#just... think about what might make a repetitive clanging noise

[uneryx]

/clangclang and sparksex???/

I’m not emotionally ready to explain this to you, Izaak. 

[thetomorrowshow]

Slower Than Words Ch. 1

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12

A/N: Welcome to my latest fic! I’m projecting about 10 chapters for this. If you’d like to be tagged, just leave a comment or shoot me an ask or send a request by falcon or w/e, I’m not picky!

Just to preface, I'd like to warn that there will be cult content in this work. I am in no way endorsing cults, nor am I criticizing anyone's religion. The intent of this work is to entertain, so please enjoy!

CW: Food, inflicted blindness, imprisonment

~

Virgil wasn’t expecting a roommate.

He’d only been here for a month or so, but he’d been alone for a while. He’d been quarantined for the past twenty days, and experimented on before that—Virgil didn’t want to think about that.

He hadn't known he had a roommate until someone brushed up against him as he curled up on the cold floor. He couldn't find the bed, otherwise that was where he'd lie. But something touched him and he reared back, ready to attack.

Whatever it was didn't touch him again, and Virgil slowly let himself relax. The sudden movement had sent a migraine to pound at the walls of his head. He groaned and let his head rest on the cold floor beneath him, before hearing some rustling. He jerked right back up, flinching again when something heavy fell on him. A blanket.

“Hello?” he ventured. No answer. For a moment, Virgil was certain he was making it all up, that he had gotten the blanket himself but had forgotten. Then another noise—a scuffle, the sound of someone sitting nearby. A hand touched his shoulder, and Virgil did everything in his power to not draw back.

“Who's there?” he asked, his voice quivering. “I can't—I can't see. I can't see you.”

Even after they'd taken the bandages off his eyes, Virgil had been unable to see anything. The first week, his eyes had burned and itched. He'd restrained himself from scratching, but now he wasn't sure if it would have made a difference. He had lost his sight, and with it his whole world.

The hand didn't leave his shoulder, and Virgil reached out cautiously. His hands met something solid—a person? Yes, a person, and Virgil's hands clutched desperately at their shirt. He hadn't had safe human contact in so long. . . . The person seemed to understand that, and gently placed his arms around Virgil. Virgil let himself be wrapped in the hug, arms awkwardly against his chest. The person smelled like soap and dust and immediately warmed him. Virgil relished the fiery contact, pushing his head up into the person's shoulder and sighing. For the first time in weeks, he felt safe.

The person pulled back and Virgil floundered, reaching again into the empty air. A hand caught his and held it still. Virgil frowned, confused. What was happening? Were they not supposed to know about each other? Was the person about to lead him back into that room, the bright one where they leaned over him and—

Virgil wrenched his brain away from that train of thought. He needed to focus on the here and now, not the terrifying past. Starting with who the other person in the room was. Said other person suddenly let go off his hand and pulled him close again. Virgil decided to not worry about who they were or why they were both here, and melted into the person's chest.

-

When Virgil woke up, he blinked blearily before remembering that he couldn't see. Someone—the person from the previous day—was still holding him, but his slow breathing indicated that he was asleep. At some point, they'd moved to a bed. It was nice, all things considered. He wasn't alone, he was in a soft bed with a soft person, and he had no need to go anywhere anytime soon.

A loud clang! interrupted his drowsy thoughts and he jerked up, feeling the person beside him stir in their sleep.

“Hello?” Virgil said, his voice shaking. No answer. His roommate sat up beside him and placed a gentle hand on his back, calm and reassuring. Then the person slid out of bed and seemingly vanished—Virgil could no longer reach them, no matter how far he stretched out his arms. He whimpered unwillingly, then covered his mouth. No use seeming weak. A little voice in his head reminded him that he'd certainly done worse than whimper when they'd taken his sight.

A terrifying moment later, a hand was on his arm and guiding him into a standing position. Virgil stumbled a bit, but allowed himself to be led across the room until the person eased him to the ground.

As it turned out, there was food there, laid out on a tray. Virgil felt his way around the tray before lifting what he was certain was a spoon, letting the other person place a bowl on his lap. It was full of instant mashed potatoes, Virgil soon discovered. He hadn't really been focusing on his stomach, but he realized some sustenance would be nice. While he ate, the other person traced seemingly random patterns on his wrist.

The bowl with mashed potatoes was pulled away from him, then returned but filled with canned beans. Virgil grimaced: he'd never been one for beans, but at least they were warm. It struck him as he ate that he had no idea what time it was. Was this an odd breakfast, or a poor dinner? It reminded him of something his dorm mate might have made—and just like that, tears were forming and his nose was burning.

Why did they take him? Out of every twenty-something person they could've kidnapped to fulfill their sick desires of blinding someone, why him? Virgil missed home, he missed school, he missed his obnoxious dorm mate, he missed his terrible paying job making terrible pizzas—

The bowl was gently pulled from him and Virgil willingly fell into the person's arms. He sobbed into their shoulder, lost and sad and homesick. How many times had he cried alone in the past month? How many times had he longed for human contact only to wrap his arms around himself? Now he cuddled closer into the warm weight of another human being, gripping as tight as he could.

The other person lightly placed a kiss into Virgil's hair and Virgil felt safe, and warm, and still so so awful but also okay.

Virgil pulled back and fumbled around for the bowl again, still sniffling as he took another bite. The person continued to trace the patterns into his wrist, slow and soft. Over and over. Familiar, like they had no meaning yet every meaning simultaneously. Over and over and over. . . .

That was—repetition? Did the pattern start over? Virgil set down the bowl and placed his hand on the other person's, who immediately stilled.

“Come on, do it again,” Virgil croaked. He gestured at his wrist, trying to get his meaning across. “I wanna feel it.”

Slowly, the patterns started up again, and Virgil traced along with them.

a . . . b . . . c . . . d. . . .

The alphabet. The person hadn't spoken at all thus far, and Virgil felt unbelievably ecstatic about this form of communication. He pushed his hand into the other person's, food forgotten in the giddy anticipation of someone talking to him. Old Virgil would have scoffed, unimpressed at his thirst for human contact. Old Virgil wanted to be alone. Old Virgil hadn't spent weeks alone in darkness.

Virgil could pick out some of the letters the person traced, but the rest felt like random scribbling. He definitely felt an 'a', and an 'o', and then an 'n', but the rest was unclear. He shrugged, then put his hand over theirs again.

This time he could feel the letters more clearly, as the other person carefully guided his hand.

P-a-t-t-o-n.

-

V-i-r-g-i-l, Virgil spelled. V-i-r-g-i-l.

V . . . i . . . n . . . y . . . l . . . l.

“No, Virgil, not vinyl,” Virgil groaned. V-i-r-g-i-l.

V . . . i . . . r . . . g . . . i . . . l.

“Yes, yes yes!” Virgil impulsively hugged the man whose arm he'd been spelling on a second earlier. His name was Patton, and through much trial and error, Virgil had discovered that Patton was about his age and could see. Why he wasn't talking was a mystery that he hadn't decoded yet.

Virgil and Patton had been curled up on the bed for hours, tracing into each others' arms. It was mostly the alphabet, over and over again as they tried to instinctually recognize the letters. It was slow going, but Virgil felt they'd gotten far enough for his name—and they had. It exhausted both of them, he was sure, so he wasn't surprised when Patton fell asleep, him following shortly.

The past few days had been too short, it seemed, after the unbelievable length of the month he'd spent alone. Hours of tracing and sleeping and eating and just touching helped the days fly by. Every day Patton held Virgil steady as the walked the perimeter of the room, one hand on the smooth wall, the other clenched into Patton's shirt. He was slowly beginning to envision their cell in his mind's eye. He knew how many steps it was from the door to the beds—because there were two of them, apparently, though Virgil spent most of his time on the same bed as Patton. When it was night, he couldn't bear to let Patton go, afraid he'd wake up alone again, not able to find anyone. On nights when the fear was particularly bad, Patton held him to his chest and wiped the tears away.

They were almost constantly touching, in some way. When they were both mentally worn from the struggle of communicating, they often lay on the floor, hands entwined. In those moments, Virgil let his mind explore beyond the room, sometimes imagining himself to be a great wizard or adventurer. He went on grand quests to retrieve lost treasures, journeyed into caverns that dripped with shadows. Most of the time, though, he imagined he was going about his normal life. He pictured his dorm mate, the paths he'd take to school. He thought about the tree that grew outside his window, the aloe vera on his desk that was somehow managing to survive. Those bittersweet thoughts always led to a wave of homesickness, and Virgil would find himself curling into Patton's arms to cry.

Now, though, Virgil woke up slowly, automatically squeezing his grip to make sure he was still holding Patton's hand. The man squeezed back, then spelled something onto his arm.

V-i-r-g-i-l.

Virgil smiled sleepily and spelled back: P-a-t-t-o-n. Who was he to break morning routine?

F-o-o-d-s-h-e-r-e, Patton spelled out slowly, making a slicing motion on his arm to indicate a space between words. Virgil nodded, forestalling the man as he began to spell it again.

“I heard, I heard.”

Over breakfast, Patton continued the alphabet lightly. Virgil tried to keep his arm free, but he needed one hand to hold the bowl and the other to eat the oatmeal, so it wasn't going too well. Soon enough, the tray was taken from them (by the morning food-bringer, Virgil was beginning to be able to tell their footsteps apart) and Patton squeezed him in a brief hug before taking Virgil's hand and placing it over his own, tracing more letters onto Virgil's skin.

I-a-m-d-e-a-f.

That couldn't be right. Virgil wracked his brain, trying to think of which letter he misinterpreted. Before he could pick it out, though, Patton was tracing again.

