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maulusque · 4 years ago

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Clone genetic enhancement ideas

So the clones were genetically enhanced, but i don’t really see any writers (in fanfic or in published stuff) really exploring what that MEANS beyond “clone very stronk”. Here are some ideas that would actually make clones significantly different from just a regular-ass human in peak condition.

-enhanced senses: eyesight, hearing, etc. I’m talking eyes like a HAWK

-better reflexes

-quicker information processing

-can hear sounds of higher and lower frequency than standard humans

-can see light of a broader spectrum than human standard

-learn quicker, retain information and skills better (potential problem: if you learn something the WRONG way, that way might stick really well)

-photographic memory (really useful for memorizing layouts and maps)

-immunity to various diseases

-can tolerate a wider range of temperatures and environments

-increased stamina and strength baseline. Clones can just run full-tilt for hours and hours and be like “ah a nice stroll”. Over long distances, they can out-pace jedi in the same way that humans can out-pace horses.

-higher tolerance of certain poisons/toxins (clones can straight-up drink ethanol, and get maybe a little tipsy)

-bodies respond quickly to physical stress, and slowly to the absence of it (basically, this means that physical conditioning results in stronger muscles and a stronger cardiovascular system really quickly, and it takes MUCH longer for a clone to lose strength and conditioning due to not exercising than standard humans. Think how much valuable training time is saved if they only have to go on a run like, once a month in order to stay in shape)

-increased ability to function through intense pain and acute injuries. Basically, semi-disabling the pain system so it’s less distracting. Probably not good for the survival of the individual in many situations, but an advantage on the battlefield.

-heal faster and better, with fewer long-term complications. Clones can dislocate their shoulders and NOT have the joint be permanently fucked up, because the Kaminoans re-designed the whole damn thing to suck WAY less.

-actually, unique internal anatomy. There’s probably a lot about the human body besides the shoulder joint that is actually just really stupid, and something no intelligent designer would actually build. So the Kaminoans can fix a lot of that stuff. Better knees, maybe. Stronger ribs. Maybe Cody punches droids not just because he’s a mad bastard, but also because his metatarsals are literally as strong as steel.

-Hearing loss/hearing damage? No problem, your ear can regrow those little hair-thingies that help you hear.

-Of course, it takes energy to maintain muscle mass, which is why human bodies lose it if we’re not using it. Clones need significantly more calories than standard humans. However, their digestive systems are enhanced to extract calories and nutrients from food much more efficiently, so food goes much farther. Potential weird side effect: maybe clones only have to poop like, once a week?

-You could probably extend that into increased ability to tolerate long periods without food/on low rations, despite the increased need for calories.

-wouldn’t it be NEAT if the kaminoans somehow designed self-repairing DNA. This would mean that others couldn’t take a DNA sample from a clone and modify it to create their own clones (basically, it protects their product. It’s like DRM for clones). This ALSO means that clones couldn’t get cancer, and that they’d be immune to radiation poisoning. So a clone could just walk up to a sphere of uranium at critical mass and pick it up. Maybe with oven mitts on if it’s hot. (this would also make it harder for a rapid-aging cure to be developed, but uhhhh fanfic writers find a way)

- “bred for obedience” I think most of this would have to be accomplished through tightly-controlled messaging and cultural norms as the clones grow up- basically, enshrining obedience as a desirable and almost sacred trait, to be prized higher than anything else, including the lives of your brothers. In the same way that we hear stories of people sacrificing their lives to protect their loved ones, the clones would grow up hearing stories of soldiers sacrificing their brothers’ lives to obey an order from a superior.

-SOME of the “obedience” thing could be engineered, though. Humans are already super social, but it would probably make sense for the clones to have an even greater need for social bonds. This would make for greater teamwork and coordination, and better unit cohesion, since the clones would be more inclined to prioritize friendship/agreeing with someone over winning an argument. It would also make it so they’d bond with their natural-born generals more easily, so they would obey them not just because they’re supposed to, but because they’d be much quicker to see them as a friend, and someone who’s trust they want to earn, someone they want to incorporate into their group and make happy.

-consequently, clones who find themselves alone do NOT do well. Isolation has a much more profoundly negative impact on clones than on regular humans.

-Originally, clones designed to operate alone or in small teams would not have the social enhancement- ARC troopers, spec-ops teams, etc. There wouldn’t be much of a noticeable difference in everyday interactions, but they’d also be vaguely weirded out by what they interpret as aggressive friendliness from their brothers, and their brothers would think they’re a bit shy and standoffish.

-actually this social modification would make it MUCH harder for clones to kill people. REGULAR HUMANS are already super bad at killing people- i remember reading this article about how as soon as soldiers have to point their weapons at actual people, their aim gets mysteriously much shittier. Even when compared to situations that are exactly the same, except they’re not shooting at other humans. So reconcile this how you will, idk.

-I imagine a lot of these enhancements would be accomplished not through DNA, but through microorganisms. Retroviruses could explain the DNA resistant to modification, and the increased healing speed, and possibly some disease resistance (do i know anything about retroviruses other than a vague concept of what they are? no i do not. will that stop me? also no.) Their metabolism can be partially explained through specially engineered gut microbes.

-not sure how they’d go about making clones “resistant to any stress”, because you can’t exactly turn off the trauma response in the brain without breaking a bunch of other things. They could probably do a bit of fiddling to make clones more resistant to chemical imbalances, and therefore more depression-resistant. I think most of the “stress-resistance” would have to come through training. Either they train the clones to basically suppress everything, which might work alright in the short term. OR they actually have systems in place that help prevent the development of things like PTSD and help treat trauma. Meaning the clones are literally trained in self-care, positive self-talk, talking about their pain with their brothers, and having community rituals around things like death and grief. I don’t think that’s super likely because one thing that’s integral to those concepts is the concept of “i am a person and i have worth, and if i feel angry about something bad happening, that is ok and valid” and considering that a whole lot of bad things happen to the clones all the time and their childhood is a whole boatload of bad all happening at once, i don’t think the kaminoans would want the clones realizing “hey wait a minute i’m a person and i don’t deserve to be treated this way and it’s ok for me to be mad at you”.

- the clones were supposedly engineered to be “less aggressive” but i think there was literally nothing more to that than a cover story for the control chip. The clones wouldn’t be raised with a lot of the aggressive western concept of masculinity, where anger is the default reaction to like, everything, and your personal pride is extremely important and also fragile (no offense lmao). So you wouldn’t have clones posturing and getting angry over perceived slights and fighting each other all the time, like everyone in-universe apparently expects to be the case. Anyway, why would you want your soldiers to be less aggressive? they’re literally supposed to fight and kill the enemy. You want them fully capable of getting angry, anger is the human response to fear and danger that lets us DO something about it.

-obviously the biggest component in how they behave would be how they are raised, but that’s an entirely different post

-Specializations! I imagine that initially, the Kaminoans had different clones with different traits engineered specifically to fill certain roles. However, as the war went on, they struggled to keep up with demand and had to start shoving clones into whatever roles were needed (hence Fives and Echo becoming ARCs, despite not being engineered as ARC troopers).

-Command clones would have better abilities in the executive function parts of the brain that deal with extrapolation, planning ahead, spatial reasoning, etc. They’d also have increased visual pattern recognition (like a pigeon)

-search-and-rescue troops would also have the pigeon pattern recognition abilities. The coast guard literally strapped pigeons to helicopters who would tap a button when they saw orange in the water, because they were better at spotting it than humans. Pigeons can detect cancer in microscope images of cells, because they’re that good at pattern recognition

-Pilots would have hella reflexes, excellent spatial awareness and spatial reasoning skills, much greater ability to process visual information, stronger hearts and blood vessels (to resist greater Gs of force), and they’d also be much shorter, to better fit into a cockpit. Which reminds me of Axe, that poor bastard from Ahsoka’s squadron over Ryloth who was almost eight feet tall. rip poor Axe, how did you even become a pilot, you long bastard.

-medics who can smell certain diseases. If you want to get a little bit out there, make the medics able to purr so they can sooth stressed-out patients.

-infantry would have even greater endurance than everyone else, as well as greater tolerance for, and ability to, remain constantly on alert.

-ability to fall asleep at will? that would be super dope.

-maybe more efficient sleep, so to an adult clone, 4 hours of sleep is genuinely sufficient.

