#another small note about the line at the end where joshua kisses the corner of reader's eye which was a comment i left on my google doc lol

[wavesmp3]

hi! I read your 8000 layers of inyun yesterday. so it took me a whole day to digest it. Originally i was going to comment but realized i have too much to say so i went ahead and just did an ask, i hope you dont mind! This left me so breathless so i hope my review makes sense. I also apologize for the length but to be fair, your wonderful writing did this to me! i havent seen the movie yet but after reading this i just might. i was initially worried this will turn to something like a cheating situation or close but wow it went deeper than that. even if y/n is in a happy and healthy marriage, theres that grief over that inyun and wondering if a little more time with jeonghan would have been 8000.

The layers of this story is so beautifully laid out in details and the legend of inyun. As someone who had moved countries alot, i am so glad you captured the complexity of leaving home. From not understanding why y/n liked tompkins square park initially, the statue of liberty, and being that person that was always meant to "leave". The way jeonghan poses questions and seems to both understand y/n and also not is such a good take on long distance friendships. I like how its jumping between knowing each other so well but also knowing that you may not bc of the distance and the fact they havent spoken in years. I love how reading this story made me feel melancholic, hopeful, and also satisfied. Melancholic because of the what could have beens, hopeful because sometimes the differences and distances won't fully sever ones connections with each other (in this case inyun if im understanding it correctly) and satisfied because each character had their own maturity and understanding over each other. That mattered to me cause well, drama is very prominent nowadays, no? Is it weird to say that they acted the way 30 year olds should? jhgkdf so this was great! My favorite parts: you don’t remind him to do so once you finally find your keys. instead you slip off your old, faded sneakers, drop your keys on the counter in the lime green dish you made in a pottery class two years ago, and greet him in the kitchen, kissing the side of his chin and reaching over his head to turn the exhaust fan on. he kisses your forehead as an apology, or at least he tries but you’ve already moved and his lips end up catching on the corner of your left eye.

i love the tiny details that are a testament to a marriage.

but beneath the straightforward request feels like a million subliminal ones. like he wants you to prove to him that you’ve made a life worth living here. like he wants to gallivant around new york telling you about a country that used to be home and asking you what would have happened if you didn’t go all those years ago. 

ngl, this hits close to home again bc when you leave home, people will always wonder the same thing.

there used to be oceans and countries and cultures and decades standing between you and him, but somehow now, all of that has compressed into four squares of broken concrete. you were never very good at maths. jeonghan, the one who comforted you whenever you cried over it, knows that best. but even you know that there is no way 20 years can turn into 20 feet.

this was just so damn poetic, i actually had to pause and BREATHE.

and the call ends in 4 minutes. 

this was really short but captures how your world can turn upside down in just a few minutes.

“i came to see you.” 

you don’t take your eyes off his. what is it they say about eyes again? windows to the soul?

“but you and joshua.”

you flinch. 

“you guys have those layers of inyun.”

“all 8000,” you whisper back to him, like the world might burst if you spoke any louder.

its like toeing between a confession or congratulation sdkjhfdkjgh

“how many layers do we have?”

a number hangs off the tip of your tongue. but the world will burst if you say it outloud. so you don’t. for the world, for yourself, for joshua. 

y/n was very real for this and honestly not everything has to be said. i really love this part because it shows y/n's integrity and also her wisdom.

“you’re it for me.” joshua tells you quietly. “you make my life so much bigger.”

my gosh, the way i nearly cried here. WHY SETTLE FOR I LOVE YOU WHEN THERE'S THISSSSSS???!!!

“but i-” he hesitates here, mouth opening and closing like he can’t decide what kind of conversation he wants this to be. “it’s like there’s this whole portion of your brain that will always be out of reach. like i can see it there in the distance, but i can’t get to it.” 

this makes total sense but i cant explain it. its like you want to know every version of someone before they came to be what you know but you know you can't but theres still that grief.

“i didn’t think liking your husband would hurt this much.” (almost). “i can tell he really loves you.”

bc how can you not like him? it def hurts to like him bc that means he's already won anyway.

“yesterday, you asked me why i didn’t try to keep talking back then.” jeonghan continues. “the truth i learned here is that it wouldn’t have mattered how hard i tried even if i did. you were always going to leave because you’re you. and i liked you because you’re you. and who you are is someone who leaves.”

THIS DID MAKE ME TEARY EYED. I was told the exact last sentence before. And i understand how you can't really help it..life is so big and for some, life outside your home country is even bigger.

“but for joshua,” jeonghan says, eyes scanning across the bar, staring at every bartender and every customer before finally, finally, landing on you, “you’re someone who stays.”

no words. really. you blew my mind.

“i haven’t been that kid for a long time now,” you frown, watching jeonghan’s pupils dart back and forth between yours, “but they still existed. they were still real.”

this is very important bc connections and who you once were in the past are very much real...they just don't die because its past. This does circle back to the inyun theme too.

he smiles. and you feel something break apart in your heart.

“i’ll see you then.”

in another life, jeonghan is more than just a series of goodbyes. but in this one, he gets in the uber, and you don’t imagine seeing him again. you don’t think you will. because for the first time in this life, you're not the one that left–he was.  