I-a-m-d-e-a-f.

~

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed!): @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222

[boncorner]

HUMAN HERMES ADHD HEADCANONS

TYPE :

Hyperactive-Impulsive ADHD

DIAGNOSIS :

Has been diagnosed since early age, for all his father's flaws, he could tell this was one hyperactive child.

MEDICATION :

Has tried many different medications but decided on methylphenidate in the end, since the immediate effect worked best for his lifestyle.

THERAPY :

Has received therapy throughout his life and still sees a psychologist who specialises in the condition every now and then, but he often cancels on them since he feels like he's got no need for it anymore.

FIXATIONS :

Has more past interests than Aphrodite had lovers. Here's a list of things he's fallen in love with at some point then just kinda continued on enjoying but never really mastered because he found something new :

Biking | Gymnastics | Swimming | Dirt-Biking | Skateboarding | Rollerskating | Parkour | Streetdancing | Breakdancing | Cars | Motorcycles | Comics (specifically comic strips) | Quick live sketching

And a short list of things he never gets tired of ever because they're his eternal fixations :

Running | Animal care | Horseback Riding | Astrology | Gambling (more on that later)

STIMMING :

√ Body

Can't sit still, always on the go, drumming his fingers or hands against a surface or humming to a tune that isn't playing anywhere. He'll also occasionally make his own sound effects, like shwoop, clang, bang, pa-chah!

Mainly stims using his feet; tapping, kicking, switching weight from one foot to the other, jumping, rocking back and forth. He'll also play with his piercings, like the smiley right below his lip, or softly spinning his nose piercing while he's thinking.

√ Jewellery

Has jewellery that's subtly designed to work as stim-toys, like dangling earrings or chains with parts which you can spin or flick. At first he thought it a little overkill, but it really does help him focus on what he's doing when he's making a trade or studying somebody's pokerface.

√ Wings

If your human Hermes has wings a la reincarnation or some other fun flavour, he could also ruffle the feathers or stretch them subconsciously every now and again.

PROCESSING :

√ Thoughts

His mind runs faster than most people's do, and he can get frustrated when others aren't understanding what he's talking about, when he's really jumped ahead of the conversation by like 4 steps and the other doesn't even know what happened at step 2 or 3, or what topic they're on. It can almost feel like time travelling sometimes! Where most of what actually happened is still stuck in Hermes' head, and you just can't get him to share it because how do you not Know This already??

He's also prone to getting distracted mid-conversation and interrupt you with his own thoughts on something, or to throw something in that he Just thought about, which will later feed his RSD (see later)

√ Speech

If you speak too slowly or don't get to the point fast enough, you also risk causing him understimulation fatigue, and he'll get antsy and restless, or even bored and tired. More often than not he'll end up losing track of your conversation, start thinking about his own thing, then realise you're still talking and he has no idea what you're talking About and Oh No time to Bullshit his way outta this one!

That, or he's already started talking about something completely different out of nowhere like how water isn't actually wet or something.

The risk of speaking to him also of course comes with the risk of his brain just deciding to Not Process That Right Now, and he might have to act like he totally knew what you were saying but really it all sounded like complete gibberish.

Also sort of on the topic but needless to mention he speaks very quickly and will sometimes almost run the conversation all on his own, and occasionally stumbles on his words and has to let out a little Bluh while sticking out his tongue til he finds his words again.

✓ Sound

He's pretty good with sound and loves a good beat, and turning up the volume way high, but low repetitive noises are his enemy, and they will completely throw off his focus when he's trying to do something. The sound of a dog barking a bit away over and over every 3 minutes is driving him mad, and the soft ticking of a clock is throwing off his thoughts something insane. Talking in another room might make him unable to think clearly, and writing and listening at the same time is just Not happening.

√ Touch

He comes across as really inviting and friendly, but he doesn't like being touched unless it's on his conditions and his conditions alone. He can initiate hugs, but if you suddenly go for him without him being totally for it, he might panic like a bird being grabbed by a big hand. Just like with a bird, you need to show him what you're about to do next. He may seem hasty and wild, but he's really more delicate and alert.

Worth mentioning is also clothes, he loves loose fitting yet stylish outfits, and you can notice him fidget and twist when he's wearing things just a little too stiff or fancy.

√ Sight + Smells

He's fine with most lights and smells, save if he's overstimulated of course.

ADDICTION (TW: Drugs)

Addiction is a Problem when you have ADHD, especially when it turns out to be a way to self-medicate if you don't have the means to do so yourself. While he does have these means, he's slipped into gambling (slot machines, dice and cards are his favourites), mild drug use (pills mostly), smoking (with the help of Charon), as well as those damn energy drinks...

Auctions are also dangerous cough... And buying things you don't actually need. But the worst one is the rush of stealing. When he's feeling down or stresses about money, taking something valuable makes him feel more in control, giving him a rush and a spur of confidence. You'll sometimes find outfits in his wardrobe that just don't match his bank account...

RSD [Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria]

He may seem cool and aloof, but he overthinks everything you say about him. His family says he talks too much? Now he'll ask you if he should shut up, apologise for going on tangents, and stop himself in the middle of talking about something he loves because he caught himself talking "too much". You tell him one thing in the wrong tone of voice, and he'll laugh it off, then go home and spiral into the dark abyss of "I guess I'm an annoying piece of shit and they actually hate me haha". It also works against him that his impulsivity makes him blurt out things that he ends up regretting down the line.

[choppedcowboydinosaur]

Imagine an elf is given a job to do at a human institution. The humans think elves don’t need bathroom breaks, since they know they can hold it for days, but this elf has been traveling to reach their job, and has already been holding it to the point they are in pain. They ask for a break, but their job is important and time sensitive, so they admit they can still hold it when asked. After a full day of work, the elf tries to reach the bathroom in time, but they were never told where it is.

I swear it's like I'm cursed with people asking me this all the time. Fine I'll bite.

The elf tries to desperately find the bathroom. He considers going in a bush or using an empty plastic bottle. The elf keeps walking down the never ending halls of the building trying to find the bathroom. The hallways look the same so it's easy to get lost. It's like a never ending hell for the elf as his bladder is about to burst. He finds a room at the end of the hallway. It leads down a flight of stairs. The elf decides to go down this way since it beats the repetitive hallways. He goes further down the stairwell and it gets darker. The concrete steps slowly transition into rusted metal stairs the deeper he goes down the hole. It gets so dark and the elf is desperate. He can't hold it in any longer. He unzips his fly and pees over the rail down the abyss of the stairwell. He sighs with relief as he unleashes the might of his bladder like a majestic waterfall. Once he's done he zips himself up and is about to walk back up the stairs until he hears a sound.

It's a low growling sound. He noticed when he was peeing his urine hit something at the bottom. It wasn't the floor since the sound was too uneven. Some of the urine sounded like it was bouncing off this object while other sounds indicated it would just drip off of this object. So this would make the target of his urine very uneven. He realizes to his horror he hit something at the bottom of the stairwell.

Suddenly, a loud clanging noise erupts from the bottom of the stairwell. The elf notes that something is climbing up the stair well. He can hear the metal creaking of the rusted stairs. Then he hears that low growling sound permeating through the air again. He hears the clanging metal again and it keeps coming at a faster pace like a drum beat. The faster it comes the more he can feel the metal staircase shaking. He sees a faint red glow and realizes what it is. He mutters the dreaded word of his nightmares, "Balrog".

The elf sprints as fast as he can up the stairs with this creature chasing behind him. The clanging metal sound is getting louder and the metal stair case shaking as he runs. He feels heat behind him. He doesn't know if that's the Balrog or his mind playing tricks on him. He runs with all his might praying to God save him from this horrific nightmare. He swears he'll be a good elf, go to church every Sunday and not be racist to dwarves. He runs faster than he ever has before. This is the marathon of his life. The metal clangs louder and louder and the low growling noise is replaced by a bellowing roar. It is an unholy roar, a roar from Hell itself.

He clenches his butt cheeks and flattens his hands and runs faster and faster. Faster than a deer, faster than a cheetah he runs with all his might. His legs are burning with pain but he knows he must run lest the Balrog comes for him. As he takes his next step he trips. He notices the material of the stairs is different. It's concrete now instead of metal. He's happy, he's halfway there. He looks behind and sees the creature chasing him in more detail. It has a red muscular body that glows like embers. It's slightly bigger than a Grizzly bear. It has gigantic wings like a bat. Horns like a goat. Then he sees it's face, he can't make out every detail but he sees enough to know what it's like. A face like a lion or a dog or a mix. With a mane of fiery fur surrounding its face and neck. But the worst part was the eyes. Those beady little black pupils against a glowing yellow eyeball that stay focused on the elf no matter what. Like a hawk about to snatch its prey.

The elf recovers from his temporary frozen fear and jolts with all his might. He runs as fast and as hard as he can. His exerts such force with his legs he's running faster than an Olympic athlete. Yet the Balrog is no slouch either and is able to keep pace. The feeling in his thighs shifts from burning pain to a tiring weakness. The feeling in his thighs is becoming fainter and his legs are about to give out. He perseveres with all his might. His clothes drenched in sweat, his hair soaked with sweat like a beach bunny who's hair is soaked with salty ocean water. The sweat in his face stings his eyes, or is it the tears? He can't tell the difference at this point and he doesn't care, survival is his only goal. He's so desperate and thinks he might be done for as the roar of the Balrog gets louder.

Then something smashes into his face. "The door!", he shouts with joy! He pushes the door open and blasts through it like a cannonball bursting the side of a ship. He thinks he's free and begins to slow down a bit. He drops to his knees due to his legs giving out. His legs now get a well deserved rest. He thanks God for getting him through this. It's all over.

