#The Gahan is implied

[lienwyn]

Kang Yo Han in his natural habitat, as observed by Kim Ga On

OR

You want to fuck that old man so bad it makes you look stupid

[dms-a-jem]

That time Dave subtly flipped off the interviewer…

[gloriousmonsters]

gek from chessmen is one of the sci fi characters ever. detachable spider head guy who decided to ditch his cult/species because a girl sang pop tunes to him for a couple months. halts a desperate flight from the hostile compound for a minute so he can swap his head to a bigger, sexier body before going 'ok let's go'. pairs a newfound interest in justice, art, and Girl with still doing shit like being overjoyed at finding TUNNELS to scuttle through and eating rats (and rat pups) onscreen. gets put in jail and immediately begins gaslighting his captors by leaving his headless body at the table or just unlocking himself and leaving the room when there's only one person there, then re-chaining himself and going 'idk man you sound crazy' when the terrified guard brings back other people. gets left alone with a fulltime guard and he uses his limited powers of compulsion to make the guy give him his weapons, unchains himself and chains the other guy up, and stands guard at the door instead. actually escaping matters less than The Bit. can't emote in any visible way but is constantly full of emotions. gets accused of witchcraft and goes 'sure'. continually is the MVP of doing shit while the actual 'hero' is useless. i need to see him in a janky but impressive 80s practical effects style adaptation so bad

[breitweisergallery]

how k and yohan met

under the cut because this is a longer one:

There are few days in which Kyungju doesn’t think the world comes to a standstill. It’s been worse since his father’s death three years before; his mother sits in their house, an empty shell of what once was. Kyungju can barely remember the days when she’d hum to herself as she cooked, the days when she’d greet his father with a smile, when happiness filled their house.

Now, the walls and windows just feel cold. Could a house be filled with emotions if the emotions were a void, Kyungju wondered, because that was what it felt like—the white of the walls were an empty canvas upon which were meant to be drawn the happy family memories they would never have. His father would never see him graduate middle school or high school. His father wouldn’t be there when he enlisted and wouldn’t be there when he returned.

The grief that consumed his mother was overwhelming; he too had felt it before, that pervasive, inescapable grief that you could only feel you were drowning in. Kyungju had felt it after his father died, grasping at any piece of driftwood in the hopes of staying afloat. It had been school, at first, that had been his driftwood. It had been his perfect grades, perfect attendance, and the knowledge that his father would be proud of him that kept Kyungju forcing himself forwards, attending each day of classes and pushing himself to perfection each day.

He falters in high school. That perfection he strives for falls apart and it becomes a chore to pull himself out of bed. Kyungju is exhausted trying his best to remain perfect. It is remarkably unfulfilling, doubly so when there is no praise for it. There is no one to tell him good job, to tell him all his effort pays off.

He’s debating dropping out when he meets him. Him, so unlike anyone Kyungju has met before. He strolls into Kyungju’s life entirely by accident.

Kyungju takes one of the quieter streets, shedding the jacket of his school uniform. It will do little to delay how quickly anyone notices him to be a student skipping school, given the rest of his uniform, but it at least delays the knowledge of exactly which school. He folds it, neatly, and slips the jacket into his bag, shouldering the bag when he’s done. It’s only the hair rising on the back of his neck that clues him into the eyes on him and he turns to find a young man watching him from a window some ways down the street. The young man turns, seemingly called from someone inside the house, and when he turns back to the window, Kyungju is still staring at him in turn.

They make eye contact and, before Kyungju can turn to run, the young man winks at him, and turns in the window to whomever he’s speaking to. Kyungju recognizes her once she joins the young man by the window. Cha Kyunghee, the prosecutor who was the reason his father was dead. Cold indignation and hot anger floods his system at once. Kyungju ducks behind a wall and takes a deep breath.

He wonders, briefly, if his mother would even notice if he disappeared to prison for attacking Cha Kyunghee. He doubts it, and the thought turns from impulsive to serious, damn the consequences. But before he can do much of anything, Kyungju snaps back to attention at the hand that falls firmly to his shoulder. When he looks up, it’s the young man from the window, looking down at him.

“Don’t do something stupid,” the young man says quietly. That impulsive, hot anger rises in him again but the young man just holds a finger to his lips to shush him. “Whatever you think you’ll do, you’ll only be caught now. In your uniform, here in this public space?”

The anger fades back to a quiet, pulsing indignation and Kyungju opens his mouth to argue again. The man, again, raises his finger to his lips to shush him. “Plan,” he says softly, kneeling down to where Kyungju is behind the wall, next to him. Meeting his eyes levelly, Kyungju can piece a few things together: the man is younger than Kyungju thought, probably only barely old enough to have his ID, and it’s amusement twinkling in his eyes above all else. He’s not telling Kyungju not to do it. He’s just telling him to be careful about it. 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

hostage | kept

Read on Ao3

Warnings: past abusive relationship, stalking, blackmail, canon typical violence

Pairings: gahan, implied/referenced canon level of jaehee/sunah

Word Count: 4857

Don't be an idiot, dummy, he hears Soohyun say in his head, don't do something stupid just because you think it'll turn out good for you. I'm not always going to be there to protect you.

But then he thinks of Elijah, of the way she looks when she gets to actually be a teenager and not a creature of loneliness stuck in a house full of ghosts. He thinks of K and the way he's dedicated his whole life to a cause, just on the off chance he can get some measure of vengeance for what happened to his family. He thinks of Lawyer Ko, whose daughter died because of corporate greed and negligence.

He thinks of Yohan.

And he turns on the phone and dials a number he swore never to dial again.

Gaon looks down at the phone in his hand, rolling it back and forth between his palms.

Yohan had stayed with him that night, just sitting in silence until Gaon's stomach had growled. Then he'd helped him up, walked him downstairs, and sat him on a chair in the kitchen. Elijah had come downstairs and looked at him, before promptly declaring that Yohan had no idea what he was doing and went over to help.

He doesn't remember what happened between then and going to sleep and feels an unexpected pang at the thought of not being able to remember Yohan and Elijah trying to cook in the same kitchen.

What a wonder that must've been.

He gives himself a shake and looks back down at the old phone. Yohan had said he was going to wait to give it to the police until all of his contacts were in the new phone, but Gaon hasn't been able to let go of it. It clings to him like dust before a big thunderstorm, brushed away once but always returning. Inevitable.

No matter where you go, a horrible voice hisses, you'll never be able to run away from me. I'll always find you. Always.

He glances over at the door before he can stop himself. Yohan went off to work hours ago, there is no one here who would just barge into his room unannounced. No one is coming in. No one's going to come in.

He's hidden here, in these walls, behind this door.

For now.

He looks back down at the phone. The black screen leers up at him, distorting his reflection. His eyes look wrong, his face looks crooked, and in the way the light catches the very bottom of the screen, he almost looks like he's smiling.

Jung Sunah is a threat. Yohan has said he won't release the video, not when it could end with Gaon getting hurt.

But if he could eliminate that piece before Sunah puts it in play…

He glances at the door again.

Don't be an idiot, dummy, he hears Soohyun say in his head, don't do something stupid just because you think it'll turn out good for you. I'm not always going to be there to protect you.

But then he thinks of Elijah, of the way she looks when she gets to actually be a teenager and not a creature of loneliness stuck in a house full of ghosts. He thinks of K and the way he's dedicated his whole life to a cause, just on the off chance he can get some measure of vengeance for what happened to his family. He thinks of Lawyer Ko, whose daughter died because of corporate greed and negligence.

He thinks of Yohan.

And he turns on the phone and dials a number he swore never to dial again.

***

An alert pops up on K's phone the second the front door opens. Within moments he's called up the security footage from the camera on the gate and bites back a curse when he sees Kim Gaon leaving the Kang mansion.

He gets into his car, sets the phone to track his location, and calls Yoon Soohyun.

"Yes?"

"He's moving," K says, not bothering to say who, "do you know where he's going?"

Rustling on the other end as she must put on her jacket. "No, I don't. He hasn't called me. Did he say anything?"

"I wasn't at the house." He turns onto a small street and keeps driving. "I'm tracking his location."

"I'll ask Elijah and Oh pansa if they know."

He has to stop at a red light. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, watching the little red dot that is Kim Gaon make its way downtown.

"Elijah says she doesn't know where he is," Soohyun's voice says a moment later, "and that he needs to get home as soon as possible."

The light turns green. K drives. "What about Oh pansa?"

"Nothing yet. Have you told—"

"No," K cuts her off, "and he's not going to know until we know where he's going."

A pause. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Do you really want Kang Yohan on the warpath right now? With Jung Sunah right behind him?"

He can almost hear the face Soohyun makes through the phone. "No. No, I don't. Where is he now?"

K glances at the phone. "Somewhere near the luxury district. Right near the—"

A car rushes by in front of him and he jerks to a stop just in time, horn blaring off into the distance.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine." He looks at the phone. "He's right near the hotel at the edge of the river."

"What?" He hears a car door open and close. A second later the car starts and Soohyun's voice moves a little further away. "What is he doing all the way out there?"

K opens his mouth to reply when his phone buzzes. It's Elijah, wanting to join the call. Judging by Soohyun's sigh, she's getting the same thing.

"Should we let her on?"

"I don't think we have much of a choice."

Sure enough, without either of them doing anything. Elijah's voice rings out in the car. "He called someone before he left the house. Who did he call?"

"Can you still get into his old phone?"

"Of course I can, I'm not an idiot."

The corner of K's mouth tugs up into a smile despite himself. The sound of keys echoes over the phone as Elijah types away.

"Okay, let's see…it's a local number." She reads it out. "Do you know it?"

Soohyun's breath catches sharply. K almost takes a corner too fast. "What?"

"Aish."

"What is it, unnie," Elijah's voice says, growing shriller, "who is that?"

"Elijah, can you track that number too?"

"Give me a second," and the keys start up again. K grits his teeth.

"Who is it?"

"It's—it's him."

A light suddenly turns red. K jerks the car to a stop. His eyes widen, staring unseeing at the road in front of him. Soohyun is still talking. So is Elijah. He can't hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears.

It's him. It's him. It's him. It's him.

The light turns green.

K sets his jaw.

"Elijah."

"What?"

"Call him. Tell him."

A pause. He hears Soohyun's car rev up. Elijah's voice is cold, far too old, and far too hungry. At the moment, he can't bring himself to care.

"Make him pay."

As you command.

***

Yohan is not, in fact, at work, strictly speaking.

Instead, he is watching someone explain to him why this painting, this one, this will be perfect. It's another abstract piece, something other people of his station might observe as a critique of the real or some ineffable such babble that bores him to death. His facade of polite disinterest is enough to fool the gallery owner, peddling his wares the way an insurance salesman would target a widow at her husband's funeral. His eyes rove over the painting once more.

In truth, he's here because he needs the information.

There are a few circles that run amidst the high society of Korea's elite that are even harder to get into if you are not invited in. Some are benign. Others less so.

Jung Sunah's comments about hunting dogs awoke memories he would much rather forget, but they did serve a purpose, bringing back images of his father coming home with money in his briefcase and a suspiciously accurate foresight of just what would be happening in the business for the next month. He remembers Isaac saying he never understood how their father could be so sure about something as intangible as life and death, and wondering whether or not it was so unsure when there were so many ways people could die.

His niece is very good at what she does and there are only so many reasons why art galleries with laughable forgeries and questionable appraisers stay in business for so long.

He turns, cutting off the gallery owner's nonsensical blather and walks toward a piece in the far corner. It's an imitation of…honestly, he can't be bothered to figure out what it's an imitation of. It doesn't matter, anyhow. What does matter is the way the gallery owner suddenly chokes off at the way he stops in front of it.

"Th-that painting isn't for sale," the gallery owner stammers, "I'm afraid I've had other offers that are far too good to pass up, and—"

Yohan turns to look at him and the man falls silent. He watches the roll of his throat and looks back up.

"Are you…here on their behalf?"

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He holds it between two fingers and holds it out. The man takes it with trembling hands. He reads what's written on it. His eyes widen and he looks back up as the color drains from his face.

"Y-you're certain?"

Do I look, Yohan says silently, as though I have ever been uncertain about anything?

Luckily for the man in front of him, he seems to get that message quite clearly and nods.

"Right this way, sir."