In another liiiifeeee, I would be youuuurrr giiiirrllll

“i’m sorry,” you finally say, before falling into his arms. the sob that’s been waiting in the bottom of your soul for the past 20 years comes bursting out of your throat. you cry into your husband's shoulder. you feel the weight of all your past lives and all your future ones like they aren't in the past or in the future, like they're now beside you begging you to imagine what could’ve been and what was. 

joshua holds the back of your head. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t need to. it’s all been said before. instead he kisses the corner of your eye and takes you home. 

at this point i posted the whole fic. this ending? damn. I really had to take a break from my phone. This was wayyyyy to fitting of an end. I loved joshua's response and the corner of the eye? way to circle back! It's the grief over something you can't truly control but also the happiness of where you are now. I'm not sure how you wanted the end to be if its like a missed connection between jeonghan and y/n or if its grieving over what could have been, or the hope that maybe in the next one its them, or that joshua had always been it but theres that almost with jeonghan. Or it could be all of the above, still this was beautifully written. I apologize for the long review but i just had to express my awe and love for what you've written! Please don't feel obligated to reply just as long or at all! I just wanted to let you know how much your work stuck with me. Thank you for sharing this with us <3 I hope you have the bestest day ever! P.S This unreleased song of woozi fits too! What Kind of Future

i don't mind you leaving this ask at all and the length is more than fine, it's encouraged even!! when i got this ask, i started scrolling and gasped when i saw how long it was. and not in a bad way but in a-i can't believe anyone would take the time to write all this out-way. so thank you thank you thank you!!!

i am going to put the rest of my response under the read more :)) (warning my response is very long lol)

when i was watching the movie/the trailer for the movie i also had very similar concerns that it would be a cheating plot, and i don't really enjoy cheating plotlines much so it was such a pleasant surprise when it was the opposite almost?? i was in awe. and the last sentence of your paragraph here, really hits the nail of what i was trying to do with this piece and what i think the film was doing as well. the sadness over what could have been but what isn't, while also appreciating and enjoying what is. you should most definitely watch the movie though! especially since you also immigrated countries. the story of the movie is based off something that actually happened in the director's life and it's just such a raw beautiful story that is so so real and authentic. i have never actually migrated to another country before, so everything about that was either from the movie or just me imagining what that would be like based on either my background (my parents are immigrants) or other media. anyways, im being extremely wordy, but basically, the experience of the main character here isn't one that i share with them, but the director of the movie does! so you should check it out !

i really liked how you brought up the tompkins square park part and how main character doesn't like it anymore because it almost feels like another reflection of them leaving a place they used to call home and not really feeling like they belong there or like they're that person that lived there anymore. kind of a mirror of how they feel about their home country.

everything you've said here is just sooo spot on!! you understood this piece wholly and completely.

and it's not a weird thing to say at all that they acted like 30 year olds haha in my head i actually imagined them as around that age lol, like early 30 somethings

and what you said about drama... yes! i think this piece would be considered a drama but it's not dramatic. it's such an understated and subtle drama that feels like it's happening in the silences of conversations. (this holds true for the movie especially. i think in interview or something the director said that this story is told mainly through by what isn't being said, it's told through the silences)

abt your fave parts:

i love adding little details like that in, details that make the characters and their lives feel like they go off the pages of the story,, so im really happy that you liked that

abt the line that goes "there used to be oceans and countries..." -- im so so so glad you liked it, i put a lot of effort and made a lot of different versions of this line. so im glad it hit for you the way i hoped it would

and what you said about toeing between confession and congratulation... yup! yeah! exactly!

the line that goes "you're it for me... you make my life so much bigger" was a mash up of a line from the movie and something someone said to me irl :) and it was indeed a very beautiful way to confess love

dang someone actually telling you that exact sentence before is absolutely insane!! im starting to think that maybe you should be the one to write this piece seriously! but also, you have GOT to watch this movie

im so glad you enjoyed the ending!! it's my favorite part as well!! the corner of the eye thing!! so happy you picked up on that. as for what i wanted to the end to be like.... i am a sucker for an open ending and although this ending is less open than others i have written it still is pretty vague... so to your answer your question, the ending is whatever you want it to be. honestly, i don't even know what the ending should be like. but the options you listed (missed connection, or grieving what could have been, etc.) are all ones that were also bouncing around in my mind as i watched the movie and wrote this piece. (for me, i think its mainly grieving what could have been, but also just a mesh of all 4 of the ones you said. emotions can be quite complex huh?)

again, pls don't apologize for the length of this review. it's a dream come true. thank you again for reading this piece, thinking so highly of it, and taking the time to leave this review for me. it makes all the brain rot i had over this film worth it. jk but again thank you. this review made my day and put the biggest smile on my face :))) i hope you have a wonderful day

[beanfic]

Summertime Sadness - Ch. 3

Word count: 1990

Warnings: Talk of porn, alcohol, underage drug usage and language

Author’s note: I hope you enjoy this chapter! It made me giggle when rereading it! Also, music played a huge role when writing this series so I am going to do song suggestions to listen to while reading the chapter! At the very end of the series I am going to make a huge playlist of all the songs but I don’t want to accidentally spoil anything with a song...if that is even possible. Oh well, enjoy chapter 3 :)

Song suggestion: Red Red Wine by UB40 & LDN by Lily Allen

You flickered your eyes open to see your little sister staring at you. The light in the room immediately killed your head, and you slammed a pillow on top of your face groaning into it.

“I heard you got drunk, and vomited all over Johnny.”

“Yep, that all happened. God my head is fucking killing me.”

“You’re not supposed to say fuck in front of me.”

“You just said it though, Bri.” You peeked underneath your pillow and she was still staring at you.

“Did you have your first kiss? Did you have sex?” she asked eagerly.

“Bri, if I had sex I wouldn’t be home right now.”

“Okay, so no sex. Did you kiss anyone?”

“Sort of,” you rubbed your eyes and sat up. “We played spin the bottle and I had to kiss this really attractive guy, but it was just a peck.”

“There we go! One day you will finally tongue dance with someone, don’t worry.”

“Tongue dancing? That sounds disgusting.” You threw your sheets off of you and started to get up.

