#uv:human

[ultravioletrp]

TO ERR IS HUMAN, TO FORGIVE DIVINE.

Introducing the citizen known as Seo Minho. Do you care to find out more?

DOB: 01/08/94 OCCUPATION: Science teacher at Theta Valley High SEEK AT: The Parthenon, Theta Valley High

FREEFORM:

it was a large chunk of grey, right in the middle of the courtyard, casting shadows down to where it destroyed concrete and brick and embedded itself into the earth. the temple of heaven, now with an added gift from the heavens—a moon rock.

it did not belong here. that was the sad, poetic truth, one that resonated within seo minho.

he, too, did not belong in beijing; no matter the effort he expended into fitting in, nothing ever worked. he was different from the very beginning.

(“you must defend yourself, zhian. strength must come from within you. and to draw it out, you must train.” — words born from wisdom, from the pain of not-belonging.

“but i’m chinese, mā ma. why do i have to do taekwondo?” — words born from naïveté, from the ignorance accompanying youth.)

the scar was caressed, rough fingertip against healed suture. it was the cost of trying—so very hard—to find a place for himself.

“we meet again,” was uttered, to no one in particular, but the gaze unfailingly trained on the rock said otherwise.

they were both foreigners from distant lands: him, zhian (no, minho, that was his name), from the land of the morning calm, and the rock, from space, once belonging to the moon. minho had always felt a sense of kinship with it, without ever understanding the reason.

now, he did.

later, once the setting sun sets the sky ablaze, minho would leave, and they would part ways—him, the moon rock, and china.

he was going elsewhere, now, with a woman he considered as family. to yet another place where he was yet to belong, where he might find belongingness if it chose not to elude him, or happiness if it still existed.

perhaps a part of him will always stay here, in this chaotic land in which he grew, buried under the soil with his bà ba and nâi nai and ye yé, festering inside his sister xiuying wherever she may be.

(minho wondered, sometimes, if xiuying thought of him or simply chose not to; if she watched his matches and cheered him on, if a gasp would get caught in her throat whenever he saw him hurting, if she ever regretted leaving them when they needed her most.

maybe, he asked for too much.)

minho stepped back; something had caught his attention. a group of children, perhaps on a field trip, perhaps one of them his niece or nephew. perhaps xiuying never had children of her own.

he said his goodbyes to the moon rock, to the imperial complex nestled within this tumultuous city, but there was one last place he needed to visit. his old gym, where he trained almost sixteen hours a day for the majority of his life, where his mentor was instructing new disciples who would, hopefully, not cause as much disappointment as zhian once did. the rectangular concrete building was witness to all the blood, sweat and tears that accompanied the ups and downs of his career as a mixed martial artist. it only made sense, then, for minho to bid it farewell.

it was only a short distance from the temple. all the what-ifs and could-have-beens were quick to appear, in the edges of his mind where such thoughts were entertained.

but now was not the time—he felt quaint, all of a sudden, as his body defied the simple act of opening a door.

minho didn’t want to be here, shameless as he was. too many memories lay behind those doors, some which brought him great sadness to remember.

(he wondered, briefly, if this was how humanity felt upon the tragic decimation of their race: so conflicted in their emotions that they chose to hide it altogether, behind closed doors, as they wallow in their ignorance and their rebuilding and their pretending it never happened.

then he remembered that he, too, was human. and a shitty one, at that.)

zhao feng was never a man for sentiments, anyway, he reasoned, but it’s unneeded. he had already made up his mind, like two years ago, when he wanted to quit mma and focus on learning about heavenly bodies and the vast cosmos they belonged in.

and so he left, again, tail tucked between his legs. the significance was not lost on him. there were things he can never seem to conquer, but nothing was impossible if he put enough effort into it.

maybe in a year or two, minho could return and greet his shifu with a smile on his face, genuine and void of guilt. but for now, he settled with squared shoulders and a set frown, as he made his way back to the airport.

“goodbye, zhōngguó.”

(you will not be missed.)

[archive-ultravioletrp-blog]

TO ERR IS HUMAN, TO FORGIVE DIVINE.

His name was Son Haneul. He said; “Listen: there’s a hell of a good universe next door; let’s go.”

NAME: Son Haneul DOB: 08/15/2000 OCCUPATION: Full-time student at Theta Valley High SEEK AT: TV High & Star Mall

a short film about son haneul, by son haneul.

the eighteen year old stares at the blank document. his fingers hovers the now broken keyboard. he slides his thumb against the fainting letters, specifically the letter a, before typing:

“for mom, for dad, for anyone who it may concern. thank you. please, ‘please watch it. please pay attention to me. just once. i beg you.’ he writes. he writes as his heart dictates. enjoy.”

his hands freeze for a moment, a split second as hesitation takes a grip on him. he knows this was a selfish impulse. it is one he never tended and that made this scarier than it should be for him.

he still saves the now barely filled document, places it on the folder labeled “short films”. his eyes leave behind the now coded document to see lines and lines of videos. they are clips he created when he found this random love for cinematography.