***

Gaon tugs his suit jacket a little closer around himself and steps into the restaurant. The host takes his name and says that the rest of them are already seated, just upstairs, would he like to be shown to his table?

His gut curdles and he almost says no.

"This way, if you please, it's just up the stairs."

The opulence makes him sick. He would almost prefer if they were sitting in an abandoned warehouse, kilometers from help. He feels his eyes glaze over as they round a pillar to a table, full except for the seat at the very end, opposite the head.

And there he sits.

A smile spreads across his face as he sees Gaon there, waving lazily as the conversation amidst the others fades. He gestures toward the empty chair, but not before raising his eyebrow.

Gaon remembers.

He bows, allowing himself one final moment of weakness as he hides his face, before looking back up. "Hello, hyung."

"Kim Gaon," comes the response, "sit."

He sits, setting his weight down with careful precision and folding his hands in his lap. A waiter comes to pour his glass of wine and he quickly covers it with his hand.

"No, thank you, just water for me."

"Are you sure?" The voice from the other end of the table makes the unseen hand clench. "Quite rude of you to decline such an offer."

"I have to work this afternoon," he says, proud of the way his voice carries, "shouldn't indulge."

The pause is enough to let him know he's disappointed him, as are the whispers that he still has to work, how shocking, the poor boy declining to taste the richest wine he'll probably ever get to see. He brushes them off and instead politely thanks the waiter for serving his food.

Eyes watch him as he lowers his hand to take the first bite.

"So," one of the other people at the table asks, "are you two…involved? We've never even heard of you before you came to this lunch."

"Nonsense," another says, "this is Kim Gaon! One of the judges from the live court show! Truly one of the true scions of entertainment on those networks."

"Ah, yes, I've seen that show. Very interesting."

Gaon takes a deep breath. "Yes, I am a judge."

"Mm. Interesting career, a judge. Not very much money in it, is there?"

Another one snorts. "There is if you're smart about it."

I don't think you and I have the same definition of smart.

"But my other question," the first one says, pointing at Gaon with his fork, "are you two involved?"

"Not romantically," Gaon says in a still remarkably steady voice, "we've not seen each other for a while now."

He looks over unconsciously to see the eyes still watching him. A mouth quirks up into a humorless smile. "How long has it been now?"

"At least seven years."

"At least?" The fork gestures between them. "That's a while."

Doesn't feel like it.

"It's good to know you missed me that much."

Gaon blinks, looking back down at his plate. He picks up a small piece of food and eats it carefully.

"But you did date?"

He swallows painfully. "No."

"Always the cynic," says the mouth, "you made it sound like we barely knew each other. I'm hurt."

"I said we didn't date," Gaon says, looking up, "that our relationship wasn't romantic in nature. I didn't say we weren't close."

"Still. You sound so…detached."

He hates this. He hates this. He hates how quickly he's regressed back into being a frightened child, scrabbling at the walls. "It's not like the only significant relationships are romantic ones."

The fork moves again. "Ah, but your relationship was meaningful?"

"Oh, yes," says the mouth, taking another bite of food as the eyes look Gaon up and down, "very much so, isn't that right?"

"It certainly shapes the way I live my life now."

"Built it, you could say."

"…yes, you could."

The mouth hums and the eyes linger a moment longer. Gaon is drowning.

Then they move away and whatever conversation was happening before he came resumes. He looks down, carefully eating just enough to blend in and not too much to swirl the mania coiling in his gut.

It's for them. It's for them. It's for them.

"Hey," he hears after a while. He manages not to jump too much and looks up to see a woman on his other side leaning closer, "are you feeling alright? You're not eating that much."

He blinks in surprise at the genuine concern and tries to smile a little. "Yes, I'm alright. I just don't have a large appetite."

"That's new," the voice laughs suddenly from the other end of the table, "you used to eat like a pig."

The sudden and explicit insult draws all of the table's attention, the woman's mouth dropping open in shock. A hand simply puts a glass down and the head tilts.

"Things change," Gaon manages after a pause.

"Mm." The mouth smiles knowingly. "Not all things."

My name is Kim Gaon. I am a judge on the live court show. You can't hurt me anymore.

"We were discussing the work you did together," the man halfway down the table says, "about how you investigated certain insurance cases together."

Gaon's stomach begins to drop as he notices how tense he's becoming. He risks a glance around to see that most of the eyes are now on him.

He remembers the way all the rich people looked at him at that charity function. He remembers the way everyone looked at him when Kang Yohan revealed his parents' fate to the public. He remembers the way Yohan looked at him when he said he wouldn't be used as a tool to destroy him and Elijah.

He will not be used again.

"Sorry," he says, "it's been such a long time. I don't quite remember all the technical details. Hyung will, though."

"Oh, they all just blur together for me, I'm afraid." The expression sharpens. "It's so difficult to discern one experiment from the next."

Out of sight, his hand clenches into a fist.

"Oh, don't be jealous," the voice scolds, taking on the tone of a parent scolding a child, "you know you've always had my special attention."

A few of the guests titter. Gaon's chest clenches. Despite everything, he manages to hold eye contact. Something that these eyes aren't used to, and judging by the way they narrow, something they don't like.

An unexpected rush surges through him.

"You left so suddenly all those years ago," the mouth says, "you didn't even say goodbye."

Gaon draws himself up. "There wasn't much of a goodbye to say."

"Perhaps you're right." The head tilts. "After all, you never truly left, did you?"

He's not quick enough to stop his eyes from widening.

No.

No. I got away from you.

"Oh," the voice murmurs, deadly soft, "you didn't think we were finished, did you?"

"My involvement was."

"Nonsense," the voice laughs, "why would we let our most promising study go?"

No.

No.

No, no, no, no, no—

"You've had a good seven years, haven't you?"

He's miscalculated. He's been stupid and reckless and all the things he shouldn't have been and he's such an idiot.

A phone rings and he jumps.

"Ah," the voice says, "right on time. If you'll excuse us, the judge and I have an appointment to keep."

His body betrays him, moving on instinct as he gets up to follow the voice out of the room. As he turns, his eyes catch a glass of wine, shimmering in the light. The red liquid sparkles and dances as they walk past. A somewhat hysterical part of him thinks he might be limping, leaving bloodlike wine trailing behind him as they leave the restaurant and get into the waiting car.

At least, he thinks before the door shuts on the outside world, at least it's not them.

***

"He's moving again!"

"Aish, really? Where's he going?"

"Down to the industrial district. Where are you?"

"I'm still fifteen minutes away, where are you?"

"Construction has the traffic backed up, I'm stuck."

"What about the Chief, where is he?"

"I called him ten minutes ago, he said he was coming!"

"Call him again, tell him what's happening."

"Hold on, he's calling me, let me see—"

"Wait, ask him—! Aish, he hung up already."

"I'll see what they're talking about, hold on."

"Hurry up!"

"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying! Wait, they're done, he's—hold on—"

"Yoon Soohyun. Get a squadron and send them to the address in the text."

"What? Why? What about—"

"Elijah, leak the files you'll be sent to the media contacts."

"Answer her, K, what's going on?"

"Did you get them?"

"Yes, I got them, what's…oh."

"'Oh?' Elijah, what does 'oh' mean?"

"…you'll get him?"

"We will."

"Get who? What is happening? Why does no one ever tell me anything?"

"We'll tell you after."

"I'll hold you to that."

***

The car slows to a stop.

The door opens.

"Up."

He moves.

It's dark.

A hand on his face.

"You're even prettier than I remember. Fat, though. You really should stop eating so much."

He feels nothing.

"Come on. You really shouldn't have run away all those years ago. You've made me very angry with you. You know what happens when you make me angry, don't you?"

It's safer to feel nothing. If he feels nothing, he can't feel everything.

"Don't worry. You won't be making me angry ever again. You're going to make me very happy, aren't you?"

A light. A single light. Someone in a chair.

"You're going to behave."

A hand again, sliding down his back.

"I was very generous to you when you behaved."

The figure stands up from the chair and walks closer.

He should never have called.

"You know Kang Yohan, don't you?"

Gaon's eyes widen as indeed, Kang Yohan steps forward. He looks—he looks like Yohan. He looks like the man who stands in the courtroom as he sentences someone to 235 years in prison. He looks like the man who ordered Cha Kyung-Hee's son flogged in front of the entire nation. He looks—he looks—

He looks like Hyung.

Yohan raises his hand. Holds it out. A silent come.

He doesn't want to. He wants to run, wants to scream, wants to yell was it all a lie? Did you know the whole time? How long have you known, what did you do, how could you?

But Hyung's hand is on his shoulder and Yohan is waiting and Gaon can't do anything but step forward to take it.

He knows Yohan can feel the way he's shaking when he takes the outstretched hand. He searches his face desperately for any sign that this is a trick, that it's not real, that he's here to save him, not condemn him, and finds nothing. Instead, he's pulled closer until Yohan can reach up and touch his face, sliding the hand around to grip the back of his neck.

"Take him."

A sudden thud as a body hits the ground and Gaon whirls around to see K standing over a crumpled body. His eyes widen, seeing nothing more than the unconscious form of that—that—he's—Hyung is—

He's nothing but a body. Nothing but a man. All the pain and suffering he caused Gaon and who knows how many other people and right now, he's only a man.

He watches K drag the unconscious man away in a daze. They knocked him out. They hurt him. They hurt him and now he's not going to touch Gaon ever again and Yohan—

He turns to look. The person who held him in the bathroom and stayed with him that night looks back, hand firm and strong on the back of his neck. It's Yohan. Only Yohan.

He's safe.

He's safe.

The realization washes over him and he barely has time to register the alarm that crosses Yohan's face before blackness swallows him once more.

***

"You're so dramatic," Yohan says softly as Gaon finally wakes up, flailing a little in the covers before he realizes where he is, "if you wanted my attention so badly, you could have asked."

His boy just blinks up at him with those big sad eyes and mumbles something that could be his name.

"You're lucky I was already looking for him," he continues, "I was on my way when K and Elijah called me."

He has to hold Gaon down when he tries to get up.

"Yah, you fell and aggravated all of your injuries again. You need to stay put." Gaon pouts but lets him settle him back to the bed. "At this point I'd swear you like getting hurt."

He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. Gaon's breath stutters and he almost flinches away. He raises his hands instantly, leaning back to give him more space. Gaon takes a few deep breaths and screws his eyes shut, forcing whatever memories come to mind back into the depths.

"I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't." Another breath and he must make himself relax, leaning against the pillow and looking up at him. "What happened to him?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Did you kill him?"

"Did you want me to?"

Gaon chews his lip, looking away. One of his hands fiddles with a loose thread and Yohan feels the sudden instinct to cover it with his own.

"I just want it to be like he never existed," Gaon mumbles eventually, "like he never happened to me."

"I didn't kill him."

"Will you?"

"Do you want me to?" A moment passes before Gaon shakes his head. "Then I won't."

"Really? You won't kill him?"

***

"To tell you the truth, Chief," the art gallery owner says as he leads Yohan through the back to the business rooms, "they've wanted him gone for a while. He's been getting too big, too difficult to handle. They won't come after you if you deal with him."

"And what about the connections he has?"

"The Foundation, you mean?" The man scoffs. "We don't need them. They're trivial. And the project they're working on with the President and everything—child's play. They're not even optimizing it to make money the way they should be."

He opens a drawer and pulls out a file, handing it to Yohan. He looks through it. This should be more than enough.

"And the video?"

The art gallery owner sighs. "That'll be more difficult. The easiest way will be for Jung Sunah to claim it wasn't her and they hired a double. Some sort of sick power fantasy or fetish that can be written off as the act of a perverted crime lord."

Yohan hums, tucking the file under his arm. "I will take that painting as well."

"Don't bother." The man waves his hand. "Your father did more than enough to cover any debt you might owe for getting rid of a loose end. Consider us even."

He nods and turns to leave. As he closes the door of the gallery behind him, his phone rings.

Right on time.

***

The man jerks awake as K throws the bucket of water over him. He splutters and gasps like a fish as Yohan walks toward him. He scowls up and does his best to look intimidating, succeeding only to look like a drowned rat.

"You think you can get away with this?" He wriggles. "I have friends in places more powerful than you, Kang Yohan, you won't get away with this."

In response, Yohan holds out the file, fighting the urge to grin as the man's eyes widen.