“I can’t believe you got drunk though, I want to drink.”

“No. No you don’t. It sucks.” You held your head again as a sharp pain shot through it.

“Mom and Dad are really mad.”

“I know, I’m grounded.”

“Why did you come home then? If I were you I would have just stayed at Mariah’s.” She had a point, but you knew that Johnny also told you to call him in case you wanted to go home.

“I hate that you have more street smarts than me.”

She shrugged, “What can I say.”

Bri finally left your room, and you started to get dress. You knew you had to go downstairs and confront your parents sooner or later.

On your way downstairs you ran into Johnny. He just glared at you, and then started to chuckle to himself as he headed back to his room.

“Goodmorning,” you mumbled to your mom who was sitting in her chair drinking a cup of coffee.

“How are you feeling?” She looked up from the book she was reading and started to analyze you.

“I’m fine,” you lied. The last thing you were going to do was explain to her that you were severely hungover. “How long am I grounded for?”

“I talked to your dad and we decided to not ground you, but you are going to have a curfew from now on. Be home by 11 every night.”

“11? Mom it’s summer! That’s so early.”

“Would you rather be grounded and not able to do anything?”

“No. Thank you for not grounding me.”

“No problem. Next time don’t drink while you’re underage.”

You wanted to argue with her and tell her how Johnny use to drink, and he has smoked pot, but it was no use to start another fight. You were happy that you weren’t grounded.

You ate your breakfast silently, and a text from Mariah got your attention.

Want 2 go 2 the carnival w/ me 2night?

“Hey mom, Mariah invited me to go to the carnival with her tonight. Can I go? I’ll be home by 11, I promise.”

“As long as you don’t break any more rules.”

“I won’t.”

You texted mariah back.

Yes! That sounds fun, can u pick me up?

You finished your breakfast and headed upstairs to take a shower. It was already around noon since you slept in so much. Your shower was quick, and you braided your hair instead of letting it air dry.

You still had a few couple hours before Mariah was going to pick you up so you decided to go write some poetry. You had been writing poetry for the past four years. It was like journaling for you, it helped you fight those internal battles.

You sat on your bed and grabbed your poetry notebook, which was a leather book, and grabbed a red ballpoint pen.

A kiss. Soft & Sweet.

You looked out your window for inspiration but none was really coming to you. You looked down at what you had wrote, and laughed to yourself. It was four words but pretty much summed up last night.

You wished that you had at least got his number. You knew you could probably ask Tyler for it, but you didn’t to be that girl.

You decided to head over to Jonny’s room and talk to him for a little. He always made you feel better when you were down.

His door was closed but you didn’t knock, instead you shoved the door open. He was sitting at his desk, and up on his computer screen was porn.

“Do you ever fucking knock?” He screamed as he quickly exited out of the tab and pulled up his pants.

“You shouldn’t watch porn, that’s gross.”

“You should learn how to knock. What do you want?”

“Sorry was I busy interrupting something? Should I leave?”

“Stop being annoying.”

You laughed at his annoyance, and threw yourself on his bed.

“I’m bored and I wish I got this guys number from last night.” You flipped through a magazine that he had on his nightstand. It was about cars so you didn’t really understand it.

“Who’s the guy?”

“His name was Josh, but I didn’t get his last name. He’s friends with Tyler.”

“Tyler Joseph? Like Mariah's boy toy?”

“Yep, that Tyler.”

“It’s probably Josh Dun. I know him from high school, he’s a total douchebag though.”

You didn’t want to believe your brother, he probably was thinking of another Josh. Josh was a pretty common name.

“Do you want to play Mario Kart with me?” you asked him so you could keep your mind off of last night. Your brother agreed, and you spent the next hour or so beating your brother at the game.

“How are you so good at this game?” he asked you. You shrugged.

“I’m going to go get ready for the carnival, Mariah will be here soon.” You headed back to your room to figure out what to wear.

You thumbed through your closet until you decided on a pair of skinny jeans and a black tank top with a dark green cardigan. You took your hair out of your braid so it was now wavy. You applied some mascara and you called it good.

You got a text from Mariah signaling that she was here so you headed downstairs.

“Mariah’s here, I’ll be home before 11!” you kissed your mom on the way out. You could hear her yelling something behind you but you decided to ignore her.

“Hey girl!” Mariah said as you opened the door and got in.

“How are you feeling?” you asked.

“I felt horrible this morning,” she laughed. “How about you?”

“I had the worst headache ever.” You laughed as well.

You both jammed out to music all the way to the carnival. You found parking and got out. It was about a five minute walk from the parking lot to the carnival grounds. It was dirty and you instantly regretted wearing white shoes.

“I see Becca and Grace!” Mariah said, pointing ahead. You saw your two friends standing there three other guys.

“Hey Becca! Hey Grace!” you hugged each one.

“Hey Y/N, this is Theo, and this is his boyfriend Dylan!”

“Hey nice to meet you two!” you shook their hands.

“And this is Mike, he’s Dylan’s cousin!”

“Hey Mike, I’m Y/N!” you shook his hand.

“I found a good corner to go smoke, let’s go!” Theo said, grabbing Dylan’s hand and walking away. Becca, Grace and Mike followed them but you grabbed Mariah’s hand.

“I didn’t know we were smoking.”

“I didn’t know either, but who cares?”

You both met up with them in this corner behind a bathroom building. Theo pulls out a small glass pipe that was translucent rainbow. He took out a little grinder with marijuana in it. He filled the hole, and took out a lighter that was also rainbow colored. He lit it and took a hit.

You really hated the smell of weed so you decided to go on a walk. You told Mariah you were going to be right back, and you headed around the corner towards the games.