Then all of a sudden the elf hears a loud crashing noise. The Balrog has burst through the door. The elf tries to will his legs to rise but they are dead. He is immobile. He tries to crawl to escape the Balrog. But then he remembers how the hallways are like a maze. He's scared shitless and thinks he's done for.

Then he remembers that the hallways are a maze. If he can get lost in it, so can the Balrog. So he crawls through a door to his right and it leads to another hallway. This briefly buys him some time. He desperately tries to think of a plan to escape. He can hear the Balrog roar in anger and impotency. The Balrog hasn't figured out where he is but that luck will run out eventually.

The elf has an idea! He will try to make his way to a hallway with the nearest window. Through the window he can make his escape to the outside. Now is the hard part, trying to remember the layout. The elf smacks his head in desperation. He was so desperate to get work he forgot to look into the map of the place he was working at. He breathes and calms down. He decides he will crawl in a straight line to reach a window. If he does this he's bound to reach something eventually.

The elf starts his army crawl and reaches across the hall to another door. He opens it but the Balrog bursts through the door behind him and chases after him. The Balrog pounces after him like a gorilla about to charge an enemy. The elf increases his pace by using his forearms and elbows to pull himself away. He uses his body to slither like a snake to be more efficient. He bursts through another door with the Balrog right behind him.

They keep up this routine for a while and the elf is getting desperate. His elbows are sore and bruised. He can feel immense pain all the way to his bones whenever his elbows hit the tiled floor with desperate force. His legs still haven't recovered yet. His sides are sore and screaming with pain by writhing like a snake. Elves were not built for such primitive movement. He must push through lest the Balrog capture him.

After going through multiple doors and hallways the elf runs into a wall. His head is sore from the impact and he is horrified then relieved. He sees a light coming from the window. It's moonlight! He can see the moon outside unobscured by clouds. He can see the asphalt parking lot below. He can see some bushes lining the bottom of the building acting as a small wall between the building and the parking lot. He can see the delicately manicured trees dotted through out the parking lot to give it a quaint aesthetic. The elf realizes he's about 3 stories up. He tries to crawl up to open the window to let himself out. But the window has no handles since it's built into the building itself. He desperately bangs on the glass in order to break it to no avail. His arms are too weak from crawling and there is very little strength left in him at all. This is it he realizes. He's done for.

Then the Balrog has caught up with him. It's mouth curled in anger like a lion about to go for the kill. The Balrog roars and it's beady eyes move and focus in on the elf. The Balrog lunges at the elf like a panther pouncing on it's prey. The elf tries to move to his right side in desperation and cries. The elf can feel and hear the raw power of the Balrogs voice and the intense heat eminating from it. It's so hot it gives him a sunburn. The elf loses all his will to carry on and just gives into his demise.

As the Balrog lunges at the elf he underestimates his own strength and winds up plowing through the wall like the Kool Aid Man. The Balrog roars in the night as it falls. It falls 3 stories and lands on the rugged asphalt instead of the bushes due to the speed he was running at. The Balrog's face looks up at the sky and the elf in impotent anger and surprise. As he lands on the ground it smashes the concrete and pounds into the earth itself. A big crater is formed with dust swirling around it. The elf crawls desperately to take a look. At this point he's not sure if he'll survive or not.

Once the dust clears he can see the Balrog on the ground. It's arms are splayed and it's chest and back are broken from the impact. It's once mighty bat wings are smashed and look more like a broken hand. It's neck is twisted, bent in a shape that it should not be in at all. It's head is bent to the left side and the back of it's head is cracked open like an egg with brain matter flowing out as it's yolk. It's tongue is hanging out of it's mouth. However, it's beady eyes are still open. They stare at the asphalt.

The elf stares intently to make sure the creature is dead. It's chest isn't moving, there are no signs of breathing. The elf doesn't want to take a chance. He stares intently at that thing for 5 minutes. He concludes the creature is dead. He is surprised. The creature of his nightmares, this all powerful demon that has slaughtered his kind is dead. Not by his hands but by the creatures own bloodlust and stupidity. It was so bent on coming after him it didn't even see the window in front of him or even use his wings to fly.

The elf sighs in relief then he feels shame. The creature died by its own idiocy and all the elf did was run. He'd be a disgrace to his ancestors. He laments on how pussified he and his kind have become. How pussified the world has become. No longer a world of heroes and monsters. Just creatures trying to get by and pay the rent, mortgage and whatever debt they have. Even the Balrog he notices is pussified in its own way. The Balrog appears to be a juvenile one. It's not as big as it's ancestors before it. Only slightly bigger than a bear while it's ancestors would have towered over this office building. It also seemed very stupid while it's ancestors were much smarter and used weapons and cunning to kill their foes not just brute strength. This juvenile Balrog has devolved into a pathetic caricature of his ancestors.

The elf laments this is what life is now? Just mediocrity and patheticness. He stares at the moon and his thoughts go silent. He feels some comfort and his eyes close as his head drops hanging over the building. His body falls into the bushes that cushion his blow. He finally has earned his rest.

The elf wakes up in a hospital room. He sees flowers on a table to his right next to the window. To his left the door and a table with some food. To his front a tv with nothing on it. A doctor and nurse enter the room to greet the elf. The nurse is a young human woman in her mid 20's. The head doctor an older elf, old enough to be his father tells him, "You are lucky to be alive son. You're body was so bruised and broken we thought you'd die of exhaustion. You're muscles were overstretched so much it looked like the sinews would tear. Thankfully, one of your coworkers found you and called an ambulance. You've been here for a month now recovering."

The elf barely takes it all in but he can get the jist of what the doctor is saying. The elf asks the doctor, "How long do I stay here for?". The doctor replies, "Probably another month, we will have to put you through physical therapy." The elf impotently accepts his fate. The doctor and nurse leave. The elf tries to take in his surroundings.

The door opens and the elf's boss enters the room. He greets the elf, "Hey champ how're you doing? We heard what happened and saw you and the dead Balrog in the parking lot in the morning. After we called the ambulance to pick you up we inspected the building. We went to the old fire escape stair way in the back of the building and saw where the Balrog came form. We hired an exterminator to look and he revealed there was a Balrog infestation at the bottom of the stairwell. They expanded their nest from underground to the bottom of the stairwell. So the building is closed until the exterminator can eradicate them all. He and his crew are dwarves so they got experience with this kind of thing. This should last a few months so everyone who can is remote working. The rest are on furlough. But by the time you recover the infestation should be exterminated and we can all go back to work. Hope you have a speedy recovery pal." The boss leaves and the elf is lies in his bed just absorbing this all in. He stares at the ceiling unsure of his life at this point.

He stares in silence at the ceiling. He just stares at the white ceiling tiles pock marked with little random indentations. There is no pattern at all to them. He just stares and lowers his head back to his front. He looks at the blank tv in front of him and sees himself. His neck is in a cast, his face is bandaged, primarily his cheeks. His arms and legs are in casts and lifted to ease the pain. One of his ears is bandaged while the other has scabs from some cuts he got in his ordeal. He's unsure of what to do now with his life after all of this. He then decides to go to sleep.

I hope this answers your question anon.

[danked-piccolo-shit]

Bigby x Reader ( NSFW )

Hey ! Hope you're all fine and happy out there ! 👋 The kinktober stuff made me want to translate this scenario from my computer. Hope you'll enjoy it.

Warning : NSFW ( some masturbation shit are in this post, kid, don't read it ! 🤔 )

The wolf opened his door, almost sma-

Crack

Well... actually smashing the handle accidentally in his action.

Another shitty night for the Fabletown's Sheriff, now thinking how he was going to explain this tomorrow. This was the 3rd time in a week, after all.

He entered the apartment, letting an annoyed sigh to escape from his lips as he cracked the bones of his neck. He picked up the phone, leaving it on the table before entering in the kitchen, this was a kind of ritual he use to do at the end of the day, without even noticing doing so. But after a long day of work, he just wanted to be ... quiet, and embrace the loneliness in which he had plunged for all these years.

Some whiskey would be welcome. If there were any left. A quick visit from Colin wasn't something unusual, after all, and this pig was a real pain in the ass, sometimes. A shy smile slowly came to lift his dark circles as he opened the closet. There were still some left, and plenty by the way ! Even if the sheriff couldn't recall when he went to the grocery store for the last time. The fridge was totally empty, apart from an old bottle of ketchup, and he couldn't rely on the freezer to offer him something to eat either...

The reflection of his cigarette shimmered in a glass now full of the oh so precious alcohol, which gradually became more of a painkiller for Bigby over the years rather than a real source of pleasure or relief.

He then set out to settle on this good old armchair, which will have another taste of the blood of the fable this evening.

2, maybe 3 broken ribs, some bloody phalanges and let's not even talk about his shirt.

Fed up... Bigby was fed up...

"Can I really go on living like this?" whispered the wolf under his breath, before finally grabbing this precious painkiller of his.

The truth was he didn't know himself what to do. He sweared to protect everyone, and he will continue... Until the sweet death finally come to take him, and put an end to his long and painful agony.

He dared to confront his reflection in the half-empty glass, before turning away from it a few seconds later. It might be time to have a shower, he thought out loud. To wash away the blood, and, kinda help with the smell too.

He quickly opened his window, which offered him a scent far more delicate than the one of whiskey on his beard. It seems you have been cooking something recently, but it wasn't the smell of tasty food that has made the wolf close his eyes to sniff more, and which started to make him shiver in ecstasy. It was yours.

