#every time a character does the whole “talk softly and reassure the dangerous person” thing while also walking ominously towards them ughh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cxptain-rex · 4 years

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immmm baaack. prompt 1 with Wolffe x an army volunteer reader who has amnesia after a head injury? before she was injured she was one of few who treated him like any other human/alien species (😂) and he wants to return the favor by taking care of her. and she slowly gets her memories back?

Thanks @catchmewiththelosers for this request! I hope that you like it and that everyone else enjoys it! Jajaj I laughed at the human and alien species thing

***

summary: wolffe helps with the memory loss of someone very important to him.

pairings: wolffe x reader

prompt: Please don’t leave me. I’m a work in progress but I’m trying.

warning: uh none lil but of angst nothing much muajaja

***

(Requests are open for the clones! Send some prompts!)

***

“Who are you?”

Clone Commander Wolffe remembers that question clearly when you said it. He could not believe it, how could you be in this situation?

The explanation is quite...simple. You see, you volunteered to work with the GAR. You became a data analyst for the 104th battalion when you got accepted.

The Wolfpack had been extremely pleased with their data analyst; always saving you from danger and making you feel welcomed. You could say that they were your home. Until one day, you got caught in the mists of a battle.

“I must tell them” you said lowly as you rewatched the footage on your datapad. The Wolfpack has been sent straight into a trap and you found out about it. They left you behind on the transport, to keep you safe just how they put it.

You exit the transport and began hiking towards the pack. “Commander? Boost? Comet?” You called into your comm trying to reach the clones but no avail. The noise of blasters being shot alarmed you.

You ran through the muddy field until you caught the clone troopers. The droids managed to get to them first, unleashing a fight amongst the peaceful planet which you were visiting. It was supposed to be a simple supply relief mission yet it turned out to be the opposite.

***

Everything happened way too fast for you to comprehend, a commando droid advanced towards Wolffe who was crouched checking on a young child caught in this battle.

You couldn’t stand and let it happen. So you ran for it, getting in between the trooper and the commander. The droid stopped and looked at you, chucking you like a rag doll. You landed a couple of feet away from Wolffe.

A noise like static filled your eardrums, you did not feel anything. Although from the static you could hear Wolffe barking orders to the men. Something about getting help and finishing off the droids. You can’t quite pin point what is going on, one minute you were defending Wolffe and the other you couldn’t move for your life.

You felt yourself being cradled by someone, you lost focused. As you fell into darkness, Wolffe panicked. He stood up quickly, “call an evac!” He barked at Boost who hurried off to do what his commander ordered.

Wolffe walked back to the transport with you in his arms, he held you closed. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, cy’are” he mumbled only for him to hear. As the LAAT/I begins its journey back to the cruiser, Wolffe stares at your unconscious form wishing for you to wake up and reassure him that everything will be fine.

***

When the Wolfpack arrived to the Resolute instantly you were taken from Wolffe’s arms and onto a gurney. Kix made sure you were rushed into the medbay. “What happened?” He questioned checking you on the hangar. “Commando droid got to her” mumbles Comet looking down dejected. Kix stared at your unconscious form and took you away to the medbay. The pack watched as the nurses took their favorite data analyst away.

“She’s a fighter” assured Boost laying a hand on Wolffe’s shoulder plate. He could not shrug the fear in his bones. Just by seeing the droid throw you away and you on the floor unmoving, his world crumbled. You did that for him, to safe him and you did safe him but at what cost. He just hoped that for your sake and his own, you woke up.

***

It has been five days since you had been taken down to the medbay. Kix has been making every single thing to wake you up. Nothing worked and the poor clone medic was going to lose it. Wolffe on the other hand already lost it, he came by every day and today was no different.

He did not understood how he still managed to keep himself composed, after all, most of his brothers knew for your love story yet it was hard to believe. The big bad wolf of the 104th with a data analyst, what a scandal.

Wolffe enters the medbay and Kix is the first to greet him rather frantic. “She’s awake” he announces walking towards your room with Wolffe on tow.

“Is she ok?” asks the Commander rather anxiously as he fiddled with his gloved hands. Way out of character for him yet he couldn’t help it.

Wolffe suddenly remembers the first time that he met you, before entering the room to see you.

***

You seemed lost. It was your first day as the 104th battalion’s data analyst and you were already late to meet the General and the Commander. As you panicked, a clone in blue and white armor assured you.

“May I help you?” He asked and you nodded rather quick.

“Yes! I have to get to General Plo and Commander Wolffe” you announced looking around the hangar. “Let me escort you to the deck” the trooper replied leading the way.

“Thank you” you smiled softly at the clone who nodded back at you. “I’m Kix, ma’am” he spoke falling in step with you. “I’m Y/N, please no formalities, Kix” you replied at the clone.

Kix led you to the bridge where Commander Wolffe awaited your arrival. “General, are we sure we can trust this analyst?” He questioned looking at the holotable which held new intel for you to decode.

He expected a shiny or a damned droid yet he did not expected a young civvie volunteer. You entered with Kix, giggling at something that he said. The Commander locked his gaze with you, his glare pierced your soul.

“This is it, thats Commander Wolffe right there and General Plo” Kix pointed at the duo standing around the table.

“I am sorry that I am late, General Plo, I got lost and Kix here helped me get here” you explained embarrassed already on your first day with the GAR.

“It is quite alright, Miss Y/N, right?” The Jedi spoke smoothly almost with a calming tone which narrowed down your anxiety. You nodded shaking his hand, you turned towards the Commander and shook his hand as well. “Pleasure to meet you, sir” you spoke staring at Wolffe, he stood baffled. Your kind tone threw him off guard.

Since that first day, Wolffe managed to welcome you into the Wolfpack. Everyone loved you, they always put you first. Keeping you out of harms way.

The Commander fell for you, you were the only person who treated him like a human being aside from General Plo. Your kindness and sweet nature drew him in and since then he knew that his heart belonged only to you. You managed to win his love over anything in the galaxy.

***

The Commander blinked a couple of times as Kix motioned him to enter. You sat up rather quickly when Kix entered. The clone medic smiled at you softly as he checked his datapad. Kix started talking to you, checking your vitals and finally to ask you some standard questions.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N”

“Do you remember how you got here?”

“Um...no?”

“Ok...” frowned Kix as he checked the brain scans in his datapad. Everything appears to be normal leading him to a dead end as to why you did not seem to remember.

“Y/N, could you tell me what’s my name?”

“I-I don’t know you sir, I’m sorry” you answered sincerely wringing your hands.

“What about him?” Kix asks pointing towards Wolffe who stood at the end of your bed.

You stared at the man, the first thing that you notice is his cybernetic eye and his honey colored eye. You thought hard yet you could not put a name to his face. “Who are you?” you spoke rather defeated.

Kix gulps nervously at the scene, Wolffe could only close his eyes and breathe. A cold wave embalmed him as the hairs rose on the back of his neck and his mouth ran dry. You can’t remember him at all. This was not supposed to happen, he says to himself.

“Give us a moment” Kix mutters motioning for Wolffe to follow him.

“I need you to calm down” he says and Wolffe grunts looking at the floor. “She has amnesia” the medic says in a somber tone. “She doesn’t remember anything from here” Kix presses staring at Wolffe.

“Is there any procedure you can do?” Wolffe asks searching on Kix’s gaze. The medic looks away defeated, he knew that amnesia could only be solved with patience and helping the patient and if not, they would not remember.

“No, She can be discharged today. You must help her. Take her to the hangar, show her around, anything that may trigger her memories” Kix says giving Wolffe the instructions in order to gain his best friend’s memory.

***

You have been discharged for an entire week and nothing has prevailed. You still were blank as new datapad with nothing to remember, just your name and where you came from. You learned that the man aside from your medic is Wolffe. He is your commander and you work as a volunteer in the GAR.

You also met the rest of the Wolfpack once again, their hearts broke when they saw their analyst all lost and confused. Nevertheless they searched for ways to help you get better. Although, Wolffe slowly lost hope that week. You could not pin point anything correctly and he was running out of patience.

Wolffe stood right in front of your door, like every day since you have been discharged. He knocks, you greet him with that damn smile that managed to capture his heart.

“Good morning Commander” you chirp exiting your room completely and standing fully beside Wolffe. He nods briefly and takes off, today it’s not a good day for him. He needed you to remember, he could not bring himself to stand every day without kissing you or holding you like he usually does before this whole mess.

After going into the mess hall and grabbing food portions, clones greeted you, even the Jedi greeted you yet nothing seemed to triggered your memories.

Wolffe stopped abruptly causing you to clash against his back. Clumsy as always, Wolffe thinks as he turns around to meet your confused gaze.

“What’s the matter?” you questioned searching for an explanation.

“Who am I?” He says slowly and you looked him quizzically.

“Commander Wolffe” you answer since that is what you had learned the past week.

“No Y/N! Who am I to you?” He questions again narrowing his gaze right at you. “I’m sorry...” you croak and your voice cracked at the realization that you do not remember him at all.

Wolffe takes a deep breathe and let it out.

“Y/N we are a couple, we have been for over a year now. I first met you onboard of the Resolute when you came in late with Kix because you got kriffing lost on your way to the command center. You were the first person aside from General Plo to treat me like a real human being. Please, I know you’re in there” Wolffe says dejected looking at you, he’s never felt more scared than now. Just by the fact that you might not remember everything you have gone through with him.

He leans down as you take in all the information, thinking of just one thing. He searches your eyes for permission and you grant it. Then your lips match with his, they mold as if they were made for each other.

Suddenly wisps of memories begin to flood your mind. You and Kix laughing at some of the 501st boys. Boost and Comet helping you prank Wolffe. Going to General Plo for consulting personal matters. Most of all Wolffe and his undying love for you.

A sharp intake escapes your lips, you pull away from Wolffe as you stared at him. He crosses his fingers mentally.

“Y/N?” He waka cradling your face on the middle of the cruiser’s hallway.

“Wolffe? Please don’t leave me. I’m a work in progress but I’m trying.” You cry latching onto the man you just remembered. As you sob he shushes you, hugging you tightly.

“I won’t leave you cy’are, I love you” he answers loud enough for you to hear. Wolffe holds you for a huge amount of time basking in the glory that his small burst out actually helped you.

The man would go through anything for you and he showed it by staying by your side and accepting your even with your memory gone at the beginning.

***

I had fun writing this! If you wish for any request send some prompts and I will work on them! Please, reblog this for more content!

I will thank you so much! I work hard, hours each time I get prompt to make it perfect for you guys! Thank you for everything! Xx - Adri

#commander wolffe imagine #commander wolffe x reader #104th attack battalion #clone wars #tcw imagine #clone trooper boost #clone trooper comet #clone trooper sinker #clone trooper warthog #clone trooper wildfire #general plo koon #x reader #reader insert #star wars #cxptain rex #adri answers #send prompts #star wars imagine

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caramelohaechan · 4 years

Text

Wonderland ~ High Tide Ep. 3 (C. San)

the very anticipated (not by that many but very special people!) // personally, i like this one, but not as much as nightmare // i tried to edit my best but every day my vision gets worse! for just 50 cents--

Character Guide // Episode One // Episode Two

Fandom: Ateez

Genre: romance/ action

Warning(s): pirate!ateez // female!reader // uhhhhhhhhhh idk what else awful writing maybe???

As the sun begins to rise on the horizon, it’s yellow light pours into the ports of Aurora, illuminating the tired faces and sore bodies of the crew. Captain Hongjoong is the first one completely awake, blowing the conch before he’s even entirely out of bed. He’s reaching for his shirt, and the rest of the crew are begrudgingly sitting up when the atmosphere dawns on them. It’s heavy and causes a surge of anxiety. Hongjoong tries to shake it off, attempting to be confident and brave, as he usually is, but it’s hard when the energy around him is foul and makes him feel awful things in the pit of his heart.

On the other side of the passageway, San’s first instinct is to reach for you as he notices the awful energy pulsing in the air. His heart nearly jumps from his chest when he realizes the spot is empty, and that your clothes are missing, though your sword is still by your empty spot. You would never just leave your sword by itself, and San knows this, so he shoots up and barely manages to pull his pants on before he’s charging into every room in search of you. The others are barely awake to care, but squint with swollen eyes when he charges out of their room leaving the door open just a crack. He’s out of breath and completely wild with worry by the time he manages to scramble to the main deck.

He’s greeted with harsh, icy winds, and a sky so clouded it seems the sun won’t be out for much longer. His eyes are drawn to the helm, where he sees you on the floor, hair askew and something gold tucked tightly in your hand. It winks at him under the morning light.

“Darling?” He rushes, falling beside you to check your pulse. Your heartbeat kisses his fingers in reassurance and you take a deep breath, which has a sigh of relief falling from his lips. “Darling, wake up.”

You groan, your body shivering horribly. San notices then that you’re not wearing your coat, and your skin is like ice to the touch. He grabs the golden telescope from your clutch and is about to toss it back into its hiding place when you finally wake up completely. You shake your head and grab his hand, your teeth chattering too much to speak. He looks over and notices you gesturing for him to look into the telescope.

“What is it?” He scrunches his brows. He takes it come your fingers and stands, placing the cool metal against his cheek. He instantly finds it. It’s closer now, and ten times bigger, if possible. From this distance, it’s a gigantic mass of green. A breath leaves his lips. “Wonderland.”

A chill runs down your spine, but you manage to push yourself up and stabilize your chattering jaw. “I woke up around midnight because I felt a terrible jolt in my stomach. I came up here to see if there were any signs of danger. The ship was sailing smoothly, and there was no disturbance in the water, so I grabbed the telescope to see if something was coming. Then I saw it. Realized that just being near the island is making me feel terrible. That place is odd.”

He turns, hissing when another burst of cold air brushes his bare chest. “Let’s get you below deck to warm up. Why didn’t you go down to tell us the minute you saw it?”

You take the telescope and cap it, moving the floorboard back into place. San grabs your arm and helps you up, wrapping his arms around you as if to warm you with the mere heat of his body. You shuffle down to your room together, and Yunho gives you a weird look as he walks out of the toilet.

“What happened?” He asks, letting his toothbrush dangle from his lips. “Why are you half naked, San?”

San disregards his second question. “Tell Hongjoong that we’ve spotted Wonderland. We need to prep the ship for arrival. We’ve got a few hours, at most, before we arrive.”

Yunho’s eyes pop wide and he scurries off without another question. “Captain, Captain!”