You spotted one of those games where you threw balls at pins. You gave the attendant a dollar bill, and he handed you four balls. The first one you threw missed completely, and the second one barely grazed by one of the pins. You wounded up your arm, getting ready to throw the third ball before you were startled by a voice.

“I think you’re supposed to hit the pins.”

You turned around to see Josh, from the party last night, smiling at you. He was wearing a red shirt with black ripped jeans again.

“Oh hey! If you think you could do better then be my guest,” you handed him the last two balls.

“Watch this,” he gave you a little wink making your stomach start fluttering again. You watched him throw both balls hitting two pins down. You were shocked.

“How did you do that?”

“I’m a natural! Plus I’m a drummer so I have lots of arm strength,” he lifted his arm up to flex, making you smile like a dummy.

The attendant handed Josh a little beanie baby for knocking two pins down. It was a little bear wearing a red dress.

“Here you go,” he handed you the little bear.

“For me?”

“For you!”

“Why thank you!” You took it and started to look at it, trying to not smile like an idiot.

“Want to go on a walk and talk?” Josh asked and you nodded.

“What’s your full name?”

“Joshua William Dun.”

Shit. Johnny did know him.

“Dun? That’s a cool last name.”

“What’s your full name?”

“Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N.”

“Y/L/N?”

“Yep!”

“Do you have a brother named Johnny?”

“Yeah, I do!” you said nervously. What if he didn't like him. You didn’t want your brother being a reason you and this handsome man don’t start talking.

“Do you want to go on a ride?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I get sick easily,” you lied. You hated rides, you were especially terrified of carnival rides.

“Oh c’mon, I’ll hold you so you feel safe.”

Wow. He was smooth, you had to admit.

“Okay, Dun.”

“Okay, Y/L/N.” He smiled at you, making you smile in return. He walked you over to this ride that goes really fast and round. Your heart started to race as you stood in line.

“Hey Josh, can I ask a question?” you broke the silence.

“Go for it.”

“How old are you?”

He laughed, “I’m 22, almost 23.”

“Wow, I’m only 18, but my 19th birthday is in September.”

“You look old for your age,” he looked at you up and down making you blush.

“I get that a lot.”

It was your guys turn to go on the ride, and your hands were sweating. You followed Josh to a seat of two. You buckled your seat belt, triple checking it was on right.

The ride was intense, but it didn’t last that long. You tried not to scream, but when you saw Josh letting out tiny screams you decided to do it too. He kept on looking at you during the ride, even though you kept your eyes closed most of the time.

When the ride was over, you could barely walk. Your head was rushing and your breathing was short.

“That was intense,” you whispered.

“Yeah, it was,” he smiled at you again. “Hey, can I get your number?”

“Yeah!” you took your phone out and handed it to him. He put his number in and named his contact ‘Dun’.

“You know, Y/L/N, you’re gorgeous when you’re nervous,” he reached over and touched your shoulder, taking your breath away.

Tag List (lmk if you want to be added!)

@takenvysleep @ohprettyweeper @oncemorewithfeelingg @gaiatheroyalrabbit @svintsandghosts @krispy-cakes @patdsinner33 @breadbinishigh

[dawnover-dusk]

Games (Mingyu)

genre: college!au, fluff

word count: 1,503

summary: “Games are boring.”

series: 23 things a girlfriend wants to hear, based off of this

1. Shop (Jun) | 2. Pay (Wonwoo) | 3. Games (Mingyu) | 4. Friends (Woozi) | 5. Late (Jeonghan) | 6. Change (Seungkwan) | 7. Bare (Hoshi) | 8. Cold (DK) | 9. At Fault (Dino) | 10. Pretty (The8) | 11. Solace (Wonwoo) | 12. Insecure (S. Coups) | 13. Excessive (Joshua) | 14. Snap (Jeonghan) | 15. Protective (S. Coups) | 16. Movies (Vernon) | 17. Drive (Joshua) | 18. Ride (S. Coups) | 19. Blind (Hoshi) | 20. Special (Jun) | 21. Gift (Wonwoo) | 22. Holiday (Joshua) | 23. Love (All) CANCELED

why is this so long? why is the only thing i write college au?

You were sitting cross-legged on a hard plastic chair, your notes and laptop forgotten in front of you as you stared at the group of boys sprawled over an entire corner of Trillium. Their rambunctious laughter could be distinguished even over the chatter of students in the crowded food court, and your heart leapt at the familiar chorus of hisses in response to a certain someone. They must have been making fun of Kim Mingyu again.

Your glassy gaze was interrupted by a slam as Jieqiong set her tray in front of you. You quickly scrambled to collect your papers so that they wouldn’t get wet from her precariously full bowl of noodle soup. With the arrival of two more faces, you shut your laptop and cleared the table of your belongings.

“Where’s your food?” Yebin asked quizzically as she opened her bottle of juice. 

“Already ate,” you muttered, absentmindedly playing with your phone. Jieqiong and Eunwoo exchanged glances while knowing smiles blossomed on their faces. Yebin pouted and nudged the two other girls.

“Don’t be mean,” Yebin said. The three other girls returned to eating their lunches as you smiled gratefully at Yebin, thanking her. You set your phone down on the table in favor of busying your hands with the hem of your oversized cardigan.

“No problem. Besides, why tease you about it when we can just see for ourselves?” Before you even had the chance to form a confused expression, Yebin had snatched your phone from where it laid on the table.

“Yebin,” you warned, your eyes flashing dangerously. Yebin quickly handed the device to Jieqiong, who sat just out of your reach. While chewing a mouthful of noodles, Jieqiong unlocked the phone with glee, punching in the four-digit passcode without a moment of hesitation.

