#hopefully once we move we can get back into bone cleaning but that's hard w a roommate and no yard. we will be starting to make cyanotypes..

[peroxidebutch]

engaging and educational things to do on the web :)

ArcGIS StoryMaps - informative, presents maps with spatial GIS data on numerous topics from various organizations in a scrollable format (best on desktop). we really enjoyed For the Birds :)

United States Botanic Garden Virtual Tour - 360 degree view of various parts of the U.S. Botanic Garden, indoors and outdoors, also includes links to video tours (youtube)

National Museum of Natural History Virtual Tour - includes permanent, current, and past exhibits, narrated tours, and more!

Van Gogh Museum: Enjoy the Museum From Home - high quality views of Gogh’s paintings, 4k video tour (youtube), virtual book club (meetings have ended, but the free EPUBs and PDFs remain on the site for download), Unravel Van Gogh application to learn more about individual paintings, and a children’s media section

bonus: while not really educational, we’re a big fan of the calming Window Swap, which allows you to see the view out of people’s windows all over the world (with audio!)

mandatory disclaimer we have not tried every link on these sites and are not affiliated with these organizations. some links may have ads (window swap especially). please feel free to add on your favourite sites like these in the notes!

[merakiui]

hey!! i was lucky enough to stumble across your blog, & i'm enjoying your writing!! could i request something for a first date w/ sian? maybe something more casual, like a cafe!

(I’m glad you like it! Hopefully this is what you had in mind with your request! I went for a “friends to lovers” vibe in a modern setting if that’s okay. Please enjoy and thank you for such a fun request!)

Courtesy Coffee (Sian)

You met under unpleasant circumstances. Sian was in a rush to get to his destination, and you were staring down at your phone with a cup of iced coffee in your other hand. Like that banal trope in shoujo manga, the two of you crashed into one another, and your drink spilled all over his outfit. As complete strangers, it was obvious that the one who was drenched would be incredibly frustrated. That was an exact observation, only Sian didn’t feel the need to use a filter that day.

“Are you kidding me? Watch where you’re going!” he had yelled, gripping his soaked shirt and glaring daggers at you. “How am I supposed to show up to work looking like this?!”

Anyone would feel frightened with his exasperated tone of voice and the intimidating aura that surrounded him, but you weren’t one to surrender immediately.

Straightening your shoulders, you met his heated stare. “I’m sorry. At least it wasn’t hot, right?” Hoping to dispel his anger, you smiled a little. “I can buy you a clean shirt if it’ll make you feel better.”

He puffed his cheeks out, suddenly bashful as he avoided your gaze. “It’s the least you could do! Seriously, this is the worst. I smell just like your stupid coffee.”

“Hey, don’t diss my iced coffee. It’s delicious and you know it.”

“If it’s so good, why is it all over me?” he snapped, crossing his arms. “This’ll stain, you know!”

“I offered to get you another shirt.”

“It’s not just on my shirt, you moron! I can’t face my colleagues like this. You have no idea what they’ll say.”

“Suck it up then!”

“No!”

You sighed heavily, gripping your empty coffee cup. “There’s no need to be difficult. Just let me get you a clean polo and slacks. Unless you’d rather parade around in wet, coffee-smelling attire. You’re making a scene with all of your yelling.”

“You were just yelling, too. Fine, whatever. I guess you can do that.”

Even as you spied his blush, you couldn’t ignore your thoughts. Is he seriously embarrassed by the fact that I’m getting him clothes? Anyone would do this to repay the damage. 

“That’s all I needed to hear. Oh, and for the record you’re the one who should watch where you’re going.”

He didn’t take those words too well. Regardless, that was how you met the guy with a loud mouth and an even louder personality. You ran into him twice after that incident, and each time he seemed to stumble over himself. He tried to thank you for the clothes, but all he could manage was a huff and an angry comment about how the fabric was uncomfortable. Weeks later, that same boy just so happened to feel bad about starting a few shouting matches with you during those three times you interacted. He saw you in a café by chance and secretly covered your drink fee, making the barista promise not to reveal his identity. It was a sweet gesture, despite being anonymous and a bit of a shock on your end. You’d never experienced the magic that was receiving your drink for free, but it was great nonetheless.

You enter work that morning with a cheery disposition, passing by coworkers and even engaging in kind banter with those who aren’t the friendliest. You clock in and make your way towards the elevator while scrolling through an online article. Hearing a familiar ping, you glance up, urging whoever’s inside to hold the door. There are four other people crammed within the area, all of whom are silently waiting for the elevator to rise. You push the button for your floor and relax. Momentarily, you glance around the enclosed space to see if you can recognize anyone from your department. Your eyes sweep from one person to the next, and you spot polite Nine at the very back.

You’re compelled to greet him, but someone stands in your way. Someone who bears an uncanny resemblance to the guy who was showered in iced coffee two weeks ago. You gasp and turn away, hoping he won’t notice you.

No way! We work for the same company? What’re the odds? This must be a bad omen! I don’t want to start another fight with him, you think, having done your best to erase those memories.

The elevator pings, and you’re completely distracted. Though you don’t miss the hand that taps your shoulder. Your gaze follows his arm. It’s that guy again.

“Hey. This is your floor, isn’t it?”

The number doesn’t lie, but Sian’s memory might as he struggles to recall your familiar features. It clicks just as you bolt out of the elevator, the doors slipping shut and obscuring your backside for good. Sian blinks rapidly as his face heats up. That was...

Coffee idiot! he thinks. There’s no mistaking that stupid look on their face. He’s thrown into a bad mood at once, internally grumbling as he remembers that day. Even if he changed into new clothes, he still smelled of coffee. It was embarrassing, and his bothersome colleagues wouldn’t leave him alone. And now we work in the same building. Maybe I should just quit so I don’t have to face them.

"Can you believe it, Youssef?” you ask your deskmate, having ranted to him while typing up the progress of this week’s publication. At least that’s a monetary positive for the company. You can’t say the same for your mentality, though. “I do something nice in return and he yells at me. And then we meet again—twice—and he’s still rude.”

Youssef tilts his head, a childish gesture for someone his age. “Are you sure you’re not incorrectly reading his actions?”

“I’m positive. When have I ever been wrong?” You frown as your fingers slow their pace on the keyboard. “I just found out today that we work in the same building. This is totally unfair. Why do I have to bear the burden of knowing this information?”

“I’m sure he means well. What does he look like? I might know him.” You describe him to your helpful colleague, who nods and taps his chin in thought. His expression lights up with recognition. “If I remember correctly, his name is Sian, and he’s in the marketing department. We’ve only talked briefly, but I can assure you he’s quite diligent with his work.”

“Well, everyone’s got their own personality outside of their jobs.”

“I suppose, but it’s not polite to label someone based off of such little knowledge,” he advises lightly, turning his attention back to his computer screen. “Rather than using all of your energy painting a bad image of him, you should spend that time getting to know him. It’ll fix any negative impressions you may have.”

“Something tells me he wouldn’t like that...”

Since then, you haven’t run into Sian once. At first you made it your mission to keep an eye out for him, but now that you’ve been busy with this new project you can’t be bothered to let his image clutter your mind. So you brush him aside like a cobweb, certain you won’t bump into him again. Your floors are far enough apart, so it’s unlikely that that’ll happen. But you’re not always the luckiest, and fate tends to tease those who aren’t on good terms with one another.

You’re close to running late on a rainy day, having missed the train, so now you’re doing everything you can to catch a taxi. Cars speed by on the road, and you fail to flag down a vehicle. Dejected and soaked to the bone, you drag your feet along the slick sidewalk, wishing for your next paycheck so that you can put it towards a used car. Speaking of cars, one slides past you as it makes an effort to park along the walkway. In doing so, the tires kick up a huge puddle, effectively soaking your lower half. As if the day couldn’t have gotten any worse. The car almost moves out of the spot before it halts, and the window steadily rolls down to reveal the face of your greatest enemy.

Well, he’s not technically your greatest enemy, but it really feels like it in that moment.

“Do you need a ride?” As if correcting himself, he quickly adds, “I’m not doing this because it’s you! I’m just sympathizing.”

Does it matter? you wonder, bitter and cold and wet. Karma is so brutal.

“You’re Sian, right?” You approach his car, peering in at the flustered man. “From marketing.”

“Y-Yeah. So what?”

“I’m in publishing.” Awkwardly, you look up at the cloudy sky. “It’s really coming down. The forecast didn’t call for this much rain.”

“Are you getting in or not?”

“But you’re a stranger,” you jest, fixing him with a pout. “I don’t want scary Sian to kidnap me.”

He glowers at your joke. “I’m leaving now. I don’t have time for this.”

You hold back a chuckle, tearing open the door before he can drive off. “Wait! Sorry, I’ll get in. I can’t stand another minute in this rain.”

The window slides up, and he sets the car in motion after you’ve buckled up, easing back into the flow of traffic smoothly. Now that you’re sitting there with the AC blowing cool air at your face, you shudder. Oh, how wonderful it must feel to be in clothes that are warm and untouched by the rain. In his peripheral, Sian catches your shivering form, and he switches the AC from cold air to hot. You might not dry as quick as one would hope, but at least it’s something.

