejection, Demeter's body appeared to shrink a little more, and she had no weaponry left except to lash out at Donald. “You! This is your fault! You planned this!”

“First off, lady, I am not that clever,” Donald growled as he wiped the tears from his face. “Second off, as much as you'd like to believe otherwise, I don't put people in harm's way to get what I want. Unlike some people. Now I am going to take her back to the Underworld so she can rest! And if you actually care about your daughter, or about anyone other than yourself, you won't cause another apocalypse!” With one last huff, he stood on his feet, cradling Daisy close to his chest. “Anything else you want to say to 'em before we head back?”

Daisy didn't have the words, but felt a long, wet raspberry would suffice.

~*~

So it turned out that I have to stay in the Underworld for a few months every year, or I'll get super sick all over again. And when that happens, Mother throws another tantrum, but at least it's shorter this time around, and since then, the mortals kind of see it coming and know what to do. That's what you can always count on mortals to do – adapt to change. They're really amazing that way. I've also made a vow to never return to Mount Olympus. It's got nothing I want up there.

Being a goddess is a bizarre thing, Minnie. Sometimes I think the mortals don't really need us at all. They'll always find ways to move on and survive on their own. They'll make bigger ships than this, faster ones, and they'll have this entire world in their hands. Maybe one day there will come a time when they forget all about us...and that might be for the best.  We shouldn't be allowed to decide their future or shape it in any way. The same goes for you and me.

You are unique, Minnie, in so many ways. We don't know where you came from, what you can do, or how the future will turn out. But don't you ever let anyone but you decide it. Not even Mickey. Whether you find your place in the world or you never do, it doesn't matter as long as you are happy with yourself. As long as you like yourself, no one has the right to tell you where to go and what to do. And if they try? You fight it in whatever way you can. I'll be by your side all the way.

~*~

“And you can stop hugging me now.” Daisy thought that sappy speech was embarrassing enough on its own, but of course Minnie had to make it worse by holding Daisy tightly from behind and almost tipping her over. “For goodness sake. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not dying anymore.”

“I know,” Minnie sniffled, deeply moved by the story told and the meanings behind it. “But I love you so much, my dear Daisy. I truly do. You're my best friend in the whole wide world.” She had not once believed that Donald had ever kidnapped Daisy, even long before she met the man for herself. The fact that they still perpetuated that lie angered her in a place deep within her soul, doubly so that they would never accept it even if Minnie said otherwise. It also told her that if anyone on the mountain ever found out what she was doing with Mickey, they'd twist and turn it into something disgusting and horrible to suit their own needs. They couldn't be trusted.

“Okay, but I can't steer the boat with you hugging me like this, and I have to return the boat to shore before Donald gets mad.” She reached to try and untangle Minnie's fingers from her stomach. “And I'll have to ask Donald for permission before you show the boat to Mickey.”

Minnie blinked, surprised, which allowed Daisy to safely push her off. “How did you know that's what I wanted to do next?”

“Because you're obsessed with that little weirdo, that's how.” A knowing flick to Minnie's black nose. “If my story didn't tip you off, that mouse must've never been to Mount Olympus, because he'd have drunk the ambrosia and never had his leg shaped that way. But whenever a god has a child, they're fully allowed to bring that kid to the mountain and have a drink of it. So whoever popped that kid out hasn't told a soul about him, and might not want anyone to know he exists.”

Minnie was about to ask why anyone wouldn't want to know about marvelous Mickey, but a thought changed her mind. “What if he came out of nowhere, just like me?” It would be another sign of how they were meant to be, so Minnie saw it.

“I'd normally say that's impossible, but with you, I suppose anything is now.” Daisy shrugged before heading to the bow of the ship. “A mystery falling in love with a mystery. It's very fitting.” With a roll of her shoulders, she set to steer the ship around. “Now, watch me do it. I'll teach you everything I know so you can sail away with Mickey into the sunset.”

“You can count on me, I'll have it all memorized!” Mickey matters aside, she was always eager to learn something new and Daisy was glad to teach. As they pulled ropes and measures sails, Daisy quietly hoped Donald would give them permission to show the boat to Mickey. As much as she loathed her mother's suffocating hold, there was pity to be had for Mickey, who had nothing and no one save for forgetful fish women. She hoped Minnie was right and that Mickey really did come from “nowhere”, so it meant he wasn't abandoned and forcefully forgotten.

Yet she recalled Donald's look when she first told him of Mickey, of his leg and his cave – a look of despair, of heartache and regret. She hadn't been able to needle the story out of him yet, but there definitely was a story there in the waiting. When would he speak of Mickey, and did she really want to hear it? What other disasters had those on Mount Olympus created?

Daisy's fingers found themselves on Minnie's shoulder, clenching her close in a protective hold. They would not cause Minnie pain, not if Daisy had anything to say about it. She would protect her friend.

But as they sailed around the cold waters, with Minnie's mind burning in a hundred new directions, Daisy had no idea that the one Minnie might need protection from was herself.

[fiorashreehan]

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[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON OLYMPUS’ MAIN DANCE, LEAD RAP KYO SEOKYUNG...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 24 DEBUT AGE: 19 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 14 COMPANY: Midas ETC: This member is a vocal or performance soloist

IDOL IMAGE

who is kyo seokyung? that is an excellent question. ever since his first day as a trainee, midas knew two things about him: he was smart and well-spoken. maybe it had a lot to do with his family, but that didn’t matter, what mattered is that they had someone who could deliver the ‘diplomatic’ answers, someone who could answer ‘risky’ questions, if at all, and give rather ‘decent’ answers. During interviews, seokyung isn’t loud or obnoxious, he’s mostly calm and collected, flashing a smile here and there, running his fingers through his hair, “looking pretty” if you will, just being the “company” boy midas wants him to be, just as they expected since he was a teenager. but he’s funny and he’s witty when the occasion asks for it; he will show his talents and smile, or laugh it off if he’s too embarrassed. he has charm and he always puts it to good use.

he has poise, he has grace, he’s elegant and he’s kind. despite him being humble about it and often mentioning he “is not perfect”, midas most definitely wants everyone to believe so. but he’s right, he isn’t. in reality, seokyung is quite different than the person the fans think he is. while yes, said poise and grace still lives within him, he’s far from being kind, often feeling annoyed by various life frustrations, snapping when things don’t go his way. he’s serious, he’s quiet, he barely wants to talk and act fake in front of the cameras, but he must.

the thing is, he’s just really good at pretending, like any other idol in the industry. and with the family he has, how could he not be?

the company has often pushed him to be the one to give the ‘corporate’ answers most people want to hear. his fans are sure he truly is incapable of doing something wrong, of doing something problematic, something that could get him in trouble because he’s just /that/ good at what he does, he’s great when it comes down to wearing that mask.