(they were clips he wished his parents saw. no. they were clips he wished his parents were there to witness.)

he clicks on his first two.

scene 1, spring says hello— a text pops up and says, ‘son haneul has an awful habit— he takes too long to do things he enjoys.’

it plays how: he hesitates before asking his older brother to take him to the store. his eyes set on the camera he has been eyeing the past few months.

scene 2, summer says hello— a text pops up and says, ‘son haneul has an awful habit— he takes too long to do things, things that concern bothering people.

it plays how: he hesitates when he has the dog on his arms. his eyes set on his older brother who carries his younger sister. his gaze falters on his jeans pocket where two tickets of a old movie they promised to see together. he embraces his old companion before returning to his room. he sees his older brother appear on the door frame, asks him about the movie. he turns his head, tilts it. his eyes set on his older brother’s growing exhaustion. even if he hesitated, the younger of the two denying there was a movie to see. he tells him to rest well before turning to his half-written homework.

(he has another awful habit. he is a good liar and is slightly proud of that. but, he will never document that because he doesn’t swallow well his own vulnerability.)

he closes the folder and shuts down his computer.

✂ —

the eighteen year old is moody and flighty.

unlike his other traits, these ones are not exposed to light. he keeps them hidden somewhere. he grips it as if it was a pandora box, as if experiencing emotions outside the mold was wrong. because he is scared, a scared young teenager who fails to know himself.

(and that shows on his films and he knows it and that’s why he always does the same thing.)

he doesn’t understand himself as anger punctures him with resonating words. he was never good with anger, not when he consumes it and lets it burn on some part of his brain. but, son haneul is a good son, a son who doesn’t burden his parents, his siblings, his friends— his world.

but even the good son can’t help but crack a little when mother says, “we can’t make your graduation this year. i’m sorry, sweetheart.” or when his father says, “know we are sorry. i hope you are working hard.” that’s when the good son realized how nothing he does will give him a ground. he will never stand on a place where he hears “i’m proud of you.

(and he knows and he knows so well he hates himself he cares far too much.)

he catches the document he saved the past day before rewriting it to: “a short film about son haneul, by son haneul. for anyone who caters his egoistical need. thank you. enjoy.”

(and just like that, he films again. he films the segments he wishes his parents were there to see. he wishes these segments were a collaborative memory. but, he knows better than anyone this part solely has one writer and that was himself.)

he clicks two videos:

scene 120, fall says hello— a text pops up and says, ‘son haneul has an awful habit— he takes too long to say things because he overthinks.’ it plays how: he hesitates to answer his mother when she asks him if he is being good. but, he still says what she wants. he hesitates to answer his father when he asks about his athletic future. but, he still says what he wants to hear. he smiles at both at the end even as his fists turn white and red like the baseball he practiced relentlessly with.

scene 143, winter says hello— a text pops up and says, ‘son haneul has an awful habit— he takes too long to voice out his joys, his sadness.’ it plays how: he hesitates to tell his friends his burdens as he watches them chatter about new ghosts roaming around. his eyes search for trust and he finds them as they offer smiles. but, he still doesn’t say anything as he laughs and eats his stale lunch.

at the end of it all, he cries.

[ultravioletrp]

TO ERR IS HUMAN, TO FORGIVE DIVINE.

Introducing the citizen known as Jang Minha. Do you care to find out more?

DOB: 12/02/94 OCCUPATION: Assistant manager at Sweet Tooth SEEK AT: Sweet Tooth, capitol building, library

FREEFORM:

( 2006. ) ‘i don’t know, i don’t know.’ it is all that she manages to speak, crystal tears washing away half of her vision. calm down, keep breathing. one, two, three.. ‘h-he was right here. i promise, i was watching him all the time. b-but my little sister was crying and– and i didn’t know what to do. i just left for 2 minutes and he was gone. please find him. please. where are my parents? please don’t tell my parents. really, i didn’t mean to lose him.’

as it turns out to be, her little brother hadn’t gotten very far. much like any other young boy, his curiosity had him wandering off for a bit; but it was enough to have the 12-year-old panicking. after all, it had been her job to take care of them. had something happened to minju, her parents would’ve never forgiven her. she would’ve never forgiven herself.

no way she would ever let it get this far again.

( 2010. ) the warmth that once radiated from her gradually starts to fade away. narrating bedtime stories to her siblings becomes more of a chore than an activity she once enjoyed. her tales lose their spark–and slowly, so does she.

tone: flat. expression: blank. ambition? unrivaled. as the years pass, minha becomes lonelier, but the business blossoms. sales are booming more than ever before, with people lining up for the sweetest delicacies and most exquisite desserts. not a day goes by that she doesn’t exceed her parents’ expectation. she is their little pride, they say, but their tone is all business. so very different from the way in which they speak to her little sister.

that’s totally fine to her, though. this is their way of showing their love to her. their way of making sure she will become the most successful version of herself she can be. and it’s working, isn’t it? all that she touches changes to gold. perhaps with a few sacrifices here and there (her social life, her free time, her own dreams), but it’s working–and that’s what matters.