San pulls you into your shared room and you instantly grab your coat, pulling it around your shoulders and curling your arms around yourself to warm up faster. You waddle over and furrow into the fur blanket, almost falling asleep as soon as your eyes shut.

“You never answered my question.” San says, pulling his shirt over his head. “Why didn’t you come to wake us immediately?”

You hum, peeling your eyes open again. “I- I’m sorry, San. I was so shocked. I just sat there and looked at if for a while. It’s finally happening. We’re just one step closer to Utopia. If we get through this, we’ll be heading straight for paradise. Guess I was just thinking a little too long. Must’ve fallen asleep.”

San notices the slurring of your words, and can’t help but smile softly as your eyes flutter closed again. “Well, sleeping won’t help us prep.”

You try to pry your eyes open, but you don’t have much energy to. You should’ve known it was a bad idea to stay out so long. You should’ve done what San said, but you hadn’t. And now you were so tired you couldn’t even lift your own head. “I’m sorry. Just a few minutes.”

San walks over once his coat is on and his sword his tied tightly around his waist. He crouches beside you and rubs a hand across your cheek. “Well, fine. An hour, tops. No more than that. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

You pucker your lips unconsciously and San chuckles, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to them. You sigh contentedly before completely falling into a slumber, a snore following. He smiles at you fondly, patting your cheek and leaving the room. He goes to the bathroom, picking up and staring into the pearl lined mirror (there due to your excessive pleads to Yunho). The white streak in San’s hair is something he acquired before accepting Hongjoong’s offer to sail to Utopia, and also something that makes him extremely confident. It looks gray under the darkening clouds, and he glares at the sky before grabbing his tricorn hat and placing it atop his head. Today is a big day and he’s ready to protect his crew until his last breath.

Hongjoong calls a meeting directly after hearing the news. The ship is in the best condition it’s ever been and it’s so clean he could eat off of the floor (if they had food to eat, that is), so he knows there’s not much else to do but go over the plan and make sure everyone knows what they’re to do. He blows the conch and waits for a few seconds for the crew to arrive.

“I’m starving!” Is the first thing Wooyoung yawns as he enters the room. “I’m all skin and bones at this point. I think my body is about to eat my liver.”

Jongho follows him, a serious case of bedhead gracing his scalp. “Your body wouldn’t even want your liver, Wooyoung. You’ve drank more beer than the rest of the crew put together. It’s about a week from shriveling and calling it a lifetime.”

Yeosang is the third to enter, smiling so bright the dark clouds seem to shrink away from the window. “Oh, Jongho, don’t say that. Wooyoung hasn’t got a drinking problem.”

“Nobody said anything about a drinking problem, Yeosang.” Wooyoung instantly bites bitterly. “My liver is perfectly fine. A very healthy liver one could say, strong as they come.”

Seonghwa cracks a walnut as he walks in next. “I wouldn’t go that far. Perfectly fine is when you’ve had a drink or two within a month. Even when we had the opportunity to drink water you went for beer. Owning up is the first step to recovery.”

Wooyoung sniffs. “Aren’t you addicted to sugar, Seonghwa? You have no room to talk. By next year you’ll be diabetic if you keep eating it by the spoonful.”

Yunho scrunches his nose. “Disgusting, Hwa, you do that?”

The apples of Seonghwa’s cheeks burn a bright red. “Oh, shove off, Yunho. Let’s not act like you’re perfect. Lest we forget the time I caught you eating sunflower seeds.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Yeosang asks.

Seonghwa raises his eyebrows. “He ate them with the shell.”

Jongho is visibly disgusted as the others continue to out each other's secrets, but can’t help but feel slightly smug he had started it all. It isn’t entirely true that Wooyoung drinks every single day, he just does it when he’s feeling anxious and needs to relax. He’s been doing it more often, reasonably, as Wonderland gets closer. Anxiety is the only thing in ample supply these days. Even Jongho knows that. He doesn’t like to think about it too much, so he just zones back into the others conversation before his mind can wonder.

“--the pipe is for show! It was my fathers!” Wooyoung is protesting as the others stare at him, eyebrows raised.

Mingi enters the room, followed by San. The red headed boy grins. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I know Wooyoung is lying.”

“He’s got a stash of tobacco underneath his bed!” Seonghwa agrees. “That pipe is not just for show.”

Wooyoung’s face is red. “How do you know of my stash, Seonghwa?”

The whole room ripples with silence. Then Jongho grins, glad to be the one to say it. “Everyone’s had a go at it, Woo. Everyone.”

He stares at every crew member in turn, astonishment clear on his face. “You’re not serious, are you? Without telling me?”

Hongjoong, who had been smoothing the map out and marking it, tunes into the conversation and grimaces when Wooyoung turns to him. He raises his eyebrows in question and the Captain can’t help but feel a little shameful. “It’s true. We found it that first night you got drunk and had to drag you to bed. We’ve all had a little bit since then.”

Wooyoung scoffs. “Then what are you all yelling at me for, you hypocrites! I’m storing it in my trunk from now on. The one with the lock.”

Everyone groans, but San shakes his head. “Alright, then. Enough with the chat. We’ve got things to discuss.”

The crew gathers around the table at his words and Hongjoong settles his gaze on the door. “Where’s your woman? She’s late.”

San stares at the map. “She was up at midnight when the island first came into sight. She accidentally fell asleep out by the helm. I told her she’s got an hour to get her rest. We can do without her.”

Hongjoong nods, though reluctantly. “Alright then. Let’s go over the plan once more, shall we?”

There’s a collective murmur among the crew as Hongjoong begins to recite the beginning of the plan. San’s ears are attentive and taking in every word his Captain says seriously, but his eyes are scanning the words and marks made upon the yellowing parchment of the map. He realizes that the words are names, and the circles indicate the teams. Mingi, Wooyoung, and Hongjoong are circled near the edge of the Wonderland, still in the water. They are in charge of keeping the ship safe.

“I will protect this ship with my life. I worked my ass off to buy it, I’ll kill any man or woman who tries to harm my Aurora.” Hongjoong says, and San glances up from the map to nod at him.

San’s eyes slide back to the map. Another circle, this one far to the left of the boat. The crew in charge of gathering barrels of water from the closest fresh water stream. Also the group in charge of hunting for fresh meat. Monster or not. San, Yeosang, and Yunho.

“You’ll take the smallest barrels first. They’ll be easy to strap to your back when they’re empty. It’ll be easier to fight.” Hongjoong looks at Yeosang directly, and the boy gulps. “The real challenge is bringing them back to the ship. I’ll be on shore, ready to take whatever loads you bring and lug them on board. I’ll have a gun on my hip, for anything that approaches me. The empty barrels will be lined beside me, ready for you to take them and fill them. If one of you gets injured and is unable to finish your task, Wooyoung will take your place. If more than one of you gets injured, they will come aboard and we will continue with one less. As for the meat, whatever you kill, you bring. We’ll take it all.”

San’s eyes trail back to the map, and he knows best not to interrupt Hongjoong, but can’t help the frown that suddenly appears on his lips. The third group. In charge of gathering fresh produce and anything else that’ll prove useful. Equipped with large coats with many, many pockets, and countless sacks, they’ll be the farthest away from the ship, in the forest. You, Seonghwa, and Jongho. San doesn’t remember that being changed. You were supposed to be teamed with him and Yunho with the others. When had that happened?

“You three will be the farthest, so the idea of multiple trips is possible, but not entirely reliable, so if you can, then do, if you can’t, don’t risk it. You’ll have around four sacks on each of you, so the weight will be hard to bear. That’s why we had everyone lift the anchor as much as you could so many times a day. To build muscle and tolerance. It won’t be easy. If you have the strength to bring more than what we need, you can, but do not risk your life for anything we don’t need. If you can’t walk more than three steps without stopping, it’s too much. Do not drag sacks. They’re old material, weaker. Dragging means risk of splitting the fabric and spilling the produce. That’s the last thing we need.” Hongjoong takes a deep breath, looking at everyone in turn. “That being said, if anyone gets caught by the locals, or the ship undergoes attack and we need assistance, I’ve found that these will help to send a signal.”

Hongjoong reaches into his pocket and brings out a handful of very small and bright shells. He picks one up and places it against his lips, blowing softly. A high pitched song erupts from the small shell, and even San is surprised by the mere power it holds. Hongjoong hands one to each of the crew members. San gets two, one for him and one for you. He saves the pastel pink one in his breast pocket for you.

“I bought these from an old lady by the bay back in the Mainland. She said that she charmed them so our enemies wouldn’t be able to hear them. I don’t believe that, but I do believe that they’re a great way of signaling if someone is in trouble. They’re very powerful. If you blow with a bigger breath the sound will resonate farther than we can fathom. Originally, I bought them to use in Utopia, but it seems we’re going to be needing them earlier than expected.” Hongjoong tucks his own into the inner pocket of his coat. “Keep it safe. It’s the only form of communication we’ve got.”

San clutches his shell tightly in his palm, eyes searing into map. He glares at your group, and when Honjoong asks if anyone has any questions, he speaks up. “I thought that Yunho was with the produce group.”

Hongjoong’s facial expression shows no sign of surprise. “Originally, he had been. Upon my suggestion, he’s changed.”

Suddenly, San feels as if the others have been speaking about him behind his back. Why else would they look so guilty so quickly? “I wanted to be paired with my lady. To protect her.”

Hongjoong’s eyes don’t falter as San stares directly into his soul. The others, however, begin to glance nervously at each other. San and Hongjoong never bantered, but the emotions suddenly bleeding into the room don’t seem pleasant at all. “Listen to yourself, San. Wanting is selfish. I put your woman in charge of the produce because every team needs a strong, experienced figure. To protect the others if they freeze.”

His words don’t phase San.

“Shouldn’t you have, at the very least, consulted our teams to see if it was okay?” He says petulantly.

Hongjoong is very aware that you don’t want San to know you’re behind the entire change to the plan, but he really doesn’t like the look San is giving him. He holds his ground. “Everyone involved was informed. Yunho seems fine by the change, and your lady was as well. She didn’t seem very pleased, but she knows that it’s for the better of the crew. Do you not care for the well being of Seonghwa and Jongho, or even Yunho, our doctor? Should they not have assistance?”

San presses a fist into the table, and Yeosang, who stands beside him, bravely places his palm over it. San turns to him to see that Yeosang is smiling a very soft, understanding smile. “San, nobody on this ship wants your lady to be harmed. She’s the very heart of Aurora, if anything were to happen to her we wouldn’t be able to live.”

Seonghwa weakly adds, “I may not be the best fighter on this ship, but I know that I’m loyal to every single crew member here. I will protect her with my life, rest assured. She’s one of the best friends I could ever have.”

San feels his demeanor fall, and he drags a hand along his face. “I know. It’s this island, it’s really messing with my emotions. I feel anger so deeply rooted in me, I just want to break something. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

Jongho speaks up then, his fingers fiddling with a scrap piece of metal. He looks at everyone with stoic features. “It’s happening with all of us. I could feel it as soon as I woke. It’s a feeling like a thick blanket over your entire body. It makes you feel suffocated, and agitated. Causes very ugly emotions. I had to push them all away before coming in here. If not I’d have done more than just start a banter.”

Silence creeps into the room as the crew begins to mull over his words. When the silence grows too loud, Wooyoung speaks up, “You’re capable of feeling emotions, Jongho?”

There’s a rumble of laughter that scares away the aforementioned feeling only slightly. Jongho glares at Wooyoung, but there’s the tiniest hint of a smile curling on his lips. Yeosang wraps his fingers around San’s enclosed fist, and forces his hand open. “So, are you on board with the plan, Quartermaster?”

No one had ever officially called San Quartermaster. He assumed every member had their reasons for not addressing him this way, as they all view each other as equals, and he really didn’t feel important enough to be called so. He also really isn’t the navigator of the ship, but he is second in charge. The smiles and eyes directed at him has his heart beating faster. It’s the same thing that happens when he looks at you. He feels a surge of love for his crew members.

“Alright, I apologize for my sudden anger. I didn’t mean to disrespect you, Captain. I only worry.” San says, slightly embarrassed. “I’m all with the plan, and the groups.”

Hongjoong chuckles. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you, San. If you hadn’t said anything, then I’d have reason to be confused, and angry. I would’ve assumed that you didn’t care, and that is far worse than anything you just said.”

“We love her too, you know.” Mingi speaks suddenly. “She treats us all very well. She’s like the sister I never had.”

Wooyoung nods in agreement, then blanches. “Well, we don’t love her in the way that you do, just to be clear. You two have a bond we do not.”

There’s an instantaneous murmur of agreement from the rest of the boys as San grins. He rolls his eyes instead of impulsively hugging every single one of them, knowing they’d have reason to tease him later. He squeezes Yeosang’s hand before letting it go, pointing to the map. “Let’s keep on discussing then, yeah? You lot of scallywags.”

The boys protest greatly at the name, but nearly everyone is grinning, glad that everything worked out. Hongjoong smiles proudly before going on with the plan. The plan that’s nearly three hours from being made a reality.

You wake when you feel a body passing over yours. Your eyes instantly snap open and you jolt up, only to clash heads with the person hovering over you. You cry out, clutching your cheek as pain ripples along your stitches from the impact.

“Why’d you do that?” They yell, grabbing something from your side and pulling back instantly. When he’s a good distance you notice it’s Jongho. “Idiot, did you not feel me above you?”

You scrunch your eyebrows, a frown settling upon your lips. “Don’t be rude, you’re invading my personal space, not the other way around. What are you doing here?”

You notice then that he’s holding the hilt of your sword tightly to his chest. He glances down when he sees you looking and clears his throat. “San told me to take it for cleaning and sharpening while you slept.”

You finally stand, stretching your limbs. A small noise leaves your nose as you finally look him in the eyes. “Have at it then. Make sure to return it before we land.”

Jongho raises his eyebrows. “Of course. We had a meeting while you slept. Hongjoong wants you to see him so he can make sure you know the entire stratagem by heart.”

You nod, and Jongho shuffles over to exit your room. Before he’s completely out the door you call his name. He hums and turns, disinterest clear in his face once more. “Don’t ever call me an idiot again. The wrath of an insulted lady is far worse than any monster out there.”

His eyes widen slightly before he scurries out, touching the edge of his forehead with the tips of his fingers. Your own temple, the spot of collision, has a dull ache, but it’s fading as each second passes. You shake off your pain, and look out of the port. The sun is gone, and dark clouds are hovering over the ship like angry cotton plants. They look swollen with rain and you tighten your coat around you, feeling the cold winds they bring through the leather. Shaking the little fatigue still weighing your shoulders, you gather your hair in your hands and pull it into a quick bun, placing your hat atop your head quickly after.