Your so precious perfume... So lovable, so tempting ~ God, was he happy to be your neighbor from below. Be able to smell you before he goes to bed, or, at least, tries to... Trace your exact position in your apartment just by earing the sweet sound of your feets, making the wood cracking gently just above from where he was.

If he listened to his instincts, the only thing he wanted to do with you now ...

Was to take you away, far, really far from these rotten apartments, to steal you tonight and never going back, so that you can finally be happy with him, your mate for life. Bigby took only a few moments to get out of his fantasies. It was crazy to think about it, and he knew it ... Unfortunately all too well.

His cigarette ended up in the ashtray, and his half-empty glass will have to wait until his shower was over. Just leaning forward was enough to make the wolf growl in pain, but he got up anyway, now realizing the need to do laundry if he didn't want to start some half-naked investigating tomorrow.

So he went to the bathroom, rediscovering it by the way, before heading to the machine. A sound of water coming from upstairs was enough to dissipate his thoughts just before he presses the start button.

Uncontrollably, Bigby started to focus, surprising himself to be now able to distinct your breathing and even your heartbeat with the constant falling water. The walls truly were paper thin, after all...

Sudden hoarse breathing echoed in his ears, pushing him immediately into alertness. Did something happen to you ?! The pressure on his shoulders vanished the moment he could sense you were uninjured, and not seeming anxious.

False alert, and it was clearly for the best... But...

Why were you panting, then ?

Your heartbeat went madder, just like your breath... That's the moment Bigby realized you weren't actually in the shower. The falling water sound was way to constant...

A clang of clothing was enough to give rise to a hypothesis in his head. "No, no, Bigby, stop, you're disgusting, there is absolutely no chance of that happening..."

That's what he told himself before he started blaming his fatigue for his perverted spirit.

You drove him crazy every day and he knew it. But ... to the point of imagining that ?! God, he was tired.

" Hn ~ ♡ "

Instinctively, he stopped all movements, mentally praying for the first time in his life to have heard well. You were... doing it... like... really ?!

Bigby closed his eyes again, letting his hearing refine itself some more while the growing bulge in his pants already led him to the point of no return. This strange sensation he hadn't felt for years could only assert itself more when a squishy sound resonated in his ears. And that had nothing to do with the water that was still flowing...

" Shit.... "

The wolf took an immediate support against the wall, letting himself slide down to the ground as he cursed the sound of his belt which came to smother another one of your cries.

You were really masturbating, and Bigby was the only one that could hear you...

Without hesitation, he threw his hand into his pants, wedging his breath on yours not to miss the next moan as he started to pleasure himself.

" Aah ~ "

Here it came.

Being able to clearly hear this one was so satisfying for Bigby. And so, so good too. The Sheriff could not help but harden over the seconds as he could now trace each passage of your delicate fingers on your juicy entrance.

These repetitive noises... Your jerky breath... Your soft moans so inaudible that they were even more precious ... You really wanted it so badly ~ ? The wolf didn't knew this side of your personality until now, but he clearly wasn't going to complain. Nevertheless, he was curious to know who you were thinking of when you did this, and the mere assumption that it was him ended all other acceptable answers for Bigby.

" Hmmm ~~ "

He gave himself thoroughly despite his injuries, guided by his imagination and determined to silence the voice that ordered him to go upstairs and help you satisfy your reciprocal urges. To make your skin dance on his, while preventing you from holding back your cries by the simple pressure of his hands on your hips. He could finally kiss you, caress you until dawn...

Horny like he was now, if he really go upstairs, it wouldn't be just the building that would hear you scream in a mix of pleasure and pain, but the whole fucking town. Even his fear to break you in the action excited him more, in theory. His left hand that was resting on his knee threatened to lacerate it as his claws began to come out. Never in his life the wolf wanted to bang someone so badly. You weren't his mate for nothing, after all...

A special rhythm of breathing proved to Bigby that you were reaching your limits. Already? At this point, he could've made you climax twice before starting to reach his own. With a growing smile on his lips, the wolf calculated approximately. 3... maybe 4...

" Ah- Aaah, fuck ~ ♡ "

Definitely 4. He could make you beg for mercy 4 times before he finally liberate you from his grip, and fill your delicious belly with all his semence as you'll let your ultimate moan resonate in the room. He could already see your legs trembling in your succession of orgasms, while his full erect cock will force him to impregnate you like the animal he was, to mark his territory and claim you his for all eternity.

The wolf bit his lip until blood, vainly retaining a grunt to escape. Even if you had already finished, and was finally going to have a shower, Bigby took advantage of the fall of your last clothes to give him the impetus to finish alone. The falling water calmed down as you entered it, making Bigby understand that he'll not have the chance to have a round 2 this night... Or enough alcohol into his veins to dare going upstairs and make your body bend under his touch.

So he kept drowning in his fantasies, restraining himself from grunting or breaking the wall that was still his support as he remembered your needy moans.

Bigby's knee was now in blood, and hazard made him reach his limits when you cut off the water.

He desperately tried to sniff your scent when he finally came, much harder than expected, a little bit disappointed that you went to bed this early and were already far asleep. But, hey, he couldn't be mad at you, not when you just saved his evening like this ;)

The first thing he did when he opened his eyes again was to look at his ceiling, smiling wildly at the thought of what happened.

" Good night, (Y/N) "

_________

Hope you enjoyed it so far ! Thanks for reading, and remember that he still hasn't launched his laundry machine yet ! So be careful of shirtless Sheriff from now on ;)

[fanfictrashdump]

Queening a Pawn, 12

Summary: During the Time Heist, Loki stole the Tesseract and escaped. He did not expect, however, to be pulled through a Time Loop that delivered him to a Midgard more than a decade older, wiser, and bitterer. Having just lived through his unsuccessful attack in New York, Loki must learn to live in Midgard after the defeat of Thanos (post-Endgame). The question is, who is Loki without a quest for a throne or total domination?

Pairings: Loki x OC

Notes: Don’t mind me. I’m just here writing away my frustrations. A couple of chapters ahead tonight. :/

=

"Delilah, Thor is looking for Loki."

Delilah groaned, rolling over in her sleep to hide against the pillow. "How is that my problem, FRIDAY?"

"Roll over." 

Lilah nearly cried into her pillow. It was definitely far too early (or late) to be worrying about whether or not Thor could find his little brother. It wasn't as if she kept a GPS tracker on him, at all times. Well, the bracelets were GPS enabled, but that wasn't the point. "Del." She swallowed the growl at the back of her throat and complied.

When she managed to wrench her eyes open, she found Loki slumped over, chin on his chest, fast asleep and propped against her headboard. He had not been there when she went to sleep, and she did not remember telling FRIDAY to let him in, so she assumed he was making use of his magic to let himself into her quarters at night. The same way he has for the last three weeks.

She had to chuckle. He had been quite insistent that they were ill suited for anything but friendship. Whether or not it was possible to just be friends after being thoroughly and desperately debauched in every room of his apartment was still up for debate. When that notion ultimately faltered, due to his newfound need for some sort of affection, he had asked they give no one any cause for suspicion, which meant they would sleep in their own beds and not appear affectionate outside of their respective quarters. 

And here he was, sneaking into her room in the dead of night because he couldn't sleep. 

No. 

Because he couldn't sleep without her.

"Lokes," she called, quietly. "Loki." She shook his thigh and he startled awake, brandishing a dagger that had been tucked in the small of his back. "Thor's here. He's looking for you."

Dazed, he looked from the dagger, to her, to his surroundings. "I heard noises last night and I worried about your safety, so–"

"For the God of Lies, you're a terrible liar, my dude."

"I am not!" He said defensively.

"So, you admit you're lying?" Loki snapped his mouth shut, his cheeks turning rosy as he looked down to his hands. "Do you not trust me, Lo?"

His face fell at the question, and he rubbed his face with his free hand. "That's not the case, Lilah. You are the only person I currently trust."

"Then why the cloak and dagger? Literally."

He was quiet for a long while, pulling his knees up to his chest and pretending not to be there. "I don't know how to be this person. I was a King and a warrior and now–"

"You're still a warrior and you had the throne through deceptive means, so…." She reasoned, sitting up and leaning against him.

Loki took the hand abandoned in her lap before turning his head to kiss her crown and managed to stop himself before he took her lips. Instead, he stroked her hair back, the repetitive action distracting him from his turmoil. "I don't know who I am."

Lilah smiled, touching his cheek delicately. "Who do you want to be?"

His eyes flickered over her face and he sighed. "Worthy?"

"Of what?"

"Of whom?" He corrected. "I'd like to earn the blind trust you have in me."

"I hope one day you'll realize it's not blind trust, at all." Lilah sighed. "Thor is still looking for you, Loki. You need to talk to him."

"FRIDAY, could you tell my brother I'll meet him within the hour, please?"

The pair started at the booming knocking at Delilah's front door. She groaned, shaking her head dismissively– it seemed the God of Thunder was not particularly patient at the moment. "Lady Delilah!"

“Never mind,” he added in a grumble.

Lilah groaned, throwing the covers off her legs and making to get the door before Loki grasped her arm. "What are you doing? I'm still here?"

"Are you not a witch or not?" She hissed in a whisper.

"I'm not a witch!" He whispered back, frowning.

"Sorcerer, seidr holder, whatever. Do the invisible thing!" She swung her legs over the side of the bed, only to be pulled back almost immediately by his arms around her waist.

"I don't want to use my magic!"

"Lady Lilah!"

Lilah shrugged. "Fine. Then he's seeing you in here." She snuck a kiss from the lips twisted in a frown before scurrying to the door and pulling it open, stepping aside as Thor's fist sliced through the air and he stumbled forward.

