#black ceramic knives

[chronically-ghosted]

Third Base.

rating: 18+, explicit

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 9K

summary: after the last session went awry, you and max don't know how to be around each other. two months after a blow out fight, max catches you in the parking lot and decides it's time to talk.

warnings: angst, is that plot i smell? period sex (oral), impossible positions but he has super strength and doesn't breathe so shut up, semi-public sex, car sex, some briefly scary imagery (it's a dream), monsterfucking, mentions of a car accident and injuries related, arguing, max being a dick

a/n: MASSIVE shoutout to @jupiter-soups , @beardedjoel , @gasolinerainbowpuddles , @covetyou and @huffle-punk for giving me their blessing to do a vampire + period sex fic. The discord ladies really came in clutch here 👌i hope this makes you as horny as that thread made me

i wanted to get this out by halloween, but that didn't fucking happen so here's a fic that mentions halloween as a plot device. fun fact: orgasms can bring on your period early so no it’s not your 🐈 that’s sore it’s your uterus lining shuffling off

Prev | Next | Series Masterlist

🤍Masterlist

You’re warm. Everything is warm. You’ve sunk beneath a fresh layer of volcanic ash, heartbeat pulsing with the lazy roll of molten lava at the heart of the mountain. Hands outstretched, you can’t find the edge of the mattress because there isn’t one. 

There is only warmth and rocking, gentle waves.

There is only this.

There is only him. 

Shoulders hunched between your legs, his tongue is a hard muscle, leverage against which you grind and shift and when you find that spot together, you throb in sync with the rush of blood to your cunt and sink a little deeper into the endless sheets that flutter against your skin like paper in the wind. 

Your lips form the shape of his name but in the sigh that leaves your mouth, you can’t be sure if you called out to him or if everything coherent had been swallowed up in a cry of listless pleasure. But he responds all the same. The vibrations in his chest between your thighs, his tongue wrapped around your clit, nearly tear you over the edge that very second – you cry out, not wanting this to end, not wanting to leave this hearth of him, folded over you as if you were made of fine ceramic and he was a fiery kiln. You arch, your release dangerously close, and his grip around your thighs tightens, tightens, pulling you deeper down into his face, his nose, that wicked, wicked tongue, and his grip tightens and it hurts. His fingers, his nails, pinch down into you, your flesh swells between his knuckles as if he’s going to tear straight through your skin, your muscles, your bones – and you yelp. 

It’s not fun any more.

You struggle, but he’s on you too tight, a riptide sucking you under. You try and kick him off, push him off with your hands but it’s no use.

Everything is cold and metal and it hurts and you’re begging him to let you go, let you live, when those fangs, as sharp and jagged as steak knives, suddenly embed themselves in your thigh. Your hips jerk with the force of it, with the agony as he slices your femoral artery and drinks deep. And then he bites your other thigh, tearing through your flesh, turning the cradle of your thighs into dripping viscera. 

Max, you think you beg, the fight all but drained out of you as your blood flows freely from between his fingers, from the gashes in your thighs, your throat, your wrists. He’s torn out chunks of you and swallowed them whole. 

Max.

The creature lifts its head, its eyes blood-red, pupils black as the darkest night, mouth twisted and wrenched open screaming, four glistening bone-white fangs, dripping blood, your blood, your life, your flesh. Begging won’t save you now. 

It snarls, the sound pinching off like a dying woman’s scream, inch-long talons tearing up your hips as it crawls forward, crawls into your throat and just before it delivers the killing bite, it whispers:

You asked for this.

The first thing you see when you jerk out of the nightmare is the crease of your pillow, looking up at it from the plush of your mattress. Your cheek smushed into your blue sheets, duvet tangled between your legs, the horror of the nightmare still pressed into the corners of your brain like a tacky, sticky film, you can’t quite understand what you’re looking at. The adrenaline is fast in your blood, heart pounding, your unconscious mind unable to determine what is real and what is not, safety or danger, and your fingers dig into your sleep shorts, arms tucked up underneath you. You blink twice, the headache from yesterday returning, your swollen, black eye almost immediately painful, and then you realize the pounding you hear is not your final heartbeats, but someone at your door. 

That buzzing is not the last conscious thoughts in your head fizzling out, but your phone on silent, humming incessantly. Groaning from the pins and needles that shoot up your arm after having slept on it all night, you flop onto your back, your other wrist twinging painfully in its flesh-colored wrap, as you crawl to the edge of your bed – which is thankfully in sight. You can’t pick up your phone with your dead-fish arm and your twisted wrist so you answer the call without looking and put it on speaker.

“Hello?” 

“Why aren’t you at work?” His voice is clipped, short, pissed. As if he was your actual boss and not the sales manager, while you worked in legal. After the dream, it immediately sets you on edge. Every major part of you is sore and hurts, either from the accident, or sleeping so hard you figured you briefly went into a coma. 

“What’s it matter to you? I called my department and told them I’d be out.”

“Yeah, and I had to find out from Tim.” The pounding from down the hall gets louder and suddenly you connect the two. It should be illegal to be this furious minutes after waking up. “Open the door,” he snaps into the silence over the phone. 

“Are you fucking serious right now? You’re at my apartment?”

“Yes, now open the fucking door.” 

You chew your lip because you genuinely do not want to see him right now. There’s a reason you called Tim to pick you up after someone T-boned the back of your car yesterday evening and the plausible excuse is that he lives in the same apartment complex as you. 

“Open the door right now or I swear –,”

“Alright, jesus. Gimme a fuckin’ –,”

You shrug on your cardigan, hissing as you bend your shoulder. 

“What was that?” You swear his voice takes on an edge, catching on something and tearing just enough to let something vulnerable bleed through. 

“It’s nothing – I –,” you twist your other shoulder into the arm of the cardigan, the phone pinched up against your ear. “Jesus – okay, fuck this, just stay there and don’t break down my door.”

You pound the red button with your thumb and launch your phone onto your bed before you limp lightly down the hall, the weight on your right ankle just a little less than on your left. It’s half a second difference in your regular gait, but something tells you he’ll know.

He’s across your threshold before you have the door fully open, glaring around your dark apartment as if it personally had a hand in keeping him outside in the hallway. There’s something frenetic in the way he moves, in the way he stands, even if he is completely still. It’s the same sort of wired energy that is usually reserved for end-of-quarter deadlines, isolated to sustained knee bouncing or wearing out the spring of a pen with one too many clicks. Max is . . . uneasy.

“Well?” He rounds on you, hands on his hips, as if you’d just been caught pilfering through the company supply cabinet for ink cartridges to sniff and get high. You’d never been on the receiving end of Max’s bad temper before – in fact, you’d been the solution to it for quite some time now. You’d seen him go off on a vendor that screwed up an order or chew out the competition, but not this. Not that tense jaw that can’t find a place to settle, eyes narrowed in warning. Don’t test me. 

“Well, what?” Maybe you should have changed out of your pastel blue pajamas before coming to face your co-worker/occasional sex-fiend/boyfriend(?) but it’s too late now. You try to stand as tall as you can, arms crossed. 

“You wanna tell me why you weren’t at work today and I had to hear from Tim – fucking sandwich-eating, wormy-mustache, sword-dildo Tim – that you’d been in a goddamn car accident.”

“It was minor and he lives in my building,” you respond, chin high.

His eyebrows arch as his mouth twists indignantly. “So minor your car wasn’t drivable?”

Point 1 for Max. You bristle, fighting the heat on your cheeks. “It was just easier to call him. He picked me up, dropped me off with some painkillers and some juice, and left. I didn’t fuck him if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

He picks up on a thread you didn’t expect him to follow. “He gave you . . . juice?” 

“Yes. His sister is a nurse and it was something about the adrenaline and sugar in orange juice – and I don’t know – it was comforting, at the time.”

“Comforting?” He asks like it’s a foreign concept. Something alien and unnatural. “What, like he gave you a hug or something?”

Your stomach turns on something sour. “Sure, Max, yeah. He could see I was upset and he did the terrible, horrible thing of giving me a hug when he saw I was in pain.”

“So was it a minor accident or not?” He takes a step forward and you remember how much bigger he is than you. How wide his hands are. “Fuck, can you turn on a light? I’m fucking straining to see anything.”

The migraine had set in moments after you closed the door behind Tim and like a creature retreating to lick their wounds, you shut off every single light in your apartment and close the blinds tight. You stick a comment about vampire sight up between your teeth and switch on the lamp by your couch. 

You catch a glimpse of that pretty face cut with sharp, angry lines and flared nostrils, before it flickers, fades out when he spots the black eye, the wrist splint you forget to hide with your sleeve before it’s too late, the way you hold your weight off your sensitive ankle. 

For some reason, you can’t look him in the eyes, so you watch as the taut line of his shoulders deflates, his wide hands with his thick fingers slide bonelessly off his hips, how he stands up right instead of that aggressive forward lean, reserved only for what you thought he saw as enemies.

He swallows whatever was sitting behind his teeth and stares.

Where he had been even temporarily vulnerable with you days ago, it’s your turn to shy away, hiding your tender spots. 

Guilt washes up to your eyeballs the longer he stares silently, taking in every bruise and bump. You hate the fact you feel guilty, and you hate that you don’t know where the guilt comes from or why it sits so heavy in your chest. 

The truth of the matter is you did think about calling him. In fact, he was the first name you pulled up on your now cracked phone, but sitting on a curb outside of a gas station as a tow truck came to take your car away, you scrolled down past him. 

The truth of the matter is Max hasn’t been back in your apartment since the night you went to second base and he bit you on your tit. In fact, he’s been avoiding you in the office for days now. When he wouldn’t meet your eyes over the coffee machine, it became easier and easier to wonder if this was the same man who set out all those candles for you, who put down all of those insane precautions to keep himself from going too far, who couldn’t help but vibrate with pleasure as he drank from you. First base had gone over without a hitch, but something went wrong that night and he’d sooner let the relationship fizzle out than talk about it. 

The following shower that night had been awkward and uncomfortable, too close and the steam too hot. He left shortly there after, only a handful of mumbled words exchanged, and he hadn’t come back.

So, maybe, sitting there, your head aching, your wrist pinching, you wanted him to feel as abandoned as you had.

“I’m a little . . . banged up, alright?” Your fingertips brush the edges of the Ace bandage around your palm when your fingers curl and uncurl, your head tilted just off center as if you could hide the swelling from him. “Nothing that a few days of rest can’t fix, so you really didn’t need to come over.”

“Rest and juice, right?” The look in his eyes is raw, rubbed down into nothingness, blackness, totality. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, “it wasn’t like that and you fucking know it.” 

His head tilts as if considering your words, or considering something else, and by the time you open your eyes in a millisecond blink, he’s got your chin in his palm, his fingers curled up your cheek, thumb firmly pressed into your jaw. Dark eyes roving, he’s inspecting every cut, every bruise, every hair out of place. 

Irate at the hot flush low in your stomach at the way he grips you, you push against his chest, yowling out some disgruntled noise, but that only makes him squeeze you tighter. He doesn’t even look you in the eye. 

“I’ve healed much worse than this,” he murmurs, breath smelling deliciously of mint and not a hint of anything metallic. “Especially on you.” 

His thumb brushes dangerously close to the rim of your purple and green eye and while even the slightest touch stings, it’s nothing compared to the bite of pain his words and soft tone inflict. You give him one more good shove and he backs off, thumb swiping briefly against your chin. His mouth is a straight line when he finally meets your glare. 

“I didn’t call you because I didn’t think you gave a shit, Max.” You’ve been in tense business negotiations all your adult life so standing your ground and not crying is something that has become second nature to you. And yet, your eyes grow hot and tight all the same. You’re not crying, but your body is remembering how good it feels to do so. “Ever since that night, you’ve been acting like I’m diseased or something. You made it pretty clear we’re not actually dating, so I called Tim because it was the path of least resistance. I was tired and I hurt and I didn’t want anything complicated. And I didn’t tell you because quite frankly I didn’t think you’d notice I wasn’t there unless the breeze blew the wrong way and your dick got hard.” Every unanswered text and call straight to voicemail over the last two weeks flashes in your mind and your wrist twinges painfully as you gesture to your bedroom. “Because that’s what this is, right? Just a good fuck? A good time? For the record, you didn’t ruin that lingerie set. I put it on cold in the washer and the blood came right out, okay? Everything is totally fucking fine.”

You don’t realize how loud you’d gotten until your apartment rings with silence. It is the absence of noise, of only one set of lungs in use, that makes it so loud. 

Max’s jaw still hasn’t found a place to settle, to calm himself. He purses his lips as his bottom teeth grind against the top. His eyes are unreadable, black coals in his head, instead of that gooey warmth you swear you’ve only seen in your direction. He swallows once before opening his mouth.

“So then, do you want me to fix you? Just so we can get back to fucking and I can get what I came here for.”

Soft. Quiet. A rattlesnake you don’t see coming until its fangs are in your foot, pumping you full of poison. 

“Get the fuck out of my house. Right now. Leave.”

As if mocking you, he walks out the front door. He could be out and gone before you draw your next breath, but he chooses to click his fucking Armani leather shoes across your tile, open the door – the knob demonstrably small in his massive hand – and slam shut so hard the painting on the wall shudders. 

If the shower had been a separation by omission, this had been the real thing.

The heat behind your eyes becomes unbearable, sharp, painful as you begin to choke on everything you didn’t say to him lodged in your throat. Vision blurry, you yank your curtains close and flip the light switch, plunging the apartment back into darkness. 

It’s not until you’re curled up on your side in bed, duvet over your head, that the tears come. They’re silent, you’ve only ever known how to cry silently, but they fall fast, dripping off your nose. You squeeze your eyes shut and your black eye throbs, a thunderbolt in a storm. You cry out and touching it makes it worse and you cry because it hurts and you cry because you’re pathetic and you cry because, worst of all, you didn’t make Max realize what a fucking asshole he is.

It’s not until you wake up at two in the morning, suddenly and without a descent, that you realize Max walked into your apartment without a jacket on, his sleeves rolled up and his tie loose. As if he had heard the news and immediately left the office to come to you.

Days pass. And days turn into weeks. It’s two months later and you haven’t heard a word from him.

Everyone at the office has been very considerate about your injuries – holding doors for you as you hobbled through them, your team taking on more client-facing calls while your eye healed, typing up the last bits of the reports when your wrist started to ache. For a company that employed literal hell-spawn, you’d been rather touched by the kindness everyone showed you. 

Even Tim. Who offered, after clarifying he definitely wasn’t hitting on you (if only because he feared the legal repercussions you could bring down on him like a smiting hammer) to drive you home while your car got fixed. Those nights when Evan sat in the back because they were headed to a DnD session afterwards were always a little awkward. 

Everyone helped out, except one person. A significant person that made your chest twinge every time you saw his door close seconds after you came into the breakroom. You could hear your sister’s scolding voice now: never fuck where you eat.

For sleeping with a vampire, you supposed that statement was doubly true. 

As the world turned towards winter, night came early and stayed longer, eager for mischief. The air grew thin, cold, trees sagging, turning brown, and molting. There’s a smell to the air that usually excites you, usually makes you smile and yearn for your couch and a long movie night. But not this time.

Halloween falls on a Monday this year and given the majority of its workforce still remember when it was called Samhain, it’s a company holiday. Ahead of a long weekend, this late, the office is empty. With nothing (and no one) to greet you at home, you stay until it could be officially counted as pathetic to keep working in an empty and dark building, before powering down your laptop, gathering your things for what you foresee as just a long working weekend, and locking your office for the night. 

Paper bats hung from the ceiling, with orange and black table clothes thrown over tables in the break room. Cardboard witches and zombies grinned wickedly from the dark corners, woolen webs with freakishly large spiders hiding near the ceiling. The office manager, Carla, has really outdone herself this year, you think, as you unplug the rows of purple and orange lights looping around the ceiling tiles. With your leftover lasagna from Amanda (who insisted you still needed someone to make you dinner), you flick off any remaining lights, the red exit signs guiding you out in the dark. 

His office door is open, not unheard of but not common. 

The room is dark, so maybe he left early and just forgot to lock up. Your chest tightens at the thought that he ran out of there in a hurry because he was eager to meet up with someone, a pretty someone who looked great in a set of heels and had a fang fetish. You swallow; one of a dozen scenarios you’ve tortured yourself with over the past few weeks, particularly painful. 

It’s strange, to go on and live your life when there has been a fundamental and irrevocable change, when there is nothing where there once was something – an outline almost visible as though the air itself was trying desperately to remember, to hold on. 

Your eyes grow hot and you blame it on season allergies when you wipe your eyes with your palm. You blame it on the steady headache you’ve had all day. You blame it on the irritability that’s been rubbing you the wrong way for days now. You blame it on the lack of sleep you can never seem to get enough of. Fuck, is it possible to drink yourself into a wine coma? You’d really love to find out. 

Without the sun, the wind is particularly chilling, curling over the collar of your jacket and pinching the back of your neck. Your feet ache, the plastic holding the lasagna is starting to sweat, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got a run in your nylons. Fighting back a shiver, you unlock your car and toss everything into the passenger’s seat when you hear your name. 

For a fraction of a second, you think it’s the wind. That your mind has been circling its own loneliness for so long, it’s taking pity on your pathetic ass and imagining comfort out of thin air. But you hear it again, stilling with one foot in your car, hand on the door. Your name – quiet, reserved, purposeful. 

So unlike him. 

“Can we talk?”

Just get in the car. Just get in, turn it on, and drive. Your fingers bite into the cold metal. 

“Max, it’s late and I’m exhausted –,” 

“Then I’ll make it quick.” 

His long coat flutters around his knees in the uneasy breeze, his hands in his pockets. You can’t really see his face in the shadows between the streetlights. 

You haven’t moved. One foot on the floor of your car, hand on the door. He sighs and tugs at the tie around his neck. You wait.

“You said you’d be quick –,”

His jaw ticks, finds your gaze for the first time. “It’s fucking freezing out – can I at least sit in the car?”

“There’s lasagna.” Max had the unique capacity to trigger your most basic instincts seemingly out of nowhere. Where did he get off demanding anything? You want to stomp your foot and stick your tongue out. “I mean, you have to move the lasagna . . . and some other stuff.”  

Briefly thankful for the dark shadows to hide your childish blush, you plop into the car seat without looking back at him. His figure moves around the car and you make the express decision to make him deal with all your shit in the passenger's seat. But to your enormous surprise (and swelling embarrassment), he gathers your briefcase, the plastic container, and your empty coffee mug without comment and puts them gently in the backseat – without flinging them or sighing like he just moved mountains. 

Your fingers curl over the stiff steering wheel as he folds his long legs into the car, fighting with his jacket, and grunting a bit when his knees press up against the dashboard. The click as his seat slides backwards to make room is painfully audible. 

The overhead light in your car fades long before either of you say anything. 

“Max, it’s cold and I wanna go home–,”

“Okay, okay, sorry – fuck –,” he twists the coat tighter around his chest, sliding low in his seat like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Okay. It’s just . . . this isn’t easy and I don’t –,” 

“You don’t what?” You snap, rounding on him, patience finally running out. “You don’t know how to apologize for being a fucking asshole?” 

“No – I mean, yeah, but –,” 

“So you admit it! You were being a shit and you know it!” 

“It’s not like it’s that fucking simple–,” 

“Yeah, it is. It really is, Max. You got scared the last time we were together and you took it out on me the first chance you got.” 

He shoves his palms into his eyes. “Okay, yes, I was scared, but not then. I mean, it freaked me out a little bit, but . . . it wasn’t the bite that got to me.” 

“Yeah? Then what was?” 

He huffs, lowering his hands slowly, his shoulders curving in as his hands drop into his lap. “You told Tim and not me. And,” he adds quickly at your rapidly reddening face, “and for about fifteen minutes, I didn’t know if you were alive or not. I just heard ‘not at work’ and ‘car accident’ and I assumed the worst . . . and because of the way I’ve treated this relationship, you didn’t think about calling me just to let me know you were okay. And . . . I fucked up.” 

You blink. Slowly, then several times rapidly. “You were scared that you lost me.” 

That pained grimace deepens and he scowls at you like you called his Tonka Toy Truck stupid. 

“Don’t say it like that. It makes me sound pathetic.” 

You scowl back. “Would it kill you to be genuine for two seconds? It’s okay to have feelings. Even ones about me.” 

“Of course I have feelings for you,” he rolls his eyes and you want to bite him on his finger. “Why would I put us both through the fucking ringer just so I can bite you if I didn’t care about you?”

“So then if you can easily admit that you have feelings for me, why were you so fucking awkward that last time? Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why were you so fucking mean to me at my apartment?”

“Because I don’t wanna keep this a secret anymore!” 

Your car feels abnormally cramped as all the air is sucked out with a vacuum. But, as a vampire, maybe that’s not a problem for him. 

Or maybe if he stops, he’ll never be able to get it all out. 

His eyes are wide, his broad shoulders pressed up against the door, as if he is trying to escape the confines of the car, or look at you straight on. 

“I want to be the one you call when there’s a problem, not fucking Tim. I want you to know I’d never, ever hurt you, no matter how blood drunk I was. I want . . . I want to stay overnight at your apartment and I want . . .” he trails off, swallowing over the words that are seemingly choking him. “I want to be your . . .”

He murmurs something and you assume you didn’t hear him because you are simply too shocked.

“What?”

Max groans and puts his hands over his face as if he is being physically tortured. 

“I wanna be your boyfriend. In public. At work. All the time. I wanna . . . I wanna tell people I’m your boyfriend and you’re my girlfriend.” He makes a face and sticks his tongue out, grimacing. “And I wanna fucking graduate kindergarten apparently. Get married on the blacktop. Blegh.”  

As he wrestles with the apparently juvenile terms, you fall into speechlessness. There’s a dozen emotions flashing through you like fire embers: relief, anger, embarrassment, curiosity, joy, sadness –

Desire.

Watching his tongue roll around in his mouth, even comically, reminds you exactly why you entered into this relationship/not relationship with him in the first place. 

Mouth finally closing, he lifts his gaze to you, chin tilted down, and you can almost imagine the ears turned back and low on his head.

“And I know that’s not what you want. I didn’t want to say anything but then it all just fucking snowballed, and it’s been killing me not being around you, so when I saw you leave tonight, I thought–,”

“Why do you think that’s not what I want?” Your heart rises, just a bit, in your chest, and you feel it tap against your breastbone. “Why wouldn’t I want to go public?”

Max watches you cautiously, eyebrows drawn down. “HR nightmare for one. But in the beginning, since we didn’t, you know, go public then, I just figured . . . Figured you’d want to end it before calling me your boyfriend.”

“But you didn’t want that either, in the beginning, right?”

He nods, suspicious.

“But things changed for you. And . . . you know . . . things might have changed for me too.”

God, maybe your mom can take pictures of you two together at the kindergarten graduation ceremony. Why is this so fucking hard to talk about? 

Max blinks at you, his turn to be struck silent. 

“So, theoretically, if I stop being an asshole and you call me for all your rides home, I can call you my girlfriend to Tim’s stupid face?” 

“If you’re ready to deal with the HR nightmare,” you say, meaning that and a handful of other things. If you really want to deal with all of that for me.

You swear Max’s eyes twinkle gold for a second. 

“Um, yeah. I mean, I am if you are.”

“I am if you are.”

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.” 

A grin sparks across his face, the tension leaving his jaw. Joy crinkles in the corners of his eyes.

“Then I wanna kiss you first.”

Your heart is now knocking between your breastbone and your throat. You nod, swallowing nerves. 

“Finally, something we agree on.” 

For the first time in your memory, Max moves slow, hesitantly, but encouraged by the smirk on your lips. The car still feels small, but now in the best way possible. He leans forward, the console in the middle squeaking as you press your forearm against it, his hand sinking into your hair, nails against your scalp. 

You smell mint, coffee, and finally, something coppery. 

You lick your lip a second before his slot against yours. 

It’s chaste, as chaste as kissing Max Phillips can be. A thoughtful moment of rediscovery, of possibility, of relieved familiarity. He knows just how to turn his head, to press into you, to make you sigh into his mouth.

“Am I forgiven?” He teases, his voice soft and quiet, eyes half open as they take in every pore and feature of your face.

Desire, buttery and warm, melts into sticky arousal between your thighs. The fingers on his chest dig in as you grasp at the material to drag him closer. 

