#and the alienation of people from the processes behind their clothing impacts more than you would think.

[icetones]

I dont like calling stupid people stupid but if you say this you are stupid .

[mochegato]

Capturing a Dream

Chapter 5 – Kobayashi Maru

 “Why are you wearing that thing?” Conner teased Chimera with a playful lilt to his voice and pointing to her pink apron. She had wanted to make some treats for the team and roped him into helping her despite his objections. Apparently, sitting and watching Wolf attempt to play with Sphere wasn’t considered an adequate way to spend his morning.

Chimera raised an eyebrow at him.  “To keep clean.  Things can get messy when you’re baking.”

“Just don’t get dirty.” Conner responded easily. He leaned over to her with a mischievous look, “Bake better.”

Chimera gasped in fake offense and glared at him as she finished pouring the flour into the mixing bowl.  “Whatever, oh kitchen guru.”   She moved to get the buttermilk and looked over at him with a slightly too innocent expression.  “Hey, can you turn on the blender for me, please?”

Conner grinned smugly from his apparent win and moved to the mixer to turn it on.  He accidentally switched it to the highest level.  He wasn’t able to move before a wave of flour flew out of the bowl and coated him in a thick coat of white.  He fumbled for the off switch before turning toward Chimera with a questioning look.  She doubled over in laughter as soon as she saw him.  He groaned and started trying to shake and brush off the flour, but that just seemed to make it worse, spreading it further and pushing it into his shirt and pants.  Chimera was now gasping for breath from laughing so hard until she fell on her butt, making her laugh harder.  “That… that’s… that’s why I wear an apron,” she choked out.

“You…” Conner stared incredulously at her.  “You did that on purpose.”

“No.  I would never.” She tried to defend herself, but the wicked look in her eyes and the way she was biting her lip trying not to laugh as she leaned against the lower kitchen cabinets, gave her away.

“Is that so,” Conner asked, the mischievous glint back in his eye as he picked up the mixing bowl.

Chimera’s eyes widened as she realized his intention. “No, no, no.  Conner.”  She held up her hand in a placating gesture and tried backing away from him but she was already pressed against the cabinets so there was nowhere to go. Conner threw the contents of the bowl at her with a roguish grin.  She squealed loudly as the ingredients hit her legs and her forearms that were protecting her head.  “Conner!” she chastised him with no heat in her tone.  “I cannot believe you just did that.”

“Then you’re really not going to believe this,” he grinned as he picked up the bowl of sugar they hadn’t added yet and threw that at her too.

Chimera was barely able to dodge out of the way in time and grabbed the container of baking powder and flicked it toward him. He just dodged it but the baking powder was just a distraction from the cocoa powder she threw at him next.  The cocoa powder caught him in the neck and hair, the impact spreading it to his face and shirt.  He recovered quickly and searched for something else to throw, coughing slightly from the cocoa powder that hung in the air.

“Okay, okay.  Truce!” Chimera yelled holding her hands out placating.  “The only ingredients left are wet ingredients and I really, really don’t want to clean that up.  Truce?”  She eyed him suspiciously, the same way he eyed her.  He reached his hand out to her but his body was guarded in case she tried to go back on her word.  Chimera tentatively reached out her hand as well, suspecting a counter strike, but their hands met without incident.  They smiled at each other breathlessly.

Chimera pulled Conner into a hug and Conner wrapped his arms around her just as tight until he felt something granular sliding down his shirt.  He looked at Chimera and groaned.  She was shaking her hair out on his shoulder causing the sugar that had caught in her hair to fall on him as well.  Chimera laughed even harder, her face turning red in the process.  Conner laughed too in spite of himself.

After Chimera had calmed down a few minutes later, she surveyed the damage around them and glanced over to Conner.  “Okay, do you want to help me redo this and we can clean together while it’s in the oven or do you want to clean while I bake?”

Conner surveyed the kitchen as he considered his options.  “I’ll clean. It’s probably safer that way.”  He sent her a mock glare that she laughed off.

Chimera hummed as she remixed the ingredients for the chocolate cupcakes.  She was enjoying the moments of normalcy and lightness between missions.  Things were just starting to settle down again into a routine after the last few weeks had rocked the Team to their core.  She needed this reprieve and she was confident that Conner did too after everything that happened.

After the cakes were out of the oven and the kitchen had been cleaned with only themselves left to clean off, they grinned at each other.  “I’ll frost those tonight after they’ve cooled.  We both should probably get moving.” She smiled at him as she headed out of the kitchen.  “Probably should take a shower first though.”

He smiled as he looked down at his clothes and raised an eyebrow at her.  “And whose fault was that?”

She looked back at him with wide eyes, the perfect picture of innocence.  “You could have just not gotten dirty, right?  So… yours.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and she smiled back brightly.  Conner fought it, he really did, but he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from turning up and the chuckle from working its way out.  “We’ll settle this later.” He waved at her as she left, his eyes following her until she was out of sight.

<><><><><> 

The team watched in shock as Artemis’ body disappeared in a flash of light. That was… less than optimal.  “Everyone get in the ship!” Aqualad called to them as he whipped out his water bearers to destroy the downed ship that had just eliminated their teammate.

As soon as the ship was destroyed, Aqualad joined Superboy, Robin, and Wally on the ship.  “We need to rethink our approach to this.  I still think a plan is needed, but going against them even as a sneak attack cost us Artemis and Wolf.  There has to be a different way to address this.”  Aqualad stated calmly.

“Head on didn’t work and sneak attack hasn’t seemed to work better.” Kid Flash added in the same academic tone as one would considering a word puzzle.

“Back to the Cave to regroup?” Robin asked from the ship’s controls.

“No, to the Hall of Justice.  We need to consider the effect this is having on the people here as well.  The people need to know there are still heroes out there.” Aqualad responded flippantly, keeping his focus on the horizon.  His mind was still running through possible approaches.  What had worked, what had failed, what they hadn’t tried, what had the most success and might work if it was reworked.

Suddenly Kid Flash gasped and pounded his fist on the ship’s controls. “Artemis is dead!”  He jumped up.  “They killed Artemis.  Artemis died right in front of us.”

Aqualad put his hand on Kid Flash’s shoulder.  “Her sacrifice will not be in vain.  We will avenge her.”

“I’m going to kill every last one of them.” Kid Flash vowed looking out to the skies, searching for any he could shoot.

“Has anyone heard from Chimera?” Conner asked, his eyes suddenly looking frantic.

“No, she hasn’t contacted the Cave since the aliens attacked.” Aqualad confirmed.

“Robin, check the communication in and out of the Cave.  See if there is a message from Chi in there.” Superboy commanded anxiously.

Robin connected to the Cave.  “Nothing at the Cave.  I’m checking the Hall of Justice right now.”  He kept searching but his eyes were getting more and more worried as he did. “Nothing… there’s nothing.  The Hall’s communication networks have been destroyed so we wouldn’t know even if she had tried.”

Aqualad placed his hand on Superboy’s shoulder, just as he had for Kid Flash. “I’m sorry.”

Superboy jerked away like he had been burned.  “No.  We don’t know that anything happened to her.  She could be fine.  There were no reports that she was killed.”

“That’s right.” Robin encouraged him.  “We’ll keep fighting to find her.  The quicker we end this attack, the quicker we can find her.”  Aqualad grimaced at Robin who responded with a dark look of his own.  “We’re coming up on DC.  It looks like we’re not the only ones.” He said indicating the alien ships that were heading toward the Capitol Building.  

“Let’s destroy these bastards.” Kid Flash growled already aiming the weapons systems on the closest one.

“We can’t shoot them all.  Superboy, you think you can take one on your own?” Aqualad asked, keeping his eyes on the screen and formulating a plan.

Superboy gave him a feral grin.  “Absolutely.”

“Good. We sneak up on them, drop Conner on the closest one then start moving onto the next and work our way through. Once they’re all taken care of we start working with the army to combine forces and assess our assets.”

Conner took a deep breath, bracing himself for his next move.  They had already lost the entire Justice League, Wolf was dead, Artemis was dead, and nobody had heard from Chimera.  He didn’t want to think she was dead, but… the odds were not in her favor.  But she was magic and had already survived attacks he didn’t think anyone could survive. And she was a strategist.  If anyone could come up with a plan for her and for them, it was her.

“Ready?” Robin called out to him.

“Just give me the sign.  I’ll take them out.”  Superboy turned back to the hatch below with a determined stare.

“Opening the hatch.  I’ll count you down.  5, 4, 3, 2, 1, Jump!” Robin called out.

Superboy jumped and landed directly on the alien ship with enough force to create a massive dent in the ship.  He ripped off the canon and began punching the ship as hard and rapidly as he could manage.  He was too laser focused to notice the Team’s ship firing on the ship that came up behind his, destroying that ship, leaving three more ships.  The Team’s ship started firing on the next ship, bringing the other ships’ attention to them.  

Conner whipped around to assess the situation.  His ship wasn’t completely destroyed yet, but disabled.  If he could jump on another, he could disable that as well, making it easier for the Team’s ship to destroy them. Before the ships could start firing, a portal opened immediately in front of one of the ships. The ship flew in and suddenly the next ship over exploded and the two ships crashed, followed almost immediately by the third ship exploding from the Team’s fire.

Superboy’s ship glided down, crashing on the National Mall, skidding to a stop just in front of it.  Superboy jumped just before it came to a stop, landing in a crouch in front of the army forces stationed in front of the Capitol Building, the Team’s ship landing just behind him.  Superboy looked up to the army and stopped short, his breath catching in his chest.

Standing in front of the army forces was Chimera, standing tall, a little disheveled, a bit bloody, but standing and smiling brilliantly at Superboy. Superboy’s eyes lit up and he started running to her.  Chimera jumped in his arms, laughing heartily in relief.  Superboy hugged her tight, spinning her around in his excitement to see her. Chimera looked down to brush the nonexistent hair out of his face, cupping his face in the process, her grin growing impossibly bigger as she did.  Superboy’s eyes were crinkling from the large smile spreading on his face that only got larger as Chimera leaned down to touch her lips to his.

Her lips were soft and yielding and everything he had been dreaming they would be... not that he had been dreaming about her... he just... had been... repeatedly.  The kiss was exactly everything he had dreamed it would be.  It filled him with warmth and comfort at the same time, making his heart race.

They broke apart, gasping for breath after what felt like no time at all and forever at the same time.  Chimera smiled sappily at him, not letting him move his face too far from hers.  “I don’t want to wait until the next world ending event to do that again.”

Conner looked back at her with desire and shook his head.  “I don’t want to wait at all.”  He whispers heartily, capturing her lips and letting the emotion sweep over him again.  The kiss was hungrier than the first, more assured in their mutual desire.  A reprieve from the devastation and loss. A dream in the middle of a nightmare.

They broke apart when they heard someone clearing their throats.  “She’s kissing Superman.”  “That’s not Superman.  He’s too young.  And where’s the cape?”  

“He’s better.  He’s Superboy.” Chimera responded without sparing the interrupter a glance, keeping her eyes on Superboy’s.  

He twined his hand into her hair, gently setting her down to cup her face with his other hand and keeping her close.  He pulled away slightly, still touching her, not willing to give up on that reassurance that she was still there, that she was alive and by his side. “So this is where you go to” he said with a smirk but eyes still showing how relieved he was to see her.

“Guess my secret is out,” she smiled at him, cupping her hands over his.  “I’m glad you finally know.  I hated keeping it from you.”

Conner rested his forehead on hers and let out a deep shuttering breath.  “We thought you were dead.  Don’t ever do that again.”

Chimera squeezed her eyes shut and nuzzled her face into his hands.  “The zeta tubes I knew about were down and I was fighting here.  I couldn’t abandon them.”

Kid Flash broke free from Robin’s grip and stalked over to them.  “So this is where you have been this whole time.  We could have used your help.  We were fighting alone.  Artemis was fighting alone.”

“I’m sorry for what happened to Artemis.” She looked at him with guilt and compassion in her eyes.  “I wish I could have been there for you, for my Team.”

Kid Flash moved so he was only a few inches from her face.  “But you weren’t.  And now Artemis is dead.” He growled at her.

A guilty, hurt look spread across Chimera’s face and she backed away from Kid Flash, seeming to shrink at his censure.  Superboy moved in front of her, pushing Kid Flash away.  “That’s enough.  She was saving civilians.  That’s what we’re supposed to be doing.  What happened to Artemis isn’t anyone’s fault but the aliens’.”

Aqualad walked up to them and placed a hand on Kid Flash’s shoulder.  “He’s right.  Circumstances were extreme.  We are a team.  We need to start acting like it and focus on taking down the aliens, not each other.”

Kid Flash glared at Chimera before looking away.  He knew, he knew it wasn’t her fault, but that didn’t stop a part of his brain from blaming her.  But, blaming her wouldn’t help the situation.  It wouldn’t bring Artemis back.  They needed to stop the aliens before they killed more people and they needed her for that.  “So what’s our next step?”

Aqualad looked over the wreckage formulating a plan, and trying to keep his anger in check.  “We’ll salvage as many of the alien’s cannons as possible.”  His face morphed as his anger took over.  “Then we take back what is ours.”

<><><><><> 

The Hall of Justice didn’t offer any particular insights, just a sense of familiarity and fleeting safety in their decidedly unsafe and insecure position. It wasn’t the Cave, it wasn’t their home, but it was a symbol of hope to people around the world and had been to them. And hope was something they all needed more of today.

Aqualad sat with the army general talking tactics while the other army men watched the perimeter and tried to take a second to themselves.  Kid Flash and Robin were running tests on the alien cannons to learn more about them.  A look of frustration and concentration set on Kid Flash’s face.  They were going to figure this out.  They needed to avenge Artemis and their mentors.  Robin watched the results of one test come in and launched into the next test with calm and determined eyes, his mouth set in a thin line, the very picture of traught.  He would deal with the emotions later.  Right now, the priority had to be their analysis.  They needed to figure out how to defeat the aliens or they were all going to die.  There was no time for emotions right now.

Superboy and Chimera stood sentry at the main entrance, no longer holding hands now that the initial wave of relief had passed and they were on a mission, but standing close enough that Superboy could feel the heat from her body.  Both had their eyes trained on the skies, but he occasionally darted his eyes to her just to reassure himself that she was there. “I’m sorry about Wolf.” She said quietly, eyes still on the sky.

Superboy’s eyes moved to her for longer, focusing on her.  He could see the sorrow in her eyes as she said it, even though she refused to take her eyes off the skies for even a moment.  Every bit the professional as he expected from her, pushing away her emotions until the mission was over.  But too worried and grieved for him to wait to say something. “He died protecting me.” Superboy grumbled looking back to the sky.  He wouldn’t cry.  There had been so much death and destruction.  It was ridiculous to cry over one pet.

Chimera nodded solemnly.  “That’s what you do for the people you love, you risk your life for them.  Sometimes you lose it for them.”  Superboy could see the tears trying to escape that she held tight to.  “And he loved you.”

Superboy opened his mouth to say something too fast, too deep, something he knew she wasn’t ready to hear, but before he could Kid Flash yelled out saving him from himself.  “Guys! Look what I found!  Look at this!”

The Team along with General Eiling moved over to him.  “What did you find?” Aqualad asked, unmoved by Kid Flash’s excitement.

“Zeta-beam radiation!” Kid Flash exclaimed excitedly.  “The cannons have zeta-beam radiation!  The same as our zeta tubes.”  He was nearly bouncing with excitement.  “They aren’t disintegration beams, they are teleporting beams.  Do you know what that means?”  He grabbed Chimera by her shoulders to make sure she was entirely focused on him, the one person on the Team who could match his levels of excitement.  The one person who could mutually indulge in extreme emotions.  His smile was so big and bright, it almost brought hope back to the structure all on its own.  “They’re alive.  They aren’t killing people, they’re taking them hostage!  We can save them.”

Chimera smiled widely at him.  “We can save Artemis.”  Kid Flash started giggling with happiness as he nodded at her words, hugging her tight. The hug he gave her turned into a dive for cover when the building was rocked with an explosion, Chimera covering his body with hers.  As soon as the rocking stopped, the Team and soldiers popped their heads up assessing the situation.  “We’re surrounded, sir.”  One of the soldiers at the entrance reported.  “At least twelve ships out there, sir.” Another soldier called back.

“There’s no way to make it to our ship,” Robin commented.

“We need to move to the Zeta tubes.  Robin, I need you to run ahead and hack the system to get authorization for the soldiers.” Aqualad called over to him as he wrapped one of the soldiers’ arms over his shoulders.

“On it,” Robin calls already running toward the zeta tubes.  By the time the rest of the Team, each supporting at least one soldier, got to the room he had the system hacked and was already scanning soldiers.  They all braced themselves and jumped out of the way of falling chunks of ceiling as more explosions rocked the building.  

Superboy searched out Chimera after the latest particularly bad explosion, breathing a sigh of relief when he found her standing unharmed near the zeta tube. “That one sounded like it came from the inside.” He reported loudly.

“They appear to have breached the perimeter.  They will be here soon.  We need to move.” Aqualad stated gravely.  “Chimera, you go through first and signal us if it is safe.”

“What? No!  You don’t know what you’re sending her into,” Superboy objected.

Aqualad shook his head.  “Chimera has a nearly indestructible suit.  If there is something on the other side, she will be best equipped to withstand it.”  He nodded to Chimera to signal her to move.  

Chimera nodded back and gave Superboy a weak smile.  “See you on the other side.”  Superboy nodded back.  He would see her.  They would see each other and he would kiss her again.  He watched as Chimera disappeared through the zeta tube, holding his breath until they heard a signal come through to Robin.  

“She’s okay.  She says it’s safe.” Robin reported.  Superboy let out the breath he had been holding.

“Everyone start moving.” Aqualad commanded.  “Soldiers first.”

“No,” General Eiling countermanded.  “We cannot risk losing more heroes.  You go first.”  Aqualad squared up against him ready to argue.  “We don’t have time to argue.  This is non-negotiable.  You. Go. First.”

Aqualad grunted in displeasure but nodded. “Kid Flash, you go through next, Robin, you next, followed by Superboy.  I’ll go next, followed by the army soldiers.  Time is a factor.  Move quickly.”  Kid Flash looked between them, but moved to the tube quickly.  Robin frowned at Aqualad, but moved to the tube to wait his turn.  

The Team and the soldiers in the room waited impatiently for their turns to make it through the zeta tube.  It didn’t take long for each person to go through, but they didn’t have time to wait. They could hear the explosions and the destruction nearing them quicker than they had.  It went against their natures to just stand by and do nothing, but there was nothing to do, not until the room was breached.  

Robin had just made it through the tube when there was a flash of blinding light and everything seemed to freeze for a few moments before returning to normal. Aqualad and Superboy shook their heads in confusion, the light having done something to their heads, causing momentary confusion.  When they looked back up, the door to their stronghold had been blown apart and the aliens were entering in droves.  The room erupted into a cacophony of yells, screams, weapons’ fire, and fighting.  “Superboy, get in the tube.” Aqualad yelled to him as he attacked an alien.

Superboy opened his mouth to object but quickly dived out of the way of an oncoming shot.  “Now!” Aqualad yelled again.  Superboy moved quickly to the tube, keeping an eye on the aliens as he waited for the tube to recognize him and shoot him with the zeta beam energy.  He gasped as an alien aimed at him.  It was a race between the zeta beam energy and the alien’s weapon.  He closed his eyes and braced himself for the hit that never came.  

When he opened his eyes he saw Chimera’s grinning face.  He exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her neck.  He pulled away just enough to kiss her again, weaving his hand into her hair to pull her closer.

“The tube is down.” Robin reported gravely from his position at the zeta tube controls.  The rest of the Team turned to him in question.  “The Hall of Justice tube entrance is not responding.  Likely destroyed.  We should not expect survivors.”

Kid Flash and Chimera gasped at the declaration.  Chimera buried her face in Superboy’s chest.  He could feel her tears soaking through his shirt.  He pulled her closer and rested his head on hers, trying to whisper comforting words, but there were none.  There was no comfort in this situation.  The only comfort he had found in this entire situation was her, so he hugged her closer like the symbol of hope she was to him.

Chapter 6

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[seacottons]

Find a Reason to Smile

pairing: choi san x reader

summary: you help an amnesiac named san find his way back home, and in return he helps you find a reason to always smile.

genre: sci-fi, dystopian au, horror, angst, language

words: 16.9k

warnings: excessive violence, blood, mental instability, mentions of smut.

The wind and rain felt like tiny little pricks against your skin and hair as you hastily rode back home on your yellow bicycle. Dark clouds blanketed the coastal town of yours, washing it an eerie, yet somewhat comforting darkness. Despite the gloomy weather, your mood was still beaming due to just wrapping up the last exam of your third year in university.

The streets were almost nearly vacant in this part of town, thankfully. You slowed down slightly whilst crossing roads and intersections, puddles of water splashing harshly against your shoes. Your hair clung onto your face, and a few strands flew into your mouth and eyes as you turned corner after corner. You flinched as the sound of thunder shook the ground underneath you. The street lamps and illuminated street signs flickered rapidly, and a flash of lightning followed shortly afterwards.

Your mind only registered what just occurred after a few seconds too late. A flash right in front of you blinded your sight, and a big lump of a body strewn on the wet cement crossed paths with your bicycle, causing you to fly and skid across the concrete a few feet away from the initial impact.

Hissing under your breath as pebbles dug into your broken flesh of your palms and knees, you glanced up and groaned, completely confused as to what made you lose your balance. You were positive there was nothing but empty space there a few seconds ago. The rain was heavy, but not enough to blind you. Your head throbbed, and you were sure bruises were already forming. 

Your breath was caught in your throat at the sight of a man lying beside your bike, clutching his side and emitting grunts of pain, his frame writhing. The man could make out a few words through the hazy fog of his mind,"Mist...okay..."

"Mister..are...okay?"

"Mister, are you okay?"

You scrambled up onto your feet, mind frazzled and bewildered,”I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t see you there! I- ..what were you doing lying down in the middle of the sidewalk. Oh my god, are you okay?” you blithered loudly, hands reaching down to grab onto the man’s own frail ones.

Your rambling seemed to make the man’s headache even worse, and you hastily helped him onto his feet. He was a few inches taller than you, a well built, lean frame adorned with dark clothing and a leather jacket. A striking patch of green decorated his ebony locks, which clung to his flushed face as his pained eyes bore into your own, “Where am I? Who are you?”

You visibly blanched upon hearing the male’s words, hesitant hands reaching up to clutch the air in front of you, panic soon welcoming itself into your eyes and voice, “I gave you amnesia..,” you clutched his wet, black leather jacket with desperate fists, brows knitting in distress, “Please don’t sue me! I have one more year left to graduate! I’ll help yo-“

You were thankful that no one was driving by to witness the scene, you on your wobbly legs, screaming desperately in a stranger’s face. Before you managed to finish your plead, the man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, his frame collapsing onto your own jittery one. Yelping in fright, your hands flew to steady his body, which felt cold and deadweight in your arms. You rested your fingers against his jugular, your shoulders deflating in relief at the prominent heartbeat.

Spending the night of your last day of the semester was intended to be scheduled with partying, watching movies, going out with acquaintances, but fate decided to grant you a man who popped out of whatever that flash was, only to faint in your arms in broad daylight, feet away from your apartment complex, and rain drops creating frequent ripples in the puddles surrounding you two.

You were paranoid that somehow you’d be imprisoned or fined if you called the police for giving a stranger a possible concussion, so the next best thing you came up with is to take said stranger back to your apartment, wrapping him up in several towels and lying him down onto the couch. Droplets of rain cascaded down his high cheekbones, and onto your leather sofa, but that was the least of your concern at the moment. You debated whether or not to call your mother for help. She will certainly give you an earful if she found out you allowed a stranger into your own home.

As you were in the process of constructing a reasonable sounding text, a groan escaped the man’s mouth as he reached up to press the heel of his palm onto his forehead. You panicked at the sight, frame stiffening as the male sat up slowly, pausing to gaze at you in confusion. He tilted his head, eyes blinking in curiosity. His dark orbs studied your form, flickering around to examine his surroundings before turning back to you, “Hello?”

You offered an awkward smile, shrugging your shoulders and putting your phone down, “Uh.. hi. I’m (y/n). Are you feeling better, Mister? Do you remember anything?”

His dark eyes glanced around the room once again, before looking down at his wet attire and hands. He peered at his reflection from the mirror across from him and turned to you with a look of distress, “I don’t seem to recall anything other than when you crashed into me. By any chance, do I know you? Do you know who I am?”

There were a few moments in your life you were proud of. Few, meaning you can count them with one hand. This was not one of them. You found yourself crying in the middle of your apartment, with a complete stranger attempting to comfort and console you, when in fact he was the one who most likely needed it most. He smiled sheepishly, his attempt at consoling you only twinging a bit of hope in the pit of your stomach. He explained that it wasn’t logical for you to be the cause of his amnesia, due to the fact that you only managed to hurt his side as opposed to his head. You winced at the memory, nodding shamefully and offering him some ointment for the mark on his side, courteously left by the wheel of your bicycle. About half an hour of ceaseless reassurance from the man, you managed to regain your composure, asking him if he had some sort of identification.

To your disappointment, and his also, there was no source of information to identify him with. Pockets empty, no phone in sight either. You ran a hand through your hair, eyes downcast as you scrambled to think of plan b, only to catch sight of the the marking behind the man’s left ear. You raised a brow, leaning forward and tilting your head, startling the male from the sudden proximity,”You have a tattoo? San? Is that your name?”

There doesn’t seem to be any spark of recognition in the man’s eyes as you say the name, but he scratches the nape of his neck sheepishly,”I am honestly not too sure, but it’s safe to assume that it is? I’m sorry, I wish I could just remember one thing at least..”

You offered him a smile of pity, shaking your head to disagree with him,“That’s okay, San. I’m sure we’ll figure something out. In the meantime, you should change before you end up getting sick. I think my clothes will fit you somewhat. It’s the least I can do for crashing into you. Is that okay?”

“Ah, thank you,” you nodded at him to proceed,”I appreciate it. Do you mind if I stay here until the rain stops?”

You dug through numerous names of people named San on social media within your town, but you had no luck in finding a match. If your parents knew you kept a complete stranger in your home out of pity, they would’ve called you a lunatic.

He was very bashful about the offer to stay the night, denying it at first and telling you he’ll find his way somehow. Days later, you spotted him sleeping on one of the bus benches near your apartment as you made your way to the convenience store. He was reluctant at first, but finally agreed to stay for a short term with you.

You hadn’t even meant to but the poor guy had nowhere to go, no money on hand, and no memories whatsoever. What a predicament to be in.

Several days passed, and you’ve yet to tell your anyone of the incident that occurred that spring night.

It was no lie that over the course of several weeks of summer, the man had grown onto you. San was extremely humble, aiding you in any way he found possible. He took charge of cleaning, cooking, and even ironing your clothes on some days. The days when you had work, you would come home to find the apartment sparkling, and the smell of dinner wafting through the entirety of the small complex.

There were a few strange quirks you’ve noticed about him, though. For starters, he called the planet Earth, Utopia. You sat down for a good half hour over dinner one night, arguing back and forth regarding the name, but he just couldn’t explain why he thought that, and where that piece of information came from. He flung a pea at your nose as you pulled out several maps on your phone, proving your point, a pout resting on his features as he gave up his argument.

You were mildly paranoid that San was secretly a slimy alien disguised as a handsome, young man, from a different planet who somehow dropped down onto Earth, but you pushed that thought away several days later when he showed zero signs of being extra terrestrial. ( You forced him to sit down through reruns of alien related films, gauging and studying his reactions only to disprove your conclusion when he grimaced and complained he didn’t like the concept of aliens. )

However, he always seemed fascinated by the twinkling stars at night, occasionally asking if you’d like to sit and watch them, instead of movies, every now and then.

He enjoyed warm cups of tea as the cool breeze from outside fluttered into the apartment, the two of you pointing out which constellations you recognized.

—

“This is cute,try it on!" you threw a fuzzy, white sweater at San over the door of the changing room.

He took it off his head and inspected it, eyes blinking rapidly. He then threw it back,"It seems itchy."

"Come on! How about this?"

"The color is reminiscent of the time you threw up the leftover sushi.”

"Just say it’s an ugly shade of green and shut up," you grumbled, stomach flipping at the mere thought of the incident that occurred days prior. This wasn’t the first time he bought it up, only to laugh and tease you for it when you quickly shut him down.

San, albeit surprisingly being a playful and mischievous guy, was very modest and humble when it came to your shopping trips. Guilt would wash his features as he argued about you spending money on him for clothes and other necessities, often making excuses of why he didn’t want the items you chose for him, but you never missed the sparkle in his eyes as he placed the articles of clothing back on the racks.

He would pull items from your hands before you had the chance to purchase them for him, sometimes starting embarrassing scenes in various stores. When you have him a hard time, he would cling onto your arm, whining into your ear and attempt to pull you out of the store.

You did get kicked out of a plushie store that one time in which you accidentally kicked over one of the shelves while wrestling over a shiba inu plushie, tipping it over only slightly, but just enough for stacks of puppy plushies to fall into a heap on the floor.

He would often scold you when he finds the same item he’d been ogling laying innocently onto his makeshift bed in the tiny living room. San profusely apologized for being a nuisance to you and your wallet, and every time, you threatened to wrestle him down to take back his words.

“You said you wanted this one, and you’d name him Shiber. So give him a proper welcome to our home.”

He did ask to help him find a job, but you insisted you were fine with spending your money on him for the next month. Tuition and books were not a problem thanks to your scholarship, rent wasn’t too high, and you didn’t even own a car for you to spend money on gas. You also had several years of saving up from numerous jobs to help you put your mind at ease, but that did not stop the gnawing feeling of guilt that succumbed San every time you traded your money for something to give him.

You did take him to see a specialist, and he’d gone under several tests and examinations, but all the test results came back normal. There was no indication of head trauma, and he was very healthy for his age, which you two assumed to be in his early to mid twenties.

Nobody in town recognized him when you two had your weekly shopping trips, either.

He did promise to only spend two months with you and go about his way, if he managed to recover his memories. If not, he would land a job while you returned back to university for your senior year.

You never did tell him, but you left your bedroom door ajar ever so slightly to gaze at him in sympathy during the nights he woke up restless, silently staring out the window of the living room, arms clutching Shiber to his chest tightly for comfort. You knew he didn’t enjoy feeling lost and helpless, even if he never liked to admit it. His eyes held a heavy, silent sadness, one so deep that you think not even time will mend.