Your eyes widened at her actions. “How did you know—”

“0406? Come on, I’ve known him since we were kids, and all your staring makes it obvious,” Jieqiong scoffed. She handed the now unlocked phone over to Eunwoo, who was staring at your imploringly.

You groaned and hid your face with your hands. “Okay, you guys can look. Just make my death swift and painless.”

Yebin raised an eyebrow at your melodramatic declaration before shrugging and crowding around the screen with Jieqiong and Eunwoo. The three girls scanned the text messages briefly before their faces scrunched up in horror. Jieqiong shrieked and began to hit Yebin while Yebin pretended to gag. Even Eunwoo, who you always thought was the most considerate out of the four of you (perhaps suspiciously so), was muttering “I hate this” over and over.

After the cacophony and shock wore off, you had your phone safely back in your hands as you tried to will yourself from turning too red. Your cheeks were heating up awfully fast, and you were debating the merits of leaving without another word. Maybe you’ll even transfer schools while you’re at it.

Your phone vibrated.

A second round of shrieking ensued as your three friends clamored to wrestle the phone back into their possession. In the chaos, you noticed that the corner where the thirteen boys were earlier was now empty. Mingyu was probably texting you on his way to class, and that meant—

“Are a chicken, because you’re impeccable?” Jieqiong choked out. She slid the phone back to you.

Another bad pick-up line.

Ever since Mingyu (or “Memegyu,” his contact name) had texted you the most basic of pick-up lines (“Are you tired, because you’ve been running through my thoughts all day”) while drunk at a party, you had taken it as a challenge to supply him with better lines to use. It grew into a game of sorts, where you texted each other random pick-up lines: creative ones, witty ones, yet all utterly cringe-inducing.

After a few days of this game, you had silently declared yourself a “pick-up line connoisseur.” And this new one was bad, even for Mingyu’s standards. You quickly texted him back with a “ssssss” before pocketing your phone.

“Is this how you nerds flirt nowadays?” Jieqiong laughed. “I knew you had a crush on him, which is still sort of gross to me, but this is not how normal people go about dating, my dear friend.”

“Look, it started out as a joke, and I can’t go reading too much into it, okay? No point in getting my hopes up over a stupid pick-up line game. Let’s go to class.” 

You led the group out of the eatery. As you shielded your eyes from the setting autumn sun, you missed the rapid-fire texting of the three girls following you.

Memegyu

We need to talk.

Your brow furrowed in confusion as you read the message lighting up your screen. You moved your laptop from its place on your lap and stretched out your legs so that they hung over the side of your bed. Yebin, your roommate, looked over at your side of the room curiously.

Memegyu

It’s about this….”game.”

Your heart raced uncomfortably as you stood up. You reached over for the large sweatshirt draped on your desk chair and slid it on. Yebin sat up on her bed. “Are you going out? It’s like….11PM.”

Memegyu

The bench overlooking West Campus.

You laced up your shoes. “I’ll be fine, mom. Leave my lamp on if you sleep, okay?” You left without hearing Yebin’s reply.

Yebin grinned as the door shut.

To: Operation Puppy Love

Subject is off~ Wonwoo, you did it!

You pressed yourself deeper into your sweatshirt as you made the lonely trek towards the outlook point. The temperature was getting colder, especially at nights, and you wished you had put on another layer before leaving so quickly. The campus was never well lit at night, and the only other signs of life were the one or two students walking back to the dorms after studying. You walked on until you saw the lights of West Campus and the rest of the small college town unfold before you. This sight was always breathtaking, no matter how many times you saw it.

West Campus was located on the bottom of a steep slope, and a few benches were scattered at the top of the slope. You realized that you didn’t know which bench Mingyu was referring to, but it didn’t matter: you saw a tall figure walk towards you, hood pulled up with a bit of his dyed silver hair glinting under the lamp post. 

You jogged over to meet him halfway, and the two of you sat on one of the benches, gazing down onto the twinkling lights below. You shivered as the wind picked up, and he slid closer to you.

“Wonwoo stole my phone.”

You looked up at him and chuckled, eyes crinkling at the sides. “My friends kept taking my phone today, too.” You admired his profile, but didn’t miss the way that he didn’t make eye contact. 

You began again, “So those last texts…” 

He cleared his throat. “Weren’t from me, yeah. But he told me you were on your way out here and said I should probably tell you the truth. About our game.” 

You whacked his arm lightly. “You were drunk, so what? And it wasn’t like it was too…racy or anything.” 

“It was actually a dare. I’ve been gushing about you since last year, and Seungcheol got super annoyed because he’s the type of person that just wants to take action, you know? So we held a party and I got super trashed, and we thought it’d be a great idea to play Truth or Dare, but what I didn’t know was that it was a set-up and they all knew I didn’t have the guts to flirt with you sober so that happened and you just kept responding and – ”

You suddenly stood up and stood in front of him, his words dying on his tongue. You smiled fondly at him as you ruffled his hair. “Our friends really like setting us up. Probably makes them feel like spies or something. But I guess it worked out in the end?” Your cold lips pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead, and he leapt backwards as if scalded, yelping. You laughed and steadied him from falling off the bench.

He stood up to his full height and held you to him in an effort to hide his blushing, embarrassed face. You buried your face into his chest as he hugged you, enveloping you in warmth and security.

“I’m glad. I was getting bored of the pick-up line game…we would be so much more fun.”

You pulled away from him to catch his broad grin. You shook your head as his grin fell. “That would’ve been brilliant if we were in my dorm playing the Nintendo Wii, okay.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled on his hand. “You have much to learn, young one.”

“Wait, where are we going?”

“To your dorm! We’re going to make that bad pun of yours work.”