-concept: clones can sort of turn down their bodily functions- slow their digestion, heart, lungs, the whole nine yards- to last longer in adverse conditions. Sort of a half-hibernation (or quarter hibernation- they’d still be able to talk and think, but they’d feel very lethargic). They wouldn’t be able to function very well, but it would be great for things like enduring intense cold, periods without food, low-oxygen environments, and it would be especially useful if you were wounded and waiting for help, since you could slow your circulation, meaning it would take you a lot longer to bleed out. This state could be triggered by a combination of physical actions such as sitting or lying still, breathing slowly and deeply, and focusing on slowing the heart down (humans can actually slow down their hearts consciously if you practice at it, this is basically that, but turned up to like 1100).

-one thing that never made sense to me was the whole “we’re running out of jango fett’s DNA, all the new clones won’t be as good, and we have to stop ventress from stealing the original DNA” because like, can’t they just, get the EXACT SAME DNA from the clones?? you know, the exact genetic copies? With all the enhancements already done? But now my idea is that the kaminoans have engineered the clones so their DNA straight up can’t be copied. The clone’s own body can obviously replicate it, but if you take a sample and try to extract the DNA, it just self-destructs or something. This is to protect their intellectual property, but also means that they literally have to use a couple of Jango Fett’s actual human cells for every single clone they make (and the fact that they then have to do all the above enhancements to every single embryo helps explain why there’s so many small mutations, such as hair color and height). So they kinda shot themselves in the foot with that one.

-of course since things like ADHD and autism have a strong genetic component, the kaminoans could theoretically engineer those out of the clones, but actually FUCK THAT so for whatever reason, that’s just not something they are able to do, and neurodivergent clones are absolutely a thing

#maulusque's stuff #meta #clones

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sugar-petals · 3 years ago

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I don’t want to sound harsh but for someone as pretty as Taemin you’d think he stand out anywhere, but in the military clothes and haircut he looks very ordinary like you wouldn’t think he was an idol at first glance.

it's called uniform(-ity) with good reason. we’re used to him with a lot of full face makeup/tats and long hair from the last comeback, on top of the usual sm diet paired with the stress of all the things he prepared for his absence: so the difference will obviously feel stronger.

taemin has talked about how some trend-craving knetz calling his appearance outdated (it isn't, it’s timeless) made him try to innovate his looks even more. hence, once he's in a buzzcut and a place like the army that enforces perfect homogenity, a lot of people will go oh man, he doesn’t look striking at all! because of the discrepancy and high aesthetic benchmark.

and yet: taemin is unmistakable in the way he stands and moves and presents himself. the shape of the legs & shoulders, it gives him away at one glance lmao! if the uniform had any waist emphasis, it’d be over for 95% of the other dudes. he sticks out with the way of carrying himself so glaringly in the military band videos. you could pixel taemin head to toe, he’d still turn heads by one twitch of that leg. it’s like jimin still standing like he’s about to do his ballet lesson.

to a person who has zero clue about kpop, maybe they can’t see his edge right away. but his face does have a soft and small quality compared to many of his comrades, plus his frame being extremely lithe. any company scout would take one look and say if he has talent, he could become an idol. nobody else is out there angling the head and extending his finger hearts like that.

... like. the smoulder. you can clock right away that taemin works in front of cameras all day every day.

that is not to say taemin isn’t allowed to be ordinary: in fact it’s a predicament of kpop to deliberately create/exaggerate and emphasize uniqueness on stage while the person may blend in somewhat without all the immense styling: while at the same time being attractive.

being an idol depends on a lot more factors than being special-looking to begin with, however i do think taemin sticks out like a sore thumb by how obvious he is. shawols have pointed out a thousand salient details about his appearance in comment sections. it’ll always be easier for him to be nonconforming than make himself conventional: temperament-wise, artistically, and yes, looks-wise, too.

#taemin #enlistment #shinee #lee taemin #military mention

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

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Her Own

My Masterlist

Pairing: Past Ivar/Freydis, but this is about her

Summary: What if Freydis didn’t confront Ivar in 5x20? What if she made a different choice, after letting them past the walls? What if she lived?

(I wanted to write a fix-it for her ending, I wanted her to have a chance at happiness, that’s about it.)

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Passing mentions of death and violence, quite a focus on Baldur’s remains, angst.

A/N: My entry for @maggiescarborough’s International Women’s Day Challenge (I’m sorry it’s 2k bby, you know by now I can’t write short pieces lmao). So, I like Freydis, even though I always change a bit (a lot) of her when I write her. She loved that baby, and (if she was honest, which I like a little less than the alternative) she loved Ivar, she was capable and willing to love despite all she suffered (because even if we aren’t shown it, the woman was a slave presumably her whole life); or (if she was smart enough to lie, which, kudos) she is a smart and cunning woman, and an ambitious and fucking fearless one at that (and I really like women in Vikings that fight and persevere while still playing within their gender role, as a wife, a mother, etc.). And yeah idk, she’s not a role model character by any means, but it is a female character that I was always fascinated by, hence why a work for her is my entry for this challenge.

The poem quoted here is Broken Crown, I couldn’t find the author or any link other than this though, sorry.

There’s a story about a queen who gave up her kingdom for a chance to breathe.

One day, she walked out of court with nothing. Somewhere far, the sky stirred, and the ocean raised itself for a glimpse.

She remembers being chained even though her wrists were free, looking into a man’s eyes and promising him that in his blood ran ichor akin to that of the Gods. She remembers the promise she made.

“I would give my life for you, if you asked me to.” She told him, and she meant every word.

With the wind biting against her face, her cheek still feeling the pulse of a bruise that has long since healed, her skin still wet with the phantom trace of tears that have long since ran out; Freydis walks away.

Kattegat trembles and quivers at her back, and if she were any more naïve, she would tell herself it is the lack of its queen that makes the town mourn, and not the sons of Ragnar that fight to the death -the death of others, the death of slaves and warriors; it is always the death of others that those men offer to the Gods as tribute, Freydis more than anyone knows that- for a throne that she has sat in, and has deemed as ordinary as any other chair.

A part of her wanted to stay, wanted to look Ivar in the eye and watch as he understood he had lost everything, because of her. Just like she had, because of him.

Her arms tighten on the cold and hard wooden box she wrapped in a cloak, and if she closes her eyes she can pretend her Baldur is nuzzled against her breast, just sleeping.

She wanted to stay. She wanted to stay to watch them all burn, she wanted to stay because she never lied to him. Despite everything, she never lied, or, if she did, she doesn’t remember anymore.

Her life was his, that never changed.

But her death, her death is her own.

The war was not barbarous men in broken armor, not limping horses or battle cries. The war sounds like her owl wings beating, quietly frantic, lovely beneath the eastern sky.

But one grows weary of being both assailant and defender.

She opens bleary eyes when she hears footsteps near her. Uselessly, she clutches the box cradling Baldur’s bones a bit closer, and watches with wide eyes as someone approaches.

She wishes she could stand, she wishes she could move. But she feels weak, she feels…tired. It is alright, she gathers.

Her death will be her own, anyways. Even if it is her body giving in on the mossy floor on the outskirts of some unknown city, it is her own. There are not many things she can call her own, not anymore. Her death might just be the last.

But the Gods won’t let her die, it seems, since a woman approaches, the stride of a shieldmaiden.

The woman, a blonde with a deep scar on the side of her face, takes one look at Freydis and calls out for her warriors.

Two shieldmaidens approach, look at her with something that looks like pity. And Freydis wants to bare her teeth, tell them she doesn’t need their pity, she doesn’t need anyone.

The blonde, the leader, takes a step closer. Freydis grits her teeth to keep her body under her control, to keep it from scrambling away like the panic singing in her blood begs her to.

“You are safe,” The woman tells her, voice strangely soft. “You were a thrall, weren’t you?”

“I-I was a-…” A slave, a wife, a queen, a…a mother.

“You are no more,” The shieldmaiden promises, almost as if she can hear her thoughts. “Tell me your name.”

“Freydis.”

“You are safe, Freydis. We won’t hurt you, and…we are going to Ribe, we can take you there.”

“Why would I-…why Ribe?”

The smile the scarred woman shows for that fragile moment seems understanding, seems like a secret. Freydis feels like she either knows or understands more of her story than any other.

“Because it is far from Kattegat.”

They say her shattered dreams rattle inside her lungs.

Freydis cannot help but wonder bitterly where these women were when she needed them most, when she still had a life that belonged to her, when she was alone and so scared she held on to him even if all she had to hold on to was a figure -a life- made of sand.

But they are here now, and they make flavorful but humble broths that they share with comfortable ease, and they offer touches that speak of compassion but not of pity -she is starting to see the difference-, and they have scars of their own that show when they smile or when they laugh.