You have hope that it won’t rain during your mission, as it would be ten times more difficult to move heavy sacks of food in the mud, but the hope is little, about the size of a corn kernel. You push your doubts to the side and cling onto that kernel sized hope. It adds to the balloon of hope already floating in your chest. You take a deep breath and head to the door. As your luck has it, it swings open just as you’re about to grab the knob, knocking your hand and your forehead with a thunk!

“What in the absolute hell!” You shout, pulling back and clutching your forehead. “Does anybody know proper mannerisms around here? How to knock, maybe?”

San’s head peeps around the corner and he sucks a breath in through his teeth. “Oh, sorry, darling! Jongho didn’t tell me you were awake. You alright?”

You glare at him, but your mouth betrays you and pulls into a grin. You laugh, “Oh, I’m fine. That’s the second hit I’ve had to my head in the span of five minutes, though. I think you’ve knocked my brain loose.”

San giggles, walking over and wrapping his arms around you. He places a sweet kiss to the crown of your head before pulling back. “Why are you up in the first place? I told you and hour. It’s fifteen until, you still need some rest. Look at the purple beneath your eyes!”

He rubs his thumbs under your eyes, and you push him away. “Well I would’ve still been sleeping if Jongho hadn’t been hovering over me trying to get my sword. I thought it was someone else! I could’ve killed him if I hadn’t been half asleep.”

San rubs his arms across your shoulders and shakes his head, chuckling. “Yeah, yeah, sure you would have. Well, you’re awake now and perhaps ready for my surprise...”

Your eyebrows shoot into your hairline. “Surprise? What surprise?”

San grins, his hat nearly toppling off his head as he shoots for the door. He rushes back to grab your shoulders when he remembers something. “Stay here. I’m going to get it.

You give a small laugh as he barrels out of the room, not bothering to try and stop him to get answers to all the questions you have. You don’t know what to expect, and having been in the same boat for a while, you wonder where he had hid such a secret. You sigh softly and rock on your heels, curiosity swirling in your stomach. He returns sooner than you expect, dramatically heaving and wiping away sweat you can’t see. His hands are tucked behind his back and you can clearly see something peeping over his shoulder. You don’t bother trying to peek, your smile twitching.

“Your sword,” San starts, walking until the toes of his boots kiss yours. “while a very good weapon, isn’t the best. I know it’s the sword Hongjoong gave you when you joined the crew, and it holds a lot of sentimental value, and I would never be able to replace it, but maybe… maybe, I could give you something that would mean just as much? I stole them off of a man at the Cornwall City Auction. The man offering them up was ugly, real pasty skin, a ballooning stomach, and beady little eyes. Trapped a young girl no older than fourteen in the alley before the auction started and tried to woo her with his money stuffed pockets. I couldn’t resist. They’re so beautiful they’re meant for more than a life of being traded and hung upon walls. Perhaps, they’re to be used by an equally as beautiful woman as she fights through the incredibly dangerous forest of Wonderland to retrieve produce for her crew. Perhaps, they’re meant for the wonderfully skilled hands of a woman who knows what she wants and fights for it, a woman who will give them a life worth living.”

You feel a hurricane of butterflies swirl in your stomach at his words, and your cheeks begin to glow. He smiles at you fondly, a smile so loving and warm it makes you so grateful for everything that has led to this moment. You would give up everything to keep seeing this smile, such a sweet smile on such a beautiful man.

“You don’t have to give me anything of yours--”

San leans forward and kisses your lips quickly, so fast your not quite sure it happened. “They’re not new. If we were on land I’d make sure to steal you the biggest jewel your pretty finger could hold, but unfortunately we no longer have access to such things. Besides, a big jewel on your finger would prove no help, or point, at least, not at this exact moment. I originally planned to keep these for myself, but I love my own sword too much. So, instead of letting them grow mountains of dust in the weapons closet, I decided to tell Jongho to fix them into your style so I could give them to you.”

San finally stops stalling the reveal and pulls two crescent moon blades from behind his back. Your mouth hangs open as he backs up and holds them out in front of him for you to drink them in completely. They’re silver, with gorgeous golden patterns carved along the metal, and they have the most dangerously sharp edges. The hilts are in the middle of opposite facing blades, so there’s two blades attached to each hilt, made of a dark brown leather. The hilts also contain various loopy engravings. You were trained with every possible blade back on the Mainland, and these had been your absolute favorite. You only remember mentioning this to San once, expecting to never have access to such blades in your life again. You hadn’t even known they were just laying in the weapons closet, gathering dust. You reach a hand out, running your fingers along the details inscribed in the metal. With a jolt you realize they form the shape of a dragon, wrapping around all four blades, head settled softly on the point of your left blade and the tail snugly resting on the right.

“A-are you sure? San, they’re too beautiful, I could never--”

San shakes his head, cutting you off quickly. “They hold no more beauty than you do, darling. I know you told me you thought you’d never get to touch a blade such as this again. A lesson you’d think about for the rest of your life, you called it? You reminded me that I had even brought them onto the ship in the first place. Really, darling, I was never going to use them. Back on the Mainland I was a thief for many reasons, mostly to spite the people who thought low of the lower class, or in the case of these blades, perverts, but never truly for myself. To survive and make ends meet, yes, but never for other uses. I’ve only ever used my father’s sword, his last gift to me, and I will only ever use it for the rest of my life. I have no use for them. They’re better with you.”

He places them into your slightly clammy hands and moves his hands to your cheeks. Your eyes finally slide from the blades to meet his. He’s surprised to see you teary eyed. You sniffle. “You don’t know how much this means to me, San. My father, before he was a snobby rich man, he was a traveler. He met a man on an island near the East coast of the mainland. That man taught him how to fight with knives like these. And while I got every other sort of fighting knowledge from men that I hardly knew, he was the one to teach me how to use these. He did have his soft moments, moments when he believed that I was more than just an opportunity to gain more money.”

San wipes your cheeks as tears race down your skin, frowning. “You don’t have to speak of that, darling. What lies in your past can stay there.”

You grip the leather in your hands tightly. “I like that memory of him. He seemed different, younger, but you’re right. That was the past. Regardless. I love them, San. They’re better than any sort of jewel.”

“I’m glad you like them. I’d have taken them away and thrown them over the side of the boat if you were displeased with them. Only the best for you.” He says softly. “Also, it is to be noted that this doesn’t mean the idea of a ring is to be thrown completely out of the window. I will marry you one day and put a ring on that finger, lady. There’s no escaping me. You’re stuck with me forever.”

You’re suddenly reminded of the dangers ahead, and the risks. You walk over and place your new blades on a barrel shelf Yeosang had created. Then you launch yourself into San’s arms, pressing your lips to his in an urgent kiss. A surprised grunt leaves his lips as your arms snake around his neck. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you until your entire body is flush with his. His lips return your feverish kiss, fingers digging into the material of your coat, desperately wishing it was your bare skin. He doesn’t even feel bad when his fingernails make marks in the perfect leather. He really wishes he had time to show you how much he really loves you, just in case. He doesn’t like to think about the possible outcomes of this mission, but he knows that they’re real possibilities, and there’s no avoiding them even if he wants to.

He keeps the kiss going, walking you to the wall and sliding his hands from your waist so that the palms of his hands are cupping your cheeks. There’s so much feeling behind the kisses, unsaid words passing to each other in the form of physical touch. The kiss gets heated as you lift your leg a bit to pull San’s lower body to yours. Your mouth parts open for his tongue and they clash with a burst of heavy energy. The air in the room becomes heavy and thick with sexual tension and you know that you have to stop before it gets too far, but you also know that something might happen today so you don’t want to. Your hands fall from his neck and the tips of your fingers brush the top of his belt. You feel the same feeling the first time he had ever pinned you against a wall, pure hunger. You body is famished of his touch and your tongue of his taste, like you haven’t been pleasured in years. It’s crazy how fast you can flip a switch for San. How fast he can have your body heated with red hot flames, ready to do as he sees fit. How quickly you lose yourself in him and forget the time and your duties. When your fingers dip lower, your palm brushing against his bulge, he pulls back, teeth sinking dangerously into his bottom lip.

“We should stop. We don’t have much time left.” San whispers, words shaky and breathing fast. “Y-you have to see Hongjoong.”

You only remember this because it’s been like an annoying pin in the back of your brain as you were tying tongues with San. You decide to ignore this for a second more, bringing his lips back to yours and pressing your palm back to his bulge. San gets lost too easily in the feeling of your touch, in the taste of your lips, pressing into you despite the many protests his brain is giving him. He pulls his mouth from yours and latches his pink lips to the bare canvas of your neck.

You’re one hundred percent more sensitive than before and the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin prompts a moan from your mouth. He swats your hand from his pants and presses his hips into yours, slowly grinding. Your fingernails find purchase in the cloth of his shirt, pulling him forward. Your leg, which had fallen, lifts back up and pulls him all the way to you until there’s not a single bit of room left. As your lips meet again he frees a hand to place behind your knee, hips still pressing forward. Your thumb dips underneath his pants and presses against his skin, hot under your touch.

Just as you pull back to latch your own mouth against his throat the door squeaks open to the sound of voices.

“--said she’d only rest an hour and that hour is up already. I need to talk to her.” Hongjoong is saying, hand pushing the door open as he keeps his eyes locked on Jongho.

The two of you are unaware of the company you now have, but just as San’s opening his mouth to moan Jongho clears his throat, alerting the two of you. San doesn’t bother pulling away, because it’s fairly obvious what the two of you were doing, but his hand does move away from the back of your knee, causing your leg to fall. He also flinches quite profusely, but he hopes desperately no one points it out.

“She looks pretty awake to me.” Jongho chuckles. He looks both smug and disgusted simultaneously as he watches your cheeks grow cherry red. “More than awake, in fact...”

San clears his own throat, still pressing against you. You realize why when he shifts slightly and his erection presses into your inner thigh. You laugh nervously as he says, “Obviously, she is awake. I was just giving her a present.”

“A horrible present, isn’t it? Hasn’t she gotten it before? Like last night, maybe?” Jongho snorts, but the second it’s out his smile falls. “You seem to forget my room is on the other side of that wall.”

Hongjoong stifles a laugh behind his hand, shaking his head. “No matter, I’ll give the two of you a few minutes to… settle down. I need to see your lady in a bit, don’t take too long.”

San nods again and Hongjoong shoos Jongho out, shutting the door behind him. San let’s a deep breath tumble from his lips, placing his forehead against your shoulder. “I knew we should’ve stopped.”

You let go of his shirt, unaware that your fingers had been clenched into a fist around the material. He pulls away from you and immediately your warm body is met with the biting cold that seeps in from the port. “I’m sorry, San, I couldn’t stop myself. I never can when it comes to you.”

San stops and places his head against the wall opposite you. “It’s wasn’t just you. I’m as guilty, if not more, for getting a little too into it.”

You pat down your clothing, replying, “Well, I better be off to see what the Captain wants. We both know it won’t end well if I take long.”

You expect him to turn and give you a kiss, or maybe even just a smile, but he offers nothing, not even a response. Your eyebrows shoot up, but you shrug, heading for the door. In all likeliness it’s probably better to leave without anything, you just can’t help it. You’ve grown too used to the attention San gives you, and at this point you expect it. Spoiled, is what you’ve become.

“I forgot this.” He calls, holding out his arm, palm open. You walk over and grab the shell resting in his hand. It’s a rather small shell, no bigger than a stone, and it’s a beautiful pale shade of pink.

You glance at San. “What’s this for?”

San grunts, pushing off the wall and quickly kissing your forehead. “Hongjoong can explain. Now, darling, if you please. I need to take care of my… situation. Your presence really does not help.”

The small kiss sends a flurry of tingles down your skin and lifts your mood. “Of course, San. Love you.”

San watches you leave the room, making sure to say the same before the door can cut off his words. Of course, though he really would like to take care of his situation in a way that would release the tension from his muscles, he knows it’s better he not, and opts instead on focusing on the gnawing hunger in his belly. It’s not hard to remember how hungry he is, and it’s definitely not hard remembering how much he misses proper meals. Not hard, San almost laughs at the irony of his choice of words.

Feeling like a child who’s been given a sweet treat, you find your steps are lighter as you walk down the passageway to Hongjoong. It’s funny how easily San can bring a smile to your face with such a simple gesture, just as he can light fires along your body with a single touch. You’re pretty sure everything comes easily with San.

Yes, indeed. Spoiled rotten.

Hongjoong is hovering over the cherry wood table, eyes scanning the marks made on the map (even though he’s stared at them for so long they’re basically imprinted on his eyelids). He barely moves when the door shuts behind you, waving a hand in what you assume is a welcome. You glance to the side and see Wooyoung polishing off a tankard of beer.

“Early start today, eh?” You tease. “Waterskin already empty?”

Wooyoung shakes his head, wiping the edge of his sparkling mouth with his sleeve. “No, just think it’d be better to save what water I have left for when I need it most.”

You halt your movements and nod, impressed. “Wow, you’re clever. I was just about to down the rest of what my skin has. Any beer left?”

Wooyoung glances in the barrel and grunts, grabbing his tankard and scooping the rest of the amber liquid. It’s a little less than a half cup. “This, but I assume it doesn’t taste as good; it is the bottom of the barrel. If I wasn’t desperately thirsty I would never drink it.”

You take it from his hands gingerly, sending him a look over the brim. “It’s not like we have much room to moan about it.”

Hongjoong grunts, which is as much of a complaint he’ll make, and you scurry over, knowing it’s a sign he’s growing impatient. He goes over the plan with you quickly, but reminds you of all the small details you’ll need to be aware of. He tries to manage it all in one breath, but fails, resulting in an unexpected break as he pants over the map. His shoulders look tense, in fact, his whole body does.

“Don’t worry, Captain, I’ve got it. I memorized the entire thing the minute we created it. I’m prepared for anything.” You tell him when you notice he’s not lifting his head. “Any monster, whatever size, whatever type. I’m ready for the people, for the injuries, for all the things keeping us from succeeding. I’ve cut up an old dress of mine and made the pieces into scarves for the crew, in case of foul gasses, made sure everyone has a pair of gloves, and Jongho has seen to it that every weapon is fit for battle. We’re as ready as we can be.”