"Where did you get that?"

"Your friends," he drawls, opening the file, "seems you're not on such good terms with them at the moment."

The man thrashes against the ropes. "You have no idea what you're dealing with."

He continues turning pages. "Market manipulation, embezzlement, narcotics…human trafficking, organ harvests."

He looks up when the sound stops.

"Quite the list."

"So what?" The man bares his teeth in a way that's probably meant to be threatening. "You'll drag me onto your little show and read off my crimes? It'll never make it to the air."

"I'm afraid you're out of my jurisdiction."

Confusion occupies the man's few remaining brain cells and Yohan folds his arms over the file.

"You've been called before an international court for your crimes."

The man laughs hysterically. "So I'm supposed to beg for justice in front of the world's court? Only a weak man begs for mercy."

Yohan looks at him for a moment. Then he nods to K. K steps forward and slices the ropes off. The man stands up, cocky, self-assured, still out of breath.

"Good thing you've come to your senses. I could've made life very difficult for…"

He trails off when he sees the last thing Yohan holds up. The blood drains from his face.

"Do you think," Yohan says softly, "that your friends are still your friends?"

The man splutters, looking up at him. "You told—"

"They knew. They knew you took a risk when you contacted the Social Responsibility Foundation. They knew you let an outsider know about you and them. And they know you gambled and lost."

Yohan tucks the photo away and looks at the man that hurt his Kim Gaon.

"If I were a kind man, I would lock you up and wait for the international court to bring you to justice."

He steps closer, close enough to let the man see beneath the mask.

"Tell me," he whispers, "do I look like a kind man?"

The pathetic whelp shudders and trembles. "Please, you have no idea what they'll do to me, you have to help me!"

"I thought only weak men begged for mercy."

"Please, please, they'll kill me, they'll—"

He doesn't hear anything else as he and K turn and walk away.

***

"Really," he says, reaching out and patting Gaon's shoulder.

His boy seems soothed at that, shoulders dropping as his eyes drift toward the door. Yohan turns to see what he's looking at, only to frown when there's nothing there.

"What?"

"He's gone," Gaon mumbles, disbelief lacing his words, "he's...he's really gone."

"Yes, he's gone."

"No one hurts me," he continues, looking up at him, "no one touches me."

Yohan nods.

After a moment, Gaon reaches for his hand and places it on his cheek again. Yohan's chest feels strange. Gaon doesn't look away from him, hand still covering his.

It takes one more breath for Yohan to bring his other hand up and cradle his face, just to hold him there.

"Thank you," comes his boy's voice. He can't do anything other than nod. "Will you say it?"

"Say what?"

Gaon squeezes the hand he's holding.

Oh.

Oh.

"You're mine," Yohan says lowly, holding him close, "you're mine now, Kim Gaon."

And Gaon smiles.

***

"He's missing," Jaehee says as she walks into Sunah's office, "and his contact lines have been permanently shut off."

Sunah pouts, idly flicking the spirals on the notebook in front of her. "Pity. I thought he'd be smarter."

"We're going to have to come up with a cover story for the video."

"No," she says, leaning back, "don't worry about the video. It won't come to light anymore, there's no point."

"But Kang Yohan can—"

"Kang Yohan got what he wanted, and he knows that leverage is no good against me anymore. Besides," she adds, her lips curling into a smile, "we've got something much better."

Jaehee furrows her brow. "What?"

"Our secret weapon. Planted where no one can see." She toys with the pretty silver cross around her neck. "Where Kang Yohan won't even think to look."

She giggles.

"He's just made it deadlier than ever."

[thedeviljudges]

I posted 2,423 times in 2022

786 posts created (32%)

1,637 posts reblogged (68%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@yilinglaozu

@technitango

@winteams

@kyunsies

@highflyerwings

I tagged 2,406 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#x - 2,320 posts

#the devil judge - 605 posts

#kang yohan - 191 posts

#gahan - 115 posts

#me - 98 posts

#bad and crazy - 96 posts

#monsta x - 94 posts

#kim gaon - 93 posts

#answered - 83 posts

#text - 79 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#and just fyi i wasn’t trying to imply that yohan doesn’t think formal is completely useless so i hope my response didn’t come off that way

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

what really gets me, and has for all of these years, is that the dbags have really said that billy, a teenager, an 18 year old, is irredeemable despite their actions saying otherwise. listen, i love steve, and i love harringrove, but what does steve have that allows him to be redeemed for being a dick in season one that billy doesn’t? do we want to compare who was worse and claim that billy’s actions were the bigger of two evils? okay, sure, let’s do that, but at 18 and having treated people not so kindly (bc of abuse, i’m not saying he’s bad, bad, just go with me here), does that still warrant his death? to be looked at unfavorably? when the average lifespan of an adult is far beyond the years billy got to see and live, years for personal development and reflection for those deeds and how he treated max? tell me how any of that makes sense? bc i s2g if an 18 year old acted like that, i would hope, for the sake of humanity within us all, he’d still have an opportunity to become a good person in society and heal from the wounds that caused those initial reactions to begin with. because that’s what we hope from people, especially teens who have not yet reached the stage of development, and have a life ahead of them to be the person they truly want to be.

ive said this for years now, especially after st3, the dbags can go fuck themselves, and their shitty writing. i understand not wanting to make a show super deep in meta, but at the very least, make your story and your characters make fuckin sense.

238 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

#4

See the full post

303 notes - Posted February 20, 2022

#3

See the full post

492 notes - Posted August 21, 2022

#2

See the full post

592 notes - Posted April 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

See the full post

840 notes - Posted February 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[no-disco]

the first 4 pictures: salut magazine 262 (x)

[yohansgaon]

Do you have any controversial opinions about The Devil Judge?

this is a tough question tbh because as a whole, the tdj fandom is pretty...level-headed. we all have our disagreements about things, but it's not so much controversy as it is we know our opinions differ on certain topics. that itself is one of my favorite things about being a part of this fandom. you rarely see discourse, and when you do, it's quickly shut down because we're just not here for that kind of drama

but i suppose i do have some opinions that a good portion of the fandom might not agree with? idk if you would even consider it that lol. anywho,

soohyun isn't default a bad person. she's actually really fucking human. i don't much care for her as a character, but all the manipulating she did to gaon was very human. she genuinely believed that what she was doing was the right thing, and because she didn't understand yohan, she saw him as the enemy. but the next part is where i think a lot of people might disagree with me: her most human moment in the entire show was when she used stopping talking to gaon altogether as an ultimatum to get him to leave yohan's side. you don't have to like or dislike her to acknowledge that she's a very realistic character

yohan sees a lot of isaac in gaon. i feel like people are afraid of accepting this because they think it implies yohan was also in love with isaac, which...it doesn't work that way. gaon and isaac are both very compassionate people with a very heated opinion on what is right and what is wrong. they both detest seeing others suffer. they both saw something in yohan that others can't. it is perfectly acceptable for him to fall in love with gaon because he shares traits that yohan happened to love about his brother too. it doesn't have to mean gahan is incestuous. the facts that yohan saw traits in gaon that he knew from isaac and that yohan is in love with gaon can and should exist in the same space and it's not gross to acknowledge this because love isn't just exclusive to romance and you can love two very similar people in two very different ways

the mentality that sunah is simply attracted to shiny things and that's why she was attracted to yohan irks me. i see this in tags every so often and it's probably one of the things i disagree with the most? she was genuinely in love with yohan. she saw bits of herself in him, like his manipulative nature and his vengeful tactics. she fell for him but she was also very, very jealous of him. using gaon to destroy him didn't work even when she thought it did, because there's never going to be a time when gaon is truly, wholeheartedly going to walk away from yohan, and she would never know what it feels like to not be lonely. if anything, she grew to acknowledge that all the shiny things she'd collected by the end of the show didn't compare to having actual love and affection, which yohan was never going to give her. she was also just very bitter that yohan did get his happy ending and she didn't

the female characters dying in the show weren't killed off because the writers hate women. don't get me started on this one. soohyun died because she meddled too much, minister cha died because she saw no other escape from the corner yohan and his team had backed her into. sunah died of her own volition because she wasn't going to lose to yohan even when she was facing the end. they were all very strong women and the show spared no expense making sure we knew that

gahan is canon. it's not fanon, it's not just queer-coded. it's canon. just because they didn't kiss doesn't mean they weren't in love. physical intimacy isn't the only indicator of romantic love

i agreed with every single one of yohan's decisions in the live courtroom. would have loved to see bamboo spear fried right there. gaon probably did save yohan in a way by stopping him, but i still would not have been mad if the execution had been finished

i see a lot of posts going on about how much yohan adores elijah and i 100000 percent agree but i have yet to see a post mention how yohan also continues to raise elijah for isaac. it's a given, but as dedicated he is to his niece, he's also got that same loyalty toward his brother

yohan is manipulative. he knowingly uses gaon, just like sunah and soohyun did. only difference is he did it for all the right reasons and wound up caring for gaon in the process.

i really can't think of anything else, and tbh most of these aren't all that controversial. i absolutely love being a part of this fandom and i'm not going anywhere because of how everyone just seems to be way more rational here than in the other fandoms i've been a part of

[b612sunsets]

Me to my brain after watching the tragic events of episode 12:

But what I’m doing instead? Yes, having to watch it again to make this analysis. F*ck my life. I didn't sign up for this, only for the fluff Gahan moments T-T *sigh* Alright, c’mon. Let’s rip it off like a band-aid. It will be a quick but long one, the angst is too much and the lawful husbands/family moments are just a few.

If I had to sum up episode 12 I would say it's an episode about the process of a couple, that love each other very much, breaking up. They had to go through it to understand their love and importance better and reunite again in the future without any doubts, remorse and regret remaining in their hearts:

I know the best friend meant well and I love you K, but you didn’t know that by staying with Yohan, Gaon has Yohan and Elijah. He wouldn’t lose everything. But I do get your point and the rest is valid.

Yohan sounding like a jealous/protective husband, their fragile state and emotions culminating into a fight and when Yohan notices Gaon is at his limit and implies that staying with Yohan is hard, he gets desperate of not losing Gaon and tries to make him stay while saying the wrong things at the wrong time because he doesn’t know how to deal with emotions and people very well, which leads to a break up that leaves both of them empty and heartbroken:

Another way of interpreting this “You can’t be my husband and be with her at the same time.” We see Yohan’s hopeful expression and the exact moment Gaon’s heart breaks after he processed that Yohan made him choose and he would start losing things/people like K had told him.

It pains him that the only way out is leaving Yohan for now and having to break his heart too.

The clenched fist.

Elijah heard their argument and was trying to find out what happened. She thought she finally had a functional loving family with two dads but they had a fight and one of them is moving out. Gaon felt sorry and tried to comfort her, inviting her to come visit from time to time but she’s upset and angry with him for wanting to leave their home (yes gaon, home is where your heart is and not the house you only talked about and remembered having at that moment), leave them. It breaks her heart too and Yohan feels even more hurt because it’s like he is failing them as a husband and father/uncle:

You guys do realize that what Gaon said here is what he wished he had told Yohan too, right?

I love subtext. Another way to interpret is Yohan convincing himself of it too, “He’s not my partner. I’m going to get hurt if I think that.”

I'm going to add the drawing wasn't from the moment Gaon was chilling with Yohan in his office like I saw some people saying. It was the moment Elijah talked with Gaon and approached him with the intention of becoming friends in episode 4.

It's not anyone's fault, all sides are understandable except for the villains that are only doing their roles as the villains, but as the wise fox from my favorite book The Little Prince once said "You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed".

The Prince tried and succeeded in taming the fox (and another little one), just to leave him for the rose:

Before all this happened the rose had abandoned the prince, so it seemed a little in vain to leave the fox for her. Funny thing, I only noticed the roses in the background after watching the scene again, I write most of the breakdown before taking the screenshots. Coincidence? I think not! There’s been so many real and fictional stories references in the Devil Judge, I think The Little Prince could be one of them:

Here the rose had confronted the fox and tried to make him leave the Prince before their break up:

Subtext again. The fox answer was “let go (of the car)” but he meant “let go (of Gaon)” too and she understood it.

There's the painful post break-up, they keep thinking about and missing each other, feeling sad. The prince made his choice, but tried to contact the fox instead of going after the rose to fix things with her and tell her it’s all over. Is he regretting his choice already and realizing his heart belonged to the fox all along? That the two foxes are his new world just like he is to them?