"Lilah! I am so glad you are well!" The giant blond squeezed Delilah to the point where her ribs started to ache. "I heard you fought valiantly against those wretched intruders."

Lilah patted his back, working her way out of his grasp with a groan. "I did what I was meant to do, is all," she assured. "Plus, I had your brother with me, so…"

Thor's face hardened. "Is it entirely certain he did not have anything to do with the attack?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I wish people would stop asking me that."

"It wouldn't be the first time he helps enemies sneak into–"

"Get out! If you're going to just tell me why you think Loki is behind this you can fuck off."

Thor rolled his eyes. "You don't have to be so defensive."

Delilah swallowed the scream in her throat, leaving him at the door and stomping to her kitchen to deal with her coffeemaker. "Loki and I almost died because you lot forgot to check Tony's pile of half-baked ideas to make sure there was nothing dangerous there after he died! I'm sorry if I'm a little defensive– I don't like being held at knifepoint," she growled, slamming the basket of grounds into the machine and clanging the carafe into place.

"He didn't mean to–"

"I fucking know he didn't mean it, Thor! Which just confuses me as to why everyone but Bucky thinks he had something to do with it."

"Really? Barnes?" The casual smile that tilted at Thor's mouth only made her want to hoist the meat tenderizing hammer from its hook on the wall and fling it into his face. "I just want to make sure we don't miss any of the warning signs we did before."

"Yes, immediate assumption of guilt is the right way to do that," she snapped, setting down three coffee mugs on the counter. Out of the corner of her eye, she could spy into the bedroom seeing Loki was nowhere to be seen, and she removed one of the mugs after feigning debate about which one she wanted.

Thor dropped onto a stool at the kitchen counter and propped his head up on a bent elbow, grinning brightly. "You're being quite irritable, I must say."

"You woke me up at four thirty in the morning, Thor! Did you expect me to roll out the red carpet for you?"

"Or you're quite fond of my brother and–"

"Oh, fuck off!"

"–you don't want him harmed. It's sweet, really." He watched her fill up the cup with dark brew. "Just don't make the mistake of confusing him for the person he used to be."

Delilah snorted. "The person he used to be threatened to skin me like a cat because I beat him at chess. There is no love lost there, Thor."

"Good morning, Li– oh, Thor. Hello." Both Thor and Delilah turned to the door. Loki was holding it ajar with a hand on the doorknob, still in the same clothes he had slept in, but looking every bit put together for an early training session. "Am I interrupting something?" He narrowed his eyes at Delilah, who looked somewhat relieved for his misdirection and the reprieve from the conversation. "You forgot about training, didn't you?"

She smirked. 

Sure, leave Loki to turn an already irritating situation into the worst possible situation. Delilah was quite sure that her version of Hell was Loki waking her randomly at odd hours to take her to the gym. "I might have conveniently repressed the memory, yes. Coffee?" 

Collecting another mug, she poured an additional cup and placed it on the counter alongside hers. When she returned the carafe, she yelped and jumped back, holding her left hand to her chest as she hissed. Loki had been at her side a half second later, coaxing her hand into his, brow furrowed in concern. 

"It's fine. I just touched the hot plate," she murmured, cheeks turning pink at his attention. Not only that, but she could practically feel Thor's stare on the both of them.

"Are you sure? It looks like quite a bad welt," Loki remarked, turning her hand over and delicately tracing over the angry, red mark. He raised his eyes only to find Delilah watching him with a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"I'm sure, Lo."

The dark-haired god got flustered, almost immediately, leading her gently to the faucet and opening the tap. "Get it under running water at the very least. Please."

The stream of ice-cold water disconnected whatever feeble connection she currently had with her brain, keeping her from speaking in coherent sentences. "Oh, cold! Cold! New York tap. Winter. Loki!"

The sound of Thor's stool scraping against the linoleum echoed in the kitchen. "Loki– Delilah do not worry, I promise you he's harmless."

Both retrieved their respective hands from under the water, though only Lilah was shivering beyond her control now. Her eyes cut towards Loki's hands, their blue hue and marks on full display and running up his exposed forearms. Automatically, she rubbed her palms together and held them fast to his skin, ignoring the awkward mumbles about not worrying about it for the time being.

Thor tilted his head curiously, eyes narrowing with interest. "That wasn't the reaction I was expecting. You know about this?"

"It's cold and he doesn't have magic. It's come up." She sassed back, offering Loki a smile when the sapphire had finally faded into pink.

"And it doesn't freak you out?"

Delilah rolled her eyes, groaning. "God, what is with you Asgardians and assuming I'm going to be scared because he looks like an evil smurf when he's chilly?" Reaching into a cupboard, she produced a roll of bandage, burn cream and some tape. "It's fucking ridiculous." Loki had quickly opened the cream and smeared a light coat on the burn before wrapping and taping it down with little effort, as if he had done it a million times before.

"Did you just– May I talk to my brother for a moment, Lilah?"

Swallowing the curse threatening to burst from her lips, she forced a smile on her face. "Sure. Do whatever you want. I'm going back to bed." She glanced at Loki. "You'll be fine. Grab me if you need me." Before he could respond, she had sashayed away back into her darkened room. He could hear the rustling of her sheets as she slid between them and for a second the errant thought that he wanted to join her crossed his mind.

Thor narrowed his normally dopey gaze on his brother. "Loki, what are you doing?"

"I was going going to goad her into a run before our spar, but evidently, you angered my partner." Loki supplied, clasping his hands in front of him. "Don't tell me it's illegal to keep fit, as well."

"What are you playing at?"

"Nothing!" His eyes darkened at the accusation. "Valkyrie and Falcon bring the children from the care upstairs to the agents' floor every other week to visit. Delilah and I agreed to spar each other to entertain them."

"Why?" He raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Because I want to!" Loki roared, thumping his fist on the counter. "Because I'm good at it."

Thor scoffed. "You don't even like children!"

"We were never around any! There were never any children in the palace, so how do you make that claim?" His tone was harsh and Thor's surprised expression just spurred his ire, further.

"Loki…"

"No! You don't get to make me feel like I'm overreacting," he whispered, gritting his teeth so hard it hurt. "I'm sure I have more than earned your distrust, but stop treating me like I have some hidden agenda when all I am trying, have been trying, to do is fade into the background and stay out of the way." He squared his shoulders and walked around Thor to the door. "Tell Lilah I'll see her at the gym when she wakes."

Loki stomped out of the apartment without a backwards glance, walking through the empty hallway, head down to avoid any confrontation. He had been walking for a long while before he had any cause to stop.

"Hey, Reindeer Games!" Loki cracked his neck at Tony's voice, before remembering he was completely in his right to walk away whenever the hologram aggravated him. "Where's Faline?"

Loki frowned, stopping just short of the thick glass panels. "Who?"

"Bambi's girlfriend? Nothing?" Loki shook his head. "Trust me, if you knew anything about the movie, it would've been a great line." The hologram was popping what appeared to be cranberries into his mouth as he leaned against the frame. "Where's the lady love?"

"I don't–" Tony gave him a look that appeared to mean don't even try lying to me when he started, "–giving my brother an earful, I believe."

"Oh, yeah. I saw Thor stomping down the hallway this morning. I hope you said your goodbyes 'cause he's a dead man once Delilah gets through with him."

"No. She would stop before seriously maiming him," he muttered, looking sour.

Tony sighed. "Thor's been keeping you on a short leash, huh? With him away from here for so long the leash must feel like a wrist strap." Loki didn't reply, but quietly sat beside the hologram's frame and Tony followed suit. "You know, you're not the only one who's made a mistake and had to work to clear it up. I was in the weapons business. If anything, my body count is bigger than yours and twice as bloody."

Loki rolled his eyes. "And yet, I am the only one under any sort of arrest. How exactly did that happen?"

Tony chuckled. "It'll take a minute, drama queen. Don't worry, the perspective will change. Especially with Lilah in your corner."

"I'd like to not drag her into this, if at all possible, Stark."

"Oh, no one drags her anywhere. She very happily volunteers," Tony said with a snort. "Why do you think I hired her to manage this facility when she's all of five foot four and dresses like a teenager?" Loki stared at him out of the corner of his eye. Delilah certainly wasn't a figure that screamed authority, even when he knew she was more capable than the rest of the agents put together. "She's a sweet little sheepdog who's not afraid of tearing the throats out of the wolves." He sighed. "More importantly, the team saw you jump into the fire for them. Bruce has been telling anyone who'll listen about you saving him with a flying knife and sassing him to hell in the same breath. They saw you look out for Lilah, for the agents who were asleep. They'll remember that."

"I suppose."

"Cheer up, Raven. You can't go entertain the kids with the rest of the Teen Titans if you're all mopey." Loki scoffed, balancing the tip of his blade on the ground and spinning it with ease to distract himself. "Speak of the devil– hey, Polly Pocket."

"Hey, Tony. Look who I found!" Delilah led a dark-haired little girl down the hallway, who shrieked happily and ran down towards Tony with a giggle.

"Seriously, you're like six feet taller than you were last night. Give daddy a kiss." The little girl kissed the frame, giggling at the tingle it produced. "Give it to me straight, Mo. Did your mom sell you for booze again? Tell me the truth!"

"Pepper's signing payroll, which you would know is done every other Tuesday, if you ever did it yourself, and didn't tell me to just forge your signature," Delilah sassed. "And Morgan wanted to see the old man."

"Don't talk about Reindeer Games like that!"

Delilah rolled her eyes, placing a hand on Loki's shoulder and giving a reassuring squeeze. "Morgan, this is my friend Loki." The little girl waved timidly, and the Asgardian could only give a wry smile and wave back. "Maybe don't, erm, Google him for now."