Learning to read and understand San came naturally and seamlessly. You caught every flicker of his eyes, every change in his tone, and every expression he makes. Every twitch of his lips did not go unnoticed by you.

He soon warmed up to your comforting presence, much like the summer weather.

"Ahhh! It burns!"

You fell in a tangled mess of sheets and limbs, startled by a screech. You were acutely aware of the pain blossoming onto your bottom as you landed ungracefully on your wooden floor. Beams of sunlight shone brightly in your room, welcoming the new day.

"San! Are you okay!?”

You piped hurriedly,  stumbling up to rush towards the male, tangled sheets clinging around your ankle, your hair a mess and eyes puffy from sleep.

You failed to notice a roll of toilet paper flying towards your head.

The impact startled you, heart leaping in your throat at the sudden attack, your adrenaline pumping through your veins as you raised your arms for defense.

It was San on the bathroom doorway, mouth red and puffy and eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Where the hell did you get this mouthwash? It's like I'm swishing fire in my mouth!" he cried, profusely rubbing at his mouth the back of his sleeve. He grumbled, turning around to lightly slap the bottle of green liquid on the bathroom countertop, fidgeting around and running his hands through his hair in exasperation.

"Fucking hell, San. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I nearly burned my tongue off, but thanks for asking!”

You dropped your head in your hands, contemplating your life choices for a few seconds before walking back to your bedroom to get an hour more of undisturbed sleep.

Summer was nearing an end, and the two of you fell into a simple routine. He would iron your work clothes the night before, wake up early to cook a light breakfast, and help you tidy up for your day.

You had joked one day, asking if his profession was a chef due to his great cooking skills.

“Maybe you’re secretly rich and hired me as your personal chef, but we argued one day, and you hit me so hard with a pan that I lost my braincells, and-“

You quickly stuffed his mouth with a loaf of bread to shush him up. He blinked, flabbergasted at the sudden intrusion, before hastily swiping a jam covered finger onto your cheek in retaliation.

Not only was he talented at cooking great food, but he was also amazing at styling hair.

He scoffed as a stubborn strand of your tresses curled up from the nearly perfect hairstyle he struggled to create. Licking his lips, he pressed them into a thin line as he leaned forward, gel slicked hands working meticulously to smoothen out your locks,”San, I work at a coffee shop, not at a fashion agency. Don’t you think this is a bit much?” your back ached from being stuck in the same position for nearly forty minutes.

He ignored your comment, scolding you for attempting to distract him, eyes trained onto redoing the intricate braid in your hair, adding several tiny diamond clips, and a golden ribbon lacing through your locks. You tilted your head at an angle, struggling to catch sight of his beautiful work in the mirror, your eyes practically twinkling in delight at the sight.

“San, you’re so talented! I should’ve hired you as my hairdresser months ago,” you marveled happily.

His heart leaped in his throat, much like the acrobats he’s seen in movies, whilst you crushed him into a tight hug. He stared down at the crown of your head, jaw slackening  and eyes growing wide at the first physical gesture of affection you’ve ever given him. His frame felt like it was doused in gasoline and lit on fire, but before he had the chance to ask himself why, he caught sight of his reflection. His ears were an embarrassing shade of pink, like the tiny cosmos he helped you grow on the balcony. He hoped you hadn’t noticed.

A gentle smile found itself onto his features as he raised a  respectful hand to the dip of your back, returning the hug fondly, his lids fluttering shut as he basks in the moment of having you cling onto him. This was better than hugging Shiber, he noted to himself.

“I’ll do it for as long as time allows it,” he curls a strand of your hair around his pointer finger, before delicately pinning it behind your ear, his gaze unfaltering as his eyes bore into your own.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, and you simpered at his bashful expression,”I’ll see you tonight, then. No need to cook anything, either. Today we’ll try out the new barbecue place across town, yeah?”   His eyes widened, your bright tone snapping him out of his dazed state, eyeing you in mild embarrassment for staring much too long than deemed necessary. He pulled away abruptly, hands busy attending to the brushes and combs across the counter, anything that was within his grasp really– the green patch of hair concealing his eyes from your sight,”Y-yeah. I’ll be ready when you come back home,” he responded, voice meek and delicate as he flashed you a small grin.

His tender smile was reminiscent of spring mornings: fresh, warm, and welcoming.

—

The oil sizzled as you gently laid down a slice of chicken onto the grill, your hands startling as tiny droplets of oil met the flesh of your hands. The steel tongs fell from your grip, mouth pulled back as you emit a hiss of pain, your other hand flying to rub away at the burning sensation.

Delicate hands wrapped around your own, the pads of his fingers rubbing soothing circles onto your skin, his eyes holding a weight of disappointment,”I told you, you’re supposed to do it gently, or else you’ll splash yourself with all that oil, dummy.”

“I was being gentle!” you shot back, only for your words to die down into a small whisper once you locked your eyes with his. Clearing your throat, you pulled your hands away from his hold, allowing your tresses to frame your face in hopes of concealing the blossoming pink of your cheeks. ”Alright, I’ll be more cautious next time,” you added quickly, picking at the side dishes with your chopsticks, sheepishly avoiding his teasing stare.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint when exactly San’s gazes affected you the way they did now.

They left a soft, bubbly feeling inside the pit of your stomach, reminding you of his favorite powder scented laundry detergent he became very fond of.

“It cleans Shiber’s fur better than the lavender one.”

You didn’t know why you now noticed small quirks of his that you found attractive.

The way his skin dips as he smiles, displaying the cutest set of dimples you’ve ever set your eyes on. The way his eyes glimmer at the sight of a new episode of his favorite tv series. The way his voice rises an octave in excitement at a clear night sky, displaying twinkling diamonds over the town.

And also the tiny freckles that were beautifully paraded thanks to his v-neck shirts. The mole on his cheek. Or when he gnaws his bottom lip in concentration when either cooking or attempting to rid his shirts of a stubborn wrinkle.

The way the veins in his arms are more pronounced whilst he cooks up your favorite dish, or when his muscles ripple as he reaches up for something on the shelves.

And the sound of his contagious laugh as you proposed the idea of him becoming your roommate and helping him hunt for a job, despite having no known credentials or work experience as soon as you move to Seoul.

Initially, you didn’t think much of these small seeds of attraction you felt towards him. It wasn’t a crush. You were merely fond of his cute, clingy behavior.

You ignored them when they sprouted.

And now it seems they have blossomed, and you think there’s no denying it anymore, however you decided for the sake of the steady and well-built friendship, you’ll bury those feelings in a small, dark corner of your mind, tucked safe and away from prying eyes, specifically his.

“(Y/n)?”

You jumped in your seat, eyes widening and a ghost of a breath escaping your parted lips as you crashed back down to reality. San’s eyes were furrowed in concern at your silence, his hand hovering over the grill, tongs stretched and ready to latch onto the meat. You were quick to whip out an apology, offering him a sheepish grin,”Sorry, did you say something?”

He jabbed a thumb to the flat screen t.v, quickly changing the subject to save you from further embarrassment,”They’re talking about University of Seoul. Isn’t that the one you’re planning on transferring to next month?”

Physics Professors of US, Dr. Jung and assistant Dr. Kang, announce successful test in the relation between their theory of quantum physics and alternate reality; They say the world is ready to witness something grand.

You glanced at the long headline, eyes then trailing up to the news anchor, and then back to San. A black haired professor began an interview with the hosts over video call, but you soon tuned it out disinterestedly while spooning a few grains of rice and seasoned seaweed, only pausing mid-bite as you noticed the twinkling reflection of the lightbulbs in tear drops falling from San’s eyes as he stared silently at the screen.

“San? Are you okay?”

He quirked a brow in confusion, only then following your line of vision towards his side of the table. Peering down at the droplets, he raised dainty fingers to brush against his cheeks, examining the wetness as he pulled away, confusion decorating his features,“Oh? I’m crying?”

You settled your spoon down, eyes, filled to the brim with concern, roaming to study his features, and for the first time since you met him, you couldn’t read the expression on his face, couldn’t decipher what he was feeling. Your appetite suddenly dissipated, worry filling hunger’s place instead,”Is something the matter? You can tell me, you know?”

The lights in the restaurant flickered continuously, tv screens pixelating and distorting. Customers and the employees paused their ministrations to look around in confusion.

Your face glitched and pixelated, and his eyes widened at the sight.

Go back home!

As if watching a poorly captured, grainy video, he suddenly found himself in a pitch black room. He was aware he was standing above a fallen figure, even with the lack of light. A beam suddenly flashed down upon him, casting a dim ring of light around his frame. His pupils dilated and quivering at the sight of the pale visage void of any signs of life staring blankly at him from the bloody mess on the floor. Upon closer inspection, he realized the corpse he was staring down at was an exact replica of himself, face gaunt and frozen with terror stricken eyes.

Go back home, San. I’m so sorry.

The corpse’s ghostly face blurred and pixelated, before he felt lips press against his own, a giggle following shortly after. His breath caught in his throat as he gaped down at your smiling figure,”Of course, I’ll marry you, Sannie. Who else would I want to spend the rest of my life with?”

Home.

And then you vanished in fade of colors, your body dissipating with the breeze.

Everything came to a gentle still.

Suddenly, the sight of a fist gripping a gleaming syringe rushing towards his direction and painfully digging into his wrist—

He jumped, startled knees crashing into the underside of the table, the utensils clattering upon impact, making you also jolt in place, hands hastily reaching up to clamp onto your chest in surprise.

“San!”

Unbeknownst to him, something akin to severe horror flashed within his orbs for a millisecond, silent terror haunting the dark depths of his eyes as his gaze flickered from the tv screen to your face, the ambiance of the restaurant becoming nothing more than a faint, muted buzz in the background.

You were alarmed by the sudden rapid rise and fall of his chest, shallow breathing overlapping with the sounds of utensils clattering in the background.

“San? San, tell me what’s wrong.”

He took a moment to assess your expression, hesitantly shaking his head moments later, voice small, hands fidgeting with his chopsticks, before reaching up to grasp the sides of his head, suddenly unaware as to why his hands were trembling,”I don’t know? I don’t know why I’m crying, (y/n). I have a terrible migraine too.”

You were quick to send a glare at the nosy customers who took a sudden interest in you and your friend, eyes narrowing in triumph as they hastily averted their gazes.

“Do you think I’m having an allergic reaction to something?” you heard San mumble into his palm.

You weren’t sure how to answer him.

“Yeah, maybe.. it’s the radish?”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen sheer, raw terror in one’s eyes like that before.

That look on his face will forever haunt you.

Weeks later, that night was buried away along with the other nights you’ve spent with San in your coastal town. He helped you pack your belongings, taping box after box as the two of you prepared to move inland into the city for your final year of university.

San surprised you two days after you moved into your new, spacious apartment with the announcement that he obtained a job at a local floral shop just down the street, owned by two friends, Jongho and Yunho. You blanched as soon as he informed you that he explained to them he had no idea of his identity and held no official documents, but had a knack for delicate and intricate styling of materials, ranging from flowers, to food, and hair. He even challenged them to a bouquet arrangement match.

“Is that seriously how you convinced them? No fingerprints or anything? No documents? How will they pay you? You can’t just go around telling people you lost your memories, San. What if someone takes advantage of you?” you chided gently, brows creasing as you worked at adjusting one of the paintings on the wall.

He feigned a pout, fingers reaching to brush a strand of hair from your eyes,”And here I thought you’ll say let’s go out to celebrate. Are you not proud of me? I’m getting paid in cash to avoid the documentation requirements, if that’s what’s bothering you. I told you I need to start helping with the bills,” he crossed his arms, back resting against the wall and head turned the other direction as he silently sulked.

You didn’t know if that was even legal, but you decided to brush it off at the sight of his crestfallen expression, your hands quickly finding their way to his own, grasping them and giving them a gentle squeeze,”Of course we’ll celebrate! Over drinks and barbecue!”

If the Sun had feelings, you were sure it would feel a massive amount of envy towards the male in front of you, with the way his face shined and glowed with every smile that reached his handsome features. Your heart will never become accustomed to the sunshine-like smile, no matter how many times he beams at you like that.

A month flew by as quickly as the leaves changed color during autumn, and soon, you two found yourselves constantly huddled underneath a large blanket, hands holding steaming mugs of tea while you watched new movies his co-workers  recommended him. You smiled fondly at his excited announcement of finding a new movie to share with you. Your heart swelled at the sound of his giggling throughout the film.

You confided to him after one particular movie regarding homesickness, suddenly finding yourself tearing up at the thought of your old town and apartment and how much you missed them.

He prodded your cheek in a playful manner, tapping away your tears with a tissue before running a soothing palm onto the back of your head,”You just have to find a reason to smile. It won’t fix the problem per say, but it’ll make the situation easier for you until you find a solution,” he mused,”Like me, for example! I don’t have a clue about who I was or am, or where I came from, but you’re the reason I still smile.”

Your brows rose up high at his words, and you couldn’t tell if the flush on your face was the result of crying anymore. You also felt ashamed all of a sudden, realizing your situation wasn’t nearly as bad as his,”I make you happy?”

“Of course you do,” he chuckled, hands patting his chest proudly,”I don’t have to be reason for you to smile, though. Maybe it can be that big star that twinkles every night out your window, or the smell of that nice bakery down the street.”

Your stomach fluttered.

“You make me smile more than anything and anyone, San.”

Some days, he’ll come home to find you face first in one of your heavy books, hand still gripping your pen while a monotonous voice from your laptop plays out throughout the kitchen. He chided your sleeping form as he picked you up, carrying you to your bedroom and huffing when you immediately snuggled into your sheets and pillows,”What will you ever do without me, dummy.”

The third month in, and you eventually became accustomed to the new environment, city, people, and university. It was a lot larger in comparison to your previous one, and it accommodated not only local students, but international ones as well. You were offered an internship with one of the university’s top leading music professors, and you contemplated accepting the offer or not for months. It worked out in your favor, though. San had a stable job now. You weren’t as worried about your finances as much as you were before, you were enjoying your last year of studies, your apartment was spacious enough to fit the both of you, and it wasn’t too far from your university either.

Your manifestations of a simple and happy life became reality, and there was no room left to complain.

There was one problem though.

You learned that San was not to be trusted with money. He either spent it on food or yourself. You begged, pleaded, and chided repeatedly that you really did not need every color of the sweater you liked at the shop, or the fancy teacup you saw at the market, but he insisted on buying them all,”But all these colors suit you! Besides, it’s getting too cold, you need to dress warmly!”

Saturday night he presented you with a glittering, amethyst necklace. You paled at the sight, cheeks stuffed with the remaining spoonfuls of dinner as you gazed from your plate, to the necklace, and then back to his face,”You didn’t. San, not again..” you shook your head.

At your words, he rolled his eyes, scoffing and skidding his chair as he stood up to walk towards you,“You have the audacity to complain? Have you forgotten you’ve bought all my clothes and kept me well fed over the summer?” he leaned over your frame, polite hands clasping the necklace around the column of your neck, grinning in satisfaction as it glimmered underneath the fluorescent lights,”You make it even more beautiful than it already is, (y/n).”

He gasped as you choked on the remnants of your food, hands hastily slapping your back in aid, loud voice bouncing against the walls of the apartment, scolding you for not being careful enough with your food.

One night, he came home pleading for you to visit the amusement park that opened in town. San knew that one certain look of his that made your resolve crumble into nothing but a heap of emptiness within a matter of seconds, and that jerk used it to his advantage every damn time. And it worked every damn time.  You were ashamed of how easily you fell for his tricks, but in most circumstances, it was worth it.

If one day, the Sun were to cease existing, it will be okay, because San’s smile is its greatest rival.

You swore San’s eyes twinkled brighter than any of the stars in the night sky. Happiness looked best on San. He had bits of cotton candy still stuck on his cupid’s bow, pockets filled to maximum capacity with tickets. You couldn’t help but emit a snort of amusement at his behavior as he dragged you from booth to booth, demanding you to a challenge every time.

He was the embodiment of happiness and sunshine, all things soft and delicate. He begged you to enter the photo booths with him, and then proceeded to have a bet on who can win the most prizes.

“I’m telling you, these games are all rigged. I just know it,” you grumbled angrily, harshly chomping down onto a handful of popcorn.

He peeked up, arms struggling to carry the amount of plushies and prizes he won. A green hat sat on his head comfortably, his eyes teasing as you placed a few pieces of popcorn into his gaping mouth,”Sorry, couldn’t hear you from all the plushies I’m holding. What did you say?”

“San, that makes absolutely no sense.”

“I know, you’re just fun to tease.”

He managed to win at nearly every game you played, and you gaped in disbelief as he won at the fishing game for the fifth time in a row. Crossing your arms, you turned around, hand sticking up to shush him as he called your name,”Rigged!”

You felt something cold and hard poke your cheek, and you turned to be met with a pouty rubber duck that was much too close for comfort. He repeated the action, along with a soft quack, and you attempted to swat his prize toy away from him, only for him to mimic the duck’s expression, your heart nearly falling to your feet at the sight,”Don’t be angry. I promise I’ll let you win next time.”

Having San work at a floral shop meant being gifted with a new flower every day.

He would beg you to stop writing in your notebook just to listen to him ramble on about what a certain flower meant, and so forth. Curse Jongho for getting him into this sort of thing, but you couldn’t deny the fact he appeared so endearing while blabbering passionately about why he thinks white roses aren’t meant to be related to death, or why cosmos deserve more love after Yunho trash talked them one day.

“Jongho, what are you doing?” San asked one day, arms placing the new shipment of glass vases down in the corner of the room. Yunho peeked up from tying a ribbon onto a pink bouquet, snickering at the sight of Jongho ripping petal after petal of a yellow flower.

“He wants to know if the girl that visits the shop every Friday likes him back,” Yunho teased, ducking as a piece of floral foam was thrown in his direction.

San leaned over Jongho’s shoulder to study the flower inquisitively, eyes wide and curious,”How do you determine that?” Jongho’s miffed expression soon was replaced with a stoic one as he explained to San how it works,”So, all I have to do is pluck them and whichever is the last one..”

Jongho nodded, elbowing the ebony haired male in the chest,”Are you thinking about the girl you live with?”

San’s flustered expression gave him away. He hid the white daisy behind his back defensively, shrugging his shoulders and announcing he has to get back to work. Jongho and Yunho shot knowing smiles at his retreating figure.

“She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not.”

Hiding behind a stack of boxes, San was finally at the last petal, his fingers hovering above it with widened eyes and parted lips,”She loves me.”

You were too engrossed in editing an audio file, that the sight of a gerbera daisy flying into your face startled you nearly to death. San laughed as you yelped in fright, hands immediately ripping the headphones from your ears, before repeatedly smacking his hip in anger,”Are you trying to give me a heart attack!” you hissed in frustration.

He placed the daisy behind your ear and leaned back up to examine his work,”So pretty.”

You didn’t know whether he was referring to the flower or yourself, but either way, that didn’t stop your ears from flaring up.

A month later, you managed to survive the exams, and your second to last semester came to an end. The university held a party a week later in celebration, just before winter holiday, and you asked San over dinner if he’d like to attend. He shyly denied it at first, saying he never learned how to dance, but you insisted you wouldn’t have to if it made him uncomfortable,”We can just relax and eat the food there. I promise it’ll be fun!”

You wore a well fitted, knee length black dress, and insisted on San wearing something formal as well, much to his displeasure. He reached a hand to readjust his tie for the umpteenth time that night, glowering at your snickering form,”Oh stop, you’ll mess it up. You look perfectly fine.”

“Fine? Is that all I get?” he prodded your cheek, playful lilt to his tone,”You should pay me, Prince San, for attending this party with you. I will only accept cash or kisses.”

His grin stretched further as you stumbled on your words, a faint scowl reaching your features as you thwacked him on the chest lightly,”Stop being embarrassing!”

You loved his teasing.

He knew you did, and curse him for taking every opportunity to make you a blushing, babbling mess, especially in public. The university’s courtyard couldn’t be recognized from the dangerous amount of people within the area, music blasting off in several directions, and drinks and food being served left and right.

San shot you a smile as he noticed the glimmering pendant resting on your collarbones,”Did you want to dance, (y/n)?”

You glanced at him curiously, head tilting back as you took a sip of your soda,”I thought you were too shy to dance in public?”

“That’s where you’re not wrong,” he chuckled, taking you by the wrist and behind one of the building’s corners. People still walked by, but there was a curtain of privacy that provided him with a subtle boost of confidence. He mimicked the princes in his favorite movies, head bowing and offering you his hand, to which you laughed and accepted. Your arms rested against his firm chest, lithe fingers curling onto his shoulders as his hands hesitantly found their way to rest onto the dip of your waist,”I don’t know if I’m doing this right.”

“I can’t believe we’re slow dancing to club music,” you couldn’t help but laugh, head thrown back in glee as San took stiff, unsure movements, a sheepish smile gracing his features as he ducked his head shyly, his earrings glimmering underneath the moonlight.

“It’s the only dance that seemed easy enough online,” he mumbled, unsure of his movements now that he held you in his arms,”I watched five videos.”

You flashed him a grin, pausing slightly to lean forward onto your toes, pressing a chaste kiss onto his cheek,”You’re doing so well. You never cease to impress me, San.”

You watched his jaw go slack, hands now hovering over your waist as he peers at you unsurely. For a split second, you were worried if you crossed the line, however, he released a chortle of amusement, leaning down to press his lips flush against your forehead,”And to you the same, dearest (y/n).”

The party was nearing an end, and you smiled fondly as San pouted beside you, watching someone take the last slice of chocolate cake on one the large tables. You took his hand, walking a few steps and ushering to another table across the courtyard,”That’s okay! I know another table with dessert. Maybe there’s—“

“San?”

The two of you paused, catching sight of a man only a few feet away, whose eyes were wide behind the pair of bronze rimmed spectacles. His shaggy, black tresses curled beautifully over his eyes, a mole prominent underneath one of his orbs. His mouth was ajar as he stared at the two of you, your interlocked hands, and then specifically onto you. You quirked a brow, noting how his eyes lingered a second too long onto your chest, making you shift uncomfortably beside San.

With long and quick strides, San was ripped from your embrace and into the other male’s chest as he crushed him into a hug.

San gazed at you pleadingly, seemingly uncomfortable with the sudden gesture of affection from the stranger, his arms glued to his sides, unsure whether or not he should return the hug,”Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since May! How can you just disappear into thin air without telling any of us?”

Your eyes widened at the information, and suddenly, the strange stares you two have gotten from your peers here made sense now. Ever since you walked into campus with San by your side, you’ve received curious and confused glances. And here you thought people were only shocked at how handsome the male that accompanied you was.

San could only stare in shock at the other male, his eyes searching an. searching for any flicker of familiarity, only for his shoulders to sag down as he found not a spark whatsoever,”You know me?” his voice was small and almost breathless.

The other male’s longing gaze morphed into a confused expression whilst he peels away from your friend, head tilting and brows furrowing in thought,”What do you mean? It’s me! Wooyoung. We’re childhood friends. You were a professor here. We worked on a project together before you ran away.”

You didn’t know whether to intervene or not, not knowing if it was your place to even speak on behalf of San. He peeked at you in question, and you nodded albeit your shocked state, understanding his silent question,”I’m sorry. I don’t recall any of that information. I’ve been living with (y/n) here. It seems as though I’ve lost all of my memories prior to meeting her.”

The black haired male’s eyes flickered between the two of you, and he points an accusing finger at San, a boisterous laugh falling from his plump lips, “Nice one. Don't tell me you ran away to be with your secret girlfriend, Sannie. Was the project too much pressure on you? You could’ve told me you know?”

When San’s confused expression didn’t change, Wooyoung’s bright expression faltered, smile falling into a concerned frown.

“Is it true? He doesn’t remember me?”

Your head perked up at the sudden attention that was now on you, a look of pity falling onto your features as you nodded silently,”Yes. I met San in Hwaseong months ago. I transferred and moved here recently. We’ve been searching for months about his identity. Was he not reported missing?”

Wooyoung blinked at your sudden question, shaking his head and emitting a sigh, gazing at his friend as he spoke,”No, he didn’t exactly go missing. He left a note and ran away, saying he didn’t want to be apart of the project we worked on any longer,” he grasped San’s limp hands, tugging him forward and cocking his head in another direction,”Come with me. I’ll prove it to you! Maybe your pictures will help spark some memory, yeah?”

The campus was fairly large, and walking in heels did not aid you in the slightest. Wooyoung looked back over his shoulder and smiled sheepishly, almost apologetically,”I still haven’t organized the office, so excuse the mess you’re about to see. My assistant was supposed to meet me last week to help tidy up, but..”

He flicked on the lights, and he ushered you to one of the three desks in the room. He grabbed onto a small picture frame, handing it to San to observe,”Do you know who this person is?” Wooyoung asked softly.

You peered over San’s shoulder, gaze catching sight of the three people in the picture. It was San, Wooyoung, and a shaggy haired, blonde man whose hair was tied into a small ponytail. Your eyes widened in recognition. These were Dr. Jung and Dr. Kang, the two professors from that one interview you watched that night.

San wordlessly peered at the picture, minute after minute, and he finally sighed moments later, placing the picture frame down while shaking his head in defeat,”No. He’s not familiar either.”

You rested a hand onto San’s shoulder sympathetically, whispering reassuring words underneath your breath. He turned his head to offer you a melancholic, but grateful, smile. Wooyoung cleared his throat, brows knitting in thought,”That’s Yeosang. Our partner,” he placed pointed to another frame, one showcasing the three men swimming at the beach,”We met him four years ago, San.”

An awkward silence fell upon the three of you, and moments later, San walked around the office, fingertips brushing against multiple papers with his name and handwriting scribbled onto them,”Choi San? That’s my full name?” he said almost breathlessly,”This is all my work?”

“The one and only, Choi San,” Wooyoung nodded grimly, arms crossing over his chest as he proceeded to sit down, running a hand through his dark locks,”Wait ‘til Yeosang hears about all of this,” he moaned into his hand, before peeking up and pursing his lips in thought,”You should come back to our apartment. Your stuff is still there. It’ll be a start at getting your old life back together again?”

Your brows knitted, shoulders tense in defense, and you opened your mouth to quip back an answer, only for San to beat you to it,”I’m already staying with..” he hung his head, troubled thoughts weighing him down before he glanced at you almost apologetically,”I mean, our plan was for me to move out, after I figure something out right? It was never supposed to be long-term.”

“You can have time to think about it and work things out,” Wooyoung piped in, gaze softening at the sight of your crestfallen expression.

You attempted to contain your tears, your eyes now glassy and red. You offered a shaky smile, hand squeezing San’s reassuringly,”I don’t mind if you stay with me, San. I love having you around,” you saw Wooyoung’s head perk up in amusement,”But that doesn’t mean I’ll hold you back from returning to your home.”

San couldn’t return the smile, his lips sloped in contemplation and confliction. He shook his head to rid himself of haunting thoughts. Moments of silence later, he sighed, looking back up to meet the hopeful gaze of his forgotten friend,”I’ll have my stuff ready after tomorrow.”

Your heart felt heavy in your chest as Wooyoung and San continued to speak, both exchanging information and addresses.

—

The news hurt you as much as it relieved you. San, Choi San, is back where he belongs, with people he knew and grew up with. And on top of that he was a Physics professor, too?

You were happy and beyond proud of his endurance, and also proud that you had helped him this far, however, a small part of yourself, a selfish part of yourself, clawed and lashed out at the thought of losing him, even as a roommate.

Your heart ached, and a dangerous sense of bitterness bled throughout your system.

"I’m so happy for you, San,” you offered a small smile, and although the sight of him left an ache in your heart, your truly attempted to mask the pain that was settling in your veins, leaving an unpleasant taste in your mouth. “I’ll miss you. I’ll miss scolding you about tidying up your plushies, your pancakes in the morning– I.. our movies night, too. But it’s okay.. I’ll visit you, and you’ll visit me? Right? Even if we won’t live together anymore we can-“

Throughout the months he’s lived with you, you’ve failed to realize how well he’s learned to pick up on your demeanor and attitude. He reads you as easily as his favorite Harry Potter books.

“(Y/n). Stop.”

The sudden, sharp tone caused you to clamp your mouth shut.

He reached down to grip the mug of tea out of your trembling hands, his gaze then trailing up to brush against your cheek, frowning at the sight of your quivering bottom lip and misty eyes. Your teeth bit at the inside of your cheek harshly, determined to keep yourself contained.

Usually, at such proximity, you’ll turn into a fidgety, blushing mess, but the way he’s gazing tenderly down at you from your spot on the couch, you felt your heart splinter and crack in sadness. You tried your best to look at the brighter side of things, because you knew how selfish it was of you for wanting him to stay with you.

He wasn’t a stray animal that needed to be loved and protected.

He was a man with a life behind him, and denying him that would be the cruelest thing you can ever do to someone, especially one that had no idea of his past.

You were suddenly aware of his warm chest against your face, his hand carefully cradling your head ever so gently. His shirt darkened with wet patches of your tears, and it was the sight of them that made you realize you were crying. He held you as your walls broke down, brick by brick. Your small, shaky voice, muffled by his chest, still managed to shoot a wave of pain through his heart,”I don’t want you to leave me, San.”

“(Y/n),” he started, “I will never leave you. Just let me build my life back together, and after that, everything will turn back to normal.”

He caressed your messy hair, pressing faint kisses onto the crown of your head.

“We’ll get an even better apartment after you graduate and a cat named Byeol. Our balcony will be filled with all shades of cosmos, and I promise we’ll have enough space to build blanket forts for our movie nights. This is merely the beginning of it all, okay? Please don’t cry, or you’ll make me cry,” his voice was soft but reassuring, trembling in the end.

It’s funny, because here you always thought at the moment like this, when you finally found the answers San’s been looking for, that you will be the one comforting him, and not the other way around.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, words unable to leave your mouth as you pulled him in tighter, face buried against the freckled side of his neck as you nodded in silent agreement.

He held you close and tightly like this for the last two nights you had together, and every touch of his felt right against your frame.

So right, just like the last remaining puzzle piece left to finish a picture.

He held you in his arms the last night on the balcony facing the city, and he smiled at the sight of the twinkling diamonds in the night sky. He squeezes you tightly, breath against the crown of your head as he promises to always be with you as long as there are stars in the sky.