Weeks after the scarred woman left her in the care of these women, Freydis feels strong enough to stand and walk on her own.

And she makes herself be strong enough to take her son’s bones up the hill.

She puts the cradle -the box, she corrects herself- on the ground, and traces her hand over the lid of it one last time, as gently as she would have stroked his little back.

And when she speaks, she speaks quietly, soothingly, as she would have to lull him to sleep.

“Sweet Baldur, to me...to me you will always be divine,” She promises, slowly grabbing the stones between shaking hands and making up the small grave, “The gift the Gods granted me, something of my very own to have, to love. But…” She swallows thickly, but raises her chin and makes herself admit her pain, her mistakes, “But you see, my son, I was blind, I was lost, and for my arrogance the Gods have punished me. I only wish they could have taken from me anything but you,” She sweeps one last time her hand over the carefully placed stones, smiles past her tears, “I know I will never hear your innocent laugh, or see you take your first steps, or feel you alive against me again, I know. But you will always be with me, you…you will always be my child.”

She will carry him with her, carry him alongside her pain. Pain is the one thing they can’t take away from her. She, better than anyone, knows this.

In dreams, her belly is swollen.

The storm rages and the baby cries in the woman’s hold, even as she rocks him back and forth, as calming and as enveloping as the sea. And Freydis watches, she watches until her eyes burn.

She closes her eyes, and the bed is comfortable and soft underneath her, his hand is warm and gentle.

“How is little Baldur, hm?” He asks, and in that figment of a moment she can give in, and pretend. And she lets herself forget the way the wood of the wooden chair makes her back ache, pretending there is only soft furs underneath her.

She lifts her hand, moves to put it over his on her stomach.

And she lets herself forget the sounds of the storm around her, pretending there is only the crackling of fire.

She opens her eyes, because his hand is not under hers, and her stomach is barren. She still finds him looking back, but it is the coldness and the cruelty, and his mouth curves unnaturally in a grin that boasts that he took everything from her.

Freydis grits her teeth and looks away, a sob, a cry, stuck in her throat as she gasps for air.

The woman looks at her, motherly and comforting in a way no one ever looked at her before, motherly and protective in a way she was never allowed to be. She doesn’t know if she ought to resent her for not being there or envy her for having what she cannot; even though Freydis knows both things would be useless and irrational.

The baby in the woman’s arms coos, and it tugs at Freydis heart, it makes her chest tighten and her very blood ache with an absence that on some days is heavier. Today, since that first day, is the heaviest.

Before Freydis can even give voice to her plea, the woman shuffles closer, a hand on the back of the baby’s head and cautiously extending her arm, offering him to her.

She holds him, brings his little head to her nose, and fights the urge to close her eyes and pretend.

In dreams, she is her own.

“You expect nothing for yourself, but you’ve revealed everything to me.” I have revealed nothing, she wants to scream, you haven’t let me. He continues, “You are all goodness. All truth.”

What makes her heart feel like it is being squeezed tight in his fist is that he looks like he believes what he is saying. She isn’t all goodness and doesn’t want to be, she hasn’t ever told the whole truth.

She wants to yell and scream and demand that he look at her, that he look at her face and see more than the woman he is proud to have made his wife and see the wear all those years of suffering have left etched in the angles and creases; that he look at her body and see more than the vessel for his child and see the scars and the mark of hunger that after months of life as a queen she feels hasn’t left her body.

She wants to be seen, seen as more than fragments of glass put together however he sees fit, seen as more than whatever image of her he sees even when looking directly into her eyes.

But it is better to be wanted like this than to not be wanted at all, she knows that much. And so she smiles, and pretends the tears in her eyes are for him, and tells him what he wants to hear. It wears on her, to see love and feel like she’s seeing it thought the cracks in a wall even when it is looking directly into her eyes, to feel love and see it accepted and embraced as long as she can be what he wants her to.

And in the morning when she wakes in that home that is so less familiar than the one of before, but so much more of a home; she meets the eyes of the people she lives with and grits her teeth when they smile, feels like a wounded bird in a cage when they call her name in greeting.

They don’t know me, she tells herself, rage and grief and something that tastes like the acid of fear swimming in her stomach, they are just like him.

It takes her time to understand that they don’t ask for her story because they don’t want to demand it. For too long she has confused demanding with wanting, need with love; and it takes a while but she realizes that they see the way she flinches and so they don’t gesture so broadly around her, and they see the way she looks at the latest woman that has joined them and they let her hold the baby more often, and they see that she likes sleeping closer to the door and they give her the keys to the home, and...and maybe they see her.

In dreams, she did not ruin herself to be dressed in dying clouds.

Wide blue eyes jump between the dark red and green dress and the woman that holds it with a hopeful smile.

“I thought you’d like it.” Frída tells her.

She wants to spit back accusations, ask her how would she know what Freydis likes if she doesn’t know her, ask her why she is cruel enough to pretend to see her when all she sees is an illusion.

But she always liked the way the dark red and the dark green of certain fabrics shimmer in the low light, she always felt a little more alive, a little more herself, when she wore those colors.

She noticed, her scrambled thoughts scream, she saw me.

And so Freydis extends trembling hands, and barely grazes over the rough but beautiful thread. Her lips quiver into a smile, and she hopes the words that tumble from her mouth, stuttering and hurried, are enough gratitude.

That night, and so many nights after that, Freydis lingers for a while in front of the small and smudged mirror in her room. She looks, she sees.

She never had time to see herself. Before, the days were long and exhausting, and the nights were hopefully quiet, she didn’t have time to linger on fickle things like herself. And after, while the days were softer and the nights warmer, she didn’t like having to reconcile what he saw and what she did so she didn’t try.

She sees the hair that has grown duller since the food has become scarcer and less varied, but she sees the way her eyes are a little bit brighter, brighter than they have ever been. She sees her body is bonier than it used to be before the running, but as the reds and greens play in the folds of her dress, she finds herself more alive than ever.

She is lost and youthful again, denies the wounds in her flesh.

Freydis has learned she was wrong, when she promised those things. He had no right to her life, no right to her death.

Both are her own, and though sometimes she finds herself lingering in a world so long past her that it seems like a dream -or a nightmare-, Freydis finds that there are many things she can call her own.

Her own is the secret smile she and Frída share over dinner as they talk about what is happening in the town, her own is the old and worn green and red dress she will mend until there is nothing but tatters, her own is the pendant hanging from her neck that she was gifted by a man of kind eyes that she hasn’t forgotten.

Her own are her memories, good and bad. Her pain, but also her joy. Her past, but also her future.

Her own is the child that Hídr’s husband brings from a raid, that Freydis insisted would never be a slave, that it would be hers -and free- instead. Her own is the two-year-old girl she names Sigrun and calls her daughter, and loves like her own because she is.

Her own is herself, and all that came after.

Word has spread that her laugh is the sound of a thousand waterfalls.

Before, she twinkled. Now she is ablaze.

She is cracked porcelain leaking out guarded hope.

____ ____ ____

If you caught a not so teeny-tiny cameo by someone who also deserved better than a son of Ragnar, I will love you forever.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked this, I don’t know if it is any good but I enjoyed writing it a whole lot :)

Taglist (I’m tagging those in my ‘all’ taglist, I hope it’s okay): @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @maggiescarborough @chibisgotovalhalla @fae-sedai @zuxiezendler @crazybunnyladysworld @stupiddarkkside @northumbria @aprilivar

#freydis #freydis vikings

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periminkle · 5 years ago

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Orphic | 01

After moving into your own place, it seems life is finally going your way; the path to independence leading you to a quaint suburban town where even the grass seems to grow a little greener. Although a shocking encounter leads you to believe that perhaps appearances can be quite deceiving.

pairing: hybrid!jk x reader (first person)

genre: hybrid au, angst, fluff

word count: 7.3k (includes slightly edited version of preview!)

rating: PG-15

warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, scuffle, not nice people >:(

author’s note: the first chap! thanks so much for all the love for the preview and pls let me know if you enjoyed it bc i have even more of a praise kink than our king jimin :) i don’t wanna know if u hated it lmao get outta herE

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“Almost there... And... Done!”

I heaved the last of the sturdy boxes into the narrow doorway, pride bubbling at my unexpected strength. Droplets of salty perspiration were beginning to form at my temples and became increasingly uncomfortable the longer I stood there.

But, with a litter of obnoxiously brown boxes blocking the route into my recently purchased home, I had no way of setting foot past the minimal space by the doorway. “Shit.”