Tony interrupted. "Too late. We talked about him last week, right?" Morgan nodded profusely, staring at Loki from behind Lilah's legs. "Hey, Rock of Ages, you mind taking Morgan up to watch with the other kids? She's allergic to peanuts and penicillin, so watch what you feed her and if she ends up needing the other, you'll find yourself in a shallow grave."

Loki brightened, smiling confusedly at the projection before leveling his gaze with the little girl giggling a few feet away. "Would you like to join the others for visit day?" Morgan nodded and he offered his hand to her. "Tell your father we'll be back later, alright?" The small brunette mumbled something against the frame and scurried after Loki, who had slowed his pace significantly to allow her to keep up.

"Make like Barton and watch him like a hawk, will you?" Tony said through a forced smile, waving at Morgan as she looked over her shoulder.

"Are you kidding me? The fool just met her and he'd die for her in a second." Lilah laughed, cutting her eyes at the projection. "You just gave Loki a vote of confidence. If anyone so much as breathes on her too hard, they're done for."

"My baby is worth it," he remarked casually, before gesturing with his head. "He'll be OK, Li. You know that, right?"

"I'm not particularly worried." Tony gave her a disbelieving look. "I'm taking care of it."

"I know you are, but him dealing with it-"

"Is another matter altogether. He stopped constantly apologizing, at the very least." Delilah shrugged, looking suddenly sheepish. "Not that it matters. It's whatever."

The unceremonious snort just made her blush deepen. "Go frolic with your boyfriend or whatever."

"Or whatever. Bye, Tony," she said, singsong, starting down the hallway. When she reached the gym, Loki was on the floor and had fifteen children clambering all over him while Sam and Brunnhilde watched, amused. "Do I want to know?"

"We don't really know what happened, so…" Valkyrie replied with a shrug.

"Right." Delilah sighed. "Er… Lo, you OK, bud?" Out from the dogpile, Loki's pale arm stuck out with a thumb's up. "Cool." With a sigh, she carefully tiptoed through the throng of children's arms and legs until she was standing over Loki with a crooked smile. The Asgardian stared up, seemingly half-drunk on laughter, red in the face and with three different kids clinging to his neck in a cuddle. "You feeling better?" He beamed at her and nodded, his hand reaching out for hers. With a half tug, he sat up, carefully peeling each child off as to not allow them to stumble over before he managed to get back on his feet. "I don't suppose you'd consider postponing the spar."

"Why would I ever do that?" He responded with a smirk, challenging her with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Lilah rolled her eyes, gesturing the ring. "Eager for battle, are we?"

"Let's just get this over with, Odinson," she grumbled back, feeling the tension coil in her stomach and churn uncomfortably. "Gather your minions."

Loki gave her a cursory wink and took a knee, watching how the kids made a semi circle around him without so much as being asked to. "Miss Delilah and I have decided that you lot have been sufficiently good and could do with a little demonstration of what agents train to do. Now, that is the fun part, however," his face turned serious as he leveled his eyes to every bright-eyed stare surrounding him, "you are all to keep behind the mat lines with King Brunnhilde and Sam. Am I understood? I'm looking at you, James," he remarked, watching the blond boy smile furtively before nodding. "Go join them."

As the children all huddled around Valkyrie and Sam, Loki led Delilah to the mats with a hand on the small of her back. The touch felt electric and neither could ascribe any particular event to the sensation, both determining that perhaps that was the way they felt to each other now– static-y and sharp. Loki reluctantly released his hold to grab at two staffs mounted on the wall, to which Delilah groaned.

"Lo, you know I hate those!"

He took the weight of both and offered one forward, smirking when Lilah snatched it with a frown. "But you fight so well with them!" The fingers of his empty hand were dancing on her waist and nearing the jutting bone of her hip in a gentle caress. "Please?"

Delilah wished his hopeful green eyes weren't as effective as they currently were or that she had even attempted a defense before folding to his wishes. But he was excited and she couldn't bring herself to want to shatter his dream. "Whatever."

"Thank you." He bent low with a grin. "Now, bow."

She chuckled, leaning against her stick with a petulant attitude. "Bite me, Frosty," she whispered, echoing her thoughts of the first time she ever stepped into the ring with him.

Loki's laugh rumbled low in his throat, and accompanied by the swipe of his tongue over his lips, it made her already knotted stomach feel like it was full of butterflies in a twister. "Not in front of the kids," he husked, quietly and the promise of his threat was enough for her to twist at her waist and bow with a flourish. "Good girl. Now, pardon me while I destroy you."

He struck first, Delilah acting just a half second too late and having her whole frame jar as she stopped his attack with her own staff. Internally, Delilah cussed. He was faster than he had been when they last sparred, and so was she, but she had definitely not improved as much as he had with her sporadic joining him at the gym. Loki was all but a blur as he swiped around her, and all she could do was keep her core protected from any attack and hope for the best. 

He swung at her legs, intent on dropping her to the mat, but it was easy enough to roll away from the attack and for a moment she could have sworn his intention was for her to do just that. Loki, however, had not foreseen that she would have rolled right back up to her feet, striking her own weapon to sweep one of his ankles out from under him. Loki dropped onto one knee, and was forced onto the mat a second later by a sweep to the head that he barely evaded.

Delilah moved backward, hoping to give herself space to defend herself the second Loki hopped onto his feet with a single leap. The butt of his stick left a stinging spot on her thigh, a playful tap meant to spur her ire as he played a game of cat and injured, slow mouse with her. He locked their weapons together, marching her back against a wall with a grin. "Come on. I know you can do better."

"Maybe I would if I ever managed to sleep past four in the morning. Fucking Asgardians."

The door to the gym opened and Thor sauntered in, still dressed in his battle wear with Stormbreaker in his grasp. Loki leaned in rather sinisterly and breathed into her ear. "Try harder or I'm leaving with Thor for New Asgard."

"You wouldn't!" She growled, pushing him back and managing to catch him in the side.

"Oh, you underestimate my mulish stubbornness," he whispered back, hissing at a nasty knock she had just delivered to his hip. "Tell me you want me to stay. Show me."

"I don't need to beat you up to tell you that, doofus!" Delilah lost all the breath in her lungs with a single swipe that sent her flying back. "Why are you so complicated!?" Like a flame had been lit up in her, she rushed him, going on the offensive. He was there to match her blow for blow and offer resistance to her assault. Lilah jumped back, barely missing his staff coming down, perfectly vertical.

"I'm not great at loving people, or so I've been told," he retorted.

The confession froze her blood cold. Her staff hung limply in her arms as she processed what he had just said. Did he really just say that he was not good at loving? As in, loving her? Here? While they sparred? Her teeth grit tightly together as she came back to life and swung her staff against his shin. He crumpled down onto one knee, grunting in pain. "Really? This is where you're doing this!? Are you for freaking real, Loki!?" She growled, blocking a hit and digging the end of her staff into his gut with a groan.

He had the gall to laugh, which only incensed her further. He could admit it was a bad idea, if he wanted to live long enough to tell her properly, but he found the notion of her being upset at not being told so ridiculous it made him giddy. "I was raised by mostly servants in a palace, Delilah. We didn't exactly talk about our feelings between invasions or anything like that," he retorted with a gasp, trying to catch his breath, but she was coming hard and fast for him. "I'm also notoriously adopted, a monster, and emotionally unhinged, but you… I don't know..."

Lilah screamed, using all her effort to fling her staff, clearing under his legs and tossing him onto his back where she followed his rolling form as she hacked down. "This. Could've. Been. A nice. Conversation." She missed him on the last swing, and he grabbed onto the stick just long enough to ease himself to his feet before allowing her another foray. Instead of swinging, she decided that perhaps just lancing him through would eliminate most of her problems, and she held the staff steady as she ran him backwards into the wall. The butt dug into his sternum with an uncomfortable bite. "Tell me," she demanded in a hoarse whisper. "Tell me! Properly!"

"I love you. Of course I love you. I'm not a bloody idiot," he whispered, hand wrapped around her staff, trying to keep the pressure off to no avail. He hissed, feeling his sternum trying to give way. "Mercy, Lilah. Mercy." He raised his hands in surrender, locking his eyes on hers with heavy sentiment. "Have mercy on me, love." She eased back on the pressure, tossing the staff aside as she stared at him in confusion. Around them a chorus of loud cheers erupted and brought them back out of their bubble. Loki bowed to her, fist over heart. "Later."

"Are you OK?" Her hand lay where the staff had been pressing down. She was panting and sweaty and he could only smile at the vision. “You’re such a weirdo. Why do I always choose the weirdoes?”

[whatmack]

I LOVE YOUR NEIL TWIN HC!!!!! It's my one reason to live now, I'm addicted and you write it really good! If you were considering writing more (but it's absolutely not an imposition, do whatever you want with this, you're amazing either way) maybe just him and Neil bonding? Or Andrew warming up to him? That'd be nice, I mean, what is Andrew even thinking here?

can you pls hmu w/ some of that good good neil & liam content? ((and maybe andrew bein a tad jealous bc neil’s spending so much time w/ his brother but also he’s not jealous andrew minyard does not get jealous and if you dare imply that then you must not fear death))

!!!! Andrew’s reaction is GREAT to think about, isn’t it? Let’s have some angst(YOU’RE BOTH SO NICE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MUCH LOVE)

This café has the worst coffee on campus, which is to say,it has coffee pretentious about the place it comes from, boasting citrus notesor whatever the fuck else is trending and meaningless. It just tastes bitter toAndrew; they never put in enough whipped cream. He buys two cups and dumps thetoppings from one into the other, tossing the leftover dregs into the trash canon his way to the table. Neil makes the pinched face that means he’s disapprovingof Andrew’s sugar intake. Or maybe his money wastage. Andrew slurps obnoxiouslyat his whipped cream until Neil sighs and looks away.Liam takes his coffee with milk, which makes him different from Neil, who takesit with nothing. Andrew keeps a running list of their similarities anddifferences, and gets a thrill of satisfaction every time he finds some new waythey diverge. He realizes it’s him trying to cope with the wholeness of a truthhe hadn’t known, that’s so close to his—that’s so close to Neil, and reflectiveof himself. Andrew can pick apart his own mechanisms now, break them down toengine grease, but that doesn’t mean he’s inclined to stop them. He shakes hishanging arm to feel the comforting weight of his knives. With a flick of hiswrist this problem could be resolved.