“Let’s find a reason to smile, yeah?”

—

Days passed without a word from San, and you grew increasingly upset. You struggled so hard to hold onto the promise he left you with, but with every missed call or ignored text, it became even harder than you had originally thought. You tried to make use of days of winter holiday by tidying up your apartment, a bitter frown etching your features when you pull something out from underneath the couch cushions or in a tight corner that belonged to San.

The day before Christmas, he finally called you, apologizing profusely and informing you that he was so busy with both Wooyoung and Yeosang, both of whom were credited for proving their claims of an alternate dimension existing beyond your world. San rambled over the phone about the project they wanted him to help with, and you weren’t sure if that was a good idea at the moment. You wanted him to prioritize healing first, but you didn’t want to crush his happiness, and you opted not mentioning it at all.

He asked if you can make it for the Christmas dinner the next day, and you were quick to agree.

You were huddled over the living room table, struggling to wrap a few gifts for him. After a few failed attempts, you made decent progress.

The next day, you scrambled to get ready, throwing on one of the glittery sweater dresses he had bought you and boots. After making yourself look presentable, you grabbed the gifts, locking your apartment and ushering for a taxi soon later.

The trip to Wooyoung and San’s apartment wasn’t too long. He lived a few blocks away from your home. With excited and shaky fingers, you rapped the door almost too quickly, bouncing on your feet almost nervously. Before you could process anything, your hands flew to wrap around the person behind the door, gifts long forgotten on the floor,”San! I missed you!”

When an unfamiliar tuft of blonde hair invaded your vision, you tilted your head up to meet the flushed gaze of the man you recognized from the picture in Wooyoung’s office. His spectacles dangled crookedly off his nose, eyes wide and blinking.

You scrambled back and profusely spat out apology after apology, the male only stuttering out a shy ‘It’s fine. San’s friend?’, causing you to nod in embarrassment. The blonde offered you a polite smile, hand extended politely in which you grasped after a moment of hesitation,”I’m Yeosang. I’d like to personally thank you for taking care of my friend for all these months. If there is any way Wooyoung and I can repay you, please don’t hesitate to let either of us know.”

You beamed at him, shaking your head gratefully, informing him there was no need for compensation. A familiar head of ebony and green peeked out from the noisy kitchen, and suddenly you were lifted in the air, crushed between a firm chest and strong arms. San’s familiar laugh filled the air as he swayed you from side to side, before dragging you towards the kitchen where Wooyoung was currently waging a war with the sizzling pan of oil and a batch of seasoned and breaded chicken. The black haired male shot you a wink in the midst of flipping a piece of chicken, only to squawk in protest as Yeosang came forth to steal a piece from the paper towel lined tray.

“You’re just saying that to impress, (y/n).”

“Watch yourself, Kang- before you end up getting fried next.”

The two bickered amongst themselves as you helped San with the drinks and other dishes he prepared with Wooyoung.

After eating, you exchanged gifts, and sat around for Wooyoung to tell the adventurous stories he shared with San as a kid. Throughout the whole ordeal, San’s eyes widened in surprise, orbs flickering from Wooyoung to Yeosang, a finger pointed to himself questioningly,”Did I really do that?”

You hadn’t realized how much you really missed San’s laughter. Studying the spacious living room, your eyes caught sight of a familiar patch of fur, chuckling to yourself at the sight of Shiber decorating the rocking chair as a cushion.

Another thing you noticed was that Yeosang’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he laughed along with the other two males. You brushed it off as a sign of reservedness. Not everyone was as boisterous as San and Wooyoung.

“No, that didn’t happen over summer break it happened during spring!” Wooyoung affirmed, jabbing his finger against Yeosang’s chest, who huffed in retaliation.

“You’re the one forgetting the whole story! Maybe I should tell it instead,” the blonde quipped smartly.

San could only emit a laugh as the two attempted to wrestle each other down instead, his gaze flickering over to you from across the room. You beamed back at him, nose scrunching up in delight at the sight of his smile.

His grin swiftly vanished, morphing into somewhat of a grimace, before his jaw slackened, the colors and shapes in the room distorting into large, blurred pixels while the lights of the apartment flickered rapidly.

“Let’s build a treehouse. It’ll be our secret hideout where we make missions and lock away the bad guys,” a young, voice bounced around the vast, empty white space. SAN’s eyes widened in confusion, eyes flickering left and right, before turning his frame around to catch sight of a very young Wooyoung, brows furrowed in determination whilst clutching a hammer,”Are you just gonna sit there and stare at me! Come on!” The boy ran off and vanished into thin air, San’s fingers reaching towards the boy in a desperate attempt to stop him.

Desperate fingernails dug into the flesh of his back, leaving behind pink lines in their wake. Low, guttural moans slipped past his lips at the sight of you writhing beneath him, your face flushed and contorted into one of bliss, your lips shaping his name with every movement of his frame. The sensation of having your muscles flutter and clench around him nearly drove him to the edge.

Why did you do it?

Pleasure was soon vanished as he found himself laying down in a dark room, two hands gripping the girth of his neck and squeezing with malicious intent, choked gasps emitting from his mouth, and a trail of saliva pooling down from the corner of his lips onto the concrete. The only light in the dark room, coming from behind him reflected the round, golden spectacles resting on the person’s face.

Why are you killing me?

The pressure on his neck vanished, and an ominous silence surrounded him in the dark room. He was acutely aware of something warm, red, and sticky gurgling out of his throat, coating his lips and spilling down his chin. His eyes caught sight of the gleaming edge of a knife as it was bought down repeatedly, slicing through his flesh as easily as softened butter. Pain did not blossom in the areas of impact. His half-lidded eyes gazed up, confusion pooling in them as tear drops fell onto his face from above, faint, broken laughter sounding out from his assailant.

“Why are you killing me!?”

His hand shot out to swipe at the hands on his shoulders, his eyes screwed shut tightly, wheezing for much needed air. Suddenly, he looked up to meet your stunned expression, hands recoiling from his touch,”San!? What’s wrong?”

Three pairs of eyes were trained on him, and all he could do was stare back at your panicked ones, silent tears streaming down his face as he attempted to pull your hands to his frame, softly apologizing for striking you,”I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-“

“Who’s killing you, San? What are you talking about?” you ignored his words, your brows knitting in worry as Yeosang exchanged a hard look with Wooyoung from behind you.

San’s lips parted momentarily, as if he was deep in thought. As quickly as they opened, he sealed them once more, his brows furrowing in disarray,”I.. I don’t know? No one? I don’t know what I’m saying?”

You pulled him into a tight hug, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as hesitant arms wrapped around your frame. You were suddenly taken back to that night at the barbecue restaurant. That look of terror on San was one you wished to never witness again, and for months you forgot about it. Something was definitely wrong.

“Did you remember something?” you tried, hands cupping his face, your thumbs working on wiping his tears away.

Frustration colored his features as he gently pried your hands off of his face, before burying his head into the palms of his hands,”No? I’m not sure? I can’t recall anything-“

“Has he had episodes like that before?”

You turned to meet the concerned gazes of his friends. Nodding sorrowfully, you sat besides San, arms pulling into your embrace,”This is the second time. Do you know what’s happening?”

Wooyoung shook his head grimly, walking over to brush San’s hair out from his eyes,”No idea. He.. has episodes like that in his sleep, I’ve noticed. And when I wake him up to calm him down, he immediately forgets what made him yell like that.”

“San, maybe we should go see a—“

“No,” came a swift quip from Yeosang. Stunned, you peered back at him in confusion, mouth hanging open at the iciness lingering in his tone,”I know a friend who can help. Wooyoung and I have already discussed this. He’ll be seeing Dr. Song in a few days.”

You could only nod reluctantly at the answer, your concerned gaze falling onto San as Wooyoung helped him up to get a glass of water.

The night passed much too quickly for your liking, and you found yourself standing at the doorway of Wooyoung and San’s apartment, coat in tow, eyes shining with unshed tears as you forced a wobbly smile onto your features,”Will you be alright?”

San’s eyes softened at the sight, dainty fingers reaching to brush the tears away before they stained your cheeks,”Yes, I will. I promise. I’m sorry for what happened today,” he smiled apologetically, “Hopefully, next time it won’t happen, and I’ll even show you my baby pictures and photo albums from when I was a kid. Would you like that?.”

You nodded, despite the heavy lump in your throat, squeezing him one last time. A certain blonde cleared his throat behind San, and the two of you pulled apart to gaze at Yeosang, who was currently tossing his car keys repeatedly in the air,”Need a ride, (y/n)?”

You said your goodbyes, bidding San a farewell with a quick kiss onto his cheek, arms squeezing him tightly.

Yeosang’s car smelt of new leather and cologne. The ride was comfortable, despite him being a mere acquaintance to you,”So, (y/n).. are you and San, y’know?” It took a few seconds for you to process his words, your brows furrowed in defense as he scrambled to deny his claim, but he hadn’t missed the way your voice raised an octave. He hummed, lips pursing in contemplation, one hand resting on the steering wheel whilst the other fiddles against his mouth, clearly deep in thought,”Oh, that’s a relief. Wooyoung didn’t know how to tell you this, but before San’s disappearance, he was seeing someone. She’s.. currently out of town, visiting family for the holiday.”

In middle school, during a soccer match, one of the opponents kicked the ball, accidentally striking your gut. The information that slipped past Yeosang’s lips left the same breathless, painful feeling in your chest.

Suddenly, the sound of your heartbeat in your ears became much louder than the muffled noises of the car’s engine and tires. A breathless ‘Oh’ slipped past your parted lips, voice wavering and hard.

Yeosang casted you a look of sympathy, his hands tightening around the steering wheel, silently sucking against his teeth before breaking out into a sigh,”I’m sorry, (y/n). I thought it would be best to let you know now.”

—

San did not keep his promise. Your texts were always met with apologies and excuses, even after the new semester began. He couldn’t meet in person, and every time you paid a visit to Wooyoung’s office, you were either met with him or Yeosang, explaining that San was too busy catching up on the large project he missed out on for several months.

A month had passed and the messages became even more scarce.

You attempted to visit him at his apartment on the weekends, or whenever you didn’t have as much studies to catch up on, only for a tired Wooyoung to open the door, explaining that San wasn’t home, and probably either at the university library or the office. Today was no different as a sleepy eyed, disheveled Wooyoung leaned against the door, dressed in a loose, sleeveless top and sweats. If you weren’t so annoyed, you’d compliment how cute he looks, a striking difference from the usual ironed dress shirts and slacks he normally adorned at campus.

He invited you in, offering to make a mug of coffee while you waited in the living room. San wasn’t here, and either due to pity or friendliness, Wooyoung offered to listen to you rant about your mutual friend. He set two steaming mugs of coffee down onto the tiny table, a packet of cigarettes and a lighter following suit. Lighting a stick, he bought it up to his lips, inhaling the smoke, before tilting his head back and slowly puffing out.

You didn’t take him to be a smoker. When he offered you one, you politely denied, hands tucking the mug of coffee closer to your frame, the warmth of the ceramic providing you some level of comfort,”San’s been busy, y’know? You should cut him some slack.”

He took a small sip of his coffee, before dragging another puff of smoke. Your eyes narrowed slightly at the subtle hints of accusation tinting his words,”I was never one to deny that, Wooyoung,” you spoke back, voice firm, “I know he is, but it wouldn’t kill him to acknowledge me every now and then. I haven’t seen since Christmas.”  A sudden veil of aloofness washed over Wooyoung’s features as he crossed a leg over the other, eyes half lidded whilst gazing unamused at you. You were taken aback with the sudden change of atmosphere, your brows furrowing as his shoulders shook with bitter laughter,”(Y/n), don’t you see why he’s been avoiding you?” he tsked, tapping away at his cigarette and watching as the ashes crumbled into the ashtray,”How would he flat out tell you he’s making amends to repair his relationship with the woman that loves him? He couldn’t bear to weigh that news onto you. Not after everything you’ve done for him. His conscious is eating away at his very being.”

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion,”Why is it that you seem to think I’m trying to get in the way of his relationship? The one he’s never mentioned in the first place, might I add. All I’m asking is for time with my friend. You’re the one who seems to get it twisted.”

He chuckled, leaning forward on one knee, pointing the lit end of the cigar in your direction,”Are you calling me a liar?” his hand cradled your knee, frame leaning closer to you as he tilts his head to the left to blow out the smoke, eyes never leaving your own,”Y’know, I won’t mind if you came here to visit me. I’ll make all the time in the world for you, sweetheart.”

Scoffing, you set the mug of coffee down, so harshly, the liquid swishes around the rim,”You sound so-“

Before you could make your way up from the couch, he called your name, frame turning around to showcase the screen of his phone, which read a familiar name.

Kim Hongjoong.

Your eyes bore into his own amused ones,”My internship mentor? What are you insinuating?” you spat, arms crossing over your chest defensively.

He tutted, putting out his cigarette in your abandoned mug of coffee before standing up to hover over your frame, his fingers propping your chin up to gaze into your orbs. You felt his breath against your face as he whispered, words venomous and laced with poison, but tone soft and gentle,”You seem to forget I am a professor, don’t you? I have connections. I asked you nicely to stop disrupting my and San’s work. He doesn’t need any more distractions than he already has. I will take it upon myself to not only have your internship revoked, but also expelled from the university, hm?”

Swatting his hand away, you shoved him back with a glower,”What the hell is wrong with you?” he caught his balance, a laugh of amusement ringing from his chest at your abrasiveness. You did not find this situation amusing in the slightest,”You’re sick.”

“Don’t test me, (Y/n),” he curled a finger around your locks, lips quirking up into a fond smile,”Be a good girl, mind your business, and maybe I’ll consider taking you out. You can forget San. He’s already taken.”

You purposely slammed the door shut on your way out, eyes burning with rage.

Later that day, you found yourself mulling over Wooyoung’s words, hands gripping the grocery cart, knuckles white and crescents left on your skin. Bringing up a fist, you harshly rubbed at your misty eyes with the sleeve of your coat. You ignored the squabbling of an elderly woman as you accidentally bumped into her while walking out with your grocery bags.

Walking down the street not too far from your apartment, a pang or hurt shot through you as your eyes made contact with Jongho, San’s previous employer, who was standing on a ladder, watering the flower baskets hung in front of his shop. He gave you a sympathetic smile as you passed by, pinning a flower behind your ear and reaching up to pinch your cheek,”My flowers need more sunshine, so is it okay if they see your smile?”

You two spoke for over fifteen minutes, only for him to flash you an apologetic smile as a few customers walked in the store,”You can stop by anytime if you’re ever feeling lonely. Yunho and I would love the company.”

Continuing your path towards home, your eyes caught a flash of movement in an alleyway, further up by the parked cars in front of your apartment complex. The people walking by hadn’t seemed to notice the movement, some busy on their phones, whilst others laughing along with their partners.

Maybe I’m seeing things from all the crying and tears.

You checked your phone for any notifications, only for disappointment to wash over your features at the lack of any. That same morning, in a fit of rage and overwhelming emotions, you bombarded San with text after text of how disappointed you felt, at how you didn’t care if he was with someone else, and how you just wanted to have your friend back, and how much a prick you think Wooyoung is.

You always imagined how it would be like to help San find his way back into his old life again, but this was far from how you pictured it to be in your mind.

You hastily changed into a pair of sweats and t-shirt after putting away all of the groceries, the tv playing in the background to fill the deafening silence that became apparent ever since San left.

While adding a new load of laundry into the machine, the lights in your apartment flickered rapidly, your ministrations ceasing as you looked up in confusion. It wasn’t raining. The bulb above you shattered, and you jumped in fright, hands frantically brushing the glass out of your hair.

A loud knock on your door startled you, and your eyes widened in hope, hands faltering and laundry suddenly forgotten.

San?

Your first mistake was assuming the person was San.

Your second mistake was not checking through the peephole.

Your third mistake was leaving your phone in your room.

The door merely opened a few inches, when suddenly the  flimsy security chain broke upon the sudden thrust from the other side of the door. The doorknob dug into the adjacent wall, leaving an ugly dent in its place whilst three figures clad in black shoved their way into your home.

The tallest amongst the three, a redhead, shut the door hastily, while one man with striking black eyes and dark hair walked past you, his other friend striking you down and pinning onto the floor face first. You struggled in his tight grip, heart thumping with adrenaline and shock,”Get off me!”

Throwing your head back, you heard a thump and a faint hiss, your assailant’s grip loosening only slightly, but enough for you to roll around to face him. One hand was gripping his jaw whilst the other held you by the neck against the floor, his eyes burning with fury and malice. The scowl on his features soon withered away into a look of surprise, and your expression seemed to mirror his own. The pressure on your neck was lifted, and the tallest of the three, the redhead, paused, eyes wide once taking note of your face,”Is that (y/n)?”

His voice was deep and unfamiliar.

“Professor Hongjoong!?” you cried in disbelief as you recognized the man above you, anger evident in your voice as you shoved his chest with your palms,”Who do you think you are barging into my home like this, you asshole!?”

The redhead helped your professor up, looking back at you with a blank expression as he leaned down to whisper in Hongjoong’s ear,”Do you really think she’s working with him?”

“I can hear you,” you quipped, stepping forward and jabbing a finger in the redhead’s chest, your head tilting up to glower menacingly at him, lips pulled back into a scornful scowl,”And how do you know my name! And you–“ you grabbed a fistful of Hongjoong’s cloak, pulling him down to your eye level,”Explain all of this before I call the cops for trespassing my home. I don’t give a shit if you’re my employer.” The redhead startled at your sudden act of aggression, eyes wide and mouth agape. 

“Hongjoong! He’s not here!” a voice called from behind you. Your head turned to see the black haired male walk out from the hallway, stress painting his features. He froze mid-step, eyes widening as he gazed at you from his step, before turning to Hongjoong questioningly.

You didn’t know these two, so why were they so shocked at your mere presence?

“(Y/n), where is San?” Hongjoong gently pried your hands off his shirt, the black haired male eyeing the wrinkles they left behind. Your brow twitched in annoyance.

“Really?” you mused,”You came barging into my apartment, unannounced, just for San? Why don’t you ask Wooyoung?” you seethed in annoyance, stepping behind a few steps to make space between yourself and the men.

Hongjoong peered behind you towards the man, distraught eyes holding a battle of conflict,”Seonghwa, are you sure you felt his aura here?”

“This is the only place, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa’s voice was firm, his eyes narrowing and hardening afterwards,”She’s lying.”

You gaped, turning back to your mentor,”What reason would I have to lie!? He doesn’t even live here anymore.”

“He moved?”

“Yes. With Wooyoung. You know that already. You’re friends with him,” he quirked a brow at your sassy reply.

“Not with that Wooyoung,” ducking his head, he removed the black fedora and pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes flickering back up at you, studying your features meticulously,”Are you working with Wooyoung?”

“What!? I’m your inter- what is this all about?” furrowing your brows, you crossed your arms, patience flying out the door faster than you can blink,”Why would I work for that prick?”

“I like Earth’s (y/n),” the redhead snickered behind Hongjoong, earning him a sharp glare from Seonghwa.

Your eyes suddenly widened in thought.

“(Y/n), why does this map say Earth? It should be Utopia.”

Your mouth parted open, voice hesitant and drawing out the words unsurely and slowly,”Are you from Utopia?”

The three men gaped at you, all falling silent.

“I told you she’s working with him,” declared Seonghwa, reaching down into his cloak for what you can only perceive to be a weapon.

Hongjoong was quick to throw an arm out, halting the older’s actions. Your frame went rigged, shoulders tensing in defense and breath becoming shallow. Hongjoong studied you warily, choosing his words carefully, his ashy brown hair falling into his line of sight as he spoke,”How do you know that?”

“San had once mentioned it to me.. months ago,” you pondered quietly, mostly to yourself, as if trying to wrack your brain for other pieces of information. Your eyes narrowed and zeroed in one the three men, in particular Seonghwa, whose shoulders deflated in relief at your words,”Do you know why he lost his memories? He’s been having these episodes- and he yells, but-”

Hongjoong’s expression turned grim, your words resonating a bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach,”It’s a long story. We don’t have much time, so-“

“I’ll help you in any way I can if you would just explain all of this to me,” you breathed out, stepping closer to him with a frown on your visage.

Seonghwa sighed, mumbling something into Hongjoong’s ear, before crossing his arms and leaning against the wooden door, brows knitted and eyelids fluttered shut.

Hongjoong sat you down, contemplating on how to start off. Testing the waters carefully, he began to explain how every human on Earth has a counterpart in another dimension named Utopia.

“So, there’s another Hongjoong- Earth’s Hongjoong, and he’s my employer and not you?”

Hongjoong’s replica only nodded before continuing, blithering like the rushing waters of a river.

A year ago, a human named Choi San managed to enter Utopia, and was thrilled to find his counterpart. He explained how he worked for years studying about dimensions, findings manuscripts and notes, eventually creating a device that allowed the two worlds to intertwine. He, along with his friend, Jung Wooyoung, convinced the Utopian San to enter Earth for a few test runs.

Human San’s intentions were good-hearted, but greed blinded Wooyoung. He wanted to take advantage of the beings in Utopia. He wanted power and profit, wanting all the credit all to himself. San disagreed with Wooyoung’s wishes, and tension grew between the two. While running a few scans on Utopian San, Wooyoung managed to corner and kill San. Utopian San was the only witness present.

Wooyoung’s plan was to remove San out of the picture, and threaten Utopian San with destroying their world unless he agreed to work with him and do as he says. Forging numerous letters under his human half’s name, Utopian San attempted numerous times to escape, not exactly knowing how to use the device created by his late counterpart.

“Wooyoung managed to trap him in your world, running experiments on him that most likely led to his memories being wiped clean,” Hongjoong leaned back on the couch, eyes stone cold,”You mentioned something about him having.. what? Breakdowns? Can you explain what you meant?”

His gaze hardened as you explained what occoured with your friend, Mingi’s helpless expression making you frown with pity.

“I can’t say for sure, but what I think is happening is that he’s getting flashes of both his memories, as well as Earth’s San’s memories,” Seonghwa concluded, voice wary,”I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten mad at this point. His aura is getting weaker by being in another dimension.”

“Is it treatable?” Mingi’s concerned voice spoke before you managed to form any words.

Seonghwa’s lips pressed into a thin line,”Most likely, in Utopia, it is. If he stays in Earth any longer, than I highly doubt it. He’ll lose his damn mind.. and death seems inevitable too.”

Your hands trembled at the words, eyes frantic and in search of answers as you looked back at Hongjoong.

They’ll have to take San away from you.

San will die if he remains with you.

”We attempted to save San, but with Wooyoung’s newest aid– Yeosang, I believe– they improved their systems, and things became complicated for us back in Utopia. The portal leading back to our world glitched, and it seems somehow it opened up to where you were at the time..”

“Your Utopian half and San are together, so I’m not surprised the portal led him to you. Fate works in strange ways,” Seonghwa mused, deep in thought from across the room. You swore your heart skipped a beat at the words.

This is the first time in months they’ve been successful in opening a portal to Earth, and they’re not sure why.  

“It seems that Wooyoung managed to find a way to conceal San’s aura in his home and workplace. We need your help to find him and take him back to our world, along with that damn device. Have you seen it? An hourglass?” when you shook your head, Hongjoong sighed in frustration, hand running through his hair,”Okay. It’s most likely in his study. I’m positive that’s also where he’s keeping San. Is there anyway you can help us get into it? We have no idea how to track it without sensing San’s aura.”

—

Wooyoung was surprised to find you standing in front of his office, bowing your head apologetically for your behavior yesterday, and asking if it was okay for you to tag along with him throughout his day, curious to see his work.

“Hongjoong said there wasn’t much to be done today, so he gave me a break.”

He agreed, but only after you promised you wouldn’t touch anything.

You permitted the arm that slithered around your waist to rest comfortable against your hip as he led you throughout the large campus, his eyes occasionally following the curve of your clavicles and swell of your chest, and back to your eyes as you replied back to one of his comments. Entering the code to his laboratory, you were quick to notice the lack of cameras in any of the corners of the room. There were files stacked neatly onto a few desks, folder strewn about, and other large machines and desktops decorated the back of the room.

You listened to him gloat, his hands tugging you to showcase the numerous certificates and achievements under his belt. Resentment and anger bubbled dangerously in the pit of your stomach, your fingers twitching at the thought of wiping that smirk off his visage.

The fluorescent lights flickered once.

Your smile was strained, nodding and tuning out his words, only for you to jump back, startled, as his face was mere centimeters from your own, breath ghosting your lips,”Did you not hear me, precious?” Emitting a nervous laugh, you reached up to push his face away playfully, his hand grasping your wrist and placing a tender kiss onto your skin,”I asked if you’d like to join me for dinner tonight?”

“Dinner? Well, I-“

“I think she’d rather go with me,” a voice piped from behind you two.

Furrowing your brows, your mind reeled at the familiar voice. You gaped at the sight of a mirror image of Wooyoung, clad in black, resting comfortably in one of the swiveling chairs across the room.

When did he get in?

A curse fell from Wooyoung’s lips as he dropped your hand immediately, reaching forward into the nearest desk to pull out a pistol.

Your breath was strangled in your throat as you took several seconds to process what was happening, your feet taking hesitant steps back to avoid the end of the gleaming, black weapon. A rough tug onto your sleeve, and you found your back pressed against Wooyoung’s chest, the cold metal of his weapon resting against your temple,”Go back to your world-“

“Or else what? You gonna kill her like you killed San?” the other Wooyoung cackled, propping his two legs onto the desk, black leather boots kicking at a few documents. He gazed in amusement at your trembling legs,”Nice to meet you, Earth (y/n). Sorry my human half is a dick. I wouldn’t dare treat a lady like-“

“I didn’t kill San!” You jumped at the ferocity in Wooyoung’s voice, your form tensing against his frame as he breathed heavily against the back of your head,”He’s alive. San is alive- you don’t know what you’re talking about.” This tone- desperate, broken, and determined sent chills down your spine.

“Where is he then?”

You recoiled back, face scrunching and arms flying up to shield your face as the sound of a gunshot left a loud ringing in your right ear. Your wobbly knees struggled to keep your weight up, hesitantly peeling your eyes open and expecting the sight of blood. A bullet hole punctured the chair Utopian Wooyoung once occupied.

“Wooyoung, would you stop running your mouth for once!?”

A blur of black shoved your assailant away, hands hastily disarming the manic eyed professor. You stepped back in surprise, nearly falling down upon impact, Wooyoung’s frame colliding near your feet,”Sorry-“ the curly haired brunette snickered underneath his breath, flashing you a smile and wink. Gaping, you realized that man was Yunho’s counterpart. You were suddenly pulled back by Hongjoong, his eyes cold and void of any sympathy as he stared down at the struggling male.

Mingi had him pinned to the floor, the man fruitlessly attempting to free himself underneath the crushing weight of the red-head.

“(Y/n)! Help me!” Wooyoung growled, cheek painfully pressed onto the floor, eyes trained onto the black weapon which rested innocently feet away,”What are you standing around for!?”

“You should leave, (y/n). Seonghwa found the device in one the rooms here. All that’s left is to find San—,”

Once Wooyoung realizes what’s occurring, his movements cease. His jaw slackens and then he glowers in your direction,”You bitch!” the broken sound of betrayal almost leaves you feeling pity towards Wooyoung,”You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into! There’s no way you’re getting–“

His taunts only increased the pressure of Mingi’s fist in his hair, the smaller male letting out a rough grunt of pain as his face is slammed down roughly onto the floor, pearls of red dripping down his nose. Hongjoong’s orbs flickered between you and Wooyoung,”(Y/n), things are going to get ugly. If we have to use force, so be it. I don’t want you here witnessing that. You’ve been more than enough to help us.”

Your gaze softened, the prickling feeling of tears welling up in your eyes evident from their glassy appearance. Shaking your head, you took in a shaky breath,”No. I need to find San. I’m not leaving without him.”

Wooyoung’s counterpart eyed you curiously, his foot stepping onto his human half’s ankle,”Seems like you put a strain on my friends and their human halves too? I’m so embarrassed to have you as my half, fuck,” he chuckled humorlessly whilst grinding his boot against the male’s ankle, the other still squirming underneath Mingi’s weight, cries of pain only amusing the Utopian Wooyoung even more,”Oh, sorry. Didn’t see your leg there. Does that hurt?”

Hongjoong was quick to turn you around, tugging you and scoffing underneath his breath,”Alright, fine. You’ll see him, when we find him, but please, don’t make it hard on yourself when it’s time for us to depart. Do not get in the way, is that understood?”

Tears streamed down your face as you nodded reluctantly, your attempts to contain your emotions failing after facing the harsh reality of your predicament. While Mingi, Wooyoung, and Yunho began tormenting the pinned male, Hongjoong and Seonghwa accompanied you in searching every curve and crevice of the building to no avail. You winced as Seonghwa’s fist left a dent in the wall out of frustration, and you found yourselves back in the lab, where the leather clad Wooyoung was resting onto his human half’s chest, legs propped on either side. A sadistic grin took over his features as he watched the blood dribble down the male’s lips,”I can do this all day, Wooyoungie.” He paused mid-punch, sharp eyes flickering in your direction. When he noted the absence of his best friend, he proceeded to land several more strikes onto the fallen man’s face,”You fucker.”

Yunho and Mingi’s hopeful expressions deflated as they noticed you returned empty handed,”We can’t find him.”

“Where is he!?” Hongjoong demanded, crouching down to meet Wooyoung’s eyes.

“You’re not..” He spluttered, droplets of blood striking Hongjoong’s angered face,”You can’t take him away from me.”

The sound of the door opening ceased every breath and movement in the lab, and your panicked filled eyes flew to Hongjoong as Yeosang stepped into the room, ironed lab coat and glasses pristine underneath the lights.

A second ticked by, silence enveloping the room as Yeosang froze to assess the situation.

Seonghwa was quick on his feet to tackle him against the wall, knife digging painfully into the curve of his neck,”Ah, about time the other rat appeared. What do you think we should do with this one, Hongjoong?”

Yeosang’s eyes were confused as they landed on you, his hands raised up in defeat, adam’s apple bobbing against the edge of the dagger, which rested painfully close to his jugular,”Wait!” he cried, voice emitting in rapid, panic pants,”I removed the barriers that stopped you from entering our world! I only plan to help you, I promise. I can take you to San!”