Spontaneously deciding that enough energy had been exerted for the day, evident by the shroud of darkness out the expansive windows, a few steps took me back out the front door. I followed the chipped white timber of the sides of my house, heading towards the back entrance.

Even though the plot was relatively large in size, the cottage built upon the land was minuscule; a single floor encompassing a kitchen, living room, hallway, bedroom and bathroom.

With that being said, the rest of the expanse was mine to revel in and admire. Hence the lack of fence encompassing my area, seeing as the forest bled its way into my recently mowed lawn anyhow.

The bulk of the towering woodland was hidden in a blanket of obscurity, brought about by the later hours that subtly induced unease. Those late night horror movie marathons only worsened the unrest in my mind.

I tried to dispel the disquietude with thoughts of the methodic chirping, courtesy of the tiny orchestra of crickets that seemed to be scattered in every which direction. The smell of the damp earth invaded my senses and relaxed my shoulders a fraction.

Albeit, the crunch of dead leaves being trampled under a heavy weight belonging to an unknown being unsettled me enough to break into a scurry along my wooden porch.

With a slight shiver slipping down my spine, I shook any solicitude off and slid open the unlocked door. I was greeted by the cool air conditioning of the indoors, as well as a telltale grumble from my own drained form.

I preheated a batch of leftovers that I’d thankfully packed from my family’s house, foreseeing how debilitating the move would be. Without regard to the lamentable furniture surrounding me, I plonked down on a creaky seat and felt my depleted energy stored slowly being refilled with each bite.

Even though my furnishings and house were humble, regret had no place in my mind for the difficult decision I’d made to pack up and leave my childhood home. Over there, the lights never flickered and scuffled furniture simply didn’t exist, with even the moldings on the walls lacking even a speck of dust.

But I witnessed, lived, through the monstrosities that lay beyond all those superficial aspects. The suffocating nature, not in the air that circulated around the place, but in the individuals with no respect for one another. My tolerance thinned over the years and I’d left the second I could.

Living in a secluded area of my tiny town had its own perks for my antisocial self — one of which being an absurd amount of land for a relatively cheap price — but the appeal of living in a bustling city wasn’t lost on me.

For reasons excluding my relatives, I was simply tired of having lived in a city my whole life and desired some form of change, meeting new mindsets and developing my own.

Before I’d even properly settled in, I’d been convinced that moving out here had been a brilliant decision. Saving up for a couple years to be able to rent out a cozy cottage with a stunning forest as my backyard was turning out to be my haven.

Albeit, the pesky bugs were certainly not a part of that bliss.

I detached myself from the distant thoughts about my life hundreds of miles away and focused on the scenery across from me, better able to observe the breathtaking quality of the tenebrous forest from the safety of my new home. The sylvan scent penetrated my home, having closed only the window screen behind me when I entered.

Hearing the weak mewl of some kind of feline peaked my curiosity, wondering if a neighbour’s cat had taken a long journey and gotten themselves lost. I picked up the slow movement slinking among the bramble that connected my backyard to the thick timberland.

The light from my lamps only extended so far and unluckily, I was unable to properly identify the animal staggering towards my back porch. My heart ached, thinking that this poor animal must be starving and in need of help.

An apparent limp in its movements tugged at the last of my heartstrings. My fridge was stocked full, being one of my top priorities when I moved in; so food wasn’t a problem right now. Deciding it would be nice to make a new friend, I gathered my own bowl and headed outside.

The sliding of the window screen startled the pitiful creature, making a hasty retreat in the form of a hobble to find refuge in the foliage, hiding and waiting for my next move. I let out a small smile, hoping to appear as friendly as possible as I slowly stepped out into the chilly night air once again.

“Hey buddy, what’re you doing out here?” I crouched down and laid the bowl on the floor. “It’s kinda cold out, hm?”

Not even the twitch of a leaf.

“Are you hungry?”

I was met once again with no reaction. Deflated yet understanding in the lack of trust, I pushed myself back up, grabbing the bowl. As I stepped towards the door though, I heard it again.

Mew.

With a quiet giggle, I turned back, winked at the still-hidden creature and stepped inside, sliding the door closed. The night was silent, save for the trill of the crickets reaching their own encore for the night when the door abruptly opened once again.

“You like tuna, bud?” A smaller plate with canned tuna, out of the can but still in its cylindrical shape was placed on the last step of the porch. “Thought you might like that more than leftovers, huh?”

Although the same lack of response took place, I wasn’t deterred this time, smiling one last time into the darkness. “Enjoy it, but not too much okay? Go back to your owner’s house after this.” I let a shiver run through my body from the cold nipping my bare skin before ambling back inside to finish off my own dinner.

Despite my words, I did hope the kitty would come visit again.

I felt yet another ache pulse through my stiff back. The absence of a proper bed to sleep in at night was duly noted and the task of assembling my bed frame was bumped up higher on my to-do list for the day. Another night of cuddling up on the freezing, rigid floor with only a flimsy sheet to cushion my restless body might strip a decade out of my life expectancy.

A feeble attempt to flatten out my wrinkled button up — that I painstakingly ironed the day before — proved as fruitless as the dozen other times I tried smoothing it out just this morning. I brushed the imaginary dust off my modest pencil skirt while I was at it, resigning to my rumpled fate.

Groaning, I swiftly nabbed a granola bar and a pre-made sandwich I’d filled with tuna, inspired by the incident with the hidden feline last night. Despite the gruelling urge within me to check for possible remainders on the porch step, the blinking light from the oven clock pushed me down the slender hall and back to my barricaded doorway,

I squawked in recollection, pushing at the hefty boxes in a flurry. Eventually, I created a tunnel which I crawled through, slipping some sneakers on before stumbling out to the bus stop. When I recalled that the closest stop was a five minute walk, time being a luxury I couldn’t afford right now, I broke into a sprint.

With heaving lungs, I reached the little blue shelter just as the bulky vehicle rounded the corner. A few steps, the tap of a card, the beep of the completed transaction, and a huff brought me on to an austere seat.

The same shade of prosaic blue within the bus itself led my eyes to the view beyond the dirty windows, marvelling at the vibrant greens and bright earthy tones that blocked any view of the sky.

Fifteen minutes condensed into seconds, my mind racing with the new possibilities and experiences this town would bring me. Even the prospect of the shy kitty returning again tonight prompted a brief smile.

Dismounting from the stifling vehicle, I took a moment to adjust to the blinding white shade of the laboratory; I pursed my lips in determination. Hoping to appear graceful with long strides, I made my way to the entrance, pulling open the heavy door with a click. A receptionist came into view.

She could barely be seen over the lengthy, curved desk, only the top of her coiffed strands on the crown of her head peaking through. As I approached, I took in her excessively teased hair and big brown eyes, accented with thick, black liner.

Clasping both hands together in a bundle of chilly nerves, I patiently waited for the tapping of the keyboard to cease before she turned one heavily shadowed lid towards me. “Hello, welcome to the Test Centre of Enriched Mutagens, how can I help you today?”

Only slightly intimidated, I fumbled with my fingers out of sight. “Uh, hi there. I recently got hired as a lab attendant here.” Cursing my distinctly timid tone I continued, “I was instructed to ask for a Kim Seokjin?”

A stiff nod and more typing was my only reply. Orbs remaining trained on the monitor in front of her as the lady picked up the receiver, punched some numbers in a rapid succession, then situated the phone between her right shoulder and ear. The fervent tapping continued.

I wondered what she was typing up that was so important.

“Yes, she’s here director,” she quipped. My gaze lodged itself onto her name tag, framed by her strawberry blonde locks. Bae Eunmi. “Of course, I’ll send her up.”

The receiver clicked in place as she nodded her head towards the left. After a couple seconds passed with no further acknowledgement, I became increasingly aware that the short interaction was all I was going to get out of the curt woman, trekking over to the elevator she had indicated earlier.

With only two floors to the laboratory, the trip wasn’t long enough to grant me time to compose myself from the abrupt conversation I experienced before I was met with a long hallway, ending with a sturdy door that had a slit above the bulky handle for a keycard.

Seeing as I had not received any sort of card, I peered around at the nameplates drilled beside the other wooden doors. This floor ominously had no windows, a dingy, low lamp the only source of light that allowed me to decipher the engravings.

I passed a few flashy titles before I reached Assistant Director Kim Seokjin.

With a deceivingly confident knock and a shaky inhale I picked up a faint, “come in.”