“I think you owe me a base, slugger.”

Max’s eyes widen. “Here? Now?”

“I’m pretty sure the office building is locked up, so unless you have another suggestion–,” 

He groans, hands immediately tugging around your knees to pull you literally out of your seat and into his lap. He grinds your hips down against him, as if he couldn’t help it, and you gasp, embarrassingly turned on from his hands on your hips and his sudden show of strength. That goddamn vampire strength. 

“I missed you so much, you fucking freak,” he mouths against your cheek, his hand squeezing your thigh once before curling around your neck and yanking you into his hot mouth. Your muffled noise comes across as protest and surprise, but he keeps you pinned, his lips and teeth and tongue fighting over themselves to get to your skin first.  “I’ll give you any base you fucking want, but I wanna neck in this car for a bit.”

You nod, quelling the flush of heat between your thighs and the subsequent whimper by burying your hands under his jacket, under his blazer, and tugging his shirt out from his waistband. His skin is cold, despite three layers of clothing and a heated seat. 

Max grunts as you palm his stomach, muscles tightening, and he dips his mouth to your ear, your cheek, your neck. The brush of teeth against your hammering pulse point carries only the threat of pain. His tongue circles your vein like a bullseye. 

His fingers knotted in your hair, Max rolls his hips once, breaking off the kiss to watch the shiver go through you and end in a subtle moan that has you knocking your forehead into his shoulder. 

He mouths your ear, that soft skin just below it, hands rubbing up your hips and inching your skirt up your thighs. 

“Are you sure you want it here?” His words are as gentle as his lips — which is to say not at all. He roughly captures your mouth again before you can answer and sucks your bottom lip between his teeth as if he can bleed the answer from you.

He’s kissing you so hard, your back nudges the dashboard. You respond in retaliation; swirl his tongue with yours like a goddamn preview, hands low on his groin as you push him back. 

“Yes,” you murmur against his mouth. “Yes, Max, please. Here.”

“Then we’re moving the fucking lasagna again.” 

He twists you as he opens the car door, and immediately the wet patch between your thighs is slapped by the cold air. You stumble, shuddering, your nipples tightening in the chilly air. But he’s already knocking everything on the back seat to the floor. Grabbing you and guiding you by your hips to lay back against the pleather and spreading your knees with the brush of his thumbs, his eyes darken as if he can see through your skirt and nylons. Like he can hear your cunt throb for him.

He hovers over you, his Armani fucking shoes hanging off the seat as he kneels on the seat, seemingly struck silent by the sight of you, even with all your clothes on. 

“Max,” you say against the swelling in your chest, “you can bite my calf if biting near my pussy is too much.”

Just the mention of that wet, warm place he is so ridiculously fond of has drawn his attention back from his distant thoughts. 

“So I can’t eat your pussy after I eat your pussy?”

“If you think you can handle it,” you nudge at his elbow with your toes, “go for it.”

Over his shoulder, you can see the wind tug on his jacket, hear it ghost over the treetops, but with his thick, broad body over you, you feel nothing but warm. Max unbuttons his collar and slides his already loose tie from around his neck. He tickles your nose with it before dropping it onto the floor. 

“Leaving this within reach in case you need to scream into something, okay?”

You roll your eyes, flushed hot at the idea that you’re about to have semi-public sex. “You’ve been gone for a while. Maybe you’ve lost your touch.”

Something in his eyes grows dark, sharp, and his chin tilts just slightly. 

“I guess you’ll have to judge that for yourself.” He pushes up your shirt to your throat, exposing your white linen bra (that’s what you get for assuming your sex life was over) and your twitching stomach to his hot, wandering gaze. Before you can pretend to protest being cold, he drops his mouth to the swell of your breast and teases your nipple with his teeth. “You tell me if I’ve lost my touch.”

Immediately, a full body shiver radiates from where his lips suck and you stretch out against the leather, eyes fluttering open and shut. He hasn’t earned a moan yet, a fact he seems acutely aware of when his eyes flick up to watch your face as he palms your other breast. He digs one finger over the cup, curling over the material and grazing your nipple with his nail, when you shake your head. 

“Too public,” you breathe, as you wrap your legs around his waist, tugging him against you because you want to feel how much this affects him too. “Someone could see.”

“But you want me to eat you out? That’s not too public?” He grins as he tucks his face into your neck, lazily rolling his hips because he knows that’s exactly what you want. 

“Just stick your head up my skirt.”

He stills, teeth ghosting your skin. “Yeah?”

You feel him twitch against your thigh and you have to remind yourself not to ask him to full out fuck you in the backseat of your car. You nod, your chin ruffling his hair. His grip on your ribcage tightens, an errant thumb swiping the underside of your breast, as he lets out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan.

“Have I told you you’re a fucking freak and how much I love it?”

Your toes curl in your shoes, heart in your ears, and blood hot under your skin. Just as he moves to shuffle back, you cup the back of his neck, turning your teeth and lips to his ear, the hairs there as soft as peach fuzz.

“No. I’m a monsterfucker.”

The sound that escapes him is no longer human, deep, jagged, a warning cry to hunted prey, and you feel just a prick of fangs against your neck. Immediately that rush of endorphins bows your back, a Pavlovian response to be fucked so good over and over again, and you keen into his chest. 

“Max, baby, please–,”

Your cunt actually aches. 

Max shoves himself away from you, yanking off his coat and suit jacket in one motion, and he actually lets them fall to the concrete parking lot. Before his sleeve is all the way out, he curls over you, one hand shoving up your skirt, and the other snagging the front of your nylons. His grip pinches the coarse hairs and your cunt involuntarily clenches as he peels the nylons over your hips and your knees with one hand. To get them completely off, you’d have to stretch out your legs, so he shoves your nylons to your ankles, before grabbing the backs of your thighs and thrusting you up the seat. Your head knocks against the car door, but he doesn’t seem to care – and neither do you. 

The back seat of your ford is not meant for two people, much less two people hellbent on oral sex. And yet . . .

He shoves one knee under your low spine, lifting your hips up and you acquiesce – tightening your muscles to keep the position that nearly folds you in half, but he shakes his head.

“I don’t need to breathe, honey,” he purrs into your thigh and takes your knee around the back of his head, and then does the same to the other. The height gives you enough leverage to balance against the roof of the car, giving your weight onto his shoulders, and your cunt exactly where he wants it. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. Now, let me eat.” He sticks out his tongue, flat against his chin. 

He clutches your hips and tugs you closer, right into his waiting muscle. 

Your spine arches even further off the seat when he takes advantage of the position and licks you from the curve of your ass to your clit. He catches the dripping wetness in his mouth, using it to massage that bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, his fingers firm against your hip. Any more pressure and he’ll bruise you. Any more after that and he’ll crush your hipbones. 

Your hips thrust weakly, thighs squeezing his head, as he forcibly reminds you that he hadn’t lost his touch, with an additional reminder that no one else touches you like he does. No one. Not a living soul or otherwise.

A side lick to your clit and you bite your lip, eyes shut, your hands above your head to find leverage. You push back against him and he groans into your pussy, aquiline nose breathing harshly into your damp curls. 

“Fuck, Max – yes, right there – oh god –,”

That soft teasing feeling that makes your hips cant forward with a sudden desperate need expands with every swipe of your tongue. 

He’s never going to let you live it down if you come this fast. 

“M-Max,” 

He opens his jaw more, dropping his mouth to your exposed hole and licking so deep inside with a curled tongue, your thighs start to shake. You gasp, head lifting forward before dropping back, as he fucks you with his tongue. You want to ride his face. 

And then Max lets out a grunt, shifting underneath you, his gaze flicking up to yours. With a hand on your knee as he practically hangs you upside down, he pulls back.

“You taste different.” 

It takes you a second to realize he’s said something coherent. “W-what?” 

He licks his lips, smeared with a wetness that makes the lower half of his face shine in the murky street lights. He licks you again as if to make sure. 

“Your taste . . . your cunt, it’s . . .”

Max’s eyes widen slightly like a wolf catching the scent of a deer. 

“Hold on, baby, I gotta try something.” 

Without warning, he plunges two fingers inside of you and sucks on your clit. He times his sucks with the rapid pump of his fingers and you’re at your peak in seconds. Your thighs shake, your cunt tightens, the sudden ascent overwhelming and intense, and with a tap against that spot inside you he’s forever marked as his own, you flatten against the seat, as everything inside you bursts, wet and bright, into his waiting mouth. His eyes flutter at the taste as it drips out of you, corners of his mouth smeared with your release. 

Max slowly slides his fingers out of you, watching you with apparent curiosity, pride evident in his eyes, and immediately your cunt aches, as if he had just given you three orgasms instead of one. There’s a low throb at the crux of your thighs and you groan, the pain only dull. 

But he doesn’t seem to notice. He nudges your thighs back from his ears, opening up you just a bit before he tucks his tongue into you again. The throb, alongside the still settling waves of your orgasm, wants you to push him away, but it’s not overstimulation. After being with Max for so long, you knew what overstimulation felt like and this is not it. 

“Max, c’mon, give me a second — fuck,”

Your eyes widen as you feel something wet trickle out of you and into his mouth, his eyes fixated on you. His grip around your waist pulls you closer to his chest. 

You watch each other the second you realize what’s just happened.

He leans back and there’s blood on his bottom lip.

Embarrassment scorches through your body and all the shitty feelings you had all week suddenly identify themselves as symptoms of PMS. Fuck. 

You immediately push on him, trying to de-tangle yourself from his shoulders, but he shakes his head.

“You wanted me to drink your blood, right? Third base? Well, now we don’t have to worry about where to bite you.” 

“But Max,” you struggle, working to sit up right but he won’t let your legs go. In fact, his grip turns rougher and you feel his fingers crush into your hip bones, his other hand pinning your knee to the back of his neck. “Max, c’mon, you don’t have to do that. This is silly and –,”

His wide palm smooths over your knee, like he’s trying to settle a frightened cat. 

“Who’s scared of genuine feelings now?” He murmurs. 

Only Max Phillips can go soft and sweet with your cunt inches from his face. Your apparently bleeding cunt. 

His hand moves from your knee, down your thigh and over your hip, before making the reverse trail, just as slow, just as comforting, while his gaze never leaves yours. You swallow something harsh in your throat, as your lower pelvis starts to ache. 

“The last thing I want is to hurt you, but I’ve heard that orgasms can actually help with cramps.” Max says softly. This isn’t a ploy to get (further) into your pants. He’s being genuinely – really, seriously, genuine. Your heart beats just as hard as the cramps as they settle. 

“What woman told you that?” 

Max huffs out a laugh, turning his head to nuzzle your thigh. “I was lonely without you and had to make do . . . so I befriended Carla and her gang.”

“The office manager?” You gape at him.

“They all tried to set me up with their daughters,” he chuckles, his hands still roaming over your body. He adjusts his knee so you have something to lean into. “So, pretty harmless. But they are also some of the most incorrigible gossip hounds I’ve ever known.” 

“They didn’t mind setting their daughters up with a vampire?”

“Not all of them are human, honey.” His eyes roll up your chest to your face. “And the ones that are were practically begging me to turn them.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, baby, I didn’t.” He shifts again, tugging you further over his shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the backs of your knees. “We don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to.” 

“I know. It’s just . . .” You touch his thigh behind your back, needing to feel him to gather up the strength to say what you wanted to. “No one’s ever done this before.”

Max’s solid eyebrow jumps, lips pulling back into that wicked smirk. You swear you catch a glimpse of fang as he focuses back onto your cunt. 

“Well, you’re a monsterfucker and I’m your monster to fuck.” 

His mouth lowers, eyes on you, waiting and begging. You nod and he prods your clit with his tongue again, before licking anything and everything out of your hole.

Max doesn’t eat. He feeds. 

He grunts through his nose, trying to kneel as high as he is allowed in the cramped space. Finally, his gaze falls from you, eyes flickering shut, as the cramp in your pelvis digs deeper – you cry out – but then, it melts. The dull ache is spread across your hip bones until it is just warm, hot with your rushing blood. You moan, throwing your head back, and finally you dig your hands into his hair. 

As that warm bright coil begins to sink into your pelvis, Max groans between your legs. He pulls back just an inch, his lips a gooey red, to say:

“Pull on it if you need to hold yourself up.” 

Why you thought you could ever go back to a human lover after Max is a fuzzy, hazy notion at the edges of your mind when you dig your fingers into his hair, slightly longer than it’s been in the past, and pull yourself even closer to his mouth. 

In a truly impractical position, you feel his iron-hard cock poke your back, his hips stuttering, fucking empty air. His arm bands around your hips, your knees knocking against the ceiling, as he adjusts his grip. 

The inverse of blood has you going dizzy; blood rushing to your head as Max coaxes blood out of your cunt. 

And then you feel it. 

Behind your thighs, his chest vibrates and the air is filled with a delicious, primal sound. The sound of a beast being satiated, of a hunt gone well, a feeding that will sustain for a long, long while. Before you found it rather adorable, funny that a grown man like Max Phillips would purr when deeply satisfied, but now, it’s a hair-pin trigger to your demise. 

You cry out, loud and wet and wanting, as everything from your hips down starts to tighten up again. You lock your ankles together against his back, toes exposed to the night air, and you use the last of your waning strength in your thighs to lift yourself even further to him. Your hips thrust weakly and that grip around your hip bones seals you to his chest. 

Don’t fucking move. 

But it’s enough. Your inner thighs a gooey, hot mess, he prods his tongue deep, licking up every liquid that drips out of you, before coating your clit in your own mess. 

He sucks and you come. Long and loud. 

Your vision slowly begins to unblur, black spots fading, as he lowers you down, careful not to go too quick like he’s trying to not to wake someone from a light sleep. You can feel that sleep, that endless relaxation swelling over you as you go boneless while Max untangles you. 

Your eyes stay open long enough to see the smear of red across his lips before he wipes it away. The cramping in your pelvis has been reduced to a gentle throb. 

Gingerly, Max pulls your skirt down, hand arching your back so you don’t have to lift your hips as he adjusts you back into some modicum of decorum. He reaches back and snags his coat and jacket from the ground before tossing them into the passenger’s seat. With your feet in his lap, arm stretched out across the back of the seat you just debauched, he shuts the door and instantly the smell of his cologne permeates the air. 

You grin, wriggling down in the seat as far you can go like a housecat warmed by the sun. 

You sit in silence for a bit, content to just be, a welcome retreat for your breathing to go steady and his cock to soften. His hands brush against the heels of your bare feet. 

“You made me purr again,” he says with a grin. 

“There’s no way that’s the technical term for it, whatever it is,” you say teasingly as you watch him trace your ankles with his finger. “You should ask another vamp what you’re supposed to call it.”  

He chuckles, squeezing your foot once before glancing up at you. Whatever he sees in you, it makes his eyes go soft.

“You mean ask about the thing that only happens during the most intimate moments a vampire can experience? Yeah, sure, I’ll bring it up at the water cooler.” 

Satiated and warm and a little loopy from a truly record breaking orgasm, you stick your tongue out at him. 

“Fine. I’m going to tell people that you purr like a cute, innocent little kitten until you find a better term.”

He bends your knee so he can press his lips to the curve. 

“Just because you’re my girlfriend, don’t think I won’t turn you over and swat your bottom.” He nips at the hollow of the joint with flat teeth, opening up your legs to him again. You can feel that heavy wetness trickle down again, and you sit up, not embarrassed by your bleeding, but suddenly tired beyond belief. 

Max lets you move out of his lap as you curl a hand around his cheek. It’s a shame you only see that touch of vulnerability, the man without the quips and the teasing and the bravado, after a good fuck. But you think you might finally have it your way, sooner than you ever hoped. 

“Well if my boyfriend would drive us back to his place, maybe I could show how sorry I am for teasing you.” 

He studies you for a minute, a full minute that has you surprised he’s not roughly kissing you again.

“Sometimes, around the office, you’d smell different and I never knew what it was. I didn’t put enough thought into it to realize the pattern, but it makes sense now. And it makes sense why you were suddenly very busy during that week when I’d bootycall you.” 

You shrug, your neck suddenly very warm. “I dunno. I figured you wouldn’t want to be around me when I’m like that. Not to mention I dress in baggy clothes and wander around my apartment with a heating pad taped to my hips.

“Really? They’re that bad?”

You nod. “Women around the world rejoiced when working from home became an option. Video calls only show from the waist up.”

“Now that’s all I’m gonna be thinking about at the next all-hands meeting,” he grins and squeezes your knees. 

“I guess I set myself up for that one, didn’t I?” You shake your head. He nods, humming his affirmation, and kisses you. 

“Let’s go to your place,” he mutters against your lips. “There might be no place on earth less equipped to handle Shark Week than a male vampire’s bachelor pad.” 

“Shark Week?” You giggle. 

“Carla’s words, not mine. The Rising Red Tide. Code Red. Aunt Flo. And my personal favorite, communists in the fun house.”

Your giggle turns to a snort as you lean forward into him, laughing. His lips press affectionately into your hairline as you settle down. 

He moves to take your feet out of his lap when you gently take his elbow. 

“So we’re good, right? This wasn’t too much?” You are a little concerned by the total and complete lack of fang he showed, but entirely grateful.

As if reading your mind, he says, “the fangs only come out when I need to get through pesky flesh to feed. Your blood came out like a broken ice cream machine at McDonalds.”

You wrinkle your nose as he laughs and you push him out of the car. 

“That’s disgusting, Max.”

You snag the keys from your briefcase and toss them to him as he rounds the car and you crawl into the passenger’s seat. 

He drops in and immediately turns on your seat warmers. The gesture is subtle and thoughtful, things you thought Max Phillips never could be. 

“Speaking of which,” he holds onto the head of the seat as he backs out of the spot. “Carla also told me that ice cream is the cure to most cramps. So, with the lovely picture I just painted in your mind, do you want to go to McDonalds?”

As you look at him, shadows flitting across his face as he drives under streetlight after streetlight, his fingers that had been inside you minutes ago loosely holding the steering wheel, your heart twinges as you come to a certain realization.

This can’t last, right?

He’s only acting like this because he feels bad, feels guilty, right?

Max Phillips isn’t boyfriend material, despite his claims. 

As proven before, feelings can change. So you wonder how long until his feelings about you change again and he grows tired of you. Max Phillips is not a housecat. 

You swallow, glancing away before he has a chance to catch your eyes.

“Yeah, Max, let’s do it.” 

Prev | Next | Series Masterlist

[kwanisms]

taglist | playlist

summary: Everything seemed to fall into place for Y/N. She had a loving boyfriend, her dream job, and the bestest friend in the universe. She never thought her life was missing something until she was introduced to Seo Changbin, the town's newest tattoo artist who happens to be harboring an unimaginable secret.

pairing: tattoo artist!Changbin × fem!Reader

genres/themes: angst, fluff, smut, 18+ (minors dni. I mean it. go away), slow burn, “forbidden” love, strangers to lovers, supernatural au, tattoo artist!Changbin, werewolf!Changbin, established boyfriend!Joshua

warnings: adult dialogue, alcohol consumption, Joshua being an asshat

permanent taglist: @yoonguurt @wonderfulshinee @candidupped @dejavernon @violagoth @tigermoonbiss @katsukis1wife @luvsooby

stray kids taglist: @cixrosie @hoeforcheol @beomgyusbabygirl @lovestayskzxx @flowerboykun @smhlino @cutiespaghetti @peterparkoure

series taglist: @snow-pegasus @brownieracha @hobi-is-golden @avyskai @i-say-choco-you-say-ice-cream @biribarabiribbaem @mchslut @spicxbnny @hgema @likeaboss-duh @oiminho @slut-for-dabi @ughyeka @honey-lemon-goose @skidsflowers @fixation-dump @meadowyin @sleeplessdawn @bristidutta @changbinnss @racha-enthusiast @phobia0922 @sanjoongie @nattisbored @kimseungminsprincess @chrollosforehead @typicalcuriosities @tai-loves-skz @labyrinthonmymind @spookyauthorspopmusictrash

Red strikethrough means I cannot tag you. Check your visibility settings.

And if you change your url, YOU are responsible for telling me.

a/n: It's finally here! I have been looking forward to this series for a while. I really hope it's as well received and that you all love it. I will warn you all that it's a slow burn fic and I do mean slow burn. Something to note is that Y/N never cheats on her boyfriend. I want to make that known now. Cheating is not included in this series. A couple things before we get started:

A huge thank you to my wife, Sky☁️, for this entire story idea. Without her late night thoughts and ramblings as well as her constant hype and support, this series wouldn’t even exist.

Also a massive thank you and huge shout out to @icybluehosh for her professional input on all things tattoos. You are a saint, my love and I thank you so much!

Edit to add a massive thank you to @playmetheclassics for beta reading and helping me edit this hunk of words. I'm so sorry I forgot to tag you earlier Indi 😭😭😭

To everyone else, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy this series and what I have in store for these characters!

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

𝗰𝗵 𝟬𝟭 - 𝗮 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿

wc: 16.5 (she's wordy and I'm not sorry lol)

masterlist || next »»

The faint sound of soft jazz played overhead, occasionally drowned out by the sounds of forks and knives clinking gently against ceramic plates. The air filled with the smell of coffee, muffins and other baked goods, making you wish you'd gotten something to eat.

Coming to this cafe had been your boyfriend’s idea, not yours, but you found yourself enchanted with the small, cozy atmosphere. The light, almost white, wood of the floor and tabletops contrasted against the black painted brick walls of the small space.

Huge rectangular windows dominated the storefront, allowing in as much natural light as possible. The pale wood was accompanied by black painted metal in the legs of the tables and in the chairs and the few bar stools that stood under the white granite countertop.

There were a few potted plants behind the bar and in the corners giving a little life and color to the otherwise nearly monochromatic palette. You glanced down at the mug in front of you. A simple vanilla latte had been your order when you accompanied Joshua up to the counter.

The sprinkling of cinnamon that lay on top of the steamed milk foam couldn't mask the aroma of the coffee that invited you in to take a sip. Although you didn’t want to mess up the foam design, the moment you took a sip, sighing in contentment as the sweet vanilla bean flavor hit your tongue, you knew you’d made the right call.

You heard a chuckle and glanced up across the table, eyes settling on your boyfriend as he smiled at you, having just taken a sip of his own coffee, an iced americano, his go to as of late.

You couldn’t understand why he loved such a bitter drink. You remembered trying it weeks ago and gagged. It was just too strong and bitter for you. You liked cream and sugar in your coffee.

You liked things that tasted sweet. Joshua said sweetness reminded him of you, which is why he asked for an extra two pumps of the liquid sugar in his drink earlier.

“What?” You asked softly, setting your mug on the table. Joshua shook his head, his smile widening ever so slightly as he set his own cup down. “Nothing,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders but the smile remained. “Are you taking the mickey out of me?” You asked. Joshua laughed and shook his head. “That was awfully British of you,” he said and it was your turn to laugh.

“You’ve been watching too many of those BBC shows again, haven’t you?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow. You shook your head. “No, I’ve just been rewatching Doctor Who,” you admitted, looking away and out the window next to you.

The street outside was bustling with people, most of them enjoying the pleasant end of summer weather. Sejong was a smaller town near Daejeon and it was the town you happened to call home.

The quaint small town atmosphere greeted you the moment you pulled onto the main street. The smell of pine and fresh mountain air greeted many travelers who picked this town as their vacation spot, and for good reason.

The town offered a wide variety of activities, from mountain climbing to camping and hiking. It was also close to a lake that was popular with tourists and residents alike.

A hot spring was rumored to be in the area, though you'd never set sights on it, and you'd lived in Sejong all your life, explored much of the forests, and seen many things under the sun and moon alike.

But no hot springs.

You used to enjoy summers in Sejong, especially when you were younger. Spending all day with your friends, going to the lake and relaxing on the shore by the swim beach. You had spent many summers of your youth at the lake, both at the swim beach and exploring the lake's edges with your friends.

Seungcheol and Joshua always led the adventures with you, your best friend Lilah, and Jeonghan trailing behind. Sometimes Wonwoo would join you but most of his summers were spent interning at his father’s publishing company.