( 2019. ) she’s the calm before the storm. a firecracker waiting to be lit. her exterior is as always; kind eyes with a sweet smile. they cover up the constant urge to succeed and the constant fear to make a mistake.

it is hard to understand who you really are, when all you’ve ever done is live in someone else’s footsteps–hard to figure out who you really are becoming.

( once, she had been soft and tender. once, she had learned how not to be. )

who is jang minha? perhaps one remembers her as the sweet girl that had seemed to have patience for days. or perhaps one remembers her as the girl that yelled at her siblings for stepping out of line. perhaps one only remembers her as the girl who really did not seem memorable at all.

at least, whatever they remembered, they seemed to remember more than she did herself.

who is jang minha?

[ultravioletrp]

TO ERR IS HUMAN, TO FORGIVE DIVINE.

Introducing the citizen known as Lee Sieun. Do you care to find out more?

DOB: 12/26/98 OCCUPATION: University student, bassist SEEK AT: Riverside College, Star Mall

FREEFORM:

Keyboard typing…

Google search bar: Who is Lee Sieun?

Lee Sieun (noun) — Pronounced as /ˈlē/see/in/

Page 1-5:

These are the most common definitions, compiled by the general public: Click to see the examples for each one.

Special note #1: There’s mild suspicion that she was disowned or less favored because her name was scarcely mentioned in interviews.

Special note #2: The suspicion dissipated when her father and current heir, Lee Hajoon, mentioned he was “extremely fond of his daughter”. He added that he was “extremely proud” she is carving her own path.

Special note: Somehow fares decently well.

Some examples:

Fun fact: The noun has participated in the composition of her band’s original tracks. Her most popular solo song is called Goodbye Cloudy Days.

Fun fact #1: She is popularly known for scaring a group of middle school boys that terrorized a tabby cat she fondly nicknamed Tapioca.

Fun fact #2: She does like every single animal in the shelter. But, her bias for cats shines because she brings strays often. It seems as if she purposely searches for them.

Page 15-21:

This is the most accurate definitions with multiple variations, compiled by loved ones or observant strangers or annoying know-it-alls: Click to see the examples for each one.

Note: Some won’t be available as there’s too little information to support the statement.

Special note #1: She looks seldom of emotions most of the time, but she shows immediate happiness to animals.

Special note #2: She, while never showing her true emotions, is sociable to a degree and can blend into crowds.

Special note #1: Subject emits an intimidating aura at first but said image fades once the subject grows comfortable with her environment. (This usually takes 1-3 days.)

Special note #2: Subject is the type to strike a conversation at sporadic moments and been labeled as peculiar because of that.

Special note: It’s hard to catch said kindness if one is not paying attention.

Special note: She really likes being this sort of person for no apparent reason.

Some examples:

Fun fact #1: Her co-worker, Sol (23 years old), commented she was surprised the noun is so outgoing when her expressions reflect the opposite.

Fun fact #2: Her other co-worker, Isabel (18 years old), stated how pretty the noun’s smile can be if you play along with her dry-humored, at the times bad jokes or attentively listen to her.

Fun fact #3: Her twin brother, Lee Siyoon (20 years old) said, “Sieun is a great actress because she can’t express herself without thinking that’s embarrassing. So, even when she is excited, she might sound soulless.”

Special note: Once asking about this particular trait, people tend to get mad or riled up. It is suspected the individual’s demeanor comes off crass when she exhibits this trait.

Fun fact #1: One of her childhood friends, Im Hyemin (19 years old), joked how the subject will break into hives or get a sudden rash if she shows an ounce of care.

Fun fact: Her co-worker from the shelter, Park Jisung (21 years old), advocated she is very kind in a “tsundere” kind of way. He described stories that depict the subject’s kindness— that is characterized by remembering tiny details of others.

In his words, “She acts like she doesn’t care about people, but she remembers details most wouldn’t. She once got me this Squirtle plushie because I eyed it for “more than 10 seconds” in the arcade place.”

Special note: Most of her loved ones mention this often, but it comes out as a question rather than a statement. She has never confirmed this because people muse that “Sieun doesn’t show or talk about her weakness a lot. If anything, she rather distract herself than thinking about it. She comforts when most would cry.”

Searches related: Lee Seoyun — Lee Hajoon — Lee Siyoon — Sunny Side Resort — Trigger

[ultravioletrp]

TO ERR IS HUMAN, TO FORGIVE DIVINE.

Introducing the citizen known as Jang Minju. Do you care to find out more?