The Little Prince said “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” And the nanny (mother in law):

The husbands try to defend and speak up for the other to the same person (the annoying father in law):

Yohan is like “Just because I was Gaon’s daddy, doesn’t mean Gaon isn’t an adult, sir. That would be wrong and gross.”

Now he’s like “You heard about us from someone that is an outsider? The girl that has a one-sided love for him?”

One more, “I guess it’s more than that: you are in love with each other.”

Meanwhile, they almost die because apparently the world hates that they're apart as much as we do and makes all type of misfortunes happen at the same time (with a little help of a certain snake/Sunah and the president, that are trying to put an end to the prince and the fox):

That's it. That's episode 12 of TDJ.

As a final thought, Soohyun and Jungho: they judge based only on what they see, like Yohan said about Gaon. I don't hate them, but I also wouldn't miss them if they weren't in the drama anymore. I can sympathize sometimes, more because of Gaon who cherishes them a lot and if I was him, I'd do the same with a best friend and father figure whatever their flaws are as long as it's a healthy relationship.

Episode 13 preview: I'm dreading it but at the same time trying to not think about it until the day comes.

Who do you guys think Yohan will call to help him? He doesn’t have K anymore and Elijah wouldn’t be able to do it. I’m hoping he will call Gaon but Gaon is trying to run for his life too haha

Have the lawful family still happy and together to comfort your hurting souls, it was a remedy and soft moment for our hearts in the episode, very bittersweet:

Hope this cute little enchantment worked.

[ajokeformur-ray]

HC for Arthur dating a student.

I want him to choke me with those arm muscles

Implied NSFW at end.

Ohhhhh my goodness this boi is the sweetest, most supportive person over your studies.

He would always have your needs at the absolute forefront of his mind.

You can have the bedroom or the table or the kitchen counter or the floor or literally any other surface in the apartment to study on.

If you need to be alone to study, then Arthur would turn Murray all the way down so that neither of you can really hear him, and he’d do his absolute best to keep still and quiet.

There’s only so many places you can go in the apartment to get alone time, so small is it, and Arthur would always be really worried that he’s disturbing you just by sitting there.

If you need to be alone alone to study, then Arthur would leave the apartment and go elsewhere. He tells you he’s going to Pogo’s, but really he’s just wandering around Gotham aimlessly until the agreed upon time for him to come back.

The one and only time he actually did this, he got jumped and came back home covered in bruises; you made him promise to never do that again for you, and so far he’s honoured that, because a promise is like a vow in apartment 8F.

When you have an assignment due or some other project which requires hours upon hours of work, late nights and more coffee than is healthy, Arthur would stay up with you.

“How’s it going, Y/N?”

You sighed, tilting your head up so that you could look at Arthur as he put another cup of coffee beside you.

He rested a hand on your shoulder and squeezed comfortingly as he moved past you and went to sit back down on the sofa; you were using the kitchen counter as your study space.

“It’s… going.” You sighed.

“Need a hand?”

“Yeah, you could bribe my tutor for me?”

“Hmm… I have a gun?” Arthur quipped, “I could go by tomorrow.”

Your laughter at his joke, dry though it was, gave you the small shot of motivation which you needed to finish off your paragraph. You had done half of the entire assignment tonight, so you could take the rest of the night off.

“Okay, I’m done. No more.” You flung your pen down with the air of someone who knows they’ve done too much work and has just realised how tired they are, and messily gathered your materials, pushing them to the side in favour of going straight to the sofa and flinging yourself down on Arthur’s lap.

A breathy chuckle was your greeting as a hand smoothed down your hair before it came to cup the back of your neck.

“You work so hard,” the pride in Arthur’s voice made you smile, and you heard the breath leaving his body in a sharp exhale. “Let me reward you, hm?”

While you were studying your own thing, Arthur was studying the language of Y/N and he was becoming more fluent each and every day.

The Arthur Fleck/Joker Defense Squad @writings-of-a-gen-z                      @x-avantgarde-x       @insomniabird      @mavalenovaninagavi     @itwasrealenough     @morrisonmercurymalek     @rand0ms-fand0ms     @rafaelina-casillas     @aclownthing       @vivft                  @help-i-am-obssessed      @autumnaffection       @taintednihilist   @vladtoly   @mg-woolf99     @misstgrey92  @that-s-life   @dopey-girl-blogs         @seeking-dreamland      @sweetheart-syndrome      @heartxfdesire  @xmusichealsthesoulx       @0callmejude0      @the-one-that-likes-riddles        @hannibalsslut       @folliaght            @freeeshavacadoo         @bingewatchingmylifegoby       @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything  @okamiredfoxx       @sp0okysp0oky @the-pandorabox      @mardema  @jibanyyan        @honeyflvredcoughdrop         @emissarydecksetter  @jokerfleckk         @epidendroideae         @chuuntas          @stillmabel       @pumpkinpeyes       @onehystericalqueenposts       @the-jokers-wolf       @nalsswa  @justahyena       @arianatheangelworld @soullessblondbitch  @gothamslittlejester  @twentyonestarrynights @sirianfromsixties  @kissmeclownman    @joker-is-my-hero  @lazyloosah @lovesickkloxx  @ladylovelyluna      @live-love-loki  @clownerybbxx   @tragicarthur    @anmach123      @rommie-chan      @arthurflock     @lucyboytom              @anti-peach       @immortal-bi-bitch    @hearthurfleck      @crazieroutthere      @curlystark     @hailmary-yramliah    @sagyunaro     @playinthedarktillitsgoldenagain     @jokeringcutio      @xenthefox   @mijachula@stcrrynightsinneverlcnd      @cheyennejonas22    @mrjfleck      @pauli1100     @smitten-susie    @actualkey     @callmejokerfleck   @jaylovesbats    @itsforyoubitch      @ridiculousnerd     @killerprotector3579       @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend     @fantasticwinnerclodexpert                  @arthurs-sweater      @pinkie44pie    @tsukiakarinobara      @prettyxlittlexpsychoxprincess   @elodia-gahan   @yours-mia    @rustyt33th     @parkdonghoons      @lady-carnivals-stuff      @hobi-hobi-kyo-kkyu      @jupiturde        @incognitofish      @j-sux      @nothing-but-a-comedy      @tahliamalfoydepp 

[krinsbez]

Dejah Thoris (2019-) #1: An As-I-Read-It-Review

Y’all know the drill by now.

Preview: I’m not happy.

-Not dying. "Dying" implies a process of gradual decline, whereas Barsoom already suffered a massive ecological catastrophe that should've rendered the planet uninhabitable and was only held at bay by articial means. It isn't dying, it's dead and mummified, why do people have such difficulty grasping this?

-Note that, in contrast to the first Dynamite DT series, she is wearing a full-body covering in the snow.

-Bit puzzled as to what she's doing in an area with snow, when her people never went up there until after John Carter tore the status quo apart, but then I'm not exactly expecting canon compliance from any of these.

-Oh, they mentioned she's married and has kids, so this is later on, NVM.

-So she's at the South Pole? That's the Valley Dor, though, it isn't snowy?

-Huh, she pulled guns first, interesting.

-Interesting Apt design, BTW.

-Weird to have Red Men referring to each other by first name rather than the whole thing, But everyone has them doing it in adaptations, so I'll allow it.

-...No. "My princess" is what a Red Woman's lover calls her. This is a whole thing that was a notable plot point in the first book, how is it that people keep forgetting it!

-...wut. Kantos Kan is Jedwar of the Heliumitic Navy, what is going on?

-Oooh, I like how they're coloring Tara's skin. Though her title isn't Queen it's Jeddara.

-The hair is weird though. What's up with making her a redhead?

-A dynasty in exile? Someone other than Gahan is Jeddak of Gathol? What happened?

-OK, so this Kurz Kurtos person isn't Jeddak of Gathol, but somewhere else, and he's a problem for Our Heroes.

-Again, WTF happened?

-I'm...reasonably certain that, unlike her father and brother, Tara doesn't have superpowers?

-Continuing the drumbeat: WTF happened that someone has replaced Tars Tarkas as Jeddak of Thark?

-...Weak? Tars Tarkas brought the Tharks such prosperity they were able to increase their population by an order of magnitude?

-...Again, wut? Someone other than Tars Tarkas is Jeddak, but Tars Tarkas is still breathing? That makes no sense.

-No, they follow Jeddaks hwo bring them victory over their enemies and are able to hold off any challengers by force of arms. This is not a democracy.

-(I'm...preeetty sure thoats are guided by telepathy and no reigns are involved, but that's a minor detail I'm willing to overlook)

-Regardless; WHAT. THE FUCK. HAPPENED.

-Wut. I'm sorry. WUT.

-A: This isn't a democracy.

-B: Red Men adore their Jeddaks. They'll remain loyal to them even when they're incompetent, cowardly, bugfuck-crazy tyrants who allow whole regions of the nation to be reduced to cannibalism. And the family of Tardos Mors is A: the opposite of that and B: insanely popular.

-Climate change? Wut? THE. ATMOSPHERE. IS. MADE. IN. A. FACTORY (although there was a reference in one book that could imply they've built additional ones since John Carter took charge) How can there be climate when the climate is created and controlled artificially?

-Are...are they trying to be topical?

-They are, aren't they?

-Oh, for...

-OK, so they recall the Atmosphere Factory exists.

-Atom Cannons? What are those?

-Aaand I just realized this dude is weirdly pale.

-And again...wut.

-Zodanaga doesn't have a Jeddak, it's occupied by Helium.

-And even if they did, it wouldn't be ruled by a Thern or Orovar!

-What does the wants of the Jeddak of Helium have any effect on the keepers of the Atmosphere Factory?

[alanwilderslefteyebrow]

Alan: the stars look beautiful tonight.

Dave: yeah?

Alan: you know what else is beautiful?

Dave: *blushes* what?

Alan: the e-mu emulator II

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

hostage

Prompt: story idea for a story where (insert au here i have no ideas hfgkjdgh) versions of the side are all fighting some evil force. because evil. idk man im bullshitting my way through school AND this ask lmao. basically someone gets hurt/captured and someone else trades themself to get them back and then everyone else has to go safe them :0 /nf ofc just an idea :D - anon

you did say any fandom and I really missed this one :)

Read on Ao3

Warnings: canon typical violence, hostage situation, implied/referenced domestic abuse

Pairings: gahan, same ambiguity as the canon

Word Count: 5506

    The weight of the blade pressed against his throat makes it difficult to breathe. 

  The hand in his hair is cruelly soft, carding fingers through in a mocking imitation of a comforting act as a voice laughs in his ear. 

  “Oh, don’t pout,” Sunah purrs, lifting the knife a little higher, “you’re getting what you wanted. Look at how much attention you’re getting right now, isn’t this nice?”

  A soft coo as a whine gasps out of his mouth. 

  “Aww, look at you, you’re so needy.” She cards her fingers through Gaon’s hair again. “How do they put up with you?”

  At least it’s not Elijah, he thinks frantically, at least it’s not Elijah. 

  “You look so sad,” she says in a childish voice, “are they not treating you well?”

  In a sudden movement, the knife momentarily shifts as she straddles Gaon’s lap. Gaon tenses, a new kind of fear flickering across his face. Sunah seizes it, the curve of her posture speaking volumes about how much the power she holds thrills her. 

  “Do you want to be treated well,” she asks in a voice that makes his skin crawl, “is that why you’re being a good little dog?”

  Gaon’s breathing hitches. He bites his gag and doesn’t move. 

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Sunah says, tapping his nose, “don’t bark at me. Bad dogs get put down.”

  “We’re ready.”

  Sunah’s expression falls a bit, disappointed at having her game ruined, but she gets up and turns as Gaon sees a camera being wheeled toward them. His eyes widen. 

  They’re going to…film him?

  “Young Master,” Sunah says, smiling—yes, apparently they’re filming this and sending it to Yohan, this is going to end well— “how good of you to join us.”

  They must have started recording. The knife is at his throat again. He can feel it as he tries to breathe, tries to stay strong for the camera. Sunah presses the knife deeper, deeper, until Gaon finally moves his head to try and alleviate it and Sunah tsks. 