The silence is utterly tense. You almost expect him to bicker with you like he did in the past. Instead, he’s focused on the winding road ahead. Though you don’t miss the pink hue that tints his cheeks and gradually rises to his ears.

“So,” you say, if only to get a conversation going. “How’s work?”

“Fine, I guess. How did you know who I was?”

“My friend Youssef.”

“Oh.”

“You probably don’t know me. I’m (Name).”

“I already know.”

“Really? Stalker.”

“I’m not a stalker!” he exclaims, glaring hard at the windshield. “You’re kind of hard to miss.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re always so loud at our company parties. How can anyone ignore that?” Sian then proceeds to bless your ears with a story from this year’s holiday party. A few departments got together and went out for drinks and karaoke. Naturally, you had a drinking contest with your colleagues, which led to a tipsy night of bad singing and stumbling from one bar to the next. You were surprised Sian remembered that, mainly because you couldn’t recall seeing him there. And it’s been months since that rowdy night. “Do you see my point?”

“Don’t remind me. That hangover hurt my soul.”

He quirks a smile at that. “It’s not flattering when you sing high notes in the wrong key.”

“Like you could do any better.”

“I can because I was sober.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes, gazing out at the scenery that passes by in a blur of dull colors. Without meaning to, you eye Sian’s reflection in the window, taking note of his side profile. He’s actually quite handsome when he’s calm and not acting so stubborn. “I guess we’re even now.”

“Even?”

“I spilled coffee on you, and you splashed me when your tires hit that puddle.”

“Am I supposed to buy you clothes now?”

“If you’re offering...”

“I wasn’t offering!”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a spare uniform in my locker.”

I wasn’t worried to begin with, you coffee idiot, Sian thinks, gripping the steering wheel. He keeps track of your occasional trembling, and he can’t help but feel troubled. You’ll catch a cold if you don’t dry off soon. Suddenly, he regrets pulling up beside you and accidentally sending water flying in your direction. This time it was definitely his fault, wasn’t it? Sian wants to make it up to you, but it’s impossible. He’ll die of embarrassment before he succeeds in performing a good deed in front of you.

Truthfully, he’s always noticed you. The very first instance was last year at the company’s drinking party. You were glued to Youssef’s side, engaging in idle chatter with him and another guy he wasn’t too familiar with. At the time, Sian thought your behavior was obnoxious. No one wants their younger coworker clinging to them. It just made you look like an attention-seeking puppy. Although you were definitely upbeat at that party. He had watched you chug an entire pint of beer like it was nothing and then join in on a pointless game of Ten Fingers with enough energy to put a child to shame.

He thought you were annoying at first, and yet there was something captivating about your personality. He’d never had the guts to approach you outright, so when he ran into you that day all of his frustrations just spilled over. He was angry at himself for not having the courage to talk to you at every company party, and now that he had a chance he couldn’t think of what to say. He hadn’t mentally prepared anything! So he said the first thing that came to his mind, which passed through his unfiltered lips in a very abrupt manner.

But you didn’t show any fear. You hardly flinched. Instead you met his words with a few of your own, and that’s what ruffled Sian’s feathers. You were so good at communication, and he was very much unskilled, usually relying on phrases he prepared in his head. It’s not like he couldn’t talk. He could when he was interested in a certain subject or whenever he was reading from a page, but in front of someone he admired... Sian knew he’d make a fool of himself.

Now that you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, he has every opportunity to say what he wants. Yet the words scramble in his brain, and he can’t calm his racing heart. Before he can think of anything witty, the building comes into view, and the parking garage has never seemed so dismal. Sian’s kicking himself as he parks, disappointed with how he handled that situation.

“Thanks for this. I’ll go on ahead.” You unbuckle, holding your briefcase and squeezing water from your blazer. “I’m sorry if I got your seat wet.”

“It’s...fine.”

You’re going to walk away and then he’ll become the coffee idiot. He opens his mouth to say something that’ll stop you, but you turn around at the right moment.

“Let’s get coffee sometime in the future. You deserve it after all the trouble I gave you,” you propose, smiling earnestly. And I feel guilty for my initial judgement. Youssef was right.

Sian’s eyes widen, and he struggles to remain stoic. “Oh, uh...”

“That’s okay with you, right?”

“I guess. Whatever works for you.” He shrugs.

“Great!” You retrieve a pen from your case and close the distance between the two of you. Humming, you snatch his hand, spreading his fingers so that his palm is wide open. And then you scribble something on it, grinning in satisfaction. Sian stares at you the entire time, his face blank and head filled with static. “Text me the days you’re available. See you later!” You tuck the pen away, hastily dashing in the direction of the elevator.

Sian stands there for a moment, slack-jawed. He forces himself to look down at his hand. Your number is written on his skin in smudged ink. His face erupts in a flurry of red. That coffee idiot...

------

“It’s not a date,” Sian mutters as he walks to the café. “It’s not. Stop thinking that way.”

But maybe it is a date, the voice in the back of his mind whispers, goading him into believing so. He dressed as casually as possible, but he still hopes it’ll impress you. There are plenty of fears that flood his head, and he almost turns around as soon as he gets to the entrance. But he’s come this far, and he’d regret it forever if he left now. This might be his only chance; he can’t afford to pass it up. So he pushes open the door in search of you. It doesn’t take long to locate your form amongst the few who are inside. Sian’s pulse rushes into overdrive, and he clenches his jaw.

It’s not a date. Act natural.

You look up from your phone just as he slides into the seat across from you. A warm smile blossoms across your face, and you tuck your mobile away. “Sian, you made it! I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

“It’d be rude if I didn’t show up after you made all those plans.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Well, thank you. Now I won’t have to feel bad about Monday morning.”

You had felt bad? Sian’s cheeks must be burning intensely bright now, but there’s nothing he can do. “It’s your fault for being an idiot.”

You chuckle. “That makes two of us. One idiot ignored the forecast, and the other wasn’t watching where he was going.”

“Whatever. Just so we’re clear, I’m not as stupid as you.” He crosses his arms and huffs. “And you don’t have any taste. I mean, iced coffee? Really?”

“It’s good!” you insist. “You’re missing out. Everyone knows iced coffee is better than hot coffee.”

“Is it now? I don’t agree with that statistic.”

“You’re allowed to have your own opinion, Mr. Sian,” you tease. “Give me your drink order. I’ll go get it.”

“What? No way. I’ll pay.”

“As if! I’m treating you.”

“You already bought me clothes.”

“And now I’m going to buy you coffee. It’s to say thanks for picking me up during that storm.”

“I would’ve left you on that sidewalk if I knew you were going to make it a hassle now!”

“Just accept my kindness!”

Sian shuts his mouth, giving into your demand. He grumbles his order, and you’re very happy as you make your way towards the register to get the two of you drinks and pastries. He watches as you pay, releasing a soft sigh. It’s hard to say no to someone you’ve admired for so long. Sian’s not sure when he started to like you, but he’s certain these recent interactions have only added fuel to the burning fire residing in his heart. It’s embarrassing to think he’s even on a romantic outing with you, but it’s not like the two of you are close friends. So then what does that make this?

When you return to the window table, setting down the drinks and a plate with two strawberry bread puddings, he’s shaken from his daydreams. This is actually happening. It’s not just another fantasy he’s imagined while witnessing you drink your sanity away at parties.

“I’m not sure if you like strawberries, but I—“

“I guess it’s okay,” he interrupts, trying to hide the fact that he actually likes it very much.

“Good!” You ease into your chair. “You’re not as bad as I thought you were.”

He raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip from his latte. “Huh.”

“You seemed really upset when I spilled my coffee on you. But anyone would be, so it’s completely understandable. I thought you hated me because of that. When we saw each other again, you were pretty sensitive.”

“I’m not sensitive!” he snaps, proving your point. “That was a white shirt you ruined.”

“Will you feel better if you dump coffee on me?”

“What? Why would I do that? I’m not going to do something as petty as that!”

“Aw, so you do care.”

“I don’t. Get lost.”

You break out into a laughing fit, genuinely amused at his coldness. Even if he doesn’t want to show it, he’s quite nice, and you’re relieved that he didn’t turn out to be a bully seeking revenge. Then again, it’s been weeks since that incident. 

“It’s not funny!”

“Sorry, sorry. You’re just so expressive. It’s hard not to laugh.”

A furious red darkens his face, and he decides to fumble with his fork in order to give his hands something to do. The bread pudding is surprisingly delicious. He fumes in his embarrassment while he eats.

Eventually, the two of you converse about work and that project your department took on. Sian listens to your rambling as you go on and on about how irksome it is when last-minute changes are made to a finalized draft. He enjoys every story you tell him, and by the time the plate is empty he feels as if he’s grown closer with you. Could this be the beginning of a friendship? He’s hit with a sudden wave of inspiration for lyrics that will never be sung. At least they can fester on a page in his notebook, where he’ll return on countless occasions to proofread and debate over the meaning of each line. Oh, how he’d love to share his music with you. It’ll take a while before he does something as bold as that, though.

“I just got an idea! There’s this awesome bar thirty minutes from work. I usually go with my friends because they’ve got a bunch of games you can play. Board games, card games—you name it. We should go one of these days.”

“R-Really?”

“Yeah! You seem like a fun guy to hang out with. Card games might sound boring, but they’re actually really fun when you’re playing for money. And when you’ve got a few drinks in your system.”