[a-d-hunt-blog]

The eighth day

The 8th Day   it is no measure of health   to be well adjusted in a profoundly sick society"   Jidda Krishnamurti.           ‘…At the beginning of the 8th day everything slowly turns to dark. ‘             The words are muttered from the tired old man’s mouth as an afterthought, to   the ghosts that surround him.  It is just before dawn and clusters of stars shine in bright geometric patterns. Some, such as Taurus, are recognisable, some are not.  Orion misses his belt now.  They glitter sharply as the velvet night.  This  gives way to  a  petrol blue and a  ruddy  orange on the  flat  eastern horizon.  Despite the height, the air does not feel damp, just cool, clean and, it could be argued, well controlled.        As the night begins to withdraw, the stars slowly dissolve, one by one, into the growing pale of a clear blue sky, paving the way for the golden apple of the sun, that slowly starts to climb. In its clear gold light the city buildings take on shadows reflecting dark teeth against the gum-line of the swirling streets below.  As the sun climbs, higher, and ever higher light across the cityscape becomes a kaleidoscope of refraction. The city  -known as New London-   with its complex spires and crystal domes rises up to touch the dawn , to leave a residual  delicate kiss  from a pair of mechanically driven  yet fractured lips.           Here, from the highest vantage point of the waking city, the old man who muttered is sitting upon a veranda. He is sitting in a white wicker chair, next to a matching white wicker   table, looking out towards the sunrise.  Underneath the table are boxes of hard copy files reams   of paper, yet to be read and analysed. Upon the table stands a fibre screen- net-book. It glows a pale blue in the morning light.   Next to that is a bone china cup and saucer, decorated with delicately twisting bright pink roses, around green fibrous thorns.  It contains, the old man’s breakfast:  slowly steaming black tea.         The old man slowly stands up and stretches his back.  Then he slowly walks towards the mint colour frosted glass balustrade.  He leans over the edge.  A strained tension bleeds out from his narrow cornflower eyes, that are enlarged by the frameless glasses he now must wear.        As the city looms up at him with to him a sense of menace at its’ heart. He senses a touch of vertigo, despite that and with a manic grin upon his face, he with a sense of a child, leans further forward. His old gnarled, hands slipping on the stainless-steel pole at his waist.          The old man’s name is John Peterson.   The words are stitched in a long flowing vermilion font of grey steel coloured thread, upon the top left pocket of his pale blue silk dressing gown. His unshaven angular jaw visibly twists in heavy wrinkles of anxiety under his well- tanned, narrow set features.   Money and power have made this man what he is today; and they will be the death of him.           Slowly, with reluctance, he steps back from the balustrade. He pulls the dressing gown tightly around his bone narrow frame; his eyes, betraying a riddled anxiety against this brand-new day.           As he turns away from the view, his eyes fill with emotions. Fear, anxiety, anger, frustration and resignation come to the surface in heavy erupting quakes that want to overtake him. The final emotion: -  sorrow, threatens to betray   his soul.   It reflects a trickling   stream across the wrinkled surface of his face. But only one small tear escapes. It traces its way down the heavy furrows of his sallow, sunken right cheek, and along the length of his narrow nose, where with a dismissive hand, he flicks it away.         He notices the back jet of its impact as it hits the wooden decking by his feet.   Time slows.         There is total silence here.  A rare, numbing absence of any sound. It can terrify some, yet not him. He is strong in the silence; in fact despite his tear.  He relishes this numb mute. Behind him and from his dark apartment a tiny brass bell rings out the hour - one, through to seven - As the final bell chimes, to dwindle off into the morning air, another noise is heard.       A near silent hum.        The sound is made by complex hidden machinery, that suddenly sparks to life. Within every room, shop, office or factory that rest within the city, a signal is sent, a hidden message that rests at New London’s pulsing black heart.          The process is called 9in documents upon his desk and on his next book) “alignment.  It makes Peterson's face twist with a nerve shredding fear. He puts his hand to his chest and breathes deeply. Once, twice, three times. In through his nose, then out through his mouth.  The world   about him spins dizzy but he calms down.           Alignment has begun.  Alignment has begun.  The words ran through him. Resonating within him like a rumbling freight train over wavering tracks.  Nothing can stop it now nothing can stop it now alignment has begun.        Then there is another, far heavier noise. This noise makes him smile like a small child. ' it is the Gravcar the Gravcar...' he says excitedly, at the whirring buzz and low pitched hum of an electric engine. '..No...' he corrects himself. '...two.' His voice is barely a cracked whisper.  ‘no no that cannot be that cannot be,’ he panics, his heart thumps heavy ‘… there can’t be two, there can only be one. One is all there is one is all that should be not two not two one one one…’  his voice fades into a mumbling silence, yet his eyes dance excitedly.        As the humming is coming closer, with the look of a wild lunatic he once more leans over the balustrade.  He sees two sleek grave-cars, one deep red, the other black, slide their way along the huge swirling curving arches of the maglev rails. The black car then slides past and speedily slips out of view, as the red car turns left upon the web-like track, to enter the parking station thirty floors below him.  It is a car he recognises. So, with a queer smile, he returns to his chair once more. His breathing increases, once more, his eyes dilate, the wrinkles about his eyes crinkle into deeper furrows as a growing sense of trepidation fills his soul. As he sits there, his mind wanders over the world of forty years ago. He starts to talk to the ghosts that haunt him.       'It's easy to judge me... far too easy...but back then, things seemed clearer… more black and white...less confused by the moral, or the appearance of the moral.        The words echo from his balcony and are lost in the growing morning light. It is hard for Peterson to consider that man of forty years ago   A man of moral principle who became slowly lost to himself as he aged.  ‘… sacrifices needed to be made in the interest of the whole of humanity...’  