When your friend group wasn’t at the lake, you could be found at each other’s houses, or for you and Lilah, you could be found at what the two of you called your ‘secret place.’ It was a small clearing in the woods near the edge of town that was full of wildflowers during the spring and summer months. You’d meet up during the day and sometimes just the two of you at night. It was a pact that only you girls would meet there and that no boys were allowed.

You had so many fond memories of summer you weren’t sure when you started dreading the hotter months of the year. Maybe it was a subconscious thing once you became an adult.

When you’re a kid, summer is a time for breaks from school. Time for friends, staying up late, and partying. When you became an adult, summer didn’t stop the daily grind. You still had work to do. It made you appreciate your parents more the older you became.

“Y/N?” You heard Joshua speak, pulling you out of your thoughts and turning your attention to him once more. “You alright, babe?” He asked, brows knitting g together in concern. You nodded, giving him a smile. “Yeah, just thinking,” you said, picking up your mug and taking another deeper sip of the hot coffee.

Though it was technically summer, you were glad it was ending, and autumn was beginning to settle in. The mornings were cooler, the days were getting shorter, and the nights were getting longer. The leaves barely started to change color, but you already caught little glimpses of yellow, orange, red, and brown amongst the green.

“What are you thinking about?” Joshua asked, and you turned back to look at him. “Just the past,” you said with a shrug, resting your hands on the table before you, fingers wrapping around the warm mug. Joshua shifted in his seat, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the table. “What about it?” He asked softly, resting his chin in his hand.

“Just how much easier things used to be. No worries, no bills, no rent, no traumas.”

Joshua’s expression changed, a frown settling on his face before he reached out to take one of your hands softly in his. He rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb, studying your expression before he spoke. “You know it wasn’t your fault,” he said suddenly.

You glanced up at him, eyes meeting his gaze. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he added. A small smile formed on your face. “I know,” you replied, voice barely above a whisper.

The tender moment was interrupted by your phone buzzing on the table top. You didn’t want to answer it, almost glaring at it for ruining your precious time with your boyfriend. He glanced at the screen, picked up the device, and turned it towards you. Your eyes read the name that flashed across the screen as the phone continued to buzz in his hand. You sighed and pulled your hands away to take the device from him.

You slid the lock to answer and held the phone to your ear. “Hey, Lilah,” you greeted your best friend. On the other side, you could hear her breathing heavily and the sound of objects being moved quickly. “Y/N!” She gasped. “Ohmigosh, I’m glad you answered!” You looked up at Joshua who was looking out the window, his expression unreadable.

It was no secret Joshua wasn’t fond of your best friend. More than once, he’d said he thought she was a bad influence on you which you didn’t understand because Lilah has never once pressured you to do anything you would consider bad. Sure, she was covered in tattoos and piercings, but to you, that didn’t change the fact that she was still your best friend underneath all the ink and metal.

Lilah was the loud, outgoing, energetic one between you. You'd met in primary school when she offered to share her brand new crayons with you and declared you her new best friend.

In middle school, the two of you met and befriended Wonwoo and with him came the others. Joshua, Seungcheol, and Jeonghan were a year older than Wonwoo but still as close with him as they were with one another.

“I’M FREAKING OUT Y/N,” Lilah nearly shouted. You cringed, pulling the phone from your ear slightly.

“Calm down,” you said into the receiver, noticing Joshua glance at you out of the corner of his eye.

He’d never understand why you still associated with Lilah. Especially after what happened between her and Jeonghan. To Joshua, you were too good for Lilah. When she started covering herself in tattoos and getting facial piercings, Joshua knew she’d gone off the deep end and he feared she would take you with her.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, looking away from your boyfriend. “I need you here. Please Y/N it’s an emergency,” Lilah said, voice sounding panicked. You nodded, despite the fact Lilah couldn’t see you. “Okay, calm down, Li. I’ll be right over,” you added, glancing up at Joshua, who glanced back at you as you spoke. Lilah thanked you profusely over the phone until you hung up. You looked up at Joshua, a grimace on your face.

“I know,” he said, giving you a small smile. “Lilah emergency,” he added. You sighed, nodding and turning to grab your bag. “I’m so sorry, Josh,” you said as you got up, Joshua following. You quickly drank the rest of your latte, not wanting it to go to waste. Joshua chuckled as you set the mug back down and turned to him.

He pulled you into a tight hug, resting his head against yours. “Be careful,” he said softly in your ear. You nodded, hugging him back. “I will,” you answered, pulling back and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You tried to pull away, but Joshua wouldn’t let you. “I’m gonna need a bit more than that,” he said softly, hand moving to cup your cheek and pull your lips back to his. You giggled, the sound muffled by his lips.

The way he kissed you always left you breathless and wanting more. That was how Joshua always was. He always left you wanting more. “Josh,” you murmured against his lips. “We’re in a coffee shop.”

Joshua hummed and pulled away. “Okay,” he sighed. “Fine.” He pressed one more kiss to your lips before letting go of you. “Text me when you’re done with Lilah,” he said, moving aside so you could walk past him. “I will,” you said, giving him one last smile before walking towards the door and onto the sidewalk.

The walk to Lilah’s wasn’t long as she didn’t live far from the city center. The two of you had almost moved in together but thought better of it as you lived somewhat different lifestyles. You had a day job, whereas Lilah was a night owl, becoming most active once the sun went down and the moon came out.

You, on the other hand, were a day person. You preferred the sunlight to the moonlight. You were a lot like Joshua in that respect. He preferred the daytime over the nighttime. He felt that there was more to do during the day.

Unlike Joshua, you didn’t see anything bad about the nighttime. Sure, you preferred the sun over the moon, but you couldn’t deny there was a certain beauty to the silvery glow of the moon that contrasted with the golden one of the sun. They were opposites, but then again, so were you and Lilah.

Lilah was your moon, and you, her sun.

You found yourself outside her building after a brisk walk and climbed the steps to the front door, punching in the code and pulling open the door. Lilah had given you the code to her building ages ago. She said for emergencies, of course. You had also given her your code, again, for emergencies.

Climbing the steps up to her floor, you wondered what could be so important this late in the afternoon that she had interrupted the already small amount of free time you got with your boyfriend.

Of course, Lilah didn’t know you were with Joshua.

It was more of an impromptu thing, meeting at the cafe. The same one he’d taken you on your very first date. Your order hadn’t changed since then, but Joshua’s had changed a handful of times in the last two years.

Standing before Lilah’s door, you brought your hand up and gave the wood three sharp knocks. Behind the door, you heard a commotion as heavy footsteps made their way to the door. A smile spread over your face as Lilah threw open the door. Her panicked expression morphed into a smile as her eyes landed on you. “Oh, thank god!” She said, reaching out to grab your arm and pull you into her apartment.

Lilah’s apartment was small, a studio with a partition wall separating the living area from her bed. The walls were a very pale lilac gray with white crown molding and baseboards.

There were two large windows in the living room area, allowing larger amounts of natural lighting in. The view from her apartment was the main downtown square. During the day, it was a somewhat boring sight, the buildings, the people, even the square, but at night, everything came to life according to Lilah.

Her kitchen was small but big enough for her. A pair of folding doors off the kitchen opened to a pantry where her washer and dryer sat. The furniture in the living room was mostly gray and black, matching Lilah’s personality perfectly. The light walls were adorned with numerous posters of bands and movies.

Several framed paintings also hung on the walls, a few of them being Lilah’s own art, but one small canvas that hung on the wall separating her bedroom was one you had done.

A small floral piece you remembered from a wine and paint party your mother had hosted. Lilah and her mother had attended, and you weren’t too pleased with your painting, so you opted to toss it when your mother wasn’t looking, but Lilah took it instead and hung it proudly next to hers.

The normally very tidy apartment was in a state of disarray, as if a tiny tornado had wreaked havoc.

As Lilah led you into her bedroom area, you were convinced the tiny tornado was in fact your best friend. Clothes were thrown all over the place, littering the floor and the bed. Shoes had also been tossed carelessly around the room and you looked around, shaking your head.

“What is going on?” You asked, turning to look at your best friend.

“There’s a party tonight. Chris invited me. You remember Chris, right?”

You, in fact, did not remember Chris. Since Lilah and her boyfriend, Seungcheol, broke up, Lilah had seen a variety of different men. Testing the waters, she called it. You shook your head again.

“I don’t think I do,” you admitted, moving to sit on her bed, pushing some of the clothing aside. Lilah groaned. “Yes you do,” she answered. “He’s the really cute one with the naturally curly hair. Dimples, pointed chin, chiseled jawline,” Lilah prattled on as she searched through her clothes.

“You just described like half the guys you’ve introduced me to,” you joked, watching her. Lilah clicked her tongue in disapproval. “He’s the Australian one!” she added quickly and then it dawned on you.

'A-ha.' Come to think of it, you did remember Chris.

Lilah was right, he was really cute. His accent is what really sealed the deal for Lilah. The moment he opened his mouth, she was smitten. You could remember almost seeing hearts in her eyes as she watched him speak. He’d been there with some of his own friends whose names you couldn’t remember.

You knew the other reason Lilah liked Chris so much was that he was covered in tattoos. Not full sleeves, but you knew that the work on his arms cost at least several hundred.

Tattoos weren’t cheap, and despite trying to convince Joshua of that, he still thought people with tattoos were unemployed and lazy. It irked you to no end because you knew how expensive it was. You’d accompanied Lilah to more than one tattoo and piercing appointment and nearly died upon hearing the cost.

“Oh, that one,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully.

Lilah nodded furtively, holding up a black cropped shirt. “Yes, that one!” Lilah sighed dreamily, tossing the shirt in her hands aside and picking up a black and white striped shirt.

“He texted me earlier and invited me to a party at the old Firestation. You know the one. Station 6,” she explained as she continued to dig through her clothes. This you also did remember.

Station 6 was the old fire station that was sold after a new, more updated building was constructed. The old station was snatched up by some developer intent on turning it into apartments but found the floor plan weird so he resold it for much cheaper, and a younger team bought it and converted it into a nightclub.

“Apparently Minho told him after Ari told him about it and Minho has been trying to get with Ari for like three months now,” Lilah said as she held up a cute black short sleeve top with an off the shoulder neckline.

“I’m going to pretend I understood what you just said,” you said, holding in a laugh. You knew Chris. The other names were foreign to you, or at least you couldn't picture any faces. Lilah did laugh, instead continuing to dig through the piles of clothes on her floor.

"Just help me, please?!"

You looked around the bed where you sat and grabbed the first thing that caught your eye. It was black, like the majority of Lilah's wardrobe, so it was worth a shot. Whatever it took to satisfy your best friend so you could try and get back to your boyfriend.

“Well, why don’t you wear this?” You asked, holding up the article you'd grabbed off the bed. It was a black leather bodycon dress with a lace up bust.

Lilah looked up and studied the dress from her spot on the floor. “I wore that last time I saw Chris,” she said, shaking her head. “I need something else. I really wanna get Chris’ attention,” she added.

"Something to get his attention," you murmured as you looked around before your eyes settled on a flash of red. Leaning over, you snatched it and held it up. “Hey, what about this?” You asked, smiling as you held it up for her to inspect.

It was a red halter dress. There were three cutouts held together with three chain links extending just past the navel. The back was cut to about the mid back. Lilah sat up and walked forward on her knees. She took it from your hands and inspected it. You glanced around and grabbed a tangled mess of black elastic. “And this?” You asked, holding it up.

Lilah looked up at your hands and smiled. She grabbed the mess and got up, running to her bathroom to change. You got up and started searching through her shoes and pulled out a pair of peep toe mesh booties with lace up front and stiletto heels.

You knew Lilah well enough that if you hadn’t chosen a pair of stilettos, she would have been offended. You stood back up, turning to meet her at the bathroom door.

“So… how does it look? How did I do?” You asked through the door. “I gotta give it to you,” Lilah started, before pulling open the door to show you the outfit.

“For someone who wears exclusively pastels, you sure know how to pick out the sexiest outfits,” she said, adjusting one of the straps of the black harness bra.

She noticed the heels in your hand and smiled gleefully. You handed them to her, smirking as she looked them over. “I’m serious,” she added, stepping out of the bathroom and walking over to her bedroom area, where she began picking up her clothes. You helped, putting things back on the hangers and handing them to her.

“Now,” Lilah said, turning to look at you, a wide grin on her face. “We need to pick an outfit for you,” she added.

You shook your head. “Oh no,” you replied.

“I’m not going, Li,” you said, shaking your head. Lilah pouted and moved to kneel on the carpet beside where you sat on the bed.

“Come on, Y/N! Please!!” She begged. You shook your head.

“No, Li. You interrupted my time with Joshua when I wanted to spend more time with him,” you responded. Lilah stuck out her tongue.

“Please, Y/N? You’ll see him on Sunday, won’t you?” She stated, giving you her best puppy dog eyes.

She was right. You would see Josh on Sunday at church with your families. You only attended to keep up appearances, not because you actually believed.

Realizing she wouldn’t let this go until you gave in to her pleas, you groaned and fell back onto the bed in defeat. “Fine!” You grumbled. Lilah let out an excited squeak.

“I’ve got the perfect outfit for you!”

She got to her feet and rushed to her closet while you sat up quickly, mind racing with images of what she might possibly pick out for you. It was pretty obvious you and Lilah had very different tastes and styles when it came to clothing.

You shook your head furiously. “Oh, no. Uh-uh, Lilah!” You blurted out. “I’ll just run home and change,” you added, getting to your feet. “Nonsense,” Lilah said as she dug into the back of her closet.

“I keep a few dresses in here for occasions like this,” Lilah added as she pulled out a dress. She turned and held it up. It was a baby pink bodycon dress, with a ruffle trim around the top. The short puff sleeves also had ruffles around the cuffs, and the bust had a lace up that fell to the navel. The back was somewhat modest with a zipper.

You eyed it; mildly surprised Lilah had even an ounce of pink in her wardrobe that wasn't neon or hot pink. She held the dress out for you to take but you paused, glancing up from the dress to your best friend. "Come on, please, Y/N?" she whined.

You studied her expression before finally sighing in defeat. "You aren't going to let me leave unless I say yes, are you?" You asked, narrowing your eyes when she giggled mischievously.

"Fine! Fine," you said, taking the dress. "I'll be your wing woman tonight." Lilah danced excitedly, thanking you profusely as she moved to dig through her shoes and quickly pulled out a pair you’d borrowed more than once: white satin pumps with stiletto heels and a silver filigree design on the back.

As she handed them to you, and you took them as you shot her a look. “You were planning this the whole time, weren’t you?” You asked. Lilah ushered you to the bathroom and closed the door behind you. Sighing, you quickly slipped off your shoes, setting them on the closed toilet lid before undressing.

You pulled the dress on, zipping it up with some difficulty. It was a little snug but still fit. Shaking your head and gathering your clothes, you emerged from the bathroom and found Lilah waiting in the kitchen for you.

She smiled widely as you set your folded clothes on the counter and you tried to ignore the look on her face as you pulled out your phone, wallet, and lipgloss from your purse. “You look so hot!” Lilah said excitedly. “Oh stop,” you hissed, heat rising to your cheeks.

“You want to wear one of the other dresses?” Lilah asked, and you quickly shook your head. “No,” you answered. “This is fine,” you added, grabbing your compact mirror and reapplying your lipgloss. Lilah had quickly done her makeup while you were in the bathroom.

She'd gone with a blood red lipstick and dark smokey black eye makeup. “We should head out,” Lilah said, checking her phone. “Do you have a small bag?” You asked Lilah, who nodded and disappeared into her room. When she returned, she was holding a small silver clutch and handed it to you.

Opening the tiny purse, you slipped your things into it, adding Lilah’s phone and lipstick when she handed them to you. “Okay,” Lilah said, combing through her hair with her fingers. “Let’s go.” You slipped on your best friend's heels and followed her to the door.

Outside, the sun had started to set, falling below the treeline. The two of you walked, chatting animatedly, when your phone buzzed in the purse. You fished it out and saw a text from Joshua.

Joshy: everything okay?

You: yeah. Lilah just being usual Lilah

Joshy: dramatic? That’s so like her lol so you staying with her or would you like to meet up and pick up where we left off?

You paused, stopping in your tracks as Lilah chatted animatedly. She didn’t notice you’d stopped for a few moments. “Y/N?” She asked. “Everything okay?” You looked up at her, meeting her concerned gaze. “Yeah, let me just answer this text real quick,” you replied, looking back down at your phone and typing a response.

You: I’m gonna stay with Lilah. Girls night. Sorry babe

Joshy: it’s alright baby. Will I see you soon?”

You: of course. We’ll see each other on Sunday,

Joshy: at church?

You: and after, if you’d like (;

Joshy: Sunday suddenly can’t come fast enough

You giggled, slipping your phone into the purse and joining Lilah, linking arms with her as you walked.

“I think that’s the last box,” Jeongguk said, setting the box he was carrying down on the kitchen counter. Changbin looked up from his phone and back down, sending the text he was currently typing and pocketed his phone.

“Which one is that one?” He asked as he walked over to where his friend stood. “Uhh, kitchen shit,” Jeongguk said, tilting his head to the side to read the hastily scribbled words written in black Sharpie.

Changbin snorted and pushed his friend, who merely chuckled.

“I still can’t believe we’re actually here,” Jeongguk added as he moved to lean over the kitchen island. “Beats sleeping on the road and in shitty roadside inns,” he continued, giving Changbin a pointed look.

“Would you rather sleep in a shitty roadside inn or camp by the side of the road again?” Changbin asked, recalling the first and last time he went camping with Jeongguk. ‘Never again,’ he had told himself the following morning.

“Yeah, no. I’m never sharing a tent with you again,” Jeongguk laughed as Changbin joined him. “Hey, it makes for one hell of a story,” the younger man said with a shrug.

Jeongguk rolled his eyes. “Ah yes, I’ll be sure to regale all the hot babes with tales of how i thought I got bit in the ass by a snake, but it was actually a rock under the base of the tent I happened to roll onto in my sleep,” he said, a goofy grin on his face as Changbin burst into laughter.

“In your defense, it was like three in the morning, and I’m sure it felt exactly like a snake bite in your sleep,” Changbin retorted, making Jeongguk offer him a very rude hand gesture. “I’m just glad things worked out when they did,” Jeongguk finally said softly. “Who knows what would have happened if we didn’t get into this place before the end of the month.”

The smile on Changbin’s face fell slowly. Jeongguk was right. They were cutting it close, but he was lucky to even find this place to begin with. He would have to thank Sungjin again for the heads up.

Changbin felt his phone buzz in his pocket and took it out, heart beating quickly until he saw the notification was from Chris. He visibly relaxed, his muscles no longer tensing, something Jeongguk took notice of immediately.

He waited until Changbin finished texting before he spoke.

“When are you gonna stop doing that?”Jeongguk asked softly. He didn’t mean it harshly. It’s not like he found it annoying. More like it was concerning how his friend tensed up any time his phone went off.

“Huh?” Changbin asked as he slipped his phone back into the pocket of his black cargo pants. “Doing what?” Jeongguk could tell Changbin was trying to feign ignorance but he wasn’t having it.

“You really think she’ll be able to find you? All the way out here?” Jeongguk asked, watching how Changbin winced slightly when he mentioned… her. Albeit not by name. Still, any mention of her was enough to send Changbin on edge.

“You know she hates small towns like this,” Jeongguk continued. “I mean, hell, she didn’t even want to visit Daejeon when we came out for a tattoo convention three years ago!” Changbin knew his friend had a point.

“It’s been what? Almost a year since you’ve seen or heard from her, right?” Jeongguk asked, watching Changbin as he nodded. “Give or take, yeah,” he confirmed. Jeongguk nodded this time. “It’s time to let it go, man. You’re safe. There’s no way she’ll find you out here.”

Changbin exhaled slowly. Jeongguk was right. Changbin knew there was no way anyone from his past would find him out here. It was far from the city. Far from the life he’d lived before. The only thing he brought with him were his problems and one of the few people he could really depend on.

His phone buzzed again and he pulled it out. Chris sure was talkative today.

Chris was the new piercer he’d just hired a couple of months ago when the shop was still being renovated. Chris and Minho had come in, the former being all smiles as he walked in, a certain bounce in his step, while his friend was much more cynical and witty.

[two months ago]

Changbin stood up, admiring his handiwork as he checked the wall for white spots. He’d just finished painting the accent wall near the front of the shop while Jeongguk was working on the large tiger decal he’d started three days ago. Changbin turned to look at his friend’s work.

“Holy shit, dude,” Changbin said as his eyes took in the details and color. Jeongguk was resting on a ladder as if it were the most comfortable place to be, an artist's palette in his hand as he worked on the tiger’s face.

He looked down with a huge grin, one the girls he’d dated in the past said reminded them of a bunny rabbit. Changbin didn’t see what they saw, but that was probably because those girls were trying to woo his best friend, and he was not.

“Looks a lot better than yesterday, huh?” Jeongguk asked as he set the palette on the small tray holder of the ladder and climbed down, hopping past the last few steps and meeting Changbin in the middle of the room to look up at the tiger.

“Yeah, he has teeth now,” Changbin joked. “Doesn’t look like some weird gaping maw.” Jeongguk playfully swung at Changbin with a chuckle. “Fuck you, man,” he laughed as Changbin easily dodged him.

The two were continuing to playfully box at one another until the bell at the front door rang as the door opened.

Changbin turned as two men entered the shop. Both of them were taller than he was but still shorter than Jeongguk. One had dark brown, curly hair tucked under a black plain baseball cap. He wore a simple black tee shirt and grey sweats with black trainers.

He had partial sleeves, all in black ink, decorating his arms as well as a couple on the side of his neck. He also sported a silver barbel on his left eyebrow, a black ring in his septum and a single nose piercing.

The other man, the taller of the two, had longer just as dark brown hair and wore a dark gray shirt with ripped blue jeans and black high top shoes. He had full sleeves in partial color and a single vertical labret piercing.

“Hey,” Jeongguk said, stepping forward. “Sorry guys, we’re not open and still working in here.” The taller of the two raised an eyebrow as the shorter man smiled, dimples appearing on either side of his face.

“You’re hiring, right?” He asked, holding out the flyers Changbin had put up the week before. Changbin looked back up at the man. “Uh, yeah. What kind of experience do you have?” He asked.

He watched as both men pulled out their phones. The taller one showed him an Instagram full of his work. “Do you both do tattoos?” Changbin asked. The shorter one shook his head.

“Minho does tattoos. I’m still learning, but I do piercings,” he answered. Changbin nodded, watching as the shorter man showed him the piercings he’s done.

“You have your licenses and certifications,” Jeongguk asked as he looked over the two men’s Instagram portfolios. Both nodded, providing the necessary documents. Jeongguk looked over the two license and papers before he handed them back and tapped Changbin on the shoulder, nodding towards the front desk.

“Give us just a second,” Changbin said to the men and turned to follow Jeongguk.

“What do you think?” His friend asked, arms crossed over his chest. Changbin glanced over where the two men stood, looking around and inspecting Jeongguk’s tiger wall art. “This is really good,” the shorter man said, smiling at the tiger . “Your work?” He asked, directing the question at Jeongguk, who nodded.

“It’s really good, man.”

Jeongguk turned his attention back to Changbin after thanking the man.

“Well?”

Changbin looked at the two men, giving them the once-over. It was apparent they both knew what they were doing but he needed confirmation. “Let’s give them a test.” Jeongguk nodded and stepped forward.

“What are your names again?” He asked.

“Minho,” the taller man answered.

“This excitable short puppy is Chan,” he added, gesturing to his friend.

“Uh no. Chris,” the shorter man answered.

“Chan is my birth name. I prefer Chris.”

“Okay, Minho,” Jeongguk answered, nodding towards Minho.

“Chris,” he nodded towards the shorter man. “We’re gonna give you both a test.” Minho said nothing but Chris chuckled.

“Okay, but I didn’t study,” he joked.

Minho rolled his eyes.

“Ignore him and his dumb jokes,” he said softly. Changbin let out a low laugh.

“Jeongguk, take Minho to your station,” he instructed before turning to Chris.

“You come with me.”

Chris followed Changbin to his station. “Are there any piercings you aren’t comfortable performing?” Changbin asked as he dug through a box, pulling out a few supplies. He pulled a rolling tray over to him with the toe of his boot.