Hongjoong looks up, eyes glossy. He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes tightly as he exhales. “We are prepared, of course we are, but ready? I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to send you all out into the unknown when all we know are stories told by drunken sailors and pitifully weak traders. I think it’s safe to say that the closer we get to that place the more I realize that we really, truly will never be ready to encounter whatever lies on its soils. I don’t believe in magic, I never will, but I believe in evil. And that is all I feel radiating from that place.”

You glance out of the port, to the gray skies and dark waves. His words have the giddiness you felt earlier disappear as easily as a dandelion in the wind. You mull over them, trying to form a reply that won’t come off as repetitive and meaningless. In truth, you’re sure that the entire ship has heard every sort of reassurance in the book. So much, in fact, you yourself are tired of having doubts and hearing the same thing over and over. You can’t question your abilities any longer. You must build your courage and stand your ground. It’s no longer if you come out of the mission alive. It’s when. You don’t need to comfort Hongjoong and tell him everything will go smoothly, you have to show him.

You down the rest of your beer (which isn’t as pleasant) and place the shell clutched in your other palm to the table. “San was too busy to explain this.”

Hongjoong opens his eyes, and you see they’re clear of tears. He proceeds with a halfhearted explanation.

You’re surprised. “You bought this from an old woman by the bay? A bit adventurous for you, no? I thought you didn’t trust people who claim ridiculous things.”

The corners of Hongjoong’s mouth lift. “That was after I decided to trust a woman who claimed to have stolen the ruby around her neck. I was feeling a different kind of generous. Plus, they were quite the bargain for having such powers.”

You reel at his words. “Claimed to have stolen? What, you didn’t believe I was capable of stealing when we first met? Did I look like that much of a damsel?”

Hongjoong shook his head. “I knew you could steal, that much was obvious. Your travelsack was worn and initials that weren’t yours were imprinted on the front. Very small, however, hard to find if you weren’t looking. I suspect that’s why you chose it. But, ah, don’t be foolish, your hair was styled in a way that screamed money, and your boots are worth more than the entire crews attire put together. I knew you could fight, too, because of the way you held yourself, and the way your hand twitched to your pockets whenever the others tried to introduce themselves. All in all, you were a strange mix of a lot of things that I couldn’t understand.”

You cock your head to the side. “Why did you let me aboard then, if you knew I was lying?”

Hongjoong laughs. “You were beautiful, I won’t deny it. I knew I’d grow tired of staring at the ugly faces of the others--”

“Hey!” Wooyoung protests.

“--and I didn’t want to starve myself of the pleasures of seeing beauty. We’re men, I knew that we’d need a different perspective when it came to certain things, and someone to tell us when we were getting too dirty, though I know now that Yunho’s just as good for that as he is stitching a wound. But, beyond all of that, I saw the fear in your eyes, the fresh hurt from something big, the urgency to leave everything behind. I knew that while you looked like a woman capable of slicing my throat and getting away with it easily, you needed to board Aurora just as much as the rest of us.”

You stand, stunned for a second. “I -- I didn’t know you’d seen through me so well.”

“I grew up working for the rich. There are different types. The ones who like to bask in the glory and belittle the people who don’t live lavish like them, the ones who don’t let it affect their personalities or their company, and the ones forced along who don’t really care. You looked like someone running from their riches. If you wanted to escape with your fathers wealth without his terms, you would’ve taken more than a necklace. Instead, you blended with the common folk and asked for a way out. I knew your intentions before you told me your name.”

It’s your turn blink away tears. You reach for your neck, but sigh when you find it bare. You rarely wear the necklace anymore. It’s a constant reminder of your life back on the Mainland, and you find no one tends to have wandering eyes when you’re bare of it. You press a fist into the table, a laugh void of humor escaping your mouth. “If you hadn’t accepted me I don’t know what I would have done. My father was quick to change from a good man to a rich one. He let his money define him, and while he did have good days, there were far more bad ones. I think I would’ve kept trying sailor after sailor, even the unsavory ones, until I found someone willing to take me in. And if no one ever did... I never thanked you properly. I owe you my life.”

Hongjoong shakes his head. “You owe me nothing. You’ve brought light to this ship, all of us get along better with you here. You’re the heart of Aurora, I’d have been a fool to ignore you. Your father was the real fool, what he did--”

“I think it better we leave him from the rest of our conversation.” You say sharply, afraid of disturbing memories you buried deep down. You’ve already dug deeper than you expected. “How about we find whatever is edible and try to settle our nerves, hm?”

You stuff your shell into one of the many pockets lining the inside of your coat, heading for the door. Hongjoong and Wooyoung share a look, but aren’t surprised. While no one on the ship had it easy growing up, you definitely had the most challenging childhood. And while they will never understand what it is like to carry those memories embedded in your head like nails in wood, they can definitely understand when you don’t want to talk.

So they let you go, and Hongjoong turns back to the map, making sure it stays imprinted on his eyelids.

Aurora can easily blend in with the many ships lined along the edges of Wonderland’s docks, but Mingi sees to it that she’s hidden from the view of the bustling area. San preps the cannons in case situations turn dire, and Jongho assures Hongjoong’s gun is fully functional and ready to shoot. The anxiety is high among the crew members, and San barely has an excuse to be by your side the entire time. Hongjoong goes around, a checklist tucked into his palm, guaranteeing everyone has what they need.

His words ring in your ears. He’s right, you’ll never be ready. It feels as if there are stones at the pit of your belly, stirring up what little food it holds, and threatening to force it all out of your throat. San’s hand clutches yours tightly, fingers clammy. Yunho has a hard time clipping his supplies to his belt and nearly bursts into tears because of it. Yeosang is trying his hardest to smile, but even he is feeling the result of being so close to the island. Wooyoung holds himself straight, but doesn’t try to hide the fear so evident in his eyes. Mingi busies himself with the sails and ropes, trying to hide his shaking hands. Seonghwa stands on the other side of you, finding comfort in the way your fingers brush his. Jongho is analyzing the island, gaze hard and determined.

Wonderland is more beautiful than you care to admit, despite the ugly feelings it gives off. Unlike your dream the dull clouds seem to go completely around it, golden sands baking underneath the sun. Aurora faces a giant cliff of smooth rock almost completely swallowed by green vines. It’s split down the middle, creating a narrow path you can’t see. Far off to the right a tall forest of green towers over the shore, covering it in a shadow and inching so far out it partially blocks the view of the docks. You can’t see far passed that, and the rocky cliff shifts to hills farther left, so you have no idea what else the island consists of.

The crew stills when the ship is completely stopped, chests heaving and muscles rigid.

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go, the sooner we start the sooner we’re out of here!” Hongjoong roars suddenly, causing an instant reaction.

You pry away from San and grab Seonghwa’s hand, leading him over to the pile of sacks. “Jongho, come on, we have to strap these to ourselves.”

The edges of your new blades poke at your ribs as you bend over to grab your sacks, stringing them around your arms and your shoulders. Jongho hurries over and does the same, a scowl fresh on his lips. He’s carrying two swords at the waist and has knives tucked into his boots; Seonghwa also has two weapons, a sword and a dagger, both strapped to his hips tightly. You’re appreciative of the various weapons, it settles the storm in your stomach slightly.

Mingi drops off of the edge of the boat dramatically, and Hongjoong tosses barrels after him. Yunho, and Yeosang are double checking their things, weapons and straps. Once you’re sure you have everything you walk over to the edge of the ship and grab the rope of the anchor. You call for Seonghwa and Jongho, throwing yourself over the edge and nearly losing your grip. Your gloves are stuffed in your pocket, so it stings when your palms scrape against the rope, but you quickly tighten your grip and plant your feet on the side of the ship, slowly letting yourself down. You land ankle deep in water, grunting and letting the rope free. Instantly there’s a flash across your eyelids and you see the island from your dreams. Harrowing grey sky, and inky black sand. It clouds your vision for a moment, and you’re unable to see the golden sands and bright green trees.

Seonghwa thumps down beside you and pats your shoulder, drawing you back to reality. He sees Mingi crushed under a barrel and manages to laugh, despite the circumstances. He leaves you alone in the water and goes to help his crew member up.

“What happened? They’re empty, strong man!” Seonghwa calls.

“I lost my footing.” Mingi sniffs, pushing the barrel off of him.

You stay stunned for a second, wondering if what just happened was your imagination or just the flash of a memory. You shake it off, trying to focus on the mission ahead. Jongho digs his heels in the sand beside you as he lands. You leave him to analyze the place longer, walking over to help Mingi and Seonghwa with the barrels.

San comes down a minute later, just as your about to depart from the others. He grabs your arm silently and twirls you around. His lips meet yours in a kiss. This one kiss is worth a million words, a million I love you’s and whispered promises. It’s worth all of the kisses in the world. It’s the kind of kiss you hope to receive again one day, under the sparkling moon by the shore, a ring wrapped around your finger.

He doesn’t need to say he loves you. You already know that he does. He’s aware too. So he only says, “Be careful.”

You smile, taking in every detail of his face. Just in case. “I will.”

You pull away before you can get caught up in another kiss, San’s lips too inviting. You’re the first to turn away and leave, heading in the direction of Jongho and Seonghwa. Seonghwa is smiling, a bit fondly, if you can identify emotions at all, and Jongho is simply straight faced. They’re both covered with the cloth sacks, looking tiny among the burlap. They swivel around and begin to walk with you toward the forest. You turn your head and see San heading through the narrow path in the cliff, a barrel strapped to his back. Before he enters he glances back, catching your eye. You turn quickly, heart hammering. This is it. Detour Expedition: Wonderland is completely in action.

You hold your breath as you walk, hands trembling. You attempt to tighten the rope holding the burlap sack across your shoulder, but just like Yunho, you nearly cry out in frustration when your shaking hands prove no help. You have to stop for a second and let out the breath you’re holding. You think about everything you’ve been taught to this day, the fighting, the skills needed to win against a stronger opponent. You try to remember how easily you were able to push away your emotions. How you would push forward, confident, relentless, and fearless. How you could so easily turn your heart to stone with the snap of your fingers.

You force yourself to push aside your worries and doubts, shoving them into a box within your chest. You’re here for food. It’s get in and get out. No one is going to die. Not on your watch.

You push passed Seonghwa and Jongho, chin held high and fingers tightly enclosed on the rope around your shoulders. You’re the leader of these two right now. The more experienced one. You cannot let them down. You tighten the rope, your hands no longer shaking. You are strong, you are capable, you are brave.

You reach the edge of the forest first. Seonghwa and Jongho are right behind you, sharing confused glances. The trees are different than in your dreams. For one, they’re not three feet thick, or as tall as the sky. They vary in thickness, from about one to two feet, but they are extremely tall. The canopy of branches and leaves above make it dark, and as soon as you step into the forest it’s almost as if you’ve stepped into a forest of night. You right hand instinctively reaches for one of your blades. There’s a thick mixture of roots and vines covering the floor, and you make sure to keep them in your peripheral vision so you don’t trip.

“Hey, look at this.” Jongho whispers from behind you.

You turn and see that he’s got his bare palm pressed against the side of a tree, and is poking something growing from the bark. You and Seonghwa lean forward for a better look and you stumble back when you see what it is, eyes wide. Your heel catches on a protruding root and you fall back, your ass landing on something soft. Your head thunks against a different root and you look down. Covering the entirety of the ground, even crawling up the sides of the trees, more recognizable now that you’re closer, is amethyst moss. Identical, and just as vivid as it was in your last, also worst, nightmare.

It must be a sick sort of coincidence. Maybe, you find yourself thinking, you’re just so hungry and thirsty that you aren’t seeing things properly. You squeeze your eyes shut and clutch the hilt of your blade tighter. The back of your head throbs, but doesn’t hurt enough for you to care.

“Oh,” Seonghwa exclaims when he turns to see you laying on the floor in a very unsettling angle. “Are you alright?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head again. The moss is still there. You push yourself to your feet, squinting your eyes to see if it makes a trail. Fortunately, unlike your dreams, it doesn’t, and there are no mushrooms in a straight line like a purple carpet leading to your death.

You take another deep breath. “Let’s keep moving forward.”

You move quickly, eyes peeling left to right in search of anything edible you can gather. You use one of your blades to hack at whatever gets in your way and use your other free hand to move the rope of the burlap sack when it slides up and tugs at your throat. The farther you go, the more anxious you get. So far, there are no monsters, no people. The place is unsettling, and silence is thick among the trees. Seonghwa and Jongho follow your lead, trying to stay as quiet as possible and only stepping where the soft moss is most visible.

“Hey,” Seonghwa whispers suddenly. You whip around quickly and he stumbles back, snapping a fallen branch in the process. You hiss and wait for a second. When nothing happens, you let out a sigh of relief. Seonghwa points to a thick trunk. “I just realized what tree this is. The bark is edible. It’s also really good for medicine. Shouldn’t we collect some?”

You look around, there’s nothing but thick trees as far as you can see. You need something to fill your stomach. You nod. “Sure. I’ve got a pouch in one of my pockets.”

You backtrack a few steps and face your back to Seonghwa as he brings out his dagger. Jongho attempts to find some sort of clue as to where the hell you’re supposed to be going, sniffing the air and attempting to clear paths with the toe of his boot. You remove a velvet pouch from your bigger pockets, handing it over when Seonghwa asks. While he digs into the bark you reach for your waterskin, throat already scratchy from lack of speaking. You’re trying to keep conversation to a minimum; whatever it is, luck, or pure chance that you haven’t encountered a monster yet is good. You don’t want to ruin it.

Seonghwa makes the faintest squeal as he finally manages to pull a chunk out. He’s about to stuff it in his mouth when he catches your eye. He averts his gaze quickly and places it between his lips more calmly. His face scrunches up as he continues to scrape at the bark.

“Psst,” Jongho calls softly about two trees over. “Come have a look at this.”

You take the small piece of bark Seonghwa offers you, and tip toe away. Jongho’s cleared a small path to where he’s squatting, and he’s lifting a leaf about the size of your face up, staring at something underneath it. The bark is bitter as you chew, and doesn’t taste the best, but it’s better than an empty stomach.

He looks up at you, and for the first time in your life you see fear in Jongho’s eyes. “What does this look like to you?”

You crouch down beside him and grab his shoulders to steady yourself as you peer over him. It’s just another patch of amethyst moss until you squint closer. There’s a dark indention, tinted the darkest shade of purple, as if someone with muddy boots had stepped in it. But the shape is not a foot, nor a boot. It’s the shape of a huge paw, a paw that definitely isn’t small.