Wooyoung weakly lifted his head up to spit in Yeosang’s direction, glassy, panicked eyes narrowing, his voice cracking with betrayal and distraught,”Have you lost your mind? You wouldn’t, Yeosang. Don’t you dare— you know San belongs here-“

Yeosang inhaled sharply as Seonghwa roughly shoved him away after Hongjoong’s request, shoulders deflating as he gazed at his bloodied friend,”I’m sorry. I don’t really have much of a choice now. I’ve already decided where my morals lie.”

You were expecting Wooyoung to shout in anger, to scream, to yell. What you weren’t expecting him to do was sob, voice so helpless and broken, sending a cold chill down to the marrow of your bones,”I regret it! Is that what you want to hear? I regret killing him and– the other San! He’s supposed to take his place- I want him back,” his cries sent a shiver down your spine, his words slurring together as he cries out in grief, panicked breaths cutting his sentences,”I want him—  I want San back! I- I need him back!”

“Take us to him,” Hongjoong’s hard gaze fell onto Yeosang, completely ignoring the crying male. The blonde professor nodded, ushering him out of the room.

You were the first to catch sight of him, rushing forward and crying his name out in relief. He appeared to be drugged, wires and other devices sticking into various parts of his body. You hadn’t realized you were crying, until Yeosang gently pushed you back into Hongjoong’s arms as he removed the various wires and needles attached to the tired man.

You pulled San into a hug immediately, a sob wracking your form as you apologized for not being there for him when he needed you most. You concluded that after Christmas, Wooyoung took over San’s phone while trapping the male here, hence his emaciated and pale appearance.

His eyes met yours, an apologetic smile finding its way onto his features,”(Y/n),” tears welled in his tired eyes, his voice quiet and weak,”You’re here?”

You nodded, repeatedly mumbling in agreement through your tears, pulling him even tighter and shaking your head, claiming that this was all your fault. Hongjoong watched the exchange with a strained expression, before turning to Seonghwa,”Get the others. It’s time to leave.”

Your eyes widened, frame turning to gape at Hongjoong, and then back to San, your throat closing up. He only offered you a faint smile, hand reaching up to cup your cheek,”Wooyoung told me everything while he kept me here,” his thumb worked at wiping away the few tears that  cascaded down your cheeks,”There was no way to reach out to you, I’m so sorry,” his words were slurred, tongue heavy and mind slightly foggy,”None of this is your fault. I tried.. I tried to get to you. Believe me, I did..”

“It’s not your fault either. San- I.. They’re taking you back to Utopia, San,” your voice cracked, strained and tight in your throat,”They said you need to go back or else-“ you failed to finish your words, jaw slackening as you let out a pained sob at the thought.

His shoulders deflated, head hung low as he buried his face into the crook of your neck,”I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this,” he held you tighter as you sniffled, whimpers muffled against the side of his head. He held your trembling hands,”I will never find it in me to forgive myself for putting you through all of this.”

His warmth suddenly left you as he was helped up by Yunho and Mingi. Snapping your head to your right, you noticed a swirling light against the wall of the room, where the counterparts of Wooyoung and Hongjoong spoke with Yeosang, the blonde only nodding reassuringly in reply. Their attention snapped to you as you let out a desperate cry, fingers reaching to grasp San’s hand in protest, attempting to pull him towards you. You weren’t aware of your shrill, panicked laced voice, mind too focused on returning San into your embrace.

The sounds of muffled shouting from the taller two didn’t deter you from wrapping your arms around San’s shoulders, defeat and sadness painting his features as he took in your form. Arms tugged you away, planting you firmly in place, and you writhed and struggled in Yeosang’s hold as you watched with frenzied eyes as Wooyoung leaned forward, his form dissipating into the portal, followed by Seonghwa. Hongjoong turned to give you one last glance, frown on his face,”I’m sorry, (y/n).”

He held onto San, who not once took his teary eyes off of you. Mingi and Yunho disappeared, and with one last attempt, you kicked back at Yeosang, the blonde yelping in surprise at the sudden rush of pain on his shin, flailing forward and catching you by the ankle roughly, preventing you from moving forward,”Stop, (y/n)!”

The last thing you saw as the diameter of the portal shrunk was San’s heartbroken expression, along with the hourglass in Hongjoong’s arms. The portal vanished, leaving tiny specks of light in the air, a gentle breeze kissing your wet face.

“Yeosang,” you mumbled, turning back to the blonde,”take me there. What do I do? I need-“

“He took the device with him, (y/n). There’s no way any of us can reach their world anymore,” he ran a hand through his hair, voice steady and firm.

You don’t know how long you sat there, crying and yelling profanities at him. The rush of footsteps throughout the building ceased your sobs, and you watched from the doorway as officers forcefully dragged an injured Wooyoung out of the other room, his panicked eyes filled with disbelief boring holes into Yeosang, who already had his arms up in submission,”Yeosang? You reported..” The blonde was restrained and taken away as well.

“Miss?” an opened palm invaded your blurry vision, and you peered up to meet the concerned, brown eyes of an officer, uniform hugging his large frame,”Are you okay?”

Silent tears pooled and streamed down your cheeks, your head shaking weakly.

No, Seonghwa. I’m not okay

.

—

Your half lidded eyes bore holes into the tv as the news anchor spoke, showcasing two mugshots of both Yeosang and Wooyoung. Your eyes flickered down to your lap, unable to even look at Wooyoung’s face.

“A new update regarding the disappearance and death of Choi San, the physics professor of University of Seoul. After almost a year after leaving a note and disappearing, police have confirmed that the letter was forged.“

Kang Yeosang, an assistant professor who joined Jung after Choi’s disappearance complied with police, informing them every detail regarding the case, and providing written evidence and memoirs from both the late Choi and Jung. It’s been reported that Choi was the first to discover Utopia, working years on building the device that managed to connect with the alternate dimension, creating portals that challenge both time and space. It is said that every human on Earth has a counterpart in the other dimension.

In hopes of taking all the credit, Jung murdered Choi, disposing of his body, which has yet to be recovered. Officials say they are still attempting to interrogate the information out of Jung, who is expressing clear signs of distress and manic episodes at the mere mention of Choi’s name.

This counterpart was staying with a woman we will go by A. Choi and A met up in another town, shortly before both moving to Seoul, where they encountered Jung at the University of Seoul. Reports state that Choi moved out from A’s apartment and back with Jung. After numerous reports, officials have declared A to not be involved in Jung and Kang’s crimes, Kang testifying in her defense.

Choi’s Utopian counterpart was forced into our dimension, his memories from his Utopian life disappearing after Choi’s death. A statement from Kang concludes that Jung was the cause of that.

In an attempt to undo the murder of Choi, Jung attempted to implant memories into Utopian Choi in hopes that he will take his human’s place, which only aided in creating discord between our world and Utopia. When the Utopians attempted to re-enter our dimension, Kang implemented new sets of devices that aided in sealing the two worlds apart from each other. It was only recently that Kang eliminated these tools, thus permitting the Utopians from intervening.

The Utopians did not intend to harm or hurt anyone. Their only intention was to rescue their friend, and also take the device the late Choi created to cease their world from being further tampered by us.

Jung and Kang have both been stripped of their titles according to the university. Their first court date will be announced later today to determine their senten—“

You closed your eyes, hand hastily clicking the power button on the remote, before wrapping yourself with the blanket tightly. Curling into a ball and throwing the the fuzzy sheet over your head, you decided you were tired of hearing the news reports, opting for the deafening silence you grew to hate. Fluttering your eyes shut, you stilled, inhaling San’s scent that was left lingering on the blanket. The amethyst necklace tickled your cheek, your hand reaching up to move it away.

A sweet, floral scent filled the space of your living room, a beautifully arranged bouquet resting on the coffee table. The card still stood in the middle of the arrangement, words of encouragement and support written by both Jongho and Yunho in bright green ink. Underneath it, your untouched dinner sat cold and forgotten, clumps of wet tissue paper scattered onto the table and floor.

Your phone chimed, and you peered down, already knowing it was Professor Hongjoong sending another voice message of support. He’d been a strong pillar for you to lean on ever since the news broke out. You made a silent note to respond later, as the time was growing late anyway.

Minutes ticked by and soft snores, along with shallow breathing filled the vacant space, your hair sticking out from the heap you’ve made of yourself and the blanket.

Above you, the lightbulb flickered repeatedly.

[taeyohonic]

Just a Taste – Chapter Three

Summary: Being asked to take a blood test just to work at a merchandise booth should have been the first read flag for you. But you just gave them a sample of your blood in exchange for a very much needed paycheck and a summer job during BTS’ world tour. After the youngest member of the popular kpop band finds himself in a difficult situation, you come to realize that this wasn’t the last time you shed blood for your idols. or: You becomes the new donor for seven bloodthirsty idols, who seem to be way too interested in their new food source.

Pairing: OT7xfem!Reader

Genre: Fantasy, Smut, (Fluff)

Warnings: some profanity

Words: 3 k

Chapters: Prologue, Chap. I, Chap. II, Chap. III, Chap. IV, Chap. V, Chap. VI, Chap. VII

“Okay, there is no way this guy isn’t on drugs”, Joo-Won snorts as he jokingly nudges your shoulder. You can’t help but chuckle, eyes trained on the maknae… smiling radiantly in the camera. It’s such a striking contrast to his rude stone-faced smirk the day before. Of course, Joo-Won would notice.

Hell, you don’t even want to imagine the fansites and all the twitter threats dedicated to the youngest’s mood shifts. Jungkook’s eyes sparkle and his steps are light as feathers. He has such a carefree aura surrounding him – it’s enticing.

To clear your head, you take a hefty swing of the beer your friend has sneaked into the backstage-room. It was sheer luck that you met up – with your phone mysteriously vanishing and you no longer working at the booth. But it seems your … promotion was the gossip of the whole pre-concert team, so of course Joo-Won was up-to-date.

It’s not that uncommon to help out during tour, when there’s a shortage of employees. For you to move this far up in such a short time? Okay, granted, that does raise a few questions. But after your explanation, your friend was convinced, that everything was fine and dandy. When in reality…

“Or maybe he just got laid”, he shrugs, and you cough on the alcohol in your mouth.

“Damn… Woo… Why?”, you wheeze, and your friend tries not to laugh at your red face.  

“Oh come on, don’t be a prude.”

“I am not”, you defend yourself, taking another sip to calm your body. The alcohol Joo-Won provided, after finding you starstruck in a dimly lit corridor, helped you getting over the fact, that sweet summer-child Jimin was a shadow. The thought alone makes you empty your bottle.

“Maybe this would be more believable, when your face doesn’t look like a tomato”, he teases and you are glad that color is returning to your face. After last night’s blood loss, every form of healthy blood flow makes you think of yesterday’s attack as a smaller incident than it was.

“Argh, stop it, Woo”, you say, punching his arm in mock anger. You two stay like this, glued to the screen and watch the concert. All the idols seem to be in great spirit – joking amongst themselves and performing to their full capacity.

It makes you wish to erase the last hours – meeting most of them in terrifying situations. Their music means a lot to you and now it will forever be tarnished by the blood and secrets spilled in the last hours.

“Want another one?”, your friend asks, after the concert finished and the people around you are again running around, packing up. Tonight, you’ll have dinner with seven vampires.

“Of course”, you answer.

***

“_____-ah!”, Jimin’s voice is extremely familiar from the hours of Spotify-loops you listened to during their last comeback. But the sweet voice is way too near and way too authentic to be coming out of your nonexistent earbuds. You turn around, the beer bottle in your guilty hands as you see the singer running towards you. His steps are es excited as his exclaim and you brace yourself for impact, his sweaty body colliding with you in no time.

The embrace feels alien, his figure roughly the same height as yours – his nose brushing against your own, warm, sweet breath meeting your skin. Wow. Jimin seems to feel way too comfortable around you for your first meeting. Well, if you count getting introduced to his shadow as well, it’ll be your second meeting. But still, invading your personal space so carefree makes your heart race. He smells so amazing, you’re not even bothered by his sweat against your brand new clothes.

“Jimin-ssi”, warns a hard voice behind him and your stare meets Taehyung’s cold eyes. They don’t stay on you for long, fixing on something behind you instead. If it’s even possible, his eyes defrost more. You remember your friend exactly at the same time Jimin’s soft embrace morphs into an uncomfortable grip. You try to turn around, but the idol doesn’t let you move an inch.

“Who are you?”, he asks. The air feels cold against your skin as a shudder travels across your body.

“Uhm, Joo-Won”, there is a short silence, “I... manage the lightstick booth.”

“I don’t see any ARMY bombs here, Joo-Won”, Taehyung answers, stepping closer to the three of you. You can clearly hear the stern tone in the way he pronounces the stranger’s name. What you can’t hear, are the profanities and treats coming out of the vampire’s mouth – too low for human ears to detect.

“Uhm, Jimin-ssi?”, you ask, awkwardness coloring your question as you – again – try to move out of his embrace.

He complies wordlessly, but doesn’t let you get far away, an arm draped around your shoulder is keeping you in place – by his side. Now you see Joo-Won’s eyes screaming for help and you feel an instant guilt resting in your stomach.

“Joo-Won is a... friend of mine", you start to explain - missing the hissed not for long as you gesture nervously around the boys. Your movement shifts Jimin’s arm from your shoulder blade to your neck and you feel his fingers flex against your skin.

Taehyung has fully joined you, having moved to your other side. Both idols flank your figure almost protectively. It’s... weirdly exciting.

“Is that so?”, the deep-voiced asks and... offers your friend his hand. Joo-Won looks at Taehyung’s offer like he has never heard of shaking hands. Before the silence gets out of control though, he grasps his hand. The lights flicker as you see Joo-Won wince in pain. What the hell?

A sickening ash complexion travels up his outstretched arm and you panic. What is Taehyung doing? In two quick steps you manage to break the handshake by moving between them. Jimin seems too enthralled by his bandmate and lets you out of his hold by accident. Now you turn your back against Joo-Won, facing the adored duo of Vmin, while shielding your friend.

“You’re here to get me for the work dinner, right?”, you say with more meaning behind your words. Both look at you with an unreadable expression. Then they nod, as if they just remember where and who they are.

“So... let’s go!” You step around both of them and head towards the exit, not even daring to turn around. The sound of hurried footsteps confirms, that both idols are following you. If you had known it’d be the last time you ever saw your friend, you might have turned around to memorize his handsome face.

***

“Where are we going?”, you ask as the two vampires hush you into the tinted van. They sit facing you and spread their legs comfortably. Taehyung’s shoes rest against your feet and his face looks so relaxed, you wish he could lend you some calm.

“To our hotel”, Taehyung answers. Jimin adds: “They have an amazing cook.”

“And a private room”, Taehyung finishes.

They do complete each other in a harmonized way, that makes you feel... very excluded.

Your hands are resting in your lap and you watch the car drive away from the concert hall. Two more events, then you’ll leave. You remember that the group stays in one of the most prestigious hotels of Tokyo. A stark contrast to your hostel. And far away from it as well. It´ll be a pain in the ass to get back later. Especially without a room key, or even a cellphone.

“Do you guys happen to know, where my cell and my key card is?”, you ask and look in the eyes of a smiling Jimin.

“Oh, Gug should have them with him.”

Yeah right, Jungkook should be there. The vampire, who sucked your blood last night. Cool, cool, cool, co-

“What do they say, ______? They are more afraid of you as you are of them”, Taehyung says reassuringly.

“That’s what people say about animals – not vampires”, you snort.

“Some say our kin is more animal than human, so...”, Taehyung shrugs and you muster him curiously.

“And what do you say?", you ask.

“Ah, don't get philosophical on our first date, _________”, Jimin whines and you do not even want to think about the word “date”. Instead you still look at the younger singer. He seems to be conflicted, before answering.

“It’s more of a balance. And sometimes it’s... more fun to agree with these people.”

You don't like the way he thinks, always believing that humanity is the only solution to live in content.

“There we are!”, both boys exclaim at the same time and you shrink in surprise. Are these two for real?

Without missing a second, Jimin opens the car door, and motions for you to step out of the vehicle. With one hand he covers his face with a mask, and you do the same. It would be more practical for him to get out first. Then you would have more room to move. But he is still as stone, as you stumble out of the car, brushing against his rumbling chest in the process.

You are at the back entrance of the five-star hotel and you can see the open door with a fidgeting waiter. After a few quick steps and two vampires behind you, you enter the building. The young staff member bows formally and you do the same – both idols not even thinking about returning the greeting. So, the good manners are just for vlives – good to know.

Soon you step into the private dining room, the air thick with anticipation as you make eye contact with the maknae. His exciting body moves at lightning speed and you are glad the waiter stepped out of eye side. For the second time today, you collide with a strong body. Jungkook’s nose dives instantly to the crook of your neck and you feel his hot breath against your earlobe.

“_________”, he murmurs and lets his nose travel up and down your pulse. You shiver in response, the recurring invasion of your private space making you feel terribly uncomfortable. Flashes of last night, the pain, the helplessness, the fear... all emotions are rushing back to you and you feel tears in your eyes.

“Jungkook. Enough”, Jin commands and the youngster whines, not moving.

“Jungkook”, the eldest tries again, this time with more volume to his voice.

Before a tear can fall, the vampire lets you go and takes a step back. His excitement crumbles when he sees the unshed tears in your eyes.

“_________?”, he asks, and your name sounds starkly different to the first time he happily called you mere moments ago.

You take a deep breath and you think you're losing your sanity, because you swear you can ... smell them. The odor doesn’t even scare you; it’s weirdly calming. With two more breaths of air you feel grounded enough to let your eyes travel across the table.

There they all sit. Jin – half standing, ready to intervene. Namjoon is watching you closely, is expression full of curiosity. Then there are Hoseok and Yoongi. The duo looks at you... in disdain. The younger rapper with rumored sunshine in his heart musters you like you are a cloud, hiding the bright orbit behind you.

And Yoongi’s eyes are filled with... dissatisfaction. You don’t need to be a mind reader to basically hear his scream “YOU DUMB HUMAN!”. Yeah, you didn’t follow his orders. But how could you not agree to Namjoon’s offer? You don’t even have to do a thing; just be there. But as you feel seven sets of inhumane eyes on you, you’re not sure, if this is really easy money.

“Alcohol!”, Jimin shouts behind you, making you jump in place. Damn, the two singers move with leisure steps forward; pushing you to the group, cold hands against your back.

Jungkook jumps away from you, creating more distance as his sad eyes linger. Why is he so upset? What did he expect? He attacked you not even twenty-four hours ago. How fast were you supposed to overcome such trauma? His bite under the band-aid burns as you self-consciously take a seat next to Jin. No way in hell will you sit next to Hoseok or Yoongi; it’s easier to face your opponents than rub against their side while eating. Before you are fully seated, you feel Jungkook take the place on your other side.

You eye him with suspicion, but the young man looks at you with big, innocent deer eyes, you can’t begin to compare him to the vampire version of last night. Maybe it’s for the best if you don’t even try. You are only here, getting paid handsomely, because of this boy. You are the leftover he needs around.

“Is that okay, Noona?”, he whispers as he – again – leans close to you. You shiver; this time not in fear, as you nod silently. Across from you Hoseok chuckles humorlessly. You ignore the blunt mockery and look at Namjoon for any form of leadership. He still just observes, now focused on the youngest as Jungkook smiles. You accepted him next to you. And he can’t smell fear on you anymore – maybe a bit apprehension, but no fear. He is getting even more excited now that your warmth radiates against his cold, dead body.

“Uhm – … did you mention alcohol?”, you ask, no longer able to stomach the thick silence. Jimin, sitting next to Taehyung, laughs freely as he brings out a few unopened soju bottles from under the table. With ease the young singer moves your favorite – strawberry flavor – in front of you and you thank him with a kind smile.

The others soon join, Hoseok being the only one without a fresh bottle, still managing half of his last one.

“It seems this isn’t your first today”, Yoongi comments, cold eyes on you as your cheeks redden – making Jungkook groan in satisfaction.

Is your drinking with Joo-Won this noticeable? You hold your alcohol well, and you are sure you didn’t stumble or slur in the last ten minutes, so how c-

“It’s your breath”, Namjoon explains unsolicited. A hand flies to your mouth. They… can smell the alcohol in your breath? How? You chewed gum before Taehyung and Jimin collected you.

“We have a heightened smell”, he adds, “all our senses are improved.”

“That makes concerts extremely fun”, Jimin says toasting his bottle in your direction. “The lights, the screams, the sweat and all the blood-bags in a stadium – it’s intoxicating.”

Your eyes widen at being called a blood bag. But before you can voice being offended, Yoongi repeats his question, rephrased.

“You pre-game, when you know you have dinner with seven vampires?” There is belittlement in his voice and you feel shame.

In your college days it wasn’t unusual to participate in daydrinking, or just an after-lecture beer. But now – faced with idols, who performed relentlessly for hours in tiering conditions – it makes you feel cheap. And watching the sadistic pleasure in Yoongi’s eyes makes you think, that this is exactly what he wants.

“I- it was just a drink with a friend”, you defend yourself and don’t notice, how the movement in the room stills.

“What friend?”, Namjoon asks icily, as he freezes your time, while looking at Taehyung and Jimin.

“A low leveled booth worker was all around her, when we found her”, Jimin starts and tries not to move too much, so you won’t get a whiplash when being in sync again.

“I took care of him”, Taehyung finishes and takes a swing from his non-alcoholic beer. He didn’t like alcohol when he was alive and he sure as hell doesn’t care for the intoxication now that he is dead. But that doesn’t mean the vampire doesn’t adore Jimin’s drunk stumbles and Jungkook’s alcohol infused exhibition.

Every single vampire at the table knows what the vocalist means with his words. The uncontrolled power to extract life-light through touch equals a disaster. But after many years of training Taehyung can control and dosage his ability to… everybody’s benefit. Joo-Won will be weak, ill and even thinking he wants to die. But the few seconds of power extraction wasn’t meant to kill – it was meant as a warning.

“Did anything else happen to her while you were supposed to look after her?”, Jungkook hisses sarcastically and looks at his brothers. Both avoid the venom in his eyes.

“If you can’t remember, we were actually with you on stage during the concert. How could we control her whereabouts, when we were hip-thrusting next to you? Hm?”, Jimin responds and the room fills with confrontation. Jin shifts uncomfortably in his seat – the emotions in high drive from his brothers. He is very thankful that the leader froze you, otherwise he couldn’t manage all the feelings in this group.

Jungkook stands abruptly, ready to pounce on the smallest.

“If you had let me keep her with me, this conversation wouldn’t even happen.”

“Ha”, Yoongi laughs darkly, “If we had left you with her, you’d be sucking her nipples by now.”

The lights flicker and Namjoon – again – just observes instead of intervening.

Hoseok moves suddenly, circling around the table until he stands directly behind your still form. He stares at you with dark curiosity.

What the hell where you doing with them? What could be so fascinating about you to make Jungkook this mad at Jimin and Taehyung? What made Yoongi leave his bed last night?

Why isn’t Namjoon stepping up as leader? Why can’t Jin control the room?

Why is he standing behind you? Why is he bending down to your face? Why is he craning his neck to face you – supporting himself with a hand on the table? Why are your eyes deeper than his desire to eliminate you as the thread you are?

And most importantly: Why are you blinking at him?

“What the hell?”, Namjoon and you exclaim at the same time as you stare at Hoseok’s surprised eyes, which are closer than logic would permit.

_______________________

AN: Sub, people! I’m sorry for the late post, covid-19 is a real b**** and my workload has doubled over the last few weeks. Thank you so muc to every single one, who commented, rebloged, liked, read! I am still very touched to hear, which parts/characters/storylines you enjoyed!

What did you guys think of “eight”? I’m a deep rooted shawol, so the MV in particular hit right at home.

I hope you all stay safe and happy! Let me know what you think! All the best, Dana

[reallygrossstuff]

DirkHalDave - Party Tricksters

Not a request today, but a commission! A friend wanted Dirk getting tag-teamed by some snack-happy tricksters, and I aim to deliver. Let me know what you think!

Knock-knock-knock.

Dirk gritted his teeth tighter, focusing with even more intent on the project in front of him. He was in a good groove, edging into hour five of his work session, so whoever wanted his company would just have to wait their turn. If they were someone he wanted to see anyway, they’d know to message him before coming anyway.

And yet.

Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock.

The gaps between knockings were growing shorter, the intensity of the impact growing. Even if Dirk could continue to ignore it, he ran the risk of his visitor knocking his door down if they continued. With a quiet groan, he forced his knees to unbend, rising to his feet and trudging to answer the insistent knocking – and arriving a moment before the lock snapped off its frame, causing the door to swing inward and narrowly miss his nose.

“I’ve got to say, literally knocking down my door is a new brand of bullshit, man.” Dirk groused, still blinking off alarm from the forced entry.

“Haha, sorry, man!” The voice was familiar in tone, and alien in every other way. Dirk took a shocked step back as Dave floated through the door, giddiness dripping off his every move almost as much as chocolate dripped off the dipped strawberries perched in his vibrant green hair. His short cape blew in its own wind as he fidgeted in mid-air, a dangerous grin plastered to his face. “You were just taking so long, we didn’t want to run out of time for the party!”

Dirk didn’t even have time to question ‘we’ before the answer became clear, and Hal of all people traipsed in through the still-open door. “You were taking a long time, Dirk. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were something less than sugar-tastically stoked for the celebration.”

Well, at least Hal being in on this explained why he hadn’t warned Dirk about his uninvited guests, even if the rock candy microchip on his head and the garishly trickster-coloured suspenders and tie he wore invited more questions than it answered.

“Alright, who the fuck thought unburying the hell-candy from wherever we shoved it after last time was a good idea?” When that only got a light giggle from Dave and an incrementally wider smile from Hal, he tacked on, “and how does it even work on you, I didn’t give you tastebuds! Or a goddamn stomach!”

“Aw, come on, it’s not a crime to want some fun!” Dave floated closer, seemingly allergic to touching the ground as he curved himself loosely around Dirk, getting a glob of chocolate on his shirt in the process.

“And you’d be surprised what, pardon the word, miracles a juju like that can weave. Who needs tastebuds when it’s so obvious it’ll taste scrumptious?” At least Hal had the wherewithal to close the door behind him. “Of course, then we realised it’d be downright mean to exclude you from the oodles of fun we wanted to have, so we came right over.”

“Yeah! So now it’s party time! You don’t mind hosting, right bro? It’ll be soooooo much fun!” Heart-shaped shades hovered an inch from Dirk’s own glasses, not quite tinted enough to hide the wide, almost manic red eyes behind them.

Dirk wanted to say no. He wanted more than anything to say no. “Sure,” his mouth said, knowing better than to refuse a trickster. “Just don’t make a mess of the place or anything.”

“Of course not.” Hal scoffed, as if his companion hadn’t just forced open Dirk’s door. “We’ll be superbly civil, I promise. Heck, you might not even notice we’re-.”

“Party!” Dave cheered, instantly flying further into the apartment. “Hal, c’mon and help me, you know there’s no party without food!”

“Right!” Hal’s train of thought was abandoned immediately at the suggestion, the android nearly giving Dirk whiplash as he flashed past to accompany Dave. Soon the two were enthusiastically emptying their sylladexes, dumping a hellish variety of party foods across Dirk’s kitchen counter, his workstation, his coffee table, and just across the floor once everything else was covered. There were bags of chips and party-sized soda bottles, alongside massive bowls full of chocolate-covered strawberries and rich, already-melting cakes. The overall impression was that someone had googled ‘party foods’ and just bought everything they saw on the list.

“This is the opposite of civil, assholes.” Dirk stepped forwards to gather some of the food into his own sylladex, even as his impromptu guests continued piling every surface high with more. “Two people don’t need this much food, this is fucking excessive.”

“Two people might not, but three should just about finish it all.” Hal’s grin slanted, somehow becoming more sinister without losing its bright glee. “Stop being such a party-pooper, Dirk, or Dave will have to show you how to enjoy something sweet for a change.”

“Ooh, I should do that anyway!” Finally Dave stopped pouring food out onto the floor, instead collecting an eclectic mix of it and approaching Dirk. Somehow, this didn’t feel like an improvement. “You’re always so sour, man, but I bet you’ll love this! Just give it a try!”

Dirk didn’t get a chance to voice his opinion on giving any of ‘it’ a try – as soon as Dave finished his sentence, he forced one of the crisp bags open with a loud bang and shoved a heaping handful between Dirk’s parted lips.

“There you go! We’ll start easy, I know you like chips and soda! And then once you’re not so grumpy, you can try all the tasty chocolate stuff too!”

Dirk’s responding “mmmph!” was all but drowned out by the crunching of chips within his mouth. He puffed his cheeks up, ready to spit the snacks out, but the moment his lips parted again Dave was there with one of the soda bottles, squeezing it with such force that Dirk had no choice but to swallow, or risk dying from suffocation on cheap party goods.

That set the pace for how Dave treated him. Dirk never opened his mouth without being silenced by more food, never gasped for breath without having to quickly brace for another splash of sugary drink. The taste was fine, good even, but each morsel just tasted of so much that it became almost tiring to endure. Not to mention that the giddy trickster seemed to have no sense for complementary flavours, alternating sweet and savoury, rich and plain, chewy and gooey with such reckless abandon that soon everything tasted like everything just from osmosis.

Thankfully for Dirk’s tired mind, Dave’s corralling seemed to be leading him towards the couch. Each forced mouthful gave him a little shove towards it, each invasion of his personal space made him flinch backwards, until his legs hit the food-covered furniture and he collapsed onto it with a muffled ‘oof’.

Had the feeding been any less taxing, Dirk would’ve had a lot of time to think on the deteriorating state of his clothing. His shirt was riding up something fierce, but even that didn’t save it from straining over the upper half of his stuffed gut. His jeans clung tight around his waist, filling Dirk’s ears with the sound of creaking stitches even after the button popped and the zipper was forced open. His shades were, first, covered in crumbs and smears from the messy feeding, and soon after knocked off entirely by an overly expressive gesture from Dave.

As things progressed, Dirk only became less able to react. Sugary sodas and chocolate bars might have been a distraction, but when Dave moved on to unbearably ripe chocolate-coated strawberries and rich, layered cakes thick and gooey enough to risk clogging his throat, his mind was fit to shut down entirely. There just wasn’t room for anything else beside the taste – even his vision was going funny, fogging and tinting as if he was still wearing his shades.