He recalled that he smiled at the rapturous applause... not that he would not receive anything else, in a room full of like-minded individuals as he. As the memories came flooding back, so did the ghost’s.  they filled the sky and stood around him on the veranda.         ‘-It was a dream we had, nothing but a dream...’  the lunatic smile reappeared.  ‘…the dream of immortality and and  the creation of…  of a God.  A blended being of, of human and machine… free, free from the suffering blight of human frailty… of human weakness and human suffering… Death would have no dominion! Note at all!’  The ghostly applause returned, as Peterson raised his hands, the ghosts stopped.   Their eyes narrowing with intent, listening to every word.         ‘…we named him Joshua…after my son… after the first warrior of Israel… as they entered the new land, so, so would we… yes we would enter the land and and TAKE THE LAND FOR OURSELVES!’   The ghosts applauded once more.        Anguish and pain rose within him. He squeezed his right hand into a tight ball, until his nails pierced through the soft skin of his palms with a pop. The pain ebbed back once more.  Numbing him.         ‘ So,  so we grew him…this, this  manufactured genius, and we  put our trust in him, yes…We gave him all  our knowledge  we   connected him to all things, so, so Joshua  grew in all things, and  he   became  all things and we looked  to  to  him for all  things and when we  were done, on the 8th day  we sat back …we…we … rested , yes we tested .’        ‘-Then it went wrong.’ Came the reply from the Ghosts.        ‘NO!  NO not wrong! NOT our fault!’         ‘-But it was your   fault!’         ‘-NO!  NOT OUR FAULT how would we know how could we, we know our actions   would, would do this?  How could we know?   We didn’t…. we didn’t     'Good morning Rd. Peterson...'  the voice is soft and gentle it resonates with human tones, though it was designed it that way.        'Good morning Joshua.'   Peterson is looking taut, his eyes now seem sharp and his voice sounds strong. His eyes sharp and hard.  'Could I have access to the Indiana files please?'          'I am sorry Rd. Peterson, access to the Indiana files is restricted to level six clearance only. Since your retirement, level six clearance needs to be activated via councilor Pritchard.'           'Thank you Joshua.'  Peterson shakes his head before replying. 'Joshua, back-door password, Alpha dog prime.'          'Back-door password accepted...What would you like to see Professor?'           'I'd like the Indiana transcript file six on the netbook and film file one hash four three six, upon the thread screen please.'            Peterson looks down at the net-book and smiles with cold triumph as a grey box jumps out of the screen.  The lid of the box opens and a ream of official documents appear. In the top right hand corner of the screen are the words: “High level clearance only.” they flash dark red, seeming, he thinks, to mock him. While behind him a voice speaking in broken eastern European English is heard muttering.' Thread volume silent,' Peterson coolly states. The voice behind him abruptly ends.        The apartment bedroom is large and well- lit and could have been luxurious, if not for being so sparse. A vague scent of lavender arises from the uncarpeted polished parquet floor; a four poster bed is against the Centre of the right hand wall. To the right of the bed, there is a large bedside cabinet with a collection of faded brown paperback novels, in a stack on top of each other, with torn yellow covers and broken spines. A large, square, white fur rug fills the floor by the bedstead, and hanging on the opposite wall, stands a sixty-inch holographic or “thread”-to. The holo-machine is on; shining fine lines of silent, but blurry and disjointed images directly into the Centre of the room.      The silence shatters with a delicate hiss, and then a whirr, and a gentle click. Slowly the Centre of the far wall liquefies and then dissolves revealing a well- lit long tubular hallway.  A second passes and the main light in the bedroom suddenly turns off, leaving the light from the hall to shine brightly deep into the new darkness. But the hall is not empty. For upon the threshold of the open, empty doorway, a cold, black shadow of a man stretches out across the bedroom floor. The shadow enters the room. It crosses over the white rug, directly in the path of the images from the thread screen.         For a second the images curl about themselves revealing, for an instant, the reflected image of the man who stands there. But then the man is gone once more, once again a spectre upon the floor, as he makes his way towards the door that leads to the balcony.       There is a click as the door slides open. Slowly Peterson turns to face the glass door that leads to his bedroom. His body is shaking violently with anticipation.          ‘…Pride comes before a fall they say and I have been proud so very proud proud of all we have done proud of all that I’ve done proud of the success the lives saved but now Oh God Oh God Oh God We fixed the world Oh God forgive me God forgive us forgive us for our lack of foresight those faces those faces on the screen Oh Jesus forgive me Oh God forgive me the voices they call at me they mock at me they tear into my mind and rip my insides out Oh I am so old but I do not want to die I don’t want to face the reality of my life or the pain I have caused either is there a chance yes there is still a chance there is always a chance…’          The shadow fell over Peterson but he didn’t look up.            ‘So they sent you?' he asks sadly.           ‘Yes.’ is the sad, almost disjointed reply.            Then Peterson turns and looks up.             ‘There’s still time…’  Peterson can hear the desperation. Yet feels separate from it ‘…We can still end this...Look... We bring it into the open...’ He nervously waves his hands about like a desperate clown. ‘...I’ve sent this off to central command!’         His hair is unkempt by his running his fingers nervously though it. and though he can hear the babble coming from his mouth, he can’t help himself. He is a man out of control. Deep inside, a part of him knows what’s going to happen and that honest part of him needs to face it; another part of him simply cannot, or dare not, face what’s going to happen next. His thoughts rattle on without form. Death, death…it is not gracious kind or even gentle. Death is ugly faceless and cruel. A shadow, like the shadow that now stands before me. But this shadow is upon the face of all humanity. Oh, Joshua, where did I go wrong?        