“A monster. That looks fresh.” You whisper, turning to lock eyes with Jongho. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

You rush over to Seonghwa, who’s already managed to fill the pouch and is stuffing it in one of his vacant pockets. He turns when he hears your rushed, very loud footsteps, and his smile falters. He holds a piece of bark out. “I got some for Jongho as well.”

You grab his shoulder as soon as you’re near, eyes wildly looking in all directions. You finally look him in the eyes. “There’s a monster somewhere in this area. Draw your weapon.”

Jongho already has his sword in his hand, eyes hard and clear of emotion once more. He’s amazing at showing no emotions at a time like this. You draw your other blade and for a second you’re lost. You don’t know where to go.

Jongho seems to know what you’re thinking. “We should keep to the direction we were going. It leads further into the island. That’s where they probably keep their food. Having it out where it’s easy to find is idiotic. They must be smarter than that.”

You nod, once again leading the way as you weave through trees quickly, the rushed steps of the others loud in your ears. You’re just passing under a stream of sunlight, a crack in the canopy, when a shadow passes under it, and the sound of flapping wings reverberates from behind you. You almost stop, but a roar quickly follows, vibrating deep inside your chest.

Oh, shit. You’re going to have to fight.

~~~

Ahoy mateys! Was this trash lmaoo be honest 👀

#ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #san fanfic #san fluff #san smut #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #ateez smut #san imagines #pirate!ateez #kpop fanfiction #fanfic #imagines #i dont know how else to promote my baby LMAO #i gotta find some cute scene dividers

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leonkennedystuff · 5 years

Text

breathe (leon kennedy x reader)

[REmake!Leon]

Summary: Hours into the Raccoon City outbreak and trying to survive it, Leon tries to get reader to recover from the chaos.

Warnings: talks about death

Part 1 of 2

With a heavy grunt, your body tilts to the side as your balance momentarily tips over. Thankfully, you manage to shift your gravity back to the center of your feet when you push the last wooden shelf barricading the rest of the motel lobby out of the way, comforted by the fact that your back was covered.

Even with that sense of security though, your heartbeat still turns erratic with fear - your eyes wasting no time darting forward to scan if your vicinity was clear from those creatures - creatures that were swarming every corner you went; you’d think they came from the bottom pits of hell.

The undead - as impossible as it sounds, were roaming the earth and wreaking havoc upon the living. It was surreal, like a nightmare come to life in all its vivid horror, but you couldn’t wake up from it no matter how hard you tried.

You’ve been running around the city with a rookie cop for a couple of hours now, but it felt like eternity since you’ve last seen civilization not hanging by a thread. You were dead tired, close to passing out you thought, but seeing all that you had tonight - you didn’t think it would be possible to sleep a wink.

Never-ending streams of blood darker than rubies, mangled bodies, groans of the living turning into the dead, blood-curdling screams, the deafening sound of gunshots, and those creatures - they were burned at the back of your head, branded by it, your thoughts replaying every scene of this night as if it was the only memory it knew.

No one that you’ve met in this frenzy had any idea why this was happening - and most of them were never going to. Marvin, Elliot, Sheriff Daniel - officers you’ve met so briefly - they were never going to see another light of day.

Your face immediately stings at the thought and you close your eyes, your heart feeling like it could crack. Out of all the moments you’ve had tonight, this might be one of the hardest your guilt was hitting you.

You couldn’t get it out of your head - if only you came sooner, you could’ve saved them.

“(Y/N), hey, everything alright?” Leon Kennedy, the rookie cop, breaks your reverie from behind you. His footsteps were a little loud as they crunched beneath fallen glass and debris but his voice was the total opposite, it was gentle and soft.

With your heart feeling tender, you felt like you could cry. You don’t though, so you try to rub at your eyes as inconspicuously as you can to remove the moisture in them.

Apocalypse or not, you weren’t going to break down in front of a total stranger, or anyone for that matter. You weren’t the type, you never have been and with the situation at hand, you never will be.

“Yeah, we’re clear.” You answer a little too timidly.

Nevertheless, you walk ahead of him again and began your thorough searching, going through the front desk and the reception area to make sure you don’t miss anything you could loot that could be of use for you both.

You really did need to stock on some items but you knew inside that you wanted to distract yourself. Your mind felt like a dangerous place right now and you needed to be away from it.

“Maybe we should check the rooms?” You quietly suggest to Leon, craning your neck so you could look at him for the first time in almost 15 minutes. You find that his ocean-blue eyes were already on you, focused - they were determined, brave, yet held a softness to them that you’ve come to see was so evident in his personality and character.

Your stomach faintly churns and you immediately shoot down the sudden feeling, as well as the small wave of warmth washing over your chest.

He looked hesitant with your recommendation but he had every right to be - the last thing you both needed was a corpse or a hoard of them chasing you in this tight and compact place.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” He thinks out loud and you agree, scratching that option and deciding it was stupid.

“You’re right, it’s too risky. Let’s keep searching out here then,” You reconcile and both of you go through the corridors. You on the left and him on the right.

Much to your dismay, you almost reach the end of the messy red hallway to find nothing. Your crestfallen state falters a bit though when Leon calls your name.

“(A/N), look!” He muses but still keeping his voice low. You avert your attention from a vitamin bottle peeking out of a fallen suitcase and were debating whether or not to stash it.

“What?” You pipe, hope clinging to your chest that maybe it was another weapon, ammo, or water. Instead, your eyes stretch to the size of dinner plates.

Leon had one hand wrapped around a room’s doorknob, twisting it ever so slightly to show you it was unlocked. You reach out fast to pull his hold away from it.

“What are you doing? Are you crazy?” You whisper with haste. He chuckles softly at your banshee state, quick to reassure you. “Nothing’s in there, I promise.” He says.

You blink at him, unable to follow how he came to that conclusion. “How do you know that?” You ask him rhetorically, obviously not convinced.

He shoots you a boyish yet coy smile, his finger raising up and pointing at an empty slot that used to be a peep hole. He gestures for you to take a look so you do.

As he moves out of the way, you lean into the door and shut the eye that wasn’t looking through the space. The room was scattered with papers and items were strewn all over the place but Leon was right; the room was empty. Despite that, you didn’t want to get your hopes up just yet. It’s was too dangerous.

You recline from the door, looking back at him still with skeptical eyes. “We can’t be too sure though,” You try to reason with him.

He understands your doubt, he does, but he understood too that you needed a breath from all this, even for a few minutes to just sit and rest.

He was no fool - he knew that you thought of him as unsuspecting, naive albeit he could be, but he could see through your tough facade. He was a cop after all, he had to learn how to read demeanor in academy but, importantly, he was human too.

He didn’t doubt your strength though, not at all, but you were afraid, confused, scared and scarred with everything - he was also, but what mattered to him was your well-being. With all that you’ve both been through, your strength wavered and he knew you needed to recompose your bearings.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to convince such a logical mind like yours - hell, he couldn’t definitively say himself that the room was clear but his gut told him so and he just knew it was true. Still, he couldn’t tell you that because, having known you for the past few hours, you’d walk right away from the door.

“Just... trust me, (Y/N).” He simply says.

Every fiber in your being sang with alert and you practically see red with all the flags raised from that completely illogical explanation but, for some reason - out of all the times you give fate a chance - you confide in it, in him - a complete stranger.

This is a death wish being written and all you could do is pray you both weren’t going to be the protagonists of its pages. Maybe it’s the fatigue or maybe it’s what’s left of your naïve hope that was allowing you to nosedive into danger.

It was crazy, you were crazy - maybe you are going crazy?

Before you had the chance to gather your wits and back out, it was too late - Leon had already opened the door.

Your breath hitches painfully in your throat as your whole body goes rigid, preparing for your life to flash before your eyes as a flesh-eating monster comes to rip you both to shreds... but nothing comes.

Subconsciously, you notice Leon exhale unsteadily behind you, deflating with solace. You couldn’t believe it - even he was unsure.

“We’re safe,” He smiles softly, following the back of your head as you take some cautious steps inside the room. “You’re safe.”

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fsouth-park-is-imaginative · 5 years

Text

The angels are watching

Yandere Kenny chapter 1.

The cafeteria was loud. The people around us didn’t see her. They didn’t care, they went on with their day, their simple routine, their lives unchanged. It was as if my mother had died and I was faced with the realization that the world around me did not stop.

The world around us will stop for nothing as simple as death or murder or love. The world will not end with something as simple as the whims of one person. One person, that holds myself in their hands. The people surrounding us did not see the angel at the far table, face buried between the pages of a book.

Her eyes dance lovingly run over the pages of whatever she decided to read today. It was different each day, she read quickly and got over the stories. I don’t know if they held meaning to her, as they hold meaning to others. I don’t know if these books are ones she’ll remember forever or toss aside in favor of a new story. It’s her one night stand with a book, fingers caressing the pages as she turns the paper, face gazing intensely, extreme focus on something other than her. Her face is obscured between the pages of books like I want my face buried between her thighs. I want to be her one night stand, I want to wake up and have coffee with her while she learns me as keenly as if I had words printed on my skin of every thought I have ever had. Maybe I’ll tell her that I’ve put more thought into her than I have any book that has ever been published. Maybe she’ll run her hands over me as if I’m made of paper and cannot harm her. Maybe she’ll let me fuck her and marry her. And we can live happy ever after with our half intelligent children amid the woods in solitude.

It took her all of five seconds to put her book down when I sat across from her.

“So, I guess it’s not a page turner?” I asked sheepishly, head tilting briefly towards the book on the table. Her paper coffee cup seemed so cute next to it, like something out of a cheesy instagram post. I hated it.

“What makes you say that?” She quirks and eyebrow. Her whole face seemed larger than life, larger than me, larger than anything I could possibly understand.

“You aren’t reading it now.”

“No, but that’s not indicative of the actual novel. If anything, it means I find it odd that a complete stranger is intruding on my reading time.” She said it fast. Damn, see? Smart. I laugh, trying to put her at ease.

“Yeah, that makes sense. I just want you to know that I think you are absolutely stunning.” I say to her. She does a double take

“What?” Both eyebrows raised, she looks reminiscent of a headshot, the way models do.

“Yeah. Too bad I can hardly see you with that book in front of your face all the time.” I joke.

“What, this?” She picks up her book to show me the cover. It sounds like a porn genre.

“Yeah. What’s that, Lo-lee-tah?” I ask, sounding out the foreign word. She looks down and pushes a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Yes, um. It’s a classic.” She says finally. I can barely hear her, with her voice aimed down at the floor like that.

“A classic? What’s so classic about it?”

“Well, classics are books that are popular with many people and have stayed in popularity for many years.” She answers. How unsatisfying. It must be porn, she keeps dodging the question.

“I know what classics are. What’s Lolita about?” I try to be civil.

“It’s a love story.” She says simply.

“Ah. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a hopeless romantic,” I smile “Hey, this is a coffee shop meet cute isn’t it?” I’m flirting. She blushes slightly. Not many people blush when I flirt with them.

“Hopefully, uh, you don’t have me pegged for anything yet. You don’t know anything about me.” She’s not wrong. I don’t know anything about her. But I know that she reads and she likes coffee. I see her every other day, she picks up books like a player picks up girls. She wears modest black clothes, either because of self esteem issues or maybe because she’s part of a subculture. She reeks of danger with her five-foot-tall-in-socks frame and scowly eyes. Her deep set eyes are rimmed with lack of sleep that she wears like a Tammy Faye does eyeliner. It’s nice, and I like the way they discriminate.

“Hello?” She asks. I snap out of my obsessive reverie.

“Oh, hey, yeah sorry. Kinda wandered away there for a moment. Anyway, uh, so Lolita, huh? That’s the one about the English teacher, right?” She blinked.

“Yes. It’s truly beautiful, it just… it’s so, so disturbing. Its gimmick is that the reader is supposed to sympathise with the main character, whos a pedophile. But it’s a horror novel, you know? But regardless of original intent, it seems so creepy to me!” She stopped. “Sorry, uh, I probably sound really stupid to you.”

“No, no. Not at all. Tell me more, why is it so creepy to you? You say its the gimmick, shouldn’t this make you less creeped out?”

“Well… yeah, I guess so. But it’s more than that its… I can’t help but feel like the people that are supposed to enjoy the novel are part of the problem. I don’t know if it’s okay to enjoy something that’s awful just because it isn’t reality. I don’t know if it’s okay to idolize awful characters just because you’re aware that they’re flawed. After a while, their flaws become easier to apologize for, the forbidden fruit becomes less forbidden in your mind because only you have been forcing yourself away from it.” She isn’t looking at me now. I want her to look at me.

“But, maybe it’s just a story.” I reply.

“Yeah, but… it can’t be just a story. It’s got to mean something bigger to you, otherwise they aren’t stories. They’re words on a page. Writing has to speak to a deeper part of the soul…”

“I think… that either you’re a hidden pedophile, or that rant wasn’t about the book.” I say with a smile I hope is reassuring. “But yeah, I get the idea about stories.” Did I just make it awkward?

“Yeah, well um, whoops.” She says softly. “I’ve been angry lately, at certain things.”

“I can tell.” I try to match her soft tone. She looks up and I trap her in my gaze, sleep smudged eyes meeting intense dark blue. Her pupils dance around as much as they can without tugging her head along with it.

“I can leave, if you want. I was just about to go anyway.” Wrong. Her book isn’t even half finished yet.

“No, no. How can you leave without giving me your name?” I ask, tilting my head to mimic her confusion.

“It’s, uh… Alice.” She says. Oh, Alice. She who fell down a rabbit hole and hit her head on all the turns. I hold out my hand.

“Kenny. Kenny McCormick.” She takes my calloused hand with hers of flesh and soft bone. Her skin is peeling a bit near the crook of the thumb. I don’t care about it. She laughs a bit.

“That’s a douche name.” She shakes my hand with a firm grip. I use my other hand to run my fingers through my hair, a move that makes all girls hot for me. I know because that’s what makes me hot for the rest of the guys.

“Yeah, I know.” I let out a dramatic sigh, using my other, now free hand to mime a fist shake of despair. I shake the despair fist and grin. “It’s like my cousin, her name is Violet Divine. Total stripper name if I’ve ever heard one.” White trash begets douches and strippers.

“No, violet Divine? That’s pretty. I wish my name was pretty like that.” Alice says. I shake my head.

“Nah, your name is so pretty it shows on your face every time you say it. Your sheer beauty could not be contained in one form, so it leaked out into your name!” I joke with her. Her breast swells. “Alice.” I say, leaning back. I maintain eye contact, so she knows I meant it.