Chris shook his head. “I’ve done almost everything. Dermals, tongues, nipples, hell, I’ve even done a few genital piercings,” he answered as Changbin set up the tray. Changbin looked up with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re a braver man than me,” he murmured with a smirk.

“I don’t want anyone’s junk in my face.”

Chris shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me,” he said with a grin. “And the smell doesn’t bother you?” Changbin asked as he moved the tray over to his chair. Chris shook his head. “Nah. I always wear a mask and I get it done as soon as possible so I don’t have to smell anything.”

Changbin snorted as he sat on the chair. “Alright. I’ve set you up to do—” he started, but Chris interrupted him. “Nipple? Not gonna lie, I figured you’d already have them done,” he said with a sly grin.

Changbin untucked his shirt and pulled it off. “I just never got around to it. It’s hard to pierce yourself, and Kook doesn’t do piercings,” he said as he set his shirt aside.

Chris seemingly entered his professional mode. His cheerful demeanor didn’t drop as he washed his hands quickly, returning to put on the gloves.

“Kook?” Chris asked as he got to work. “Which side?” He asked, pointing at Changbin’s chest. “Doesn’t matter to me,” Changbin answered. “Right side is fine.” Chris started prepping the area, wiping it with an alcohol pad.

“Kook is my partner,” Changbin finally responded to Chris’ earlier question.

“Oh, business partner or…?” He trailed off. Changbin chuckled as Chris prepared the needle.

“Business. He’s a great guy and my best friend but I’m very much into women,” Changbin answered as Chris laughed with him.

“Hey, no judgment here,” Chris said, preparing the barbel before grabbing the small forceps. “How well do you handle pain?” Chris asked as he carefully clamped the forceps on Changbin’s right nipple.

“I’m covered in tattoos,” Changbin answered with an amused tone. “I’d say pretty well,” he added as Chris picked up the needle.

“You’d think people who are covered in tattoos handle pain well but Minho is the biggest baby in existence,” Chris whispered as he leaned in closer to see what he was doing.

“I heard that.” A voice called from across the hall, making Changbin and Chris both chuckle. “Deep breath in,” Chris instructed. Changbin breathed in. “And out,” Chris said and as Changbin exhaled, he felt the slight sting of the needle.

“You didn’t even wince,” Chris noted as he pulled the barbel through and carefully secured the screw ball on the end before wiping the area one last time.

Changbin picked up his shirt. While Chris cleaned up the used items and removed his gloves, Changbin pulled his shirt back on.

“So, do I get the job?” Chris asked as Changbin moved the tray aside and set the rest of the stuff to be cleaned.

“How are you with painting?” Changbin asked as he tucked his shirt back into his pants. “Uh, I’m no Picasso, but I’ve painted rooms before,” Chris said with a shrug. “And Minho?” Changbin asked as they walked towards the doorway.

“He’s the artist. Much better than me,” Chris answered, following Changbin into the room where Jeongguk’s station was. They turned and watched while Minho worked. Jeongguk had pulled his shirt off and was sitting facing away from Minho while the younger man drew a small flash tattoo.

It wasn’t anything intricate or fancy. The lines were clean, and his hand very steady. “You better not be drawing a dick,” Jeongguk said jokingly. Minho snorted but continued to work.

“Nah,” he replied, stopping for a second to wipe some ink and blood from Jeongguk’s skin, a smirk forming as his response formed in his head.

“It's a butt.”

In reality, it was a small sheet style ghost with a little balloon that read ‘dead inside.’

Changbin held back a laugh as a grin spread across his face. The style was cute and cartoonish, but the sad ghost eyes and the balloon really set it apart. “I know it’s supposed to be a flash tattoo, but you should totally fill that in red,” Changbin said as he leaned over, pointing at the balloon.

“Great,” Jeongguk said sarcastically. “I got a red ass on my back.”

His response had the other three men bursting into laughter.

When he finished, Minho cleaned up while Jeongguk managed to get a glimpse in the mirror. “Hey, that’s pretty neat. I like the balloon,” he said as he looked over his shoulder at the little ghost.

“I almost did the ghost with a ski mask and gun,” Minho answered as he finished cleaning up and washed his hands. “That would have been a good one, too,” Jeongguk replied, pulling his shirt on.

“So,” Chris asked again with a smile on his face. Changbin and Jeongguk exchanged glances. Jeongguk nodded at his friend, and Changbin turned back to the two.

“You’re hired.”

[present day]

The ringing of Changbin’s phone brought him back to the present, pulling him out of his memories. The caller ID told him it was Chris. He answered it, holding the device up to his ear. “Hey,” he answered.

“Alright, I know you said not to call you without asking first, but there’s this club. Minho and I are going. You remember Ari?” Chris said into the receiver.

Changbin did remember Ari. She was the blonde girl that often came to the shop to see Minho. He also remembered the way Minho looked at Ari whenever she was around. It was a fondness he’d never seen in the two months he’d known the man.

“Yeah, I remember Ari,” Changbin answered, ignoring the way Jeongguk looked up, listening in to his side of the conversation. Jeongguk mouthed at Changbin, trying to figure out what was going on, but Changbin waved him off.

“Well, her friend Hana has been in the shop lately, and she’s got an eye for you. She wants to meet you. So the task to invite you to come out with us has fallen to me. Would you kindly grace us with your presence, boss?” Chris explained, ending in an ask. “We would greatly enjoy your company.”

Changbin snorted. If Chris had asked this in front of him, he’d playfully push or swipe at him. “Yeah, I guess I can make an appearance,” Changbin answered.

“Great! What about Jeongguk? Is he free?”

Changbin told Chris to hold on, putting the call on mute before speaking to Jeongguk. “Chris and Minho are inviting us to come out to a club with them. Apparently one of Ari’s friends wants to meet me,” he explained.

Jeongguk bobbed his head from side to side before nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

Changbin unmuted the call and brought the phone to his ear with a smile.

“Yeah. We’re in.”

You’d never been to the old fire station. The brick exterior hadn’t been touched, even leaving up the old Station 6 sign. Heavy bass sounded from inside the building, muffled by the bricks. You followed Lilah to the door and squeezed your way in. Most of the original structure had been untouched.

The entry hallway was crowded with people moving to and from the dance floor, which was the old fire truck bay. You followed Lilah into the old garage and stood to the side while she looked around, no doubt looking for Chris. You instead took the time to look around at the decor.

The brick inside had been painted black, and there was now a second balcony above the dance floor. The floor where people danced was a step down with a raised DJ booth in the far corner from where you stood. The bar was packed, every seat taken. The tables against the railing separating the dance floor were standing only.

The bar stools and the standing tables matched round black tops with black steel legs. The bar top was black quartz and shiny, catching the lights from above as they swirled and painted the dance floor and patrons in a shower of rainbow and neon lights.

“I see them!” Lilah said to you, leaning in to speak in your ear so you could hear her over the booming music. You nodded, showing that you understood. Lilah took your hand and led you past the bar, following the flow of the crowd until she managed to squeeze into a small booth in the far corner.

She sat down, pulling you gently with her, your butt landing on the cushioned bench next to her. You recognized the man next to her. It was Chris. He turned to look at her as she tapped a finger against his tattooed forearm. His shocked expression morphed into a huge grin, and he greeted her warmly and hugged her.

“You remember my best friend, Y/N?” Lilah asked, gesturing to you, and your attention was drawn from the old garage doors that had been left intact, but no doubt the wiring cut so they couldn’t be opened. Chris gave you a pleasant smile. “It’s nice to see you, Y/N,” he said, leaning forward to shake your hand. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he added, reaching towards the table to grab his drink.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I didn’t know I’d be coming until about twenty minutes ago,” you replied, nudging Lilah, who gave you a sheepish smile. “I can’t come out without my best friend!” She said with an exaggerated shrug.

You rolled your eyes and turned your attention away as Lilah started to chat with Chris. Sitting in the same corner booth were some faces you recognized but couldn’t put their names to their faces. Your eyes landed on someone you’d never seen before. He looked to be about your age, with short black hair with bangs that fell into his eyes. His attention was focused on the girl sitting next to him.

He wore a black fitted button down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his heavily tattooed forearms. You noticed the way the fabric of his shirt stretched every time he moved. This guy looked like he was born in a gym. You found yourself unable to look away from him.

He smiled, no doubt at something the girl next to him had whispered in his ear. He shook his head and leaned forward, grabbing his drink and taking a sip. He nestled back against the cushion, arm resting on top of the cushion behind the girl.

She was clearly enjoying the attention he was giving her. Your eyes wandered, taking in the tight black jeans and black leather combat boots. The man leaned forward to look at the guy sitting on the other side of the girl. He was equally as tattooed as the first with an eyebrow and lip piercing.

He had shorter brown hair, styled back to show off his forehead. He turned to look at his friend. You could see his mouth moving, not hearing what was being said. The second man, the brunet, nodded before turning back to the girl with purple hair he had been talking to.

The first man stood up and held out his hand to the girl, which she took it excitedly, letting him pull her up, the brunet man following with the purple haired woman.

You looked away quickly as the four walked past, no doubt heading for the dance floor. As you turned to look at Lilah your eye caught another man staring at you. You recognized him as one of Chris’ friends.

You were sure Lilah had mentioned his name before. Min-Soo? Min-young? Minho? You knew it started with Min. He was looking at you, a curious expression on his face. When your eyes met his, he raised an eyebrow and a smirk slowly started to form on his lips. You tapped Lilah quickly, catching her attention.

“I’m gonna go get something to drink,” you said over the music. Lilah held up her finger, telling you to wait a moment. She turned back to Chris to explain where the two of you were going. He offered to come with and Lilah took him up on his offer.

You soon found yourself squished between Lilah and one of the patrons sitting on a stool at the bar. You apologized to the woman but she just smiled and turned back to her friend.

“What are you drinking?” Chris asked Lilah. She glanced at the back of the bar as a bartender came by.

“Whiskey,” she replied. “Neat.”

Chris turned to the bartender to order two whiskies, both neat before he turned to look past Lilah at you.

“What would you like, Y/N?” He asked. Your head snapped to look at him. “Oh, uh…” you trailed off, glancing at the bar before speaking quickly. “Whiskey sour is fine,” you answered.

Chris nodded, turning to the bartender to add your drink to his tab. The bartender nodded, getting to work on your drinks. You turned around to look over the crowd of people on the dance floor, and somehow, your eyes found him again. His attention was on the girl he’d been sitting with, hands on her waist as they danced closely.

Feeling as if you were intruding, you turned away. A moment later, you felt the girl on the stool next to you slip away, leaving the spot vacant but only for a second.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Goody-Two Shoes,” a low but seductive voice said in your ear.

You turned to see the Min-something guy from before. You rolled your eyes as Lilah reached across to smack his arm. “Don’t call her that, Minho!” she said, frowning. His smile widened as he waited for the bartender.

“Enjoying the show?” He asked, and you turned to give him a confused look. He nodded over his shoulder.

“The way you were eyeing him so hard, I’m surprised someone like you would even be interested,” Minho said, voice low enough that only you could hear him. You looked away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you answered. He scoffed. “I’m not blind, sweetheart,” he said patronizingly.

“I saw you checking him out earlier. What? Is your pompous asshole boyfriend not doing it for you anymore?”

You felt the heat rising from the pit of your stomach. Before you could answer him, your drink was set in front of you. You thanked Chris, who gave you a warm smile before you turned to look at Minho, a smirk still plastered all over his face.

Taking a sip of your drink gave you enough courage to bite back. “I suggest you get your eyes checked, Min-ho,” you said, adding emphasis to the last syllable of his name before Lilah dragged you away from the bar and back to the booth.

Back on the cushioned seat, you sat nestled next to Lilah as she spoke animatedly with Chris and the girl Minho had been sitting with earlier. You didn’t join in the conversation though you did listen in.

“Good eye, Ari,” Chris said, his eyes on Changbin and Hana as they danced on the dance floor. “She’s really cute. Totally looks like his type,” he added as Minho returned, sliding into the booth and cozying up next to the blonde who smiled.

“I knew the moment we walked into the shop, she’d fall for him,” Ari answered, lifting her glass to take a sip. “They do look really good together,” she added. Chris smiled, playfully rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, pat yourself on the back,” he said with a chuckle. Ari smiled again. “Thank you. I think I will,” she said, reaching over her shoulder to lightly pat herself on the back, making Chris and Lilah both laugh.

Minho set his glass down and turned to lean into Ari, whispering in her ear. She nodded and followed as Minho stood up. “We’ll be right back,” she said as she took Minho’s hand and followed as he gently pulled her along.

You watched as they walked past, having zoned out of the conversation halfway through. You felt pressure on your shoulder and turned your head to see Lilah resting her chin on your shoulder. She gave you a smile which you returned.

“You okay?” Lilah asked as a slower song started to play over the speakers. You nodded. “I’m okay,” you answered. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Chris down the rest of his drink before he placed a hand on Lilah’s shoulder.

She sat up and turned as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. She nodded before turning to you. “We’re gonna go dance,” she announced. You nodded wordlessly, taking a sip of your drink. “You should come with us,” Lilah added, looking at you with a peculiar expression. You shook your head.

“You came here for him,” you whispered as Chris stood up.

“I’m your wing woman, remember? Go dance with him. Sweep him off his feet,” you said softly, offering your best friend a reassuring smile.

Lilah nodded and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “We’ll be right back,” Chris said over the music. You shook your head.

“Take your time,” you half yelled.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you added. Chris smiled and nodded to your drink.

“If you finish that, go get another and put it on my tab. It’s under Bang,” he said as Lilah got to her feet. You nodded as they squeezed past you but made a mental note not to do that . You felt bad if anyone bought you things.

You already had so much. You didn’t need anyone buying you things when you could buy them yourself. You continued to sip on your drink, pulling your phone out to see if you had any text.

Other than Wonwoo telling you he was expecting a package soon, there were no notifications, and it was radio silence from Joshua, leaving you to wonder what he was up to. ‘He’s probably reading a book or catching up on that anime,’ you told yourself with a smile. ‘My goofy weeb boyfriend.’

Once you’d finished your drink, you decided to get another and got up, heading over to the bar, squeezing between two tall men where a very pretty female bartender with baby pink hair smiled at you.

“Hi, hun,” she greeted you, leaning in to hear your order. You got the same whiskey sour and opened your borrowed purse to pull out some cash to pay.

“Let me,” a voice said, and you looked up to see a strange man beside you smiling down at you. He was quite handsome, and tall, with medium brown hair and very prominent dimples.

“I’m Dae-hyun,” he added as the bartender made your drink, eyeing the man suspiciously. “Y/N,” you said politely. “And thank you, but I've got this,” you added, pulling some notes out of your wallet.

“How else am I supposed to get your attention, though?” Dae-hyun asked. “Come on. Let me buy you one drink,” he pressed, but you shook your head. “No, thank you. Really, I appreciate it, but I can buy my own drinks.”

You turned to pay the bartender as she set your drink down, not missing the way Dae-hyun’s eyes scanned your body, a smirk on his lips. “Hey, you gonna buy a drink or just oggle my patrons?” She barked, making the man jump and grimace.

You turned and watched as the man slunk away and turned back to pay the bartender. She pushed the drink towards you and waved her hand. “It’s on the house, honey,” she said with a wink.

You thanked her, putting the bills instead in the tip jar and thanked her again before leaving the bar and returning to the corner booth that still sat empty save for the server cleaning up the empty glasses.

You thanked her as she walked by and returned to your seat, fishing your phone out again, trying to pass the time.

You could have left the moment Chris asked Lilah to dance with him. Your mission had been completed as Lilah’s wing woman, but you sat on the black cushion, sipping on your free drink.

As you scrolled through your Instagram feed, loud giggles announced the arrival of part of the group, and you glanced up to see the blonde girl, Ari, and Minho return.

“You’re still here?” Minho asked as he plopped down next to Ari, eyeing you suspiciously. “You can leave, you know.” Ari lightly slapped his arm. “Don’t be mean,” she said sternly. “If Y/N wants to stay here, she can,” she added, smiling warmly. Her kindness surprised you but you smiled back.

Minho leaned forward to grab his glass and grumbled something you couldn’t hear but Ari slapped his arm again. “Be nice!” She hissed as you turned your attention away as more footsteps approached.

It was the man from before and the girl he’d gone to dance with. You looked away as they sat down, feeling the guy’s eyes on you. You glanced back and met his gaze. This was the first time he’d acknowledged your presence.

You barely got a good look at his face before his attention turned to the girl next to him and you felt like you could breathe, your cheeks growing warm. You decided to chalk that up to the alcohol coursing through your system as Lilah and Chris finally returned.

“Is it just me or is it hot?” Lilah asked as she took her glass from Chris, thanking him before taking a sip. The girl whose name you did know nodded. “It’s really hot,” she replied, looking at the man beside her.

Her eyes moved past him to you and she gave you a blank stare, glancing you over as if she’d just noticed you existed before she turned away when Ari called her name. “Hana, do you want to go back out there? Minho won’t go with me!” Ari pouted. Hana shook her head at Minho and got up.

“I’ll dance with you,” Hana said, reaching out to take Ari’s hand and the pair squeezed past the rest of the group and headed onto the dance floor again. You looked away from them to find the black-haired man looking at you again.

His gaze didn’t feel scrutinizing or patronizing in any way. It was more like he was trying to figure you out simply by looking at you. You turned your gaze away but felt his eyes on you. Lilah and Chris were chatting animatedly next to you about his new job.

“Yeah, I just walked in and showed him what I’ve done. Then I had to perform an actual piercing,” Chris explained as Lilah hung onto every word. “Like, you had to pierce him?” She asked, jaw dropping when Chris nodded.

You glanced down at your now empty drink, trying to decide if you should get another. ‘Ah, fuck it,’ you told yourself as you set the empty one down and announced to your best friend you were getting another.

Lilah whipped around, gently grabbing your hand and stopped you before you could get up.

“Are you sure you can handle another drink, Y/N?” She asked, eyes studying your face, her expression full of concern.

“Oh, come on, Lilah. She’s a big girl,” Minho said as he slid into his seat next to Ari, who had returned with Hana before Hana pulled the man she’d been with up and onto the dance floor again. Minho was giving you a smirk but like Lilah, Ari had a look of concern. You weren’t sure why.

You narrowed your eyes at Minho, wanting to snap back but Lilah gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Ignore him, Y/N,” she said, turning your attention back to her.

“You know your tolerance better than anyone,” she added. You looked at your two empty glasses on the table and nodded. “You’re right. I’ll just go to the bathroom,” you answered before getting to your feet and adjusting the hem of your dress.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Lilah asked but you shook your head, giving her a smile. “I’ll be fine, Li,” you said before turning and walking away from the booth.

You made your way out of the garage and towards the bathroom, only to bump into someone. The force at which they ran into you almost knocked you over. “Whoa! Sorry,” said a familiar voice as two hands steadied you.

You looked up into the face of one of Joshua’s best friends.

“Hey, Cheol!” You said excitedly, sharing a hug with him. He smiled brightly at you. “I didn’t know you were going to be here!” He said, looking around. “You didn’t come with Josh, did you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Uh, no, I came with… Lilah,” you said, voice dropping as you said your best friend’s name. Seungcheol acted as if hearing his ex-girlfriend’s name didn’t bother him but you knew better. As far as you and Joshua knew, Seungcheol was still heartbroken over Lilah and Jeonghan’s drunken hookup.

It had been only a few months ago at a lake house party. Seungcheol, unfortunately, had work responsibilities so he couldn't attend. You'd gone with Joshua to appease "the party gods" as Lilah put it.

Halfway through, Lilah was much more drunk than you'd seen in a long time and Joshua offered to take both of you home. You went with him to get your jackets and when you returned to where you'd left Lilah, she was nowhere to be found and no one knew where she'd gone. You tried looking for her but Joshua said to let her be.

You felt like you should have looked harder.

The next morning Lilah showed up at your door, hungover and crying. She told you she waited for when you and Joshua went to get your jackets and during the time you were gone, she'd run into Jeonghan, who was also quite plastered himself.

One minute they were chatting, the next, they were stumbling into an empty room, and when she woke up the next morning, she realized they'd had sex. She was an absolute mess, beating herself up about how to break the news to Seungcheol.

When she finally did, she didn't ask for his forgiveness though he was ready to give it freely. She didn't cry, she didn't beg, she simply apologized and ended things, telling Seungcheol that there was no fixing this. What she'd done couldn't be undone or taken back.

According to Joshua, Seungcheol was heartbroken. He'd lost the love of his life and a best friend in one swoop. He didn't handle the betrayal he felt towards Jeonghan well and ended up giving Jeonghan a black eye. Joshua had felt conflicted about the whole thing, wanting to be there for Seungcheol but not knowing who was at fault .

You knew that Lilah and Jeonghan messed up but Lilah was your friend. Seungcheol was Joshua’s friend before he was yours. So you'd distanced yourself out of respect not only for Lilah but for Seungcheol as well, not sure if he'd even want to see you.

Judging by his response upon seeing you now, you knew he didn't hold you accountable . He was his usual cheerful self.

“Oh?” He asked, lifting his glass to his lips to take a sip. You nodded, unsure how to recover from the awkward silence between you. “You don’t have a drink?” He asked, noticing your empty hands. You shook your head.

“I just finished a second. I’m on my way to the bathroom,” you replied, gesturing towards the hall that led to the bathrooms. “Want me to get you one?” Seungcheol asked. You shook your head. “No, that’s okay,” you answered but Seungcheol cut you off. “Speak of the devil,” he said, a smile forming on his face.

You turned to look at who Seungcheol was looking at and your heart nearly dropped into your stomach.

Joshua was walking over, a smile on his own face, until he caught sight of you. His smile faltered for a moment before he turned his attention to Seungcheol. “We were just talking about you!” Seungcheol said, greeting his friend. Joshua looked from his friend to you. “Were you now?” He asked, to which Seungcheol nodded.

“I thought she came with you,” Seungcheol admitted. “No. She didn’t,” Joshua said, his eyes not leaving yours. “Well, I’ve got to use the restroom,” you said quickly. “It was nice catching up with you, Cheollie,” you said, giving him a smile before walking away to head for the bathroom.

Joshua muttered something to Seungcheol before following you, grabbing your arm a little too hard and turning you to face him. “Sorry,” he muttered, noticing how you winced in his grip. “I thought you were having a girls night,” he said, his voice back to normal volume since the music was now muffled as you were no longer in the same room.

“I am. I came here with Lilah,” you answered, eyes darting to the side where you saw another familiar face. “I thought you meant you were staying in,” he said, drawing your attention again.

“You know, a girl's night, like, movies and pizza or something,” he added. You shook your head. “No, Lilah wanted to come see Chris, and I said I’d come with her,” you replied. "Be her wing woman of sorts," you added with a laugh.

Joshua’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Who the hell is Chris?” He demanded, sounding suddenly angry that you were talking about another man. 'Oh boy, here we go.'

You didn’t like the tone of his voice.

“Chris is one of Lilah’s friends ,” you stated. Joshua crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t like it,” he said quickly. “Don’t like what?” You asked, also not liking the direction this conversation was going.

He was stalling you, and you really had to pee. “I don’t like the idea of you and Lilah alone with some strange man,” he countered. You rolled your eyes. “He’s not some strange man, Josh,” you retorted.

“He’s her friend and he happens to be a very nice man,” you added. Joshua scoffed, now his turn to roll his eyes.

“Nice people don’t hang around these places, Y/N,” he replied, and you had to give him a deadpan blank stare.

“Are you saying you aren’t a nice person?” You asked, making him realize his contradiction. He was getting frustrated with you. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut as he breathed slowly. “You know what I meant."

You saw his eyes flicker from you to something behind you for a moment before turning his attention back to you. “So then I’m not a nice person?” You inquired, trying to get him to admit he was making bullshit up. Joshua rolled his eyes again. He was over this.

“You know damn well what I meant, Y/F/N Y/L/N,” he stated, clearly annoyed with the banter you were giving him.

“Oh-ho-ho,” said a voice as the owner slid up beside you and draped an arm around your shoulders. “Busting out the government names are we now, Joshua Hong?”

You glanced up to see Minho, a smirk on his face. Joshua glared at the younger man. You could see that the simple action of putting his arm around your shoulders nearly set him off.

Joshua didn’t like it when other men looked at, let alone touched you. He was about to grab Minho by the collar when you shook Minho's arm off your shoulder.