It should’ve been a relief when Dave relented, floating back to give Dirk both space and time to process the world once again, but the taste lingered in his mouth, in his mind, dulling his response to Dave’s announcement. “Okay, that’s a good start! Um… Oh. I didn’t go too far, did I?”

Dirk just groaned, still trying to clear his throat from the rushed meal. Before he could get himself together for a proper reply, Hal took charge. “I’d say you didn’t go far enough, bro. Sure, Dirk’s enjoying himself, but is he having the gummy-funniest time possible? I don’t think so.”

“Oh, no way! Look, he’s barely smiling!” Some part of Dirk piped up that he wasn’t smiling at all, for the record, but the sentiment never made it into the air. “Can he fit more fun, though? He looks kind of full…”

“Don’t worry.” Through his stupor, and the phantom lights in his eyes, Dirk managed to be intimidated by Hal’s smirk as he approached the couch. He raised one metal hand, and all it took was a puff of a sugar cloud to turn it into a wide, heavy-duty hose end, his stripwound arm turning transparent so Dirk could see something inside. Something neon green, speckled with glittery flecks, that dripped from the hose’s end even before Hal stuffed it in Dirk’s mouth.

“I’ll make room.”

The paste was thick, cold, and almost painfully sweet. The sort of artificial sweet that made Dirk think of his old snack stashes in his last apartment in unkind terms. It seemed to fill every gap and hollow in him, bloating his stomach almost as severely as it bloated the rest of him.

Cloth tore violently. Denim shredded. Even the couch groaned worryingly as Dirk expanded. Where before he’d simply looked overly stuffed, the more of the paste Hal forced down his throat, the more he looked like this sort of feeding was a regular occurrence. His face grew heavy, chins sagging until they touched his collarbones. Whatever fight was left in his arms was snuffed out as they grew too ponderous to leave his sides, which similarly swelled outwards with new love handles. The back of the couch bent slightly as his new ass-flab forced itself against it. All that preserved his modesty was the still-growing spectacle of his belly, forcing his chunky legs to spread and hanging trembling inches off of the trash-coated floor.

Whatever tank Hal was pumping from wasn’t endless, though, as much as it felt that way in the moment. Eventually, once he was thoroughly filling the couch and in no fit state to lift a finger, the hose left his mouth, turning back into a hand just so Hal could give his wobbling cheek a teasing pat.

“I’d say that makes for a mouth-whetting first course. What about you, Dave, any morsels of wisdom to add?”

“Nope! He looks like he’s having loads of fun! Now, for the second course, I was thinking-.”

-ify!

A blinding flash of multicoloured light filled the room. Dirk blinked as quickly as he could, failing to banish even half of the strange spots from his vision. His face and breasts obscured a large portion of his vision, and he was in no fit state to analyse the rest, but something definitely seemed… different…

“Ugh, my head… yo, Hal, the hell’s all this?”

“My initial assumption is some sort of intense party, though there’s no course of action that would explain my lack of memories. Or my sudden ability to have a migraine.”

Dirk’s stomach chose that moment to gurgle loudly, the tacky candy paste upsetting it to the point he had to let out a paper-shaking belch.

The silence that rang after his belch was deafening, leaving Dirk alone with his abused stomach, until, in two voices:

“Oh, shit.”

[cosmonaughty]

I recently re-watched Season 1 of Fargo FX and, as is the case with every great show or movie, there were things I noticed that I had missed in earlier viewings. A few of these had to do with the portrayal of hospitals in film, which is another small obsession of mine, so I thought that I would take the time to combine these two interests and talk about the way that Fargo FX depicts hospitals. I will be mentioning the inaccuracies in this portrayal and the way that the liberties that are taken advance the plot and enhance the mood of certain scenes. By pointing out these inaccuracies, I am not trying to criticize the show or its writers, I’m just using my specific experiences to talk at length about something I love.

(Also, this post will contain big ol’ spoilers for Season 1 of Fargo FX, so go watch it if you haven’t yet and then come back.)

There are a few scenes that I wanted to discuss here, and I will bring them up chronologically. In episode 5, Lester is rushed to the hospital in an ambulance with what appears to be sepsis resulting from a shotgun pellet lodged in his hand. In the following episode, he sneaks out of the hospital to frame his brother for his wife’s murder. He does this by switching beds with his roommate, whose face is bandaged. As far as accuracy goes, it pretty much goes without saying that this concept is pretty farfetched, but I’ll run down the issues here anyway.

It’s never really clear to me what injuries require intensive care in this show (more on that later), but I will say that Lester recovers from sepsis in what must be record time. When I had more or less the same thing, my body essentially held down its own power button and restarted everything. I was in the ICU for multiple days, though I’m not sure how many because I wasn’t lucid the entire time, and I was pumped full of fluids and antibiotics, as well as hooked up to multiple tubes and wires.

Lester, however, is in excellent condition pretty much as soon as the source of his infection is removed, despite having been delirious, vomiting, sweating, shivering, and all that other fun stuff only the night before. His room seems to be on the general ward and the only thing hooked up to him is an IV, which appears to be dispensing saline and nothing else.

He is also under the care of what may be the least competent nurse I’ve ever seen in any show. Nurse Farber comes in to transport Lester’s roommate to radiology, but if she had checked his bracelet, she would have realized she was transporting the wrong patient. She also moves the entire hospital bed, rather than moving the patient to a gurney or a wheelchair, as has been my experience in the past (those beds are portable, but they’re very heavy and unwieldy).

However, these aren’t “mistakes”. They are deliberate choices that serve to move the plot along. We can’t put the story on hold so that Lester has a couple of weeks to recover and gain his strength back, so that process needs to be hurried along for the sake of the plot. If the nurse had checked his bracelet, his plan would have been foiled and, again, the plot would not be able to progress. If she had moved him to a wheelchair or gurney, he wouldn’t have been able to smuggle a change of clothes with him. So, these choices don’t arise from the writers’ ignorance of hospital procedure, they just need to bend some aspects of reality to advance the plot.

I would also like to point out some things this scene gets right about the hospital (based on my experience).

This room layout is pretty accurate. I like the little details like the plastic cup + bendy straw that everyone always has on their bedside table (even if you can lift a cup to your mouth, a bendy straw is required. It’s like an unwritten rule). I like the detail that the windows don’t open and I really appreciate that they didn’t have Lester pull out his IV like every renegade tv character seems to do. Instead, he simply disconnects the port from the tube so that he can move around, which I’m sure is more difficult than he makes it look but it’s leaps and bounds better than the old rip-em-out technique that I seem to see all the time.

I also like that the nurse uses the pain scale, which is pretty standard but I get a kick out of it. And, believe it or not, I have actually been deposited in the hall and left alone by nurses while waiting for imaging, which is how Lester manages to escape in the first place. Personally, I’ve never made it out the front door, but I haven’t tried that hard.

 Now that we’ve talked about how the writers take liberties to advance the plot, let’s look at how similar inaccuracies can be used enhance the mood of a scene. If you want to see me get emotional (you sadist), get me talking about episode 7. In this episode, Molly, having been hospitalized after an emergency splenectomy, makes a trip from her room on the general ward to question Mr. Wrench, who is in custody in the ICU after having been shot twice by her (it’s not clear where he was shot, but he indicates his upper right chest, so somewhere in that area). He uses a white board to ask about his partner (Mr. Numbers) and Molly confirms that he is dead. She makes an attempt to connect with him and asks for his help in finding Lorne Malvo, but he shuts her out by refusing to look at her and she leaves. Later, in episode 8, Malvo shows up to taunt Wrench about having killed his partner, as well as to commend him for coming closer to killing him than anyone else had in the past. He gives Wrench the handcuff key and leaves.

Like I said earlier, it’s not clear what requires intensive care in this show, since Mr. Wrench doesn’t appear to be any worse off physically than Molly is (or than Lester was earlier). He does have more stuff attached to him, which is…good(?), but let’s talk about this ICU room:

This looks nothing like any ICU room I’ve ever stayed in. For one thing, in my experience the bed has always been facing the door, not inward to the rest of the room. I assume this is to make it easier to provide emergency care, which is the function of just about everything in the ICU. For this same reason, there’s very little privacy; the doors are usually clear glass and people come in and out all the time (nobody checks on patients in this show).

As I mentioned above, he has more “gear” (no, that’s not the correct term, but just be glad I didn’t call it “swag”) than either Molly or Lester, but far less than I would expect to see. There are maybe two bags on that IV pole, so probably saline and morphine (no blood/plasma/antibiotics/other medications). He’s got a heart monitor and a pulse oximeter, but no oxygen or bp monitor. Whether I like it or not, I’m always given oxygen in the ICU (which I tend to remove as soon as possible, apologies to my nurses) and if he was shot in the chest, he might actually need it. I’m also not convinced that heart monitor is working, since it doesn’t fluctuate at all when Malvo shows up in episode 8. ALSO: that bed rail should be up; I don’t care if he is handcuffed in place, that looks like a fall risk to me. Who is running this place?

(I’m also kinda jealous, because I’ve never been in an ICU room with this much natural light.)

 As I mentioned before, there is specific intent behind these omissions and changes.  For one thing, if there were several different machines and wires and lines and the like, the shot would be really busy and it would be distracting, both visually and auditorily, as hospital equipment tends to beep and beep and beep and beep.

Additionally, the shots are very clean, which effectively communicates a sterile environment to the audience; the natural light from the window compliments the Season 1 aesthetic really well and it also contributes somewhat to the coldness of the scenes in this room.

Speaking of which, this is as good a time as ever to bring up something I only consciously noticed very recently. Let’s go back to episode 7 and take a look at the difference between his room and Molly’s.

It’s very subtle, but the light above her bed is a warmer tone; her bedding is also comprised of warmer, lighter tones. Additionally, there’s some framed artwork on the wall, and most importantly she is surrounded by people (and flowers) in every shot.

Even in reverse shots of her, the frame contains color and warm tones. Contrast this with a similar OTS shot of Wrench in his hospital room. The temperature of the scene is a lot colder and the frame surrounding him is empty, which is excellent shorthand to communicate loneliness and alienation.

His room also has some kind of mesh over the window, the practical purpose of which (if there is one) eludes me. As I mentioned earlier, hospital windows don’t open, something the writers are obviously aware of, and I’ve personally never been in a hospital room that had a grate or bars over the windows. Regardless of its practical purpose, this is another detail that contributes to the theme of isolation that is present in the design of these scenes. Being in the hospital can be a lonely, alienating experience, which is something I feel is communicated really well here.

These are subtle decisions that make a huge impact on the mood of the scene. I’m gonna be real with you right now, Mr. Wrench is my favorite character and this scene breaks my heart every time I see it. A good deal of that is owed to the quality of the show’s writing and the amazing talent of Russell Harvard and Allison Tolman, but it is always fun to see how my emotions are being relentlessly manipulated by the cinematographer as well. Good job, you guys.

 I want to conclude with a proposed alternative to the staging of that last scene.

As you can see here, this scene is set during the day, with daylight clearly visible from the window. However, imagine how the emotional intensity might be different if the scene was set at night.

In my experience, nighttime in the hospital can be the most difficult, emotionally speaking, and it’s something I’ve even come to dread as a patient. For the most part, visitors have to go home, the room is dark but the lights are on in the hall and the nurses’ station. You can’t sleep because you’re uncomfortable and people keep coming in to take vitals and blood, and overall it’s very lonely.

So, imagine this scene exactly as it is played out in Season 1, but now instead of a closed off room with daylight coming through the window, the lights in the room are dimmed, it’s night outside (maybe street lights are visible through the window, but not too much). There is a soft glow coming from the heart monitor. Molly is sitting beside the bed with her back to the open door rather than the window. In the background the lights are on in the hall, you can see hospital staff going about their routine in the background. His life is falling apart in this scene, but it’s business as usual for everyone else. Even Molly, as sympathetic as she is, is just doing her job here.

I’m not saying that this staging would have been better, but it would have had a different emotional intensity. I like to see how the environment of the hospital could be used to enhance the mood of a scene, rather than simply act as a back drop because hospitals are deeply personal places, but can be so alienating at the same time. That said, I think that the way they used the environment to impart that sense of loneliness was excellent, and I support the decision to omit certain specifics that might compromise the mood or the flow of the plot.

Oh, and, if you still haven’t done it: go watch Fargo FX.

[dragonhrte]

Destiny? Chapter Eight: Neither Here Nor There

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for giving this work a read! Quick disclaimer, for all intents and purposes MHA/BNHA are not mine they do not belong to me. The manga and anime have inspired me to write this fiction and dialogue as well as events are given credit to the beautiful people who have blessed us with this series. Aside from standard story line events this work is mine. Don't forget to comment and heart! This story references events from previous chapters, if something does not make sense, feel free to reread from the beginning.

Please note that

*abc* is a sound effect

'abc' is internal thoughts of whomever

"abc" is dialogue

(abc) is a side note from yours truly ;)

~Love, DragonHearte

I open the door to Max's apartment after an extremely eventful day at school, stopping briefly to take my shoes off at the door. I walk into my room and see the bed in front of me as I drop my backpack to the floor. I flop down, and sleep overtakes me.

I wake up, through bleary eyes and see that it’s the next morning. ‘Damn, same dream. When will the nightmares stop?’ I throw the blanket off of me and hesitate for a moment. ‘Wait I went to sleep on top of my bed covers last night?’ I don’t dwell on the thought for too long before I walk out into the kitchen, and Max is there drinking his morning cup of coffee. I rub my eyes tiredly and then see Max look up at me, he has a strange look on his face as he says, “Damn, Eva, you look like you were run over by a bus.”

“Wow, thanks. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel Max.”

“What happened, are you okay? I heard your class got attacked by villains. I called you and texted you, but you didn't respond to me. I was very worried, until I came home and saw your door open with you passed out on top of your bed. I gave you a spare blanket from the hallway closet.”

“Yeah, some villains ambushed my class. I’m fine, I didn’t get hurt. I had the nightmare, that’s all.”

“Oh, it was one of those nights.”

“Yeah,” I breathe in deeply as I start to recall the dream.

‘I sit up on a bed, it was dark all around me. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes to try and get a clearer view of the room, it was then that I noticed the broken full-length mirror to my right and the door to my left with a crack running diagonally across it, from one side to the other. I was back there, at the other house. I try to move, but my hands are tied to the bedposts, my lower half  frozen in place from the waist down. I look around the room frantically hoping that it won’t turn out like every other time I have this dream. I am out of luck though because like always there he is in the corner of the room, a cold smile on his face as he approached me.’ I felt tears prick the back of my eyes as the memory of the past forced me to relive the experience.

‘There are tears streaming down my face as he leans down and wipes them away with the pad of his thumb, and he stands over me face full of what he claims to be love. His twisted version of love, is a sick realm of lies. A web that I am helplessly caught within. A result of a system created to protect me. He hangs above me like a spider above it’s prey, watching in delight as I struggle against my restraints. Then all eight of his hands proceed with their torture. Handling me in ways I don’t want. Touching me, caressing me, groping me with no signs of stopping. With the constant whisper of “I love you” after each and every movement. “I just want to show you how much I love you.'' There was a flash of crimson and then I woke up.’ I take in a deep shuddering breath and realize I’m trembling slightly from the memory.

Max stands up and wraps me in a hug, secure and safe. A stark contrast to the tight and suffocating hold the past still has on my subconscious. He leans back and says, “I’m sorry you had to relive that, just know that I’m here for you if you ever need me okay?”

“Uh-huh.” I reply.

“Oh, by the way the school sent me an email. There aren’t any classes today, which makes sense considering yesterday’s events.”

“Mhmm.” I respond quietly, still a bit tired and drained.

“Well kiddo, I’m going to head to work. Text me if you need anything okay?”

“Yup.” I look on as Max puts on his shoes and leaves. I sigh and shuffle back into my room, ‘There’s no point in trying to go back to sleep now. I’m kinda scared it’ll just continue from where it left off.’ I look down at my backpack that was tossed haphazardly to the side and decide to do my homework after a nice soak in the tub. ‘A bit of self-care after such a stressful day yesterday and that dream is a must.’ I gather my bubble bath supplies from under the sink in my en-suite bathroom. They're rarely used, but come in handy on days like this. I start by turning on the tub faucet, and adding a pink and purple bath bomb into the tub. Then, lighting some tea lights around the tub edges, and some larger candles in the corners. After stripping down and turning off the water at the desired depth, I delve into the warm bath I have prepared for myself. The swirls of color on the surface of the water and the slight aroma allowing me to finally attempt to relax after the ordeal from yesterday morning. ‘Taking a bubble bath and focusing on what caused me to snap will probably help me redirect my focus from my nightmare.’

I heave a big sigh and reflect, images of the fight flashing through my mind as I tried to sort through my thoughts, while taking my loofah and scrubbing away the grime and residual dirt from the day before. ‘Let's do a bit of a step-by-step walk through, to try to figure out what happened in the collapsed zone today. I was fighting beside Kirishima, I got a taste for what it feels like to get hit by Bakugo’s quirk.’ I wince at the memory, ‘Note to self, at least in terms of potency of Bakugo’s quirk he is not in fact all bark and no bite. Then, I saw Kirishima look alarmed at something behind me, when I turned around, there was a villain laying on the floor face covered in blood, her nose smashed. Then after the exchange between Bakugo and Kirishima I looked at my hands to discover they were covered in blood.’

I look down at my hands and scrub at the dried blood in the crevices surrounding my nails. ‘So, clearly whatever caused me to lose control happened somewhere between fighting side-by-side with Kirishima and the impact from the explosion.’

I furrow my brows in concentration, and a frown forms on my lips, as I recall the events leading up to my blood-stained hands. ‘That one villain, the hurtful slew of words. That’s what set me off.’

I sink further down into the tub and lay still, I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm the rush of adrenaline that I spurred on when I recalled the actions of the villain leading up to my loss of control. After a few minutes of letting myself soak, I continue my thought process, ‘I can’t believe I was triggered into a frenzied rage. How did I let my anger get to that point?’

I stew in the tub for a bit longer and finally unplug the drain and blow out the candles on my way out. Wrapping myself in a towel, and make certain all the candles are out before leaving the bathroom. I settle for a comfortable pair of pajamas an overly sized t-shirt and some pajama shorts. I tabled the issue of my mental instability for later, right now I needed to do my homework as unenthused as I was at the idea of doing said homework. I take a break for a couple of minutes and realize I haven’t eaten any breakfast. ‘I guess that nightmare messed me up more than I would like to admit. I don’t even feel hungry and it’s around the time that I usually eat lunch.’

I hear my phone notification and quickly check to see who texted me. My eyes widen at all the missed text messages and phone calls from Max. ‘I must’ve been pretty knocked out to not hear any of these. Damn.’ I scroll down to the most recent message from Max.

Max: “Hey, in case you want a snack but you’re not all that hungry, I restocked your Takis supply. Love you…”

I leap off my bed and dart into the kitchen, almost slamming into the pantry in my haste. There they are, the large bags of Takis, five of them! ‘And to think, they’re all for meee!’ I almost click my heels together in happiness, my mood switching immediately after seeing the delectable bags of morsels. I reach up on my tippy-toes and I’m not able to feel the bag at all, they’re up too high. I curse silently, ‘Max, why have you forsaken me. You’re six foot nothing. I am barely five feet tall, I cannot reach the same heights as you without assistance.’ I jump up, and my fingertips don’t even brush the packaging. “Dammit!” I exclaim to myself. I huff and stomp over towards a chair, lift it up and bring it over to the pantry. I set it down and get on top of it I snatch a bag and return the chair back to its rightful place and close the pantry door.

I grab a water bottle from the fridge, then rush back to my room and rip open the bag. I grab a taki from inside the bag.

I scroll through my social media for a few minutes munching happily and then set my snack aside. I enter my bathroom and quickly wash my hands before doing my homework to avoid getting any stains on the paper. I finally finish my homework after a couple of hours. 

I hear a knock at the door, and my head shoots up from my current position lying on my bed. ‘I’m not expecting anyone…’ I walk to the door and open it hesitantly, it’s flung open from the pink alien behind it.

“Evangeline!” Ashido exclaims arms open wide for an embrace.

“Hello, Ashido-”

“Why are you in your pajamas? We have the day off today, let’s get you dressed and go out for some coffee.”

I walk into my room, with Ashido following closely behind me. She pushes past me and approaches the closet swinging the doors wide open to fully examine my wardrobe. She’s shuffling through my hangers full of clothes, with enough speed to cause a slight clatter as she moves to the next article of clothing. Once in a while pulling something out and holding it up to my body but putting it back after deeming it unsatisfactory. Finally, she settles on an oversized pale pink hoodie and a pair of light blue denim jeans shoving the items into my chest.

“Here, put these on.” Ashido stares at me expectantly, and I stand there for a moment then ask, “Could you turn around?”

“We’re both girls, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Ashido says while turning around. I change into the outfit she’s chosen for me and tap her on the shoulder signaling for her to turn back around. She turns around and smiles broadly, approving of the outfit that she had chosen herself.

“Okay, well let’s go!” She says, letting me quickly grab my wallet and house key before I put on my socks and my high-tops, then hurrying out the door after her. I send a quick text message to Max, letting him know that I am going out with a friend and might not be home when he gets back from work. Ashido’s excited demeanor distracts me from my worries as we walk to the café.

“I’m getting a caramel macchiato, what’re you getting?” Ashido asks me.

“A hot chocolate with whipped cream and a caramel drizzle.” I reply, after looking at the options listed on the sign behind the cashier.

We wait for our drinks in silence and Ashido guides me to a table towards the middle of the café. Sitting down she asks, “So, how are you doing?”

I blow on my drink and look at her quizzically, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you seemed out of it on the bus and later on during class. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I guess. Just a bit shaken up from the chaos.”

“I think we all are, which is why I’m glad they gave us the day off.” Ashido says before taking a sip from her sugar-filled coffee.

“I am too, it gave me some much-needed time to regroup.” I take a tentative sip of the hot chocolate not wanting to burn my mouth with a molten hot beverage. It’s too hot still so I blow air across the surface of my drink.

“I think everyone needed it.” Ashido takes another sip and looks off towards the window, and then returns her gaze towards me.

“Why did you show up at my apartment?”

“Oh, that’s easy! I wanted to hang out with you and also check up on you to see how you were doing.”

I nod my head, accepting her statement and then asked my second more important question, “How did you find my apartment?”

“I asked Present Mic where you lived and he told me.”

I feel my eyebrows contract in confusion for a second. But I dismiss my concerns. ‘I know Ashido wants to be a supportive friend. There’s nothing more to it.’

Our conversation continues freely, mostly her talking about various different topics while I listened. I take the final gulp from my hot chocolate, and put the cup down, to see Ashido quickly snapping a picture of me on her phone.

“Hey, what was that for?!” I exclaim.

“You’ve got some whipped cream on your upper lip, see?” She turns her phone around and shows me the picture she just took of me and I laugh at the small mustache of whipped cream above a shadow of hot chocolate above my lip. She gets up and squats next to me and takes a selfie of the two of us, one with a mustache and one without. One regular selfie and a few silly ones. We get up and leave, Ashido walking me home, before she leaves though I ask, “Hey, can you send me those pictures you took of the two of us?”

“Sure, what’s your number?”

I give her my number and then she waves goodbye, leaving me to my own devices for the remainder of the day. I change back into my pajamas, and I laze about. I eat some leftovers from the fridge for dinner after getting a text from Max saying he was going to be working late again. I settle into bed and read a book. After reading a few chapters I turn off my bedside lamp, and let my mind wander. ‘I didn’t realize just how tired I was. It could’ve quickly gotten worse for that villain. What would’ve happened if the explosion from Bakugo’s quirk hadn’t gotten so close to me? Would I have been able to stop myself? Would Kirishima and Bakugo have had to pry me off of the dead villain’s corpse? I must have had some semblance of control. If I didn’t I probably would’ve killed her.’ I sigh as the last thought crosses my mind and close my eyes hoping for either better dreams or no dreams at all.

Chapter Nine: Where To

[qunot]

Lolicon’s Impact on Me

Oh, how I loathe to write this post, but write I must, I don't know if this will sink to the depths of darkness, but I'd like to think that at-least one soul might benefit from it.

I am what society would call a monster or aberration. A being who has no attraction to adults but does have it to kids. Some as young as 9.

Contrary to popular belief, I did not get bored some day and decide, "I am feeling really masochistic today, why don't I do something that is bound to really backfire on me and completely destroy my life, just to spice things up."

No one thinks like that, it is innate. From the very moment you're born to the very moment you die, it is a part of you forever and ever and it sucks. A lot. Having sex? Never. Having a relationship with someone? Never. Looking at porn? Only if you want to go to prison for forty years.

Also contrary to popular belief, I don't have the desire to jump on random people in fits of lust or to seek out sexual encounters just to relieve the pressure. This is similar to how you don't really see hordes of virgin men scouring the streets for every random woman they can forcefully abduct into their homes.

This is not to say that we are completely stable. Societal pressures involved (being called a monster constantly), having nowhere to turn to, etc. conspire to make us a fair bit more unstable than the national average.

I myself am actually fairly well-adjusted compared to many more unfortunate people like me.

Some go insane.

Some just give into temptation and eventually end up in a dark part of the web filled with things which shouldn't be allowed to exist.

Some get all self-loathing and punish themselves every-day to make themselves feel how much of a monster they are.

I on the other-hand manage to stay relatively stable, albeit having to deal with bouts of depression and mood instability. This wasn't always the case, and I attribute much of it to lolicon hentai, which is a sort of cartoon porn.

Unlike real pornography, every character is entirely fictitious and there is no person to horribly traumatize or to soil the reputation of by being associated with naked pictures of kids. Everyone wins. Society gets well-adjusted productive members of society and I get to be sane.

Except, is this really case? You would think that society would rally behind something with such great benefits, right? Sadly, politics is a huge part of anything to do with this, and more often than not, facts are optional.

At this point in the game, not only are the facilities to help support people woefully lacking, but governments have been carrying the flawed mindset that "this is a slippery slope which leads to children getting abused" when every law they pass actually achieves the opposite.

To really understand how this is so however, I am going to have to take you through a little story about myself and how I came to get to the point I'm at now.

Throughout my childhood and teenage years, I never really thought about sex, it was just something which never really crossed my mind. Other kids would mention a thing or two from time to time, but I would be content to leave that be.

That did end up changing, but not in the ways one might expect, I grew more and more curious towards kids who were far under my age, but were all but present. I would sometimes look at fully clothed images on the internet with a weird feeling.

And one day, I saw perhaps one of the youngest people there who looked a fair bit younger than they actually were, although still a fair bit younger than me who I found extremely cute unlike all of the so called "attractive girls" who the other teenagers would always talk about.

She was far, far less developed than them and that was very enticing.

I very awkwardly tried to make friends with her, and while it very slightly worked, my social awkwardness was off the charts and making it difficult to get much further and eventually it crashed and burned like many unrequited loves too.

During this process, I had a slight feeling that something was wrong, especially with the low age involved, but no one seemed to notice a thing as we were all well within the legal boundaries.

Those were the first encounters with this unique sexuality, although certainly not the last.

At some point, I'm not even sure exactly, , but I drifted away from looking at clothed images of real girls and started looking at random anime (cartoons of sorts which are produced in Japan) ones as I found them particularly cute.

I flicked through lots of them, being pulled more and more towards the young ones who I adored and contained the qualities I loved. I even childishly wanted to leave this world behind entirely.

This continued for a number of years, even past school, although I became more and more conscious of cute school kids roaming by. I didn't have any particularly bad intentions for them, but I did find myself looking whenever they happened to be nearby.

I gradually became more and more disillusioned with reality, especially with this taboo attraction which society all but called the devil and eventually all alone in the depths of depression and repressed self-loathing and after the deaths of several loved ones, I decided to deal with it once and for all.

Through a great deal of research, I discovered that sexual desire had a connection to several hormones within the body, so I thought that if I get rid of those, then I can become normal, right? It's not like these desires are good for anything, right?

Unfortunately, the methods to deal with this involved prescription drugs and getting a hold of them would require going through the right medical channels, but I didn't let this stop me.

I knew that if I let the information about me loose to those professional, then I might well be locked up for the rest of my days in some sort of mental hospital, unable to die. This is how deep the stigma regarding this condition runs, even what may be perfectly reasonable professionals in other times will go crazy at the thought, and I could not take this risk.

I managed to get the pills through sketchy yet perfectly legal channels and began to rid myself of this condition, discarding my former self and being reborn as a normal productive member of society... Except, this did not work, even slightly.

It is true that it somewhat reduced my sex drive, but the romantic attractions, protective instincts for them, etc. simply refused to disappear, so I channeled all my willpower to suppress those and tried to seek relationships with normal adults like any other human being.

As the chief symbol of my depravity, I also cut myself off from all cartoon porn and strived to maintain a porn free life as regular porn could do nothing but conjure up feelings of revulsion in me, as part of this, I slowly brainwashed myself into thinking that all sexual thoughts are evil and clamped down on them viciously.

This too failed as my distorted mental state and already irregular sexuality made it impossible to really get anywhere further than permanent friend zone. They eventually left and looked at me with disgust, or so the distorted feelings said.

As the hormones vanished, my body grew weaker and weaker to the point I would easily run out of breath even for short walks, my bones grew rickety, and I found myself staring listlessly at the wall for many hours at a time, my mind an empty void and occasionally thinking about throwing myself off the tallest building and researching the best way of committing suicide.

I also began to hear faint voices which weren't really there whispering and sometimes saying my name, calling for me and I grew steadily more paranoid about people watching me from outside the window or from behind me, even though there was no one there.

I drifted further and further from the world, continuing the courses of pills like a mindless zombie, and when I was out and about, I felt as if everyone around me was looking at me with the utmost disgust. I even ate a bit of bleach, while thinking about just ending it.

At some point, the pills ran out and I couldn't muster up the will to get more of them at that point, so I continued my suppression exercises and my mindset bit by bit still remained in a weird way, almost like that of an alien and yet I pressed forward convinced by that letting my repressed self out would be a terrible idea.

Eventually, a few more friends abandoned me due to my distorted mind, I pleaded with them to stay, but they took the rational choice. I can hardly fault them for that.

Completely distraught and unable to muster up the energy to continue, I ended up looking at the cartoon porn again and bit by bit reconnected with various people and continued trotting along until I learned that several people near me were arrested for doing the same thing and had their lives destroyed for it.

I freaked out and started looking into various laws and regulations and drifted towards the forums of the various sites which produced my favorite content. I pored over each page and even noticed a few people who were somewhat like me there, and even more surprisingly, they didn't seem to be the evil sadistic monsters which society taught me they were.