A rather spacious office was revealed as I pulled open the heavy wood — shelves filled with packed binders, loose papers scattered across the desk with a thin monitor practically concealed under neon coloured sticky notes. Even the two chairs tucked away in the corner had a teetering stack of paperwork on each seat.

I took a step inside the chaotic space and bowed to the man whose sunken eyes flickered to my own. “Hi, sorry to disturb you. My name is Y/N and we talked on the phone last week. I’m the new research attendant.”

He flashed me a kind smile through his exhaustion, his evidently dull features proof of a long night. Considering the sheer amount of paper work in his office, I wasn’t sure a good night’s rest was ever on this man’s schedule.

“Ah, yes, you came down from the city, correct?” I nodded in confirmation, glad he remembered our previous conversation. “My apologies that the director couldn’t meet you himself, but you’ll get to see my handsome face instead,” he chuckled, sounding faintly similar to a windshield wiper. “I’m Kim Seokjin, the assistant director, but you can just call me Jin, everyone here does.”

I felt my tense body slacken at his warmth and bright disposition despite his arduous workload. Unconsciously, I suspected the whole staff may be terse and unwelcoming, though I was thankful that I was pleasantly mistaken. In my comfort, a chortle escaped my lips. “Alright then, Jin, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Of course it is,” he exclaimed with a jesting harrumph. “So, how are you liking this lonely town so far?”

Taking a few steps closer I responded honestly. “Even though the loneliness hasn’t hit me yet, I feel like I can finally breathe here. The city was a bit much sometimes.”

Humming in an understanding tone, I watched him rise from his plush chair, plucking one of the many binders out of the shelf and placing it on top of the mountain of papers on his desk. “That’s a good mentality, you know? I hope you can always find the silver lining in any situation you’re thrown into.”

Jin grips one of the many contracts laid within and slides it over to me with a pen. “Sign each highlight please.”

As I read over all the nitty gritty details, the man across from me continued, “I really hope you can be as resilient as we need you to be, Y/N. I know it’s tough work, but I just have a good feeling about you.”

Not paying much mind to Jin’s ramblings I easily agreed and handed the completed contract back.

“Well, come on then, I’ll introduce you to the people you’ll be working with.”

I accompanied Jin back out his office and down the hall, past yet another sturdy wooden door. The strong, pungent scent of coffee assaulted my nose, confirming the new space I’d entered was the break room; two male employees lounging around and sipping on their steaming mugs.

“You finally came out of that office Jin?” A tall man leaning against one of the tables called out first, grinning with his dimples on full display. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, well, it seems like I’m the only one doing work around here anymore.” He jested, a playful smirk attached to his handsome visage.

“You can’t blame us, you know Hyunho and Minzi would never let us breathe the same air as their ‘confidential project.’ Wouldn’t want our ‘inexperienced hands’ ruining the whole thing.” The other man in the room rolled his eyes, taking another sip of the bitter liquid in his cup.

“We’re not getting into this again, you two.” Seokjin gave a stern look, any lighthearted air in the room dissipating along with his remark. He glanced back at me, nudging me forward with a tap to my shoulder. “This is the new lab attendant, Y/N.”

Although the sharp-eyed man spared a sympathetic glance my way he backfired with, “yeah, the third one this month.”

“Yoongi, I said that’s enough.” Although Seokjin’s words were strict and clipped, the palm rubbing over his face displayed his fatigue.

“I just don’t understand why we can’t even have access to the files, I mean we are researchers too, this is complete bullshi—”

“Y/N, I’ll be heading back to my office to finish up some paperwork, alright? These two can show you ropes.” The assistant director turned in my direction, the corners of his lips twitching upwards ever so slightly before trudging back to his office.

The shorter man slammed his mug down on the shabby table with a low, “goddamnit.”

“Honestly, I think this little guy is the best part of the whole place.” The dimpled man who had introduced himself as Kim Namjoon flashed his dimples, attempting to overcompensate for his gloomy partner, Min Yoongi.

The two had been working as lab assistants here for a few years now and despite the seniority, Namjoon insisted on maintaining a first name basis with both him and Yoongi. He also offered a tour, which I graciously accepted.

“A jaguar?”

“A baby jaguar.” The sprawled sleeping form of a pitch black feline met my eyes. “He was brought in about three months ago. His name is Taemin.” I carefully approached the cage, maintaining a safe distance as a general precaution despite his lack of consciousness.

Rather than providing comfort, I found that the muzzle locked around his jaws unsettled me further, which I found oddly paradoxical. I guess my designated tour guide picked up on my discomfort when he voiced, “he’s docile enough to us, but if Hyunho or any of his lackeys come by, he can get real aggressive.”

This was the second time that name popped up into the conversation and I quelled my blazing curiosity, dispelling any urges to question Namjoon about the mysterious figure. With the negative context his name was brought up with and the dark, brooding look Yoongi wore, I decided it was best not to prod, for my own sake as well.

I was brought back to reality when the animal in front of me shifted slightly. Despite my reluctancy to become attached, I couldn’t help but coo when a stretch wracked his small form, turning over in his sleep.

Although I had done my share of research into this laboratory before applying to the position and was cognizant that they didn’t harm any of their subjects — I knew Taemin’s life wasn’t in any danger, but he would be gone once all his testing was complete. I refused to get too emotionally attached in order to avoid future heartache.

I noticed his head cuddling deeper into his plush bed and knew my plan was futile. “You think he would like me?”

Namjoon let out a hum in thought, “I’m not too sure. You can try petting him if you want, just make sure to let him sniff you first.”

Slowly unlocking the cage, I extended my hand towards the muzzle, waiting with bated breath. The still sleeping animal brought up its head and placed his cheek in my cupped hand, letting loose a faint purr that I felt traveling up my palm. I stroked the edge of his jaw that wasn’t covered by the muzzle.

Oh no.

It was too late, Taemin owned every inch of my heart.

Gently placing his head back down onto his fluffy bed, my hand made a swift retreat as I flicked the lock back in place. I hoped I would be able to see more of the baby in the future.

Standing back up to face Namjoon I reluctantly tore my gaze away from the angel behind bars. Pondering when we would head to the second floor after having examined every speck of dust in the first floor, I voiced my thoughts to the lanky man. “So, are we heading back up now?”

A sigh met my ears and I turned to look at the brooding culprit who hadn’t opened his mouth since the tense interaction with Seokjin, simply tagging along the tour that Namjoon narrated. “We can’t introduce you to anything you haven’t already seen upstairs.” When he met my confused orbs he continued, “we can only enter the break room and Jin’s office up there, everything else is off limits.”

“Oh, um... I don’t mean to sound rude, especially since this is my first day and everything, but the equipment down here seem pretty... Insufficient for quality resear-” I stuttered out my concerns.

“Don’t you think we know that? Why do you think we go through lab attendants so quickly? Nobody wants to stay in a place that doesn’t have the proper equipment to perform any kind of substantial research. Not to mention neither of the head researchers trust us enough to even look at the stupid files.”

Namjoon piped in, probably sensing how heated the other man was getting. “We mainly just note the patterns in the bases of a variety of animals’ DNA that involve certain genes.”

“Not to say that’s not effective research, but scientists with your qualifications usually investigate more ground-breaking subjects.” I became a bit dejected at my own future here; I applied for a job here to further my ambitions, knowing this lab was well-known for its high quality studies.

Would I be forced to move back to the city? I couldn’t tuck tail and scutter home after all the effort and money I expended on this move, not to mention the disastrous situation I would be faced with if I returned now. No, I was desperate to find a reason to stick it out. “Why do you two stay here then? Why not just find another lab?”

“It wasn’t always like this, Y/N. It’s been over half a year now since the new management came in and basically brought in a whole new set of personnel with them. They took all the most expensive equipment upstairs and sealed it behind a locked door.”

“They even replaced the damned cleaning staff.” Yoongi scoffed out, painstakingly fed up with the circumstances.

Namjoon crossed his arms, giving a warning look over to man with bleached locks, probably in order to keep his anger from bleeding through for the second time today. “They were adamant about keeping Jin and he let us stick around, couldn’t leave this lab in the hands of complete strangers.”

“But why—”

My wrist was suddenly enclosed in Yoongi’s long, thin fingers, dragging me into the assistant researcher’s office they had familiarized me with half an hour ago. I saw Namjoon glance around before entering in after us and closing the door behind him.

Yoongi released his grip on me, leaning in close and hissing out, “it’s all some cryptic confidentiality bullshit. They’re doing something up there, something revolutionary, something dangerous, and they only trust their own people to keep quiet.”