most people think seokyung is being one hundred percent authentic during his videos and actually? he is most of the time. but everything is also being controlled and monitored by his company. if a video is slightly controversial, he gets asked to do it all over again. If he says something that could be deemed as scandalous, he immediately gets asked to tone it down or twist it around. he’s a master of manipulation, a tactic he learned from his family. he just knows how to become a person he just isn’t in any kind of occasion.

and yet, he still makes sure to show a bit of who he truly is during his videos. the relaxed guy who has no problem in being bare-faced, who sits outside of his apartment and allows to be sunkissed while he talks about anything that comes to mind. he encourages others to follow their dreams, fight for what they believe in and to believe in themselves. things he sometimes can’t do for himself. but everyone eats it up and no one will complain about it.

but the pressure to be this ‘perfect individual’ does get to him at times. he has to be extremely careful with his steps, because at the end of the day, when the cameras aren’t rolling? he knows he’s not the person people want him to be and if he were to ever do something bad? he’d lose his fans’ trust and that would hurt him deeply, also taking away from him the one thing he’s worked so hard for for years; a career of his own. being perfect is clearly impossible, but seokyung pressures himself so much to ‘be perfect’ that his most loyal fans actually believe it and it’s good. it’s perfect, even.

making videos and showing a more ‘human’ side of himself might be cute, but it’s not exactly what he dedicates himself to. it’s merely just a step, a step to a path where he doesn’t have to carry the burden of dealing with his group mates, a path where it’s just him, solo. the company, of course, does everything in their power to push him into keeping that narrative of the sweet, humble guy who adores his fans. they just know how convenient that is.

there is just one thing that is actually real, honest and sincere and that’s his love for his fans. seokyung makes sure to cater to them in any way possible, because the love he gets from them is actually something he appreciates. this shows, of course, and while the company might think this is all an act, it is for sure, the only honest thing about him. when it comes down to his group mates, he protects and takes care of them when the cameras are and aren’t rolling; yet just another little thing the fans love about him.

pretending perfection, however, will cost him a lot in the long run. he’s aware of it, but he will keep riding on that for as long as he can.

IDOL HISTORY

born with a silver spoon in his mouth could be deemed by something positive for most, but he would beg to differ. his grandfather is the founder of an important electronics company in south korea, a company that his father obviously inherited. in a sense, you could say seokyung was supposed to be the next in line to take over the company and follow his family’s steps.

his mother? a gentle-looking-stay-at-home mom, or as many called her: a trophy wife. up to this day, he’s not entirely sure his sister and him were conceived because their parents loved each other, instead, because there was a contract between them. this, though, is something he cannot confirm and are just mere speculations he came up with.

him? a good kid with an artistic soul, someone who spent most of his time studying to make his parents proud and giving his little sister the attention they were clearly not giving her. he put his entire heart and soul into giving her the best kind of life he could, into making her laugh, entertaining her with whatever jokes, doing his best to be someone she could look up to. his parents, however, were more busy attending parties, always putting themselves, their name and their reputation first. the rest was simply secondary.

an important husband, a beautiful wife, two lovely children. it was truly the picture perfect family for every magazine out there. the wealth was real, but the happiness wasn’t. there’s plenty of people and factors that come into play when it comes to the kyo’s and why they can’t reach true happiness.

with that said, let’s talk about seokyung’s uncle.

up to this day, he still wonders if his uncle’s motives had anything to do with the fact he wasn’t the next in line to inherit the company or if he’s simply just a piece of shit. due to his father’s job, he was barely around to ever give his children a second glance. his brother “promised” to be the fatherly figure seokyung and his little sister sunhee needed, often spending time at the kyo’s and pretending to be a good person. but he wasn’t. his uncle never missed an opportunity to verbally and physically hurt seokyung, however, he never messed with sunhee and not because he didn’t want to, but because seokyung never allowed it; taking the punishment she was “supposed” to receive instead. of course, that man always played innocent, like he was the perfect father both kids deserved. this of course, also included berating seokyung’s dreams of becoming a writer, his talent and his creativity. he was only a kid with dreams, who was getting forced to grow up way too soon.

when doing something bad to seokyung, he always excused himself by saying; “this is what happens to badly behaved kids.”

then there’s his father.

when seokyung was only eight years old, he approached his father and revealed the truth about his uncle. about how terrible and how evil he actually was towards him and his sister. his father believed him, but didn’t do a thing about it. why, you wonder? because speaking up about it would result in a big scandal, because publicly accusing his brother of hurting his children would put their reputation in danger and… he couldn’t allow that.

instead, he gave his son some advice; “man up.”

his mother wasn’t any better.

his father didn’t help, so seokyung approached his mother. he knew it would be useless, because his own mother was often home, so she surely had an idea of what was happening. but she never interfered, she never defended him, she never defended his sister. she remained silent and looked into her child’s eyes, as he cried and explained how terrifying it was to live that way. he knew that the only reason why she never did anything about it was because she was terrified of losing the fortune she had thanks to his father.

she could only say one thing; “i’m so sorry i can’t do anything.”

his grandfather was probably the worst.

both his parents refused to help, so he approached the only man that could possibly do something against his son. however, when presented with the facts, his grandfather categorically denied it, claiming his son would never mistreat his nephew and niece, claiming he was a good and kind man who wouldn’t ever dare do something like that.

he ended the pointless conversation with a sentence; “…and even if it was true, it is none of my business.”

but he’s convinced he’s the bad guy of the story.

because he didn’t leave. because he didn’t stand up to any of them, becase he simply sulked and let people step on him and his sister. because he didn’t feel strong enough to fight, because he didn’t do anything to change the situation. because he simply let it be. there was no other way to solve it, so he simply let it be.

until he had enough. when seokyung turned ten, he decided it was time to confront his family, that it was time to speak up, that it was time to let the entire world know the kind of people they were and all the things and damage they had caused to him and sunhee. but the problem about the young seokyung was very clear: he underestimated his father and his power. to avoid the young boy from speaking up (and of course, to punish him for almost ruining their reputation), his father shipped him off to a private school in spain.

and then, there he was, alone, in another continent, another country, unfamiliar with the language and the culture shock hitting him like a bunch of rocks stuffed in a bag. so he cried every night, he wrote letters to sunhee, letting her know he would be back someday and that he’d make sure to get her out of there. he promised to give her the life both of them deserved, and he was confident in his promise.

overall, the teachers were good and kind people who did their best to teach him spanish and help him adapt, but even then, they noticed how hard it was for him to socialize, how hard it was for him to approach others. there was only one thing seokyung liked about being away from home and that was a girl in his class. she was pretty, smart and funny (or so he assumed because everyone laughed at her jokes). but he never dared to approach her, because every time he thought about it, he felt like passing out.

but there was one thing he did know about that girl: she loved dancing. he knew because that was the extracurricular she took everyday. of course, when his teachers approached him and suggested he should look into extracurricular activities so he could distract himself more and adapt to others? he didn’t think about it twice and signed up for the dance club.