“What are you doing here, Minho?” You asked, looking at him. He tore his gaze from Joshua’s, giving you an uncharacteristically warm smile. “Lilah was wondering what was taking you so long,” he said before looking back up at Joshua.

“I volunteered to come retrieve you,” he added, linking his arm with yours if only to set Joshua off further. You pulled your arm from his.

“Well, I still haven’t been to the bathroom,” you admitted.

"Well, why did you say so?" Minho asked, gesturing for you to hurry. “I’ll wait here. I promised Lilah I’d retrieve you and retrieve you I shall,” he added, causing you to roll your eyes before excusing yourself and hurrying down the crowded hallway.

Minho looked back at Joshua as you disappeared, his smile falling quickly. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Joshua asked, gritting his teeth. Minho was not easily intimidated, especially not by men like Joshua Hong.

“No,” Minho said, taking a step forward and prodding Joshua in the chest with his finger. “Who do you think you are?” Joshua was taken aback. “What?” He asked incredulously.

“I saw that,” Minho stated. “The way you grabbed her like that. What makes you think you can act that way?” Minho demanded, his voice low so only Joshua could hear him. “She’s my girlfriend, Lee. I don’t think it’s any of your concern—” Joshua started but he was cut off by Minho once again, who jabbed him in the chest with his finger.

“She may be your girlfriend,” he repeated. “But that doesn't make her your property,” he added. “You don’t get to grab her and throw her around like some kind of rag doll." Joshua opened his mouth to retort but was cut off once again by Minho's external monologue.

"You know, I've always wondered where those bruises come from,” he added. Joshua’s eyes widened. Minho could see he'd hit a nerve. "It all makes sense now."

“How dare you accuse me of abusing Y/N,” he snarled. A hand came between the two. “Gentlemen,” a voice said. Joshua looked down and noticed a much shorter man with black hair pushing him and Minho apart.

“This is a public space,” he added, glancing from Minho to Joshua.. “Let’s not cause a scene.”

“Who the hell are you?” Joshua asked, albeit very rudely.

“Changbin,” the raven haired man replied. “Seo Changbin,” he added, holding out his hand for Joshua to shake. Joshua looked down at the man’s tattoo covered hand and chose to ignore the gesture, instead looking at Minho and narrowing his eyes.

“Stay out of my relationship, Lee Minho,” he spat angrily before turning and walking back to meet up with Seungcheol and their friends, leaving the two men standing there. Changbin looked at his older friend.

“Okay,” Changbin said, jerking his thumb behind him in the direction Joshua had gone. “Who the fuck was that?” He asked. Minho held out his hand in a grand gesture. “Joshua Hong,” he replied.

“Sejong’s very own pompous asshole boyfriend,” he added, causing the younger man to snort and roll his eyes. “Wait… boyfriend?” Changbin asked, suddenly confused.

“Who’s his girlfriend?”

In the women’s restroom, you opened the stall door having finished your business and approached the sink, washing your hands quickly as you glanced up at your reflection in the water-stained mirror. Your makeup seemed fine despite the fact you had been crying just a few minutes ago.

You hoped no one would notice.

Your eyes caught sight of a red mark on your arm and glanced down at the spot where Joshua had grabbed you. “Shit,” you whispered, moving to dry your hands and inspect the mark.

If Lilah didn’t notice the makeup, she was bound to notice this. According to Lilah, Seungcheol had done the same thing a few times, grabbed her by the arm much harder than he intended to.

‘He must be really mad, if he grabbed me this hard,’ you thought as you finished drying your hands. You quickly rid yourself of that bullshit thought and shook your head quickly. ‘No,’ you told yourself.

‘It doesn’t matter how mad he is. Nothing gives him the right to grab me like that.’

Giving yourself the once over one last time with a quick nod to your reflection, you pulled open the door and stepped out into the hall. As you wound your way through the crowd of people, you were knocked backwards into someone and turned to apologize profusely.

The guy turned, and you saw it was the guy from the booth. The one Minho had caught you staring at. “Sorry,” you muttered.

“Someone knocked me over.” The man looked over and noticed several much taller guys crowded nearby before his eyes returned to you and nodded.

“You alright?” He asked, taking you by surprise. ‘Why is he asking me if I’m okay when I’m the one who bumped into him?’ You wondered but decided against asking him that very thing. “I’m okay,” you answered with a nod.

The smile that formed on his face almost took your breath away. “Then no harm done,” he said softly, turning back to the girl leaning against the wall that he’d been previously kissing. You turned away as they went back at it.

‘Awkward.’

As you headed out of the hall, you saw Minho standing in the same place you’d left him. He was looking over the crowd, clearly agitated but you couldn’t discern what had him scowling like that.

‘He… actually waited?’

Minho must have sensed someone was watching him and turned to find you standing a few steps behind him, watching him with a peculiar expression. Perhaps you hadn’t expected him to actually wait for you.

After witnessing your encounter with Joshua, he wasn’t going to leave you to walk alone when that asshat was still in the building, probably waiting for you to appear so he could swoop in and do more pompous asshole boyfriend shit.

Minho’s expression softened as you approached him. You glanced around only after realizing Joshua wasn’t anywhere in sight. You wondered what Minho could have said or done to get Joshua to leave but thought better than to ask.

“Where did Josh go?” You asked as soon as you were within earshot. Minho shrugged his shoulders. “Why do you care?” he answered. You glared at him. “‘Cause he’s my boyfriend,” you retorted, your words failing and expression softening as he offered his arm for you to take.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You asked suspiciously, taking his arm all the same. “Don’t get used to it,” Minho said as he led you back to the booth, stopping at the bar to get another drink. “What are you drinking?” He asked. You shook your head. “I shouldn’t have another,” you admitted.

Minho dramatically rolled his eyes with an equally exaggerated sigh.

“It’s not every day I’m offering to buy you a drink so pick something,” he urged, waving his hand. “Fine, a Singapore sling,” you answered. Minho gave you a once over before his lips spread into a wide and slightly mischievous grin.

“Oh, I think I’m gonna like this new you,” he said before turning to tell the bartender, leaving you to silent combust as heat spread across your face.

‘What does that mean? The new me?’

Once the drinks were made, Minho led you back to the booth. You thanked him again and sat next to Lilah.

“There you are!” She said, throwing her arms around you. “I was getting worried!” You patted her on the head, chuckling as you looked up to see Minho leaning across Ari’s lap to speak to Chris.

You noticed the urgency at which he spoke and that his eyes flickered to you and back. Chris asked him something you couldn’t hear, and Minho nodded quickly before speaking again.

Whatever their conversation was about ended as soon as Lilah pulled away from you. “Ooh, what’s this?” Lilah asked upon noticing your new drink, clearly not remembering that she suggested you not get another.

Not giving you a chance to answer, she took it from you and took a sip. Her face scrunched up as she swallowed, handing your glass back to you before she gagged. “What the fuck is that?” She asked as you rolled your eyes.

“A Singapore sling,” you answered, raising the glass to take a sip. “Well it’s disgusting,” Lilah answered. Minho snorted, but it seemed only you heard him. “It’s not that bad, Li,” you answered softly.

“Yeah, we can’t all have the taste buds of a child,” Minho quipped. Lilah and Chris both turned to look at him. “You? Sticking up for Y/N?” Chris asked, looking shocked but amused while Lilah looked just plain shocked.

Minho snorted again in laughter. He held up his drink in a silent cheers, directed towards you. “More likely than you think,” Minho said to his friend before sending a wink in your direction. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment as he took a drink and both Lilah and Chris exchanged glances as you took a sip of your drink.

“What happened when I sent you to check on her?” Lilah asked, turning to look at Minho again as he lowered his glass. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Chris looked mildly amused and surprised at the direction the conversation had turned.

“What does that mean?” Lilah asked as you glanced over to the dance floor, trying to ignore the conversation unfolding next to you. An RnB song with heavy bass had started playing, so only couples were on the floor now.

“Y/N,” Lilah said, drawing your attention away from the dance floor. “Huh?”

“What exactly happened that took you so long that I had to send Minho to fetch you?” Lilah asked. Your stomach dropped. ‘Shit.’ You tried to feign a smile and lighthearted expression but could see Minho looking at you from behind Lilah. The scowl you had seen earlier before meeting back up with him was back.

“Oh, uh, I ran into Cheol,” you answered softly, looking down to pick at the hem of your, well actually Lilah’s, dress.

“Oh,” Lilah replied, her curious expression dropping and a blank look crossing her face.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Cheol,” Minho said softly, nodding along. “Oh, and Josh,” he added with venom in his voice. You glanced up to see he was looking out at the crowd with a sour expression.

Lilah laughed at the look on Minho’s face. “You look like he pissed in your cornflakes,” Chris said, nudging his friend with a laugh.

“What did he do to you?” Lilah asked, noticing his sour expression wasn’t going away.

Minho shook his head. “Not me,” he replied, eyes moving towards you.

He wondered what it was about Joshua that you loved so much that you shook your head as subtly as possible, clearly not wanting him to bring up what he’d witnessed. Something he’d sent guys to the ER for. Something he would gladly do to Joshua, given the chance.

It was then Minho realized Lilah was still waiting for him to speak. “Then who?” She asked. Minho inhaled and exhaled deeply before shaking his head, forcing a smile.

“Nothing,” he replied. “He’s just a prick.” He raised his glass to his lips and downed the rest of his drink.

‘A dead fucking prick if I catch him doing that again.’

You silently thanked him for not bringing it up as Lilah rolled her eyes.

“Oh, don’t be mean for no reason, Minho,” she said before turning to look at the dance floor. “I have my reasons,” Minho muttered, but Lilah didn’t seem to hear him as he stared into the bottom of his now empty cup.

A new song started playing, something more upbeat but still with a lot of bass. Lilah smiled, bouncing excitedly in her seat. “Y/N, you wanna dance?” she asked, looking at you with a smile. You looked up, eyes wide. “Uh… I don’t know Lilah,” you said softly.

But of course, she didn’t listen. Lilah never listened.

Instead, she took your drink from your hands and set it in front of Chris turning to face him. “Can you watch these for us, please?” She asked, bringing her hands together almost as if in prayer.

When Chris nodded, a fond smile on his face, Lilah thanked him and squealed with delight. “We’ll be right back,” she said before standing up and grabbing your hand. “Come on,” she said, pulling you out of the booth and towards the steps despite your blatant protests.

Once on the dance floor, nestled in the crowd, you finally let loose and danced with your best friend. She always knew how to cheer you up. One song turned into another, and soon, you were dancing to a third song. Lilah always brought out the best in you. She always knew how to have fun, no matter the circumstances.

You were holding her hand and dancing, swaying to the music when you felt two hands on your hips. You turned quickly and found yourself face to face with none other than Joshua.

“Miss me?” Your boyfriend asked softly, smiling when your surprised expression morphed into relief that it was him and not some creep.

“You weren’t there when I got back from the restroom,” you replied, pouting slightly.

'Oh god. Is that what alcohol did to you?'

You felt his hand cup your cheek and you leaned into his touch, your body following his lead.

“Sorry, baby,” he said, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “I had to take care of something,” he added. You pulled back, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him away a little. “Wait. No. I’m still mad at you,” you added, looking at him with a serious expression.

Joshua’s free hand came up to caress your other cheek. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said, eyes flitting back and forth between yours. “Truly. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, well, it really hurt,” you continued. He pulled you closer, closing the distance between your bodies. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he replied.

Lilah moved to your side and looked between the two of you. “What do you mean you hurt her?” She asked, voice suddenly full of anger. “It was an accident,” Joshua said, turning to look at your best friend. “I didn’t mean to grab her so hard,” he added, gesturing to the red spot on your arm.

Upon seeing it, Lilah’s expression twisted into a scowl, and she reached between the two of you. “Hands off,” she snapped, trying to pull you away from Joshua and interject herself between the two of you.

“Lilah,” you started, but she cut you off. “No,” she said, pointing at you. “He doesn’t get to grab you so hard that he leaves a mark,” she said, nearly shouting the last part at Joshua, who glanced around nervously at the people around you.

A crowd was starting to form. “He doesn’t get to do that and then get off Scot free,” Lilah said angrily. “Lilah,” Joshua said, drawing her attention. “I know you mean well, but please stay out of my relationship with Y/N,” he continued.

“No,” Lilah snapped back. Joshua’s expression shifted from shock to anger. ‘Fuck,’ you mentally cursed. ‘This is not good.’

“Cheol pulled the exact same shit with me,” she spat, standing between you and Joshua. It had been a long time since you’d seen Lilah this angry, and you knew the alcohol wasn’t helping any.

“He’d grab me so hard that I’d bruise, and then he’d apologize, saying he’d never do it again,” Lilah continued as Joshua tried to interrupt. “I’ve seen plenty of bruises on Y/N’s arms to know the signs,” she argued.

You glanced around and noticed Minho and Chris had gotten up. The black-haired newcomer had also gotten up and was watching the scene from the railing. Minho tapped him on the shoulder and nodded. The newcomer stood up straight and followed.

‘Shit.’ You turned back to Lilah.

“Come on,” you said, trying to pull her away from Joshua. “Let’s not do this here.”

“Just because your relationship failed does not mean you need to involve yourself in mine,” Joshua snapped back angrily. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Joshua Hong. You think you’re so high and mighty,” Lilah spat back. You rushed between your best friend and boyfriend, using your body to block them from each other.

“Lilah, don’t do this here,” you pleaded, gently pushing your friend back and trying to break up the escalating fight before anyone got in trouble or seriously hurt. It was not above Lilah to start a physical fight when she was drunk and upset.

“No!” She shouted. “I’m so sick of this shit! He’s just like Cheol! He thinks he’s so goddamn untouch—!”

“Lilah,” Chris said, his hands gently grabbing her around the waist. “I think you promised that you and Y/N would go get pancakes with us,” he said in her ear. “We should go do that,” he added.

Minho, who now stood between you and Lilah, chimed in. “Yeah,” he added. “I think pancakes sound good right now, don’t you, Y/N?” Upon hearing your name, you glanced at him, confusion was written on your face.

As far as you could remember, neither you nor Lilah promised to get pancakes with them. Minho gave you a very pointed look. ‘Oh!’ You understood quickly and played along.

“They’re right,” you said, looking at Lilah. “We did promise”

Joshua stepped forward, moving to grab your hand, but a hand shot out, grabbing Joshua’s wrist. You glanced at the person standing on the other side of you. The man with the black hair and tattoos.

The same one you couldn’t help but stare at earlier and was knocked into outside the bathrooms.

“A promise is a promise,” he said, fixing Joshua with a calm stare. Joshua pulled from his grip. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped. The man held his hands up to show he wasn’t a threat. “My apologies. I just don’t like seeing guys mistreat their partners,” he said, making Joshua round on him furiously.

“Excuse me?” Joshua asked, fixing the man with a bewildered stare.

“Who the fuck are you to accuse me-?” The man cut him off.

“Not accusing,” he said simply. “I’m just saying what I saw.”

Joshua scoffed and chose to ignore what the dark-haired man said. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Y/N,” you heard your boyfriend call your name, attention turning to focus on him as he spoke. “Come on,” he continued. “I’ll walk you home.” You hesitated. ‘Should I really go with him? He’s pretty upset…’

You must have taken too long for his liking because Joshua called your name again. The tone of his voice didn’t sit right with you, so you shook your head. “I think you should take time to cool down,” you finally answered.

‘Fucking finally,’ Minho thought as he looked up from your face to Joshua’s. He had to say he was impressed with your defiance when all he’s ever heard is how obedient you usually were. Could it be the alcohol? Or had you finally had enough of Joshua’s shit?

“Don’t worry mate,” Chris said, the Aussie in him jumping out. “We’ll make sure she gets home safely,” he added, arms around Lilah as he kept her from lashing out at Joshua.

If Joshua was angry before, it was nothing compared to how pissed he was now.

“As if I'd trust any of you,” Joshua said with a scoff.

“I’d trust us more than I’d trust you right now,” Minho said with a shrug. Joshua glared at him, his anger building. The smug grin on Minho’s face wasn’t helping to quell his fury.

Before Joshua could answer, you spoke up, your voice broke through his concentration. “I’ll let you know when I get home,” you promised, no doubt hoping it would be enough of a solution, but Joshua shook his head.

“No,” he protested. “But I really want to get pancakes,” you continued.

“Then I’ll take you to get some,” Joshua replied, taking a step forward. You shook your head. “Another time,” you heard Minho say as he rested his arm over your shoulders. “Don’t worry, Joshy. She’ll be fine with us,” he added.

Joshua’s fist clenched tightly at how too cozy Minho looked with his arm around your shoulders. He’d punched men for lesser things.

“No,” he refused again. “Y/N,” he said, looking from Minho to you. “Come here, now.”

Now it was both you and Minho who didn’t like his tone.

“She’s not some dog you can command,” Minho spat, taking a step forward, but the dark-haired man stopped him. You decided to speak up.

“I’ll see you on Sunday, babe,” you said, reminding him that even if you went to eat pancakes with Lilah’s friends, he was still your man.

He glared at Minho. “If you try anything,” he warned. Minho rolled his eyes. “As if,” he said with a snort. “Don’t worry, Hong. Your precious little princess is safe with us,” Minho added. Chris began leading Lilah away from the group and towards the exit.

Minho’s arm over your shoulders pulled you back, and he wordlessly guided you away from Joshua and towards the exit as well. You glanced back at your boyfriend, and you could see he was more than upset.

He was outright furious.

The air outside the building was cooler than when you entered, and it felt nice after being in a crowded club with such an intense and heated situation. You walked silently beside Minho as you followed Chris and Lilah.

“Wait, are we actually getting pancakes or was that a cover?” You finally asked. “I mean,” Minho started.

“I wouldn’t say no to breakfast right now. There’s that 24 hour place by our apartment,” he added, looking towards Chris.

Chris had stopped walking and was still supporting Lilah’s weight. She was very intoxicated, the drinks she’d consumed finally catching up to her. The almost-fight and her anger probably didn’t help. Knowing her, you felt she would barely make it home before passing out.

“I’d love some breakfast too, but I think this one might be a little too far gone to make it there,” Chris said, nodding at Lilah, who was currently humming, eyes shut as she swayed to music only she could hear. You took a step forward.

“I’ll take her home,” you offered, moving to help support Lilah. “You sure?” Chris asked, looking at you as you took Lilah’s arm and pulled it over your shoulders, your arm going around her waist.

“Yeah. If you guys wanna go get breakfast, I can take her home,” you replied.

“What about you?” The dark-haired man said suddenly, prompting you to turn and look at him. All eyes were on him.

“What about me?” You asked.

“I think what Changbin means,” Minho started, eyes looking at the dark-haired man. ‘So his name is Changbin.’

“Is how will you get home?” Minho continued, turning his gaze to look at you. Shrugging, you looked back at him. “I’ll just walk,” you replied. “My place isn’t that far from Lilah’s.”

“And if your boyfriend is waiting for you at your place?” Changbin suddenly asked. Your eyes fell on him again, confused but also surprised. ‘Why is he being so… protective?’

“Then I’ll just—” you started but Minho cut you off. “I’ll walk you home.” Your gaze fell on him, now properly shocked. ‘Who is this? ‘Cause it’s definitely not the Minho I know.’

“Then I’ll take Lilah home,” Chris said, taking Lilah from you. “That way, you get home much faster,” he added. “But what about your breakfast?” You asked, eyebrow arching. “Eh, we can always get it some other time,” Chris said, shaking his head.

“I’d feel a lot better if I knew you got home safe,” he continued, starting to lead Lilah in the direction of her apartment.

“Wait,” you said quickly, running after them, pulling your things from Lilah’s bag and handing it to Chris. “I almost forgot I had her stuff,” you admitted. Chris took the bag and thanked you.

“We’ll get breakfast another time, I promise!” He called as he continued to walk, leaving you, Minho, and Changbin alone on the sidewalk.

Changbin looked down, checking his watch. “I gotta go,” he said quietly. “I promised Hana I’d be back to pick her up,” he added. Minho nodded before gesturing him off.

“Go ahead, tell Ari I’m sorry,” he said. Changbin nodded.

“I’ll explain everything,” he replied as he walked backwards a few steps. “I’ll walk Y/N home,” Minho said to which you shook your head in protest.

“I’m fine, really,” you replied.

“I can walk myself home.”

Minho rolled his eyes and waved Changbin off before walking towards you, gently grabbing your arm and turning you in the opposite direction.

“Where do you live?” He asked as you walked together. “Just a couple blocks west of Lilah’s apartment,” you replied. Minho nodded, pulling you along.

“Let’s get going then,” he added.

You glanced back as Changbin walked in the opposite direction, back towards the club and disappeared around the corner but not before throwing one final look your way with an expression you couldn’t read.

You and Minho were left in the empty street alone, walking down the sidewalk toward your apartment. Silence fell between you as you walked and you wondered if you should say anything to break the tension.

This was the third time he’d gone out of his way to do something nice for you and you felt you should at least acknowledge that so he didn’t try and use it against you later.

“Thank you,” you finally said softly, not noticing the way Minho looked at you. “For what?” He asked after a beat of silence.

You took a deep breath. “For back at the club. You didn’t have to intervene, you know,” you continued. “Joshua is always like that. He doesn’t pay attention to his own strength.” Minho scoffed. “I’m probably just as strong as him and I’ve never once grabbed anyone hard enough to bruise them, Y/N,” he continued.

“That’s not normal,” he added. “And you shouldn’t have to put up with it.”

You glanced up at him. “It’s not that big of a deal,” you muttered. Minho stopped, pulling a hand from his pocket to grab your arm carefully.

“Stop making excuses for him, Y/N. I told you before he’s a pompous asshole and I’m not taking it back.” You glanced down to where his hand was still on your upper arm. It was a right contrast from the way Joshua had grabbed you earlier.

“If someone loves you, and I mean truly loves you, they don’t hurt you like that,” he continued, his hand dropping from your arm. You said nothing, only nodding slowly. When he realized you weren’t going to speak, Minho let out a sigh shoving his hand back into his pockets.

“Come on,” he said quietly, nodding his head in the direction of your apartment and continuing down the road. You followed behind him, not even noticing how he glanced back at you, a small fond smile on his face.

‘If she wasn’t so up Hong’s ass… maybe then.’ He shook the thought from his head as you struggled to keep up with his long strides. It was almost cute. ‘In another lifetime,’ Minho thought as he glanced skyward briefly.

You must have regretted not bringing a jacket now that the sun had gone down and the temperature had dropped. As you brought your hand up and rubbed your arm, quickly following Minho down the street, he stopped and sighed. ‘Why does she have to be so helpless?’ He wondered, unzipping and removing his jacket.

“Here,” he called out, holding his jacket towards you.

You glanced from him to the jacket and back.

“Just take it before I change my mind,” he continued. You took it carefully from him and pulled it on. “Thanks,” you muttered, zipping it up. Minho said nothing, only humming in response as the two of you continued down the street, silence falling over you once more.

The moon had begun to rise over the tops of the trees, casting a silvery light over everything.

You glanced up, eyes taking in the few stars you could see in the inky midnight blue sky. You were so preoccupied with looking at the stars that you ran into Minho’s body, colliding with him and a loud ‘oof’ leaving your lungs. Minho chuckled, looking at you as he stood still. “You know,” he said softly, turning to face you fully.

“You really should watch where you’re going,” he continued, a smirk starting to appear. You rolled your eyes, thankful for the dark which concealed the way your cheeks burned.

“It’s not like I was expecting you to just stop like that,” you murmured.

“What were you looking at, anyway?” Minho asked, ignoring your words to look towards the sky.

“The stars,” you answered simply, glancing from his face to the shimmering white dots in the blackness of the night sky. Minho’s eyes fell to your face as you stared skyward.

“The stars?” He asked, the smirk on his face growing. You nodded. “The further from the downtown area we get,” you explained softly.

“The brighter they shine.” Minho’s gaze softened slightly as he watched you.

“Alright Galileo,” he sighed loudly, making you tear your eyes from the stars.

“I said I’d walk you home but if I had known it was going to take three hundred years, I never would have offered,” he groaned teasingly, turning to start down the sidewalk before glancing back at you, the mischievous grin back on his face. You hurried after him, following his path down the sidewalk.