Sian struggles to hide the giddy smile that threatens to split his lips. “No... It sounds perfect. I’m actually really good at Slapjack, so be prepared to lose miserably!”

“Is that a challenge? What should we wager?”

"How about a meal? Loser has to pay for the winner’s lunch.”

“All right. It’s a deal. I’ll keep you updated on my schedule so that we can choose a weekend to meet up.”

“Sure!” Sian’s face won’t stop heating up and he can’t slow his erratic heartbeat. “I mean, I’ll only do it so I can get a free lunch. It’s not like I’m agreeing for your sake.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever floats your boat.”

His chest feels airy and light, almost as if he’s in a dream. Your words weigh on his conflicted heart. How can anyone make plans so easily? If the roles were reversed, he’d be an absolute mess. It’d be so embarrassing; Sian would probably want to curl up and disappear if he ever tried to ask you out on his own volition. You probably don’t even feel the same way. After all, this is merely two coworkers having a normal conversation. But he can’t get stuck in the friend zone. That’d be the worst outcome to all of this. So in the meantime he’ll do his best to act cordial. He can hide his shy demeanor and fluffy feelings behind a blunt attitude.

“All of this planning makes it seem like we’re a couple,” you muse with flirtatious intent. Leaning back in your chair, you gauge Sian’s reaction. Just as you figured, he’s turning crimson. It’s honestly endearing to see him get so flustered. “What do you think, Sian?”

“I... I don’t know. Don’t say stupid things! It’s really annoying.”

No matter how sharp his words are, you know he doesn’t mean it. After all, his expression clearly refutes those claims.

“Sian and (Name), sitting in a tree—“

“Shut up!”

If this isn’t a date, then what’s with all the flirting?

Sian’s going to have to take a cold shower when he gets home to lower his body temperature. And to scrub away the embarrassment that’s washed over him like rain.

It’s not a date. It’s just coffee with an acquaintance. Yeah. Just courtesy coffee.

He couldn’t be any further from the truth.

[wonjaekook]

Red Ocean, Black Sky

A/N: Is that enough warnings to turn people away who don’t want to read something like this? Hopefully (lol). I haven’t posted a fic for almost two months now, so hopefully this will make up for the drought. I guess you could call this a labor of love because I reaaaally didn’t intend to make it this long. If you have any feedback or feel like I should add a warning or anything like that, my ask box is open! Anyways, enough of that - enjoy :)

21 Tropes: 9. Organized Crime/Gang/Mafia-esque AU + azure w/Yuta

Description: One incident changes your life, pulling you onto a path of blood and death that you don’t understand. You’re afraid of what Yuta has brought you into and, maybe, with time, you’ll stop being afraid for long enough to ask the right questions.

Word Count: 18k Genre: angst, thriller (is that what you call it? adventure?) smut (barely, check the warnings), fluff (kind of? if you really squint?)

Warnings: violence (gets pretty graphic), blood, death/murder, lots of cursing, alcohol, somewhat sexual/suggestive language, relatively undetailed smut that you can skip (it’s obvious enough when it’s about to come up and starts with the line “The danger of him...” and the clean paragraphs start again with “You wait for the regret...” if you don’t want to read it; it’s only about two paragraphs long)

“Did you hear about what happened to that lady?”

“The one who sings at Kim’s Bar? Yeah, it’s awful.”

You try to make a point of not really listening to your coworkers’ gossipings. What they talk about is never good news. The first girl, Haneul, loves to run her mouth nearly as much as the second girl, Jooyeon, does. You’d think they would have learned better by now, with what all of you do, but they still speak much too freely for your taste.

“Heard they weren’t even after her. Was her brother they were after, but she was just in the way,” Haneul continues.

“Do you know whose side they were on?”

Sometimes it’s hard to block out the chitter and chatter.

“My ma said they went after ‘em because they were affiliated with the Neos.”

“Shit, best not be-”

“Shh!” Jinah, one of your more senior coworkers hisses at the other girls to be quiet when the front door swings open with an inappropriately cheerful chime, revealing three men. You keep your eyes down, not daring to look at their faces. From what you can see of their feet, the one in the middle steps forward and appears to represent the group. You can hear the fake smile in Jinah’s voice as she greets him. “Hello, sir. How can we help you?”

“I’m here to make use of your services. My shoulders have been hurting like hell.” You nearly let yourself relax when you hear what he’s here for, but immediately tense up again when he continues. “Keep this on the downlow.”

Jinah freezes before regaining her composure. “Sir, we don’t offer… those kinds of services until later in the evening. If you wish to partake, we-”

“I’m not here for that. Are you listening to what I’m saying? I’m here for exactly what I asked for.” The impatience in his voice has you clasping your hands together tightly to stop them from shaking. You think you would be used to these kinds of men by now, but you aren’t. Each new person that steps through the front door is a new danger. You can only hope-

“Ah, I understand. I’m sorry about the misunderstanding, sir; we’ll get you taken care of right away.” She pauses, turning to you. “Y/N, prepare a room for this gentleman.”

You can only hope you don’t get chosen. But, here you are. Somewhat stiffly, you turn around, stepping out of the reception area and towards an unoccupied room.

“Y/N is one of our best masseuses, sir. She’ll have that pain gone in no time at all. While we’re waiting, we can discuss payment...” You hear Jinah explain to him as you walk away, her voice drafting away as you close the door behind you. You almost wish you’d looked at his face to get a judge on his character, but you also know that you’ve met plenty of deceptive faces before. It’s better that you don’t see him. People can ask less questions that way.

Once you do all of your preparatory work, setting out oils and water, anything else you might need, you steel your nerves, twist the handle of the door open, and step out of the room. You stand in the entryway between the reception area and the back hallway, head bowed. “Everything is ready, sir. Please follow me.”

All you see are the tips of his surprisingly well taken care of shoes, a polished black, before you turn around, hearing his footsteps behind you as you take him to the room. Once the door to the room closes, he makes quick work of taking his upper layers off, handing you his jacket and button down shirt when you stretch out your hands for them. You’re about to instruct him to lie down, but he beats you to it. “I’d prefer to stay sitting upright. I’m sure you understand?”

The words are a threat but not quite a threat, so you simply respond with a quiet, “Yes, sir,” and fix the arrangement of the table. After he sits, his back to you, you finally look up farther than his feet. On his back, his skin illuminated by some of the dim light in the room, is a great work of art.

You pretty quickly recognize the work tattooed across his shoulders as a rendition of The Great Wave Off Kanagawa. Except, where there should have been azure tattooed into his back, there’s only red. An entire ocean, dyed red. You’re too afraid to ask what it means. You’re paid to keep your mouth shut, so you do.

But, you’ve heard about him. Of course, he doesn’t tell you who he is, but you know he’s a big name. Still, you try your best to keep steady enough, beginning your work on his shoulders and back. His skin is smooth and muscled under your touch and his sleek, collar-length black hair is tied up, away from his shoulders. Looking at him from behind, in the flickering ambient light of the room, you try to remind yourself that he’s just a man. A dangerous man, but a man nonetheless. He has skin and bone and muscle just like you. Skin and bone and muscle that have probably taken lives far more significant than your own.

“Your hands are shaking,” the man says, not even glancing over at you.

“My apologies,” you say quietly.

“Are you afraid?”

You don’t stop working, your hands moving over his shoulders, though the air between you seems to still for a moment. You try to stop your voice and hands from shaking, pressing a little harder on his muscles as a result. “No.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You don’t respond. You don’t rush your work, either. You give him exactly what he paid for and, after he’s pulled his shirt and jacket back on, you finally have the courage to look at his face.

You nearly let the shock appear on your face when you find that he’s actually quite handsome. He tips you well, giving you a dangerous, knowing smile, and you think that’s the end of it. Of course, it isn’t.

The gun to your head and the knife pressed to your side seem a bit like overkill to you, but if you die like this, then you suppose it would be fun to have it be an interesting death.

“Tell us what you know.”

“I don’t know anything.” It’s the truth - you really don’t have any idea what this man is talking about, and the weapons pressed against you aren’t bringing any particular memories to mind. Your mind, overloaded with fear, is nearly blank.

“Lying whore, you think I won’t cut the truth out of you?” The man’s breath reeks of cigarettes and general garbage and you nearly gag as he spits his words into your face.

“I’m telling the truth.” You answer through gritted teeth.

“Bitch! Tell me what you know about the Neos now or I’ll start cutting! One,” he pressed the blade deeper, “two,” you can feel the metal begin to dig into your skin, “three-”

He doesn’t get to finish the threat. Gunshots ring through the alleyway as the man threatening you and his backup all go down quickly and easily. You feel the bullet wizz past your head, barely brushing your hair as it nails him in the head. Thankfully, a dead man’s reflexes aren’t good and the gun and blade in his hands fall to the ground with clinks. You know the other men drop with him, but you can barely focus with the adrenaline and pure fear pumping through your veins.

You soon join them, falling to your knees as your shaky legs give out under you. Your breathing is uneven and quick and you don’t look up until a shadow falls over you.

It’s the man from before. The one with the wave tattoo.