DOB: 6/21/98 OCCUPATION: Student at Riverside, part-timer at Sweet Tooth SEEK AT: Turtle Park or the library

FREEFORM:

“No one cares about the middle. It’s what’s outside that matters,” he says with a shrug, uncaring, unbothered. His posture betrays little of what goes on in his head, his expression schooled into pleasant indifference. He’s hard to nail down, has always been ever since he realized that he sees no sense in trying to compete with his sisters at the tender age of eight. He isn’t bitter, he tells himself, he’s fine. Some people are made to be seen but the vast majority isn’t, never will be. You can’t see the stars if it weren’t for the anonymous dark around them.

He’s unmoored, his interests everywhere and nowhere. “If you worked harder you could do outstandingly,” the teachers tell him in irregular intervals. He’s gotten better at tuning out of conversations, nod and say the right things at the right times as if it were muscle memory. Maybe you’re scared, a part of him suggests. Scared that if you want something, not getting it will hurt even more. He pushes it aside, flits from interest to interest, collects knowledge until he feels himself growing too passionate to go any further. It was easier until he had to decide on a path for the future.

(He settles, but there’s always the faint knowledge in the back of his mind that at the end of the day, he can always change majors)

He draws, that’s really his thing — everything, from attempts at photorealism to caricatures and goofy cartoon characters on customer’s bills. It’s a nice hobby, his parents tell him. That’s what makes his love for it bearable; it’s nothing of worth, nothing he could define himself through. Jang Minju, middle child, the boy with eternally ink-stained fingertips and an image of Auriga Island that goes past what the naked eye can see. “It’s all make-believe,” he laughs it off as he paints the sky a deep violet.

The world as he knows he hides in his sketchbooks, the handouts he covers with doodles and scribbles, any available surface that he can get his hands on. It’s how he organises his thoughts; others voice them, he draws, paints, sketches. Ask him directly about what he thinks of the current political climate, of the broken world they live in and the efforts to restore it to what it used to be, no matter what it is, it’ll earn you a shrug, avoidant set phrases about how he doesn’t really have an opinion, “politics was never my thing”, “I’m no environmental activist”. Whether he is aware of how much of what goes on in his head ends up on paper anyway is a different question altogether. Like with everything in his life, as long as he doesn’t dwell on it, there isn’t much to fear, after all.

(Is it worth it? Feeling, paying the price that comes with caring so much it keeps you up at night?)

[ultravioletrp]

TO ERR IS HUMAN, TO FORGIVE DIVINE.

Introducing the citizen known as, Jang Minhee. Do you care to find out more?

DOB: 08/11/02 OCCUPATION: High school student SEEK AT: Theta Valley High, Sweet Tooth

FREEFORM:

YOUNGEST ( n.) ㅡ minhee. their girl, final child. she has always been (and always will be) the baby.

their precious newborn is placed inside a dim-lit room blanketed with pink, flowers, and everything she is supposed to love in the form of material objects. her fragile skull is hammered with expectations before she is cognizant. mother has been waiting to dress her in frills and bows, like the little doll she always wanted ( but could never afford ). she never expects her siblings, however, to show any of the mercy her parents do.

mom & dad will make sure nothing can break herㅡthe world is a cruel place.

SUNSHINE ( n. ) ㅡ she wields a smile to match its brightness and everything the light touches is her kingdom. tiny fingers spread beyond her modest height and make an attempt to reach for more. her presence does not come without heat. solar flares burst in her eyes; the same color as the liquid her father slips into his coffee cup after an especially stressful day. their tempers prove complementary, and it’s soon proven there is no match for her fire.

she is not without her rainy days. wetness stains the cuff of her eldest sister’s sleeve. she isn’t strong enough to tear into the fabric just so she can stay a little longer, so he won’t leave her all alone. eight-year-olds should know better than to throw tantrums, but she is determined in her fabricated reasoning. the sun is meant to shine on more than their small slice of the world.

MINHEE ( pr. ) ㅡ it’s a name least befitting her, but the girl has never been blessed with anything expected. reaching toward the sky like a sunflower. dark soil streaks her rosy cheeks, caused by her own hands that rifle through the bed of her mother’s prized garden. they search for insects to scare the mean girls at school who torment the sole friend she has.

her collected worms learn to fly as she tumbles from a bicycle on her way. bloody knees soak through her sister’s hand-me-downs. she’s taunted for her disheveled appearance, cursed by recklessness.

he prim schoolmarm wags a finger in her dirty face.

pretty young ladies are to act proper.

but scraped palms and echoing laughter is minhee.

SLOTH ( sin. ) ㅡ there’s a letter in her father’s hand, a disappointed look carves his forehead with wrinkles. the stalky thirteen-year-old slouches over an oversized bowl of cereal, mouth gaping as if caught doing something she shouldn’t.

the contents of the letter inform the jang family that their youngest has been skipping classes. she preemptively blocks out the impending arguments. the glances her parents give each other is enough warning. they blame each other instead of their precious youngest.

the screaming is muffled by another sortㅡin the music her best friend left in her room. her heavy metal tantrum serves enough to wall herself off from the rest of the world.

and her parents.