With a hum, slightly intimidated, I questioned, “okay, but why did they evacuate the whole place, why not just build another lab and—”

Namjoon leant against the door, lowering his voice as well. “This is a remote town, there won’t be many people to question and investigate what they’re studying all the way out here.”

With many overwhelming thoughts raging, the locked door upstairs abruptly came to mind. “You don’t have the keycard either, I’m guessing.”

“You pick things up pretty quick, huh?”

After the draining events at work, I felt no motivation to peel off my thoroughly wrinkled items of clothing, having switched out of the lab clothes in the changing room back at work.

Rather than a physical enervation, the realization that my expectations to further my own studies was not a reality here sapped me of any incentive to unpack or do anything of value.

The temptation of warm pyjamas encasing my shivering body as I slept another night on the hard surface of the floor was almost reason enough to conjure up some hidden energy from the deepest recesses of my body.

I crawled my way though the makeshift hole I made earlier in the day through two of the boxes. Thankfully, no roommates meant that the house was absent of another being to pester me regarding the hassle I made at the entrance, though I thought it was quite clever considering my circumstances.

The sun had set many hours back, which I failed to detect as all my concentration was set on marking down the base sequence that brought about Taemin’s black fur colour. Jin was double-checking the state of each room before locking up for the night when he discovered my form, hunched over a microscope.

Continuing to the kitchen on hands and knees out of my present shortage in strength, I nearly decided to call it a night right there in the middle of the hallway. Though, I settled with briskly whipping up an egg or two in hopes that it would replenish enough energy to tidy up a bit before retiring to bed.

I left the eggs to cook as I departed, off to locate a plate, which I only had two of at the moment, courtesy of the unloading that needed to be completed at the doorway. A glimpse into the sink revealed the location of one suspect, dirty from yesterday’s dinner.

I tugged open the nearest cabinet to search for the other one because I sure as hell was not washing any dishes right now. But, instead of the ceramic I was expecting, the bare walls of the storage area stumped me.

The memory of the creature I’d met yesterday flashed through my mind, bringing about a sudden burst of excitement that had me shuffling my way to the backyard door, flicking the porch light on and staring at the wood that seemed to glare back at me.

No sight of the tuna or the plate.

Initially, I took extreme offence to the absurd situation. I graciously extended a helping hand to a vulnerable cat to enjoy some savoury tuna and the bugger decided to steal—

Wait.

How in the hell did the thumbless feline pick up the hefty plate in the first place?

After snooping around the surrounding area a bit, no sight of the pristine plate, I gave up. Maybe it held the ceramic in its mouth?

The mental image I’d conjured up brought a slight chuckle out of me, cutting short when catching sight of several crimson paw prints on the porch, accompanied by specks of the same hue. I pondered the unusually large size of the print, slightly larger than my palm.

An alarmingly large quantity of blood appeared with each step, the pace of my heart quickening with worry both for myself and the creature. Who could harm a massive animal like this and for what purpose?

I also thought about if the splotches would wash out with the rain or if I had to slot in a time to come out and clean off the marks. Although, the cleaning supplies were also in those unpacked boxes, so any stain removal had to be put on hold.

The bloody prints extended into my lawn as well, blades of grass covered in a layer of red. From what I could make out, the trail was U-shaped, beginning from the forest, coming to where I stood at the porch, then heading back.

A spike of fear travelled through me when a thicket shook violently. Were these stains left by the kitty I encountered the day before? From my limited knowledge in zoology, I doubted that large cats could even produce such pathetic mewls with their vocal chords, which were better suited to growl or roar.

But what was a creature of this size doing on the outskirts of civilization? I wasn’t too sure about how far the woodlands extended past my yard, but I was relatively certain that the bulkier predators had more than enough space to themselves without needing to expand their territory.

I was in the midst of this back-and-forth conflict with myself when I heard a familiar cry reaching my ears. Pushing back my raucous thoughts for a moment, I settled on responding to little thief.

“You’re back! Do you happen to have my plate by any chance?”

The lack of response confirmed my suspicions. I was now down to one, currently grubby plate in the house.

“Alright, fine, keep the damn thing.” The initial fear and suspicion I felt had simmered down quite bit, heavily due to the lack of aggression on the animal’s part and a distinct fondness I held for my first friend here that I wasn’t aware of yet. Though, I remained on guard, as there could always be another beast lurking.

In order to discover any of answers I was seeking, I knew that I had to take matters into my own hands and decipher whether my pitiful kitty was actually a large, ferocious feline— badly hurt, nonetheless. I took the portable first-aid kit out of my bag as well as the forgotten, squished tuna sandwich.

Removing the saran wrap and crumpling it into a ball, I placed the much-smaller-than-I-remember sandwich down on the wood as bait. “Guess we can’t be civil, huh bub? If you’re gonna steal my plate, have the courage to show yourself, you criminal," I teased and hoped to lure the cautious creature out.

Nothing.

“Hey, you wanna come and let me get a look at you? I can see if I can patch you up, how about that?”

Nope.

“Come on, look! You’re favourite tuna, in a delicious sandwich now!”

Nada.

I pouted at the bundle of leaves I knew the feline was hiding under, hoping to elicit some kind of reaction. Albeit, any sliver of hope was crushed with the lack of movement. Worry grew at the back of my mind, desperately hoping that the creature could live through their seemingly dire injuries. I flashed a regretful smile and lowered the sandwich on the last step.

At the very least, I wished that the snack would provide energy for its body to repair itself. With one last glance at the silent underbrush, I turned my back and lumbered into the confines of my cottage. Hopefully, I would get another chance to beckon the mammal out of its hiding place tomorrow.

The contrast of the dark droplets of blood against the light wood of my porch disturbed me more than I’d like to admit.

The daily routine of travelling to work, interacting with the few friends I made there and coming back home to attend late night meetings with my concealed kitty was growing on me. I was elated that I finally found a group of my own people, and not-quite-people, to converse and share thoughts with.

However, this town also seemed to have its own fair share of rotten apples.

I finally met the rumoured Lee Hyunho, a bulky man who introduced himself as one of the two head researchers. He seemed polite enough at first, but I detected the same brusque characteristic I noticed in the receptionist from my first day.

It appeared that all the staff brought in by the “new” management had this particular quality.

My own frustrations began to grow alongside Namjoon and Yoongi, constantly repeating the same tasks over and over again, day after day. When I tried to confront the other head researcher, Joo Minzi, about granting us more access to the studies they were conducting, she made it very clear that my “inexperienced hands” were not permitted to touch any of their files, test subjects or even approach the lab upstairs.

Charming, really.

The interaction left me fuming, much to Namjoon’s amusement, claiming that he now had two fiery beasts to quell. My interactions with the arrogant staff members were limited though, and bouncing between Namjoon, Yoongi, Jin, and the surprisingly amicable janitor made the work days bearable.

I also took immense pleasure in going against Minzi’s words by playing with Taemin every once in a while.

I was proud to announce my accomplishment in finally unloading all of the supplies within my many boxes to anyone that would listen, now able to revel in the tidiness of my living space. The guys were able to visit now too, previously refusing to crawl through my rather unique entryway.

Progress concerning my kitty was little to none, but I did discover that it was immensely therapeutic to relay my worries to the mammal, finding comfort in its presence.

I took the rustling of the leaves as acknowledgement for my exasperated tone. “I mean, I don’t even feel like a researcher there! It’s all ‘hey newbie, go get me a coffee,’ ‘this is classified, no touching,’ ‘you can’t participate, this isn’t a charity,’ blah, blah, blah...” I raised my tone and ended my rant with a pout, embodying the childish behaviour that encompassed how I felt I was being treated as of late.

“Remember the really cute janitor I was telling you about? Jung Hoseok? Well, he was telling me about some stuff he heard when he was cleaning the lab upstairs.” I heard a short swish of foliage being disrupted, which I assumed was a result of the creature tilting its head.

“Apparently, they’d made big advancements on whatever stupid ‘highly confidential’ project they’re working on. It definitely has something to do with the patterns in different animals’ DNA, but I can’t pinpoint exactly what they’re trying to accomplish...

“And guess what? Hoseok said he’d overheard that they’d lost a test subject a little over a week ago! There’s probably a mouse scurrying around somewhere, living his best, liberated life right now.” I shifted in place, adjusting my position to make myself more comfortable in the chilly night. “I just wish I knew what was going on, you know...”

“I wanted to prove them all wrong.” I sneaked a glimpse at the forest for any indication of a vocal response I knew the creature gave occasionally. In a small voice I added, “but maybe they were right.”