He tugs down the black mask covering his mouth. You see his lips move. You don’t comprehend what he tells you but, against everything reasonable, you take his hand when he offers it to you. A familiar face in all of the bodies piled around you. Your body almost moves on its own and you let the man wrap an arm around you, a warm, almost smoky scent surrounding you from his jacket and muting the sharp metallic tang in the air. The other men who came with him are inspecting the bodies, but you don’t want to look at the reality of what just happened. You almost died. That could be you on the ground, your blood soaking into the cracked pavement of the alley. Your heartbeat nearly drowns out what the men are saying, but you catch snippets.

“Blue Veins. Haven’t fucked with them in a while.”

You dully register hearing one of the other men who had come with him curse. “Fuck. This one is a Rusher.”

“Blues and Rushers working together? Not in-”

“We need to get out of here,” you feel the chest of the man holding you rumble as he speaks, the same serious tone that you heard when he had been in your massage parlor, “and figure out what to do with her.” His eyes dart down to you and then towards the other end of the alley. “Shit.” Flashes of light appear at the entrance, the one you had been forced down and the opposite of the way they had come from.

The others seem to see the same thing. “Let’s get out of here.” From what you can see of his face not covered in a mask, he has a scar cutting through one eyebrow and his hair is a deep red. He’s the one who talked about the ‘Rushers’ a moment before.

“Can you run?” Though he directs the question towards you, he doesn’t give you much time to answer, only waiting for a stiff nod before he’s tugging you along behind him. Your legs try to keep up, but the only thing that lets you keep pace with him is his hand in yours. Somehow, the grip is comforting when you had been so afraid of him not even six hours before. Before you know it, you’re shoved into a sleek black car, breathing heavily in the backseat, wedged between the long-haired man and the third who had run with you, a thin brown-haired guy.

“Step on it, John,” the red haired man growls from the passenger seat, glancing out the window. One gunshot, then two sound as the man who had been waiting in the driver seat presses hard on the gas. You don’t hear bullets hit the car, but you instinctually duck against the long-haired man, who puts a comforting hand on you. Though the driver, John, is still going at a fast pace, a sort of silence falls over the car.

“Fuck.” The other man next to you curses loudly, tearing off his mask and revealing an angry expression that doesn’t match his youthful face. “Blues and Rushers? Couldn’t get any better, could it?”

“We’ll discuss it when we get back. Give me a minute to think.” The red-haired man also takes off his mask, sighing. In any other situation, from what you can see of his side profile, you would’ve considered him to be extraordinarily handsome.

The long-haired man turns to you, trying to give you a somewhat reassuring look. “Y/N, right?” You nod. “My name is Yuta. Are you okay? Not hurt?” You shake your head. “That’s good. I know it’s a lot. How do you feel?”

“I want to go home.”

He stays silent for a moment, the sympathy fading from his eyes into a more serious look, before answering. “We can’t let you do that. It’s not safe.”

Tears start to well up in your eyes, the entire experience beginning to hit and overwhelm you as your adrenaline rush dies down. “What’s happening? I swear I’ve never seen any of those men before in my life, and I...”

He doesn’t reach out to try and comfort you this time, his eyes cold. “We’re called the Neos.” Your breath stops in your chest. You had been right when you thought he was a big name. This is Nakamoto Yuta. Nakamoto Yuta who walks away from fights without a scratch on him, who stepped into the city of Seoul one day and instantly made a name for himself - a very blood name. Your eyes shift around the car, trying to place every person as he continues. “When you come face to face with a Neo, it’s a death sentence one way or another.”

“Not a reputation we’re terribly happy about, but it exists.” The man in the passenger seat, with the red hair and scar, speaks and you put the pieces together to identify him as Lee Taeyong, their leader. There’s a rumor that the closest anyone ever got to him put that scar through his eyebrow and put them in the grave. Never in your life did you think you would ever come face to face with the leader of the Neos, but life has been full of surprises as of late.

“Since you met Yuta earlier, you’re as good as dead without us, now,” the brown-haired one says, looking out the window and not at you. If you were to take a guess based on his looks and how fast he worked to take down the men in the alley, you would place him as Mark Lee - young ace of the Neos.

The driver, from what you can see, has a dark and handsome look to him. “Sorry, babe. You’re stuck for now. Might as well enjoy the ride.” The flirting and subtle hint of an American accent - Johnny Seo. Playboy and drag racer before he somehow got involved with the Neos. From what you’ve heard of girls in town complaining, he doesn’t mess around anymore. Too risky.

You’re almost proud you can identify all of them - maybe listening to your coworkers gossip at work had its benefits. “My coworkers? Are they going to be okay?”

“They’re going to be fine. They’re not after them,” Taeyong says.

“Though, one of them is a rat,” Mark mutters under his breath.

“Shut it.” Taeyong and Mark make intense eye contact for a moment before Mark tears his eyes away, looking back out the window. You decide that it’s best if you don’t ask anymore questions.

Before long, the car slows to a stop in an area you don’t recognize and you’re ushered out of the car. You follow Yuta and Mark trails you. Like they’re expecting you to run away. Like you’re some sort of prisoner. The first floor has an open layout and you spot some tables, chairs, and boxes scattered about. One of the handful of men standing around makes eye contact with you, but Mark nudges you, pushing you to keep walking. You break eye contact and lower your head.

Taeyong diverges and gives orders to the few that are loitering. “Meeting, now. Get everyone over here.”

“I can handle her on my own, Mark. Join them,” Yuta says over his shoulder, eyeing you. Mark seems to hesitate for a moment before breaking away. Turning back around, Yuta keeps walking, leading you up to the third floor of the building. He takes you into a long hallway with many doors - mostly shut - before opening one and gesturing for you to enter. “Stay here. You’ll be safe.”

“I-” You try to say something after you step in, but he simply shuts the door. There’s a single click after he shuts it. A lock. He locked you in. A prisoner.

You look around the room. He’s right - you’re safe from the other gangs here. But you’re in danger in a whole different way. It would be stupid to try and escape now, but you can’t help and look at the window. It’s boarded shut. You observe the rest of the room. An old bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and a mirror hanging on the wall. If worse came to worst, you could smash the mirror and use a shard as a weapon. You don’t want to trust the Neos. You can’t trust the Neos. Though they haven’t hurt you yet, they even saved your life, you know their reputation. You know they very well could hurt you. And you don’t want to take any risks getting comfortable.

You groan when you remember that your phone, wallet, and everything else you were carrying had been knocked out of your hands back in that alley. If you had just remembered, then maybe you’d be able to call for help now. Then again, you don’t think the Neos would be stupid enough to let you keep your phone. With a sigh, you walk to the dresser and start opening drawers. When you find them empty, you slam the last drawer shut and move to the nightstand. There, shoved in the back of the single drawer, is a pen. It’s a cheap plastic pen and definitely won’t do much damage if you have to use it as a weapon, but it’ll have to do. You slide it into your sleeve.

After thoroughly searching the room, you settle onto the bed, sitting and staring at the cracked cement floor. With the sparse furnishing and the locked door, the room feels like a cell. You wait and wait, mulling over your circumstance, until, finally, you hear the latch on the door click again and it opens. Yuta stands in the doorframe. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

“Will you let me leave yet?” You don’t hold back the snapiness in our tone - whatever your fate is to these gang members, it’s already been decided. You stand, no longer quite so afraid.

“I already told you it’s not safe.” His eyes follow you calmly as you walk towards him.

“You claim to be protecting me when you’re treating me like a prisoner.”

He scoffs in response. “You’re not a hostage and you’re not a prisoner.”

“Then why did you lock the door?”

“Why were you digging through the drawers? Looking for a weapon?” With a quick step, he moves forward and grabs your wrist, twisting it. A sharp pain runs through your arm and the pen in your sleeve slides out and clatters to the floor. “It’s going to take a lot more than just a pen.” He drops your wrist. “Come on.”

Obediently, you follow him. He takes you back to the first floor where quite a few more men are gathered than before. Looking at them, some are far too young to be called men: they’re much closer to boys. You can’t help but wonder what happened to get them involved in a group like the Neos. All of their eyes on you are sharp, cautious. Like Mark, all of the younger boys look like they’ve seen too much and the light of youth doesn’t shine as brightly in their eyes as it should. Almost like a scene out of a movie, they’re gathered around a table, Taeyong bent over a map that’s spread over its surface. He looks up when Yuta guides you over. “Any trouble?”

Yuta’s eyes flicker over to you before they move back to his leader. “None.”

Taeyong nods. “Alright. Y/N,” he says, looking at you, “you probably never thought you would hear this, but welcome to the base of the Neos.”

“Sorry we didn’t give you the warmest greeting. Strangers and all that.” The man you had first made eye contact with when you entered the building speaks up from next to Taeyong. He has a barely noticeable accent and seems to command nearly as much power as Taeyong - maybe one of the Chinese members of the Neos?

All you can manage is a nod in response. Taeyong continues. “Do you have any family in the city? Someone that can be used against you?”

“...no. I’m not from the city.”

“Easy enough to tell with that accent,” one of the younger looking members says from the side.

“Funny coming from you,” you snap back, almost instantly regretting it. To your surprise, you’re met with some snickers from the group.

“Hey, you think-” “Donghyuck, knock it off.” A sharp order from Taeyong cuts him off, but he continues to glare at you. Taeyong remains focused on you. “No one? No boyfriend, close friends, anything?”