Except that it wouldn’t be, because the world is harsh and complicated. Andrew shovesNeil down into a chair instead—hates how Neil goes willingly—drops into theseat next to him and props his feet up on the metal table. His pile of whippedcream wobbles dangerously. Andrew licks up the dollop that fell onto his handand points at Liam across the table.“Talk.”“Bad cop and bad cop, is it?” Allison says, rolling her eyes. Andrew flips heroff. She knew when she invited him here that he wouldn’t be polite—he’s neverpolite—so he doesn’t bother telling her. Her own coffee (two pumps of caramel,non-fat milk, his brain supplies pointlessly) steams mightily before her. Fallis settling in. Andrew makes a mental note to get Neil a pair of gloves thenext time he’s in the vicinity of a department store. Neil’s hands were chappedto bleeding last winter.(It hadn’t been his business, then. It is now.)(God, he’s so annoying.)Andrew kicks the leg of Neil’s chair. Neil turns to him, squint-eyed in query.There’s a gutter-wet leaf on the table the same color as his eyelashes. Andrewslurps up more whipped cream and opens his mouth to show Neil the mess. Neil’snose wrinkles in disgust. His squint softens to fondness. Andrew looks at Liam instead.“I thought the point of this was to have no witnesses,” Liam says, speaking toAllison but staring at Andrew. His face is so like Neil’s, but not, even withoutthe scars; it’s like someone made Neil into a mask and put him on, and tried topass himself off as the real thing. Andrew wonders if that’s what Neil thinkswhen he looks at Aaron. Andrew kicks Neil’s chair again so he won’t keepwondering stupid, useless things. The metal clang sounds like the grate of hisheart. “Andrew’s not a witness,” Allison says. “He’s a lie detector.” You can tell when Neil is lying, she’dsaid to Andrew, so come along and tell mewhen Liam is. Andrew had neglected to point out all the times he’d failedto notice Neil’s lies, been blinded by his own desire for what Neil said to betrue, and told Allison she could go to hell and take Liam with her. Differences,differences everywhere, but never a drop to drink. Allison had said, Neil’s coming, and Andrew had followedher out the door.Neil has swayed towards Liam, heads bowed together, hair featheringover their foreheads in a repetition that never stops. It reflects back andback on itself, becoming the swoop of their nose, the hitching gesture of theirshoulder. Andrew wonders if they have any of the same scars. The Butcher hadseemed the sort to like that kind of symmetry.Fucker. Andrew shakes his arm again. Knives, check. “Well?” says Allison.“Give us a minute,” Neil says. Us, us,like being born together means anything. The blood of the covenant and the waterof the womb are both steeped in shit. Neil’s hand is in Liam’s hand, grippingtight against the table. Andrew hopes they cut off each other’s circulation. He finishes his whipped cream. The only thing left is the bitter citrus coffee.He flicks the side of the cup until it falls off the table, splattering acrossthe concrete patio. Allison tsks athim. Neil isn’t paying attention. Liam is a fuckhead.He’s mine, mine, mine, get off him. (I didn’t know you had a brother.)(I know. Andrew, I’m sorry.)(I don’t care.)“What do you want to know?” Liam asks finally, in that accent that cuts out allthe vowels. “I’m not giving you a whole…life story.” His hand slices throughthe air. It’s Neil’s gesture. Give itback. Mine, mine. Allison makes a noise of disgust. It’s either at Liam or thecoffee, which she’s just taken a sip of. “I don’t want that. What I want is youto tell the truth. And the truth I want is what the fuck you think you’re doinghere.”“Allison,” Neil chides, leaning even closer to his brother. Allison doesn’tlook guilty, but she does take another sip of her drink. Andrew clenches hishands into fists. He knows Neil sees. He didn’t try to hide it. “I’m here to reunite with my brother. Isn’t that enough?” Liam’s voice gains atinge of frustration, but it might be feigned. The best lies have some of thetruth. Neil makes a soothing noise and Andrew imagines slamming his fist into–No.Stop.Don’t hurt Neil don’t hurt himBreathe. There you are, Andrew. You’re back with me? I’m very proud of you.At some point Andrew has closed his eyes. He blinks them back open. Liam istalking. Neil is not. Andrew never thought he’d hate it so much, hearing Neilfinally shut up.“We thought it would be harder to find us if we separated,” Liam tells Allison.His hand is still clenched in Neil’s, the same shade of white-knuckled. “Wewere…almost right. Our father found one. I’m…” he tilts his head towards Neil,and Neil’s face goes tight-pain-sorrow-sympathy in the space of a moment.Andrew thinks it might be an apology, and the acceptance of it. Neil’s anidiot. Andrew would have made Liam beg. He still will, come to think of it.Allison makes a rude noise, like a fart mixed with a yappy dog. “So what’s withthe whole Tiny Tim act? You’re here. You saw Neil. Congratulations.” “Do you have siblings, Allison?”“No,” she says. Everyone at the table carefully doesn’t look at Andrew. (I heard a thing from Mom today, AJ, you know what it was?)Stop.Breathe.Knives.“Then I don’t expect you to understand.” Liam swallows. Neil does, too. Does heeven realize when he’s a mirror? “I need… he’s my twin. We can’t be taken away from each other again.”“And you need us to like you for that?”“Yes,” says Liam, and the frustrationthis time sounds real.  “Don’t yourealize how your team acts? You’re a closed group, and Neil’s inside. Being inthe same place isn’t the same as being together.”The worst part is, Andrew understands. His life has been defined by lines thatseem invisible unless you’re on the opposite side of them. Monsters and theupperclassmen. Foxes and the rest of the student body. Two-parent household and…none.Andrew needs to feel Neil’s skin under his own. The warmth of him. The weightof his reality. It is weakness, needing another. Andrew takes his feet downfrom the table, stomping them on the ground to cover his shuffle to press theside of his calf along Neil’s. Neil sucks in a breath and leaves his leg there.Always so eager for what Andrew gives him. Acting like it’s always Andrew giving,and never him taking away.Andrew needs more whipped cream. He also needs a drink.Allison says, “If you want us to let you in, you have to prove you’re one ofus.”“How?”“Not sure,” she says. Her coffee is almost gone. “That part’s not my problem.”“I’m supposed to figure it out myself?”Neil murmurs and squeezes Liam’s hand. Of course Neil will help him. Of courseNeil will get his happy little twin back and everything will be great for them.Andrew wants to curl his fingers in Neil’s collar and say, you need me, remember? But maybe that’s not the truth.Not anymore.

[junsojung-text]

“Kiss me Quick” by Sojung Jun Limitation-Rise-Indulgence of Senses

Sohyun Ahn (Independent Curator)

As I go up the stairs traversing the café rather overly decorated with flowers, I encounter the glass door of the gallery. On the right of the door, it reads “ß” indicating left and “Gallery”, under which are shown the symbols prohibiting filming, recording, telephoning, eating and contact. Basically, in this space, only visual is allowed, meaning I have to put all my auditory, gustatory, and tactile senses to sleep and never use any means or tools to remember any images.  I think to myself that the arrow sign is not really necessary and that there are so many “NO” signs. A place that erases all the senses other than visual, interferes with our memory and excessively controls our experience… I am not just talking about this space, but most exhibition spaces are like that.

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The title of the exhibition is “Kiss me Quick”. The silhouette of the title’s type is very uneven, as if it had been zoomed in from an analog printing material. Maybe the letters were not cut out well, which explains the infiltration of other letters. Anyways, “Kiss me Quick” is a name of a cocktail mixing red fruit juice, apple juice, and sparkling water, etc. with vodka as base. Come to think of it, the sixth floor of the SongEun building is occupied by a vodka company. I imagined for a second the sparkling red bitter and sweet taste in my mouth, but I soon put aside my gustatory sense since it was banned in this space. [kısmıkwık]. It is a repetition of an aspirated sound “k” and short vowel “I”. I found it even awkward to say it out loud in an exhibition hall, but the sound of the title is surely piquant and sparkling. Given the fact that the title was named after a cocktail, it is like a self-contenting sound, just like scat in jazz. There are many cocktail names out there that are overly simple and infantile associated with colors and tastes of the liquor. Red lip or sweet kiss is a very banal description, but if the taste can be felt while pronouncing the word, then the titles seems to be appropriate. Now, I decide to put behind the thought of taste and focus on “looking” around the exhibition.

A dimlight is shed upon musical score no. 5. It’s a score for stringed instruments that was hand-drawn and cut into pieces and reassembled. So much traces of a hand for a music score. Also, phrases like “tap strings with the bow”, “with the high pressure of the bow” reminded me of sounds that clang like a percussion instrument or movements of the bow bouncing back and forth from the strings, even though I am a laymanin stringed instruments. The arrow in the score seems to indicate the flow of the music. However, this arrow, unlike the unnecessary one next to the “Gallery” type at the entrance, is very disruptive in its own. The performer can surely know the order of the next music with this arrow, but he or she doesn’t have to perform in the same order. The arrow transforms this musical score into a completely different one, from all the other scores premising a safe, parallel connection. No wonder I felt like I had to move to another place after playing a piece of this score, if I were to accurately play this musical score.  