I ended up talking to them in a slightly liberating experience and learned a number of things. I also branched out into various other communities.

One of the things I learned is that looking at child abuse images is more of an addiction than being a complete sadistic monster, and that safer content is extremely scarce with people having to dig deeper and deeper into the darkness to find more of what they need.

According to them, it can allow one to vent more effectively than anything else, in practice, a lot of the content is so horrible that it ends up driving you to near suicide.

They also commented that it would have been impossible to escape from that content, if not for the fact that they had an alternate outlet to switch to. This reaffirmed my beliefs that an outlet is vital for dealing with your natural urges and to stay away from that horrible yet addictive content.

Fate tends to make fools of us all, however as while browsing, I stumbled upon a couple of blurry images. I looked in closer and each one was a naked child standing on her own completely naked, I was really surprised that something like this could actually exist on the surface web.

It had a stronger sexual attraction than usual and as I had never seen a naked child (of the right sex) before, I looked curiously at their body structure. Shortly after, I dragged myself away from those images, deciding to stay away from them and just focus on cartoon porn instead.

Several weeks later, I stumbled upon an article about the ban in Japan and discovered that those images in particular were commercially produced thirty years ago back when when it was legal, which made sense considering that the quality of the images was fairly poor by today's standards.

After all these events, I sat down and thought about the poor state of information regarding us.

For instance, there is a misconception that mere thoughts lead to cartoon porn which lead to real porn which lead to rape. Or the very common assumption that we are all crazy rapists by default,  I used to think that too after hearing it so many times.

In truth, I have yet to see anyone who has actually abused someone, they seem vanishingly rare and I'm happy for it as-well as I would be very uncomfortable to be in the same space as someone who abused someone against their will.

This led me to think of ways to try to get information out to people that a lot of things have been massively misunderstood and I decided to write a short post. It won't quite be the most effective thing in the world, but every little bit helps in the grand scheme of things.

In the end, even though I am attracted to them and can fantasize about doing all manner of erotic things with them, I wouldn't actually be able to force them to do things against their will, even thinking of it would weigh too heavily on my conscience.

I don't know what you will make of this post, but I hope it's of use to at-least someone.

[wilmakins]

Steve had always hated the cold.

 People tended to go quiet when he said that, or drop their eyes, obviously assuming it had something to do with the ice. But Steve hating the cold had nothing to do with being frozen – actually, Steve didn’t associate the crash with being cold. He’d been knocked out by the initial impact, blissfully unaware of the ice as it was putting him to sleep. He remembered the cockpit of the plane, and the bed in Fury’s little soundstage, and nothing in between.

 No, Steve had hated the cold since long before that. Since he’d watched his mother slowly die of TB in a draughty little house in Brooklyn. It had been Steve’s job to shelter his mom, to make that house safe and warm for her now that his father was gone. But he couldn’t. He was just a skinny little kid in the middle of the depression, no different from all the others crying out for help. He’d watched his mother cough and wheeze, sure he could have made her better if he could have just made her warm.

 And then she died.

 So yeah, Steve hated the cold. Cold nights like this made him feel vulnerable, they reminded him that he wasn’t really any different to the kid that failed in the 1930s, that death was always standing at his shoulder. Cold nights made him introspective and sad.

 And it wasn’t like he needed any help with that, these days.

 It had been three months since Siberia. Three months since he destroyed the only home he had. Three months since he left Tony on the floor of that bunker…

 He sighed heavily, his breath fogging the air around him like smoke. It was five below zero in Copenhagen, and their little safe house had no heating but many cracks in the wall. It was barely warmer inside than outside. He could make out the shape of Wanda, Natasha and Sam, lying on the floor with blankets wrapped tightly around their shoulders. Steve wondered if any of them were actually asleep. He wondered if they were kept up all night by regrets and what if’s like he was.

 Up until now, Steve had spent most of his nights thinking about the things he wished hadn’t happened. All the things he wished he’d never done, never said. It was a hot, irritable thought process, and always deeply unsatisfying. These things did happen, didn’t they? Working out what might have happened was of no use to anyone. But he just kept doing it. Like he kept having that same nightmare and kept trying to change the end, as though it would matter. As though if he didn’t bring that shield down into Tony’s chest in a dream, he might be rewarded by waking up somewhere else.

 But tonight was different. Tonight his thoughts were slower, and more substantial. Like a glacier. Tonight was hopeless, rather than desperate. Tonight was just sad. And, tonight, Steve found himself thinking about all the things he wished he had said. Not just the obvious. Not just at the end.

 And, wow, there was quite a list, wasn’t there?

 Thinking about it now, Steve realised, it had always been about the things he hadn’t said. That if he’d just gotten around to one of the things on that list, everything might have been better. Going back and saying a few words to Tony would have had more impact than anything he could have unsaid.

 In fact… five things. By the end of the night, Steve had whittled the list down to five simple sentences that could have changed everything.

 Which didn’t make him feel better, at all.

“You don’t have to let people hand you things”

Steve had been living in Avengers Tower, and the 21st century, for about four months. Both were still pretty overwhelming.

From the moment he opened his eyes in the morning, he was assaulted by things he didn’t understand. Technology beyond his wildest dreams, offering to help with tasks that hadn’t even existed in the forties. News coming in, instantly and wirelessly, from places Steve had never heard of, about issues he couldn’t comprehend. Food he didn’t know how to prepare, words he didn’t know how to pronounce, questions he couldn’t even think of asking.

But, more confusing than that – all the rules were different.

The shift in social assumptions had floored him more than anything. Mainly, like all people, he hadn’t known he had social assumptions, before. At least the new technology and strangely shaped fruit warned him they were alien, gave him some cue to ask about or avoid them. But social norms are different. They’re the things you say, do or expect without thinking. The things you don’t realise you’ve misunderstood until you’ve already messed it up. Things that no one else thinks to explain, because they’ve taken them for granted too.

Steve had been trying to pick it all up, but it was slow going. A lot of the time, he felt like he was play acting, copying things without really understanding the significance of them. He knew that he wasn’t allowed to talk about smoking, ever, but it was still okay to talk publicly about getting drunk. He knew that women’s clothing was now a very political issue, and it absolutely wasn’t his place to comment on it.

He knew Tony Stark didn’t like having things handed to him. So, he didn’t.

By now, Steve had worked out that this was a particular quirk of Tony’s, rather than a part of 21st Century etiquette. He’d heard the others tease him for it; he’d even joined in, gently, when he was quite sure that Tony was being ridiculous. But still, he put things on the table in front of Tony, never in his hands. It was just a habit, one of many meaningless gestures he’d hardwired in.

Until tonight.

Tonight, Steve was tired. Days in the 21st century were just longer – full of information and noise, extending into the wee hours under artificial lighting. Steve had adopted the futuristic habit of staying up late; he just couldn’t get out of the habit of getting up early. It left him with hours of frantic, incomprehensible activity that he had to work twice as hard as everyone else to keep up with. He was exhausted at the end of every day. And, today, there had been an incident in Central Park. Nothing major. A bunch of kids playing with something they’d found in the aftermath of the Chitauri attack, who’d only really managed to scare themselves. To anyone else, a perfectly routine mission. It was only Steve who was scanning everything, unable to understand the teenagers speedy slang, unsure how much damage had been done and how much had looked like that anyway… All he wanted to do now was to get Tony to sign his damn incident report, so that he could go to bed.

When he got to Tony’s door Steve was immediately greeted with a wall of sound. A violent noise that he knew was heavy metal, but still couldn’t recognise as music. Everywhere he looked there were screens, all moving with numbers and graphs and camera feeds. In the middle of all this chaos, surrounded by scrap metal, Tony was repairing his suit. The bright flash of the blowtorch, the shower of sparks, the hissing sound of tortured metal. Tony was the physical embodiment of everything that frightened and frustrated Steve about the future – bright and loud and fast and dangerous and still wide awake at midnight. Steve’s head throbbed. If he could have turned around and left, he would have.

Instead, he forced himself to march across the workshop. Tony turned the blowtorch off when he saw Steve, and silenced the music with a wave of his hand. There was a physical relief, like Steve had put down a heavy weight. And he was just so tired, so exhausted by the constant sensory input, so overwhelmed by the sudden reprieve, that he just handed Tony the papers.

He didn’t even realise what he’d done until he felt Tony take them, until he recognised that Tony’s response was wrong.

“Sorry” Steve muttered.

“Hm?” Tony didn’t even look up from signing the paperwork. He really hadn’t noticed what Steve had just done. Steve felt a little prickle of irritation at that. He couldn’t help wondering why Tony made a fuss about it, if he didn’t really care. Steve felt like a bit of an idiot for making the effort – he even wondered if that was the point. If Tony only did this to see if he could, to see if people like Steve would indulge him…

He remembered, not long after the battle of New York, a SHIELD agent had come to the Tower with a raft of papers for Tony. She’d held them out expectantly, as any reasonable person might, but Tony had told her he didn’t like to be handed things and gestured to the table. And the agent smiled and said “No way, that’s so strange – I don’t like picking things up off of the floor” And then she’d let the papers fall, scattering on the floor between them, and smiled at him “and then people look at you like you’re weird.” Steve had to try so hard not to laugh at the time. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Tony. He’d found plenty to like about Tony, after the rough start was behind them. But he had quite enjoyed seeing Tony put in his place. Seeing Tony nudge the papers with his foot, and then have to kneel down to gather them up, had seemed exactly what Tony deserved – just in general. Steve found himself thinking back to that incident with a bitter sort of glee, now.

And then he realised that Tony was looking at him, questioning. Steve realised his face was probably as angry as his head, and that he still hadn’t answered Tony. So, even though he couldn’t really be bothered with it, he felt obliged to explain.

“I thought you didn’t like to be handed things?” Steve sighed, trying not to sound antagonistic. But Tony’s face just melted into a smile.

“Well, I trust you” He explained with a laugh. That tone people used when they found one of Steve’s misunderstandings endearing. Steve just frowned.

What has that got to do with anything?

“I think I can take as a given that Captain America isn’t handing me a bomb” Tony clarified, when Steve didn’t say anything. The pounding in Steve’s head actually stalled for a second, he was so distracted by the realisation – that’s why he does it?

“Why would anyone be trying you a bomb?” Steve asked, his voice not quite as hard edged.

“Oh, people have their reasons.” Tony joked, and then he shrugged “What can I say, I’m paranoid. But just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.”

“But you’ve been doing this since before you were Iron Man” Steve thought out loud.

“I wrote my first anti-kidnapping plan when I was six” Tony informed him, proudly.

“Why?”

“Because I was kidnapped when I was five.” Tony answered, as though it was nothing.

It hit Steve then. What they were really talking about, what it really meant. The thought of a little kid, a little Tony, being snatched away and held for ransom… He thought about it hypothetically, first. How awful the very idea was. And then he realised, it really had happened. To Tony.

That’s why he does it.

“You were kidnapped when you were five?” Steve repeated.

“I’ve been kidnapped twice” Tony pretended to brag, handing Steve his papers back. “Oh, no, wait, three times – Afghanistan.” And he seemed to laugh at himself, for forgetting it counted.

But then, Steve had forgotten it counted, too. Steve had been right in the middle of being shocked that Tony had been ever been kidnapped, only to realise that he had already known that. He just hadn’t thought of it that way. He hadn’t really thought of it much, at all…

He thought about it now. He thought about Tony, held in a cave in Afghanistan, with a car battery wired into his chest. He thought of Tony at five years old, tied to a chair or drugged or locked in the boot of a car. He thought of Tony, always being nervous about what horrible thing might be about to happen to him, always feeling responsible for keeping himself safe from the world. Not wanting people to hand him things, because the world he knew was full of horrible people who would do him harm…

He thought of that agent again, making Tony pick his papers up on the floor. He remembered the way Tony had kicked through them first…checking… Steve hated himself, then. He thought of this nervous tick Tony had developed after years of trauma… and Steve had laughed at it. He’d let other people tease Tony for it. He’d watched Tony kneel down and pick those papers up. He wished so much he hadn’t, now. He wished so much he’d intervened, told Tony ‘you don’t have to let people hand you things, if you don’t want’, that he’d picked those papers up for him.

He thought about saying it, now. Saying sorry… But he didn’t know how to do it. Men were so different, now, so much more open is some ways, so insecure and aggressive in others. Was this Tony making light of his past, because that’s what Tony did, or was this how the world saw kidnapping now? Was it rude to comment? Would Steve offend him? It would have been hard enough to work that out with anyone, but that was Tony. Bright, fast, loud Tony, who’d never been one to let Steve get away with putting his foot in it… His head started pounding again, right on cue.

In the end, he decided it was better to say nothing than the wrong thing. He just took his papers, and went to bed.

This work continues on AO3

[prolapsarian]

Conversation with David Panos about The Searchers

The Searchers by David Panos is at Hollybush Gardens, 1-2 Warner Yard London EC1R 5EY, 12 January – 9 February 2019

There is something chattering. Alongside a triptych a small screen displays the rhythmic loop of hands typing, contorting, touching, holding. A movement in which the artifice strains between shuddering and juddering. Machinic GIFs seem to frame an event which may or may not have taken place. Their motions appear to combine an endless neurotic repetition and a totally adrenal pumped and pumping tension, anticipating confrontation. 

JBR: How do the heavily stylised triptych of screens in ‘The Searchers’ relate to the GIF-like loops created out of conventionally-shot street footage? DP: I think of the three screens as something like the ‘unconscious’ of these nervous gestures. I’m interested in how video compositing can conjure up impossible or interior spaces, perhaps in a way similar to painting. Perhaps these semi-abstract images can somehow evoke how bodies are shot through with subterranean currents—the strange world of exchange and desire that lies under the surface of reality or physical experience. Of course abstractions don't really ‘inhabit’ bodies and you can’t depict metaphysics, but Paul Klee had this idea about an aesthetic ‘interworld’, that painting could somehow reveal invisible aspects of reality through poetic distortion. Digital video and especially 3D graphics tend to be the opposite of painting—highly regimented and sat within a very preset Euclidean space. I guess I’ve been trying to wrestle with how these programs can be misused to produce interesting images—how images of figures can be abstracted by them but retain some of their twitchy aliveness. JBR: This raises a question about the difference between the control of your media and the situation of total control in contemporary cinematic image making. DP: Under the new regimes of video making, the software often feels like it controls you. Early analogue video art was a sensuous space of flows and currents, and artists like the Vasulkas were able to build their own video cameras and mixers to allow them to create whole new images—in effect new ways of seeing. Today that kind of utopian or avant-garde idea that video can make surprising new orders of images is dead—it’s almost impossible for artists to open up a complex program like Cinema 4D and make it do something else. Those softwares were produced through huge capital investment funding hundreds of developers. But I’m still interested in engaging with digital and 3D video, trying to wrestle with it to try and get it to do something interesting—I guess because the way that it pictures the world says something about the world at the moment—and somehow it feels that one needs to work in relation to the heightened state of commodification and abstraction these programs represent. So I try and misuse the software or do things by hand as much as possible, and rather than programming and rendering I manipulate things in real time. JBR: So in some way the collective and divided labour that goes into producing the latest cinematic commodities also has a doubled effect: firstly technique is revealed as the opposite of some kind of freedom, and at the same time this has an effect both on how the cinematic object is treated and how it appears. To be represented objects have to be surrounded by the new 3D capture technology, and at the same time it laminates the images in a reflected glossiness that bespeaks both the technology and the disappearance of the labour that has gone into creating it. DP: I’m definitely interested in the images produced by the newest image technologies—especially as they go beyond lens-based capture. One of the screens in the triptych uses volumetric capturing— basically 3D scanning for moving image. The ‘camera’ perspective we experience as the viewer is non-existent, and as we travel into these virtual, impossible perspectives it creates the effect of these hollowed out, corroded bodies. This connects to a recurring motif of ‘hollowing out’ that appears in the video and sculpture I’ve been making recently. And I have a recurring obsession with the hollowing out of reality caused by the new regime of commodities whose production has become cut to the bone, so emptied of their material integrity that they’re almost just symbols of themselves. So in my show ‘The Dark Pool’ (Hollybush Gardens, 2014) I made sculptural assemblages with Ikea tables and shelves, which when you cut them open are hollow and papery. Or in ‘Time Crystals’ (Pumphouse Gallery, 2017) I worked with clothes made in the image of the past from Primark and H&M that are so low-grade that they can barely stand washing. We are increasingly surrounded by objects, all of which have—through contemporary processes of hyper-rationalisation and production—been slowly emptied of material quality. Yet they have the resemblance of luxury or historical goods. This is a real kind of spectral reality we inhabit.  I wonder to myself about how the unconscious might haunt us in these days when commodities have become hollow. Might it be like Benjamin’s notion of the optical unconscious, in which through the photographic still the everyday is brought into a new focus, not in order to see what is behind the veil of semblance, but to see—and reclaim for art—the veiling in a newly-won clarity. DP: Yes, I see these new technologies as similar, but am interested in how they don't just change impact perception but also movement. The veiled moving figures in ‘The Searchers' are a strange byproduct of digital video compositing. I was looking to produce highly abstract linear depictions of bodies reduced to fleshy lines, similar to those in the show and I discovered that the best way to create these abstract images was to cover the face and hands of performers when you film them to hide the obvious silhouettes of hands and faces. But asking performers to do this inadvertently produced a very peculiar movement—the strange veiled choreography that you see in the show. I found this footage of the covered performers (which was supposed to be a stepping stone to a more digitally mediated image, and never actually seen) really suggestive— the dancers seem to be seeking out different temporary forms and they have a curious classical or religious quality or sometimes evoke a contemporary state of emergency. Or they just look like absurd ghosts. JBR: In the last hundred years, when people have talked about ghosts the one thing they don’t want to think about is how children consider ghosts, as figures covered in a white sheet, in a stupid tangible way. Ghosts—as traumatic memories—have become more serious and less playful. Ghosts mean dwelling on the unfinished business of the past, or apprehending some shard of history left unredeemed that now revisits us. Not only has no one been allowed to be a child with regard to ghosts, but also ghosts are not for materialists either. All the white sheets are banished. One of the things about Marx when he talks about phantoms—or at least phantasmagorias—is much closer to thinking about, well, pieces of linen and how you clothe someone, and what happens with a coat worked up out of once living, now dead labour that seems more animate than the human who wears it.  DP: Yes, I’ve been very interested in Marx’s phantasmagorias. I reprinted Keston Sutherland’s brilliant essay on how Marx uses the term ‘Gallerte’ or ‘gelatine’ to describe abstract labour for a recent show. Sutherland highlights a vitalism in Marx’s metaphysics that I’m very drawn to. For the last few years I’ve been working primarily with dancers and physical performers and trying to somehow make work about the weird fleshy world of objects and how they’re shot through with frozen labour. I love how he describes the ‘wooden brain’ of the table as commodity and how he describes it ‘dancing’—I always wanted to make an animatronic dancing table.  JBR: There is also a sort of joyfulness about that. The phantasmagoria isn’t just scary but childish. Of course you are haunted by commodities, of course they are terrifying, of course they are worked up out of the suffering and collective labour of a billion bodies working both in concert and yet alienated from each other. People’s worked up death is made into value, and they all have unfinished business. But commodities are also funny and they bumble around; you find them in your house and play with them.  DP: Well my last body of work was all about dancing and how fashion commodities are bound up with joy and memory, but this show has come out much bleaker. It’s about how bodies are searching out something else in a time of crisis. It’s ended up reflecting a sense of lack and longing and general feeling of anxiety in the air. That said I am always drawn to images that are quite bright, colourful and ‘pop’ and maybe a bit banal—everyday moments of dead time and secret gestures.  JBR: Yes, but they are not so banal. In dealing with tangible everyday things we are close to time and motion studies, but not just in terms of the stupid questions they ask of how people work efficiently. Rather this raises questions of what sort of material should be used so that something slips or doesn’t slip—or how things move with each other or against each other—what we end up doing with our bodies or what we end up putting on our bodies. Your view into this is very sympathetic: much art dealing in cut-up bodies appears more violent, whereas the ruins of your abstractions in the stylised triptych seem almost caring.  DP: Well I’m glad you say that. Although this show is quite dark I also have a bit of a problem with a strain of nihilist melancholy that pervades a lot of art at the moment. It gives off a sense of being subsumed by capitalism and modern technology and seeing no way out. I hope my work always has a certain tension or energy that points to another possible world. But I’m not interested in making academic statements with the work about theory or politics. I want it to gesture in a much more intuitive, rhythmic, formal way like music. I had always made music and a few years back started to realise that I needed to make video with the same sense of formal freedom. The big change in my practice was to move from making images using cinematic language to working with simultaneous registers of images on multiple screens that produce rhythmic or affective structures and can propose without text or language.  JBR: The presentation of these works relies on an intervention into the time of the video. If there is a haunting here its power appears in the doubled domain of repetition, which points both backwards towards a past that must be compulsively revisited, and forwards in convulsive anticipatory energy. The presentation of the show troubles cinematic time, in which not only is linear time replaced by cycles, but also new types of simultaneity within the cinematic reality can be established between loops of different velocities.  DP: Film theorists talk about the way ‘post-cinematic’ contemporary blockbusters are made from images knitted together out of a mixture of live action, green-screen work, and 3D animation. I’ve been thinking how my recent work tries to explode that—keep each element separate but simultaneous. So I use ‘live’ images, green-screened compositing and CGI across a show but never brought together into a naturalised image—sort of like a Brechtian approach to post-cinema. The show is somehow an exploded frame of a contemporary film with each layer somehow indicating different levels of lived abstractions, each abstraction peeling back the surface further.  JBR: This raises crucial questions of order, and the notion that abstraction is something that ‘comes after’ reality, or is applied to reality, rather than being primary to its production.  DP: Yes good point. I think that’s why I’m interested in multiple screens visible simultaneously. The linear time of conventional editing is always about unveiling whereas in the show everything is available at the same time on the same level to some extent. This kind of multi-screen, multi-layered approach to me is an attempt at contemporary ‘realism’ in our times of high abstraction. That said it’s strange to me that so many artworks and games using CGI these days end up echoing a kind of ‘naturalist’ realist pictorialism from the early 19th Century—because that’s what is given in the software engines and in the gaming-post-cinema complex they’re trying to reference. Everything is perfectly in perspective and figures and landscapes are designed to be at least pseudo ‘realistic’. I guess that’s why you hear people talking about the digital sublime or see art that explores the Romanticism of these ‘gaming’ images.  JBR: But the effort to make a naturalistic picture is—as it was in the 19th century—already not the same as realism. Realism should never just mean realistic representation, but instead the incursion of reality into the work. For the realists of the mid-19th century that meant a preoccupation with motivations and material forces. But today it is even more clear that any type of naturalism in the work can only serve to mask similar preoccupations, allowing work to screen itself off from reality.  DP: In terms of an anti-naturalism I’m also interested in the pictorial space of medieval painting that breaks the laws of perspective or post-war painting that hovered between figuration and abstraction. I recently returned to Francis Bacon who I was the first artist I was into when I was a teenage goth and who I’d written off as an adolescent obsession. But revisiting Bacon I realised that my work is highly influenced by him, and reflects the same desire to capture human energy in a concentrated, abstracted way. I want to use ‘cold’ digital abstraction to create a heightened sense of the physical but not in the same way as motion capture which always seems to smooth off and denature movement. So the graph-like image in the centre of the triptych (Les Fantômes) in this show twitches with the physicality of a human body in a very subtle but palpable way. It looks like CGI but isn’t and has this concentrated human life force rippling through it. 

If in this space and time of loops of the exploded unstill still, we find ourselves again stuck in this shuddering and juddering, I can’t help but ask what its gesture really is. How does the past it holds gesture towards the future? And what does this mean for our reality and interventions into it. JBR: The green-screen video is very cold. The ruined 3D version is very tender. DP: That's funny you say that. People always associate ‘dirty’ or ‘poor’ images with warmth and find my green-screen images very cold. But in the green-screened video these bodies are performing a very tender dance—searching out each other, trying to connect, but also trying to become objects, or having to constantly reconfigure themselves and never settling. JBR: And yet with this you have a certain conceit built into the drapes you use: one that is in a totally reflective drape, and one in a drape that is slightly too close to the colour of the greenscreen background. Even within these thin props there seems to be something like a psychological description or diagnosis. And as much as there is an attempt to conjoin two bodies in a mutual darkness, each seems thrown back by its own especially modern stigma. The two figures seem to portray the incompatibility of the two poles established by veiled forms of the world of commodities: one is hidden by a veil that only reflects back to the viewer, disappearing behind what can only be the viewer’s own narcissism and their gratification in themselves, which they have mistaken for interest in an object or a person, while the other clumsily shows itself at the very moment that it might want to seem camouflaged against a background that is already designed to disappear. It forces you to recognise the object or person that seems to want to become inconspicuous. And stashed in that incompatibility of how we find ourselves cloaked or clothed is a certain unhappiness. This is not a happy show. Or at least it is a gesturally unsettled and unsettling one. DP: I was consciously thinking of the theories of gesture that emerged during the crisis years of the early 20th century. The impact of the economic and political on bodies. And I wanted the work to reflect this sense of crisis. But a lot of the melancholy in the show is personal. It's been a hard year. But to be honest I’m not that aligned to those who feel that the current moment is the worst of all possible times. There’s a left/liberal hysteria about the current moment (perhaps the same hysteria that is fuelling the rise of right-wing populist ideas) that somehow nothing could be worse than now, that everything is simply terrible. But I feel that this moment is a moment of contestation, which is tough but at least means having arguments about the way the world should be, which seems better than the strange technocratic slumber of the past 25 years. Austerity has been horrifying and I realise that I’ve been relatively shielded from its effects, but the sight of the post-political elites being ejected from the stage of history is hopeful to me, and people seem to forget that the feeling of the rise of the right has been also met with a much broader audience for the left or more left-wing ideas than have been previously allowed to impact public discussion. That said, I do think we’re experiencing the dog-end of a long-term economic decline and this sense of emptying out is producing phantasms and horrors and creating a sense of palpable dread. I started to feel that the images I was making for ‘The Searchers’ engaged with this. David Panos (b. 1971 in Athens, Greece) lives and works in London, UK. A selection of solo and group exhibitions include Pumphouse Gallery, Wandsworth, London, 2017 (solo); Sculpture on Screen. The Very Impress of the Object, Gulbenkian Museum, Lisbon, Portugal [Kirschner & Panos], 2017; Nemocentric, Charim Galerie, Vienna, 2016; Atlas [De Las Ruinas] De Europa, Centro Centro, Madrid, 2016; The Dark Pool, Albert Baronian, Brussels, (solo), 2015; The Dark Pool, Galeria Marta Cervera, Madrid, 2015; Whose Subject Am I?, Kunstverein Fur Die Rheinlande Und Westfalen, Düsseldorf, 2015; The Dark Pool, Hollybush Gardens, London, (solo), 2014; A Machine Needs Instructions as a Garden Needs Discipline, MARCO Vigo, 2014; Ultimate Substance, B3 Biennale des bewegten Blides, Nassauischer Kunstverein, Wiesbaden, (Kirschner & Panos solo), 2013; Ultimate Substance, CentrePasquArt, Biel, (Kirschner & Panos solo), 2013; Ultimate Substance, Extra City, Antwerp, (Kirschner & Panos solo), 2013; The Magic of the State, Lisson Gallery, London, 2013; HELL AS, Palais de Tokyo, Paris, 2013.

[thebeautifulzoo]

THE BEAUTIFUL ZOO X STEPHEN WALKER

Stephen Walker follows up with his earlier collections with a new summer release themed Young & Beautiful. We caught up with him to discuss about the inspiration behind the designs, process of working on the new collection and his idea of what makes someone or something beautiful. Read about it.

1. What’s the inspiration behind the new collection?

The main motivation to this project is growth and changes. Being young and beautiful, being energetic and agile and having so much life ahead of you. The beauty of having so much experiences, going through the motions of life, coming to terms with the fact that we’re not going to be young forever although we’ll be young forever. Also, this is about my life, every project I put out is a representation of what goes on in my life.

2. What was the process of creating and the experience of working on the new collection?

Basically, I’ve been working on this collection since childbirth, and its true because the new collection is based upon all the experiences I’ve gone through ever since all up unto this point. I like to work on a new project because, it all starts with rough ideas and the prospect of where things could lead to excites me. This is the fastest collection I’ve put together concept-wise, although I couldn’t pass on all the ideas I had for the project due to time constraints, so it’s kind of incomplete. But at the end, everything still came together.

3. Your Instagram stories showed only guys during the photography session of the new collection branding. Is this a male-exclusive collection? If yes, why’s that?

As we got to the tail-end of working on this project, things had to be rushed up because like I earlier said, there were time constraints. We had planned for guys and girls to be available during the photo session but there were really major fuck-ups with the scheduling and venue of the shoot. Also, there was a very heavy rainfall that day of the photo shoot and we had to move fast. All Walkr collections are unisex and so, there will be a session for the girls later. This collection isn’t male-exclusive, it’s for guys, girls, aliens, it’s for everybody, its’s for the youth. Big ups to Shola, Nehro, Ozi, Divine, OZ, Teddy and DeeTee for coming through.

4. You clearly have a tight closeness with all the people you’ve worked with on this project, from the models to the photographer and the rest. How important was it for you to have only people you have a substantial relationship with working on the collection with you?

Yeah, yeah, it’s so essential to me to have people I know personally working with me. There are two kinds of people I can work with generally; people I already know and people who are really talented and very good at what they do. I’ll still prefer to work with my guys though because everyone gets on together while working, there’s flexibility and the vibes are right. Also, I feel like the Walkr brand is a platform or medium to put my people on, to get recognition at what they do. I’d rather not work with people I don’t know because guys be moving mad, people get really proud and we don’t want all that negativity coming into the work environment.

5. Beauty, philosophically, since the beginning of time, has been known to be a very subjective phenomenon. What makes a person or something beautiful to you?

To me, there are different kinds of beauty; you can be physically beautiful, that’s on the outside and then you can have a beautiful heart, soul and spirit, on the inside. Sometimes, it’s possible to be beautiful in both ways but it mostly goes one way. You might have someone who’s not that aesthetically pleasing to the eyes but being around them just feels so amazing, and then when this happens the individual starts to look good in your eyes.