FACADE ( n. ) ㅡ jang minhee makes certain she will have her way. internally, she kicks and resists the concept of putting on an act to please her mother and father. after school shifts at their cafe, a fake bright smile plastered on a seemingly innocent face. dressed from head to toe in soft colors. she catches herself rolling her eyes. the facade is cracking and she fears her siblings will catch on sooner or later.

[archive-ultravioletrp-blog]

TO ERR IS HUMAN, TO FORGIVE DIVINE.

His name was Aysel Knight. He said; “I’m already Tracer.”

NAME: Aysel Knight DOB: 02/14/2000 OCCUPATION: 1st year at Riverside College & part-timer at Elnath Grocery Store SEEK AT: Twins Diner

In the clutches of azure silk, a fresh-faced babe, cherub nose nipped by the London winter, lay bundled in a basket kissed by the full moon on the doorstep of the eccentric yet pensive astrologist Mr Knight. Aysel was a moon child, incandescent and foreign in nature but seemingly mundane.  Aysel grew up immersed in the stars, tiny palms outstretched in any map he could lay his hands on. Mr Knight always seemed to think something extraterrestrial was amidst in the impressionable raven-haired child, thinking the child was something not from this earth. With a high precocity in learning, the ebony locked child excelled in anything the Astrologist would give him. Mr Knight had contentious opinions about a variety of topics that often outcasted him from most of society, raving and raving any time he had the opportunity. The jubilant juvenile sprouted in these weeds, innocence layered over these contentious arguments like a layer of whipped cream trying to sugarcoat the sour aftertaste. Nothing was ever enough and Aysel was plagued with a concentrated amount of paranoia during his teen years, fueled by Mr Knight in his older age as he grew more erratic in his behaviour, constantly fearing something would happen to him.

Aysel turned to music, in his early years often influenced by Mr Knight’s devout love for classical music. Mr Knight would often have Aysel rehearse classical songs by ear in an attempt to test his memory skills. Often inflicted in bursts of internal rage, the piano would allow the disciplined Aysel to release contempt within himself without having to rebel per se.

Hormones escalated Aysel’s perplexing thought process to a higher level, he went out more and studied less. Amongst crooked peers and the grimy streets, Aysel found himself in a bubble of freedom, something piquant to the tastebuds and allured Aysel further into the rabbit hole of his teens.

At 17, Aysel, bitter from the constant oppression of Mr Knight, left the apartment on a stormy night. The thunder was his piano keys and aimlessly wandered the streets till the storm passed, hands flat on the aged timber door as he stumbled upon his once father figure, still on the greying carpet. Mr Knight had been shot only once, between eyes once filled with familiar rage. Aysel had only cried once in his youth, an unfamiliar feeling of calamity that swallowed Aysel whole as it filled his throat to the point of suffocation.

Aysel cried, with Mr Knight in his lap and his heart in his mouth.

He bit into it. Enraged by Mr Knights murder, Aysel was determined to destroy all of humanity, the same humanity who shunned Mr Knight and sentenced him to a lonely death. Aysel’s mental state suffered greatly for this death, exhibiting the same erratic and eccentric personality that Mr Knight once showed. Through diaries and Mr Knights books, he was able to conclude that Mr Knight had been suspicious of Alien activity in the Island of Auriga and had been planning a visit there when he could.

And thus, Aysel began his conquest to join with his alien brothers and conquer the world because he cannot accept that only one man killed Mr Knight but all of humanity so they’re all going to die.

Sorry, I didn’t make the rules.

[archive-ultravioletrp-blog]

TO ERR IS HUMAN, TO FORGIVE DIVINE.

Her name was Joo Byul. She said; “Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.”

NAME: Joo Byul DOB: 04/07/1997 OCCUPATION: Pink Room bartender SEEK AT: The Pink Room, the piers

synonyms for byul:

baggage. ( she is a boisterous burden when she’s first brought aboard the ship that becomes home. her father is a brokenhearted boy, then; unwilling to give her up despite how easily the baby’s mother had, despite how eagerly he escaped everything else he was expected to take responsibility for. but she is the last tether he has to the girl that left him—and, more importantly, she is his flesh and blood. now that he’s committed to a new life on the open sea, she’s all the family he’s got. )

backbone. ( the men can’t help but create chaos when they can’t find it on land. there’s no telling how many of their scars have been earned through petty squabbles and botched looting trips. they’d tear themselves apart if not for her; she’s bonded with practically everyone on the ship, looking up to them and their time-tested unity. the crew may make the effort to work as a team, but she is the glue that makes them family. )

buccaneer. ( it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the girl grows up eager to follow in the crew’s footsteps; if there’s one thing they’ve taught their little starling, it’s to aspire to their swashbuckling lifestyle. yet, a layer of guilt collects under all that pride, only coaxed out on a night the men deem it safe to drink themselves silly. she listens to their bellowing apologies, silent until each one has said their piece—and then she laughs in their faces. she’s not stupid; she understands that they’ve raised her to be a lawbreaker. but she’s her father’s daughter. nothing on earth could make her care about rules, least of all those she’s never had to answer to. )