“No,” you answer quietly.

“Best goddamn news I’ve heard all day. That means no one else is at risk. But,” he says, pausing, “we still can’t let you go back to your normal life.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“If we were going to do that, don’t you think we would’ve done it already?” Another guy you don’t recognize. He has a low, even voice and his brown hair suits his well-defined face well. “We’re not here to kill innocents.”

“We’ll help you get out. We just need time,” Taeyong says. “In the meantime, you’ll just have to lie low with us here. Got it?”

“I…” What they’re saying is being processed slowly by your brain. They aren’t going to kill you? They’re going to let you go? “What do you mean get me out?”

“Do you really think it’s safe for you in Seoul anymore? You have a target on your back now. With enough time, we’ll get you away from the city. You’ll have to start over somewhere new, but it’s better than being dead.” Taeyong is firm, but you have more questions.

“Why are you helping me?”

Taeyong’s eyes shift over quickly to meet Yuta’s, just for a moment, before he looks back at you. “Like Jaehyun said, we don’t kill innocent people. We’re here to get rid of the festering that’s happening in the city, not add to it.”

Silence spreads between you. From next to you, Yuta finally speaks. “I know it seems bad, but you’re not a prisoner. We’re doing everything we can, so just work with us.”

“I… okay. Thank you.” The room seems to relax as you say that, many of the boys looking noticeably relieved.

“One wrong step, one thing to show us you’re not innocent, and you’re still dead, though.” Donghyuck, the boy from before, says quickly, all signs of joking gone from his voice and expression.

No one corrects him.

Trying to break the tension, Taeyong gives you a tight smile. “I completely forgot to introduce myself. I’m Taeyong, but I’m sure you figured that out by now.” After you nod, he looks back at Yuta. “Yuta, show her around. She might as well be comfortable while she’s here. Everyone else, you’re dismissed. We’ve said all that we need to tonight.”

You quickly realize, as you’re being led around and shown different areas of the building, that Yuta is essentially your caretaker and there’s no real chance of you escaping. Not that you would want to escape, by the logic they provided. Soon enough, you also realize how tired you are. You left work maybe three hours ago by this point and the exhaustion is catching up to you. Yuta seems to notice as well, but you miss the somewhat fond smile he gives you. “We can continue this tomorrow. Let’s go back to your room.” With a nod, you follow him back up the stairs. As you walk through the long hallway filled with doors again, Yuta explains that they’re all the different members’ rooms. “I’d recommend not trespassing. For multiple reasons, one of which is that some of them couldn’t keep a clean room if their lives depended on it.” You give him a weary smile, appreciating the little attempt at making you more comfortable with him. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to trust him, but you’re too tired to be afraid at the moment. He leads you back to the room you were in before. “If you need me, I’m in the room right across from you.” He turns around, but looks back at you over his shoulder. “And, Y/N. Don’t be afraid.”

You enter your room and shut the door behind you, hearing his door close a moment later. Making your way to the bed, you sit on the edge, scrubbing at your face with your hands. You’re confused and upset and tired but, somehow, you’re no longer afraid. Though every single person in this building is capable of killing you, you want to believe that they won’t. Perhaps that’s part of the illusion. Perhaps they really are trying to help… somehow. Perhaps-

You’re torn out of your thoughts by a knock on the door. “Come in,” you say quietly.

The door opens and Taeyong is there, a large stack of clothes in his hands. “These are for you.” He crosses the room in a sparse few strides and hands them to you. You accept them graciously, giving a quick bow in thanks.

“Taeyong, thank you… where did you get these? Whose clothes….?”

He gives you a slightly pained smile. “They used to be my sister’s, back when she was here. I’m glad to see them finally get some use again.” He’s out of the room as quickly as he had entered, the door shutting behind him. You know it’s best not to press anyways. It’s strange to see such pain on a gang leader’s face, but you have the impression the Neos are different. While any other gang would have left you to die on the street, they saved you and are offering to help you. You don’t know what to think anymore. With weary bones, you change into some of the clothes that Taeyong brought and tuck yourself in, sleeping quickly and dreamlessly.

You’re awoken by a quiet knock on your door. For a moment, you panic at your surroundings, the cement walls and cold air unfamiliar to you, but you remember pretty quickly where you are and what happened to you. There’s no clock in your room, so you don’t know how long you’ve been asleep for, but sunlight streams through the gaps in the boards over your window, so you assume it’s been awhile. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and attempting to smooth back your hair, you call out to the person knocking. “Come in!”

The door opens and a shy face appears, a tall, lanky boy entering your room. His bangs sweep right above his eyes, showing that he’s in need of a fresh haircut, and he seems nervous. You vaguely recognize him from the gathering the night before, one of the boys who has probably seen far too much for how young he is. In the small amount of fresh morning light coming through the boards over your window, he seems much more youthful, thankfully. “This is for you. Yuta-hyung told me to grab some for you, so...”

In his hands is a metal bowl and chopsticks, a lid keeping in the heat of the food and making for easier transportation. He also carries a red apple. You get up, walking over to him to take the food. “What’s your name?”

He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “Jisung.”

“Well, thank you, Jisung. I’m Y/N.” The tips of his ears turn slightly pink when you smile and thank him and he gives you a quick bow before scurrying off.

The metal bowl contains some rice topped with bits of fish and vegetables that lets off some steam when you remove the lid. Your heart warms a bit at the sight of some normality - a taste of home - and you dig in, not having realized just how hungry you are. After last night, it seemed your body forgot about some of its needs like eating and sleeping until they suddenly struck. With some food and rest in your system, you finally have the mental capacity to consider your situation.

You’re in the Neo’s headquarters, eating their food and sleeping in one of their rooms. They could have left you to die on those streets, hell, you don’t even know how they found you, but you’re alive and they brought you back here and are offering to help you out if you just give them a bit of time. You’re not sure how much you should trust them, but with the way things are going, it seems like you don’t really have a choice. You don’t doubt that they’re right that the other gangs are after you now that you’ve been with them for as long as you have. 

With that conclusion, you get up, grab a change of clothes, and try to find your way back to the bathroom that Yuta had pointed you to the night before. After a successful shower, you set your mind on your next goal: washing the dishes that Jisung had brought to you. It’s the least you could do to acquire some normalcy and make less work for them. Sneaking down the stairs, you think you’re safe from running into any of the members, but when you turn the corner, you nearly lose your balance when a man nearly walks into you. He tries to steady you by grabbing your arm and you quickly regain your balance. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you!”

“I didn’t see you either, no worries.” When you look at him again, you realize he’s one of the ones who had spoken last night, the one you had first made eye contact with and had the slightest accent. He appears far less serious now than he did the night before, which seems to be a running theme, though he still has a strong presence. He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “I never got a chance to introduce myself last night. I’m Qian Kun.”

Notorious boss of the Wei Shens. You’d heard about him, only because a girl you had as a client once complained about how he wouldn’t help her group with something. There were rumors they had joined with the Neos, more of your coworkers’ gossipings, but you didn’t think that had actually happened. It’s safe to say that whisper is confirmed now.

“I’m Y/N,” you say before realizing that he probably very well knows who you are. “It’s… nice to meet you.”

He nods his head in acknowledgement before eyeing the dishes in your hands. “Do you know where you’re going with those?”

“I…”

“Kitchen is the other way.” He jerks his head to the opposite side of the stairs you had turned off of and gives you another small smile. “At least you’re making somewhat of an effort to keep clean. It’s appreciated.”

After making that comment, he continues past you, going up the stairs. You’re slightly bewildered by the interaction, but go in the direction he had indicated, finding yourself in the kitchen. You clean up after yourself and put things into the proper cabinets, which takes a lot of opening things and guessing, before you start to head back to your room. On the way, you spy a small bookshelf and grab the first book with an interesting title that you can see. You might as well amuse yourself doing something. Who knew that gangsters read?

You don’t know how long you spend reading before you look up when your door opens, no knock this time. Yuta leans in the doorframe, his arms crossed. His hair is tied up away from his face and the tank top he’s wearing makes you wonder how he’s not cold in the uninsulated cement building. “You don’t have to stay in here all day, you know.”

You shrug. “Nothing else I can do, really.”

Though he had been the first one you met, you’re wary of him. After all, he had threatened you in almost the exact spot you’re sitting in now. Despite that, something about him draws you to him. Maybe it’s the fact that he saved you. Maybe it’s because you saw his tattoo and helped him relieve the pain in his shoulders. Maybe you’re just fooled too easily by a handsome face. Either way, your mixed feelings about him confuse you.

He steps into the room and walks towards you, plucking the book out of your hand. When he sees the title, he smiles. “This is a good one. One of the first books I read after I got to Korea.” After he says that, he pauses, trying to gauge your reaction. You don’t know what he’s looking for, so you just look at him weirdly in response.

“So, this is yours, then?”

He clearly doesn’t find what he’s looking for, so he tears his eyes away from yours. He sits down next to you anyways “Yeah. Mark gave it to me. I read it more times than he ever did, though. He’s more into music.”

“Who isn’t into music? You don’t listen to any?” You tilt your head, giving him a questioning look.