6. As you’ve made it very clear with the new collection; growth is inevitable and reoccurring. How would you rate your growth as a brand, in aesthetics, in ideas and in the creative process, from your former design projects to this new collection?

Over the past times, I’ve really grown as a designer due to the experiences and challenges I’ve been through. When we started the Walkr brand, me and my team, we only knew enough things that could get us the initial buzz, but we’ve gained and applied more knowledge in our projects, although our value of quality has remained all through because that’s something we pride ourselves in.

7. Nowadays as we’ve seen, it seems very easy to copy directly, intentionally or unintentionally, someone else’s concepts for one’s project. How do you make sure your ideas remain original, even if inspired by others?

It’s simple, my ideas and concepts, like I earlier stated, are based on my life experiences so it’s really not inspired by other people. Although, there’s nothing new under the sun, we might have gone through the same situations but we surely have handled these situations differently. So when I’m trying to tell a story through my designs or collections, the point of view I take cannot be the same with another person’s. This is what makes our concepts and ideas original and unique and innovative.

8. If everything goes well, you’ll be having your first pop-up show from the brand for this new collection. What can people expect from the experience?

First of all, people have been contacting me, inquiring about different things about this pop-up and it’s so crazy because we initially didn’t plan anything big. I’ll be plotting with my team to see what we can do to make this a pleasant reminiscence for the people, so just come through, buy some clothes and let’s just have fun. It’s all just a cruise.

9. In the future, are there any plans of collaborative projects from the Walkr brand?

We’ve had a number of proposals from different individuals and brands but like I keep telling people, we’re still trying to take things a little bit slow. We want the Walkr brand to grow more to a certain level and status so that when a collab project finally comes through, it’ll be really impactful to the people, you know like that collab between Wizkid and Davido we’re all waiting on. We’re working on a collective project slated for August, me and Shola, it’s kind of like an internal collaboration, most people will not understand it now but when everything comes to fruition we’d surely fuck things up.

10. What do you hope to achieve with the success of this new release?

I’m really expecting the brand as a whole to grow unto certain higher levels than it is presently with this new release. I expect the value of the brand to shoot up 100 percent. I want more awareness for the brand. I want more customers and a bigger ever-growing fan base. I want my team and I to benefit greatly from this, you know, so that we can handle our businesses better, take care of our families. I want the world to really see what we’re doing in trying to shape the state of urban fashion in Nigeria and in Africa.

[miss-musings]

In Defense of TLJ’s Finn/Rose Subplot (SPOILERS)

I’ve seen a lot of criticism about the film as a whole, but of the Finn/Rose subplot specifically.

Now, I have some legitimate problems with the subplot; I’m not saying it was 100% flawless and amazing and completely necessary. There are definitely parts of it that should’ve been deleted, extended or changed.

For instance, I thought the whole “animal abuse” angle was a little heavy-handed; and the sequence where they trashed the whole town could’ve been about a minute or two shorter; and some of the dialogue and shots of BB-8 could’ve been cut down; and how the casino felt a little to “Earth” or “real-to-life” and not alien or foreign or fantastical enough to feel like a Star Wars planet; and how the culmination of the subplot -- ie, Rose (presumably) falling in love with Finn -- was a shot where Rose saves Finn from sacrificing himself for the Resistance, and then when their friends are endangered because she stopped him... as the First Order is literally blowing up their hideout... she takes that opportunity to kiss him. And then collapses. Like, I got the point, and I liked her line about “saving what we love,” but it just felt a little disjointed tone-wise.

HOWEVER.

I felt like this subplot had a lot of positives and gave us a look at some topics/themes/perspectives that I felt like we needed at this point in the trilogy/franchise.

An example: so, in the first movie, the First Order are evil. They raid the village on Jakku, killing everyone. They raid Maz’s place on Takodana, killing a lot of people and causing massive destruction. They blow up several planets. Etc.

But, in this movie, we see the wider ranging impact’s of the First Order’s regime on the galaxy’s population at large. Rose tells us about how her home planet was exploited by the First Order for its resources, and then the regime tested the weapons on its people. On Canto Bight, we see how wealthy some have become because they sell supplies to the First Order (and the Resistance), and the grim and abusive reality that exists behind this facade of extravagance and wealth (ie, the animals and kids who work with them are both maltreated).

I think it’s also important to remind the audience, that while we follow the main plot of the Resistance vs. the First Order, Jedi vs. Sith, etc., like 95% of the people in this galaxy are just carrying on with their daily lives. They’re not pilots or Stormtroopers or Force-wielders or whatever. They’re just everyday people.

Well, somewhat.

This was something that made the Clone Wars series so strong, was that we got to see how people outside of the War itself were living. How it impacted their lives. And it’s another thing that I think makes this sideplot somewhat successful.

It also showed us that the desire to rebel against the corrupt and abusive establishment/status quo is alive and well in the hearts of young children; that like our heroes of all three trilogies, they have the desire to change their lives/destinies... that they have hopes of better lives. Of adventure. Of heroism. Of peace. Of happiness. Just as Luke did when he looked at the Twin Suns in “A New Hope.” That sequence showed us that Holdo was right. Even if their allies didn’t come to save them today (in TLJ), the hopes of the Resistance are alive and well in the hearts of the downtrodden, like the little kids on Canto Bight.

NOW.

The biggest criticism I’ve seen of the subplot is that it was pointless. That it didn’t accomplish anything. That Finn and Rose went all that way, got captured, and then lucked their way into an escape. That they didn’t do what they set out to do, which was turn off the tracking device so the Resistance could escape the First Order. That their plan failed.

But, the defense I have for that is:

Since when did anything in Star Wars go according to plan?

Especially in the original trilogy.

Episode 4: Luke and Obi-Wan try to get the droids to Alderaan, but it’s destroyed and they get captured. And then, while they DO rescue Princess Leia and get away from the Death Star, Luke loses Obi-Wan in the process and then they lead the Empire right to the base on Yavin 4. Great job, you guys. I guess the trench run and blowing up the Death Star went according to plan, but that seems to be more of an exception than the rule. And, plus, you know, had to end the movie on a happy note.

Episode 5: The evacuation of Hoth is somewhat successful. But, Han & Co.’s attempts to escape the Imperial Fleet don’t go so well. They get tracked by Boba Fett to Cloud City, Han’s “friend” Lando betrays them, and then when they try to save Han from Boba Fett, they fail. That whole side plot was nothing but failure. The heroes got captured. Han got tortured, frozen in carbonite and taken. Vader was successful in luring Luke into a trap. Luke got his hand cut off, and his friends had to come back and save him. And Vader would’ve caught them if R2 hadn’t reactivated the hyperdrive.

Episode 6: The infamous “It’s a Trap” line exists for a reason. The Empire essentially lures the Rebels into attacking the Death Star / Endor. When Han & Co. try to take down the shield generator, they’re caught. Lando & Co. get drawn into a gigantic space battle they weren’t anticipating. Yes, it all works out in the end, but that’s because this is the ending and the good guys HAVE to win, because that’s how Star Wars works.

A quick look at the prequel trilogy:

Episode 1: The Jedi’s plan to negotiate fails when the Trade Federation tries to kill them; their plan to escape Naboo partially fails because they have to stop off at Tattooine for parts where they get attacked by Darth Maul. The re-taking of Naboo is mostly successful: the Trade Federation is defeated; the droids stopped; and Darth Maul killed. However, Qui-Gon dies in the fight.

Episode 2: Obi-Wan was somewhat successful in finding out about Jango Fett and Count Dooku, but then ultimately got captured. And then when his rescuers, Padme and Anakin, came to save him they got captured too! And then, while our heroes were ultimately rescued, a they did ultimately kick off A WAR THAT ENCOMPASSED THE ENTIRE FUCKING GALAXY!!! Let’s not forget that.

Episode 3: Obi-Wan and Anakin’s plan to rescue the Chancellor was like a 95% success. There were some minor hiccups, and General Grievous got away, but the Chancellor was saved and Count Dooku was defeated. Then Obi-Wan’s plan to defeat General Grievous is a success. But then his and Yoda’s plans to defeat Anakin and the Emperor, respectively, don’t go as they’d hoped. Obi-Wan DOES defeat Anakin, but leaves him alive; and Padme dies giving birth; meanwhile Yoda fails to defeat the Emperor and the Republic is lost amid the First Galactic Empire.

And then in our new trilogy:

Episode 7: Poe’s plan to get the map from Lor San Tekka goes awry when they’re attacked, everyone’s killed, except Poe who’s captured and has to hide the plans with BB-8. Finn’s plan to escape with Poe is also a partial failure, as they get stranded on Jakku and he’s separated from Poe and believes him to be dead. They successfully get BB-8 off planet and away from the First Order, but then get “captured” by Han and Chewie. Han’s plan to convince the gangs to leave doesn’t work, and they barely escape on the Falcon. The plan to get BB-8 on a “clean ship” at Maz’s also goes badly when the First Order attacks and Rey is kidnapped and the others almost captured. The overall plan to blow up Starkiller and rescue Rey is successful, because this is a Star Wars movie and we need a happy-ish ending in our first part of the trilogy to get people invested in the heroes, but we do lose Han.

Then, with our one spinoff movie:

Rogue One: Jyn and Cassian are successful in finding Bodhi and Galen’s message on how to destroy the Death Star, but there are hiccups in HOW they do it. They get caught in a street battle. They get spotted and almost captured by the Stormtroopers. Then they actually get captured by Saw’s people. Their plan to kill/rescue Galen pretty much fails, as Galen is killed by Rebel bombs when Jyn was hoping to save him, but then Cassian fails to shoot him when he has the chance. And, of course, the big finale is ultimately a success, but at a large price and with several hiccups. Rather than getting in and out by stealth (which I assume was the plan for at least Jyn, Cassian and K2SO) the whole Rogue One team is spotted and a large battle ensues on all sides. EVERYONE ON THE TEAM DIES! Major Rebel leaders are captured/killed. While the goal of the mission was accomplished, it didn’t go ACCORDING TO PLAN.

As I said: plans in Star Wars, especially those concocted by the heroes against a larger force, rarely go as planned.

I don’t see why people are shocked that Finn and Rose were unsuccessful in their mission considering:

1) They failed to find the right the Master Codebreaker considering that they made ZERO effort to be inconspicuous or stealthy while on Canto Bight. They parked right on the beach, despite being told not to, which should’ve told them that the police were going to be called to sic them eventually. And, as we see during their ride later there were plenty of out-of-the-way places where their shuttle wouldn’t have been spotted. They also made no effort to blend in with either their attitudes or their clothes and looked like a bunch of weirdos that I’m surprised weren’t thrown out of the casino for breaking dress code. Like, it should’ve been clear to the audience that these two -- while they might’ve “known” what they were doing -- did not have the capabilities to execute their plans successfully. They were set up for failure. They weren’t necessarily the right people for the job. Or should’ve had other, more or equally capable people on their team, like someone who is good at infiltration / smooth-talking people into helping them.

2) Finn’s knowledge of the First Order’s protocol was enough to be legit, but should’ve thrown up some red flags for us, the audience. It’s been at least a few days, possibly a week or two, since the Starkiller Base was destroyed. I mean, we have no idea how long it was from when Rey brought Finn back to the Resistance Base to when Rey left to find Luke. I’m guessing not more than like a day, considering she’d never even fucking met Poe. And considering that the Rey/Luke stuff if about simultaneous to the Resistance evacuation thing, it can’t have been more than two weeks from when Starkiller Base was destroyed, IMO. So, in those two weeks, or probably less, the First Order has to know (from Phasma, if no one else), that Finn helped the Resistance infiltrate the Starkiller Base. They know that a traitor is working for their enemy and their systems are vulnerable. Surely, they would’ve changed some protocols, security procedures, code clearances, or whatever between Finn’s defection and the Resistance’s evacuation. If not on purpose, then at least by chance. How does Finn know the First Order hasn’t upgraded its coding system since he was with them? Especially given that it’s Snoke’s ship, so you know it’d be upgraded first and/or have a higher security setting than your regular ship.

3) It was clear from the offset that DJ (Benicio del Toro’s character) was interested in helping them only because it suited him at the time. He was very much out for himself, had a questionable moral compass (like stealing the ship on Canto Bight), and was ultimately only interested in the money. Why some people were so shocked or felt so let down when he betrayed them is baffling to me. Maybe if you’re like a 5 year-old. Also, if you rewatch the movie, you’ll notice there’s a little look that DJ gives whenever he hears Poe talking about Holdo’s plan to use the transports to escape. Like a little “Huh, that might come in handy later” look.

4) The entire point of the sequence was to show that the reality behind the war is a lot more “gray” than it is “black” and “white.” As DJ shows Finn and us, there are people who don’t have any allegiance and have no problem selling arms to both sides. There are people whose lives have been negatively impacted by the First Order, or the Resistance, or both. That’s a point that Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series does very well of hitting: that the grander wars tear apart the lives of the “small folk,” who ultimately don’t care who wins or loses so long as their lives are peaceful and secure. Remember that Palpitine rose to power as Emperor on the idea that he could bring PEACE AND SECURITY to the Republic as an Empire, because the Republic had failed and the Jedi had failed, and he was the only one who could help the “small folk” attain the lives they wanted. Or whatever. Sorry, for the digression.

5) There were clear hints throughout the infiltration sequence that Finn and Rose were going to get caught. Like DJ’s “betrayal,” I don’t get why people were so shocked by this.

NOW.

All that being said, I do agree that the overall effect on the story was missing. Finn and Rose, at the end of the day, accomplished nothing either as people or as a story element. Yes, narratively, it helped world-build and gave us some good thematic material (grayness in a world built on “black” and “white,” light and dark, etc.). But, they didn’t DO anything, even as they were escaping. I guess Finn killed Phasma, but that’s about it. Holdo tearing through the Supremacy could’ve killed Phasma and it wouldn’t have made much difference. We didn’t see Finn maybe planting seeds of rebellion/resistance in the minds of his fellow Stormtroopers. We didn’t see them steal any like piece of equipment like a Master Key or some kind of important file that might’ve come in handy later in this movie or in the next one. So, in that sense, yes, the sideplot was weak and pointless.

At the end of the movie, all it did was bring Finn and Rose closer together.

But, then again, you could say the same thing about the Han and Leia sideplot in Episode 5. What difference would there have been plot-wise if Han and Leia had been captured right after leaving Hoth than later on Cloud City? Han probably still would’ve been tortured and then taken by Boba Fett. Luke still would’ve been lured into a trap. Leia & Co. probably would’ve still failed to save Han, etc. In a way, you could argue that THAT whole sideplot was filler only to:

buy time for Luke to train with Yoda so he could stand something of a chance against Vader in the Cloud City duel

do some world-building (asteroid field, giant worm thing, Cloud City, bounty hunters, Lando, etc.)

bring Han and Leia closer together as part of a romance subplot

show us their desperate flight to escape the Empire, only to seemingly succeed and then ultimately fail by getting captured.

Hey, wait a minute.... isn’t that exactly what this subplot did, too?

It was filler (as was the Resistance’s arbitrary 18-hours of fuel limitations or whatever) to buy time while Rey was off training with Luke / having Force-bond sessions with Kylo Ren.

It did some world-building (Canto Bight, master code breakers, kids who are Rebels at heart, animals and humans who can’t live in peace because of the war, etc.).

It brought Finn and Rose closer together as part of a possible romance subplot.

It showed us their desperate plight to save their friends only to almost succeed and then ultimately fail by getting captured.

Congratulations, everyone, you just watched Rian Johnson subtly rewrite The Empire Strikes Back and give it to you in the guise of a new storyline.

THIS is probably the REAL reason everyone hates the subplot, even if they don’t consciously realize it. In the same way everyone seemingly hates on TFA for being too much like A New Hope, this movie was tonally and sometimes plotwise too much like The Empire Strikes Back.

And while some of that is appropriate and expected, we the audience have a right to be angry when movie franchises repeat themselves too much to the point of being uncreative.

Anyway, I’ve rambled about this enough. I just wanted to defend the subplot because, while it has problems, I think it has merit to the overall darker and more desperate tone of the movie, the world-building both on a physical and a thematic level (the grayness), and allowed for some nice (but cheesy) character moments.

SO.

TL;DR : Does it have problems? Yes. Is it too similar to The Empire Strikes Back’s subplot when you really thing about it? Yes.

But does that mean it’s total garbage? No. Or even if it is:

(Side note: after writing all of this out, I stumbled onto this article that touches on the same topic, and one of the same things that I brought up, but in a little more detail. Read if you want. I don’t care.)

[kristianhrabkolma32]

Rehearsal process

Opening Scene

- Veronica moves from left to right, opening the reading from her diary.

Beautifu, the name of the opening song introduces 'Baxter hill high' which is the school where majority of scenes take place. Veronica is still reading from her diary which reveals rest of the cast throughout the whole song.

At the very start of this song my mind always tells to count, counting beats in time and rhythm of a song is very fundamental skill to have in any practitioner repertoire.

My role at this point is a moody teenager, who always wanted to be with the popular kids but secretly hated them which lead him to express wearing dark clothes and really going into emo culture yet he's still a geek at heart.

Going into a bit more technical side of this, ensemble has 3x8 to un-freeze from each of their position. So the song consists of beats knowing the mean of beats is commonly used amongst musicians, musical theatre performers or just performers overall.

On the second count of 8s in the music, curtain is lifting and allows me to be ready in time so my professionalism is shown right from the start. There are 3x8 counts leading into 4th where ensemble joins in on the first count of 8 count sequences. Progressing each 8th count into the song the ensemble starts on different count for three times.

For exanple:

FREAK!SLUT! BUNOUT! BOGEYE! - we start on the first count of 8.

Moving into next section,

FREAK! SLUT! LUSER! SHORTBUS! - this time ensemble starts on the second count, which leads to third change and this time it begins on third count.

Knowing how to count enables me to be on time in my place positioned, which shows commitment to knowing & understanding my material.

This link contains footage of our rehearsal process , I wasn't able to insert actual video here so I'm taking a different approach. In the first 18 seconds of the video, you can see techniques of progressive counting as previously mentioned in the sections above.

As Veronica takes us through the song she reveals the rest of the cast thus showing her emotions and setting the scene which is reflected in the technical aspects in choreography. The choreography is strategically placed along with music to create what the director envisioned . Near the midway of Beautiful Heathers are being introduced, there is change in music to more minor, this is an expression used to describe mood of songs or melodies. As Heather's enter through the archway created by us the non-populars , this is a strategically placed choreographed exert to showcase class diversity within the school society.

This footage is only to support my analysis and to help demonstrate points mentioned above, it is not our final rehearsal footage therefore it serves as a teaching tool.

Dramaclasses (2020) "Verfremdungseffekt, or the ‘estrangement effect,’ was used to distance the audience from the play and is sometimes called the alienation effect. Brecht did not want the audience to have any emotional attachment to his characters, so he did various things to break it."

Thus confirming that Bertol Brecht technique uses several techniques to alienate audience, however it can be used in different situations such as in this instance. 

Following, the music comes off into a scene that takes place two weeks late, it is stated by Veronica as a clue for audience. Brecht technique is used to tell the audience there is time change or that something has changed.  Brecht technique consists of literally tell the audience actors mood, intentions or it can be simple character change , this is shown through either literal representation of the change or simply writing the representation and displaying it.

Candy Store

Leading into 'Candy Store' , the scene is showing use of power within school society by Heather's. They are telling Veronica that it is their "job" to keep losers like 'Martha Dumstock' in their place. Martha is Veronica's best friend,  although she thought. Veronica gets blinded by the limelight as she enters the world of Heathers, the Heathers want to invite Martha to Rams party as a joke but Veronica quickly realizes what is about to happen and try to stop them. This is when Heather starts Candy Store with the infamous " are we gonna have a problem…." line to tell Veronica you're either with us or against us. 

At this point ensemble wise I'm in the scene witnessing how this unfolds, obviously feeling scared by Heathers, I'm showing this through my timid positions and acting style as they burst through the crowd of students. 

I'm not singing in this scene as our director want to show female empowerment thus giving this song stronger meaning using the lyrics in quite literal sense as Heather C. Talks about school being her candy store. The viewer can see this as a very sexual innuendo situations as we are in school environment and these are three young adolescents students in mini skirts talking about how they 'own' everyone.  

Here is a footage of our Candy Store rehearsal, this is only to demonstrate and support points made above. This footage is not a final piece it is only a rehearsal at its beginning stage.

For our final show I thought it would improve my performance, stamina and focus if I make a timetable to be in that mindset constantly.

Here's an example of my timetable:

I've tried my best to keep in sync with it , from our last performance I understood that it is vital for an musical theatre practitioner to have some type of regime even if they are not performing.

This gave me some room for improvement and allowed me to see how simple regimes can implement massive changes in a short time.

This semester I have improved on my overall stamina/ strength which I'm more than pleased with , however it gave me more than that. I am able to understand and apply my skills where are needed.

Fight for Me

Moving forward we have another school scene just after Candy Store, this time we are in groups that we stay with for the majority of time. We are watching how things will unveil with Veronica's new status as she meets Jason Dean or J.D. for short.

We're in semi-circle of students now, watching a fight with J.D., Ram And Kurt who are other characters known as Jocks.

Going into three different positions at the beginning of this song called 'Fight For Me/Holly Shit', just like previous we have 3x8s of call and response from the female/male ensemble leading into 4th eight where we freeze frame as Veronica confesses her interest in J.D. as he fights those two Jocks, she finds this very arousing. Our role is to be interactive students just like in a normal school environment when you see fights. This highlights the overall relationship within society and how it molds pupils into bigots from a young age.

Kurt: " Hey, sweetheart. What did your boyfriend say when you told him you were moving to Sherwood, Ohio?"

Ram: "My buddy asked you a question."

Kurt: "Hey Ram, doesn't this cafeteria have a 'no fags allowed' rules?"

J.D. : "They're seem to have an open-door policy for assholes though. "

Kurt: "Hold his arms".

As its shown above in the exert from our script on the page 33, this leads into the begging of Fight for Me. J.D. gets into an alteration, this insinuate the societal mindset structure how pupils are raised up in this environment which they bring into their adulthood thus continue the cycle of abuse.

In Big Fun we have a scene with Ram and Kurt, following rest of the students arriving at Rams party.

The scene revolves around Heathers, Veronica, Jocks and Martha's relationship, it is shown throughout in a party environment of underage drinking takes place. As an ensemble member I'm one of the guests at this party having good time, nothing unusual for a teenager that age he's no stranger to alcohol or even pretends that they don't know what they're doing.

In the next footage you're about to see there is proof of rehearsal progress, from the instructions given by tutor I now know that at the time I was incorrect in the technical intention of the movement.

For example: in the footage you can see my counts and movement itself are correct however the speed of my delivery isn't. We have been given 3x8 of step,step,step drag behind, drag behind, drag behind. It is put in as a dynamic change to show off that we are affected by alcohol or whatever substances these teenagers consume.

You can see this from 2:20 minutes into the video, notice me in my green cap and buckle belt as I do those steps accurately yet incorrect.

I was able to correct this once I understood the intention behind this movement and what it was representing.

Which brings us to Blue , this is the last scene that I was a part of before this world wide pandemic occurred.

There is a scene leading into this song , including Heathers and Veronica as she is called into the woods for help yet instead is misled and offered up for a daterape.

This I a kind of thing people do to one another on daily basis, 'rather you than me' type of situation.

The song itself talks about teenage boys testosterone levels rising out of control, (this is the nicest way I can put it) boys from early teen hood develop testosterone levels high enough so they are ready to mate. In this instance it is forced upon Veronica by Heathers, knowing that parental views and opinions impact their children and how they treat on another, proves why Ram and Kurt thinks it is okay to treat women with such disrespect. Maccoby (2020) states, "There is clear evidence that parents can and do influence children."

You can see this throughout the footage , it is solely focused on how the boy needs help and would do anything for you once you help them.

[jadewritings]

Blinded By Secrets [Two]

Author’s Note ~ You guys are in for a treat! We’ve been working hard on this! I hope you guys enjoy!

Pairing ~ Dean x Reader

Word Count ~ 1,786

Warnings ~ Language, Angst, Blood and Gore, TOP SECRET INFORMATION

Prologue [x]  Part 1 [x]  Part 3 [x]  Part 4 [x] Finale [x]

DEAN’S POV

Dean had a job to do.

He understood his purpose. Knew that he was a tool used to accomplish a directive and that it was not his place to question those assignments. Already, he had lingered too long in the shadows.

Breathing in the fragrant night time air, cool from a recent rain. Damp concrete and the tang of metal, and, faintly, the fresh green of grass and earth. The night sparkled with city lights, brilliantly beautiful in the darkness and the wind soft as satin sliding against his skin. Raking through his hair.

He enjoyed the illusion of freedom, even as he acknowledged that it was unreal. They ruled him. Commanded his every action and thought and desire. But he could still appreciate the breeze and the prettiness of lights glinting in the distance.

Dean turned his attention to the figure moving below. He felt in his most secret corner of his own mind, the little bit that was still purely his own, that he missed something. Or, rather, that he might have been missing someone. A face danced just out of reach. A voice in his ear, he could almost … almost … hear.

Silent as a ghost, Dean dropped from the room. Gravity’s brutal clutch pulling him quickly down toward the earth. Dean landed softly, his boots and joins effortlessly absorbing the force of impact.

He watched his target moving obliviously closer. Dean drew back, trusting in the deep shadows between buildings to hide his presence. Step-step-step. The man he’d been sent to terminate swept past his hiding place without even a glance. No evidence he was aware of death come for him.

Dean struck, fast as a crack of lightning. Brutally efficient, he brought his fist down on the back of the man’s neck dislodging the vertebrae. His spine disconnected from his brain, a network of nerves tearing with the impact. His target dropped without a sound to show he was dead. The man would never have known what hit him.

Excitement without cause flickered through Dean’s taught body. He did not enjoy the killing, just as he did not once think to disobey his directive. He did it because he must. And yet it was as if a foreign power coursed through his blood, thrilling and hot. His fingers began to itch.

Startled by this wholly unfamiliar sensation, Dean lifted his hands up to his face to see the crackle and snap of lighting dancing between his fingers. Purple and the brightest white-blue he had ever seen. It was his power. That boiling energy he felt inside his body; always there. Reassuring him when it was dark and he was alone.

His target now dead, Dean would do as he was ordered and return to the laboratory. He hated this part the most. He knew what would happen from here; they would set him in a chair and affix electrical nods to his face.

Pulses would be sent directly into his brain, returning information to his handler’s computers. They would monitor what he saw, what he knew and what he was thinking. They needed to make sure he remembered nothing of his past.

They had erased him. All of him. And they needed to be sure he remained that way. If he ever showed that memory was returning to him, his mind healing from the trauma of what they’d done - more tests would be conducted. They would find what parts of him had begun to fall back into place and design new formulas to make sure that did not happen again. It was taking its toll on his body.

He had no choice. Dread wound its way through his subconscious but there was nothing else he could do. Dean turned away from the bright lights of the nameless city and returned to the indifferent darkness. He returned to the laboratory - his prison - to report to his handlers.

Mission accomplished.

The lab smelled of antiseptic and industrial strength floor cleaner. Dean, still dressed in the black wool sweater and denim they’d given him for his mission was dark as an inkblot under the harsh white fluorescence.

His handlers escorted him to the sterile white room where they kept him when inactive. Dean noticed a certain room while they escorted him. Something about it immediately drew him in.

A girl, somehow familiar, lay unconscious in it. Why was she so familiar? He only got a sneak peek before the handlers were pushing him forward.

The room was the place where he waited for a new assignment, out of the way but easily accessible for tests and observation. Once there, he changed out of his black clothing into green patient scrubs.

They then lead him to a chair where they would inscribe his new mission into his cerebral cortex, the part of the brain that controls information processing.

After being released from the machine, the metallic white door opened with a slow creak. Dean looked forward, a girl in a leather wheelchair, pushed by a different handler, came in. She made no move to identify herself, all she did was sit there, her Y/H/C hair covering her sweat slickened face. She was of no importance to Dean.

The girl groaned and slowly lifted her head. Dean’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest. His pupils dilated fully. He knew this girl, but it wasn’t clear. His memories were fighting with each other.

“Dean? I-Is that you?” she spoke quietly, her voice hoarse. Those Y/E/C eyes stared at him, filled with so much love and relief. There was so much intensity behind them.

Dean didn’t respond. He didn’t know what was happening but it was important to keep his expression impassive.

They could not know he was experiencing curiosity. There was an internal conflict coursing through him. His body wanted to move to her, to comfort her, but his mind was telling him he could not.

For her sake, as well as his own, Dean could not show even a flicker of emotion.

They had her. They had Y/N and now he had to be colder, deader than ever before … he could not show that he cared.

SAM’S POV

“What if we don’t find her, Cas? What if we can’t find either of them?”

Castiel gave no indication that it mattered to him either way, his face stoic but Sam knew better. His hands on the steering wheel of their car, skin stretched tightly over his knuckles from how firmly he held on. He cared.

“We’re going to find them,” he said, quietly.

Sam glanced at the other man. “That’s a good thing to say, but what if we don’t?”

A beat of silence. Tension heavy in the cramped and hot car interior. Sweat trickled down the back of Sam’s neck. Cas, of course, looked cool and perfectly comfortable in the driver’s seat.

Finally, “Do or do not. There is no try.”

Sam snorted, too surprised Cas just tossed out that line to even manage a real laugh. “Are you quoting Yoda at me?”

Cas smiled, finally, some of the tension relieved from a situation that was hardly something to smile for.  “Yes.”

Sam had nothing to say to that. He turned his face, resting his forehead on the searing hot glass of his passenger side window. Outside, the desert stretched on and on. Golden and brown. This wasn’t the Sahara.

The sand here was rough and coarse, broken by the tangled remains of dead grasses and shrubs. Low trees with thorny branches. A stark blue sky that was like a pane of glass overhead. Flat and hard. Unbroken by clouds, magnifying the searing white radiance of the sun.

They were in the Nevada desert, heading southeast. Castiel had taken over the wheel when Sam could no longer keep his eyes open, driving endlessly south from Washington state. They’d arrived in record time. Castiel tireless and driven. Not once did he show any sign of being tired. Or need to take a break.

It made Sam wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wanted to find and rescue Dean and Y/N just as much as he did.

After hours of driving in the scorching sun, Cas pulled up to a gas station for a quick break. Sam hopped out of the car, walking to the store, for some snacks. It was a small station, the walls wooden, old and a bit dusty, but still up and running.