Before long, your building came into sight as the two of you headed to the door. Upon reaching the steps, you turned and removed Minho’s jacket and handed it back to him.

“Thank you for letting me use it,” you said as you held it out for him to take. He gave you a rare warm smile as he took it. “I’d never hear the end of it if I’d let you freeze,” you heard him say as he pulled his jacket back on. “Hey, at least it’s warm,” he mused.

“Thank you again for this,” you continued, ignoring his remarks. “You really didn’t have to walk me home, but I appreciate the gesture all the same,” you added. Minho gave you another rare smile. “Meh, don’t get used to it, princess,” he countered. “I don’t exactly like you,” he reminded you.

“But I absolutely loathe Joshua Hong.”

You rolled your eyes. Whatever beef the two of them had was none of your business so you didn’t care about what he thought of your boyfriend. “Goodnight Minho,” you replied as you turned to head up the small staircase to your front door and unlocked it with your keycard, giving Minho a tiny wave before letting the door shut slowly behind you.

Once upstairs and inside the safety of your apartment, you started to undress, sliding out of your, well Lilah’s, dress and letting it fall to the floor.

You moved into your bedroom area and grabbed a clean sleep shirt, pulling it on over your head and letting the material fall to your hips before moving to climb into your oversized queen bed, practically diving under the covers and pulling them up to your chin.

Your eyes slid shut before you even had time to register your exhaustion and soon the room was filled with the sounds of your snores as you drifted deeper into slumber.

[galacticnikki]

A Baby Witch's First Grimoire

Grimoire Entry 6 - 15 Tools and Their Uses in Witchcraft!

1. Athame

An athame is a ceremonial knife used in various forms of witchcraft. It typically consists of a double edged blade and a black handle. The athame is not typically used for actual cutting; it instead, is used for directing energy and symbolizing intent during rituals and ceremonies. Knives like the athame were used historically in rituals in cultures such as the Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans. The modern concept of the athame was popularized by Gerald Garden. He incorporated the athame into Wiccan practice by drawing inspiration from ceremonial magic traditions. In these traditions the athame was used to draw protective circles and direct energy. Now in our modern day we use the athame for many purposes including circle casting, directing energy, invocation and evocation, and symbolism of the elements air, fire, masculine energy, and the power of the mind and will.

2. Wand

A wand is a slender, hand held tool used in witchcraft for directing energy, casting spells, and invoking spirits of deities. Wands are commonly made from wood but can also be crafted from metals, crystals, or various other materials. It is traditionally considered sacred and powerful when used as a tool. Like the athame the wand also has historical ties to the Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans. In these cultures, wands were symbols of authority and power. They were used by priests, magicians, and oracles to channel divine energy and perform rituals. The want is also a common staple of folklore and mythology as they often are depicted as a tool wielded by witches, wizards, and fairies. This tool, again like the athame, was popularized in Wicca by Gerald Gardner. He drew inspiration from ceremonial magic and folklore. It's uses are for directing energy, casting circles, invocation and evocation, healing, channeling intent, and symbolizes air, fire, and the power of the mind.

3. Chalice

The chalice is a cup used in various religious practices involving witchcraft. It's typically made from metals, glasses, ceramic, or wood. The chalice represents the element of water and is a symbol of the Goddess, the feminine aspect of divinity, and the womb. The chalice has been used historically in rituals dating back to ancient times. In many cultures, the chalice has been a symbol of abundance, fertility, and the divine feminine. The chalice is often used to hold offerings and ritual drinks. It's so commonly used that even Christianity uses it to represent the blood of Christ. Today the chalice is often used for ritual beverages, such as water, wine, or juices, offerings, blessings, invocation, and symbolizes water, femininity, the womb, fertility, abundance, and the divine feminine.

4. Pentacle

Not to be confused with the sigil of Baphomet, the pentacle is a disk or flat object inscribed with a pentagram, which is a five pointed star pointing upright, enclosed within a circle. In witchcraft the pentacle is a powerful symbol that represents the elements. The pentacle has ancient roots, with the pentagram symbol being used in various different cultures and religions for thousands of years. Ancient civilizations, such as ancient Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece, among others, used the pentagram for its protective and symbolic properties. In the context of western religious and ceremonial magic, the pentacle boomed in popularity and became a prominent tool and symbol. This happened especially during the renaissance and the development of modern occult traditions thereafter. Today the pentacle is used as an altar tool as a focal point representing the element of earth and the foundation of magical practice. It's also used for protection, consecration, invocation and evocation, spell work, and symbolizes the elements of earth, air, fire, water, and spirit. It is the interconnectedness of all things and a very powerful tool because of it.

5. Cauldron

A cauldron is a large pot, typically made of cast iron, used in cooking and rituals. It's a versatile tool associated with transformation, rebirth, and the element of water. The cauldron can also symbolize the womb of the goddess, representing fertility. The cauldron has ancient roots and has been used across various cultures for cooking, brewing, and other various rituals. In Celtic mythology, the cauldron is a powerful symbol of abundance, knowledge, and transformation. For example, the Cauldron of Dagda in Irish mythology was said to provide endless nourishment. The Cauldron of Cerridwen in Welsh mythology, was a source of wisdom and rebirth. In medieval Europe, the cauldron became associated with witches and magic. It was often depicted in folklore and literature as a vessel for brewing potions and casting spells. This association has continued into the modern day and the cauldron remains a symbol of witchcraft. It's used for scrying, burning rituals, cooking, transformation rituals, and symbolizes the womb of the goddess, water, and the cycles of birth, death, and rebirth.

6. Broom

The broom, also commonly referred to as a besom in witchcraft, is a traditional tool used for sweeping and cleansing. It serves as a functional and symbolic object and is usually made from natural materials, such as wooden handles and twigs or straw for the bristles. Historically it was used by woman when cleaning homes. In medieval Europe woman were often practitioners of folk magic. The image of witches flying on broomsticks became popular in European folklore and later in literature and art. This is theorized to have origins in shamanic practices, where tools like brooms were used symbolically in rituals involving altered states of mind. Today it's used for cleansing and purification, ritual preparation, protection, fertility rituals, and symbolizes air, magical cleaning, and the union of masculine and feminine energies.

7. Book of Shadows

A Book of Shadows (BoS), also known as a grimoire, is a collection of magical knowledge, experiences, rituals, spells, and other relevant information stored in a book, journal, blog, or other means. While the term is usually interchangeable, some traditions distinguish between the two. These traditions usually consider a grimoire as more of a spellbook or manual while a Book of Shadows (BoS) is considered a personal diary of magical practice. The concept of recording magical knowledge dates back to ancient times. Grimoires have been found throughout history in various cultures, containing information on magical practices, spells, rituals, and divination. In medieval Europe, grimoires were often handwritten manuscripts passed down through generations or kept secret to protect the knowledge within. Today the Book of Shadows (BoS) is used to record spells and rituals, track progress of the practitioners growth, contains notes from research and study, shares personal reflections of experiences, dreams, and insights gained through magical practice, preserve tradition, and is a method of creative expression.

8. Candles

In witchcraft and other magical practices, candles are used for their symbolic and practical properties. The color, size, and type of candle can influence its effectiveness and purpose in rituals and spells. The use of candles dates back thousands of years. Ancient civilizations such as the Egyptians, Romans, and Chinese used candles made from beeswax, tallow (animal fat), or plant based waxes. Early candles were primarily used for illumination and were often crafted in a labor intensive process. In magical and religious contexts, candles have been used for centuries as symbols of light, purification, and spiritual illumination. In many traditions, candles have been incorporated into rituals and spellwork due to their symbolic representation of the element of fire and the energy of transformation. Today's uses of candles include focus and intention, color correspondences, ritual and spellwork, meditation and contemplation, celebrations and ceremonies, and symbolize fire, transformation, energy, and purification.

9. Incense

Incense is a substance that releases fragrant smoke when burned. It's typically made from a blend of aromatic plant materials, resins, oils, and sometimes other stuff. Incense comes in various forms, including sticks, cones, powders, and coins. In witchcraft and other spiritual practices, incense is used for its aromatic properties and its association with purification, ritual and energy work. Incense has been used for thousands of years across various cultures for religious, spiritual, and therapeutic purposes. The ancient Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, and Chinese all utilized incense in their rituals and ceremonies. In many cultures, burning incense was, and still is, believed to bring people closer to the divine, purify spaces, and ward of negative energies. In ancient Egypt, incense was used in temple offerings and daily rituals. The Greeks and Romans used it in their religious practices and medicinal treatments. In India and China, incense has been integral to spiritual and meditative practices for centuries. The use of incense in these traditions often involved complex blends of resins, herbs, and oils tailored to specific purposes. Today's uses for incense include purification, rituals and ceremonies, meditation and contemplation, invocation, spellwork, and energy work.

10. Deity Statues

Deity statues are sculptural representations of divine beings or spirits used in various religious practices. These statues can be made from various materials, such as wood, stone, metal, or clay, and they often depict gods, goddesses, or other significant figures from mythology or religious traditions. In witchcraft, deity statues are used to represent and connect with specific deities or spiritual entities. They have been used across a variety of cultures for thousands of years. Ancient civilizations, including but not limited to, the Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, Hindus, and Buddhists, created statues to honor and invoke their deities. These statues served as focal points for worship, rituals, and offerings. In ancient Egypt, statues of gods and goddesses were placed in temples and homes, and offerings were made to them as part of daily religious practices. In Greece and Rome, statues of gods were central to worship in temples and public spaces. Similarly, in Hinduism and Buddhism, deities are often depicted in elaborate statues that play a significant role in devotional practices. In modern witchcraft, deity statues are used to honor and work with specific deities, align with spiritual practice with divine energies, and create sacred spaces. They are used for representation, invocation, meditation, altar decoration, used for offerings and devotion, and symbolic connection.

11. Crystals

Crystals come in various types, including quartz, amethyst, rose quartz, and many others. In spiritual and magical practices, crystals are valued for their alleged energetic properties and their ability to influence or enhance various aspects of life and magic. The use of crystals dates back to ancient civilizations. Many cultures have used crystals for their perceived magical and healing properties. In Ancient Egypt, crystals such as lapis, turquoise, and carnelian were used in amulets, jewelry, and burial artifacts. They were believed to offer protection and bring about divine favor. Ancient Greece and Rome used various crystals in jewelry and talismans. They believed that crystals had healing and protective qualities. Ancient China used crystals as medicine to balance energy and treat various ailments. Historically Crystals were used in Hinduism and Buddhism to enhance energy and focus. In today's modern age, crystals have gained popularity in various new aged practices where they are used for their healing properties and their role in energy work. Some of the modern uses include healing, energy work, protection, manifestation, cleansing, purification, and divination.

12. Herbs

In witchcraft, herbs are valued for their specific energies and attributes, which are believed to enhance rituals, spells, and healing practices. Herbs can be used in various forms, including fresh, dried, powdered, or in essential oil form. Historically herbs were used for various purposes for various cultures. Ancient Egypt used herbs in medicine, rituals, and embalming practices. Plants like frankincense and myrrh were highly prized for their spiritual and healing properties. Ancient Greece and Rome used herbs in both medical and magical practices. Greek physicians like Hippocrates and Galen wrote extensively on the use of herbs for health. In ancient China herbs were used in medicine for thousands of years to balance the body's energy and treat ailments. A variety of indigenous cultures around the world have also used herbs for healing practices, rituals, and daily life, often incorporating them into traditional medicine and ceremonies. Today we use them for many reasons including holistic medicine, culinary arts, and witchcraft. In witchcraft they are used for spells, rituals, herbal baths, incense and smudging, healing, amulets and charms, meditation, and dream work.

13. Bells

Bells have a long history across many cultures and have been used for various purposes. Bells have been found in ancient civilizations, such as in China and Mesopotamia, where they were used in rituals, ceremonies, and as signaling devices. In Buddhism, bells are used in temples and monasteries to signal meditation times and to aid in ritual practices. In Christianity, church bells have historically called people to worship and marked hours of the day. In European folk traditions, bells were often used in rituals to ward off evil spirits and protect against evil forces. They were also used in celebrations and seasonal festivals. In modern times bells are used for cleansing, purification, marking rituals and spells, energy clearing, focus, intention, invoking or honoring deities, and divination.

14. Altar Cloth

Altar clothes are pieces of fabric used to cover and decorate altars. It can be made from various materials including silk, cotton, velvet, or other fabrics and often features symbolic designs, colors, or patterns relevant to the practitioners beliefs or the specific ritual. The use of altar cloths dates back to ancient religious and spiritual practices among a variety of cultures. In many ancient religious traditions altars were often covered with cloths as a sign of respect and to beautify the sacred space. This practice can be seen in ancient Egyptian, Greek, and Roman temples. In Christian traditions, altar cloths are used to cover the altar in churches. These cloths often feature religious symbols and are used to make religious occasions. In various pagan and folk traditions, altar cloths have been used to signify the altar's sacred nature and to protect it from mundane influences. Today altar clothes are used for both practical and symbolic reasons. These range from creating a sacred space, use for protection, focus, intention, organization, and symbolize different meanings dependent on the color. For example a green cloth may be used during prosperity spells, while a black cloth might be used for protection or banishing.

15. Mortar and Pestle

Mortar and pestles are tools used to crush, grind, and mix substances. The mortar is a bowl, typically made of stone, ceramic, or wood, and the pestle is a heavy, club shaped object used to grind and crush the materials inside the mortar. This tool is widely used in cooking, pharmacies, and various craft and medicinal practices. The mortar and pestle have a long history and has been used across many cultures. Early examples of mortar and pestles have been found in the archaeological remains of the Indus Valley, Egypt, and Mesopotamia. In ancient Greece and Rome the mortar and pestle was an essential tool for pharmacists and used to prepare medicines. Today mortar and pestles are valued for their ability to transform raw ingredients into fine powders and mixes, making it an essential tool for preparing herbal blends, incense, and other magical concoctions. They are used for symbolic acts, herbal preparations, incense making, to prepare spell ingredients, and in making anointing oils.

Feel free to check out my master post for more information!

[yingren]

five fine things.

FILL IN THE CATEGORIES BELOW WITH 3-5 THINGS YOUR CHARACTER CAN BE DEFINED BY. REPOST. DO NOT REBLOG!

TAGGED BY: myself because i stole this from my old blog TAGGING: anyone else that is as bored as me and likes filling these things out ( it's a lot and u absolutely don't have to read this or do it yourself!! )

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS / TRAITS:

tired, stubborn, curious, grim, quiet.

MEETINGS:

— a collision of bodies in the dark, shoulder against shoulder, hushed apologies and curses — on a path somewhere, two mismatched walking paces forcing you closer and closer, a tired conversation to keep the awkward silence away — tending to bruised knuckles, wrapping bandages around bloody traces of a fight, somewhere outside at 4am

SCENTS:

blooming spider lilies, hint of leather & cold metal, the grounding scent of rain on pavement, plain black coffee.

CLOTHING:

apart from the outfit we see him wearing in canon: same pants with a simple button up, whatever suit kafka insists he wears, a hanfu. rarely wears shorts of any kind. sleeps in pants (pajama, sweatpants etc) but shirtless.

OBJECTS:

his sword. items crafted by hand such as ceramics, pottery, sculptures, jewelry etc. things stolen from others. his glasses that you will never see him wear. his favorite pen. a phone always silenced. his journal.

VICES / BAD HABITS:

disappearing, without trace and/or warning, a few days of silence as he is off to places unknown. thrill-seeking, whether it be risky activities or desperately seeking a reaction or feeling from a fight or self-inflicted injuries. avoidant, shutting down any and all attempts at confronting his past.

BODY LANGUAGE:

often appears relaxed, moves almost soundlessly and with ease compared to his sometimes loud and intense outbursts. uncomfortable in his own body, does not like what he has become. rarely showing physical affection, on occasions where it happens it is most likely a fleeting hug. sometimes it's a grip of their sleeve to keep them from bumping into something or someone, a nudge to their side to soften the blow of a joke or an arm around their shoulders when they're injured. good reflexes, effortless and quick, throw something at him and he will most likely catch it. private, has a big personal space bubble, if you come to close he will move away and if you continue moving closer after that he will get annoyed. attempts to be let into the bubble that is his comfort zone need to be initiated by him or any attempts at affection or closeness will be rebuffed. this goes for strangers mostly but also literally anyone that isn't in his closest circle.

AESTHETICS:

dried flowers, preserved and cared for even in their death. late nights but early enough mornings to catch the sunrise, daggers, knives and weaponry, tangible nightmares, blood-stained clothes, ink-stained hands, wading through knee-deep water, tasting iron, scabs and scars

HOME:

people as a home. books literally everywhere. it's easy to be confused for a mess even though it isn't dirty. old and new books, paperback or bound, open or not. some bookmarked with little post-it notes. ask him and he'll know exactly where a specific book is. untouched leftovers in the fridge, signs of caring and kind companions that looks out for him. half finished crossword puzzles on his bed, his dresser, his bedside table, in the inside pocket of his jacket.

SONGS:

cold shoulder by 8graves, feel nothing by the plot in you, broken by lund

[gatheringfiki]

The following ficlet was written by @patchworkideas based on this photoset.

Fili/Kili, T.

You might also be able to read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

Fallen Dream

---

Sitting outside the door, two hot beverages in hand, was a well-worn tradition by now.

The doors changed often. The beverages too, depending on mood and availability.

The tradition didn't.

Kili loved these moments. Even if the second beverage cooled, undrunk as the little bubble of time burst and life caught up again. It was still a moment of wonder, quiet contemplation, fond remembrance in the busy and hectic life that he loved.

But oh, sometimes he didn't drink alone.

And those, those stolen moments in time and space, those gave him life. Refreshed the breath in his lungs, the spark in his soul.

Kili could feel it. He always could. Like lightning through his veins, electricity in the air, a storm on the horizon even with no clouds in sight.

Fili quietly took the offered mug, fingertips barely touching. Smile hidden behind the ceramic and it's cheshire cat.

The pleased noise he made was both heaven and hell. Better than both.

"That's an interesting find." Fili offered as he licked his lips, doubtlessly aware how Kili's eyes followed the movement. How it distracted him from the folding of Fili's oh so white wings, disappearing like snowflakes behind him. "Human's culinary creativity never runs dry it seems."

"Oh, not just the culinary kind." Kili grinned, taking a sip and stretching just so. Just the way he knew his brother loved.

He could feel his wings itch beneath his skin, could remember oh so clearly familiar fingers in his down. He kept them contained. Not the time. Not yet. Maybe never again.

But dreaming had caused Kili's fall - there was no sense in giving any dreams up now.

The black sword clanked against the banister, Fili showing uncharacteristically little care for that particular weapon. Kili remembered a time when it was as sacred to him as the knives Kili would forge for him, each treated like a treasure.

These days it was little more than a duty - abandoned at the door.

Kili knew no human would find it, or would be able to lift it to steal the damn thing away. But it was always nice to dream.

And Fili always left it at the door.

The doors changed. The beverages changed. Their dance did not; millennia in the making, love in every gesture, in every joke, in every word, look, touch. They used to be rougher, once upon a time, but time had gentled their hands and their tongues.

Or maybe it had been Kili's fall, and it's following consequences, that allowed him to accept the gentle touches Fili had always offered. That made him realize the beauty not just in adventure, in daring, in his wildest dreams - but in the quietest moments, and the love in between.

Every fallen angel had a brethren on their trail, a soldier to bring them to heel.

Kili had never run from his. And Fili had never caught him, never chained him.

One day, Fili too would fall for that.

Kili could only dream it would feel as sweet as when they fell together into white sheets, into a fairytale dream of a human life.

Just for a bit, just for now.

Just like dreams become reality.

[lenreli]

Day 27 - Djinn Dream [AU]

[AO3]

Robert Gadling, by far, is the oddest person Dream has dealt with in his many eons of ― granting wishes. Usually there’s wishes of wealth, of power or true love, or a grand castle ― but so far, Hob’s only used up one wish for one of his knives to be sharpened, otherwise being ― okay, with having Dream trail behind him in the forest they’re in, chattering all the way. 

“You are a very odd human,” Dream says, and Hob laughs brightly, birds flying away at the sound. “Are you sure you want to be here?”

“I’m sure,” Hob says, grin bright as they walk into a clearing with a small house in the middle of it, vines growing up it’s walls as Hob gestures to the house, “welcome to my humble abode ― one of them anyway,” Hob says as they enter it, and Dream tilts his head as he watches Hob light the fireplace, then pulling Dream over to the bed, and Dream certainly wouldn’t be opposed to doing that with Hob, considering how attractive he is, but Hob only holds his hands. “Dream, my ― friend,” Hob says and he blinks. “I get the feeling this isn’t what you planned, being this.”

“Yes,” he says, confused, refusing to feel hope at what Hob’s implying, “it was ― I was not, am not, a kind being, before. This was a punishment,” he whispers. 

“I figured. That lamp isn't your colour,” Hob says, gesturing with his head to the rucksack holding Dream’s white-and-blue prison, and Dream bites down an ugly laugh. “If I wanted to free you, I imagine it wouldn’t be as simple as wishing it, then.”

Dream opens and shuts his mouth, finding no ― ulterior motives, or deceit in Hob’s face, and he quashes more hope, “it would not be that easy,” he offers, voice dry as he licks his lips, “it would ― I, Hob. It would be easier, for you to get your wishes over with,” he says desperately. 

“I don’t care. I want to free you,” Hob squeezes his hands, and Dream looks down at them in wonder, feeling how warm and rough they are.

“But Hob,” Dream says, staring down at the other’s scarred hands instead of kind brown eyes, “it would be an intimate ritual, to move the binding from the lamp to you, from which you can free me.”

“Intimate? Like sex intimate?” Hob asks, not ― horrified, or disgusted, and Dream looks up in shock. “Hell yeah. Let’s free you!” Hob’s grin is blinding, and Dream is speechless, “do we have to like, set stuff up though? What do I have to say?” 

“The―it could kill you, Hob,” he says desperately, a last-ditch attempt to stop this madness, squeezing his eyes shut as Hob leans in with a secret smile, a hand touching his cheek, and Dream resists the urge to nuzzle into it.

“I have a secret,” Hob breathes, “I won a wager against Death once, about 200 years ago. I can’t die,” Dream freezes, staring at Hob in amazement. “Now ― ritual?” 

Dream gapes, free hand magicking up candles and finer sheets for the bed, a dark black. Holding Hob’s hand in his, he magicks on the tattoo needed onto their hands, a copy of the lamp’s decoration as it poofs out of the sack and floats in the air, “these are all we need while we copulate,” Hob sniggers and Dream gives him a glance, sighing deeply, “have sex. Just think about freeing me, and the lamp will break.”

“Easy enough,” Hob whispers, tattoo glowing as Hob moves to kiss him softly, hands going under his black clothes, pleasure sizzling and burning as the lamp starts to glow and break in return, and Dream can only hold on as soft, reverent kisses, as hands rub his leaking cock, as gentle fingers reach inside him, the pleasure overwhelming as Hob praises him softly. Dream gasps into Hob’s neck, his hands in soft brown-grey hair as Hob enters him, the light from the breaking lamp, from their hands, and there’s an explosion of light, of ceramic as he comes with a shout, and Dream’s amazed to see the lamp in pieces on the floor as Hob kisses his neck, dick pressing against his prostate. It only takes a few more passes until Hob comes with a stuttered Dream.