  “He’s quite skittish,” she remarks, hand traveling down to trace patterns onto the bare skin of Gaon’s throat, “I can see why you like watching him.”

  Don’t let them see you sweat. 

  His fist tightens. 

  Sunah’s hand is still moving, down toward the open collar of Gaon’s shirt. The camera can see probably see him fighting not to move, the threat of the knife keeping him still. 

  “You know what I want, Young Master.” The knife digs a little more into his neck. “I want you to play with me, not these dogs.”

  He feels the moment a trickle of blood drips down to his collar. 

  “Didn’t you kill one of your father’s hunting hounds?”

  The camera stops recording—had he ever seen it turn on?—and wheels away as Sunah pulls away the knife and wipes it off. Gaon watches as she chuckles and beckons to a few men standing off in the shadows. She looks at him one more time, the way most people look at a spider before they put it in someone else’s bed, and leaves him as their shadows close over him. 

————

    Not many things can rattle Kang Yohan, but a phone call from a crying Elijah does the trick. 

  He can’t make out most of it through the sobs—which isn’t helping at all—but the few things he can catch have him running for the car. 

  Attempted kidnapping. Kim Gaon. Hostage. Jung Sunah. 

  K’s voice comes over the phone next. Elijah and Judge Kim were out to run an errand with his cop friend, Yoon Soohyun. Judge Kim had stepped out for a moment to pick up something, leaving the two of them in the car. According to Elijah, a group of thugs had come to try and take her, but Judge Kim and the cop had fought them off. 

  His grip on the phone tightens when he hears that Judge Kim traded himself to make sure the cop could get Elijah home safely. 

  “Where are you now?”

  “At the mansion. Elijah and the cop are both still here. She’s working to calm Elijah down.”

  Yohan snorts. Good luck to her. 

  “And Judge Kim?”

  “Unknown, Chief.”

  “Find him,” he barks, already speeding down the road, “find him now.”

————

    Soohyun-unnie isn’t as good a cook as Gaon, but she says he taught her how to make simple things and the street toast sandwiches are pretty good. 

  Could do with less sugar next time. 

  “I can never get the balance right,” Soohyun-unnie sighs, leaning on her hand as she eats her own sandwich, “Gaon-ah always yells at me. I’m never trying to make his ramen recipe again.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, I didn’t mix the egg in right or something like that and he made me wait outside with his plants.”

  “Why does he have so many plants?”

  She shrugs. “He likes to take care of them. He’s very good at it. We all enjoy the things we’re good at, I suppose.”

  Elijah does enjoy her computers. And winning. 

  “Do you want another?”

  She shakes her head, putting her plate down in the sink and letting Soohyun-unnie give her a hot mug. “We need to find him, unnie.”

  “I know.” She looks over to where K is lingering in the background, on the phone to someone. Probably unnie’s boss. “I’m sure he’ll tell us if he finds anything.”

  “No! We should be doing something! We were there, we saw them, can’t we go find them?”

  “Did you see a car? A plate number?”

  “No, but I know their faces, I saw them—they were wearing dark clothes and carried baseball bats and—“

  “Describe their faces.”

  Elijah scowls. “You were there too, unnie, what are you talking about?”

  “But did you see them?” Soohyun-unnie looks at her and raises an eyebrow. “Can you tell me exactly what they looked like? What build were they, did one of them walk with a limp, how tall were they?”

  Elijah opens her mouth to tell her exactly what she saw, but she falters. Unnie just watches her, drinking her own tea. 

  This is stupid. She was there, she should be able to say what she saw. They were outside a convenience store, she could name the address, what car is Soohyun-unnie’s, they could—

  Wait. 

  “The cameras,” she blurts out, “the—the store had cameras. We can look at the footage! We’ll be able to see where they went!”

  “I’d have to check the systems—“

  “No, I’ll do it, it’ll be faster.” 

  Unnie just sighs and puts down her cup. “For the record, I did not hear that, and I will not be in the room while you magically come across the footage.”

  Elijah pays her no more attention, wheeling as quickly as she can to her room and setting her fingers flying across the keyboard. She hears muffled conversation and loud footsteps—her uncle must be home—and types in the things she needs, eyes trained on the screen. 

  Then she stops. 

  An email. 

  From an unknown address. 

  Frowning, she runs her scans on it—no malware or viruses detected—and hesitantly opens it. The body of the email is empty, no signature, no greeting, no text of any kind, and only one attachment. 

  Her cursor moves over and she runs the scan again. 

  Nothing. It’s just a video. 

  She clicks it. 

  And screams.

————

    Yohan is in Elijah’s room before the scream ends, bursting through ready to defend his niece from whatever must be attacking her, only to freeze. 

  Kim Gaon is on her computer screen, tied to a chair, gagged, with Jung Sunah holding a knife to his throat. 

  “Young master. How good of you to join us.”

  Footsteps as the others rush in behind him. He hears the cop gasp Gaon’s name. He watches her hand trail over the skin of Gaon’s throat, down to his chest, claiming and filthy and repulsive. 

  He knows what that touch feels like and for a moment, he’s seized by an unmistakable urge to cut her hands off. He savors it as Gaon flinches away and she chuckles. 

  “You know what I want, Young Master, I want you to play with me. Not these dogs.”

  Distantly, he hears K mutter to the cop about knowing where this building is, who to call. 

  “Didn’t you kill one of your father’s hunting hounds?”

  The video goes black, the sight of Gaon’s eyes still lingering on the empty screen. He sees his own face in the reflection and takes a deep breath. 

  “Find him,” Elijah’s voice says, smacking his arm, “find him and bring him home.”

————

    K has never enjoyed cleaning up the messes that he and Kang Yohan so often leave behind. 

  He likes it even less when it involves the rescue of a hostage. 

  The small broken body they find in a warehouse is no exception. Judge Kim is still tied to a chair, ankles and wrists mangled from thrashing against the restraints. His hair is matted and clumps are sticking up, coated in something dark. He’s breathing shallowly and something…something is making it hard. 

  K makes quick work of the bindings, carefully manipulating the slack limbs until they’re free. He can see the evidence of his torment just in the way his fingers have lost circulation. On his other side, Yohan’s jaw is tight as he checks for a pulse. 

  “Is he good to move?”

  A sharp nod and K begins to take off his coat. He wraps it around Judge Kim’s bruised and battered form and helps get him into Yohan’s arms. Without a word, they know that the doctor will need to be called as soon as possible. 

  The drive to the mansion is tense, quiet, none willing to break the silence. Every so often, a stuttering breath will draw their attention and Yohan will carefully shift Judge Kim so he can breathe easily. 

  They manage to get him into the bathroom, laying him down with a towel to support his head. Despite rescuing him from the explosion, Judge Kim looks breakable there and K decides he never wants to see it again. He glances over to see a similar conclusion forming on Yohan’s face. 

  “Call the doctor,” he hears himself saying, “I’ll see what I can figure out.”

  Yohan nods sharply—the only way he’s been able to, apparently—and sweeps out of the room. K takes a deep breath and slowly pulls away the fabric of the coat. 

  He remembers something someone had said, an eon ago.

  Dead people don’t look like people, they look like things. 

  Here, now, lying on the tile, Judge Kim almost looks like a thing. 

  K swallows and gets to work, pulling away the last of the fabric, making sure Judge Kim can still breathe. He winces as his hand brushes something wet and it comes away red. He turns his head carefully to the side and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees it’s just a patch of his hair, dragged through a small puddle of water from under the sink. He takes another breath and turns his attention to the mess of his clothes.

  As soon as he begins to tug at her buttons, Judge Kim mumbles. 

  “It’s okay, Judge Kim,” he says, “the doctor just needs to—ah!”

  He’s cut off when he flails suddenly, striking out at him with a strength that catches him off-guard. He muffles a curse and quickly reaches out. 

  “Relax,” he tries, catching hold of him before he can hurt himself, “Judge Kim, you’re safe, it’s okay, calm down—“

  “No—no, no, stop, please—“

  “You’re safe, Judge Kim, you’re not there,” he tries again, “stop, you’re going to hurt yourself—“

  “Let me go—you—you—you said if I was good you wouldn’t, I didn’t do anything,” Judge Kim sobs, “please, please—“

  “It’s me, it’s me, Judge Kim,” he tries desperately, “wake up, it’s okay—“

  “Hyung, please!”

  K freezes. Judge Kim is looking at him but his eyes are glazed over. He stares through him without seeing him and whatever—whoever he’s seeing isn’t good. This is bad. This is really bad. 

  “…Judge Kim—“

  “I’ll be good,” comes the broken voice, “I won’t fight this time, I promise—I’ll—I can be good, I can be good.”

  K can only let go of his wrists, watching in a stupor as he goes limp, trembling on the cold floor. 

  “Please,” he sobs again, “what—what did I do wrong? I didn’t mean to, I—I didn’t mean to, please—please—“

  Heart in his throat, K watches in a horrified numb state as Judge Kim slowly lapses back into sleep, body exhausted. He swallows with difficulty, moving back. His head still rings with the pleas. 

  He is not too proud to admit that he underestimated Judge Kim. But he never imagines he would be hiding something like this. What else is he hiding?

  Footsteps approaching and he swallows again as Yohan walks into the room. 

  “The doctor will be here shortly,” he hears, “how is he?”

  “Hurt,” K says unhelpfully, “really hurt.”

  Yohan raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps we should strive for a more detailed report next time,” he says lightly, reaching for Judge Kim’s clothes. 

  In a flash, K catches his wrist and pulls him back. 

  “Don’t,” he says firmly, ignoring the look of surprise, “don’t touch him.”

  He knows that Yohan can tell something’s happened—he can count on one hand the times he’s grabbed him like that—but he just nods. K lets go, feeling Yohan settle into place beside him. He can feel Yohan ask the question wordlessly, wanting to know what’s rattled K so badly that not only has he not done his job, he’s prevented Yohan from doing it as well. 

  He tries to find words. 

  He tries. 

  He tries to put into words how it felt to have Judge Kim suddenly surge to life underneath his grip, terrified of someone he couldn’t see. 

  He tries to put into words how it hurt to hold him still, keep him restrained, when it looked and felt like nothing more than adding to whatever torment they’d put him through. 

  He tries to put into words the way his heart damned near stopped as Judge Kim cried out for someone to stop. Someone he couldn’t see, someone who wasn’t there, someone who had left a mark so deep into Judge Kim’s mind that now, after everything that’s happened tonight, it is there that he found himself. 

  He tries. He can’t. 

  Yohan doesn’t say a word beside him. He doesn’t need to. He’s never needed to ask a question twice, K knows, not of him. Once K knows he wants something, he’ll get it one way or another. 

  Only this time, K doesn’t know how to give it to him. 

  He could describe what happened, make it cold and impersonal the way they both know how, but that would only turn Judge Kim into a thing. 

  He could ask Yohan knows any of Judge Kim’s former hyungs, but the word seizes his tongue and refuses to roll off of it, rendering him speechless. 

  He could say he doesn’t want to tell him. 

  Even as he thinks it, he has to hold back a scoff. 

  Something like that would never work. 

  Some hysterical part of him says that he should let Yohan find out for himself. Let him be the one to see Judge Kim writhe and beg and plead for mercy from a demon so vast it seems to swallow him whole. Let him try and keep him from hurting himself only to feel like he’s the one who did this to him, the ones they can and can’t see. Let him be stunned, struck with equal curiosity and terror that the sweet judge that never fails to make Elijah smile could hide something like this. 

  Part of him wonders if Yohan would be better at it. Would know what to do, how to hold him so he doesn’t hurt himself as he struggles in the grip. How to speak softly yet firmly enough to pull him out of the demon’s hold. Maybe he would glance over at K as if to say ‘this is what you were so worried about?’ He thinks he could be relieved by it. 

  Part of him thinks that Yohan would freeze. That he would hear the sobs that choke out of Judge Kim’s throat and be stunned stiff by them, unable to reconcile the gentle smiles with the war-torn pleas. That he would never again be able to look at him without seeing his terrified face, the way his gaze rent him asunder, and wonder if that’s how he saw him too. 

  K wouldn’t wish that on anyone. 

  So they sit there and they wait, as they did in the car, for the doctor to arrive. 

  He knows as soon as the doctor asks them to leave that Yohan is still expecting an answer. In a rare burst of defiance, he turns away from the closing door and marches off. Not to leave—he’s not that brave—but enough to put distance between him and that room. 