“I… I’m sorry fro calling your name a douche name. Because either you’re very good at smoothtalking people, or you’re a nice person. Maybe both though, you aren’t about to talk about your love for dead philosophers now, are you?”

“No, I’m not a soft boy. I’m too tough for that! Why, just the other day I listened to an Alice In Chains song.” She giggles.

“No, I guess not. Philosophy’s kind of my thing, anyway. If you were super into it, we might have problems along the road here.”

“Oh?” I joke, “Are you insinuating you want me on the road?” She looks away slightly.

“Maybe… unless you don’t want to of course. But it’s not often a cute boy knows about the book I’m reading. I’d like to make the best of it.” She says. I grin ear to ear. A real grin, not the lecherous kind I save for porno mags and back alley ladies of the night dressed in fishnet stockings and despair.

“I’ll give you my number, may I?” I gestures to her napkin. She hands me the one on the bottom, the one without coffee stains and lip prints on it. I take out my coat pen and write my cell phone number on it. I hand it back to her and she smiles again, reading it over in her mind. She mouths the numbers as she reads, it’s cute.

“Okay, well, thanks. I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t turn out to be a serial killer or something.” She’s joking, but I don’t care. She has my number, and I’ve done enough today to get her in my grasp.

“Nope. I mean, I’ve got a ton of blood in my house, but that’s just my roommate the serial killer. That won’t be a problem will it? I’ll let her know you’re off limits.” I hope that’s smooth, because to me that was pretty smooth. If it weren’t totally creepy, I’d be winking right now.

“Yeah.” She smiles. I’ve made her smile enough to sleep happy tonight.

“Yeah.” I smile. And with that, I get up to leave, pushing in my chair and giving her a salute sign with my hands.

She looks a bit sad as I walk away.

#south park #kenny mccormick #my writing #yandere #fanfiction #lolita #discourse #i named her alice bc its a popular name and also alice in wonderland is popular #i have NO attachment to this character #but.... i will as i write on #you guys dont mind that i made kenny all suave right #writing #the angels are watching #alice in chains #I DO WELL WITH FEEDBACK

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em-be-lievable · 6 years

Text

Split-Brained

A/N: Aight, I know this isn’t what y’all wanted but in light of recent events I’ve found myself getting triggered and wanting to vent with Patton to cope. Thank @virge-of-a-breakdown for inspiring me to purge my feelings in fic form (also if you haven’t read their fic ‘The Invisible Language’ you really should because it’s great 10/10 would recommend not reading this self-indulgent garbage and reading that instead kkkkkkkk) No explanations, we project our problems on our favorite characters like men.

(Song pairings for this fic are: Girl Anachronism by the Dresden Dolls, Flagpole Sitta by Harvey Danger, and We Know Where You Sleep by the Paper Chase)

Words: 3255

Warnings: mentions of psychosis, disorganized speech, memory loss, visionary/auditory hallucinations, paranoia, mentions of hospitalization, mentions of medication, mentions of gaslighting and abuse, kinda sympathetic deceit (If you count making him a dog being sympathetic- Deceit has become my own personal meme guys, I’m sorry.)

Ships: LAMP/CALM (Because you should know by now if I can shoehorn in a healthy, supportive, polyamorous relationship I 100% will)

Summary: Patton was ‘Split-brained.’ If people were computers, then he would be a pc still running with windows 98, dial-up internet. It wasn’t bad, but it was something he had to live with every moment of every day.

Recovery was a game of chance. He could go into a psychosis tomorrow, and never get out of it, or he could wake up a week from now and never have another symptom again. Medication kept him functioning, and therapy helped him deal with the worst of it. But both could only do so much with the chemical war in his brain. That was just the volatile way life was for him, and he had long since learned what to avoid and how to make the best of living day-to-day

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Waking up in the morning always had to be the hardest part of the day for Patton. Getting to sleep was tricky in its own right, but it didn’t compare to the struggles that were coming back into consciousness. Morning was when his mind was the loudest.

Remy was actually the one to wake him up. The black and tan german shepherd barking, and nosing him until he came to. He couldn’t even be mad at the dog- after all this was a service Remy had been task trained to do. It wasn’t the puppo’s fault that auditory hallucinations of his phone alarm kept waking him up until 4am (eventually rendering him immune to the very real sound of his actual phone alarm now in the daylight hours. He’d have to change it again.)

“Danger. Don’t leave. Not safe. Stay. We’re not alone. We’re in danger. Don’t leave. Don’t move-”

Prying himself from the warm cocoon of soft blankets, Patton pet and praised the dog for performing his task, before getting up and sleepily stumbling to the bathroom. Once he was in there his eyes darted to the vibrant pill case one of his boyfriends, Roman, lovingly decorated for him. It was Logan’s suggestion, having the case be brightly colored, and in plain sight on the counter would make it easier for Patton to remember to take his medication- and Ro was all too eager to support his partner however he could.

Pat was grateful for his three, wonderful partners- but he couldn’t shake the intrusive thought of him being a burden on them. They did so much to help him out- Logan leaving him little reminder notes, and checklists all over their shared apartment, Virgil constantly responding to frantic phone calls and texts to give reality checks, and Roman always taking breaks from work to take Patton to therapy, and appointments with his psychiatrist (going alone gave him a lot of anxiety.) And despite their constant reassurance that they wanted to be there for him, he couldn’t help but let the negative thoughts creep up into the back of his mind.

He looked down at the multicolored tablets in his hand. “Poison. Don’t take it. It’s poison. They’re trying to change you. These are going to kill you. They’ll just turn you into a zombie. Don’t trust it. Poison-”

Sipping on a glass of water, he popped the pills in his mouth and swallowed before they could reach his tongue. The whispers were on a tirade again, but it had been a long time since he stopped really listening to their opinions on medication. He couldn’t always tune out, or ignore what they were saying; but he was getting better at managing his responses to it.

The voices weren’t always scary, sometimes they were just odd. Most of the time they just echoed thoughts he had. As Pat stepped in the shower there was an chorus of “Water. Warm. Shower. Water. Hot water. Soap. Shower. Warm-” that eventually cascaded into white noise. Before he started taking his antipsychotic medication they would talk to him, or amongst themselves and it would get so loud he couldn’t hear his boyfriends shouting directly into his ear. There also used to be more ‘types’ of voices too. Some he’d hear like people were speaking next to him, others were more like thoughts that didn’t have his voice or would have really weird accents. Then there were the really bizarre ones that felt like a tingling in the back of his head. He couldn’t ever make out what they were saying but he could always tell if they were mean or angry.

But, if he was being honest, auditory hallucinations were the least troublesome part of his mental illness. When he was first getting diagnosed they were terrifying- but now they were just annoying. Just a low thrum softly filling his head as he got out of the shower, got dressed, and began the trek downstairs to the kitchen.

If he had to pick the most troublesome part of his disorder, it’d be the stuff that you never saw portrayed in media. Hallucinations were just the tip of the iceberg- and out of every movie about a person like him he never saw the part where they addressed the other stuff. Things like memory loss, fractured thinking, compulsive behavior, or disorganized speech patterns.

“Coffee. Stirring. Cup. Warm. Hot. Coffee. Mug. Warm. Cup-” It was honestly irritating. Then again the only time he saw people like him in media was in horror films. But even then they had perfectly coherent Hannibal Lecter type people who just occasionally see stuff. The reality was much less pretty- if it wasn’t for Logan’s lists everywhere, and Remy, he wouldn’t remember to brush his teeth, or eat. On a good day he only had a minor stutter, and on bad ones he couldn’t talk at all.

He remembered he tried to explain it to Virgil once. He and his emo boyfriend couldn’t sleep and were chatting on the couch when Virge asked him what it was like. Patton, not being the best at explaining things, had decided to show him. So he found a few of Logan’s unused note cards, and asked Virgil to write out a thought with each word of it being on a different note card.

“Okay n-n-now lay it out in o-order.” Patton instructed, earning a raised eyebrow from the emo as he quickly laid out the sentence in order on the coffee table. Once he was done, Patton took the note cards and scrambled them- shuffling them up so they were completely out of order.

“N-now lay-lay it out ag-agai-again.” He said, handing back the cards and watching as Virgil sifted through the cards to find the first word, then the second, and so on until the whole sentence was on the coffee table in front of them.

Patton explained that while neurotypical people had their thoughts in order, like the first deck of note cards, his were constantly scrambled. So he has to put everything back in order before he does anything. That the metaphor applies to everything- talking, actions, thoughts. It was why he physically froze when he couldn’t remember what he was doing, or why sometimes he’d stare at his boyfriends looking for an answer for a question he forgot to ask. If people were computers, then he’d be a pc still running with windows 98, dial-up internet.

“But what about the…” Virgil paused, taking a moment to find the right way to phrase his question, “...other...stuff?”

Patton thought that was a bit more tricky to explain. He could spend the rest of his life talking out the small nuances of the ‘other stuff’ and only scratch the surface of what it entailed.

It was the way him, his thoughts, and his feelings felt like separate entities and not one solid person. It was going for a walk at 1pm and coming back at 9:30 with no recollection of where he went, or what he did. It was his mind latching onto a statement like ‘does Ohio even really exist’ and ruminating on it so much that he became convinced nothing was real anymore. It was loving people, but simultaneously not being able to trust them and avoiding them. It was flipping the light switch on and off because there was a dark figure in the corner when the lights were off but if he flipped the switch EXACTLY 26 times then it wouldn’t come after him, or his family. It was taking pictures of things with his phone to send to Virgil so he could ask if Virgil saw what he was seeing. It was existing in two separate realities at the same time and constantly having to figure out which one was the real reality and which one was just his illness.

It was staring off into his coffee cup for a half an hour while his service dog barked to snap him back into the moment- like now.

Patton shook his head, trying to refocus. His chronic ‘spacing out’ (to put it lightly) was why Logan no longer let him use the stove. Speaking of Logan- Patton padded his way to the refrigerator where his wonderfully intelligent boyfriend had made a whiteboard checklist for him. In Logan’s neat, almost font-like handwriting there were various tasks written in sharpie with little boxes next to them for Patton to check off every day. When the others returned from their jobs they’d double check it, and remind him of what he didn’t do yet.

“Marker. Blue. Smooth. Marker. Drawing. Write. Blue. Draw. Marker-”

Picking up the magnetized expo marker Pat went down the list. Medication? Check! Brushing teeth? He’ll do that after he drinks his coffee, and eats breakfast. Shower? Did he take a shower today? Patton reached his hand to feel his hair- it was still damp, so he must have. Check! Breakfast? He should do that. He wasn’t allowed to use the stove without the others in, but it was unlikely he would do any serious damage with a toaster, right? Right. Plopping a piece of bread in the machine, he got out some crofters, and butter before going back to the list while he waited. Put out food and water for the pets? Aw, shoot. That’s probably why Remy was barking.

Recapping the marker, Patton moved to fill the dog’s food and water dishes. Telling Remy to shake before he set down his food dish.

“Dog. Noise. Crunch. Food. Dog. Soft. Warm. Hairy. Dog. Woof. Noise. Dog-”

The service dog had actually been Virgil’s idea, and one that Patton was wholly opposed to at the start. It wasn’t like he didn’t want a dog- he did! He loved dogs! But a service dog was a whole other animal (pun intended.) Getting a service dog meant he actually had to admit he had a disability, and Patton didn’t really feel like he was disabled. Sure, certain things were harder to do, yeah. And he had to navigate around obstacles his mental illness provides- but disabled seemed like a stretch. If he’s being honest it still seems like a stretch; but after an hour of Logan listing him all the ways the service dog could help, and how common service dogs had become in the mentally ill community, Patton finally agreed.

There was another reason though, with the dog came the addition of having to explain what his disability was. And Patton...didn’t like having to tell people. He barely liked even associating himself with the word. He was…..split-brained. He had the big S. But the stigma that surrounded it didn’t apply to him. Every time he opened up to a close friend they always expressed how they couldn’t believe it given how ‘normal’ Patton seemed- definitely not what came to mind when someone thought ‘schizo.’ What if people didn’t believe him? Confrontation was never really his thing.

It was actually Roman who supplied a solution. If Patton was getting a dog, then Virgil would too. That way when they went out together it wouldn’t be as weird. That’s how the small yellow Tibetan Spaniel, Dee came to be Virgil’s emotional support animal. Unlike Remy, Dee wasn’t trained to task, he was just there to comfort Virgil when his three boyfriends couldn’t. And all the love and pampering made Dee into something of a complete mischievous diva. The little fluffy dog had a habit of appearing out of nowhere and yapping very loudly right behind Patton. Especially when it came to the horrendous offense that was feeding Remy first. But Virgil had taken the little puffball to work with him today so Patton was safe from any yappy startling.

Patton chipperly checked off the task from the list with the expo marker, recapping it and moving to the living room where his laptop sat. Holding down on-site jobs was, frankly, unrealistic for him. But he managed to still stay on his own two feet by freelancing. It wasn’t easy (and required so many reminder notes) but with Logan’s organizational help he was able to work in his own way, and remain (relatively) independent. Which was a godsend compared to spending the rest of his life living with his parents.

Don’t get him wrong, Patton loved his parents, and they did so much for him. Life couldn’t have been easy with a split-brained kid, and they had been pretty patient with him early on with his first few psychoses. But (why was there always a ‘but’) they still had ticks, and expectations he couldn’t meet. He’d recognized too little too late that they were gaslighting him to make their lives easier. Every now and again, when they’d say something that’d upset him, he’d try talking about it only to be met with ‘I never said that’ or, ‘are you sure that’s how it really happened?’ And Patton believed them because he couldn’t really trust his own perception that much. Their distaste were in the way they presented himself to other people too. “You probably shouldn’t tell them about your….disorder.” They’d lecture in car-rides going to social gatherings that Patton loathed. “It isn’t that we’re not proud of you! Other’s just might not be so understanding-” Their words always echoed in his skull, quickly becoming fodder for his mind to latch onto and use against him. He couldn’t stand the way they grimaced whenever he was brought up in conversation. All the times his mom uttered the hushed words of “Patton’s…...different-” made him want to scream out.

‘Just say it. Say what you’re thinking. Crazy. You think I’m crazy.’