he’s awkward at first, he feels like he moves terribly and has two left feet, but also because he’s the only boy in the club. the girls find it fascinating, but the rest of the kids never miss an opportunity to bully him about it. it’s fine, he always told himself, he had gone through worse. this time, at least, he can dance in the back and admire the girl, the way she moves, so graciously, so perfectly, and he wants to be at her level. so he didn’t half-ass it, he practiced and practiced a lot.

there’s one side, the one who has him learning spanish, sometimes messing up, sometimes doing really well, and it’s just enough to push him by through school life. there’s the kids hiding his things, the kids pushing him around, the kids calling him derogatory names, giving him a taste of another form of cruelty towards him. but it’s fine, he told himself, because one day he’d be old enough to leave this place.

then there’s the other side, the one where he shuts everyone out at night and he writes. he wrote stories, he wrote poems, he wrote music. sometimes inspired by melancholy, sometimes inspired by his feelings for the girl. there’s him getting good grades, there’s him excelling and looking his best at every dance class, there’s him triumphing everyday, and he was loving the rhythm. it had been slow at first, but he started to progress.

but as usual, his family won’t let him have that.

his father decided spending three years in a foreign country should be enough to learn your lesson, so he takes him back home and seokyung had to say goodbye to school, to his progress, to dancing and to her. but at least he’ll be able to see sunhee, and hopefully now, things at home will be way better than how they were when he left.

but he’s wrong.

the version of sunhee that he met was a different one. the smile on his sister’s face is no longer there and his jokes didn’t work anymore. his sister is haunted and there’s no feeling in the world that can explain how he felt, how angry it made him. that was when he decided he had to do something, he had to get him, but mostly her, out of that place. although seokyung doesn’t deem himself as a very talented kid, he thinks his moves are average and that could possibly give him a ticket to the freedom he was looking for.

getting permission from his parents to audition wasn’t a hard task whatsoever. if anything? they were glad because keeping him away would take a lot of weight off their shoulders. his dad, with his fake-interest and all, even took the young teen to the audition. it was convenient for him to stay, it was convenient for everyone. maybe if he got what he wanted? seokyung would stop nagging them about his problems.

and then there he was, at midas media. getting a spot there wasn’t easy at all, especially when you’re up against a bunch of kids he thought were extremely talented. but he gets signed because as usually, he didn’t half-ass his audition, he went in, did his best and got the opportunity.

this allowed him to stay away from his family. he preferred spending hours upon hours training to perfect his craft than be at home and be berated for whatever reason. he was having the time of his life despite his exhaustion and despite his frustration when something didn’t go well during practice.

so okay, he can dance, but what else could he do? this was the first time he was being encouraged to learn something new, the first time he was encouraged to work on his abilities, to just get better. his parents never did, they couldn’t care less about him getting better at anything. sure, he knew what it entailed to be here and that was why he was training. but nevertheless, he had to put on a lot of effort, not only physical, but emotional as well.

when they found out he could speak spanish, they absolutely loved it. he loved bragging about it to the other trainees and to ‘demonstrate’ how good he was, he would speak long, quick sentences. if he could do that in a foreign language, could he do the same thing in his native tongue? to test that out, they soon had him putting special focus on his rapping. clumsy at first, because there’s a big difference between one and the other, but if they wanted him to try and put this special “talent” of his to work? then, he had no choice but to make it work.

so he spent years working hard on his skills, getting better at each thing as much as he could. not only that, but the fact he was so smart and so well-spoken was clearly something the executives just loved about him. they knew there was still a lot of work to do, but so far? so good. they felt very confident on his abilities and knew that, if he kept up his hard work, he could be a big star.

it was still not easy, no matter the amount of talent he had and certainly lacked in other areas, trying to be ‘perfect’ wasn’t possible and he knew. he was, only human, after all. he wasn’t the best singer and he sometimes had trouble coordinating an ability with another. but he always told himself that his best had to be his best or else, he’d never be able to provide himself and sunhee of the life they truly deserved.

the tears, the exhaustion, the constant battles in his head worked in his favor eventually, because everything lead him to olympus, finally earning the ticket him and his sister needed to move on from their parents. he knew, though, that she would have to wait, that she would have to be patient, just a bit more. if she waited all those years, then she surely would be able to wait a few more.

he presents seokyung to the world, a different version to the real kyo seokyung, but everyone believes the fantasy he’s created of himself because he’s good at pretending. and how could he not be when all his life he had to pretend? when his family taught him that pretending was the best way you could do something in life?

when asked about his family, seokyung simply smiled and let everyone know his schedule barely allows him to see them, but wishes they are doing well.

this is a lie.

eventually, sunhee stops answering his letters, stops talking to him but before that, she tells him ‘you abandoned me’. he didn’t, he explains himself, but she doesn’t believe it. there’s nothing more he wants than to speak up, than to tell the entire world about his family, about his past. but he can’t, and he won’t. he has an image to uphold, his collected and poised one. he’s the one who likes answering questions, he’s the one who uses his poise and looks to almost-look-perfect. he can’t speak up because he would lose all of that.

especially not when midas is eventually giving him what he wants. a blessed opportunity named ‘solo’. he thinks he’s deserving, after all, why wouldn’t he be? he works hard everyday, puts his entire heart into everything he does, it’s the least that he deserves. however, every opportunity comes with a price, and the price of not being able to have much input in his work is what he has to pay. it is midas media after all, and he IS a member of olympus. the single idea of thinking the company would allow him to have much say was ridiculously laughable.

midas never takes a step before looking at both sides of the road, everything has to be meticulously supervised and seokyung being the only boy in olympus to release solo music is already a big step for them. unfortunately, the first try doesn’t go as well as they expected and yet, the only one who freaked out was seokyung. but it’s a “step” they say. “something different later”, they insist. and he has no choice but to sit tight and trust their words.

and that is why he can’t speak up about his past because people would realize that behind that face, there’s a life filled with torment, with pain, with lies, with mistreatment. he can’t allow anyone to see the scars beyond his smile. he can’t let anyone see the real him, not as long as he can help it. so he keeps being olympus’ seokyung, the boy who loves his group mates (a lie), the boy who loves and appreciates their fans, because they love him unconditionally. the boy who doesn’t take it easy, who works hard, who tries his best for his image to be close to impeccable. the boy who trains harder everyday, who will protect his friends from harm.

but he can’t show the real him to the world, the off-camera one, the one who’s not as warm as he shows himself to be, the one who’s quiet, the one who’s reserved, who barely cracks a joke. the one who reads, who writes sad poetry, who pours his heart out using pen and paper. he can’t let them see the hate, the one he feels for his family, and himself. the one with the sharp tongue, who will fight anyone who messes with him but who will also use his voice to stand up for others.

it’s too bad, too bad he can’t stand up for himself.

so he keeps writing to sunhee, even if he never receives anything back but he hopes she’ll be able to forgive him one of these days. that she’ll be able to forgive him for finding a way to escape, for finding a way out. it wasn’t easy and maybe, just maybe, she will see that someday.