Somewhere further below the musical note no. 5, on a lightless dark wall hung two pencil drawings. They were definitely drawn with eyes closed. That is because after a cluster of lines that are grouped into one mass, then appear the lines that make their way through to find another space, and again a group of lines follow, and then they overlap with one another. These lines are not preciselymoving towards a vanishing point, but are hesitant, wandering and falling as if strayingaround the desert with no visual references solely relying on their sense of touch. Then, they are disconnected and then connected again, just like before when a piece of sound/noise was played in the musical score and then moved onto the next piece with the help of an arrow.  With the visual dogmatism now gone, the tactile senses become a series of irregular fragments. So, I close my eyes. Now,fragmentsof sounds coming out from the speaker abound. These sounds come to an irregular halt, just like a blind man who is catching his breath after passing a district of a hustling city just before crossing the road, or a person trembling with fear that he might be going around in circles even after having gone numerous sand dunes in a dessert.

The sound rides and goes over the hill. It is a white hill, whose corners are edgy, made out of wood. I follow the sound that went past the hill to take a turn along the silhouettes of the hill. There feature two simple movements overlapping at the top and bottom. One is a person going around in circles, and the other is a hand moving along the corners of the hill. The movements inside the monitor are repeated over and over. This time, they do not hesitate. The movements are repeated in a stable and resigned manner, just like the footsteps of a blind man who has alreadyentered a desert.    

The light rides and goes over the hill. As I take a turn around the silhouette of the hill, now appears a structure of a forest whose top is blocked and the bottom is open. A person who is lost the middle of a dark forest desperately struggles to look for any sound and light coming from outside to escape. On the other hand, an able woodcutter knows how to read the light and the sound inside a forest.  He is adept in reading the ruggedness of the space through sounds and light just like braille: knowing where the sound and light go,  bump and come back and where they end up being absorbed and buried.

“Exhibition to the 3rd floor. Push”, it reads at the exit. Suddenly I come to myself again. What did I do till now in this dark room? I activated my appetite and felt around the space following the light and the sounds. My gustatory, auditory, and tactile senses once banned at the entrance have now all revived, and the only allowed visual sensation has now become inactivated with few minimal functions left.

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As I enter the hall on the 3rd floor, at my feet, I can see the forest that I had just seen. The light and the sounds go through the hole to flow into the upper floor. The text barely visible under the flown-in light includes secrets behind these unfamiliar spaces. The text beginning with “closes the eyes” illustrates the artist’s all forms of struggle to find the coordinates in a visually-limited state (<Metaphysical Dissection>(2017)). The invisible body is struggling hard to capture even the vague colors, play the saved images and capture the changes in speed in light of the experience. In the end, the artist seems to have realized that in orderto understand the space in a visually limited state relying on tactile sensations, she has to repeatedly read the gap between the space and her own body. That is, despite visual constraints, it is clear that gravity is in action, thus the body is used as a verticalaxis. To someone who cannot see, the angle between his body and the world becomes an important coordinate, and the space is constructed to allow an easy understanding of such coordinate. The slightly inclined boards grow larger and repetitive, and while moving forward by placing hands on each and every board one by one, one can easily reach a narrow hallway that leads us to another room. Images are projected on these incremental boards, but the movements of dancers in the images are all fragmented, and in between theseboards appear again the bits and pieces of drawing and musical scores. On the wall of a hallway leading to another room, feature repeated matte-white and glossy-white oblique lines that are inclined at a similar angle as the boards. These two types of white color are more distinct under a dim light than a strong light, and even if I completely close my eyes, I can feel around the space thanks to the different surface textures and move to the next space. At this point, a visitor, although he cannot see straight, has now learned his way to find the right path. .

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The video displayed on a slightly oblique screen is <Interval. Recess. Pause.>(2017). The title is the juxtaposition of words from 『Dictée』by Theresa Hak Kyung Cha. The voices of people are intermittent, vacillating and then suddenly dropped. Not only Theresa Hak Kyung Cha but also the characters in the video for some reason have become distant from the place of memory, and the colors, taste and touch felt in this distant place are reproduced in a language. However, why are they clinging to these indescribable difficult sensations rather than objective easy information when describing their experience back in the days? In fact our experience already has the answer.  The more quickly sensation is paralyzed, the more difficult to be described in language and relies on physical conditions, the longer they stay in your memory. These sensations are different from memories that had been intentionally stored by intelligence and called upon by language. That is whywhen we smell something, although the smell is very distinct and sharp, we really don’t have a clue as to why the smell is so distinct, so we try very hard to remember what the smell it is. A sensation always appears unexpectedly, drops suddenly and then disappears abruptly.  The performer in the video expresses this type of irresistible senses. A sensation that we cannot prevent from approaching us resembles a rainbow with its indistinct silhouette yet a strong, distinct existence.

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Finally <La Nave de Los Locos>(2016). A video installed in a skateboarding park-like space begins with a laser-close look at the painting with the same title of Hieronymus Bosch. The voice gives a hint about “you.” “This is what you tell me. The best option is not to be born. But if you are already born, not to be expelled is the best.”  This video is a letter sent to Cristina Peri Rossi, an exiled writer of the novel 『La Nave de Los Locos』. Whereas the two previous works dealt with our primary senses such as sound, light, taste, and touch, this video seems to have called upon so much information with language. The voice telling us the barbaric history where all the insane men were put together in each city and sent off on a boat to be sequestrated, suddenly reads out all these meaningless names of electronic displays, banners, and signboards, and the video points out for us each and every name of the streets the skateboarder goes through via Google Map. Moreover, it tells us the names, age, and stories of the exiled, deported and LGBT. Finally the artist tries to explain Bosch’s painting to a blind dancer in Barcelona, whose words are again translated intoCastilian, Catalan, and English. It may be quite natural for a visitor, who had groped around different dark spaces with limited senses to reach this work, finds it difficult to digest this saturated state of language.

However, if a visitor has faithfully followed the process of training (limited) senses that Sojung Jun had placed in different spaces, then he or she would be able to discover the sensuousorder that reconstructs all these abundant information. The artist zooms in on Bosch’s painting (in digital image) to the point that pixels are visible, and then allows the visitor to skim through the screen with a cursor pointing to a specific spot. This close-up was surely meant to take a closer at all the historic scenes, but it does not stop at a point when the image is most clearly visible, but goes on to the point of revealing pixels, implying that there is a hidden intention behind such attempt. This is similar to a movement of groping around the image with one’s fingertip and moving forward (the kind of pleasure felt when the pixels and the cross-shaped cursor overlap and disappear!). This tactile interpretation is soon translated into a movement of a skateboarder in Barcelona groping around the street floor. And the indistinctvoice reading out the signboards are translated into images with smudged colors. It is not about picking out only meaningful words, but the act of reading and feeling around all types and signs coming into our realm of vision is comparable to that of a blind man who has to feel around the spaces in between to move to a nearby place.  Having to do many translations to deliver a message to someone is also likened to the process of feeling around different ways towards communication. After all, all movements in this video are tactile recitation.  

Meanwhile, the exiled are subject to sympathy as they dream to “return to the times that cannot be returned to”. However, artist Sojung Jun shows sympathy (with the risk of causing ethical controversy) but also shows a long yearning for maximum level of tactile sensation that they could have felt. Those exiled, deprived of the right to stand on a solid and flat ground, need to develop a sense of touch and equilibrium tantamount to that of a surfer who can stand on the waves in the sea in order not to drown. Sojung Jun seems to improperly envy these exceptional senses of lesbian writer Christina Peri Rossi, who had exiled from Uruguay to Spain, the land of Catalans having claim their independence. The images of a blind dancer’s moves shot in infrared camera intuitively tell us that the dancer cannot see, and at the same time was a very careful way of expression chosen by the artist to opt for darkness, as she could not express someone’s disability under a bright light.  However, in Sojung Jun’s screen, we feel the gaze of sensation-driven people who indulge in the movements of dancers, who activate their senses of balance to the maximum and feel around the void in the dark. This is similar to the sensation of skateboarders taking the risk of groping around the ground even if no one really forces them to do so. The movements groping around the uneven and rugged space entail a risk of sudden fall and deprivation, making the audience to have butterflies in their stomach, but their spatial indulgence becomes the visual indulgence of Sojung Jun.

Eventually, Sojung Jun has translated all of these experimental, linguistic, historic, political and social records in an order based on senses. By the end of the exhibition, it is revealed that the title “Kiss me Quick” was a cocktail menu in the 『Le Paysan de Paris』written by Louis Aragon, and the letter types which seemed to have been wrongly cut from an analog printing materials were in fact from the menu. The title was translated into a taste by a chef, and the taste was translated again into a critic’s language. The text describing the experience of walking around blindfolded was translated into music of a composer, space of a scenographerand video of a cinematographer. And we witness the amazing rise of our senses in a feast of all these sounds, lights, colors, tastes, movements and languages. The moment we give up on the dogmatism of a single sensation or limit such sensation, all the other senses once oppressed come alive, and these awakened senses do not stop at just passively embracing external stimuli. These once banned senses invite in the stories of someone’s loss, constraints, disruption, and fall. We listen to the stories that start from the pressure spot of our skin, cochlea inside our ear, and the tip of our tongue. The reason why Sojung Jun cannot stop her indulgence in senses and why we cannot help but continue to follow on her indulgence is becausetheir stories continue to go on.

⬅︎