bitch. ( the trouble starts when she grows old enough to figure out what she’d fight for, herself. beloved baby that she is, it takes several years for her to realize she is an exception to them. she argues with the captain for the first time to dispute his rejection of every woman willing to join them, holding her ground until her father has to force her below deck himself. her fury only grows when the men downplay her outburst as teenage rebellion; she accepts every bit of punishment out of sheer stubbornness, intent on winning this first standoff. the captain, frustrated over a string of fruitless raids, ultimately threatens to kick her off the ship; she not only agrees to go, but invites every member who sees her point to join her. the group finally splinters some weeks after, her father leading the defectors in restoring an abandoned boat to working order. guilt eats her alive until they take on their first female recruits another week later. )

blaze. ( they call her a force of nature, now. among other things. her original nickname still stings, but she’s sure she’ll get over it with time; until then, crew members both old and new have been trying out new labels on her to see what sticks. she’s surprised to hear the first one she really likes on the sand, tending to a bonfire with one of the younger recruits; he likens her to the flames without thinking, shrinking into himself when he realizes he’s spoken aloud. but she just repeats him with a smile, thanking him for the compliment. he doesn’t know how well it captures how she acted to get here. )

buoy. ( this split is temporary. she swears this to herself every night, when she’s still a stranger to the people on the island. auriga is an ambitious new target when they sail for it—they never dared raid a populated community, even with the original crew—but the young families started on the ship have a change of heart when they get a glimpse of its capital, looking every bit the sanctuary it was said to be. she struggles not to take offense at the parents’ haste to give their kids a life unlike hers; but when she looks up to find the stars winking back, brighter than she’s ever seen, her apprehension falls away. regret may hit the moment the boat leaves the pier, but the decision to stay is her own. only the knowledge that her father will know where to go if he needs her, or a solid place to call home, brings her some sense of peace. )

bookworm. ( the process of falling in love with books is a funny one. she first walks into a bookstore out of boredom; mundane life has left her so restless that even this place is interesting enough for her to explore. but a few hours later, she walks out with a bag containing half a dozen children’s novels, cheeks flushed with the lie that they’re for a friend’s daughter. it’s incredible, how each tale opens a whole new world to her; books bring mermaids and witches and aliens to life as vividly as the crew used to, those nights they drank under a clear night sky. they temper her need to chase the horizon until she’s grown attached to the island, dreams of sailing rough seas replaced with an array of adventures she’s happy to play out in her head. )

[archive-ultravioletrp-blog]

TO ERR IS HUMAN, TO FORGIVE DIVINE.

Her name was Moon Sulli. She said; “Do not go gentle into that good night.”

NAME: Moon Sulli DOB: 03/29/1994 OCCUPATION: Anchorwoman SEEK AT: Her home, occasionally out and about

Among the billions killed on May 5th, 1984 was a retired diplomat who had been intending to live on quietly on the experimental space station at the government’s request. Even in his older age with his well-earned rest, he couldn’t escape the logic that he would be the best representative for the government’s confidence in this new dawn of human history. His death was nothing but a statistic for the general public, but for the loved ones he left behind, it became a poisonous fume, an ugly gaping wound that was exacerbated by the tremendous shock felt around the world. His grand daughter, born ten years later, would be born into a family that was still struggling to heal from this massive hurt–and what they steadfastly viewed as betrayal. Moon Sulli would grow up to be wary and distrustful of the government, trapped into the painful legacy that her grandfather had unintentionally left behind with his sacrifice.

History may not repeat, but it can rhyme, and with the conspiracy theories exploding at an all-time high in her lifetime, Sulli naturally falls into an activist mindset that proves to shape her outlook on most things. For instance, she’s taken advantage of her natural beauty to embark in a career that puts her in the forefront of the views and media, and gives her more of a behind-the-scenes look at what is manufactured for the masses. More often than not, she is underestimated by her first impression value and she’s long since learned how to market herself around men who would think of themselves as her superior (because let’s face it, not even a tragedy that wipes out half of the earth’s population would change that sort of privileged mentality).

She’s not the firstborn in the Moon family, but has taken up the mantle to be the breadwinner with a personality that is more sharply aggressive and forward than her brothers’. And it’s not immediately obvious. It’s layered with the necessary softness so that she’s not flagged as a threat, or a possible nuisance, and because keeping her head down has proven to yield far more useful fruit than charging into battle every time she wants to. But she’s been nursing a hateful grudge against the government ever since she was old enough to learn about how her poor, gentle grandfather was betrayed by the government, and coupled with her personality, is the perfect candidate to start actively working against authority and – in her mind – rewrite history.