  If Judge Kim wakes up again while the doctor is conducting his examination, K doesn’t want to be anywhere near earshot. He’s not sure he can hear it a second time. 

  He stalks to the kitchen and blindly opens a cabinet, groping for a glass. He shoves it under the tap, uncaring that water splashes onto his hand as he fills it up. It’s cold. It’s wet. That’s all he needs it to be. 

  He drains half of it in one gulp, panting, then the other half. It rushes down his throat and with it goes the remnants of the word. 

  He doesn’t understand. He can stay the name of the woman who murdered his family. He can say the names of the men and women who would happily watch the nation burn just to fatten their own pockets. He’s said the word ‘hyung’ before. 

  Never before did it cling to the inside of his mouth with such revulsion. 

  He doesn’t need to turn around to know Yohan’s followed him. The man has a presence, something Judge Kim had remarked on early in their relationship. He’s tangible, almost, as if you become attuned to him and his whereabouts as he moves. 

  He can feel it now, over his shoulder, leaning against the door to the kitchen, waiting. Probably wondering the same thing K is: what happened in the few moments that he was away, what possibly could have caused such an extreme reaction?

  The water doesn’t give him any answers. 

  He swallows the vestiges of the revulsion and turns, keeping his head bowed. 

  “I can find them,” he says instead,” they shouldn’t be difficult to track. That area has enough security cameras that the coverage should have caught some of it.”

  Yohan hums, pushing off the wall. “It would also help to look at the video they left us too, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Considering you pointed it out, it would only make sense for you to include it.”

  “Yes.”

  They stand there for a moment, still. Silence seems to cling to the pair of them tonight. 

  “I doubt it will get done if you just stand there,” comes the tease, “or are you waiting to be dismissed?”

  The first question, he’s sure, one of many. And he could leave now, deal with the smug smile of being caught off-guard, and find the bastards he can punish for hurting Judge Kim, but no. No, he can’t leave. Not yet. Something keeps him rooted to the floor, stuck, even as Yohan tilts his head. 

  “I should wait,” he settles on eventually, “to hear what the doctor says.”

  There. A partial truth. He’s gotten good at those. 

  Just not as good as the man in front of him. 

  “I can send you an update when I get it,” Yohan says, taking a step closer, “and I’m sure Judge Kim would be grateful if you were already looking for the people that hurt him when he wakes up.”

  K swallows, still looking at the ground. Yohan keeps coming closer. 

  “You seem quite concerned,” he says, “over Judge Kim. Are you worried about his security? Do you think someone is going to try and come here to finish the job?”

  Well, he wasn’t. 

  “You never displayed nearly this much worry for Judge Kim before.”

  Oh. That’s what he thinks this is. 

  It’s not an irrational conclusion to jump to, considering what this must look like from the outside. And it’s true, K and Judge Kim had gotten off to a rocky start, but they’ve warmed up to each other now. 

  “Should I worry,” Yohan says, a smirk audible, “that if it comes down to choosing between him and me, I won’t be the person you save?”

  If this were a normal conversation, K would snap back. Say that how could he be, when Yohan would always save Judge Kim? Say that after his reaction when the bomb went off in the office, he’s in no position to talk about surprising amounts of concern. 

  But this isn’t a normal conversation, something Yohan picks up on when K doesn’t react to the teasing at all. 

  “He’ll be okay,” he says, a little warmth injected into his voice now, “they just wanted to send a message, not kill him.”

  K just nods. 

  Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Yohan pause, narrowing his eyes and looking at K. He lets him look, not that he could stop him, and hopes against all hope that he won’t ask. 

  He knows when Yohan takes another step closer that his hopes will wither as soon as the other man opens his mouth. 

  “Something happened,” Yohan says, not a question but a fact, “when I called the doctor. You looked like you’d seen a ghost when I came back.”

  He reaches out to tip K’s chin up. 

  “You still do.”

  And there it is, the tiny bit of concern that makes it through the remains of Yohan’s mask. He lets K go but stays close, waiting for K to explain. He should, it isn’t good to keep something like this inside him, it’s already eating him up. 

  But even speaking it about it feels like a betrayal. 

  K feels like crying. 

  Yohan must see because he reaches up, a hand on K’s shoulder now. His touch feels warm and part of him cringes away from it. Judge Kim is still upstairs, reeling from whatever demons have haunted him for who knows how long, and K is the one being comforted. And yet he can’t bring himself to pull away. 

  “What happened,” Yohan asks, impossibly soft for the two of them, “what happened?”

  K shakes his head. “I can’t.”

  “You can tell me,” Yohan assures, “I’ll fix it, whatever it is, we can fix it.”

  “I can’t,” K repeats, “I—it’s not mine to tell.”

  Yohan’s eyes widen. He can practically see the man trying to put the pieces together in his head, of why K is so shaken by what happened tonight and why he’s refused to tell Yohan. The hand on his shoulder never tenses, never hurts, but there’s something else there now. 

  “I’m sorry I ran,” he mumbles when the revulsion gives way to shame over his tongue, “I just…I couldn’t hear it again.”

  Yohan shakes his head; the apology isn’t needed. K watches his expression flicker. His curiosity isn’t sated, not by a long shot, but he won’t press K for anything else right now. 

  K loves him a little bit, just for that. 

  “Did the doctor say how long it would be? Or take?”

  Yohan shakes his head. “It shouldn’t be much longer, though.”

  He glances up. 

  “Do you want to check?”

  K swallows and squares his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

  “You can wait here if you want.”

  K shakes his head. If Judge Kim can carry that much hidden behind kind words and sweet smiles, he can bear this while he’s in pain. 

  Luckily, it is quiet when they return to the hall outside the room. Yohan folds his arms as they wait, K pulling out his phone to distract himself by looking for whatever goons hurt Judge Kim. They can’t touch Jung Sunah, not yet, but they can get rid of her pawns. After a moment, he feels Yohan’s gaze on him. 

  He glances up. Yohan doesn’t look away but meets him steadily. The glimmer of concern still hasn’t left. 

  Maybe this, this one look into just how much they don’t know about Judge Kim will be enough to make them consider changing that. 

  Even if K can never hear him say the word ‘please’ again. 

————

    It’s not as severe this time, the doctor had said, he’ll need a few days to recover from the bruising, but he shouldn’t need any bed rest. 

  See, Yohan thinks as he stares down at the prone body, you should be fine. Now wake up so I can scold you. 

  But Judge Kim, obstinate and disobedient Judge Kim, does not move. 

  Wake up. Wake up now. You need to wake up. Elijah needs to scold you too. So does your little cop friend. You need to wake up and stop avoiding us. 

  Nothing. Not even a twitch. 

  Elijah has been in here too. She’s asleep now—at least she should be, the cop had promised to try and get her to sleep. The cop is still here too, downstairs working with Lawyer Ko on how to pin this on Jung Sunah somehow. He should be down there too, figuring out why she made such a risky move by sending him the video with her in it, what she’s playing at, what she’s hoping for. Or out with K, hunting. 

  But instead he’s here. On the bed, again, waiting for Kim Gaon to wake up. 

  You didn’t need to have another injury to stay here. Elijah would be so upset if she found out that’s why you did it. She already told me to bring you home, do you think she would let me let you leave? 

  When did you get so close to my niece, Kim Gaon? I never told you to do that. And now she bothers me about eating and sleeping properly. She never used to do that. She bothers K about it too. 

  I didn’t tell you to get close to K either. 

  K…K had come back just long enough to see Gaon settled into the bed before disappearing again. The haunted look on his face still hasn’t left as far as he knows.

  What did you do? What happened in the two minutes I was not in the room? You’ve been keeping secrets from me, Kim Gaon, I don’t like that. When you wake up, you need to tell me everything. You should do that now. Wake up so I can scold you for keeping secrets from me. 

  The door swings open behind him and he doesn’t have to look to know it’s Elijah. “You should be asleep.”

  “I was. I woke up.”

  “Go back to sleep.”

  She doesn’t listen—not that he expected her to—and wheels over to stare at Gaon. She’s been crying. She reaches out to touch his hand. 

  “Wake up,” she orders, giving it a little shake, “you need to wake up now.”

  Nothing happens for her either. He should send her back to bed, make her sleep, but he doesn’t. 

  What have you done to us, Kim Gaon?

  He doesn’t know how long they sit there, long enough that Lawyer Ko comes up to tell him he’s leaving, that the cop comes up to see him too, that K comes back. 

  It is very, very late when Kim Gaon finally stirs. 

  Elijah shrieks his name and he winces, trying to sit up only for the cop to bark out an order to stay still, you big dummy, you’re hurt!

  “I know,” he mumbles, “kind of hard not to notice that.”

  “You’re an idiot,” Elijah declares, “you’re stupid.”

  “Yah, I just woke up! Are both of you teaming up on me?”

  “Yes,” they say at the same time and he rolls his eyes. 

  “You’re okay,” he says softly, reaching out for Elijah, “that’s good.”

  “You’re not allowed to get hurt,” she says, even as her hand trembles, covering his, “you have to come home and stay here where it’s safe.”

  Yohan can see Gaon’s breathing hitch when she calls the mansion home and the cop quickly puts her hands on Elijah’s shoulders. 

  “We should let him rest,” she says, “he needs to heal so we can yell at him properly.”

  “Make him stay,” Elijah calls as she wheels out, looking over her shoulder, “he needs to stay.”

  “Where exactly am I going to go?” Gaon grumbles as the door closes. 

  When neither of them says anything, he looks up. 

  “Is something wrong?”

  He hears K withdrawing discreetly. He’s going to have to ask what happened eventually, no one gets to keep secrets about Judge Kim from him anymore, but for now he focuses on the stupid man lying in the bed in front of him. 

  “You cannot afford to be reckless,” he says, watching Gaon’s expression darken, “what were you thinking?”

  “They were going to take Elijah.” His jaw sets. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

  “Why didn’t you call for help, then?”

  “What would you have done? You were miles away, so was K, no one else was around. If I hadn’t done anything—“

  “If you had gotten in the car and driven away—“

  “Then they could’ve reached in and gotten her!” Gaon glares up at him. “I was keeping her safe, Soohyun-ah did the right thing, she drove off with Elijah so they couldn’t get her—“

  “But they got you.”

  “So?” 

  Rage flares and he stands up. “So you cannot afford to be so careless with your own life!”

  “What, so I should’ve just let them take Elijah?” He struggles to sit up more and Yohan just pushes him back down. “I should’ve let them take her?”

  “You’re missing the point.”

  “I don’t think I am. You’re angry at me for getting hurt but I got hurt so Elijah wouldn’t. Isn’t that what you want? You want Elijah to be safe! She is safe!”

  “But you were not!”

  “So?”

  They both stop, breathing hard. Gaon just scowls harder, pushing against his hand. His skin is warm and slightly damp under his palm, heart thudding against his ribs. 

  “So what,” he repeats, quieter now but no less enraged, “so what? Do you just want to have your Left Associate Judge look all pretty and be set dressing for you? Huh? Is that it? So it won’t look too empty?”

  Oh, this stubborn, fierce, beautiful boy…

  “My face is fine, Chief Kang,” Gaon borderline snarls, “they’ll put makeup on me and the collar of my robes is high enough to cover the cut. I’ve had worse than this. I’ll be fine for court.”

  He’s still panting, still straining against the hand on his chest. But he’s tiring, anger only giving him a short burst of energy as his arms begin to tremble from the weight of him. Yohan slips his other arm under his back to catch him when his left elbow buckles, lowering him back to the bed with his arm still there. The imprint of the mark left from the explosion is still there, just barely. 

  Like this, he’s closer now, able to feel Gaon’s chest heaving against his side as well as his hand. He’s bruised, painted awful shades of green and yellow and purple. None of which are good colors for him. His eyes drift upward to the crimson scratch on his throat. 

  His hand moves, tracing upwards, until he can reach for it. Gaon tenses and he looks at his face, seeing apprehension as he carefully touches the mark. 

  “They hurt you,” he says, voice lowered too, “she hurt you.”

  The roll of Gaon’s throat works against his hand. 

  “No one gets to hurt you. No one gets to touch you. Do you understand?”

  Gaon’s jaw wobbles but he nods. 