He scoffs in a way you interpret to be joking. “Of course I listen to music. That kid is crazy about it, though. I think he wanted to be a singer or a rapper or something before he got tangled up in all of this.” Yuta pauses, thinking for a moment before he continues. “He has this old guitar in his room that he plays all the time. I’m surprised you didn’t hear him playing it last night, he does that when he gets stressed. I think it was one of the only things he brought with him here.”

“I guess I was too fast asleep to hear it,” you say quietly, thinking about Mark’s story. You can’t help but wonder how he got here. How Jisung got here. How Kun got here. How any of them got here. “Yuta, why are you here? How did you get involved with the Neos?”

He chuckles, but it’s not a happy chuckle, nothing like the way he had scoffed a minute before. It’s a sad sound, something that makes you want to know more about him. “That’s a story for another time. I’m far too sober to talk about that right now.”

“Will you tell me about the others, then?”

He tilts his head and smiles a little. “I suppose I could. Not too much, though.”

Through Yuta’s stories, you learn a little bit about each of the Neos. With each story, you think you’re learning a little bit about him, too. Finally, after he tells you about Jisung, the youngest of the Neos and the one whom you had met earlier, he stops, turning the question towards you. “I’ve told you about all of us. Tell me about you, Miss Masseuse.” He leans forward, resting an elbow on his leg, supporting his chin. With his position, part of his tattoo peaks out from behind his shirt, showing you a flash of red. You try not to stare at it.

“I’ve only been doing that for two years. I’ve been ‘Miss Pre-Med’ for longer.” He seems slightly surprised at your words, eyes widening slightly, looking for a story. For some reason, you feel comfortable talking to him about three years ago - a time you would sometimes rather forget. “In my third year of undergrad, I had a professor who hated my guts. Maybe because I actually read the textbook and corrected him when he was wrong. Maybe he hated how well I did on his tests. Don’t know, but, one day, he snapped and reported me for cheating, saying he saw me looking at another student’s test. He’d been at the university long enough that there was barely an investigation before it went on my record. That one offense was enough to get my scholarships taken away, so I had to drop out.”

His eyes darken with anger. For a moment, it seems as if he isn’t really speaking to anyone but himself. “Corrupt university. One part of what’s wrong with this city.” The darkness fades slightly and he refocuses on you. “And you stayed here and started working in the seediest part of the city? Didn’t move back with your parents?”

You smile bitterly. “My parents basically disowned me when I said I was going to university in the city. They wanted me to stay back in our town and help them run our store. I have enough siblings that it shouldn’t matter, but they refused to let me leave. But I wanted to be a doctor, so, when the time came, I left. There’s no going back to that.”

You aren’t looking at Yuta anymore, just staring down at the forgotten book lying on the floor. You realize for the first time that on the cover of the book is a beautiful depiction of azure blue waves. Your attention shifts back to Yuta when he begins to speak lowly. “We could get rid of that professor for you, you know. One name and he’s dead.”

You swallow hard. You know he’s serious. They could get it done in one night, it’s not like he’s hard to find. The darkest parts of you want to agree, to give Yuta his name and let him take care of the rest, but you know you shouldn’t. It would go against everything you strived to achieve by wanting to become a doctor. “You don’t need to do that. Revenge won’t fix anything now.”

“It’s not just about revenge,” he growls, more than serious now. He’s almost scary. “It’s about all of the other people he could fuck over with that kind of power. Do you think you’ll be the only one?”

You meet him with equal seriousness. “Yuta, I’m not going to tell you to kill someone.”

“Sometimes it’s the only way.”

“There’s always another way.” The dark look in his eyes shows you something. Something about the reason that he’s here, with the Neos. The difference between you and him and the rest of them. A part of life that you’re not sure you want to see. A desperation that, despite everything, you’ve never reached.

He looks like he’s about to say something back to you when there’s a knock on your doorframe. When he had entered, Yuta had left the door open, and a thin man with jet black hair stands there. “Yuta, it’s time to go. We’re ‘meeting’ with the Rushers.”

“Coming, Doyoung.” He stands, casting one look back at you before he follows Doyoung out. You know enough to figure that more blood will be spilled before the night is over. When you glance at the window, no daylight shines in the cracks between the boards. You spent nearly all of your time awake with Yuta. Just when you had thought you were getting to know him, you find that he’s more of a mystery than ever before. You think that, even after all he told you about them, the others are just as much of an enigma to you as he is. You don’t understand and you’re not sure if you want to.

He and the others that he had gone with aren’t back by the time you decide to go to sleep. You don’t know how much time has passed when you’re awoken by shouting outside of your door. You quickly get up, throwing on some more appropriate clothes and pushing your hair out of your face before you open the door, seeing Yuta’s door thrown open across from you. Leading into the room are small pools of blood. Inside of his room, several of the members are inside, including Doyoung, Mark, Kun, and Taeyong. When you step closer, in the dim light, you see someone’s figure on the bed, blood staining the sheets of his bed. It doesn’t take long for you to realize that it’s Yuta and he’s bleeding from a gushing wound just below his left shoulder. Even over the cloth Mark presses over the wound, blood quickly soaks it and drips onto his arm and chest.

“Put pressure on it, dammit!” Taeyong barks and Yuta groans when Mark puts more of his weight on his wound.

“What happened?” You say, trying to shoulder past Doyoung to get closer and see.

“Shot by the damn Rushers. Dumb bastard made it worse by running after another one,” Kun says, tearing the wrapping off of a roll of bandages.

“Stop talking and help him!” Mark says, glaring at both you and Kun. You put a hand over the bandages Kun is about to start using, stopping him.

“Wait, let me help,” you say firmly, trying to step forward farther.

“Fuck off,” Mark growls, pressing down on the wound harder. More blood spills from the wound, dripping down Yuta’s skin and into the bedsheets.

“I was pre-med for three years and shadowed in hospitals! If you don’t listen to me and let me help him, you’re letting him die!”

“Mark, let her in,” Taeyong commands, making his decision instantly. Mark hesitates for a moment before quickly getting up, letting you in closer to look at Yuta. You see him watch you through hazy eyes, likely not comprehending who you are or what’s happening. You peel back the blood-soaked cloth Mark had been using to staunch the wound and see the ugly place where the bullet had entered and where the skin and tissue had been damaged further by him overexerting. Running through everything you had learned in your time at university and in your shadowing, you assess him the best you can before turning to the boys, rattling off a list of things you need to help him. They quickly turn and run to get the items and you shout after them. “And grab some rubbing alcohol and clean those off if you care about his wound not getting infected!”

The experience of removing the bullet and stitching his wound closed is a blur. The sharp metallic smell and slick warmth of blood fills your every sense and you can barely keep your hands steady enough to sew his wound shut. He eventually passes out from the pain at some point. Though he lost a decent amount of blood, you’re praying it’s not so much that he needs a blood transfer. If they could have brought him to a hospital, you assume they would have.

When you’re finished doing all that you can for him, you get the boys to help you change out the bloody sheets. You nearly collapse into the chair Kun drags over for you, exhaustion filling every bone in your body. Looking one more time at Yuta, you sigh. He’ll live. Hopefully. You want him to live, desperately.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Taeyong says softly, resting a hand on your shoulder. You bob your head up and down in response before reaching up to wipe the sweat off of your forehead. You had never had a direct hand in a procedure like that before, but you think your experience paid off.

The boys take care of the cleanup before leaving you there to sit in the chair by the bed and stare at Yuta. He looks ragged, but slightly better than he did when he was first brought in. His breathing is more even and, though he’s a bit pale, his face is relaxed. You’re startled when someone taps on your shoulder.

When you turn to face them, you see that it’s Mark. He holds a water bottle in his hand, which he offers you. “Sorry,” he mumbles, head hanging low and avoiding your eyes, “for earlier.”

“It’s okay. I know you care a lot about him.” You accept the peace offering from him, taking the bottle.

“Yeah, it’s just… I can’t lose him. He’s one of the first guys who welcomed me when I got here and-” Mark starts to ramble a bit, staring at Yuta’s sleeping figure, but he stops himself. “I’m going to bed. Tell me if anything happens?”

You nod and he leaves, leaving you alone with Yuta once again. At some point, you doze off, slumping over onto the edge of his bed. Soft mumbling wakes you up. From what you can tell by the lack of light coming through Yuta’s window, which is also boarded up, it’s still night. Trying to blink the haze out of your eyes, you sit up, looking at him. He shifts slightly in the bed, his lips moving almost soundlessly. Confused, you lean closer to try to hear him. From what you can decipher, his mumbling is entirely in Japanese, so you don’t understand any of it. The distress in his voice is clear, even at the low volume and with the language barrier, and his face scrunches in what almost seems like pain. You don’t know what else you can do, so you gently take his hand, whispering back.

“It’s okay, Yuta. It’s okay.” Your thumb strokes over the back of his hand and you feel the veins and small scars scattered on his skin. You don’t know what he’s been through, why he came here, but you have to believe that he doesn’t deserve to be going down the path he’s found himself walking on.

When you try to let go of his hand, he grips yours. You watch his eyes open, half-lidded, his gaze unsteady on you. His lips barely move, his words mumbled, but you hear him clearly.

“We’ve met before.”