Passing each aisle, he snagged a few bags of potato chips and spicy Doritos. Now, searching for something to wash it down, he went to the back of the store for drinks. What better way to wash chips down than with some good ole’ fashioned chocolate milk. It was somewhat healthy, at least. Sugary but still milk.

With his arms full of snacks, he walked up to the counter to face an elderly man. His weathered face showed no emotion like he was so done with the world he couldn’t be bothered to look up as he read his newspaper.

Sam only smiled and placed his things down, picking his wallet from his back pocket. The man lazily swiped his items and told him his total.

As Sam handed the man the money, he noticed a poster hanging on the wall behind him. “Excuse me, sir, may I ask what that is?” he asked, pointing to it.

The old man didn’t even turn his head. “Area 51, son. The most secret place in the country.”

“Is it,” Sam asked musingly. “How come?”

“Why that’s where they took them aliens that crashed in Roswell,” he said like this was something Sam should already have known. “Got soldiers patrolin’ the outside. They shoot any’one who comes close. They got secrets down there, they do.”

“So it’s like a prison,” Sam mused. “Keeping people out, keeping people from looking too closely. But it would be easy  to keep things in, too.”

The only man had no idea what Sam was going on about, but Sam didn’t care. His mind was going a mile-a-minute, churning over a sudden realization. If there was any place to hold a “dead” soldier and his abducted wife who dared to not believe the news of her husband’s passing … it would be there. At a secret military base in the middle of the desert.

“Thank you!” Sam knew where they were now, so they could save them. He rushed out to find Cas waiting for him in the car. He opened the door, set down the snacks, and began telling Cas what he’d learned. Cas grimaced at the information, but nonetheless, began driving.

[ahensaanmyr]

Buried Part 1

It was a rare sunny day in the gray country, the dripping roofs of sharp angled homes and puddles between flagstones shooting rainbows as the bright daylight shined down and illuminated lands that rarely got it, drying out the pits that never once been dry. The people of Gilneas City were out in force as well, soaking in every drip of the blazing sun that shined, wearing barely anything more than shirts, trousers, and loose dresses. The market was abuzz with activity, chaotic and frenzied as people made and lost cash they had been saving, ironically enough, for a rainy day. Mages peddled fresh ice cream for the summer heat, barkeeps sold fresh cold beer from their cellars, but none were more profitable than the clothiers who had seen this day coming and sold a number of widebrimmed caps and parasols, the typical drab blacks and grays replaced with solid whites.

However, less profitable was the Conrose stand, where even now the three young brothers sat and sold their families wondrous wares. Guns, Gadgets, and Glasses, all adorned with that flowery rose design, hung on hooks and lay on tables in full display, though people didn’t seem too interested today. Who cared for a personal clothes heater in the middle of a dry summer’s day? Who needed a gun in such a bright and happy occasion? Who needed glasses when the sun shined their way? Two of the brothers seemed to have taken this to heart. One of them, of middling age, was preoccupied with a book, turning its pages with intense interest, a pair of his family’s pride on the end of his nose as he poured over the words. The other, younger than the two, focused his spectacles more on the pile of brass and bolts in his thin hands, making sure screws were screwed tightly enough. The last and eldest stood behind the stall’s counter and crossed his arms, unkempt beard only assisting his angry and foul disposition.

“HONESTLY! You’d think people stopped shooting each other just because the damn sun’s out…”

“It’s truly a blessing of the Light, dear brother.”

“Shut up, Falsy. A blessing of the Light’d be us selling all of these damn rustbolts today.”

“They’re not RUSTBOLTS!”

“I’ll go upside your damned head, Walter!”

The three brothers bickered and shouted for hours, unaware that maybe a big part of their customers were driven off by this childish brotherly battle. Thought they might have been unaware of THAT, they weren’t unaware as someone ran up and snatched a pistol off of the table, dashing off into an alleyway.

“OH, FOR HELL’S SAKE- Walter! Go get him!”

“But-!”

“We have to mind the shop!”

Walter dropped his device with a clatter and vaulted over the counter with a whing pout, jogging after the thief. “GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!” The nails in Walter’s shoes- standard for any paranoid tinker, meant to help grounding- clacked against the stone and echoed off of the walls, giving people plenty of time to get out of his way as he ran, his hand only feet away from the thief’s collar at any given time. He dove to try and tackle him, but his skinny body was hurled off and his glasses clattered to the cobblestones. He grabbed them and put them back on, giving a grateful huff as he noticed they were only scuffed before picking himself back up and starting off again. The thief ducked down behind an alleyway and Walter shouted, turning the corner himself.

It happened very quickly. Walter couldn’t have been more than a few yards away, but in the time it took him to turn the corner, the walls of the alley had been painted red. The empty click of the unloaded pistol snapped a report across the stone walls to either side and mingled with the dripping of blood. The beast that had caught the thief in his hands loomed over him and stared at him with drool dripping from it’s muzzle before turning to Walter and grinning wider, lips curled back against the teeth as it dropped the thief to the ground, the body crumpling as it advanced…

Walter’s glasses fell off as he tripped, falling onto his rear and backing off further. He saw a large mass of brown fur, and that was all.

 Walter jerked awake again, snorting lightly as his hazy vision focused back and gave him the same damn view of his cell as he had seen a dozen times already. The grey light of a cloudy day streamed in from the barred window and did little to brighten up the cold black stone as he picked himself up off the floor with a groan and a yawn, scratching the back of his head. The movement sent the chain attached to the wall shaking. The foot wrapped up in the iron had long since gone dull, but not quite numb. It was probably a problem, but he hardly had the time to worry about that.

He stood up and looked to the table in front of his straw cot, picking up the bowl of porridge and eating it with the splintered wooden spoon he always ate it with. He had been half tempted to just make himself a better spoon, but they didn’t want him wasting resources on something as trivial as that. Wood would be fine, even if he occasionally had to dig slivers out of his food. He finished the bowl of near-tasteless gruel and set it aside, sighing heavily. He dragged over the iron pipe he had been drilling the night before and got to work on it again.

All in all, he supposed it wasn’t the worst work he had ever done. Walter was just doing what he had done before, just the sides had flipped and now he was making guns for the dead rather than the living. Still, it gave him a bit of a twinge of regret to see the Forsaken carrying his guns by the barrel, knowing they’d be back in a week for maintenance because the idea of cleaning was as alien to them as life itself… Walter’s hand slipped and the hand drill cracked off of the pipe, slashing across the back of his hand. He quickly shot his hand up to his mouth to suck on the wound, hissing softly in pain. The polished steel at his neck gave a low beep. That had been the one thing he had convinced them not to take. The silver and steel alloy collar had tubes and wires tracing through that dug deep enough in that he imagined he’d probably die if he took it off, and he certainly didn’t plan to! He didn’t even usually try to fix the little cracks or issues in it, either, terrified that the wound it covered up would prove something he’d been denying for months.

He sucked on his hand until it stopped bleeding as badly and picked the drill back up, working on the iron pipe diligently. Maybe if he finished this one by tonight, they’d give him some meat with the porridge. It was slow going without a proper workshop or any sort of testing to make sure he was doing it right. At least, proper testing that didn’t involve someone coming back after a week and smacking him around because something he didn’t foresee happened. Despite that, he had a reputation to uphold! Conrose equipment was supposed to be top of the line, even if it was being used by monsters. Walter spat red blood on the floor and sighed. His hands ached and his back popped when he moved too often, but he supposed it could be worse. He might fear a beating, but at least he wasn’t going to be eaten.

The walls shook. He blinked and looked up from the rifle, setting it down on his workbench and looking around as dust fell from the ancient ceiling. He guessed they had to be running drills upstairs. He wished they’d keep it down, because he didn’t like dirt falling on his head while he-

Walter exploded.

To be fair, the wall behind him did. The stone took most of the impact, but in the process a machine-gun hail of bricks struck his back and head, sending him bowling forward over his table and rolling, groaning in pain and shock. His back ached and he could feel cold fluid dripping down his forehead and face as he shook his head, trying to get his bearings. Casually, a monster stepped through the hole in the wall. He was tall, with razor-sharp claws and black, rotten fangs that filled an elongated mouth, gray and black fur taking up every inch of his body. Walter’s eyes widened and he screamed as the worgen leapt forward and over him, grabbing the bars of his tiny cell and ripping them off of the wall with bestial, unholy strength to toss them aside.

“ALL CLEAR! Leave this one. From the smell of him, he’s not long for this world.”

The worgen’s voice was deep and bellowing as he padded forward, over the ruined cell door and up the stairs as the sounds of clattering weapons and shifting armor echoed both from Walter’s cell and the floor above the cold dungeon. Soldiers with light armor, guns and swords, and wearing tabards with clawmarks through them charged past him and sounded up a battlecry, the cacophony of battle sounding from upstairs as Walter was left alone. He breathed heavily, urging his heart to calm down as the collar on his neck beeped furiously, the tinker grabbing his chest and panting heavily as the device worked. He counted down from a hundred as his heart beat so fast he was afraid it would rupture from the wires stuck in it. CALM. CALM. Calm. Caaalm. He gave a low sigh and covered his face with his hands. It still took him a half a minute to pick himself up off the floor, looking at the ruin of his cell with disdain. He stepped to the edge of the room and looked outside, regretting it quickly as he was pelted with the eternal Gilnean drizzle outside. He also regretted looking down and noticing the sheer hundred-foot drop with jagged rocks and churning waves below him. Grappling hooks had been embedded into the solid earth and their ropes whipped and flailed down below like hempen snakes. Walter jerked his head back into the cell and had to will his heart to stop beating again.

How long was I in here?! He thought, looking around frantically. That was a wheat field a month ago! Picking up the discarded drill from the floor, he stepped carefully to the cell door and moved over the ruined gate, making his way up the stairs. He couldn’t rightly stay there with the big old hole in the wall, and he couldn’t even find what was left of the gun he was making. His only recourse was to escape in the confusion. The Forsaken might have been undead monstrosities, but surely even they had to have steeds or a carriage he could steal. He heard the clatter of wooden wheels on stone nearly every morning, there had to be. Plus, if the Forsaken saw him, maybe he could convince them that he was just trying to help. Yeah. He just wanted to help! He crept up the stairs with the drill in hand, swallowing with a mouth full of grit as he took every step quietly, probably unnecessarily quiet considering how loud the battle was upstairs. Every step nearly made him jump but he managed to climb to the top without giving himself a goddamn heart attack and that was good for him, at least for the moment.

Bodies strewn on the floor gave him plenty of reason to be afraid, both rotting and fresh with dripping red blood. Not only undead and human, but worgen as well, the werewolves occasionally turning to him with a sick look and moving away, as if they were more afraid of him than he was of them. That was definitely not the truth. Walter made his way down the hallway, poking his head in temporarily to look at the lord’s dining room where he had first been dragged in and processed. Guns fired, steel clashed, worgen roared, undead screamed and spells flew and Walter decided he didn’t have anything to do with this fight and stepped right by it, ignoring it entirely as he made his way forward to the immense double doors at the end of the hall, pushing on them to find them mercifully unlocked. They creaked too much for him to be comfortable, every inch he pushed them another centimeter that the hairs on the back of his neck stood higher, but the combatants in the other room were too focused on killing and dying to pay any attention to one wayward tinker sneaking his way out onto the yard. It was a heavy heave that tossed the two of them open and pelted him with rain and wind, but he ground his teeth and pushed forward through the torrents, pulling the scraps of coat around himself tighter.

Mercifully, there was a carriage there, and even a pair of still-living horses latched to it underneath an overhang that had been patched up a dozen times. He leapt into the carriage’s driver’s seat and nearly gagged as he smelled something foul in the back and looked back, noticing the piles of rotting flesh and molding bodies stuffing the corpse wagon full. He did end up gagging, covering his mouth with his shirt and breathing cloth for a long time to regain his composure. He might’ve stayed there forever, stunned by the utter foulness lying behind him, if it wasn’t for the fact that behind him, the sounds of combat steadily died down and left him with nothing but the patter of rain on the roof over his head. He grabbed the reins in a panic and snapped them, letting the smell of bodies die down in the face of raging wind as the horses whinnied sharply and lurched forward in their harnesses, yanking the cart out of the overhang and into the beating rain. Immediately they were drenched along with the carriage, but they dashed forward along the road at a breakneck speed, the carriage wobbling and leaning on two wheels for a moment. Walter panicked and grabbed the side of the carriage’s seat, holding the reins tight with his other hand before the wheels came down on the ground with a BANG and the vehicle righted itself, screeching and clattering down the road.

Walter breathed a sigh of relief and leaned forward, keeping the reins loose. There weren’t any other horses in the stables, so maybe, just maybe, he’d be safe for now… if the Forsaken had won, at least. If the Worgen had won, they might jump him thinking that he was one of them…! The relief washed away from him just as quickly as it had come and he sat back up straight, keeping his eyes on the road. A quick run to his workshop and maybe he’d be able to figure out something to be safe with. He had guns there, and money enough to maybe charter a boat out as quickly as possible… hopefully. His thoughts briefly flashed to his brothers and family, but they were dead. …Probably. He hadn’t made sure, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around when a bunch of zombies swept through the building!

Speaking of.

A cold, thin and bony hand grasped Walter by the shoulder as an inhuman moan escaped the corpse’s throat, the zombie groaning loudly in the tinker’s ear. Screaming loudly, he jerked the reins, more on accident than anything else, with the horse’s whinnying loudly in protest, refusing to follow his command as they barreled down the road at top speed, Walter forced to twist and turn in the driver’s seat to try and escape the rotten undead that held onto him. He smacked at his hand frantically in a panic, pathetic little strikes not doing much more than irritating the rotten ghoul as it bit and scratched at him. Walter shoved his other hand in its face and forced it back, grimacing and gritting his teeth in fear before there was a bump and he turned back to the road, eyes widening. The carriage bumped again as the horses screeched and the carriage went over the side of the ravine, bodies hurtling past him and crunching in the dirt and rocks a moment before he struck as well and the world went black.

Walter woke up in not much pain, which was odd considering the fall was at least twenty feet and he was covered in body parts. Gasping for breath in a mad panic he whipped himself up to the top of the pile, panting heavily as he crawled free, hands and knees in the mud and muck below as the rain pelted down on his back and neck, soaking him even further. Breathe, he thought, breeeeathe. He forced himself to, calming down a little. Really, it was very odd that nothing hurt. He should have broken something at the very least. He stood up, the ringing in his ears persistent until he heard a crack of thunder. Slowly, he lifted a hand up to his neck. The ringing wasn’t from the crash. The collar around his neck gave off a high pitched whine, and he could feel shattered metal and dented steel beneath his nervous, shaking fingertips. He told himself to breathe again as he turned the device off with a click and started forward, moving as slow as possible, keeping his pace, and his pulse, as low as possible. It was broken! That was fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. All he had to do was keep calm.

The ravine was thankfully not a pit, and at the end of it he spotted a field, probably once used for wheat but now only blanched black with dead crops and thick mud. At the side of the field was a barn. He started towards it, breathing heavily. Calm. Calm. Thankfully, the groans of the corpses behind him died off as he continued onward. He might not have broken anything, but they did, and they wouldn’t be crawling out of that pile any time soon.

The barn door was wide open, and the faint and aged smell of hay stung his nostrils a bit, only blanketed by the oppressive muck of mud and torrential downpour. He stumbled in, tripping and burying his hands in gods-bless-it dry dirt, the dust running through his fingers as he stood back up and slid into one of the barn’s stalls, settling down. He was tired, more tired than he had ever been before, though he imagined part of that was the fact that his heart wasn’t being jolted awake every few seconds. That sent a shiver down his spine that he quieted by curling his arms around his chest, Walter forcing his breath to even. The device was broken, but that wasn’t the end of the world. All he had to do was figure out how to fix it! A mirror, some tools, it’d be fine… he drifted asleep thinking of the details.

He dreamt that something was pinching on his earlobe and then woke up to see a man pinching his earlobe. Walter gasped sharply and jerked back, sharply crying in pain as the Forsaken’s grip stayed solid and kept him from moving around all too much. The rain was still dripping outside, but it had died down a little with the coming of the night, the only light in the barn the lanterns that the rotters were carrying at their sides. He glanced up slightly, eyes wide in fear as he looked into the face of one of the guards to his personal prison, the jovial face of his tormentor just as gleeful as usual. Walter was dragged out of the stall by his ear, stumbling and tripping over his own legs as he scrambled, grabbing the man’s hand only to get backhanded to the floor. There was a thump from his chest and a rush of adrenaline. He tasted blood in his mouth.

Not fresh. Not good.

Walter ignored the voice and dropped to his knees, clasping his hands and holding them up. There were three of the Forsaken here. He remembered all of them, from the tossed bowls of gruel to the beatings when he got a rifle’s sights or stock wrong for them. “H-hey hey, it’s all good here, right?”

“You broke out. They came in from YOUR cell, meatbag.”

“I swear- I swear I had nothing to do with that! I just left because I was scared, come on! I didn’t even do anything besid-“

“You wrecked our cart!” The Forsaken in front of him clenched his fist and swung it hard into Walter’s cheek, a quick pop echoing through the dark barn like thunder and sending the tinker to the ground on his rear, attempting to skitter back onto to be caught by the front of his shirt. Another fist came in and smacked into his nose, sending spots in Walter’s vision and blood dripping from his nostrils as he panted for breath, groaning in agony. “We should kill you for that… maybe eat you, ha!”

Do it. Try it.

“No! Nononono! Look, I’ll go back wib you, okay? I won’t fight or try to escape!” His hands clasped in plea were clapped in irons and jerked forward, sending him from his back to his stomach with a squelch as he landed in the mud and was dragged through it, the wind knocked out of him again. The collar beeped again and again before finally resigning itself to a low whine, sending sharp green sparks as it malfunctioned.

LET ME LOOSE.

“Just- wait, pl- please- walk slow-“

The undead yanked him further and sneered as Walter started to clamber to his feet, only for another of the Forsaken to kick the poor tinker’s feet out from under him, sending him crashing back into the mud. His head hurt, throbbing with pain, but even with a broken nose he could smell the rich earth and dripping blood surrounding him, as well as the rotting corpses of his enemies around. It turned his stomach, but also excited him, his fingers curling as the sound of laughter pierced through to his brain, sharp and clear. “I don’t even care if we have to carry him back.” One of them said, cracking his knuckles and stepping in towards Walter to send a hammerfist that put the recovering man’s face right back into the dirt below. “He’s had this coming for a while.”

Walter’s palms dripped with blood and his mouth heaved, hot breath spilling out with a distinct scent that the undead’s decayed senses didn’t pick up. His teeth ground and flaked, mouth squeezed shut. Something forced his lips apart, and rows of yellowish white were overtaken with frightening white. His eyes closed.

He dreamt of a nice, but a little tough, steak.

[elrondsscribe]

The Seventh Avenger: Chapter 2

All rights belong to Marvel Studios and the Tolkien Estate.

Unforgivably early morning, May 3, 2012

Glorfindel always enjoyed his first week back at work after a two month "break," but at the end of each night, he was glad for the day to be over.

It was the first week back in the routine - warming up, stretching, and exercising in the morning, making the long, hectic drive to the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, and spending the entire day training and rehearsing and dancing. And after the equally long drive back to his apartment, he was perfectly happy to fall into bed and sleep through the night (which he rarely bothered to do). He had not slept much last night, and had been a little sluggish the subsequent day.

Which was why the buzzing of his phone at about half past three in the morning was was an even more unwelcome sound than usual. "Thought I put you on silent," he grumbled, sitting up blearily and grabbing at the offending device to see what was up.

It was an incoming call. There was no number or name on the screen - "Blocked number" was all that was displayed.

He was suddenly wide awake. He didn't get many calls from blocked numbers, and considering he'd recently had a surprise visit from the director of a quasi-intelligence agency . . .

He swiped his thumb over the "Answer" icon and put the phone to his ear. "Who is this?" he asked, not caring how rude it was.

"I trust I don't have to re-introduce myself," came the inimitable voice of Nick Fury.

"Thought as much," said Glorfindel dryly. "I assume there's only one reason you're calling me in the middle of the night. You need me to come in, don't you?"

"I'll put it this way," rumbled Fury. "There's a car waiting for you outside your complex, with one of our best agents inside. He's going to bring you to a facility where I'll be waiting in a chopper, and you and I are gonna take a ride."

Glorfindel arched his eyebrows. "On the off-chance that you are not who I believe you are or you try to take me anywhere funny, understand that I will kill you and whoever's with you with my bare hands and leave the bodies where they won't be found for the next decade." He hung up with another swipe, and stared resentfully at his phone.

Then trudged into the bathroom where he splashed his face and head with water, pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt, and wrestled his hair into two braids. He shoved his feet into his sneakers and pocketed his phone, wallet, and keys.

He slipped quietly out of his apartment, locked it behind him, and walked quietly down the hall, taking the stairs rather than the elevator. The security guards looked at him sideways when he checked himself out at the front desk, but let him out without too many questions.

He stepped outside and paused, looking up and down the curb for an unfamiliar car. Half a block away was a plain black sedan, with a man in a business suit leaning easily against it. As soon as he saw Glorfindel, he waved.

Glorfindel took a breath, quelled his misgivings, and walked up to the car. The man - presumably Fury's agent - was of average height with such a mild expression and unassuming manner that Glorfindel immediately felt uneasy.

"Please get in," said the agent, opening the passenger door of the sedan. Glorfindel swung himself inside, and was pleasantly surprised to find the seat situated well back from the dashboard to accommodate his longer legs.

The agent shut the door, passed around the front of the car, and climbed into the driver's seat. He smiled at Glorfindel and produced a laminated name tag from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "Agent Coulson, Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division," he said.

Glorfindel dipped his head. "You must be Fury's agent," he said.

Agent Coulson's smile did not alter. "Buckle up," he said, and pushed a large button by the steering wheel. The engine turned over and all the car windows lit up with blue and white icons. A bright point of light shone briefly and rather painfully into Glorfindel's eyes, and a rather grating alarm began to blare. "Unidentified being present," said an automated voice.

"Add retinal scan under the name Glorfindel," said Agent Coulson, and to Glorfindel he added, "Sorry about that."

"Not a problem," Glorfindel lied, fastening his safety belt. Now any SHIELD fool can trace me anywhere, and I'm not that good at hacking. Damn you, Fury, this was not part of the deal. "Are you at liberty to tell me what's going on?"

Agent Coulson pointed at the glove compartment. "There's a folder in there with everything we have so far," he said, beginning to pull away from the curb. "Oh, there is one thing, though. Do you know anything about Norse mythology?"

Glorfindel, who was in the act of opening the glove compartment to retrieve the folder, looked around in some confusion. "Norse mythology? You mean the exaggerated stories the Scandinavians liked to tell about the strange race of warriors who fought off alien invaders about a thousand years ago?"

"You saying you were there?" asked Coulson with obvious interest.

"Well, not personally," said Glorfindel candidly. "I was in the Middle East at the time . . . but I did hear about it."

"Huh," said Coulson, seeming to store this little fact away for further inquiry later. "Well, is there anything you can tell us about a Loki?"

"Loki?" Glorfindel frowned. "I don't think I've heard the name from anybody I'd consider a credible source. The tales I've heard over the years say he's good at sorcery and rather mischievous, but fairly harmless as demigods go. Why?"

"He might have honored us with a visit last night," said Coulson placidly. It took a moment or two for the impact of his words to sink in.

"Loki is real?" he asked sharply.

"Real, and here," said Fury grimly. He was seated across from Glorfindel in a SHIELD helicopter, and together with Agent Coulson and an agent in the pilot's chair they were flying from a secured base just outside of New York City. Coulson had driven the sedan into a concealed garage and escorted Glorfindel into the base to meet Fury, who seemed distinctly ruffled and had refused to say anything about the situation until everybody was inside the chopper. "Introduced himself and everything; said he was 'burdened with glorious purpose' or some bullshit. Stole an important artifact and made off with it, in the process destroying one of our facilities, brainwashing a couple dozen of our best men, and killing a couple dozen others."

"Eru, it's too early for this," muttered Glorfindel, rubbing his forehead. But aloud he said, "What did Loki steal?"

"Can you tell me anything about the guy or not?" asked Fury rather irritably.

Glorfindel sighed. "No, I can't. Now you said we had about a ninety-minute ride - tell me more about what Loki stole from you. This," he lifted the folder. "doesn't mention anything about an artifact."

"That's classified," said Fury.

"Sure it is, which is why you're flying me who knows where in the wee hours of the morning instead of just arranging to meet me." The Elf leaned forward. "Do you understand that I just went back to work for the season?"

"Look, I'm sorry about the inconvenience," said Fury, sincerely enough that Glorfindel believed him. "But this is need-to-know for now, you got it?"

Glorfindel's jaw tightened. "Fury, there was a reason I left the intelligence field. I didn't join your precious Avengers Initiative to get back in the game."

"And I'm telling you now what I told you then," said Fury. "I'm not asking you to get back in the game. I'm asking if you're prepared to give us a hand while we track down Loki and the agents he swooped off with."

"Including the one who shoots a bow and arrow," Glorfindel couldn't help saying.

"His choice," said Fury with a shrug.

May 3, 2012

"You've been briefed on the situation already?" asked the redheaded, attractive, and smartly dressed Agent Romanoff as she began escorting Glorfindel across the deck. Director Fury had been whisked away on urgent matters at once, and she had taken the Elf in hand once they stepped off the helicopter onto the paved deck of some enormous vessel in the middle of the Atlantic. Glorfindel had dropped all pretenses and now walked fully clothed in his natural radiance.

He held up the folder Fury had given him on the helicopter. "I know what's in here and the little Fury would tell me," he said. "Is that Dr. Banner?" he pointed ahead.

A man with gently waving dark hair sprinkled with grey and a nervous manner seemed to be trying to stay out of everybody's way - actually to vanish into the air, in Glorfindel's opinion. He turned at the sound of his name, and caught sight of Romanoff and the tall Elf. His eyes behind the specs widened ever so slightly, and he came over to fall into step on Glorfindel's other side. "Mr., uh, Alexander?" he asked uncertainly.

"Glorfindel, please," said that individual with a smile. "My pleasure, Dr. Banner, and thanks for saving Harlem."

The Man blinked, obviously taken aback. "Uh, if that's what you wanna call it," he muttered uncomfortably, adjusting his glasses. "Natasha," he nodded at Romanoff.

"Doctor," Natasha Romanoff nodded back. "Just Glorfindel, or is there a title?"

"Oh, I haven't had a title for nearly five hundred years," said Glorfindel casually, relishing the way Banner seemed suddenly to pull up short as he realized the strangeness of having an immortal next to him.

But Romanoff was of course not so easily readable. "Course not, you've been in America, if I'm not mistaken," she said.

"You aren't," said Glorfindel. "Is this our base, by the way?"

"Until we can track down the Cube," said Romanoff. "You know, ever since Fury reported having found you and basically proved a bunch of really popular literature to be true, people have been geeking out like crazy. Be prepared for celebrity status and nerdgasms. There's our next candidate," she added, pointing.

Glorfindel stopped and took a second look at the tall broad-shouldered fair-haired man just stepping off the ramp of a small jet. "That's not who it looks like, is it?"

Agent Coulson, who seemed to be a person of some importance, was accompanying the fresh-faced celebrity from the past. "Agent Romanoff, Dr. Banner, Glorfindel," he introduced them proudly. "Captain Rogers."

(Glorfindel solidly resisted the urge to break out in song - Who's strong and brave, here to save the American way? - and from cracking age or ice-related jokes.)

"Ma'am," said the Captain politely, shaking hands with each of the three in turn. "Doctor, sir." His gaze lingered disapprovingly on the Elf's nearly waist-length hair.

"Captain," returned Glorfindel with a brilliant smile. "How nice to meet you again."

Captain Rogers blinked, obviously not remembering him and not wanting to say so.

"Good to see you again, Agent Coulson," said Glorfindel, smiling more normally as he shook the man's hand

Romanoff had shot Glorfindel a look that threatened amusement, but next moment was all business. "They need you on the bridge, they're starting the face trace," she told Coulson.

"See you there," said Rogers to Coulson, who promptly vanished.

"Quite the buzz around here, finding you in the ice," said Romanoff to Rogers as they drifted toward the deck railing. "I thought Coulson in particular was gonna swoon." She smirked. "Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?"

Glorfindel stifled a chuckle. Coulson had hidden it well, but there had been a slightly star-struck air about him while in the Captain's presence.

"Trading cards?" Rogers was smiling.

"They're vintage," said Romanoff helpfully. "He's very proud."

Rogers turned away from the subject, and his eye fell on Dr. Banner again, who was silently trailing Glorfindel like a nervous child trails his father.

"You know, I hear you can find the Cube, Dr. Banner," he said.

"That all you've heard about me?" asked Banner skeptically.

"All I've heard that matters," said Rogers firmly.

Banner nodded, seeming to appreciate this.

Glorfindel, looking at the two men, thought suddenly that in Steve Rogers Banner must be seeing the finished project, the result he had so catastrophically failed to duplicate (not that it was his own fault, as Glorfindel well knew from the stories leaked by an anonymous disgruntled underling of one General Thaddeus 'The Thunderbolt' Ross). He felt a pang of sympathy for the physicist.

"Vita rays," he heard himself say aloud.

"Scuse me?" Steve blinked up at him.

"Sorry, I was talking to myself," said Glorfindel.

But at that moment Agent Romanoff, who had just thrown a look over her shoulder, spoke again. "Gentlemen, you may want to step inside in a moment. It's going to get a little hard to breathe."

Almost as she said it, there came a series of clankings and whirrings as people around them began hurrying in various directions and barking orders.

"Oh, this is a submarine?" asked Glorfindel in surprise. The thing didn't seem the right shape and the deck was still littered with jets and copters. He went to the edge with Steve and Banner to look.

"Really?" said Banner wryly. "They want me in a submerged pressurized metal container?"

And then the water beyond the edges of the deck began frothing and foaming, and from beneath the surface rose two great fans with blades each the size of a small cottage. At the same time Glorfindel could feel the concrete quivering under his feet now begin, not to sink, but to ascend. Cataracts of water streamed from various openings as the vessel climbed into the air.

Steve's eyes widened. "An airship?!"

"A Helicarrier," corrected Agent Romanoff. "We'll be airborne for a while."

Banner smiled. "Well, this is much worse!"