  “Say it. Say you understand. No one touches you. No one hurts you.”

  “No one touches me,” his boy repeats, “no one hurts me. I understand.”

  “Good.”

  You will pay for this, Jung Sunah, he promises as he traces the mark again, you will suffer for it. 

————

"You called me 'hyung.'"

Gaon's eyes widen. There's a faint ringing in his ears and he stares at K. Thank god Yohan left for work hours ago. "I..."

K glances at the door, making sure Elijah isn't going to come in. "I didn't tell him."

"Thank you."

"But you should tell him soon."

He bristles. "And why should I?"

"Because would you rather he finds out about it first, or Jung Sunah?"

...right.

When he doesn't say anything for a few more moments, K sighs. "Can he still hurt you?"

Gaon's silence is pointed.

"A name."

"No."

"Then give it to Kang Yohan." K's eyes bore into his. "You know what he'll do."

Gaon can't be sure who he's talking about, and he's not sure it makes that much of a difference.

[hjvpasquale079-blog]

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Aimlessly combining Bicentennial Park, the farmers market buildout, Key Road beautification, parks and also water center connections, Coyle web site sewer charge disclaimers as well as the supplementing business TIF well being handouts, exclusive celebration tools leasings, overtime as well as a travel and entertainment account luncheon everywhere, Gahan has invested effectively north from $30 thousand because January 1, 2012, on really wants, instead of requirements. Obviously, the factor of hiding it-- of delivering corporate tax discounts, mention, as opposed to dealing with the corporate income tax, or even dramatically limiting deductions instead of eliminating them-- is actually accurately to trick individuals politically into presuming the arrangements are still there. She managed to transmit her limerence on to a brand new guy fairly swiftly however never ever told me. So while I was going cold turkey she had actually presently gone on. Because we devoted a lot less and also a lot less time with each other, I discovered myself getting assertive and also conniving. Our company are actually certainly not anticipating that to have any sort of effect as well as I assume I mentioned to you final time our experts fulfilled and also I have actually claimed that a couple of opportunities, the individual is actually today our Body Operator, utilized to run our rev ops staff and also has belonged to the AICPA task force on 606 for a few years. She might locate this somewhat difficult in the beginning as a result of practice once she feels the electrical power from her Dark owner and also experiences the contentment and pleasure that simply a Dark proprietor may offer she is going to overcome these sensations conveniently but till then she have to obey her manager word for word or even endure the consequences. Secret to our thinking is that durable costs in the fluid credit markets is functioning as reputable competitors to the conventional Straight Loaning required; all at once, there has actually been actually a ton of funds raised in the marketplace to comply with the opportunity about which our experts have actually been actually communicating, particularly in the little offer measurements cosmos as well as in Europe (where our team think that there are today greater than 70 Straight Lending funds, lots of multiples from where our company were simply a couple of years ago). Only take into consideration that, on the front end, International financials are today enduring negative down payment fees; additionally, the German bund, as a proxy for the lengthy end of the curve, is actually producing merely 0.46%, compared with our theoretical market value of closer to 140 manner factors, highlighting our viewpoint that there is actually substantial advantage to European Financial profits over time (Exhibit 107). I likewise like a 'Net sales each square feet' metric, especially as DG looks to set up a leaner, more effective design for its own brand new places (especially in city locations!) Tracking this worth can verify beneficial when examining the business's prospects down the road, however, for this write-up, I didn't utilize that. I calculated a WACC of 11%, which I used to then rebate my predicted cash flows, causing an organization worth from $33B and an implied share rate from $112.58. At the current cost, this leaves approximately 19% valuable still accessible to grab. My child received her gift, however I have actually simply received an email (after investing over 4 hours complete on the phone along with customer support over the past 2 full weeks) that mentions, and also I price quote directly, "Regrettably our experts are not able to issue the refund of $85, which was promissed to you previously.

[loribos]

New Post has been published on Toronto Events, Activities and Entertainment

New Post has been published on http://www.torontonicity.com/2017/08/18/beach-chair-lager-from-p-e-i/

Beach Chair Lager from P.E.I. Now Sold in Ontario

By Lori Bosworth

For many, the season of summer is synonymous with beer. Beer goes with so many summer activities including attending a Toronto Blue Jays game, having a backyard barbecue or visiting friends at their cottage. Hot, humid days seem to lose their edge once you take a sip of an ice-cold beer. Craft beers are all the rage, but it’s hard to know which craft beers you will enjoy and there is now such a huge selection available. Recently, we got a chance to try Beach Chair Lager from PEI Brewing Company.

Beach Chair Lager is light and clean tasting.

Just like the name implies, this East Coast lager is light and refreshing, although still maintaining a full-bodied taste. Beach Chair Lager is not bitter and there are no after notes. It’s the perfect beer for hot summer days. Even one of the non-beer drinkers in our group enjoyed this lager, so it’s definitely a beer to keep on hand for a variety of guests. And one of its outstanding features is it’s the first craft beer produced in Atlantic Canada that is available in a can.

Beach Chair Lager from PEI Brewing Company

Beach Chair Lager is now available at select The Beer Store locations in Ontario. It’s a great beer to bring to a cottage if you are attending as guests since it has a real summer taste to it.

The PEI Brewing Company won four gold medals at last year’s Canadian Brewing Awards, making them Canada’s most awarded brewery in 2016. In addition to Beach Chair Lager, the company brews the Gahan Line of Handcrafted Ales, as well as Rogue’s Roost. 

Beach Chair Lager

Pick up some Beach Chair Lager at select The Beer Stores and share your pics on social media with #ShareAChair .

Follow Beach Chair Lager on Instagram: @peibrewing Twitter: @peibrew Facebook: facebook.com/peibrewingcompany

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

one, two, three, four

gothic horror is not frightening because of the monster, gothic horror is frightening because the monster is you. your loss, your pain, your grief, your horror. the parts of you skulking in the shadows of a haunted house that is only haunted by that merciless clench of the jaws of time. it's the scared child and the mourning mother and the hunger buried deep in your gut and the terrible emptiness in your chest at the end of the day. you can never look directly at them and so you must search. you have to care, to look for a way to heal the hurt, you have to be human.

you have to be achingly human to survive gothic horror.

Or, a poltergeist, a spirit, a memory, and the lonely soul trying to put pieces into place.

also known as it’s gaon’s turn for me to spend too long thinking about and now y’all get to read the results

Read on Ao3

Pairings: gahan, can be platonic or romantic i don’t care

Warnings: implied/ref child abuse but what else is new, implied/ref suicide attempt

Word Count: 3687

The first ghost is a poltergeist.

 Doors are slammed in the middle of the night, jolting Gaon from his sleep. Temperatures drop as soon as he steps into rooms, the air conditioner turning on full blast, even in the middle of winter. Noise makes it impossible to focus and every time he tries to clean something, he’ll turn around and it’ll be all dirty again.

 The day the ashtray is picked up and dumped on him, he’s had enough.

 He goes into the garage and finds a bag of rock salt for the driveway. He sets it near the doorway and goes into the living room to find the iron poker by the hearth.

 He pretends not to hear the angry creak of floorboards behind him.

 The salt he places next to him, taking a handful of it to sprinkle against the windowsill. He works slowly, methodically, the poker relaxed in his other hand.

 He pretends he can’t feel the icy cold breath on his neck.

 He keeps going, taking another small handful for one of the doors. He crouches, spreading it evenly, taking his time making sure the line is drawn neat and precise.

 He pretends he can’t tell the ghost is already on the inside of all the lines he’s drawing.

 When he returns to the desk for another handful of salt, he pointedly ignores the open drawer and takes the salt to the last door. He couches down, the poker almost clattering to the floor as he works. He stands up when he’s finished and doesn’t even blink as the bag of salt is thrown across the room. At least he remembered to close it. He just tights and puts the poker back by the fireplace.

 “There isn’t a need for all that,” he says calmly, “you don’t frighten me.”

 The bookshelf begins to rattle.

 “Or that.” Gaon sits down on the couch and watches the books rattle behind the glass. “If you want to read, we can sort that out, but you shouldn’t throw a tantrum.”

 Then he hears the footsteps behind him and gets up to see a stern older man glaring at him from behind wire rimmed glasses.

 “Hello,” he tries, “my name is Kim Gaon.”

 “Get out,” the man snarls, “get out of my house.”

 “It’s not your house anymore,” Gaon says, not unkindly, “it hasn’t been for a long time.”

 “I should beat you for that,” the man growls and suddenly there’s something glowing in his hand.

 Gaon looks and swallows his fear as the meter stick curves wickedly from the gloved hand. Its silver is almost knifelike in the darkening room. The man notices his gaze and raises it threateningly.

 Gaon looks back at him. “Go on, then.”

 The man snarls and the meter stick flashes out and—

 It stops.

 About a centimeter from Gaon’s face.

 The man is panting as if he’d just run for hours, sweat beginning to bead on his brow as the meter stick trembles. Gaon looks at it and him for another moment.

 “Is it because of my face?”

 The man snarls and turns his back. Gaon watches him closely, looking at the way the meter stick is still trembling.

 “Did you hate him because he reminded you of what you’d done,” Gaon asks, “or of what you’d become?”

 “You insolent brat,” the man hisses, whipping around, “have you no respect for your elders?”

 Gaon shakes his head. “You didn’t answer the question.”

 The man steps forward but doesn’t threaten Gaon with the ruler again. “You failed. You tried to keep me out.”

 “No,” he corrects, “I wanted to talk to you. And you still haven’t answered my questions.”

 Something in the man snaps, then. Not in that he explodes, no, but something…something gives. He wilts slightly, the meter stick now hanging limply at his side. He won’t meet Gaon’s eyes anymore.

 “He was going to kill Isaac,” the man mumbles eventually, “he—he was going to kill him. I couldn’t—I couldn’t let that happen.”

 “He was a child.”

 “I could tell.” The man’s head jerks up again. “He—he had so much of me in him. I could tell. That was the only way it could go.”

 Gaon waits a moment. “…is that what you told yourself?”

 The man flinches as if Gaon had struck out at him. “He…he always looked like me.”

 He blinks at Gaon.

 “He always--you always—Isaac always looked like her.”

 “But she was gone,” Gaon says softly, “and you took your anger out on what you thought was the reason she left.”

 The man opens his mouth.

 “Not the boy,” Gaon says instead, “but the pieces of you you saw inside him.”

 There. The man crumples, falling to his knees and bringing one hand to his face. Gaon takes a deep breath as the ghost’s emotions wash over him. It is not his job to forgive, nor his responsibility, even as the man sobs about how much he wanted her back, how much he missed her, how much he hated himself for not being able to do more. At last, he says something about not knowing what to do and Gaon crouches.

 “You have to let go,” he says, “you can’t keep yourself here in this house. It’s done, it’s over, you can’t change it.”

 “But if I could save her—“

 “She’s been gone a long time. So have you.” Gaon gestures around. “You’re both on the same side, now. Why are you still here instead of going to her?”

 The man flinches. “She won’t—she won’t want—what if she’s angry at me?”

 Gaon reaches out. “There is no use remaining here. Go. Find her. If she’s still the woman you loved, you know something about that.”

 The first ghost is the quickest to deal with and fades, leaving the meter stick behind on the floor. Gaon picks it up carefully and cleans up the salt, boiling some water and carefully wiping it down. He places it back in the desk, where it can do no more harm, and sets the salt back in the garage.

 The house is a little warmer after that.

 The second ghost is a spirit.

 Plants are covered in the lightest touch of frost when Gaon tends to them. A deck of cards is laid out on the desk, slightly haphazardly stacked as Gaon comes into the study. One of the teacups is turned to the left as he goes to clean the shelf.

 He’s not surprised, then, when he turns into the study one day and sees an almost mirror of his face turning to look at him.

 “Good morning,” he says, “I’d offer you coffee, but…”

 Isaac laughs. “I appreciate the sentiment. I promise I won’t be offended if you have one, though.”

 Gaon ends up on the couch, a mug grabbed, filled, and cupped between his hands as Isaac sits on the chair across from him.

 “It really is…uncanny,” he mumbles after a minute, “I mean—I’ve seen pictures, but…”

 “But it’s another thing to actually speak to them, hmm?” Isaac tilts his head. “How do you think I felt, watching you come into this house for the first time?”