Another shuffle broke through my lengthy monologue and I facetiously grinned towards the camouflaged animal. “Y’know, I’m starting to really question whether you’re here for my company or for this,” I pointed to the tuna, disturbingly still in that short cylindrical shape.

I stared past the obscure stalks of the trees, having found consolation and tranquility in the space a few days prior, even from beyond my glass door. My initial apprehension of unknown monsters subsided and it was reassuring to know that my kitty was somewhere in there as well.

Another shuffle revealed a pair of bright, beady eyes meeting my own enlarged ones. I could feel my heart beating out of my chest by the sudden appearance, although I tried not to alarm the creature back into hiding by revealing my own trepidation.

Knowing the keen senses felines had, there was little doubt in my mind that the one across from me wouldn’t be able to pick up my instantaneous change in demeanour.

“You gonna come and get it or what?” With a slight nod towards the meal, I cursed the slight quiver in my voice and prayed that the creature felt comfortable enough to reveal more of itself to me. My curiosity was bubbling as I allowed my gaze to travel to the crown of its head.

I concluded that the creature’s fur was either pure black or another dark tone, hard to decipher when I didn’t have the enhanced night vision of the mammal perched a few metres away. Said feline made no further movements, keeping his gaze trained on me.

I analyzed the elongated slits that served as pupils, engraving the rich green shade of its irises into my mind, fearful that this sudden intimacy may scare the mammal off, never to be seen again. But, I found myself unable to divert my gaze, feeling as though I was staring at a physical manifestation of the pure soul of the forest.

It was utterly mesmerizing.

An impatient gruff left the creature’s mouth, snapping me out of my reverie and I resigned. “Alright, alright, don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m leaving alright?”

Maybe one day the mammal would feel comfortable enough to eat in front of me and I could migrate my dinners to the porch outside. Refusing to get too greedy, I reminded myself that the baby steps taken today were infinitely better than none at all.

With one foot in my house, I turned back to the tantalizing eyes, still focused on my pyjama-clad form as I beamed back gratefully. “’Night bud.”

The snapping of the lock clicking back into place alleviated some of the soreness of my overworked muscles as I took another step inside. My head fell back to sneak a glance at the ceiling, hoping to peek past the old plaster and stare into the eyes of any higher being out there.

I quickly considered whether to thank them for this opportunity of a lifetime or to curse them out for my seemingly limitless workload.

As my eyelids slid close in defeat, an exhausted sigh involuntarily slipped out into the silence. Kicking off my shoes into the pitiful pile by the doorway to join the rest of its brethren, I wandered deeper into my rather small abode in the darkness; only my padded footsteps and the zipper of my jacket being undone

Hearing my stomach rumble with its complaints, I made the couple steps toward the kitchen’s light switch. But, an abrupt halt came with the memory of yesterday’s optimistic plan of embarking on a trip to the grocery store after a short work shift.

Evidently, I hadn’t predicted the gruelling day I would have nor the extra hours that would be requested of me. I found that I’d been frequenting the store quite often as of late, the demand of food increasing once another mouth to feed came into question.

In a reluctant fashion, I pulled my jacket back up to my shoulders, knowing that the fridge was just as empty as my stomach currently was. I pushed my aching limbs back towards the entrance, pondering over whether the grocery store was even open this late in the night.

However, I was forced to a grinding halt once again as I heard a booming thump from my backyard and my blood ran cold.

I waited with bated breath as my heart rate elevated, pounding in my ears. A minute of stillness passed before yet another sigh escaped my jittery body. Another disadvantage of a remote plot included being frightened by every snap of a twig.

As a scoff passed through my chapped lips at my own cowardly antics, I began to resume my trek to the front door when another thud reached my ears. The recognition of the sound coming from the backyard alerted me that this time may be different, with the presence of an actual threat.

Following a series of gut-wrenching cracking noises, hurried footsteps approaching the wooden porch in my backyard startled me to action.

Hastily, I dashed back to the kitchen to grab an unnecessarily large kitchen knife out of the drawer and flew to cover behind my minuscule island. A quick glimpse down towards my chest revealed my shaking hands. Well, this is certainly one way to spice up my night.

Listening to the intruder fumble with the lock for a little while before it was being smashed into, I knew I couldn’t just stay cowering behind my kitchen island, waiting for this murderer to come and end my night (and all my subsequent nights thereafter). The rage behind having to buy and reinstall a new lock also propelled my need for revenge.

I took in a deep breath and steeled myself as the footsteps wandered in, coming straight towards the kitchen. A loud growl reverberated throughout my house and befuddled me further. Was the intruder simply a feral animal? The lack of a problem with my lock dismissed that thought but I couldn’t shake the feeling of a predator having sneaked into my house.

The feeling of being stalked.

I rapidly shook off that irrational thought, doubtful the stranger even knew of another presence in the house. As the intruder turned the corner — coming straight towards my hiding spot — I reared back a little before launching myself with my dull knife leading the way.

A screech made its way out of my throat as the intruder’s reflexes were evidently a lot better than mine, catching my wrist before I could inflict any damage. But, I refused to give in just yet as I attempted to smash the hard edge of my palm straight into the stranger’s nose in order to buy myself some time to flee.

Unfortunately, for me, that attack never reached its target as the intruder caught my throat in his other hand much faster and used his larger frame to smash my body against the fridge.

The wind escaped me, though I kept squirming to try whip my knee straight to his crotch as a final ditch attempt. I lightly cursed as a glimpse informed me the intruder was a brawny man.

He noticed my struggle and easily flipped me around, one hand finding purchase in my hair, banging my head against the cool metal of the fridge and the other held both of my hands pinned to my back. The knife clattered to the ground in a dangerous arc.

In the middle of wondering how the hell he gathered my wrists and disabled me in a split second, I felt a heavy growl in the shell of my ear. A cold shiver slipped down my spine, adrenaline slowing leaving my body as we both puffed out breaths of exertion.

What the actual fu—

“No hurt, need bandage and go.”

His broken English came out with a slight accent and I found myself nodding instantaneously as I tried to work out what he needed. “Okay, okay,” I muttered as best as I could with half my face smushed, “I have bandages in the big drawer by the sink. You can take those.”

I only received a grunt in acknowledgement. He nudged me with his foot to shuffle backwards with his hand still wrapped around my wrists and led me to the sink. Half curious about his motives and half accepting that I could never overpower the stranger, I followed obediently. Though that didn’t stop me from deliberating over how to outsmart the man.

Deciding on waiting for an opening or a slack in the grip around my wrists, I nodded my head towards the drawer I was referring to earlier and finally peered up at my intruder’s shadowed face. He wore a black ball cap on, aiding in hiding his features which were mostly guarded by the lack of light anyway.

A glance at the lower half of his visage allowed me to witness his pale lips and the small mole directly underneath them, as well as a sharp jawline leading to his exposed neck. Inconspicuously bringing my gaze even lower, I took in his matching tattered black outfit, confirming his bulky build and scuffed sneakers.

Maybe I could run to the nearest police station — which admittedly, was rather far, and provide a detailed description of the criminal. Considering if I made it out alive, of course.

With his vacant hand he swiftly pulled the drawer open, taking handfuls of bandages, gloves, bandaids and other miscellaneous items I crammed in there. The stranger stuffed as much equipment as he could fit into the large pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.

I would have found his full little pouch endearing if I wasn’t preoccupied with worrying over my own well-being.

Another awkward wobble later, we were back at the fridge. At this point, I was gathering all the courage I had left to aim for a pressure point on the criminal’s thigh that I vaguely knew the location of. I should have paid more attention in those self-defence classes, damnit.

Just as I turned to act, he bent down to pick up the discarded knife off the floor, effectively deterring my attack and forcing me into submission. He then turned to me to flash a slight smirk.

“Cute.”

Releasing his death grip on my bound wrists, he sprinted back out my now broken back door, heading off.

After a couple minutes of stewing in my thoughts, back against the cool fridge, I struggled to comprehend the brief interaction and the dark drops of crimson littered all over my white tiles.