[ghostoffuturespast]

Tagged by @therealnightcity @morganlefaye79 & @civilization-illstayrighthere! Thank you! Also, borrowed your idea to use a banner Morgan. Your WIPs always look so fancy when you post lol. (And your fancy frog Civilization)

Snippet of So It Goes - Ch. 38

Neon overflowed from the burgeoning cracks of darkness in the courtyard, spilling iridescent over grease-stained asphalt and pushing out the last shreds of afternoon light. The drunken thud of bass and the shrill shout of chords tripped faint up the stairs in an attempt to lure the loiterers at the entrance down its throat and further into the belly of the building. Chromed-out mercs greeted each other with clasped hands and claps of the shoulders, touting their services in time to the discordant hum of the city.  That hungry lullaby.  Knives silently poised behind the bravado of easy smiles. Just in case.  V inhaled a lungful of air, the taste of stale alcohol, garbage, exhaust, and cigarettes swilling thick on her tongue and doing nothing to settle the tattered threads of her nerves. The scent of tobacco smoke made her palms itch, the sensation saturating the flesh beneath black ceramic. Short nails clawed at the surface in a futile endeavor. In all her years of testing bad habits, she’d never been able to scratch the apprehension away. She couldn’t quit The Afterlife either, the same way she couldn’t stop craving breathe. Like how she couldn’t stop caving to a certain dumbass rockerboy’s last requests. “Nervous?” V glanced up at River. “Be honest, this the worst date you’ve ever been on?” The two of them leaned on the back bumper of his truck in the Afterlife’s parking lot. People watching. Eyes flitting between the crowd, each other, and the awkward space between them. “Mmm. Not the worst, but I’d definitely say this qualifies as the weirdest.” “You nervous?” She echoed. River shifted, the shearling of his coat brushing against the tension ratcheting up his jaw. “As long as this doesn’t turn into a hostage situation or a…” His nostrils flared. “Conjugal visit, think I’ll manage.” V blew on her bangs to keep the purple fringe from creeping into her eyes. “After last time, he better not.” “Pinky promise, no finger-fuckin’ this time.”  Johnny blipped in by his beloved clown car, the Porsche parked in the spot nextdoor. “Seeing as you don’t have actual pinkies, hardly reassurance.” Amber optics flitted over to Johnny. “Also, does that cover every other possible sex act you can think of?” “Hey, I mean it. On my best behavior. ‘Sides you have your pet pig on guard duty.”

Tagging with no pressure: @morganlefaye79 @therealnightcity (right back atcha) @shimmer-like-agirl @luvwich @tarmac-rat @bnbc @dani-the-goblin @wanderingaldecaldo @fly-amanitaa @merge-conflict @themightiestpotato @ladykatie512

Cash your monopoly money in whenever or not at all. And also, feel free to share any and all creative projects your working on. Doesn't have to be writing or even CP2077 related. I always love seein' what folks are working on :)

[blubushie]

did you feel anything when u killed someone the first time mr. bounty hunter?

Recoil.

Ok, now that the edginess is out of the way...

(Warning for mildly graphic description of death by shooting...)

No.

The first time I killed someone, he was also trying to kill me. I went into that job figuring I'd be fine and up until that point every bounty I'd met who'd been armed had only been armed with knives. I have my licenced .38 DetSpec but I hadn't expected to ever use it. Most people are rational and drop the knife once they see a gun in their face. I figured since firearms are heavily restricted in Australia I'd never have to face down a barrel like I would expect in America. I was young, and dumb, and I hadn't quite come to terms with "criminals don't follow the laws", and I hadn't been aware of just how big the firearms black market in Australia is.

When I first started this job, my dad insisted that I buy a vest. I remember him talking to his partner years ago about wearing his vest. Sometimes police are ambushed on the way to work, and my dad had the healthy kind of paranoia. My dad left the house wearing his vest under his civilian clothes. When he got his uniform on at work, he'd be wearing the vest. His partner would argue that it was unnecessary, but my dad insisted that he wasn't going to go back to that house with his partner's wife and little boy and tell them he'd been shot and killed because he figured he had time. A bullet waits for no one.

I wear my vest. I've been shot five times. None have injured me--minus getting a minor laceration on my back from my own ceramic plating when it fractured--because I've been wearing my vest. And I've seen people receive rounds that penetrated lvl-II armour and not make it out, so my armour is lvl-IIIA Flex-Pro.

I'm sidetracked. Back to the story.

The first time I killed someone, he was trying to kill me.

He'd seen me coming and I ran for cover the moment I heard a bullet whizz past me. It hit somewhere off to my left. The bloke was maybe 20 metres ahead of me--couldn't hit the broadside of a barn, you ask me--and there was a gum tree up on my right. I made it there and we exchanged fire for a few minutes. Eventually he came up on my right, with my back against the trunk, and I turned my body toward him and fired. I struck him on the right side of his chest. He struck me on my left. I went down like a sack of bricks.

The thing the movies don't tell you is that being shot fucking hurts. Even if your hero is wearing a vest, if he's shot he's probably down for the count for a few minutes until he can stop sucking wind, because being hit with a bullet feels like being punched in the chest, right on your sternum. The higher the calibre, the worse it is. It knocks the wind out of you, it'll bruise like a motherfucker, it fucking hurts. I was hit with a .40S&W, and it took me maybe 4 minutes to get back on my feet and while I saw my target go down, the first thought in my head wasn't "I just killed someone," it was "I've just been shot."

Then it was repeating that--you've just been shot, you've just been shot, this is what dad warned you about, sitrep, are you bleeding? I'm not bleeding. Did it puncture? I can't tell. I looked at the bounty, saw him reaching for that Glock 22 he had, and I fired another shot at him. Neutralisation. He jumped, and then he stopped moving. I unbuttoned my shirt and checked my vest. I couldn't see any blood, or any damage on the inside of my vest where it touches my skin, and I said a silent prayer to whoever was listening that it hit my vest and embedded there.

Eventually I got back on my feet and made it back to my bounty. He was on his back, staring at the sky. If you've ever seen someone die, you know the smell. My second thought after killing someone was "How do I avoid the smell?" I'm paid far less if I'm bringing someone in dead--there's an incentive to not kill bounties, you know--and additionally I have to deal with an investigation being opened any time a bounty is killed, or dies under whatever circumstances. Being the suspect of a homicide investigation isn't fun, folks. But in the moment, I was worried about smells and stains.

The gravity of it hit me later, after I'd gotten him wrapped in tarp and on the ute rack and was packing up for the night. I stared at that spot where he'd died for a long while, watching the earth drink up his blood with the kind of thirst only a desert can have, and it hit me then. But it wasn't "you killed a person." I didn't have some existential crisis about it. I felt no different after that than I do after hunting any other animal. I just sighed at the misfortune shared between the two of us, and I got in my car and left.

[png-saint]

tags

here are some tags i use for my pngs

general

posts by saint (includes images i do not own)*

transparent

png

saint originals (images i own)*

reblogs (rbs)

*don't be afraid to save and use these! all non-commercial use should be fine. please reblog though <3

objects

bones

books

bottles

cds

clocks

clothes

coins

computers

crystals

dishes

furniture

gem stones

geodes

hearts

jewellery

keyboards

keys

knives

lamps

mirrors

notebooks

paint

paintings

plushies

puppets

sea shells

shoes

statues

stickers

teapots

technology

t-shirts

trains

transit

vases

food

food

sushi

nature

animals

bears

birds

corvids

dragons

funghi

hands

insects

jellyfish

leopards

moths

nature

snails

snakes

aesthetics/styles/categories

adventure

anatomy

antique

cottagecore

dark academia

goblincore

historical fashion

light academia

maximalism

nature

nostalgia

ornate

religious

vintage

whimsical

wizardcore

y2k

art nouveau

colors

pink

red

orange

brown

beige

yellow

green

blue

grey

black

white

black and white (b/w)

gold

silver

materials

ceramics

crochet

fabric

glass

leather

paper

texture

misc

19th century

history

illustration

music

text

[annlillyjose]

Dairy Whiskey – Update 02

[image description: a branch of clustered dark green leaves in the background. in the center, a white serif font reads, “dairy whiskey – update 02”. / end id]

hi hi hello! guess who’s back with another dairy whiskey update! it’s me.

so, there’s not much to share about what happened behind the scenes for this update, because it was a little while back and i really don’t remember what exactly happened. all i can say is, this update covers the longest chapter in the whole book, complete (as of now) at 11,293 words. crazy, i know. concerning, too, i know. but you gotta do what you gotta do to keep the story going.

the draft is at 30k rn and the goal is 50k. please send me some good vibes so the next 20k can somehow just happen to me.

enough with this blabber. moving on to the update.

excerpts and taglist under the cut.

disclaimer: this is an original work of fiction. plagiarism of any kind will not be tolerated.

TWs: this novel deals with themes of childhood and religious trauma, sexual, emotional, and substance abuse, mental health issues, self-harm, abortion, etc. so please be kind on yourself and read ahead only if you feel comfortable. This update in particular deals with a lot of graphic mentions of self-harm, knives, blood, and suicidal ideation, so please feel free to skip this update if it might upset you at all.

because i intend on publishing this book, i will not be elaborating on the scenes i'm sharing. i'd like to keep the plot private, but i'll mention what every excerpt is about. i hope it'll make some sense, but if it doesn't, i sincerely apologise.

chapter four – gold, frankincense, and myrrh

this chapter begins with dinah's father being gone, and her getting ready to go to church to meet austin.

this is the opening.

Rains had calmed by that day’s sunrise, unfurling a mute mustard morning, soaked in shattered birdsong. Old teakwood doors breathed again in their frames. Warm rays of golden sunlight cusped the living room’s corners. Through an open window, a chiffon breeze swung its way in, humming against cold concrete. Abstract shadows of guava branches rippled on one of the walls. Father had been gone for six days.

here's an excerpt of dinah being confused by the smell of food in their house because after the grandmother died, nobody had been cooking. guess who's the chef today?

The clank of steel vessels drew me to the kitchen. At first, I thought it was a mouse, but when the noise persisted, I got closer to the door. Ephron’s silhouette staggered on the beige wall. I should’ve walked away, but the smell of coriander and garam masala tingled my skin. With grandmother now gone, there had been no cooking in the house. Since coming back, I’d eaten a whole packet of milk bread that had expired half-way through.

The kitchen had begun to smell like fungi and neglect. But today, Ephron had reopened it. Wearing a blue t-shirt and a pair of black shorts, he sauteed onions in a non-stick frying pan. Beside an open pressure cooker on the counter, boiled potatoes were waiting to get mashed in a glass bowl. In a ceramic plate, chopped tomatoes and shallots crowded next to each other. Next to it, on a steel lid, was a spoonful of turmeric powder.

honestly, just reading this back is making me hungry. talking about hunger, here's a big excerpt, featuring all the foods mariam used to cook for her kids (when she was still around).

On all school days, mother would make chapatis for breakfast. She made the dough in boiling water and kneaded it soft on the grinding stone. Then she’d rest it for an hour under a piece of wet muslin cloth. When we sat at the table for breakfast, she’d first give us a glass of Horlicks. We had a race amongst us on who would finish their glass first, and it was always Ephron who won. By the time we were done, which wasn’t much later, there’d a hot chapati glazed in ghee on our plates. We’d each eat two and sprint out the front door in our navy uniforms and ScooBee Day backpacks. In the evenings, we ate aval – flattened rice cooked in shredded coconut and jaggery. Some days, she made pazhampori – ripe banana fritters – and on others, carrot halwa, grated beetroot slow-cooked in coconut milk and sugar, or fruit salad with vanilla custard. In the weeks following Christmas and Easter, we ate dry plum cake with lemonade. She bought us Good Day cashew biscuits and filled our snack bowls with salted almonds. Because she preferred a low-on-rice diet, gran disliked mother’s feeding choices. But, relentlessly, she sticked to serving us hot chapatis on school mornings. After she left, there was more variation in the breakfast menu, with idli, dosa, appam, idiyappam, tapioca, jackfruit, yam, and other tuber crops from the landholding. Still, after all those years, the grease of her ghee-coated chapatis remained unmatched, like many other things after she broke off. The cracks of this insufficiency widened, forming a ridge; a cliff from the end of which we dangled, like Christmas ornaments with their enamel coating chipped off.

now if that doesn't make your mouth watery, i don't know what will. but let's move on for now and read a scene where dinah is in her post-meltdown phase, relying on ephron a little bit and trusting him a little bit, mostly because she can't move her body and has no energy left in her to fight. honestly, feels girl! i see you!

Aftershave evaporated from his face, swinging heat waves against my cheek. I submitted to my body’s tiredness. The room began to heat up with the sun now hitting straight through the window. On the red refrigerator, the window’s rails formed shadows in grids. Ephron’s breath rumbled politely in my ears. Nauseous and dizzy, I made no attempts to leave. Instead, I closed my eyes to pitch black.

now, let's see what dinah does when the father comes home and orders her to make him a lemonade.

I hated father, so I put dishwashing liquid in his lemonade. I scooped out the froth and served it to him in a fancy glass with enamelled blue flowers on it. I hated father, so I wanted to make him feel something.

can we all take a moment to appreciate her anger issues? to be fair though, trust me, there's reason enough.

after this, dinah has a conversation with ephron where he reveals a secret he had been keeping for a long while, and like the chaotic humans they are, they end up in a fight. but gladly, this fight ends up in more resolution than the previous ones and they end up falling asleep on the floor in dinah's room.

quick note: yes, ephron is still an abuser and this is not a redemption arc. this is not a story that will justify an abuser or take sides with one. this is only a story that explore a more nuanced relationship in all its complex, messy, and concerning ways.

vignette four – forgive me, abba

this vignette details a secret that ephron had been keeping, but is written sort of in the form of a prose poem. for spoiler reasons again, sharing only the last part of it.

But you are a father, and even when his hands overflow with yours and the taste of you keeps dripping from his mouth, he keeps shut. He sets himself on fire because everything will be okay. The fire spreads, the town dies, the sky turns blood red.

But it will be okay. You are a father.

Your son is your son only until you feed him fear.

After these pass, he is a house, and his secrets – arson.

so, that's it for this update. hope you enjoyed reading my work. like i mentioned, please send me your best writer luck vibes because finishing this novel is not only a need, but a necessity right now. i need to be able to get this out of my system before i can work on anything else. and besides, i've been working on this for almost two years and i have to wind this up as soon as i can.

hope you have been keeping well and hope writing has been going good for you.

– love and light, ann!

general taglist (ask to be added or removed)

@shaonsim @heartfullkings @vnsmiles @dallonwrites @wannabeauthorclive @sienna-writes @violetpeso @flip-phones @rowansghost @ambidextrousarcher @duckiewrites @writing-with-l @magic-is-something-we-create @femmeniism @frozenstillicide @rose-bookblood @coffeeandcalligraphy @rodentwrites

[josiebelladonna]

a little collection, all one right after the other, picked up last week, not sure why i didn’t post it then 🤷🏻‍♀️

i also saw a tweet saying that it shouldn’t even be called “art”, which… yeah, i agree. it’s scraping art and treating it as if it’s gum on the bottom of a desk and throwing it into a blender at a whim when it should’ve been put to good use and made a natural evolution of digital art—i keep saying it but it’s the biggest missed opportunity in the history of missed opportunities. ai had the potential to build upon digital art and to be worked with, but that’s not what’s happening, though. moreover, way too many people are doubling down and supporting it, often knowing the nefarious nature of it, which makes them complicit in the abuse of hard-working artists and their life’s work. i’ve also been seeing accusations of ableism against human artists—these comments are often oblivious to the fact that disabled artists have existed for centuries (look no further than frida kahlo)—even accusations of racism and sexism.

excuse me, but taking the art from a black artist or a female artist or a transgender artist or a guy who paints with his feet and using it without their consent in your k00l ai app is a million times more discriminatory than anything any artist has ever done (bonus if you know about all this but keep contributing to it—if anything, that’s worse).

even if you aren’t active in the art world, all this alone should piss you off.

i’m also seeing more things about slurs thrown at artists (”paintpig”, “drawslave”, and “drawcel” being only three examples), and i’d say “you’re gonna have to do a lot better than that” à la cosmo kramer, but i don’t think that’d suffice, tbh—as i said before, they almost feel like compliments, like yes! i am a drawslave! i am a slave to drawing and my craft! 😂

and yes, ai replacing humans has already long begun: go read about disney, and also book publishers like tor books. replacing human artists and their digital art with soulless robotic ai with watermarks included has already whupped up and let a bunch of diligent people go on their own for the sake of $$$$ and mass appeal. it’s very quickly approaching the point where, unless you have a very distinct, visceral style that’s heavy on textures and just looks different like mine, digital art made by a human being and a digital piece by a machine will have no distinction between each other, and traditional art will be the only truly human art left. mind, every human alive is capable of making art no matter what the excuse is—there’s no excuse. if you’re human, you’re an artist. you can create something. it’s part of who you are, as unique as your fingerprint and your dna. “but i’m not an artist!” BULLSHIT. B U L L S H I T. you are as capable of making art as i am. if you can pick up a pencil with any part of your body, you can train yourself—go read about the guy who draws with his feet, he’s amazing. “i won’t be as good as you, though.” yeah, and? that doesn’t mean you can’t be good in your own way. i tried making tutorials or how to draw like me before and i wound deleting them because no one was willing to try it out, and i soon learned that it’s because my art is unique to me, as well as cop outs like “not an artist”.

the rise of ai art tells me that people are way too lazy and entitled for their own good now. our ape bodies are too reliant upon technology, and technology is advancing faster than any of us can keep up. it’s not only the biggest wasted opportunity ever, but it’s a sign of not caring about your fellow human and what they can make with their bodies and brains, especially with their hands. we have spent millennia using our hands to build the very advancements that brought us to this point in history… and we’re willing to throw it away, and what for?

bitch. my hands have used pencils, pens, paintbrushes, turpentine, metals, heavy machinery, wood, axes, hatchets, knives, ceramic clay, acids, bases, chemicals that can leave blisters on the inside of your lungs, literal fire, rocks and minerals, a fucking Geiger counter, soldering irons, welding torches, heavy tools like table saws and sledgehammers, bicycle chains, one of those old rotary telephones, typewriters, fucking floppy disks!!, all kinds of fabric, a drum kit, a piano, guitars, microphones, xylophones, baseball bats, hockey sticks, basketballs, volleyballs, and some of the most delicious food i have ever eaten… i got to touch pitchblende (uranium ore) with these hands. i got to touch lead soldering and broken glass. these hands have gotten to touch silver ore and 24-karat gold. i even got to touch things from the softest cat fur to the skin of a snake and the exoskeleton of a scorpion. these hands have shaken the hands of teachers, famous people, and people no longer with us. these hands have fired guns and shot arrows. these hands have helped me climb up hills and small mountains. these hands have been cut, scratched, burned by both fire and dry ice, stepped on, slapped, but also lovingly held and massaged. these hands have written millions of words of literature and poetry. these hands have written words in english, french, spanish, german, italian, danish, latin, japanese, russian, and most recently portuguese. these hands have fixed houses, planted gardens, even built a car from the ground up. these are working hands, and they always come back to art.

i have toiled in obscurity since 2006, and to a further extent, 1999. i refuse to ever work with art shops anymore because they continue to rip me off and take my money, and they’re making me vulnerable to scraping. i have had my art insulted, mocked, patronized, laughed at, called dumb or stupid, rejected from art competitions, lost out to trashy artworks that look like they were done in about five minutes in total darkness, soiled on, burnt (yes, for real), thrown in the garbage, and yes, even stolen, not once but twice—the second time around, the thief is still giving me shit two and a half years after i called her out on her bluff. yes, me. the person she took from. she is continuously giving me shit and being a bully—and, get this, two and a half years later, you can see how miserable she is from a mile away.  so, let me ask you, ai people and those who (un)willingly support it: is that what you want? to become increasingly miserable as tech advances and you sit your own hands to the point you become so idle that your brains scramble themselves and you don’t even know how to function anymore? plus, you’re going to look at me dead in the face and tell me that i deserve to be shat on and everything my hands have done is all in vain all because i refuse to ever use any ai app for as long as i live because i know what the hell is going on?

have your fucking precious ai. play the victim and be complicit. if you don’t care, then i don’t care. but know what you’re doing. know that it all comes with a steep price and a dark side more foreboding than you can ever fathom. karma is a bitch, and a bigger one than i ever will be.

and this is not even touching on ai infiltrating fan writing or actual published literature, or music for that matter, but—i’m not even touching those ones.

[okinawa-division]

It’s just that Japan has turned around into the midsummer —The perfect time to enjoy a beach trip for most people.

Once a certain jet-black car has reached its destination at one of the best hot-spots being reviewed in Okinawa, the boy with reddish hair has been spotted stepping out of the car …with a number of boxes in his arms. 

The seashell chimes hanging above the bar’s doors let out their lovely rattling sound as he gets inside.

“Good afternoon, mister. Are you perhaps Mr. Young of Eagle’s Nest? I’m Yuuya Kanata from Nara division. I’m here today to relay the birthday presents from my team.”

“This box is my gift. They may look all yummy but they are in fact scented candles I found nice. If by any chance, I think they will make good decorations to your bar at nighttime. Their smells are quite something too. This one has a vanilla scent, this one is strawberry milkshake, this one is butter cream, and many more —Well, they all smell like desserts in my opinion.”

And then he brings out a cooler box. 

“Okay, these ones are actually edible haha. They’re Monaka ice cream made from my teammate despite him telling me that making ice cream isn’t really his land of expertise. Even so, he expects something cool like ice cream would sell off rather well in summer and more particularly; maybe somewhere with a tropical climate like in Okinawa. And in case you want to be more creative with them, the empty shells (crispy wafer) are also available in the additional bag.”

“From Saigo-san are the beautifully painted ceramic plates and the last one is from Mr. Chishio —Hmm, the latter is like… the assistant of Saigo-san? Honestly, just how many jobs this guy has been carrying under that title. I don’t know why, but Mr. Chishio seems to know your place rather well even before we entered the DRB. He even asked me to tell you ‘Thank you for the trading’ and give me his own gift for you.”

Inside the box from the guy called Chishio are a collection of kitchen knives for various uses ...Just don’t get the wrong idea. Japanese are known for using different knives for each different role in the kitchen. So, the ultimate motive behind this gift is only for cooking …Definitely, not for murdering someone, maybe?

“And that’s all we’ve got for you today. Lastly, Happy Birthday Mr. Young —EH? YOU ALSO GOT A KITTY?” 

Seemingly distracted for a minute, the boy soon keeps his composure back from petting the kitten a couple of times. 

“…It’s a shame that I’ve to fetch some seafoods for my teammates before dinnertime, so let me say a good-bye for today. Nevertheless, hope you and your teammates all have a nice year!”

——— BONUS: about fifteen minutes ago

Chishio: We’ve already arrived at the bar so why don’t we order some liquor on our way home?

Yuuya: How do you forget that I’m still underage and alcohol seems likely to be downright sedative to me? What wicked humor you have today, Chishio-san. At least don’t convince your minor to be your drinking friend!

Chishio: *chuckles* Aren't you 19 this year, kid?

Rashaad smiled at the handful of gifts he had received from the Nara Division. Truthfully, he wasn't all that familiar with them, though he did know of them. It was one of the many perks of being a bartender; you knew just about everyone in Japan, whether they had revealed themselves or not. He made a mental note that he'd have to interact with the Nara team later on when he had some free time. Before he departed, the bar owner disappeared quickly into his bar before returning with a bottle of sake and some cups.

"For Chishio-san and Fuyugami-san," Rashaad stated, handing him the bottle and the cups. "Tell them to make sure it's thoroughly heated first."

Bidding the young teenager a farewell, Rashaad looked at the gifts he had received. Out of all of them, the candles were perhaps his favorite. Opening a random one, he quickly lit it with his lighter. In a matter of seconds, the entire bar seemed to smell like some fruity cereal, making Rashaad nod his head, enjoying the aroma.

Sitting down on one of the stools in his bar, he chose the vanilla and chocolate parfait as he began digging into it, eating it was his hands. He heard a small 'purr' from above and looked as it was his kitten, Coco, whom Rashaad had forgotten was on top of his head. Looking up at him, he placed a small thing of ice cream on one of the plates, Fuyugami-san had given him.

The feline, not needing to be told twice, dug into the sweet milky treat, using his small tongue to eat it. The scene made Rashaad grin; this birthday was truly shaping up to be, perhaps, his best upon leaving the States.

Thanks for the gift!

[blueiscoool]

A 2,000-Year-Old Scythian-Style Cemetery Discovered in Siberia

Clearing a mound to make room for the newly deceased in Krasnoyarsk, Siberia revealed tombs from a culture unique enough to warrant its own definition, archaeologists say.

While bulldozing land for a new burial ground, workers startled to discover an old one, belonging to a newly identified culture

All they meant to do is expand a local cemetery. But as gravediggers in Krasnoyarsk, Siberia, were removing a hill to make room for the newly deceased in 2018, they made an unexpected discovery. That hill turned out to be an ancient burial mound created by a Scythian-type culture over 2,000 years ago.

The question is which Scythian-type culture.