 “Given that I don’t really remember that—“

 Isaac hums. “You were hurt, yes. Though I must say, I’ve never seen my brother be quite so concerned over a stranger before.”

 Gaon pointedly ignores that comment, instead taking another sip of his coffee. “So you’ve been here since…”

 “Since the fire, yes,” Isaac says softly, “but I can’t remember all of it. I…mostly, I just remember watching…her.”

 They talk for a while about his daughter. About Kkomi curling up in Elijah’s lap, about watching her learn how to paint for the first time, how much she’s grown.

 “Have you seen her paintings?”

 He shakes his head. Isaac smiles at him.

 “There’s one in particular you should see,” he says in that soft way that means he’s not going to tell Gaon anymore about it, but he’s quite sure it will be something Gaon will enjoy.

 Isaac doesn’t always have enough energy to stay around for very long, but his presence is always the strongest in Elijah’s room. Gaon finds himself knocking on the door, even when he isn’t sure if the ghost will be there, just out of politeness. Isaac comments on it once, saying that he’s never quite gotten used to someone actually knocking on a door.

 “Believe me, I know the feeling.”

 But Kang Isaac is hiding behind a different kind of mask than the one the other ghost did. One that Gaon only knows how to recognize from years and years of wearing a very similar one himself.

 “Why are you still here,” he asks as kindly as he can when he next finds Isaac in Elijah’s old room, “what’s keeping you?”

 Isaac is quiet. Then he chuckles ruefully. “You really are a persistent one, aren’t you?”

 Gaon stays silent, waiting for an answer. Isaac’s shoulders slump after a moment, his hand on the bed, staring at the pillow as if Elijah will appear.

 “I don’t regret a lot of things,” he settles on eventually, “not when it comes to her. My—my wife and I, we…we did our best for her. She knew she was loved and I think…I think she was happy.”

 “She was,” Gaon says softly, “she knows.”

 Isaac’s jaw clenches. “But with Yohan…”

 The name rings in the room like a thunderclap.

 Isaac turns to look at him. “He never told you about what happened, did he?”

 “…which part?”

 Isaac laughs humorlessly. “The part where it was my fault he was raised in an abusive home with a father that hated his very existence.”

 “…what?”

 “Our father tried to abandon him,” Isaac says, staring into nothing, “in a cold wooden box, on the floor, still wrapped in a blanket. I stopped him, ran past him to hold my brother in my arms. I was crying. I didn’t understand how my father could just leave him.”

 The room begins to grow colder.

 “How could I have known,” he says, bitterness beginning to leak into his words, “that I was bringing a child back to a father who despised him so much he locked him in the basement, beat him, abused him until he believed he was a monster?”

 Gaon swallows. “You couldn’t have known. You were a child too, Isaac. You can’t be blamed for the actions of your father any more than he can.”

 Isaac turns to look at him. “Do you know what he said when I asked him why he was doing this?”

 Gaon shakes his head.

 “He said it was for me. That he was doing this to protect me.” Gaon does know that, but he reaches out still as Isaac begins to claw at his arms. “So I—if I was out of the way—“

 “Hey,” Gaon says firmly, “don’t do that, you’re already dead, stop.”

 Isaac stops, a laugh sobbing out of his throat, now. “Can you imagine how frustrating it was to die when I finally wanted to live? For—for so long, I…and then…”

 Gaon wishes he could reach out and coax Isaac’s hands away from his arms, but he can’t. Instead, he carefully sits down on the bed next to him.

 “It’s like you said,” he says gently, “you couldn’t have known. And there’s nothing you can do now, not while you’re still here.”

 Isaac frowns at him. “You can talk.”

 Gaon shuts his mouth.

 “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you couldn’t say Yohan’s name,” he says, “not that you’re still here too.”

 “Mrs. Ji and I take turns looking after the house,” Gaon says instead, “and I’m still working in Korea.”

 Isaac glares at him through his tears.

 “I keep in touch with them,” he continues, “I’ve called them so you can still see them before, you remember? I’m…I’m not going to lie and say it’s easy, but…”

 “…but I can’t stay here,” Isaac finishes, looking sadly at the floor.

 The room warms slowly as Isaac begins to fade.

 “Tell her she’s loved,” he murmurs, “won’t you? When she—when she gets scared, let her—please let her know she’s loved.”

 “I will,” Gaon promises.

 “And you must cook every warm meal you can for them. They don’t remember how. Take care of them, please.”

 “I will.”

 “And—“ Isaac reaches out and his hands almost brush Gaon’s shirt— “look after him too.”

 Wait, what?

 “He’s going to be alone now, and he’s still very scared, please, promise me you’ll look after him.”

 Isaac fades completely before Gaon can ask who he’s talking about.

 The third ghost is a memory.

 Rooms start to feel cold again, even if only for a moment. He thinks he catches glimpses of things moving and ignores them, only to frown when they still seem to hesitate. He leaves things open, purposefully sloppy until he can tell what this one might want.

 He finally gives when he notices a deck of cards spread out as if someone had shoved them to the floor in a panic.

 “Here,” he says softly, “will you play with me?”

 Without waiting for a firm answer, he begins to set the deck for Solitaire right there on the floor. He lays them out carefully and pats his knees.

 “You just gave to get all the cards organized in ascending order from Ace to King by suit,” he says softly, “and you can only move red on top of black in descending order on these piles.”

 He starts to move them slowly, patting his actions as he does. He feels a breeze beside him as he plays, occasionally asking if there’s a move he can make that he can’t see.

 They end up winning that game and a breeze ruffles through the cards as he picks them up.

 “Do you want to play again?” Another breeze across his shoulder. “Okay.”

 The suggestions come quicker and quicker each time they play.

 After a while of this, other things in the house start to move. A few of the books in the bookcase that press against the glass. Gaon leaves them out and spies a bookmark in one of them later. They read together one day, Gaon’s back to the study desk to give the ghost some privacy.

 He has a pretty good idea about what ghost this is, but enough of one to know that he can’t push this. Not at all.

 Gaon can’t deny the rush of warmth that goes through him whenever he sees little bits of evidence of the ghost’s preferences. One book is placed on top of another. The throw pillow is on one side of the couch. The curtains have been pushed aside. Protectiveness swells in him and he don’ts bother to stop it.

 His patience is rewarded when he walks into the study to see the cards laid carefully out for Solitaire and a dark-haired boy sitting behind them. The boy looks up. He’s tense, fear barely hidden behind an impassive mask.

 Gaon smiles and slowly crosses the room to sit beside him. “Why don’t you move the cards today?”

 They play several games. Some they win, some they don’t. But if Gaon sees a small smile on the boy’s face when they win another one, he’s counting that as his own win.

 When it gets too dark to see, they stop.

 The boy turns and looks up at him. “Are you going to leave now?”

 “Leave,” Gaon asks, swallowing the rush of hearing him speak for the first time, “what do you mean?”

 “Everyone else in this house left.” The boy shuffles and they both know he’s talking about the living and the dead. “So when will you leave?”

 Gaon swallows. “I’m going to stay with you, if you want, until you want to leave.”

 The boy looks at him, and oh, oh, that expression was developed young, it seems. Gaon huffs a laugh, and sure enough, the ghost’s hands have already begun to fade.

 “There’s no one left here,” the boy says as his voice starts to fade too, “you should leave. Why are you still here?”

 “No one should have to leave alone,” Gaon mumbles.

 The boy scoots a little closer to him. Gaon puts his arm out to lean against and they both enjoy the illusion of contact before the boy is gone.

 Gaon knows the answer. This is his role. He is left. He stays. He has work to do. His job isn’t finished. He is the one left behind along with the house of ghosts. Him and the memories of what once walked here.

 When he wakes the next morning, the house is warm and Gaon is cold, cold, cold.

 He makes the bed on autopilot. He eats because it’s a habit and he has to. He cleans away the cards and does up the curtains. He clears away every trace of the ghosts and his presence and slumps on the couch. He pulls the throw pillow into his lap and buries his face into it.

 He has become the ghost that haunts these halls.

 Part of him wants to conjure up another ghost from his memory to help him leave too.

 So he does. He buries his face as deeply as he can into the throw pillow and imagines Yohan walking into the room. He imagines him pausing, torn between bemusement and annoyance, then him sighing and leaning against the wall.

 Gaon-ah, he imagines him saying, what are you doing in my house?

 Gaon doesn’t want to imagine saying anything back. He doesn’t know what he’d say. Instead, he imagines him coming closer and standing in front of the couch,

 That’s a very plush handkerchief you’ve got there, he imagines him saying, I don’t think you’re going to fit it in your pocket to carry around with you.

 When he still doesn’t reply, he imagines Yohan sitting on the couch beside him, having it dip under his weight.

 What’s the matter, baby deer, and this isn’t real, so he can imagine Yohan being as soft and sweet and worried as he wants, why are you crying?

 This isn’t real, so he doesn’t have to be embarrassed about ranting about how he’s cold, he’s been left here to be cold on his own, he misses him, has he messed up enough for him to come back? He’s crying too hard but he imagines being coherent.

 He imagines Yohan reaching out slowly, almost timidly, resting his hand in the space between Gaon’s shoulder blades and rubbing small circles. He imagines it being warm, solid, real.

 But this isn’t real and it doesn’t matter.

 “What would you want, then, if this were real?”

 He wants Yohan to be here. He wants Yohan to hold onto him and not leave again because it’s cold here.

 “It’s difficult to hold you when you’re all wrapped around a pillow.”

 He wants that too. Wants stupid arguments over something unimportant where it doesn’t matter who wins.

 “Oh? Is that what you want? I’ll fight you over the pillow, it really is too big to be used as a tissue.”

 He imagines a soft tug on the pillow and clutches it tighter.

 “Give me the pillow.”

 He holds it tighter.

 “Come on, don’t be stubborn.”

 But Gaon has been stubborn his whole life and he’s certainly not about to stop now.

 “Alright, you asked for it.”

 A sharp tug suddenly dislodges the pillow from his grasp and he lets out a surprised yelp as it flies out of his hands, almost dragging him with it. He collapses in an ungainly heap against something that should be on the other end of the couch but isn’t.

 He looks up and—and—

 “Still so clumsy,” Yohan says, brushing his hair out of his eyes, “it’s just a pillow.”

 Gaon just stares. Stares because Kang Yohan is actually here, this is real, he’s real, he’s here, he—he—

 “You’re real?”

 If this were still the imaginary Yohan, he would laugh or smile and make some remark about Gaon being tired or confused. Instead, his expression softens and he squeezes Gaon’s hand.

 “Yes, Gaon-ah,” he says softly, “I’m real.”

 And now Gaon doesn’t understand why Yohan still sounds sweet and worried or why his clumsy fumblings end up with Yohan guiding his head to his shoulder and holding him.

 “Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, careful and tender, “I’m not mad. You’re okay, you can cry. Just hold onto me.”

 Gaon clings to him and refuses to let go. Yohan just shifts until they can both lean against the back of the couch.

 Gaon still can’t believe he’s real.

 Yohan pauses when Gaon says that out loud, before letting out a sigh and carding his fingers through Gaon’s hair.

 “I’m real,” he says into Gaon’s head, “I’m right here. You’re holding onto me, we’re both on the couch. This is real, Gaon-ah, I’m here with you.”

 Gaon works his head into the crook of Yohan’s neck and presses his nose into the warmth.

 Yohan hisses. “You weren’t kidding about being cold, your nose is a piece of ice.”

 He tightens his grip.

 “Why are you so cold?”

 Gaon swallows. “There wasn’t anything to keep me warm.”

 Everyone who kept me warm left, he doesn’t say, but judging by the way Yohan’s hold tightens even more, it doesn’t need to be said.

 “You should take better care of yourself,” he scolds without any real heat, “baby deer are likely to freeze.”

 “So don’t leave.” Gaon shuffles closer. “Keep me warm.”

 “Brat.”

 But Yohan doesn’t move away. He tucks his head against Gaon’s and his breath warms the back of Gaon’s neck. His hands run warm up and down his back and Gaon melts into it.

 “Crying can be tiring for babies,” Yohan says softly after a while, “if you need to rest, you can.”

 “Don’t leave,” Gaon makes him promise, and he doesn’t. He curls himself around the ghosts and they breathe in the warmth.

inspiration for the summary taken from this post!