Of all the things you were expecting to hear from him, that was not one of them. You have to believe he’s delirious, so you just give him a confused smile. “Of course we have, you came to Park’s Massage and-”

“On the train.” His lips barely seem to move, but you hear him loud and clear. The last time you had been on a proper train was five years ago when you first arrived in Seoul. He couldn’t-

It’s a blurry memory, a distant set of circumstances that you had nearly forgotten. It didn’t seem important at the time, but you remember now. Back then, all those years ago, you stepped off of the train into Seoul and the paperwork you needed to turn in to your university flew out of your hands as the train departed. One of the documents, one that could have prevented you from even attending if you didn’t turn it in, had almost flown away, but a man who had stepped off of the train behind you a moment before grabbed it. A man much like Yuta. His hair had been shorter then, his body less worn, a little more innocence in his eyes perhaps. He didn’t say anything to you, just smiled when you thanked him profusely, before he walked off, going who knows where. You think you know where that is now.

“Yuta, I…” You don’t know what to say. By grabbing that paper, he had kept you steady on your course to university, from university to the massage parlor, and from the massage parlor to here. You’ve met him again. He single handedly changed your life two times now.

His eyes droop closed and his grip on your hand loosens. You stay there for a couple minutes longer, feeling the weight of his hand in yours, staring at his face in the dim light of the room. Quietly, you slip your hand away and stand up, hesitantly returning to your own room.

It’s a few hours later when you go to his room to change his bandages and it’s about half a day later when he finally wakes up. He lets you worry over him, making him drink water and eat some light food. What he had told you weighs on you slightly, but you try to push those thoughts away and focus on helping him recover. When you peel back his bandages again, he hisses in pain. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“It would hurt less if you weren’t such an idiot last night,” you say back, changing his dressings. He chuckles slightly at that.

“So, when am I going to be back in action, Doc?”

“When your wound is healed enough and when I say so. You really messed yourself up, Yuta.” You glance up at him before looking back at your work. “Maybe three weeks.”

His eyes widen. “No way I’m staying out for three weeks. I’m staying here one week, max.”

“Not if you want to tear open your wound and make the damage permanent, you won’t.” The wound is still ugly, but it looks significantly better than it did when it was gushing blood and he had a bullet lodged in his flesh. It might actually be a bit less than three weeks, but you’re not taking any chances right now.

You feel his eyes watching your every move and you try to not let it bother you. His voice is soft when he speaks again. “You were really meant to do this kind of thing, weren’t you?”

The edges of your lips raise in a sort of half-smile. “I’d like to believe that. The universe seems to be against it sometimes, though.”

“Maybe you coming here was some sort of sign.” This time, you really look up, meeting his gaze. You think that he’s telling you to stay. You don’t know how to feel about it, but you can’t deny that part of your heart wants to stay. You have so many differences with them, almost irresolvable differences, and you know they won’t change just because of you either, but they saved your life. You feel like you owe them at least something.

Silence falls heavily between the two of you again as you finish up your work. When you’re done, you wipe your hands off and put them in your lap. “Yuta,” you say quietly, “do you remember what you told me last night? About the train?”

He appears confused before realization dawns in his eyes a moment later. “Ah. I wasn’t going to tell you about that yet.” His eyes meet yours and then flicker away. Your eyebrows furrow and you lean closer to him in response.

“Why not? Don’t you think it’s incredible that-”

“That we met again? I guess so. But it makes it seem like we were targeting you this whole time. That’s not the way the Neos work. You…” he trails off, sighing softly. “...you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time this time around.”

There’s regret in his voice, so you reach out for his hand. “I’m glad I met you then. Did you know you saved me that day? I couldn’t have gone to university if you hadn’t grabbed that paper for me. I think that it’s just the way the universe works that we’ve met again so that I can help you. Repaying you, in a way, I suppose.”

He stares at your hand in his and smiles ever so slightly. “That’s a very optimistic view.”

“I suppose it is. But, being in the medical field, I guess I have to keep some of that optimism. It’s what makes it worth it.” You squeeze his hand once before standing up. “I’m going to go tell Mark you’re awake. He nearly murdered me last night because I wanted to help.”

“He’s a pretty sensitive kid, he just doesn’t show it a lot. I owe him a lot.”

“He feels the same way. He opened up a little after you were fixed up last night.” You don’t say it, but you feel like there’s a lot more to the Neos than they’re usually letting on. “I’ll check up on you later.”

Mark is gone from your eyesight and rushing out the door as soon as you tell him Yuta is awake. Through the day, you’re certain that nearly every member of the group goes in and out of his room. Yuta isn’t happy being stuck in his bed, but is wise enough to listen to your advice and stay and rest. You’re changing his wound dressings again at night when he groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “This is going to be the longest three weeks of my life.”

“I’m also stuck here with you, you know.”

“I guess you’ll have to be my entertainment, then.” His tone completely changes and he catches your chin with his hand, tilting your head up. The smolder he meets you with sends a pleasant, anticipatory shiver down your spine. This is certainly not a side of his personality that you’ve seen before. Where did this come from?

“I hardly know you,” you breathe out, “and you’re injured.”

“Most of me is perfectly fine.” His hand shifts from your chin, slipping back to stroke over your hair, but you catch the way he cringes slightly when his wound is disturbed by the motion. A short laugh escapes you at his attempt to be sexy while in pain.

“You’re an idiot, Nakamoto. Maybe another time.” You stand up, stepping backwards towards the door of the room. “Get some rest.”

With not much to do except spend time together, you get to know Yuta well over the next few weeks. You find out especially well that he’s a horrible flirt. Not horrible in the sense that he’s bad at it, he’s actually quite good, but he spends almost as much of his breath flirting with you as he does being serious. In the spaces of time where you get to know each other, he doesn’t tell you much about his past, still insisting that he’s far too sober to speak about it. The two of you keep well enough away from the topics of life and death and morality, but it can’t help but be brought up sometimes. You don’t know how high his body count is, but you’re starting to get an idea.

In the time you’re not with Yuta, you get to know some of the other members more through wandering around the building and tending to minor wounds. Some are friendlier than others, but they’re not nearly as serious around you as they were at first after a little while. You’d like to believe they warmed up to you a bit. You also find that the building has roof access. The door is usually locked and barred shut, but you go outside just to get some fresh air because you can’t leave otherwise and the windows are all boarded up. The Seoul sky is almost perpetually cloudy and dark, so different from where you grew up. Even with that twinge of homesickness, somewhere along those days, you stop waiting to leave and just focus on your time there. Before you know it, the end of three weeks approaches. The final night, you peek into Yuta’s room.

“What are you doing?” He muses, quirking an eyebrow at you. He leans against one of the concrete walls, a book in hand. He had taken to reading more while being confined to the building, you noticed. Ducking into his room, you hold your gift for him behind your back before pulling it out and revealing what it is. His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Sake? I thought you said no drinking while I’m recovering?”

“Well,” you say, “I deem you recovered.” Putting aside the small bottle of alcohol and cups, you carefully unwrap his wound. You had taken out the stitches a few days previous and you’re happy to see that the wound is healing well. Well enough for you to declare him no longer out-of- commission. “Now, let’s go. You’re having your first celebratory drink with me.”

“Where are we going?” You grab a blanket off of his bed before turning back around to face him.

“You’ll see. Come on!”

You take him to the rooftop with you. This time, he’s the one taking your hand.

It’s dark outside, long past sunset. It’s better that way - probably safer, in the case that one of the enemy gangs is trying to spy on you. You should find it strange how your mind has shifted into thinking about those sorts of things now, but you suppose this is part of your life now. No matter how you cut it, the Neos changed you. As you’re laying out the blanket, Yuta questions you, swirling the alcohol in the bottle idly. “Where did you even get this? Did you raid Taeil’s liquor cabinet?”

“I got Chenle to run out and grab it for me. That kid knows way too much about alcohol for someone his age.” After you take the bottle of sake from him and put it down, you pat the space next to you on the blanket. He joins you, settling near you. Cracking open the bottle with a little too much flare, you pour sake into the little cup he holds in his hand first, then your own. “Cheers,” you say, lifting up your cup, “to your recovery.”

You down the cups at the same time, you wincing slightly at the sharp taste of the alcohol. He chuckles at your reaction. “Not used to sake?”

“I’m more of a soju person myself.” That one has him cracking a wider smile.

“We’d better have another, then. To get you accustomed to the taste.” He pours for you this time, tilting his chin towards you in acknowledgement. “This time, cheers to the best doctor in all of the Neos.”

This drink burns a little less than the one before. Slowly, you process what he had just said to you. “The best doctor in all of the Neos, huh? Am I a member now?”

The smile fades slightly on his lips, but the ghost of one remains. “Taeyong and I have been meaning to extend the invitation to you for a while now. We’ve got most of the arrangements for you to leave done, but you’d make a valuable member of our team if you wanted to stay.” He pauses, swallowing heavily. “I know we promised you we would get you out of here. But you can always stay. If you want to.”

He reaches a hand out, his fingertips barely grazing your cheek. A part of you wants him to touch you more, like he means it, like he desperately wants you to stay. Another part of you thinks about your life before all of this. Before you got roped up into all the business with the Neos, before you had to drop out of university, maybe even before you left your family in the country. A life with a little more peace. A life with a lot less Yuta. With his presence recently, you’re not sure you want to remember what a life without him feels like. Despite all the bitterness and blood he’s brought, you’ve connected with him in a way that you never have with anyone else. In a way that feels like the universe planned it, like you were somehow meant to be here all along. He’s so different from you. But, maybe, with a little more time, you can come to terms with that.