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

NBA Dunk of the Week: James Harden Makes Dunking on Kevin Durant Look Ordinary

Before Game One in Houston, a company stuck a giant sculpture of James Harden’s near the entrance of the arena. A person entering the stadium could take photos of it, walk inside it, whatever, who cares, interactivity is not what I’m here to talk about.

This sculpture is ambitious, I will give it that. It really is very large and, in some highly abstract ways, it invokes James Harden. There’s the beard, the red uniform, the fauxhawk. Those are the elements of Harden iconography. It makes me go “Hmm that is James Harden.”

But aside from that, this colossal bust of the presumed NBA MVP COMPLETELY FUCKING FAILS to capture what James Harden is in any other meaningful way. What the fuck is that smile, lips clenched tight as if holding in a thousand bees or some shit? Harden’s mouth is nearly never close, handsome white teeth perpetually radiating from his forest of facial hair. The eyes are insanely wrong, totally expressionless, sitting under furrowed eyebrows with a flat determination.

This is a sculpture that abandons Harden, the player and the man, guts everything that makes him truly unique and fills up his symbology with the nonsense of “The Athlete” as an ideal; that kind of focused, serious, fair-play minded totem of dull, night-after-night excellence. It is, beyond all conceivable odds, a gigantic theme park sculpture of basketball’s Trickster God that totally lacks any sense of whimsy whatsoever.

Where’s the fucking sparkle, man? Where’s the guy I watch out there, swinging his ass into defenders to create fouls, tricking refs and completely not giving a shit when the world give him heat for it. Where are those big, wet eyes that drowsily scan the court, half interested in what’s going on around him before snapping into engagement at the first vision of an available drive or a defender collapsing in front of him?

Why is James Harden, Hoops Loki himself, being depicted as Hoops Thor? Will history make this same fuck up, remembering a dude who, like, half of all people loathed for his excessive dependence on foul shots and tricky nonsense, as some kind of Michael Jordan clone? A Dominant Athlete who Did it the Right Way? How many athletes have lost the textures of their existence to a sports narrative churn that seeks to turn everyone into Joe DiMaggio?

Here and there I encounter a video of a James Harden dunk, and it always feels… strange, to me. A stepback three, a crossover layup, drawing a foul on some sucker—these all feel like the James Harden I know and adore. But when he leaves the craft I associate him with behind, tears down the lane, and dunks on some bum—here, Kevin Durant—I feel as if I have, for a hot moment, stopped watching James Harden and started watching some completely different dude, some athletic dynamo who can dominate the competition with pure force of will. For a second, he isn’t flesh and blood Harden, resplendent in a Willy Wonka get up and hauling his defenders through a tunnel of terror. He is Comically Large Bust Harden, a dude who drives and yanks on rims like everyone else.

I mean, here he is, Dunking on Kevin Durant, the Warriors’ best player and a dude he once played with, the kind of guy that James Harden dunking on would, I think, normally evoke some profound reaction out of people. But the crowd just kind of sits on their seats, continuing to watch the game. No foul, no Harden flexing, nothing. He does something that, when pretty much any other player does it, is the most embarrassing shit you can do to a defender, and yet, run of play continues unabated, the crowd doesn’t lost their shit, the broadcast crew doesn’t take a second out to memorialize Durant, nothing.

Isn’t it strange that a star-on-star banging in the middle of this playoff duel doesn’t bring that much out of you? Harden has established his own stylistic and aesthetic world that is so wildly divergent from pretty much any other NBA player that the joy of watching him (If you take joy from him at all) simply doesn’t exist in his athleticism or domination or any shit like that. It’s all about the way he warps reality around himself.

My favorite Harden play from Houston’s previous series against the Utah Jazz was an EXTREMELY dumb foul he drew against Joe Ingles in the backcourt. Basically, he catches the ball, kind of ambles in the backcourt while Ingles gets back on defense, then proceeds to openly swing his entire giant ass into him, kind of signaling to the cop on the floor that he was trying to dribble into the front court, but oh God this guy hit me in the ass, somehow, and I am falling?

When you see it from a top down angle, it makes absolutely no sense how this shit works, but down on the floor, those dude fall for it every time. It drives people fucking crazy when they watch it or when it happens to them. Watch Ingles, a dick in his own way, sarcastically clapping for Harden’s performance. It’s INCREDIBLE, man! You just watched like four dudes get tricked by this genius, some shit you can’t even imagine anyone else pulling off.

Maybe you’re like me, and you love it, eat that shit up, or maybe you’re like Ingles or my editor, and it just drives you up a wall [Editor’s note: it is trash basketball]. Whatever it is, it’s certainly a FEELING, something that yanks on your brain. It makes the mere act of slamming on a guy nearly dull in comparison. You don’t, as the saying goes, go to the taco joint for hamburgers.

At the end of Harden’s dunk on Durant, he flies off the rim and stumbles around, and, for a second, we see the real Harden again. Even though it looked deeply conventional on the ride and on the slam, we learn James was actually working at the bleeding edge of his athleticism the whole time, barely able to dismount after expending all that effort and imbalance in getting a ball around the hand of a larger defender. After a second where he was Michael Jordan, it breaks, and he is James Harden again. Thank God, I say, the first one was enough.

NBA Dunk of the Week: James Harden Makes Dunking on Kevin Durant Look Ordinary syndicated from https://australiahoverboards.wordpress.com

[flauntpage]

NBA Dunk of the Week: James Harden Makes Dunking on Kevin Durant Look Ordinary

Before Game One in Houston, a company stuck a giant sculpture of James Harden’s near the entrance of the arena. A person entering the stadium could take photos of it, walk inside it, whatever, who cares, interactivity is not what I’m here to talk about.

This sculpture is ambitious, I will give it that. It really is very large and, in some highly abstract ways, it invokes James Harden. There’s the beard, the red uniform, the fauxhawk. Those are the elements of Harden iconography. It makes me go “Hmm that is James Harden.”

But aside from that, this colossal bust of the presumed NBA MVP COMPLETELY FUCKING FAILS to capture what James Harden is in any other meaningful way. What the fuck is that smile, lips clenched tight as if holding in a thousand bees or some shit? Harden’s mouth is nearly never close, handsome white teeth perpetually radiating from his forest of facial hair. The eyes are insanely wrong, totally expressionless, sitting under furrowed eyebrows with a flat determination.

This is a sculpture that abandons Harden, the player and the man, guts everything that makes him truly unique and fills up his symbology with the nonsense of “The Athlete” as an ideal; that kind of focused, serious, fair-play minded totem of dull, night-after-night excellence. It is, beyond all conceivable odds, a gigantic theme park sculpture of basketball’s Trickster God that totally lacks any sense of whimsy whatsoever.

Where’s the fucking sparkle, man? Where's the guy I watch out there, swinging his ass into defenders to create fouls, tricking refs and completely not giving a shit when the world give him heat for it. Where are those big, wet eyes that drowsily scan the court, half interested in what’s going on around him before snapping into engagement at the first vision of an available drive or a defender collapsing in front of him?