Her mindset is still growing, still forming and figuring out her place in this world, in a planet that has been dealt a heavy blow and is trying to recover in the aftermath. She’s yet to think outside of her own pain, and only truly empathizes when someone’s story or motivation aligns with her own. This is her Achilles’ heel, whether she realizes it or not. This is what she’ll need to grow beyond to truly be an individual who fights to right wrongs for humanity, not just for personal resentment.

[archive-ultravioletrp-blog]

TO ERR IS HUMAN, TO FORGIVE DIVINE.

His name was Lee Hyunsoo. He said; “The sun painted galaxies across my throat. People wonder why I speak like other worlds.I have constellations written as stories on my skin.”

NAME: Lee Hyunsoo DOB: 05/17/2000 OCCUPATION: Full-time student. takes commission online for artwork SEEK AT: Theta Valley High, outside or inside sketching

I.

“hey. he’s there again.”

“hyunsoo?”

“yea! let’s go.”

there’s some squealing that scatters its way through the quiet of a school where most students have left for the evening. some gentle tapping of feet against the ground, echoing against the hallway. it’s running but an attempt at doing so quietly so to not disturb the target of the hour ( and more ).

but sensitive ears perk at the noise regardless. even in concentration it is hard to ignore the sound of footsteps when the world around him is cloaked in a fragile barrier that had attempted to conceal all. so he notices it, but he does not acknowledge it. except perhaps for the smallest tug of the corner of his lip upwards in mirth but none of the people peaking through the classroom window or door would be able to see the small change in expression.

he wouldn’t allow it because lee hyunsoo has an image to uphold at school. though the formation was simply an accident at the time. a simple boy who had in his shyness decided to lean back on the one thing he was good at - water colour painting and sketching. somehow the minutes of him mulling by the trees or the hours of indulging himself in the art room had become a source of rumours and fantasies. a boy who heard the whispers but neither attempted to agree with them or deny them - instead imagination would simply grow until it fit him like a second skin. he was taking advantage of it, a chance to be left alone because he was the supposedly mysterious boy who should be watched at from afar. his delicate features and small stature was certainly an aid in all of this ( but he still wished he would grow a bit more ).

“hyunsoo what are you drawing?” his head turns at the sudden voice, the brown ocean of his eyes flickering in surprise as it focuses away from the sketch before him to the stranger. a girl, she’s not a classmate, but he’s seen her around during lunch hours before.

“what does it look like?” he places his best smile, the soft tranquil kind that speaks of dawn instead of the afternoon, and he watches how she briefly pauses in surprise from his sudden change in expression.

“mmmm a girl…surrounded by flowers?”

“close, i decided there would be flowers growing from her lungs,” he speaks nonchalantly.hanahaki disease. he had once read about it and the concept had struck him as something interesting. but she didn’t need to know that. “symbolic of how we’re all beautiful on the inside.”

“that’s beautiful,” she gasps, eyes so locked on the work that she fails to see him turns the other way to conceal the small out-of-place chuckle that ends up escaping as quiet puffs.

II.

it only takes a minute. he settles his bag on the ground with a quiet thud and changes out of his outside clothes. swapping into something more comforting, he grabs his cape from his chair. it’s the perfect replica of the one that umaru douma has ( he’s made sure of it ). then he’s leaping onto his bed, all snuggled up in the orange blanket and there he either naps or he plays on his console. the rare times, he pops up open his laptop.

“hyunsoo! dinner is ready!”

the entrance of their son in a hamster cape is no longer something unusual to the parents who had once placed the young boy in as many onesies as possible. nor do they bat their eyelash when they enter his room, full of anime posters or nendroids he’s bought online with money earned from doing well on his exams or as a gift. truly the only time they may have raised an eyebrow was the one time he mentioned a dakimakura, but hyunsoo was a boy who could be satisfied decorating his bed with stuffed anime plushies. even if he did seem to mention something about anime husbands and wives once in a while.

maybe it should be considered slightly unhealthy for a boy of his age but the school never mentioned anything worrying about him. parent-teacher conferences always simply spoke about a boy who studied well and was quiet, artistic and not as much athletic. there was confidence that beyond this giant anime phase their child was having, at the end of the day he was a good child and as long as he wasn’t harming anyone there was no reason to stop his hobbies.

“are you thinking of going to honolulu again briefly for their anime convention?”

“probably.”

“are you dressing up?”

“yes. actually…what do you think of these ideas?”

a phone is pulled out of nowhere, he’s soon entering into a long conversation with his parents about his next venture into the cosplay world. it’s always nice to have a mother who knew how to sew and knit. along with a father who knew a makeup stylist.

III.

“hyunsoo dear can you help me?”

it’s early in the morning when everything is clattering around and there is a general urgency that lays with thick tension in the air. he scampers down from his room down to where his mother is in the dining room. looking at her pose, a hand on the table where only half an earring lay, it is easy to tell what she has in mind.

“i misplaced my other earring and i don’t know where.”