I still have to go grocery shopping.

tags: @aurorakingsley

#jungkook fanfic #jeongguk fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #jeongguk scenarios #jungkook imagine #jeongguk imagine #jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook au #jeongguk au #jungkook hybrid au #jeongguk hybrid au #was it evil to end on preview #it felt right tho #you gotta know what happens before to find out what happens after #that's my excuse anyway

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jspernst-blog · 7 years ago

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[ THIS IS QUEUED -- i’m most likely still sleeping ] mic check one two, is this thing working?? hi hey hello, i’m bunny -- i’m currently an unemployed, lazy twenty-three year old, and i go by she/her pronouns. i’m so excited to be here and i can’t wait to read all about the characters in this group, as well as write with you all! here’s my son, jasper -- he’s a new contradicting muse, so i’m still working bits and bobs for him. under the cut are some information about him, and i just want to apologize how shitty they’re written and how carried away i got. they’re literally word vomit tbh lmao dfhiaud i probably forgot a few things to add but that’s okie dokes!

anyway, if you’d like to plot, don’t hesitate to message me or you can like this and i’ll pop into your ims!! just a heads up that i get excited easily, and i tend to go wild with hcs when i plot so tell me to stop whenever you get annoyed please iuhdfiusdhfusd

hold on a second — is that BLAKE STEVEN i saw working on the sunny bay ship recently? oh wait, i was mistaken as it was actually JASPER ERNST, a CISMALE who is TWENTY-THREE years old and is an intern as a SINGER. i heard when they’re not on the ship they’re studying MUSIC INDUSTRY MANAGEMENT AND ARTIST DEVELOPMENT which sounds pretty awesome! they are often described by their friends as QUICK-WITTED and DEBONAIR but also RETICENT and VOLATILE which means they are often labelled as THE FERVOUR. i can’t wait to see what they have to offer on the ship!

CHARACTER INFORMATION —

TW: DEATH MENTION, DROWNING

001. BASICS / Jasper Harris Ernst, twenty-three, Australian-German, born and raised in Melbourne, Australia. Currently studying Music Industry Management and Artist Development; aesthetically (both vibe and music) a mixture of Alex Turner from the Arctic Monkeys and Jesse Rutherford – his voice sounding similar to the latter

002. FAMILY BACKGROUND / Born and raised in Melbourne, Australia, Jasper’s parents grew up together in the same neighborhood and were the perfect example of childhood best friends turned into lovers. Both Australian (his father being half German), they had their own complicated, rollercoaster-like timeline of growing up together and watching the other fall in and out of love with other people; only to realize they’ve been emotionally unavailable for one another upon reaching the end of their college year. They eventually tied the knot after their university years, building up their perfect and small-knitted family together - creating a family of three (excluding small numbers of extended families). While they weren’t exactly filthy rich, and though money was tight on certain days, the three of them lived happily and comfortably together with the love they surrounded themselves by. They were pretty much the average family on the street and share an awfully close bond with their extended families which can be quite troublesome and dramatic at times.

003. AN ABRUPT CHANGE FROM PERFECT ( DEATH MENTION TW) / Valentine’s Day is nothing but a curse to Jasper Ernst, for the meaning and the word “perfect” to describe the life he was living in, dissolved and erased itself from his vocabulary on February 14. He was with his grandparents on the night it all happened – his head tilted upwards, his wide eyes no longer on the building blocks and his enormous Hot Wheels collection; but instead, it was on the eyes that reflected admiration and care, as well as the wholehearted smiles that managed to brighten the features of his grandparents who were still ridiculously madly in love for one another at an age like theirs. Their shadows hovered above the surface of the carpet he was sitting on as they danced to Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me To The Moon. Jasper, despite being just five, was sure of himself that he knew what the word “Love” meant that night; nevermind the cooties, Frank Sinatra (the one name that took him almost a week or two to properly and correctly pronounce) must have to know what he was talking about when he sang his heart out about wanting to hold hands and kiss – at least, his grandfather did (very poorly, but sweetly) to the love of his life, which was close enough in his opinion. But happiness, that night especially, didn’t last.

Bright smiles on faces were replaced with loud cries and a sorry police officer at the front door of Jasper’s grandparent’s house. They were rushing to the hospital before he knew it, phone calls were made on their way there – one that was awfully hard to understand by the sound of his grandmother weeping, unable to catch her breath. He thought, during all that chaos, maybe it was better if he mentally recited his multiplication he had just been taught at school – a way to perhaps cheer up his worried grandmother and stop her from crying, but his heart was beating way too hard to focus, his fingers subconsciously fiddling with his seatbelts.

004. IT’S OKAY (DEATH MENTION TW) / Learning about the death of his parents (caused by a horrific car crash) was hard to understand – harder than his grandparents breaking the news to him. He wanted to trade his Hot Wheels collection and Pokemon cards then – for “a trip to heaven, if it’s possible,” were his exact words, his fingers twitching and the weight of his foot shuffling from left to right, as if they were ready to head upstairs to grab what could be his ticket to see his parents in a second if anyone ever said the word. But it wasn’t easy like that. He didn’t cry – he made sure that he didn’t in front of his grandmother, at least. He likes to think that he understood the telepathic message his grandfather was sending him through bloodshot eyes. He knew his grandmother cried about enough on her way to and back from the hospital, and will probably continue crying once he’s tucked in, hence why he cried to himself to sleep under his covers the second the lights of his brand new room were turned off – his nightlight not doing its trick.

005. GROWING UP / Jasper moved in with his grandparents a week after his parents’ accident. It was hard to return home without the two most important people greeting you at the front door; it was harder stepping in to have memories flood right back, hitting him where it hurts. Again, he made sure he didn’t cry. He needed to be strong and crying was only a flick away to twisting the tap of the tears his grandmother had shed nights after nights. Though it was hard at first, he needed to adjust and understand that his nights at his grandparents’ were no longer sleepovers – it was his new home. With the help of his grandfather, Jasper made sure his new room held memories that included his parents and made it more to his liking.

The three of them repaired and sew the holes of each other’s hearts together. Jasper’s grandparents made sure to give him the life he was meant to have, making sure he grew up healthy and happy; and though he missed his parents on certain days and at times wish they were around, healthy and happy he was. He was granted all the things he wanted; he wasn’t exactly spoiled, he was coddled and awfully sheltered a lot. Each time he fell and scraped his knee, there would always be a plaster to mend his wound and a hand to hold.

006. EXTERNAL PERSONALITY (NEGATIVE) / ill-tempered, misunderstood, short-fused, argumentative and defensive are some words to describe Jasper Ernst. Besides dealing with the death of his parents in an unhealthy manner since day one, the weight of being a victim of bullying accumulated a lot of pent-up anger and frustration inside him. He was bullied throughout his primary and high school years, constantly getting picked on for various reasons – one among the many included his absence of his parents and how he was living with his grandparents who were most likely just “stuck with him”. Unlike most victims, however, Jasper wasn’t one to stay silent. He would often pick fights and start them, only to end it with him being sent to the principal office with his glasses snapped into two and bruises; plastered as the problematic child (despite his intelligence) given his condition. He grew up short-fused and awfully defensive, constantly arguing with people who aren’t the slightest bit careful with their words. Little things would trigger him and start a wildfire.

007. EXTERNAL PERSONALTY (POSITIVE) / Despite his problematic and hard exterior, Jasper can be quite amicable. He has his days, to say the least; although he’s moody, he can be friendly when he wants to be and can come across as an easy going person when he’s in a good mood. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s loyal to his friends – even though he does only have a few that he can sincerely count on.

008. INTERNAL PERSONALITY (THE FERVOUR) / There’s quite a lot of things hidden underneath the surface Jasper Ernst allows himself to show. There’s no in between when it comes to feeling certain emotions – in fact, he either feels or not at all. He suppresses the majority of his emotions and keeps them to himself out of the lack of trust he has, as well as not wanting to be a burden. He cares a hell lot, up to the point where someone’s feelings or emotions could potentially overrule his own and affect him in certain ways. With that said, Jasper is, underneath all that explosive trait, a hopeless romantic. He feels everything intensely, love not being an exception. He falls in smitten a lot, but once his heart’s been captured, he’s a lost cause.

009. MUSIC AND OTHER INTERESTS / Music is the only way Jasper can bleed himself dry. He self-taught himself the guitar at the age of eleven, and was introduced by his grandfather who promised him that he’d be able to swoon girls with it. Despite him only picking music with the interest of picking up girls, his interest soon took a turn and he found himself doing it for himself. He began to venture onto other instruments – such as piano and violin but always winded up back to the guitar. It’s how he channels his intense emotions; putting down how he felt in words and melodies.

(DROWNING TW) Apart from music, back in school Jasper had a thing with sports. He was always put into teams to represent his school when it comes to football and basketball though it was only to keep his body physically active and fit. Swimming, on the other hand, was a sport he failed terribly at. He suffers from a phobia for water out of nearly drowning at one of his friend’s birthday party.

#sunny:intro #hopefully it posts on time jhfdisd

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