He knew he scared them. Living with them always guaranteed the looming threat of hospitalization if he displayed symptoms they weren’t comfortable with. They always felt the need to walk on eggshells so as not to disturb him more than he already was. His illness became a weapon against him more often than not- a way to discredit him and excuse their own actions. Even with all the tips and tricks he learned to covertly hide; pretending to be talking on the phone when he was arguing with the voices, or practicing proper empathetic faces in the mirror to use when talking to people. Locking himself up in his room whenever he was having a psychotic breakdown, or visual hallucinations, and doing everything in his power to not react to the loud auditory ones. It never seemed to be enough though, and he was always met with glazed over eyes, and disapproving frown of his mother whenever he forgot something and did it several times over, or had too much disorganized thought to speak properly. They just wanted him to be normal, to get better. But unlike other mental illnesses, recovery was a game of chance. He could go into a psychosis tomorrow and never get out of it, or he could wake up a week from now and never have another symptom again. Medication kept him functioning, and therapy helped him deal with the worst of it. But both could only do so much with the chemical war in his brain. That was just the volatile way life was for him, and he had long since learned what to avoid and how to make the best of living day-to-day. But his parents never seemed as satisfied with that as he was. And more often than not it had a negative impact on his mental health, and he found himself getting worse while staying under their roof.

It was Roman who noticed the effect his parents had on Patton, and convinced him to leave. At first Pat dug his heels in. He really didn’t believe Roman knew what he was signing up for. Yeah, they had all been dating since sophomore year of high school- but Patton had done everything in his power to keep the worst of it from his boyfriends. He could take a lot, but he couldn’t take them being scared of him too. It took months of convincing, the final straw coming with Patton’s most recent hospitalization.

He had developed some kind of allergic reaction to a medication he was on, but in order to find out which one he had to be slowly weaned off all of them. They checked him into the hospital, stuck an IV into him, and closely monitored him as he slipped in and out of psychosis, and got wrapped up in some bizarre delusions. But despite his incoherence and strange behavior his boyfriends didn’t leave his side. They took shifts, ensuring that Patton was always with someone he knew. Logan constantly pelted the doctors with questions on the doctor’s care choices. Virgil brought all of Patton’s favorite stuffed animals and blankets for familiarity. And Roman played all of Patton’s favorite disney movies whenever the room was silent. They learned as much as they could about Patton’s situation. How to handle his delusions and what to do when he had episodes of low empathy, or isolation. It was a breath of fresh air for Pat to have his illness embraced, and not met with the usual disdain he got from his parents. He could have almost cried when Logan didn’t get mad when Patton explained that he didn’t want to eat dinner with them because he was convinced it was poisoned, or when Virgil didn’t find it upsetting when Pat had set up a little ‘nest’ of towels, pillows, and blankets in the bathtub because it felt like the only place They™ couldn’t get him. There was even an instance where Pat thought that Roman had been replaced with someone who looked identical to roman, but wasn’t Roman. The actor didn’t tell him it wasn’t true, or refuted Patton’s pleads for the ‘imposter’ to return his boyfriend. He simply went along with it- telling Patton he was going to return Roman before making a show of leaving the bedroom and re-entering thanking Patton for having the clone return him. (He also explained what he did to Patton later when the split-brain was in a better state.)

It was so nice to not be treated like the burden he thought he was. Their love showed in every one of the caring acts they did for him, trying to make his hectic life a little more manageable in any way they could.

“Patton?” A rough voice broke through his thoughts, making him turn towards the door. It was Virgil, a fussy Dee wriggling in his arms.

“Virgil. Calm. Boyfriend. Love. Virgil. Trusted. Boyfriend. Roommate. Dog. Dee. Virgil-”

“Hi honey, you’re home early!” Patton chirped, a well practiced smile gracing his lips. Virgil raised an eyebrow at him, setting Dee on the floor with little ‘clip clip’s’ from the toy dog’s claws.

“Pat, it’s 4:30, I always come home around this time.” Patton’s face dropped, as he turned back to the laptop he’d been staring at. When had it gotten so late?

“Uh, Virge- could you read this for me and make sure it makes sense?” Patton hummed, trying to reread over the email he was going to send but not quite processing the words. Virgil stalked over, glancing at the screen and humming.

“Sorry Pat, it’s complete jibberish.” He purred, rubbing his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Wanna help me with dinner and we’ll take a crack at writing it after?” “Sure.” Pat said with a sigh, as he closed the laptop and stood up to join his boyfriend. Living as a split-brain was difficult, but living with three amazing partners made it manageable.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Endnote: This was way longer than I intended it to be. Sorry, I had a lot to say.

#em writes #vent fic #patton sanders #ts sanders sides #lamp/calm #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #Please for the love of all that is good read the warnings

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idolizerp · 5 years

Photo

LOADING INFORMATION ON CHERRY BOMB!’S MAIN VOCAL LIM SEOLHEE ...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: Sophia CURRENT AGE: 23 DEBUT AGE: 17 TRAINEE SINCE: 14 COMPANY: MSG SECONDARY SKILL: Acting

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): sunshine for her image as the energy pill, saseumi for her doe-eyed beauty, bookworm because she’s been captured in airport and fansign photos holding well-read books on multiple occasions, seolcasso–seolhee + picasso for her artistic talents, heethoven– seolhee + beethoven as derived from her initial vlives where she would ask fans to send in requests for piano covers to do. INSPIRATION: her love for music is hereditary–what with her mother being a piano teacher and her grandmother’s blessed voice. she thinks she was born to embrace and to fall in love with the sound of music and, thus, desires to inspire others with her voice. SPECIAL TALENTS:

drawing & painting–her mediums being charcoal and watercolor, respectively.

a walking jukebox, which came from a few variety show appearances during group promotions where she was able to sing acapella to every single song requested by the mcs.

plays the piano, guitar, and guzheng & has been known to fulfill fan requests for her to cover other idol groups’ songs.

NOTABLE FACTS:

speaks korean, english, italian fluently.

graduated from seoul’s school of performing arts & attending seoul institute of the arts.

a huge fan of harry potter and has been quoted in an interview saying luna lovegood is the character she relates most to.

loves cooking & baking as a way to de-stress.

a known lover of dogs and children–has been captured in fancams with her signature dimpled smile playing with a dog or taking pictures with older fans who bring small children to fansigns.

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

she wants cherry bomb! to gain more notoriety as a whole–perhaps, a first music show win to show that they’ve reached a level of public reception that would propel her and her girls further on their individual paths. maybe then, she can utilize her group branding to help give her budding acting career a much needed boost.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

she wants to shatter expectations for idol actors. because despite her dramas not achieving much success/critical reception in terms of rating, she’s really fallen in love with acting and wants so desperately to be taken seriously as an actress, to be recognized for her craft. eventually when she’s broken the mold–hopefully via a breakout role in a successful drama–she wants to then ask msg if she can pursue a solo career in music–venture into singing osts or actually debut with a song she’s composed or written herself. somewhere further down the line, when the novelty of being in a girl group has well and truly faded, she hopes to be established as a well-rounded artist in music and in film/television.

IDOL IMAGE

BEFORE.

they call her chameleon–the judges.

it’s not an insult, they reassure with a flash of teeth and blood red lips. you’ve got a pretty face and a nice voice. (pause.) but no personality.

she learns later–much, much later–what it means to be a blank slate.

it takes three years to break the bones of a girl who constantly feels out of place in a room full of her peers.

three years to perfect the art of makeup, to dress to impress, to walk in sky-high heels like she was born for it.

all it takes is three years behind closed doors in an industry where survival of the fittest means fighting with everyone and anyone for a chance at becoming the next big thing for her to learn that the world of fame is paved with sacrifice.

three years to realize that to stand on that brightly lit stage, she must murder herself; set her innocent self on fire and reborn from the ashes someone stronger, brighter, warmer.

TABULA RASA.

trainee days spent isolating herself as the quiet, hardworking girl is buried under rigid lessons and rules of thumb on how to construct a new layer of skin to stitch around herself. years of crying behind closed doors and missing home is replaced by a fresh-faced girl who laughs at everything, smiles at everyone, and bounces back with enthusiasm after a fall—sunshine in ecstatic motion.

from practice room to the bright stage, msg sinks their claws into a lost girl with stars in her eyes and molds her into something whimsical and ethereal. they take all the broken parts of her that seep through the cracks and tell her to bury it behind a radiant smile. creates a mask for her to wear by exploiting all the mismatched parts of her that make her who she is: the dazed look of a dreamer, the seaside accent that still roils under seoul’s modern cadence, her restless hands, the purity of her lilting voice.

they take all that and slip onto her the delicate skin of a walking ray of sunshine with a heart of gold and a thousand watts smile.

on stage and on camera, she’s cherry bomb!’s little energy pill. she’s warm, a little absentminded, not quite there, but innocent all the same. it’s that charm–that little dimple in her cheek–that captivates. sets her apart. if only for a little bit.

she doesn’t mind it–not really.

it’s just another mask she wears. another role she plays.

she’s young. she has time. to change, to mature, to grow out of the novelty of it all.

(she doesn’t.)

AFTER.

four years in the eyes of the public and she’s muffled peals of laughter hidden behind small hands and eyes creasing into half moon crescents. sometimes, she’s softly uttered words of praise, advice, encouragements to her faithful fans on instagram live or a whole chorus of a newly uploaded acoustic cover sung in the voice almost too soft to hear above the strum of guitars, gratitude embedded in three minutes of heartfelt lyrics and shining eyes. to the world, seolhee is someone fragile and in need of protection. almost too good for the world. almost too untainted and pristine. (almost too good to be true.)

from her endearing attempts to interact with and befriend fans and fellow idols alike to her occasional variety show appearances where she’s the perpetually 4d absentminded girl with the dimpled smile hosts have to subtly prompt and prod for answers to their questions about her trending airport fashion, her faithful fansites and fancams in 4k depicting her pristine and perfect on stage (not a hair out of place, her smile perpetually stitched on her face. never faltering. never wavering), growing up pains, childhood in busan, her lingering accent.

there’s always a bit of lasting unconventionality hidden in those moments when they ask about home, about family, about transitioning from the carefree, quiet life on busan’s sandy shores to the pulsating thrum of the big city with its too fast pace and perpetual anonymity.

how did you survive, they ask. i didn’t. she wants to confess. i adapted. i changed, is what she says instead.

and it’s the truth. msg takes her hand-me-downs and thrift-shopped dresses and replaces them with sponsored one pieces with the tags still on them, shiny mary janes in place of worn converses, her sea salt-scented braid of hair is combed and styled in soft waves tumbling down her back and smells of peaches, her unruly tongue fixed under an iron fist to master the straight-laced way of seoul-speak.

she’s made to rid herself of all the things that make her her.

every night, she goes to sleep; her face scrubbed clean, the skin of her good girl persona somewhere on the floor. every morning, she wakes when the sun rises and pulls her skin back on, pats her face dry of tears, and presses two fingers to the corners of her mouth, pushing up until a small dimple forms on her cheek. there, transformation complete.operation sophia is a go.

every day is a vicious cycle. it’s walking on eggshells and pretending someone else isn’t living beneath this suffocating skin, wallowing in years of self-deprecation and the perpetual ache of longing (for something, for someone, for the taste of home—wherever that may be).

six years later and she’s still warm. still smiling. just a little dimmer. a little softer.

she’s got this look about her now–almost fragile; whimsical in a way that garners second glances when people first meet her or see her sitting in a corner of the room lingering on the outskirts of conversations, staring into space. a waifish doll; an effortless kind of beauty. ethereal; almost surreal.

she talks softly with a touch of poetic elusiveness and practiced eccentricity, designed to fluster or to purposely dazzle. she stares like she’s trying to see through you. into you. she’s a soft kind of pretty when she’s caught in between camera flashes or in the midst of whispered conversations with one of her members. and yet, on stage and on television wearing the skin of someone else–someone polished and manufactured, she’s danger in high heels.

catch her off-guard and all alone in the dead of the night with her face scrubbed clean and swathed in a too big hoodie and you’ll notice there’s a strange kind of dichotomy when you realize the girl you watched on tv belting high notes or crying her heart out in her latest drama is vastly different from the lonely girl who looks the spitting image of her, sitting for hours in front of a painting in an art gallery or by the han gazing into the waters.

softer, sadder, dreamier.

still as lost as ever.

IDOL HISTORY

PRELUDE.

appa falls in love with eomma in italy, five years after their fateful first encounter in the circus that is high school. a whirlwind romance between a budding photographer and a piano teacher. must be fate, the wedding guests whisper when they vow eternity to one another in a church filled with friends and family who wish them well with warm smiles and teary eyes.

so they love and love and love and somewhere in between, a baby girl is born.

eomma cries; she’s so happy. relieved, she admits years later with a kiss to her forehead. they’ve been trying and trying, after all.

appa cries too. because here she is; another girl for him to love, to protect. a gift from heaven.

they name her sophia, after the saint.

ONE.

they return home after the honeymoon phase fizzles and fades, settling in busan with halmeoni amidst student loans and living on budgets. there, she grows up a free-spirited daydreamer, often associating the world and the people around her in streaks of color and a symphony of sounds. her childhood consists of sand between her toes, sea salt in her hair, ocean-soaked dresses, and the sound of tinkling laughter.

her four seasons of growing up on the sandy shores of busan goes a little like this:

spring: an almost brand new knee-length dress made of white lace her mother buys from a thrift shop at a discounted rate, sunflowers and daisies dancing in the wind, chasing butterflies, and flower bookmarks pressed into the pages of a journal.

summer: ripe with music, her spread eagle on a blanket and sunset golds streaked across her face, the drone of cicadas, cherry popsicles, the whir of electric fans, knee-deep in the sea, her mother calling her name off in the distance.

autumn: a waterfall of warm colors, halmeoni’s cozy handmade sweaters with the sleeves hanging past her fingertips, gingham skirts and leggings, pumpkin pies, spiced lattes, a night sky filled with paper lanterns and the glimmer of stars, father’s phone ringing off the hook in the middle of the night; every night.

winter: soft pink mittens and oversized pea coats over chunky sweaters and chunkier scarves made with love, homemade hot chocolate, footprints in fresh snow, one hand clasped in mother’s hand; the other grasping air, perpetual cold; lingering emptiness.

she’s seven, wide-eyed and curious, watching a master chef work her magic. it’s halmeoni in a soft yellow dress and a spongebob apron around her waist singing deulgukhwa hits and humming to joo hyunmi and patti kim. it’s little seolhee perched on the counter by the fridge singing right along in a game of monkey see, monkey do.

early evening always starts with the swell of a sobangcha song, halmeoni wielding a carrot under her chin and seolhee’s little face crinkling up in peals of laughter. in the living room, her parents smile indulgently, hands busy tucking unpaid bills under week-old newspapers and balls of colorful yarn. and ends with seolhee curled in halmeoni’s lap, both hands clutching her parents’ sleeve in her sleep.