Why is James Harden, Hoops Loki himself, being depicted as Hoops Thor? Will history make this same fuck up, remembering a dude who, like, half of all people loathed for his excessive dependence on foul shots and tricky nonsense, as some kind of Michael Jordan clone? A Dominant Athlete who Did it the Right Way? How many athletes have lost the textures of their existence to a sports narrative churn that seeks to turn everyone into Joe DiMaggio?

Here and there I encounter a video of a James Harden dunk, and it always feels… strange, to me. A stepback three, a crossover layup, drawing a foul on some sucker—these all feel like the James Harden I know and adore. But when he leaves the craft I associate him with behind, tears down the lane, and dunks on some bum—here, Kevin Durant—I feel as if I have, for a hot moment, stopped watching James Harden and started watching some completely different dude, some athletic dynamo who can dominate the competition with pure force of will. For a second, he isn’t flesh and blood Harden, resplendent in a Willy Wonka get up and hauling his defenders through a tunnel of terror. He is Comically Large Bust Harden, a dude who drives and yanks on rims like everyone else.

I mean, here he is, Dunking on Kevin Durant, the Warriors’ best player and a dude he once played with, the kind of guy that James Harden dunking on would, I think, normally evoke some profound reaction out of people. But the crowd just kind of sits on their seats, continuing to watch the game. No foul, no Harden flexing, nothing. He does something that, when pretty much any other player does it, is the most embarrassing shit you can do to a defender, and yet, run of play continues unabated, the crowd doesn’t lost their shit, the broadcast crew doesn’t take a second out to memorialize Durant, nothing.

Isn’t it strange that a star-on-star banging in the middle of this playoff duel doesn’t bring that much out of you? Harden has established his own stylistic and aesthetic world that is so wildly divergent from pretty much any other NBA player that the joy of watching him (If you take joy from him at all) simply doesn’t exist in his athleticism or domination or any shit like that. It's all about the way he warps reality around himself.

My favorite Harden play from Houston’s previous series against the Utah Jazz was an EXTREMELY dumb foul he drew against Joe Ingles in the backcourt. Basically, he catches the ball, kind of ambles in the backcourt while Ingles gets back on defense, then proceeds to openly swing his entire giant ass into him, kind of signaling to the cop on the floor that he was trying to dribble into the front court, but oh God this guy hit me in the ass, somehow, and I am falling?

When you see it from a top down angle, it makes absolutely no sense how this shit works, but down on the floor, those dude fall for it every time. It drives people fucking crazy when they watch it or when it happens to them. Watch Ingles, a dick in his own way, sarcastically clapping for Harden’s performance. It’s INCREDIBLE, man! You just watched like four dudes get tricked by this genius, some shit you can’t even imagine anyone else pulling off.

Maybe you’re like me, and you love it, eat that shit up, or maybe you’re like Ingles or my editor, and it just drives you up a wall [Editor's note: it is trash basketball]. Whatever it is, it’s certainly a FEELING, something that yanks on your brain. It makes the mere act of slamming on a guy nearly dull in comparison. You don’t, as the saying goes, go to the taco joint for hamburgers.

At the end of Harden’s dunk on Durant, he flies off the rim and stumbles around, and, for a second, we see the real Harden again. Even though it looked deeply conventional on the ride and on the slam, we learn James was actually working at the bleeding edge of his athleticism the whole time, barely able to dismount after expending all that effort and imbalance in getting a ball around the hand of a larger defender. After a second where he was Michael Jordan, it breaks, and he is James Harden again. Thank God, I say, the first one was enough.

NBA Dunk of the Week: James Harden Makes Dunking on Kevin Durant Look Ordinary published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[how2to18]

The next issue of the LARB Quarterly Journal is dedicated to Genius as a theme, question, and potential problem. You can become a member and receive the print issue here.

See the table of contents at LARB Quarterly Journal: Genius, No.18

¤

  “So What” or “Kind of Blue,” […] they were done in that era, the right hour, the right day, and it happened. It’s over; it’s on the record.

— Miles Davis

I WAS IN the car when the call came: the MacArthur Foundation, requesting a confidential conversation. I was running late for a meeting and had a friend in the passenger seat, so I asked if I could call them back in one hour. I imagined the caller was requesting a recommendation or fact-check for one of their next class of Fellows — after all, they wouldn’t notify recipients of one of the most prestigious awards an artist can receive through a simple phone call … Would they?

An hour later, they proved me wrong. Sitting alone in my car, the group on the other end of the line congratulated me on being named a Fellow. The rest of the conversation was something of a blur, as if I were recovering from a lightning bolt strike. But one thing came through clearly: I had to keep the news top secret until the public announcement, some four weeks later. I could tell only one person of my choosing (my mom, naturally).

Those four weeks of secrecy were surreal. After the initial euphoria of the phone call wore off, I found myself facing an anxiety that friends who are MacArthur Fellows later confessed to sharing: Why does my work in such a niche genre — experimental opera! — merit this generosity? What makes me worthy of such an honor? And most anxiety inducing of all: how do you deal with the “g-word”? In the literature that accompanied all my post-phone call paperwork, I was happy to see the Foundation decline to use the name most journalists ascribe to the fellowship: “the genius grant.” “We avoid using the term ‘genius’ to describe MacArthur Fellows,” according to the Foundation’s FAQs, “because it connotes a singular characteristic of intellectual prowess.”

The Foundation probably takes pains to say this because so many people find something deeply uncomfortable about the concept of “genius” — its exclusionary implications and air of elitism; a Romanticism that seems out of step with contemporary (let alone everyday) life; the affirmation of canonical standards set by … who exactly? Any person mature enough to strive for self-awareness finds the moniker embarrassing, and only an unstable narcissist could ever self-apply the title without shame.

When classical music is your field, the term “genius” carries another layer of historical baggage. All of us who have dedicated our lives to an art form we see as a vital and fundamental expression of the human soul struggle against the forbidding images of the people who came before us. In classical music, those people were often tortured white men, largely misunderstood and unrecognized until their deaths. This is a mausoleum approach to music that promotes an involuntary social turn toward the reactionary, as every performance of a classic work is accompanied by a lament: “Alas, this masterpiece of a bygone era, when men were great and created like gods, only makes our own time seem all the more fallow.” It’s an attitude we wish were more of a cliché, less of a majority opinion, because the centrality of a concept like “individual genius” makes it all the harder for new voices to take risks, to experiment, and attempt to expand the definition of some of the most hidebound words in the art lexicon: “opera,” “oratorio,” “symphony.”

But I believe there is a way of thinking about genius that could powerfully encapsulate the creative process. It begins by no longer applying the term to individuals. If calling an individual “a genius” sounds pompous and grandiose, describing some thing as “genius” is commonplace. “That was a genius move,” I find myself saying too often for it to actually mean very much. Or, “I wasn’t crazy about the last season of Mad Men, but the final scene was genius.”