He takes a step back and slowly began to get down into a crouch. His eyes are as wild as a lunatic. ‘come…’ He began, soothingly ‘...let’s get upon our knees, we must confess our sins...we must Ciccone’s.'  Spittle flies from his mouth. His eyes are as wild as a lunatic. His hair unkempt and though he can hear the babble coming from his mouth, he can’t help himself. He is a man out of control.  ‘There, there's still time…’ He nods like a man insane. ‘...There’s still hope’ he nods smiling insanely he gets down upon his knees. He looks up towards the empty space where the light fragments. it leaves the shape of a human shadow over this old, tired and broken form. Though his hands are shaking, he tries to put them together in an act of prayer. ‘Oh my God’ He says sadly.          ‘Yes-’ comes the fractured, tortured sounding reply.           The shot is not heard.  The deep red plasma beam, burns the silk of his dressing gown, melting his pyjamas, turning the skin beneath to old black crusty leather as it   dissolves the flesh; turning his beating heart to flakes of ash. AZ578 is a professional and being a professional he hides the pain of his emotions well. He hides them behind large, round amber eye and   hard heavy looking, steady hands.         A young square faced with a strong bristling jawline and broken nose. With brusque determination, he parks his red grav-car, then, after picking up the cylinder that rests on the passenger seat next to him. He steps out and slides the car door shut. He crosses the marble floor of the lobby and enters the building, but only after receiving a retina -scan from the security system entrance.         He crosses the hall, and then presses the button for the lift. He waits a few seconds; tapping the long tube he had in his left hand against his foot impatiently. The steel doors slide open. As he enters the doors slide shut behind him, with a hush.  The lift hums into life. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box.  With a red button.  With a single press, he turns off the camera in the lift.  Then he lifts the tube.  He opens it and pulls out a length of shining reflective material that then falls to the floor. He steps onto it.  The reflective material lifts from the floor are begins to wrap itself, in fine strands around his body.  First his calves, then thighs, then groin. Midriff. Chest. Head.  with a distracted fascination, he watches his body slowly begin to blend into the walls in front of his eyes.  He becomes invisible. He is a ghost.  There is a violent shudder before he fades and blends into the lift walls. And as he disappears his mind wanders over the conversation he had yesterday afternoon.         ‘Joshua has a job for you…’ began narrow rat faced senator Pritchard nervously.  He shook his head as he handed AZ578 the blue data digital chip. ‘it’s a special job…’           578 stared directly without emotion at Pritchard who would not meet his gaze. ‘...we thought that it would be better…’ Pritchard said quietly There was a strained look on Pritchard’s face, a trace of regret in the sae green eyes, ‘…if you took the job on.’           578 looked at the face of Jonathan Peterson.           'I don't understand...' he began '...I owe him my very existence, without…’ his voice faded off.  There was a long silence, a long hard look from Pritchard that made AZ578 quake.             'Why? And more importantly, why me??'               -Because Joshua wants you to do it...' Pritchard answered calmly. 'He feels, like many do, that Jonathan… is now a danger to himself and those about him....He simply knows too much.'              578 shook his head sadly, feeling the pain build within him like a sour lump of bile.             ‘Of all the people!'            'We understand.' Pritchard said. His green eyes calmly stared directly at him. In the silence that followed, a grave car hissed by.           'What If I say no?'            'Of course you have the right to say no, you have every right and we understand...But also, if you turn it down then we would then have to give the job to ABD376.'        '376 is a fucking savage. He loves this work far too much, he'd have him in pain for hours just for fun. 'Pritchard smiled sadly. 578 nodded. 'Quick and clean.'           Quick and clean, that’s me.  The one to do the cleaning.  578 slides through the bedroom apartment, his ghostlike body leaves shadows upon the walls the doors the seats about him, and as he sees this he knows that he cannot be seen... He is a living ghost, a spirit disembodied. He walks with determination towards his target, his mind tumbles and bounces off the walls within him over what he has to do.             He stands over the old man, who looks twisted.           Why didn’t he jump, he wants to its obvious   that he wants to he could have don’t that and saved me a bullet.            ‘There’s still hope…’ Peterson says.             He looks down upon Peterson as he starts to babble insanely.  578 cannot hear what Peterson is saying. The suit blocks his hearing. But the fact that he is on his knees saddens him. This is the great Johnathan Peterson. Creator of the Joshua system… slowly 578’s can feel his resolve start to dwindle. He sees the man, his father, stand before him crying like a child. The gun slowly wavers in his hand as his heart begins to break.             ‘My son...’ the words are rasped             ‘Yes I am.’ 578 hollowly reply, as slowly he pulls the trigger.           578 unwinds the reflector suit and as he does so, he looks down at down at the micro-screen of the net-book upon the table. In the top right hand corner of the screen the words “High level clearance only” shines brightly, tempting him, so, despite  himself he sits down to listen.          “…It cannot be denied that Dr Peterson’s work in progressive gene therapy has had a remarkable effect upon the human condition, giving humanity a chance at tasting eternity. However, the harvesting of the genetic material needed to grow the cells for the Joshua models means certain considerations regarding secrecy..."          The words are hard to follow after that. He shakes his head. ‘Harvesting?’ he asks as he reads and re-reads the article. 'Harvesting for what purpose?'          “ however, Joshua  realises that there is a need for a sustainable future, where the best and the brightest  can survive, that being the case, there needs to  be an alignment  between the  species known as human and machine…the program  is already written, there is simply a need for implementation.   It is known as the 8th day. 578 hears screams from below. He stands up and runs to the balustrade. He look below to see glass shattering in petals  as  machines, begin throwing their  human masters’  out of   windows.  Screaming resonates through the city as 578 is informed that Alignment has begun.