Our story begins in the 19th century, when a new cemetery called Shinnoye was established on the outskirts of Krasnoyarsk, the second biggest city in Siberia. Little did the founders know that the land nearby had already been “used”.

A century later, excavation of what remained of the ancient burial mound began in autumn 2021 and continued the next summer by a team of archaeologists from the Siberian Federal University, led by Dmitry Vinogradov.

In fact, around 150 ancient burial mounds are now known to have existed around Krasnoyarsk, but most were destroyed in the course of city development during the 20th century. This was the first to be excavated in the region in 65 years.

The chamber of death

It is indeed unfortunate that while expanding the modern cemetery, the ancient mound was bulldozed. Valuable data was destroyed, but based on old photographs and descriptions from an archaeological survey almost a century ago, the mound had been round and about 30 meters in diameter. However, the knowledge about it was lost over the years. Its existence was only rediscovered by the bucket of the bulldozer a century later.

Luckily, the tomb beneath survived the bulldozing and turned out to contain dozens of bodies in a large rectangular pit, that had been walled with timber and carpeted in birch bark.

The upper part of the tomb was damaged by the worksbut parallels with tombs from the era suggest it once had a wooden roof, thus creating what is known as a box tomb, Vinogradov explained.

Preliminary counts suggest the tomb may have contained as many as 50 people buried with grave goods ranging from beads to bronze plaques, miniature symbolic bronze daggers and battle axes, as well as knives, mirrors, and needles; and ceramic vessels that had contained foods: all items the deceased might have “needed” in the afterlife, Vinogradov speculates.

One plaque depicted a stag, a popular motif in Siberian Scythian animal art.

But the question remained, which Scythian-type culture this was.

Signs of Scythians

The Scythians are known mainly as the “barbarians” living in Crimea and north of the Black Sea, according to classical authors, mainly Herodotus from the fifth century B.C.E. However, the Eurasian steppe belt, as far east as northeastern China, was home to numerous horse-riding nomadic and semi-nomadic archaeological cultures that the Russian school of archaeology calls “ Scythian”.

Make no mistake. Scholars today do not ascribe to a theory of some broader unified “Scythian” nation or culture. Rather, the name refers to a triad of Iron Age archaeological features: certain styles of bronze weaponry; horse-riding gear; and art featuring real and mythical animals – mainly stags, wild felines, birds of prey and mythical griffons.

A lot of cultures throughout the sprawling Eurasian steppe belt featured the “Scythian triad” of artifacts, but the ethnic, genetic or anthropological connections between them – if any – remain unclear and highly debated, especially concerning the most far-flung of the “Scythian-type” communities.

For example, Scythian-type archaeological cultures in the Minusinks basin in Siberia are not thought to have any relationships with the classical Scythians in Crimea or the Northern Black Sea, but rather to be related to closer people in Siberia’s Altai mountains.

It can also be said that from the Bronze Age onward and continuing into the Iron Age, there were connections between northeastern China and the Minusinsk basin in Siberia, but researchers still debate who influenced who and how. In any case, these “Scythian” cultures encompassed the full gamut of lifestyles, from nomadic to semi-nomadic to sedentary.

One of the more famous “Scythian-type” cultures is the Pazyrysk living in the Altai mountains, Kazakhstan and Mongolia, best known for the Princess of Ukok and her beautiful tattoos.

Another famous Scythian-type culture is the Tagars, a semi-nomadic people who dominated the Minusinsk Basin during the late Bronze Age and Iron Age. On a number of grounds, the archaeologists suspect that the burial mound inadvertently unearthed by the latter-day gravediggers in Krasnoyarsk is associated with the Tagars.

In the early phase of their culture, the Tagars buried their deceased individually in stone box graves. In later phases, the fashion tended to large-scale wooden box tombs featuring multiple bodies, perhaps accruing over generations. And when the grave was full, the whole lot would be set collectively on fire.

Burning the dead

The large number of skeletons in the newly discovered tomb may attest that it served as a family tomb used for generations, Vinogradov suggests. When the tomb was full, it was sealed off, set on fire and left to burn.

This conclusion is supported by the colour and nature of the soil, which attests to high temperatures – and the fact that the bones had become mixed up inside, making the work for the physical anthropologist quite challenging. Usually, after burning, the tomb would be covered in soil, and that is what created the burial mound known throughout the steppe as kurgans.

However, death in the community did not end with the construction of our kurgan, as indicated by the discovery of ten pit burials around it. In fact, it was not rare for Tagar kurgans to feature later pit burials dug inside them as well. Luckily for posterity, the pits also survived the destructive claw of the bulldozer.

Each pit burial contained one or more individuals. Contrary to the wooden chamber of death, these tombs were not ignited. The dead were laid to rest in different positions – on their backs, chest, or side. Some skeletons survived the vagaries of time while others were less lucky, lacking any surviving bones, let alone articulation (anatomical order).

Nor was there a pattern to the dead in the pits: they contained both different sexes and all ages, including children. Only three contained grave goods, such as pottery and bronze, the same type as found within the wooden tomb.

From ashes, a new culture is born

The kurgan in Krasnoyarsk is similar to others in the Minusinsk basin, south of Krasnoyarsk. These types of kurgans are often associated with the Tagar culture (8th – 1st-century B.C.E).

The Tagar culture is divided into several stages. The style of our particular kurgan is similar to those from the later stages of this culture, from about 2,400 to 2,100 years ago.

The Tagars inhabited the basin from the 8th century B.C.E., the late Bronze Age. Toward the last centuries of the first millennium B.C.E, migration processes in the basin forced them to move northward, including to the territories surrounding the modern city of Krasnoyarsk. If in the early stage of their culture, the Tagans buried their dead individually, collective burials followed by cremation of the full graves marked the later phase of the culture: That was something completely new, Vinogradov explained.

Another hallmark of this final stage is that the dead were no longer buried with real bronze goods but rather miniaturized versions of these items, which presumably were of symbolic significance, the scholars believe.

Based on archaeological finds over the years in the region, some scholars have been suggesting that the late stage of the Tagar culture in the second and first centuries B.C.E., be considered a separate stage, which they call the “Tesinian culture” based on the site where these archaeological traits were first observed, on the banks of the River Tes in the Minusinsk Basin. In fact, the “Tesinian distinction” was first suggested by the late archaeologist and historian Mikhail Gryaznov (1902 – 1984), a leading scholar of the steppe cultures. .

These Tesinians retained Tagarian traditions, from pottery style to burying the dead in kurgans with miniature items. While the Tagars did use iron, the metal only became common during the Tesinian stage and the metal started to appear in burials as well, a feature associated with the following Tashtyk culture.

Another practice whose roots we see in the Tesinian period was burial with plaster masks. These masks would become a hallmark of the later Tashtyks.

By the time of the Tashtyk culture, which flourished in the area from the 1st to the 4th century C.E., we no longer see miniature bronze items but rather iron and wooden items.

Hence, scholars today believe the final stage of the Tagar culture should be classified as a separate culture, because of the various new traditions they have observed. They believe this Tesinian culture arose from mixing between the Tagars and other populations coming from Central Asia during this time.

At this point however there are more questions than answers, Vynogradov explains.

So, based on the character of the burial mound and the goods, the kurgan is believed to belong to the transitional Tesinian culture and to date to the second or first century B.C.E. And that is the story of the first ancient mound in Krasnoyarsk to be excavated in 65 years, which revealed a people who emerged on the outskirts of the known territories of the Tagars, and may be unique and different from anything we knew before. And perhaps further archaeological investigation will teach us about what might have driven the Tagars north into these territories, and who were the Tesinians they became; and how and when they lived, and how they died.

By Viktoria Grinboim Rich.

[madonnamadeofasphalt]

Home

She's stirring something in her cauldron. The wrinkled skin of her hands looks like the bark of a linden tree. The shadows almost seem to conciously arrange themselves in such a way that you can't get a clear look at her face. The air smells like garlic, ginger and smoked fish, and something else, an earthy smell that feels weirdly familiar, even though you don't remember ever encountering it before. You sit there in silence, save for the quiet bubbling of her mixture and the purring of her cat - just a bit too large to be a normal housecat, dejectedly napping near the fireplace, as black as the sky over your distant hometown, where the cold and unfeeling stars were extinguished by the comforting brightness of the streetlamps. You know she's carefully considering your request, but in this moment, she almost seems like she's forgotten you're here.

Worry not, this will make you feel better.

She has a little giggle at your obvious unease, draws from the cauldron and hands you a bowl. It is a simple, wooden thing, nothing like the fancy appliances of glass and ceramics you're used to. She must have carved it herself, perhaps with one of the unsettling number of knives that are hanging from the ceiling like a grotesque Christmas ornament, each one in a different shape; each one, undoubtedly, serving a different purpose. You take a cautious sniff. Wherever the hut's ambient smell is coming from, the cauldron can't be its source. The mixture smells of root spices and herbs, of fresh milk and wild honey, of peace and quiet. It smells like home. Not specifically like your home, a one-bedroom appartment you're renting back in the city, though you could swear you can recognize a vague hint of your favourite brand of coffee, a suggestion of your grandpa's pipe tobacco, just a memory of your mom's cinnamon biscuits - the ones she only bakes once a year. The mixture smells like home in a broad, general sense, like every place anyone has ever called home, like every place anyone has ever felt safe in. You hesitate for just a second before drinking it whole. The blessed warmth that fills your body finally makes your heartbeat slow down. The polished rat skulls on the windowsill are no longer a grim reminder of your own mortality. They look at you with approval, like you've just passed a difficult exam. The drink makes you calm, but not at all drowsy or dazed. On the contrary, all of your senses feel sharper, your focus stronger than ever. Only then, she starts talking. Her voice sounds young, though you know she's anything but.

I have seen a wide array of fools traveling through my woods. Some of them arrogant and self-assured, believing they can conquer and exploit what is not theirs, with maps and plans in their hands, with untold riches on their minds. Some of them terrified and humbled, gradually realizing they are not welcome here, with all the ignorance of their ancestors but none of their skills, with nothing to shield them from my kin, except some plastic tents. And then there are some who come here to worship, those who claim the old faiths they do not comprehend, who call this place a holy land, a sacred grove blessed by the Wild Herself. They call me Her servant, a mighty goddess of the woods, and they beg me to answer their call, to come to the maypole and the fire, to reveal my face to them. They are my favourites. Sometimes, when the hunger strikes, I do as they ask.

She cackles so loudly she wakes the cat, who lets out a deeply annoyed grunt. You get the feeling they live in some kind of a love-hate relationship, she and him. You briefly allow yourself to wonder which one of them is the owner and which one is the pet. But you know there is no point in such deliberations, and anyway, you have a sneaking suspicion that there is no proper word for their bond in any of the languages you know. The cat goes back to sleep, and your host, still audibly amused, continues.

People these days are forgetting who the Wild is, you know. She is beautiful at a distance, so majestic and full of life. And this is not a deception, She is indeed incredible, almost too bright to look at! It is when they see Her as a kind and loving Mother, when they fall in love with Her name, when they yearn to come back to Her bosom, that is when they get lost. And the other ones, those who go in the other direction, those who completely forget that She is a living thing - well, these fools were lost from the start.

Some wolves, or maybe feral dogs, howl outside, as if cheerfully agreeing with the harshness of her little speech.

She is indeed a Mother, you know, though a heartless and violent one. You have moved out, and so you glamorize your naive youth, blinded by nostalgia. But I stayed by Her side, I have tended to Her wounds, I have been living in Her kingdom all this time. We have been apart so long you have almost forgotten me, and my children, and my kin, and even Her. Almost, but not completely, since now you have come to me, speaking the words that had been unspoken since I was young.

You know she's lying, of course. The words were unspoken for a long time, but not nearly long enough for her to had been anywhere close to "young". And she's lying about staying with the Wild, too. She's been closer to Her than you and yours, obviously, but there's a reason she only voluntarily leaves her own home once a year. There's a reason she sneaks around, gathering her herbs and her charms like a thief, with her broom always by her side, with her spells shielding her from harm. Even her house has legs, and it is always ready to run.

And of course, you know better than to call her out on her lies. After all, whatever else she might be, she is also a lonely, old woman. She acts annoyed you've tricked your way into her demesne, but she doesn't often get to speak to one who knows her true name. Her payment is to be listened to, and the privilege it buys is the right to listen. You feign a smile and you nod politely, waiting for her to go on. She pours herself a drink from the cauldron and she downs it like an old alcoholic downs a glass of vodka.

I do feel spiteful sometimes that you have hidden yourselves away in your cities, preferring the demons of History to be your neighbors over me, and mine, and Her. But you know this is an illusion, do you not? Your wise ones still tremble before her vengeance as she threatens you with the fate of Atlantis. Your leaders speak of the Living God, and of a liberation from the Eternal Cycle, and of the power of Science, but their actions betray them. You are still beasts and monsters, living by Her laws, just like me and mine. The fit survive and the weak are doomed to perish. The dragon sits on his hoard, and he shall breathe fire on any who take a single coin. The Golden Duck is hiding in the depths of your iron holds, and she feasts on your misery. The Regulus commands a legion grander than he ever did in the days of old. You have asked for my wisdom? This is it, be thankful.

She's provoking you, or perhaps testing you. It was wise to remain silent so far, but now you're being forced to speak. You think about what answer might be honest, and then about what answer is desired. You remember the songs of your teachers, and the night you first understood the name of the Wild. You remember that forest devil you've met, the one with a Germanic accent, and his friend, the angry Slavic one. They were the ones who taught you the rules of her riddles, though the way they did it was a riddle itself. Their kin loves riddles, they love deep-sounding nonsense and banal-sounding truths, they strive in confusion, they flourish in the dark. It has been your job to make sense of it all for decades now, and sometimes you despise it more than anything. Quite frankly, they're worse than the fairies - those at least don't pretend to be forthright. You sigh bitterly and you start talking, carefully choosing the words that you think she wants to hear.

You are right, Granny, that we're not truly separated from the might of your Mother. How could we be? We came from Her, and she follows us like a shadow, or like a reflection. Our laws exist as a direct act of rebellion against Her laws, for better or for worse, and through that they reflect them in turn. We run away from Her, but She keeps following us, and unlike us, She never grows tired. But you know as well as I do, Granny, that we were shaped by Her to defy Her. The Sacred Law, which is the very reason you haven't eaten me an hour ago, is the greatest illustration of that fact. It's the foundation of everything we've ever accomplished, the reason we've survived even though we're weak. It comes from Her, and it goes against everything She stands for. You are Her most faithful daughter, Granny, and even you and your kin would never consider violating it. And so I ask you once again, as your guest, as your disciple, and to be perfectly honest, as your biggest fan. Give me your wisdom so I can act according to my will.

She smiles with her whole neck, and her many, many teeth glimmer in the dim light with a metallic sheen.

So be it.

And she reveals her face.

[autonomousbosch]

The Horror: Pain

There might as well have been a perfect imprint of a young girl on the wildly unkept grassy hill overlooking the shore of this particular river, just north of her village. She had, since she was a child, escaped to this very place. Sneaking away, she would phrase it, as if she were a convict slyly eluding her captives, as something about it brought her the kind of peace that recontextualized all else.

What would throughout her day be the standard pitter-pattering of busy feet became, in hindsight, sharp stamping of hurried, uncaring feet, mechanically herded into obligation. What would otherwise be petty school-child gossiping became the most blackened, bile-filled backbiting; bird-like chittering transfigured into sharp crow cawing with an edge so fine it would pierce the ears. 

She had always been sensitive to sound for as long as she could remember, but here, a pleasant placidity was never threatened nor disfigured, even inadvertently. Field mice roamed amongst the grass free from falcons, a frog never so much as seized upon a ladybug for a morsel. Even their belly-flopping into the gentle lapping of the river itself seem refined, of sophisticated technique such that no disturbances existed; only things complimentary. 

Most curiously was the mouth of a cave which she had never ventured into, a fear she felt not at all dissimilar from that of a landscape artist afraid of applying the wrong touch of yellow ochre which, when misplaced, would sully the very face of the earth. Still, despite the feeling that it must have been her imagination, she was sure that as she gazed into its maw, it revealed to her ears the sweetest, warming hum, so feint as to be almost undetectable. She had wondered about it for years afraid that a second opinion might contaminate its deep comfort. 

After getting her fill, she returned back home. The thin wood door to her home shut with a hideous creaking as she gently put her soiled shoes to the ground. Her mother was busy, kneading bread for the evening on a wooden block, the same wooden block which she had kneaded dough out for years. The very chopping block beneath her powerful palms was disfigured, warped from years of use. Every fold was done with an experienced lifting and tucking, before violently slamming it onto the board whose uneven edges seemed to strike the counter even harder. It felt wrong to wince at dinner, but the young girl did anyway. 

Her footsteps were light ascending the stairs to her room and yet, there was a step which always sounded as though even the lightest feather were a stampeding pachyderm and it agonized her so. Finally, she thought, reaching her bed with all of its gentle comforts. Just as she went to lay about it, it produces a new, discomforting sound. She expected the soft landing commensurate with fluffy down, yet it buckled underneath her as if a pile of bricks had been dumped upon it.

Lying there, still as possible, the hands of the watch seem to eternally drag, grinding against the ground itself. She would close her eyes, attempting to will the cacophony of life into a dull, droning morass of sound through force of will alone. Yet, just as she felt the power of success, it was violated by the sound of the dinner bell.

At the table, forks and knives noisily clinked and clanged. Dinner plates were sat unevenly, striking ceramic onto the sturdy wooden table. Her mother grabbed a serrated knife and began to saw downwards into the crusty loaf of bread, sending shrapnel flying from its hardened gold and black surface. She took her time, macerating wheat beneath the teeth of the knife. Her oafish father ate with his mouth open, and every time water touched his tongue he sounded as if it were the first time his thirst had ever been quenched. Just as her mother finally sliced the bread clean, the knife struck the counter, and her father, in his refreshed bliss, struck the bottom of his glass a bit too happily onto a dinner plate, immediately shattering it.

Her mother was furious. Her father was defensive. She began to feel a knot forming in the very core of her diaphragm and its twisting would not relent. Her mother was yelling, her father was limply apologizing. She shed a tear, and another soon followed. Her parents didn’t notice any of it in their noisy furor, and she excused herself again; feeling as though she were sneaking away though her parents cared much less than captors would have.

Again, she escaped to the bank of the river, turning her eyes toward the face of the cave to invite its warm humming. It filled her, so faithfully and immediately, that she could no longer abate her own curiosity. She crept toward it, and every pace pulled from her cheeks a deeper smile as its humming grew more discernible, its warmth more radiant. At the mouth of the cave were footsteps, puzzling artifacts which would have compelled her far more were she not raptured in bliss.

Moving into the vast hole, free of any fear or pain, she felt as though she were experiencing the soul-touching elation of liturgy, bellowing from her mortal coil to the sky on a Gregorian movement to heaven itself. She knew the atrium of this cave was near, that whatever was revealing such a wondrous call was destined to be near too.

A hound was howling. Its fur, matted with mange. From its mouth, blood had been seeping, staining the blued limestone red. Its back was arched, a creature stuck in permanent recoil. The tail, curled around the body, shivering in perpetual fear. Its front, right leg had withered, held up from the earth and convulsing; it looked as if it had not touched the ground in centuries. Terror fell upon her as she again looked at its face, its mouth hanging open, its throat vibrating. She gazed upon a creature of endless wounding. 

How, she thought, her spine tightening, could a creature in so much pain make a noise so beautiful, a sound that could touch her so deeply. She seized, all except for her mind and her neck, too, as she gazed into the hound’s eyes. They were not in pain. They were the most placid thing the girl had ever laid her own eyes upon. Her terror met with confusion, and an impossible violence of resentment came before her. How could she enjoy the crying pain of another? How could the mortifying wail of another be music to her ears? 

She convinced herself that the virtuous thing to do would be to end his suffering, to strike the hound so fiercely it would never know wounding again. Yet it endured, and in its enduring she grew angrier. She would strike, and stomp, and its crying lost nothing of its enchanting resound; it never broke its placid gaze from her eyes. For all the power she placed in her blows, she heard nothing of the sound, nor of the spattering of blood against the walls of the cave.

She relented, now horrified with herself. Her retreat back out of the cave was absent all grace, and the beautiful echo withered into a warm hum until it was finally nothing but a memory she would hope to one day forget. Her feet never touched the bank of the river again.

[onmymasa22]

Today is the death day of a really great rabbi- The Piaseczno Rebbe. We hear a lot about inspirational things people say and all that is fine and dandy, but sometimes it can feel like- what have u been through that gives u the right to talk. During this war, there were lots of powerful things, but to me, hearing holocaust survivors saying "We know how hard this is. You will get through this" was the thing that keeps me going. This special rebbi was a hassidic rabbi who gave dvar torahs in the warsaw getto to ppl. They found the manuscripts of his 3rd meal speeches that they wrote down after shabbos or yom tov in buried milk jugs and put it into a really well organized book called "eish kodesh" which u can find in a mixture of hebrew and yiddish on sefaria. He is the prime rabbi of "why do bad things happen to good people" so if u need any of that, he's ur guy. Plus, he's known to address everyone as "my important students", "my dear students", "my beloved students" and any rabbi who does that automatically upgraded to favorite cuz I'm such a mush.

So last year i volunteered at a center for ppl

Theres no feeling like going to art supply store and feeling completely competent in your needs. Like, not a craft store for glue snd beeds, or crappy wood frames. We are talking in a store for ppl who know what they want, and know what can be touched and what cant. Natural hair brushes: touch it and die. Sheets of plaster for a sculpture, ok to touch. So going into a store for fabric because i need a specific thickness of silk chiffon, and they ask what i need it for fashion or art, and i say art. And i know exactly what and how much i need. I

If someone opened my phone gallery, they'd find about a thousand pictures of female ears. Not assuming the role of van gogh and looking for a replacement ear, i just am thinking about getting piercings.

Its 2 months till semester brake. Which means my phone gallery is filled with photos of various ears. Specially female ears. I'm not a mike tyson fangirl, i just celebrate finishing the semester with getting piercings with friends.

I used to have a drinking problem. I would drink almost every night. I would throw up, ive blacked out. I didnt really want to be alive in my brain and alcohol was something my friends always had. Bottles and bottles of alcohol in backpacks. Theyd pour it out for u, and noone counted, noone rationed, no one cared. I was so emotionally raw and inflamed, red faced. I just knew that the second id have a shot or two, my tougue would get fuzzy and my brain would relax, and id be less uncomfortable. I felt freer when i was drunk. I would get warm and would just drink and dance for hours. Heeling was hard. And scary. And i thought a sober life without danger was just a numb feeling.

Im not numb. I dont like certain things.

White car

White interior

Seat covers

Grownups

Make ceramic plates and mugs

Forks knives spoons

When ur thinking about what piercings you'll get with friends in two months because u started a tradition of getting piercings to celebrate finishing a semester of art school- cuz if the teachers dont love my stuff, im just gonna love and decorate myself more. So far we have

2 lobes- age 1

Septum- age 21 (but closed up)

4 more lobes- age 25 (in one day, because im a psychopath)

Navel- age 26 (kind of impulsive)

Am i excited to get back to my old people with mental health stuff cooking class? Indescribably excited.

Am i excited to go back to a country that put fries in sandwiches and i dont need to wait in lines cuz im a VIP at the shwarma joint? 1000% yes

Am i happy that this is my last year dealing with department heads who screw me every chance I get, but i let it go because I don't argue with ugly people?

Abso-frickin-lutely

Things i wish i knew when i was younger:

Never argue with ugly people, you will never win. If you can let it go, just let it go. They will always be ugly. You will always have grace.

I am confident and pretty. Thats a dangerous mix that gets me not asked out a lot. But thats the thing. I believe that when a guy sees me and says oh my gosh i want to be with her, ill know, he'll no. Right now, the guys i like dont ask me out. Its the guys i dont like.

Visit greece

Walk in the sea of stars

Visit italy

Visit korea in the spring

Safari in nambia

Halloween in usa

Summer in hawaii

Christmas in new york

Paris

Me, at midnight, cant fall asleep:

Things that will offend me to my very core

Weird things a girl like me gets incredibly offended about

Telling me that im a redhead, therefore i dont tan

Telling me im not the funniest person u know

Calling my hair straight