Moments, ideas, a single poem in a collection — a work of genius, no matter how individually wrought — is never the product of a single individual. We should stop thinking of genius as an attribute and instead start to think of it as a condition, a circumstance.

This may come across as false humility, but in fact it’s a fundamental aspect of my own creative process. As an opera director, my work is never a solitary act; it is inherently social and dialogic. One aspect of my work is conceptual — imagining the visual and philosophical implications of production choices — but even the best idea would be useless if it were not brilliantly realized by a team of specialists. Another aspect is practical — making and communicating plans down to the minutest level — but the execution of those logistics relies on a faultless chain of doers. Yet another aspect is inspirational — motivating the best possible performance, which is an inherently transitive quality. I could cheerlead until I’m blue in the face, but it won’t do me any good if the performer does not answer the call and rouse their own virtuosity.

In short, my work consists entirely of creating the conditions for genius to flow. I am not in possession of it — it resides in that flow of output, which everyone participates in. “Genius” is the oxygen that those in a shared space breathe in and are transformed by; it allows them to reach their full potential. In this way, “genius” returns to its original Latin meaning of an “attendant spirit.”

I’m currently preparing a production of Richard Wagner’s opera Lohengrin in the theater he built in Bayreuth, Germany, with a working methodology that might be considered highly anti-Wagnerian. Wagner, after all, was the ultimate Capital-G Genius, an autodidact who “did it all himself”: compose the music, write the text, direct the production, and on and on. His concept of Gesamtkunstwerk, the “total work of art,” implies a lone artist as the unifying spirit who builds worlds like a divine being. He created the template for Genius, which has since been used as a model for conductors, composers, directors, and dictators to follow — the vision (illusion?) of a solitary auteur. My team’s working process has been more multi-headed: the sets, costumes, and visual art for the production were actually developed autonomously, before I was even brought on to the project. For some directors, this is an affront to their sovereignty. I say: Why bring on board such brilliant artists only to consider them hired help? My preparations involve responding as much as creating. This is what I mean about genius as a circumstance or a set of conditions. We are not replicating Wagner’s way of working but setting up the conditions for its original genius, its truth and abundance, to flow.

When genius is considered circumstantial, it becomes contingent — precarious, rare, and magical. Nothing becomes predictable: genius is a river, and to ride it, we must build a vessel specific to the circumstances we find it in. For me, this means I will not know if the conditions for Lohengrin truly came together until the production opens this coming summer. All I can do is endeavor to use everything I’ve learned and experienced to perceive how the circumstances are speaking, and to make the passage as favorable as possible. It’s why I call directing my practice, rather than my craft.

But even for artists whose work is not as inherently collaborative as mine, the circumstances around a new creation are always their co-author. What would Hamlet be without the author’s fear of rejection by the unruly, uneducated audience that occupied the stalls? Could Ulysses have come into the world if Dublin never existed? Could The Making of Americans have been written anywhere but in Paris? And how many ingenious works were born not in the spirit of harmony with their surroundings but as a show of defiance against them — acts of protest that revealed new potentiality in a seemingly hopeless situation? Shouldn’t those original circumstances, dire as they may have been, be given some credit for their offspring?

This is genius as the spirit of circumstance — an environment, socially created, not an attribute of an isolated individual. I believe most artists who truly contemplate how and why they create ask themselves the question: “Does the work I do even belong to me?” Here I must think about Ortega y Gasset’s great study, Meditations on Quixote: “The reabsorption of circumstance is the concrete destiny of humanity […] I am myself plus my circumstance, and if I do not save it, I cannot save myself.”

When the four weeks of secrecy about the MacArthur were over, my anxiety gave way under the avalanche of joyous well wishes. Several friends and collaborators, either directly or indirectly connected to the circumstances of the works cited by the selection committee, wrote me to share their baffled reaction of self-pride: “I somehow feel as if I had won it!” Nothing made me happier than hearing this.

I spent part of the day reading about the other Fellows in my class and found myself feeling so inspired by their dedication and accomplishments in fields far removed from my own. The world seemed bigger. This may be where the “genius” moniker is still useful: by calling out examples of how and where the endlessly searching attendant spirit still visits the world. Because anyone, anywhere, can participate in it.

¤

Yuval Sharon founded and serves as artistic director of The Industry in Los Angeles. Sharon conceived, directed, and produced the company’s acclaimed world premieres of Hopscotch, Invisible Cities, and Crescent City. He also devised and directed the company’s two “performance installations”: In C at the Hammer Museum and Nimbus at Walt Disney Concert Hall. He has directed productions of John Cage’s Song Books, Peter Eötvös’s Three Sisters Cunning Little Vixen, originally produced at the Cleveland Orchestra, and original setting of War of the Worlds.

The post Genius as Circumstance appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON 1NFERNO’S MAIN DANCE, LEAD RAP KYO SEOKYUNG...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 24 DEBUT AGE: 22 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 16 COMPANY: MSG SECONDARY SKILL: Lyric writing

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): ‘seo’ & ‘kyungie’ (he hates this one, fans are aware but still call him that to mess with him.) INSPIRATION: his will and drive to inspire others to follow their dreams. his beloved matches too, because they’ve always been by his side through it all, and he has promised them over and over again that he’ll always work hard for as long as they want him to. SPECIAL TALENTS:

he can write backwards, like mirror writing.

he can solve math problems in his head pretty fast.

no blinking contests? don’t worry, he can win that easily.

NOTABLE FACTS:

spent three years of his life studying in spain, thus is fluent in spanish.

has a youtube channel he uses as a platform to get closer to his fans and so he can give them updates about his life. 

known to be the son of a very wealthy ceo in south korea; though, he barely talks about him or his mother. some people believe he’s only in the industry thanks to his family’s money.

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

he hopes he’ll be able to keep doing what he’s doing at the moment. he wants to keep writing music and wants to keep catering to his loving fans with his youtube channel. watching 1nferno thrive is certainly number one in his list of priorities and he doesn’t mind putting extra hours of work if that’s what it takes.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

writing! his soul has always connected with pen and paper. he wants to write music for 1nferno and be an even bigger part of its legacy (or the one he hopes him and the rest of his group mates will be able to build). he also wishes to write for other groups and hopefully stick to it for a long time. as anyone else, he wants to make a name for himself and he wants to write a book. but most importantly? he wants to separate himself from his family. while he’s aware he’ll have to carry their name for the rest of his life, he wants to stay away from them, he doesn’t wish to be associated with them and can only hope the future will allow him to do so.