days and nights like these are normal—until they’re not.

one cold night in december, dinner prep is a somber affair. the radio is turned off and secondhand vinyls gather dust—buried under boxes full of knick-knacks and memories. there’s no halmeoni twirling in the kitchen, no tongue-in-cheek adlib to the latest hit trot song, no laughter.

home is quiet. empty. and little seolhee aches with the feeling of missing someone no amount of singing or wishing could ever bring back.

TWO.

she’s ten when she learns to make friends with an old guitar she buys off a neighbor moving to the big city, learns to strum awkwardly, clumsily; a cacophony of sound. it takes a full four seasons for her to learn to love the vibrations of nylon strings beneath the pads of her fingers. learns to put herself back together singing acoustic covers and soft little ballads with her face turned up to the stars. puberty comes and goes with her seated on the rickety steps of her porch, strumming nostalgic chords to the ghost of her youth.

her parents say nothing as they watch her from inside the house, smiles wilted, wistful, watery.

(there’s so many things their daughter could be, should be, and hurting, cradling sadness and turning grief into old-timey blues shouldn’t be one of them.)

they leave her be when she starts going to the market in the sticky heat of summer, guitar strapped to her back, playing for small crowds and neighborly regulars. from dusk to dawn, seolhee fixes a soft smile on her face as she strums and strums and strums, voice light and whimsical as she sings requests as a thank you for listening.

she comes home with a straw hat full of notes and red fingers, knowing full well it’s not enough to make up for this month’s expenses. so seolhee ventures back out again, haunts local farmer’s markets and side streets, the sandy beaches during tourist season, trying to make the most of a life that seems to pass her by too quickly, too quietly.

sometimes, she tells herself that when she sings something inside of her heals. as if the soft blue notes become a makeshift stopgap measure filling up the gaping hole in her chest, easing the perpetual emptiness, soothing the ache—the want—for a different life.

sometimes, when she closes her eyes, seolhee pretends she doesn’t hear the sound of her parents fighting, the front door slamming, and her mother’s muffled crying.

sometimes, when she lets herself sink in between lyrics about a dreamer wandering away in search for herself—for an adventure—seolhee swears that some day it could all be possible.

THREE.

family is four. then, three. then, two.

home is no longer sand in between her toes and the ocean clinging to her skin, but the veins of seoul—harsher and all concrete jungle. it’s sleek office buildings and cold cityscapes and soon, the roads she used to bike down back home is replaced by honking taxis and the congestion of too many strangers.

home is now a shoebox; a cramped one bedroom apartment on the outskirts of seoul.

FOUR.

school is but a circus and, sometimes, she finds herself center stage. an unwilling spectacle. her accent is the only thing she has left of home and her peers mock her for it. turn her into the punchline of inside jokes and over-the-shoulder remarks about a bumbling seaside girl who doesn’t belong. she’s not ashamed, but it hurts just the same.

so, she keeps to herself, minds her own business, and makes herself at home on the rooftop and the empty bleachers in an emptier field. she has her guitar and her ocean of sounds. starts spending more time with her head down, hair in a loose braid, writing the world and the people she watches and meets down in the pages of secondhand leather-bound notebooks.

“you have a pretty voice.”

it’s rooftop prince. only this time, they meet in the middle of the soccer field. it’s seolhee with her guitar in her lap and a curious tilt of her head, one hand shielding her eyes and feeling like she’s looking at the sun. blinded, she looks away. a little embarrassed, a little flattered. it’s been a long time since someone has complimented her, after all.

“why do you sing?”

so i can heal. one day, some day.

seolhee smiles and turns her face up to the sky. “because it feels like i’m home.”

FIVE.

she’s two days shy of her fourteenth birthday when she wraps herself in a chunky sweater and a soft scarf stitched with halmeoni’s love and makes her way to a quiet corner in hongdae with her guitar strapped to her back. braves the bite of an impending winter with numbed fingers and a voice that carries.

she starts with sobangcha and joo hyunmi, hesitant and almost stuttering as she tunes her guitar with nimble fingers and her heart in her throat. somewhere, somehow, she hears halmeoni telling her to be brave as she plucks strings and closes her eyes, petite body swaying to the ebb and flow of a bygone song. with halmeoni in her ear, she lets the world fade away, pays no mind to the small gathering of an audience finding their way to the nostalgic croon of an old soul.

she comes awake to the sound of applause and a case full of clinking coins and a tiny pile of notes. she thanks everyone for their time and sets off to trudge home with her earnings.

she’s pulled from her afterglow by a tap on her shoulder and whirls around to a man in a suit, all coiffed and perfect, voice velvety smooth. her early birthday gift is an invitation that sounds too good to be true.

her mother is apprehensive. she’s heard stories about the life of an idol. doesn’t want her daughter to live life under perpetual scrutiny, robbed of her youth, and always struggling to catch up to changing times and new trends.

“you’ll have to give up everything.”

“not everything.“ not you, she means to say. never you.

impending goodbyes has her losing her grip on the impression of a budding city girl society has pressed upon her, slipping back into the soft drawl of dialect and settling right at home in the wake of her desire to chase after a flimsy dream. like this, she’s doe-eyed and wears the heart of a dreamer, curls around her mother like she’s five years old and afraid of the dark.

“i guess this means my baby’s all grown up now.”

am i? doesn’t feel like it. seolhee swallows back a sob and presses her face to her mother’s neck.

goodbye shouldn’t have sounded so definitive. so painful.

SIX.

three years into training and she realizes her voice has stopped being her own, shaped by the company and molded into the image of an innocent girl with the unpolished voice of a would-be angel.

three years and she realizes she’s signed her youth away as dreams of singing on stage with just a microphone and her guitar are replaced by backhanded compliments, veiled sabotage behind closed doors, and a sense of something sacred being stolen from her.

she’s forbidden from ever bringing up a possible solo debut in the future where she can sing about a girl who’s just trying to find her place in the world. the answer is no almost every time. sometimes, if she’s good—when she ranks on top during evaluations, when she ends up being amongst the shortlist of girls for an upcoming girl group—she gets a backhanded maybe. always baited, always rebuffed. lulled into a sense of security with empty promises of what-if’s and what-could’ve-been’s.

three years in and she learns to bite her tongue and does as she’s told. sings what she’s given. dances as she’s practiced. smiles as she’s commanded.

all the while, hours spent in the dead of the night writing lyrics that read like poems, like stories of a thousand lives not yet lived in her notebooks are laid to waste, buried under rejection after rejection in the bottom of a box full of remnants of her childhood and reminders of a home away from home.

like this, she muffles the cries of a girl homesick for a place she’s never been, sings and dances like it’s the only thing that matters and tells herself she’s happy.

tells herself it’s all she wants.

tells herself it’s enough.

(it never is. never will be.)

SEVEN.

lim seolhee is buried—erased—the day she debuts as cherry bomb’s main vocal.

(because lim seolhee is the sunshine girl who looked at people like they hung the moon and the stars. because lim seolhee is tousled hair and tinkling laughter in the middle of the sea. because lim seolhee is made of old songs and picture books, flower crowns, and grass stains.

because lim seolhee is the kind of girl easily broken and taken advantage of.

because lim seolhee, naive and kind, has no place in a world full of backstabbing and desperate survivors trying to make it to the top.

so, she creates herself a persona—someone soft-spoken and unassuming, who seemed unlikely to stab you in the back than she is to hold you while you cried. someone who always seemed a little dazed and absentminded; her gaze faraway, her voice a whisper.

someone like halmeoni—all soft around the edges, always so poised and graceful in her mannerisms (from her mysterious little smile, to the tilt of her head, to the way she walked and talked), her voice a balm to her soul.

she takes all the things she loves most about her and creates a persona in her grandmother’s shadow.

like this, sophia is born to weather all the storms seolhee doesn’t have the strength to handle on her own—just like halmeoni had been there, once upon a time, to hold her hand while she dusted the dirt off her knees and got right back up to face the world.

her father calls three days later. when she picks up, all she hears is his rumbling laughter, sounding much fuller than it had in their rickety old house filled with the scent of spices and long-time struggles.

“are you happy? how’s it feel to be on stage?”

like i’m flying. like i’m dying. “how are you, daddy? are you happier now?”

“…yeah, i guess i am, seol-ah. i think i am.”

“that’s good. that’s all i ever wanted—for you to be happy.”

(what she means is—i miss you so much, it hurts. will you come home? will you come back? do you miss me too?)

“i’m proud of you. be good. keep shining, dad will always be by your side.”

don’t lie. don’t lie. don’t lie, she thinks as she cries silent tears and thanks him for everything. for the moments of happiness when she was but a child too curious, too naive, too loving for her own good. for the lifetime of loneliness and always getting left behind when things get too hard—too tough—for people to stay.

“i’m always good.“ always. then and now.

EIGHT.

msg thrives on how easy it is to break her and fit her into a mold of their design, how quickly she can give away her free will for a promise of an adventure (of life never being dull, of living a dream). it’s easy to take a lost little thing in need of guidance and shape her into something otherworldly, push her onto a gnarly road and tell her to simply go straight to find her way back home, to where she needs to be.

but if one were to ask where she’s needed, she thinks of her old childhood home in busan, the pale yellow paint peeling on patches on her ceiling, the glow-in-the-dark wallpaper brittle and gathering dust. thinks of being waist-deep in the sea, thinks of halmeoni in her spongebob apron and a carrot as her makeshift microphone, thinks of her father somewhere (surviving, thriving, happy—she hopes), thinks of her mother and her work-roughened hands and the small shoebox apartment tucked in the tiniest corner of a heartless city.

if one were to ask what it is lim seolhee wants in private, watch her freeze, her smile slipping just slightly off her face—like a deer caught in headlights. watch her eyes, those sad lonely eyes, well up in tears she won’t let spill. watch her closely and carefully as her body seems to curl in on herself—as if the weight of the world is suddenly looming on her shoulders. watch for the tremor when she speaks, fingers twisting at her sides, voice impossibly soft and fragile: i don’t know…no one’s ever asked me before.

and no one has. no one cares either. msg simply takes and so do her fans. everyone breaks off little pieces of her; pieces she willingly gives because she can’t say no—until there’s nothing left for her to give. nothing left for anyone to take.

all that remains is the hollowed out shell of a girl drifting aimlessly, her heart never here or in one place, her mind lingering on faraway places not yet traveled and the sound of ocean waves crashing on sandy shores like a neverending siren’s call.

NINE.

she enters a mid-life crisis at the ripe age of twenty.

the zeroes in her bank account don’t mean anything when all she sees staring back at her in the bathroom mirror is a tired, lonely girl (a skinny, pretty little thing. all hollowed out by time, youth chipping away at the edges), who doesn’t know what she wants. doesn’t know where she belongs or who she is.

so when the stage starts to feel like a burden, she finds a niche on the small screen. makes peace with esoteric scripts and starts creating a name for herself. slowly, she learns to find temporary homes in between lines and in fictional universes. slowly, she finds becoming someone else exhilarating, being on set like stepping into another world. acting becomes second nature—another job; one she actually likes.

but like the stage, the set too becomes another battlefield. people say you won’t get to where you are without ruffling a few feathers or stepping on someone’s toes.

after all, survivors don’t make it to the top without playing a little dirty.

(she learns this the hard way.)

mother once told her names were dangerous things—that a girl should remember the names of men who tried to steal her heart, who loved her like she was the only thing that mattered, and who left her all broken, bruised, and ugly. mother tells her it’s the name of men she should be afraid of. the sons of women who lured her in with their heated gazes, their lilting voices, their body full of power. mother warned her that men were dangerous; their names a warning sign—a temptation.

her fall from grace comes as a surprise and at the hands of an up-and-coming actor.

when she meets him, he is boy blue with a heart of gold. all gentle hands and a dirty mouth. their first kiss is a shy affair—all bumping noses and awkward lip grazing—and done in the quiet of his penthouse suite.

they’re on their third date when they’re caught on camera; their rendezvous splashed front page on gossip rags and dispersed on the internet. a tentative relationship captured for all of posterity.

the world explodes. her heart does too.

msg does damage control. spins the fairytale narrative of a love borne between friends. of close encounters, bad timing, and years of pining. the company pins everything on her longstanding image as the sweet girl who would shoulder the world if asked to. pleads for the public, the fans, the media to support this budding romance between two close friends who made it through thick and thin as trainees all those years ago.

but the damage is done.

the fandom and the public remain divided.

when the hate comments begin to seep through the cracks and makes it way up top, msg realizes what could’ve been a good publicity stunt to garner her more individual branding backfires. realizes they overestimated her value. realizes she’s not quite enough, not quite there. not yet—that her reputation, though pristine prior, could not support the weight of negative public scrutiny and backlash.

so msg pulls her. benches her. gone are the growing piles of scripts and role offers. gone are the ever present promises that she could eventually get that solo she wanted and has begged for year after year.

all that remains are the cyclical group promotions.

prison has a new name and it’s the four pillars that are fame, fortune, reputation, and public perception that traps her within its midst.

2016 begins with a bang and ends with a whimper.

she’s twenty-one when he kisses her goodbye the night before their breakup goes public.

she’s twenty-one when the internet reports that they’ve called it quits, lamenting the tragedy of yet another “perfect” couple succumbing to the woes of distance and busy schedules.

she doesn’t cry, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile when msg unfreezes her. she says nothing when they warn her to behave and simply nods.

days turn into weeks into months. and, slowly, her heart mends itself. suture by painful suture, scar over invisible scar. healed over by the weight of time and a perpetual kind of numbness that seeps through skin, through muscle, through bone and into her very soul.

like this, she stands back up and trudges on forward—an energizer bunny running on the last dredges of its batteries.

holding out as long as she can. as hard as she can. as always.

TEN.

twenty-three and she’s found herself embarking on a new journey. a new chapter to write.

she’s got a budding acting career ahead. cherry bomb! is still afloat. the road to stardom is long yet, but she’s getting there.

slowly, but surely.

deep down—some day, somehow, she prays for anonymity. wants a life shrouded in mystery, no longer talked about in superlatives, made infamous by gossip, speculation, and rumors.

maybe in fifteen years, lim seolhee can be found again in a small town off the coast of some river city. a wanderer, an anomaly amidst a sea of faceless people.

there, a modern-day wraith finally content with her place in the world.

once lost, now found. just a woman. plain and simple.

#id.msg #id.cherry bomb!#id.bio #id.kim jisoo #id.guild

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