“one second mom,” dutifully he walks forward, a hand covers the cool metal of the earring, pressing onto it while he closes his eyes. the results are immediate the moment he decides to concentrate as the objects memories of a short while earlier flows into his mind.

eyes flash open again once the result is offered, and he retracts his hand back to his side to flatten out the crinkles of his shirt. “you dropped the right earring under the cabinet in your bedroom mom.”

“oh really? thank you!” she presses a kiss on his forehead and heads back upstairs. he’s not done changing completely yet, still in his pyjama pants but hyunsoo figures that now that he’s already down here he might as well finish eating breakfast first.

only his parents know about his ability. he doesn’t know why he has it but it was around the end of middle school when he first learned how to control it. before that, it came and went sporadically. sometimes he would get flashes when he touched his friends pen. sometimes he would get it while holding onto a fork at a restaurant.

it’s been there for as long as he can remember, but it’s taken a while for him to figure out whether the ability was a curse or a gift. sometimes he still doesn’t know, but for small moments like these such as his mother coming down the stairs now with both her earrings in her ear, it’s a satisfying experience.

[archive-ultravioletrp-blog]

TO ERR IS HUMAN, TO FORGIVE DIVINE.

His name was Ahn Taejoon. He said; “It’s better to burn out than to fade away.”

NAME: Ahn Taejoon DOB: 01/23/1997 OCCUPATION: Webtoon artist SEEK AT: Anywhere with free Wi-Fi

Hey, Taejoon. Welcome to the world.

Life began on a cold January morning in 1997. Just another rainy day in Aberdeen. His parents greeted him with unyielding affection, and his father especially takes a liking to the boy with his eyes. He’s a calm child with a whisper of enthusiasm and enough energy for new parents to handle. The freshly decorated bedroom is filled to the brim with books, some with contents an infant had yet comprehend. Each night from the day he arrives home, his father pulls one from the shelf and reads him to sleep. The voices he makes earns him a gummy smile, and when Taejoon is capable, he asks him to read another.

When the stories his father told ran out, he fabricates his own. Clumsy fingers clutch a pencil and illustrate a telling of a boy’s fantastical adventures. The papers hang haphazardly, albeit proudly, beneath colorful fridge magnets. There’s an odd tension in the air between his parents he never notices.

His mother wraps her arm around him and whispers gratitude and praise. He asks her when his father will get home so he can read him his story, and she avoids the question. It takes little time for him to realize he isn’t the only one with the capability to spin tales. The adults in his life spit them like a doctrine in the form of lies.

Dad left us.

Detectives arrive months too late. They say found his body, but they don’t label it a homicide. Their expressions remain perplexed as they attempt to conjure up an explanation for a child. The eight-year-old simply mutters that he understands. Perhaps it’s just shock.

His mother is inconsolable. Fingers curl into the fabric of her dress when she collapses and he feels something in his chest break ㅡ as he can’t bring himself to cry.

Hey, TJ. It’s not your fault.

Music is where he quells the anger. Teenage angst consumes him as it did amidst puberty. He drowns his walls in posters and shuts himself in his room. The once docile child is a husk of what he once was, insides replaced with guilt and rage.

He spends his summers sitting in his uncle’s garage, dissecting computers and picking apart their innards. American TV shows play on the worn out screen of an old television set while they tear into a laptop. His uncle says the government spies on him through the built-in camera. He says they’re always watching, always lying. Now more than ever.

So he sits alone in his darkened bedroom. The screen reflects off the surface of his spectacles, more prominent in the void surrounding him. The scrolling lines of text make his head spin, but he finds in them a distraction. Perhaps publicly priding himself as a hacker was too controversial. ‘Social engineer’ had a better ring to it until someone bothered to Google it later, but he would not limit himself to a single title. Conforming wasn’t his style.

Damn kid, always in his room. I don’t have a son anymore.

Hey, four eyes. Watch where you’re going.

Lost in a crowd of commuters, he stumbles in the streets looking for answers, shoulders brushing with strangers’, feet heavy as he drags them across the pavement. No clear destination is set in his mind, but he hears his father’s voice calling for him. The guilty have to atone for their sins. What was another causality in the shrunken population of Earth?

What do I have to feel guilty for?

Engulfed in his own despair, he hardly notices the change in scenery. It’s a walking dream, and his clouded mind places him in front of his computer, face pressed against the screens until he merges with the binary. The darknet manifests physically in the form of a storm.

He feels the electricity run through his body and a blinding flash of light. Nothing is real. Not even the shadowy figure hovering over him.

His own voice calls for him to give in. Another yells his name. It isn’t robotic like the others. Instead, it pleads for him not to give up, that he will be taken somewhere safe soon, that there had been an accident. It fades with the cold drops of rain on his face. It’s then he decides he still wishes to live.

Hey, kid. Let’s start somewhere new.

The moment his uncle offers to have him move in with him somewhere across the ocean, he takes no time in agreeing. His own mother’s rejection and a near-death experience are all it takes for him to want to start his life over again ㅡ even with the phantom pains in his limbs.