IDOL IMAGE

who is kyo seokyung? that is an excellent question. ever since his first day as a trainee, msg knew two things about him: he was smart and well-spoken. maybe it had a lot to do with his family, but that didn’t matter, what mattered is that they had someone who could deliver the ‘diplomatic’ answers, someone who could answer ‘risky’ questions, if at all, and give rather ‘decent’ answers. During interviews, seokyung isn’t loud or obnoxious, he’s mostly calm and collected, flashing a smile here and there, running his fingers through his hair, “looking pretty” if you will, just being the “company” boy msg wants him to be, just as they expected since he was a teenager. but he’s funny and he’s witty when the occasion asks for it; he will show his talents and smile, or laugh it off if he’s too embarrassed. he has charm and he always puts it to good use.

he has poise, he has grace, he’s elegant and he’s kind. despite him being humble about it and often mentioning he “is not perfect”, msg most definitely wants everyone to believe so. but he’s right, he isn’t. in reality, seokyung is quite different than the person the fans think he is. while yes, said poise and grace still lives within him, he’s far from being kind, often feeling annoyed by various life frustrations, snapping when things don’t go his way. he’s serious, he’s quiet, he barely wants to talk and act fake in front of the cameras, but he must.

the thing is, he’s just really good at pretending, like any other idol in the industry. and with the family he has, how could he not be?

the company has often pushed him to be the one to give the ‘corporate’ answers most people want to hear. his fans are sure he truly is incapable of doing something wrong, of doing something problematic, something that could get him in trouble because he’s just /that/ good at what he does, he’s great when it comes down to wearing that mask.

most people think seokyung is being one hundred percent authentic during his videos and actually? he is most of the time. but everything is also being controlled and monitored by his company. if a video is slightly controversial, he gets asked to do it all over again. If he says something that could be deemed as scandalous, he immediately gets asked to tone it down or twist it around. he’s a master of manipulation, a tactic he learned from his family. he just knows how to become a person he just isn’t in any kind of occasion.

and yet, he still makes sure to show a bit of who he truly is during his videos. the relaxed guy who has no problem in being bare-faced, who sits outside of 1nferno’s dorm and allows to be sunkissed while he talks about anything that comes to mind. he encourages others to follow their dreams, fight for what they believe in and to believe in themselves. things he sometimes can’t do for himself. but everyone eats it up and no one will complain about it.

but the pressure to be this ‘perfect individual’ does get to him at times. he has to be extremely careful with his steps, because at the end of the day, when the cameras aren’t rolling? he knows he’s not the person people want him to be and if he were to ever do something bad? he’d lose his fans’ trust and that would hurt him deeply, also taking away from him the one thing he’s worked so hard for for years. being perfect is clearly impossible, but seokyung pressures himself so much to ‘be perfect’ that his most loyal fans actually believe it.

there is just one thing that is actually real, honest and sincere and that’s his love for his fans. seokyung makes sure to cater to them in any way possible, because the love he gets from them is actually something he appreciates. this shows, of course, and while the company might think this is all an act, it is for sure, the only honest thing about him. when it comes down to his group mates, he protects and takes care of them when the cameras are and aren’t rolling; yet just another little thing the fans love about him.

pretending perfection, however, will cost him a lot in the long run. he’s aware of it, but he will keep riding on that for as long as he can.

IDOL HISTORY

born with a silver spoon in his mouth could be deemed by something positive for most, but he would beg to differ. his grandfather is the founder of an important electronics company in south korea, a company that his father obviously inherited. in a sense, you could say seokyung was supposed to be the next in line to take over the company and follow his family’s steps.

his mother? a gentle-looking-stay-at-home mom, or as many called her: a trophy wife. up to this day, he’s not entirely sure his sister and him were conceived because their parents loved each other, instead, because there was a contract between them. this, though, is something he cannot confirm and are just mere speculations he came up with.

him? a good kid with an artistic soul, someone who spent most of his time studying to make his parents proud and giving his little sister the attention they were clearly not giving her. he put his entire heart and soul into giving her the best kind of life he could, into making her laugh, entertaining her with whatever jokes, doing his best to be someone she could look up to. his parents, however, were more busy attending parties, always putting themselves, their name and their reputation first. the rest was simply secondary.

an important husband, a beautiful wife, two lovely children. it was truly the picture perfect family for every magazine out there. the wealth was real, but the happiness wasn’t. there’s plenty of people and factors that come into play when it comes to the kyo’s and why they can’t reach true happiness.

with that said, let’s talk about seokyung’s uncle.

up to this day, he still wonders if his uncle’s motives had anything to do with the fact he wasn’t the next in line to inherit the company or if he’s simply just a piece of shit. due to his father’s job, he was barely around to ever give his children a second glance. his brother “promised” to be the fatherly figure seokyung and his little sister sunhee needed, often spending time at the kyo’s and pretending to be a good person. but he wasn’t. his uncle never missed an opportunity to verbally and physically hurt seokyung, however, he never messed with sunhee and not because he didn’t want to, but because seokyung never allowed it; taking the punishment she was “supposed” to receive instead. of course, that man always played innocent, like he was the perfect father both kids deserved. this of course, also included berating seokyung’s dreams of becoming a writer, his talent and his creativity. he was only a kid with dreams, who was getting forced to grow up way too soon.

when doing something bad to seokyung, he always excused himself by saying; “this is what happens to badly behaved kids.”

then there’s his father.

when seokyung was only ten years old, he approached his father and revealed the truth about his uncle. about how terrible and how evil he actually was towards him and his sister. his father believed him, but didn’t do a thing about it. why, you wonder? because speaking up about it would result in a big scandal, because publicly accusing his brother of hurting his children would put their reputation in danger and… he couldn’t allow that.

instead, he gave his son some advice; “man up.”

his mother wasn’t any better.

his father didn’t help, so seokyung approached his mother. he knew it would be useless, because his own mother was often home, so she surely had an idea of what was happening. but she never interfered, she never defended him, she never defended his sister. she remained silent and looked into her child’s eyes, as he cried and explained how terrifying it was to live that way. he knew that the only reason why she never did anything about it was because she was terrified of losing the fortune she had thanks to his father.

she could only say one thing; “i’m so sorry i can’t do anything.”

his grandfather was probably the worst.

both his parents refused to help, so he approached the only man that could possibly do something against his son. however, when presented with the facts, his grandfather categorically denied it, claiming his son would never mistreat his nephew and niece, claiming he was a good and kind man who wouldn’t ever dare do something like that.

he ended the pointless conversation with a sentence; “…and even if it was true, it is none of my business.”

but he’s convinced he’s the bad guy of the story.

because he didn’t leave. because he didn’t stand up to any of them, becase he simply sulked and let people step on him and his sister. because he didn’t feel strong enough to fight, because he didn’t do anything to change the situation. because he simply let it be. there was no other way to solve it, so he simply let it be.

until he had enough. when seokyung turned twelve, he decided it was time to confront his family, that it was time to speak up, that it was time to let the entire world know the kind of people they were and all the things and damage they had caused to him and sunhee. but the problem about the young seokyung was very clear: he underestimated his father and his power. to avoid the young boy from speaking up (and of course, to punish him for almost ruining their reputation), his father shipped him off to a private school in spain.

and then, there he was, alone, in another continent, another country, unfamiliar with the language and the culture shock hitting him like a bunch of rocks stuffed in a bag. so he cried every night, he wrote letters to sunhee, letting her know he would be back someday and that he’d make sure to get her out of there. he promised to give her the life both of them deserved, and he was confident in his promise.

overall, the teachers were good and kind people who did their best to teach him spanish and help him adapt, but even then, they noticed how hard it was for him to socialize, how hard it was for him to approach others. there was only one thing seokyung liked about being away from home and that was a girl in his class. she was pretty, smart and funny (or so he assumed because everyone laughed at her jokes). but he never dared to approach her, because every time he thought about it, he felt like passing out.

but there was one thing he did know about that girl: she loved dancing. he knew because that was the extracurricular she took everyday. of course, when his teachers approached him and suggested he should look into extracurricular activities so he could distract himself more and adapt to others? he didn’t think about it twice and signed up for the dance club.

he’s awkward at first, he feels like he moves terribly and has two left feet, but also because he’s the only boy in the club. the girls find it fascinating, but the rest of the kids never miss an opportunity to bully him about it. it’s fine, he always told himself, he had gone through worse. this time, at least, he can dance in the back and admire the girl, the way she moves, so graciously, so perfectly, and he wants to be at her level. so he didn’t half-ass it, he practiced and practiced a lot.

there’s one side, the one who has him learning spanish, sometimes messing up, sometimes doing really well, and it’s just enough to push him by through school life. there’s the kids hiding his things, the kids pushing him around, the kids calling him derogatory names, giving him a taste of another form of cruelty towards him. but it’s fine, he told himself, because one day he’d be old enough to leave this place.

then there’s the other side, the one where he shuts everyone out at night and he writes. he wrote stories, he wrote poems, he wrote music. sometimes inspired by melancholy, sometimes inspired by his feelings for the girl. there’s him getting good grades, there’s him excelling and looking his best at every dance class, there’s him triumphing everyday, and he was loving the rhythm. it had been slow at first, but he started to progress.

but as usual, his family won’t let him have that.

his father decided spending three years in a foreign country should be enough to learn your lesson, so he takes him back home and seokyung had to say goodbye to school, to his progress, to dancing and to her. but at least he’ll be able to see sunhee, and hopefully now, things at home will be way better than how they were when he left.

but he’s wrong.

the version of sunhee that he met was a different one. the smile on his sister’s face is no longer there and his jokes didn’t work anymore. his sister is haunted and there’s no feeling in the world that can explain how he felt, how angry it made him. that was when he decided he had to do something, he had to get him, but mostly her, out of that place. although seokyung doesn’t deem himself as a very talented kid, he thinks his moves are average and that could possibly give him a ticket to the freedom he was looking for.

getting permission from his parents to audition wasn’t a hard task whatsoever. if anything? they were glad because keeping him away would take a lot of weight off their shoulders. his dad, with his fake-interest and all, even took the young teen to the audition. it was convenient for him to stay, it was convenient for everyone. maybe if he got what he wanted? seokyung would stop nagging them about his problems.

and then there he was, at msg entertainment. getting a spot there wasn’t easy at all, especially when you’re up against a bunch of kids he thought were extremely talented. but he gets signed because as usually, he didn’t half-ass his audition, he went in, did his best and got the opportunity.

this allowed him to stay away from his family. he preferred spending hours upon hours training to perfect his craft than be at home and be berated for whatever reason. he was having the time of his life despite his exhaustion and despite his frustration when something didn’t go well during practice.

so okay, he can dance, but what else could he do? this was the first time he was being encouraged to learn something new, the first time he was encouraged to work on his abilities, to just get better. his parents never did, they couldn’t care less about him getting better at anything. sure, he knew what it entailed to be here and that was why he was training. but nevertheless, he had to put on a lot of effort, not only physical, but emotional as well.

when they found out he could speak spanish, they absolutely loved it. he loved bragging about it to the other trainees and to ‘demonstrate’ how good he was, he would speak long, quick sentences. if he could do that in a foreign language, could he do the same thing in his native tongue? to test that out, they soon had him putting special focus on his rapping. clumsy at first, because there’s a big difference between one and the other, but if they wanted him to try and put this special “talent” of his to work? then, he had no choice but to make it work.

so he spent years working hard on his skills, getting better at each thing as much as he could. not only that, but the fact he was so smart and so well-spoken was clearly something the executives just loved about him. they knew there was still a lot of work to do, but so far? so good. they felt very confident on his abilities and knew that, if he kept up his hard work, he could be a big star.

it was still not easy, no matter the amount of talent he had and certainly lacked in other areas, trying to be ‘perfect’ wasn’t possible and he knew. he was, only human, after all. he wasn’t the best singer and he sometimes had trouble coordinating an ability with another. but he always told himself that his best had to be his best or else, he’d never be able to provide himself and sunhee of the life they truly deserved.

the tears, the exhaustion, the constant battles in his head worked in his favor eventually, because everything lead him to 1nferno, finally earning the ticket him and his sister needed to move on from their parents. he knew, though, that she would have to wait, that she would have to be patient, just a bit more. if she waited all those years, then she surely would be able to wait a few more.

he presents seokyung to the world, a different version to the real kyo seokyung, but everyone believes the fantasy he’s created of himself because he’s good at pretending. and how could he not be when all his life he had to pretend? when his family taught him that pretending was the best way you could do something in life?

when asked about his family, seokyung simply smiled and let everyone know his schedule barely allows him to see them, but wishes they are doing well.

this is a lie.

eventually, sunhee stops answering his letters, stops talking to him but before that, she tells him ‘you abandoned me’. he didn’t, he explains himself, but she doesn’t believe it. there’s nothing more he wants than to speak up, than to tell the entire world about his family, about his past. but he can’t, and he won’t. he has an image to uphold, his calm-centered and gentle one. he’s the one who likes answering questions, he’s the one who uses his poise and looks to almost-look-perfect. he can’t speak up because he would lose all of that.

he can’t speak up because people would realize that behind that face, there’s a life filled with torment, with pain, with lies, with mistreatment. he can’t allow anyone to see the scars beyond his smile. he can’t let anyone see the real him, not as long as he can help it. so he keeps being 1nferno’s seokyung, the boy who loves his group mates (although they might exasperate him if they’re too loud), the boy who loves and appreciates their fans, because they love him unconditionally. the boy who doesn’t take it easy, who works hard, who tries his best for his image to be close to impeccable. the boy who trains harder everyday, who will protect his friends from harm.

but he can’t show the real him to the world, the off-camera one, the one who’s not as warm as he shows himself to be, the one who’s quiet, the one who’s reserved, who barely cracks a joke. the one who reads, who writes, who pours his heart out using pen and paper. he can’t let them see the hate, the one he feels for his family, and himself. the one with the sharp tongue, who will fight anyone who messes with him but who will also use his voice to stand up for others.

it’s too bad, too bad he can’t stand up for himself.

so he keeps writing to sunhee, even if he never receives anything back but he hopes she’ll be able to forgive him one of these days. that she’ll be able to forgive him for finding a way to escape, for finding a way out. it wasn’t easy and maybe, just maybe, she will see that someday.