“Yuta,” you say, voice so quiet, like you’re afraid to answer. Because you’re afraid to answer. “Give me just a little time. To think about what all this means.”

“You’ll always have a place here, you know. With us.” With me. He doesn’t say that part, but you know with the way that he pushes your hair away from your face ever so gently that that’s what he means. You blink and he’s pulling away, reaching for the bottle of sake again. “Let’s have another drink.”

“To what this time?”

“Do you really have to have a reason to drink?” He smirks, a typical look for him, and pours for you.

“Let’s toast to the future, then,” you say. As you tilt back the alcohol into your mouth and swallow the burning liquid, you throw a wish into the night sky, asking for the right answer to your question. You try your best to see the stars, to find even a single one, but the city is unforgiving and all you can see is the moon, even with the relatively clear sky tonight. After you’re done with your drink, you set aside the cup, leaning back into your hands. “I’m not from the city,” you say, staring up at the inky gray-black sky, “I miss the stars.”

He laughs, a cold sound coming from what you want to believe is a warm heart. “I’m from Osaka. I’ve never really been able to see them.”

“Finally drunk enough to talk about the past?” You glance over at him, tilting your head to the side and smiling. When you tilt your head, the world sways slightly and you can feel warmth on your cheeks and a buzz in your fingers. You’re starting to feel the alcohol well enough now.

“Not quite,” he says, “but maybe if a pretty lady pours me another drink, I will be.”

“I wonder where you’ll find one of those,” you say, giggling. “Maybe if we put Jungwoo in a dress and wig, you could pretend?”

“Or I could ask the one right next to me.” Your giggling grows a little louder and a little more boisterously and you reach forward, picking up the bottle.

“What a charmer. I wonder where you got that from. Johnny influence you?”

“Oh, please. I’m far better at it than he ever was.” The two of you drain your cups quickly, placing them back down.

“Jaemin, then?”

“You’re comparing me to one of the kids? You offend me.”

“Lucas?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t talk about other men.” Your breath catches in your throat and your giggling stops at the smoldering look in his eyes. The mood suddenly shifts inexplicably into something more somber. He looks away and says a name that you can barely hear. “Hansol. It was Hansol.”

“Who was he?” You’re almost afraid to ask. You’ve never seen that look in Yuta’s eyes before. It’s pain and loneliness and an unbearable sadness that makes your heart ache in response. Despite the way your heart feels so heavy in your chest, you can’t stop staring at him.

“He brought me here. To the Neos. Away from Osaka, where I was rotting away in a gang that was all bloodshed and no purpose. There was a terf war in east Seoul one day that ended with him getting shot three times. It was a lot worse than mine and we didn’t have someone like you then. He died before we even got back to base.” Yuta’s eyes are trained on the sky, looking at nothing in particular yet seeming to see something that you don’t. “We didn’t have as much of a mission then as we do now. Part of it is because of him. Everyone here has more of their own reasons, too. Mark had a dad. Taeyong had a sister. I had Hansol.” He looks back at you. “Is that the story you wanted to hear?”

“I’m sorry…” It’s all you can say. All you can manage when you feel like crying for him.

“It’s okay. That was four years ago, anyways.” Four years. Four years ago, you were a sophomore in undergrad, not a care in the world besides your organic chemistry and biology classes and all sorts of dumb things that seem so small in comparison to what he was going through. On the train that day, five years ago, you had parted ways to go down completely different paths that are now converging again. You blink back the tears and stare back out at the sky. A cool breeze blows on the roof, but it feels good against your warm skin.

“We should go out and look one day, you and I. See the stars.” When you say that, he first responds with a bitter laugh.

“I’m busy.”

“Busy forever?”

“Yeah,” he says before looking over, “but maybe I could make some time for you. No promises.”

“I’ll drink to that.” You pour two more cups, finding that that’s the end of the bottle. It was a small bottle in the first place, but you’re almost disappointed that the two of you went through it so quickly. It was an excuse for him to stay with you for a little longer after you declared him healthy again. An excuse for just a little more time. With Yuta’s offer from earlier, you could get even more time. The thought brings a tugging feeling to your heartstrings. Could you really give up the chance at a new life for the sake of this man?

“A shame,” Yuta says, watching the last few drops fall from the container, “that was some good stuff, too. Looks like we’ll have to savor this last one.”

You raise your cup to him and he raises his to you in return before you both down the last of the sake. The cup leaves your lips and you smile. “Perhaps I’m becoming a sake person after all.”

“Is that so? We’ll have to drink together more often, then.”

“Only if you promise you won’t get hurt anymore.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them and, even in your tipsy-edging-on-drunk state, you know how foolish what you said is.

He smiles, a sort of sad smile that you wish he didn’t have to give you. “I’ll try my best. You know I can’t make that promise.” He lowers his voice, eyes flickering down to the empty cup in his hand. “There aren’t many promises I can make you that I’m sure I can keep.”

You set your empty cup aside, along with the bottle, and shift closer to him. You lay your hand over his, your fingers falling in the gaps between his. Even with the alcohol, his fingertips still feel slightly cool. “You don’t have to. Being here with you now is enough.”

Quickly, he flips his hand around, catching your hand in his. He brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a light kiss to them. Your heart nearly stops beating for the second time that night. The unspoken words between you are longing to escape, but neither of you can or want to speak. You feel like his heart is finally opening completely to you. You just have one more question first.

Regrettably, you break the moment, reaching over with your free hand to take the sake cup that he’s still holding on to. “Can I ask you something?” You speak as you set aside the cup behind you. He lets go of your hand and your arm instantly feels heavier. You have to stop yourself from pouting at the loss of contact. He tears his eyes away from yours, opting to gaze out at the rising moon instead. Your eyes never leave him.

“Anything you want.”

“That day, you could have just killed me. Or let me die. Anything like that. Why…?” The night air is still between you.

“Maybe I wanted my own personal masseuse.” He looks over at you again when you sigh softly. He looks breathtakingly handsome in the city lights and moonlight bathing him. The ratty wool blanket under both of you protects you from the cold that threatens to seep into your bones from the cement beneath while the blanket of moonlight from above guards you from a different type of cold that you can’t describe. He reaches over, taking your hand gently in his again. “Your hands,” he says, so quietly, as if you’ll break if he’s too loud, “they’re too gentle for someone like me.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” You implore him to answer your questions with your eyes, maintaining eye contact with him and giving him a pleading look.

“We’re not what you think of when the word gang comes to mind. You know that already. No matter what, every innocent person is worth saving. We’re trying to save this city, not cause more meaningless bloodshed. Before we even really knew you, you were worth saving.” He blinks slowly. “Now, I’m especially glad we did.”

“Yuta,” you whisper, trying to read everything that his eyes are showing you and also say exactly what you’re feeling yourself. “I don’t think it was the wrong place at the wrong time. I think everything turned out the way it was supposed to.”

He still has your hand in his and his grip tightens. His free hand travels to your cheek, his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip. Your breath hitches as he does so and the corners of his lips curl up at your reaction. He leans closer. His breath, slightly sharp with the smell of sake, washes over your lips. “Are you afraid?”

“No.”

The danger of him, of doing this, hums through your body as he kisses you. Your blood is hot with the alcohol and the feeling of him against you. He drags you closer so that you’re straddling his lap and you moan into the kiss. His skin feels even hotter than yours when his hands shift to slip under your shirt, having lost all of the previous coldness, stroking your sides. His lips separate from yours ever so slightly, his words barely even breathed against your lips. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

“Please don’t stop.”

The blanket, bottle, and cups are forgotten as the two of you stumble back down the stairs inside, barely remembering to lock the door behind you, Yuta’s bedroom close but not close enough. His hands shake with urgency as he practically tears your shirt and pants off. He strips off his shirt and his tattoo, an ocean red with blood, is visible to you once again. You don’t have much time to dwell on it before his pants are also off and he’s pinning you to his bed, his lips trailing down your entire body. You welcome him between your legs, letting him taste you and kiss you and do whatever he wants with your body. When he’s above you again, finally pressing into you, filling you in ways you never would have imagined, your eyes lower to his chest with all of his lean muscle and scars and the almost-healed bullet wound below his left shoulder, but you don’t have much time to think about that. You let him pound into you, let him press a hand to your mouth to muffle your drawn-out moans at his ministrations, at one of his hands dipping lower to bring you closer to the edge, let him kiss you when he isn’t using his hand to muffle your sounds. You yourself let go around him, let him release into the condom he had somehow managed to remember, let him pull you close once it’s all finished.

You wait for the regret to set in, but you don’t find any. Even now, you don’t regret Yuta. His arms feel good around you and his sweaty chest feels good pressed against your back. His lips feel good pressing against your neck, whispering sweet things to you that you’re too tired to really comprehend and commit to memory. You know he waits for you to fall asleep and, despite your best efforts to stay awake, you doze off, feeling warm both inside and out.

You wake up because it’s cold. You immediately realize that Yuta is no longer next to you, so you sit up in his bed. You’re about to say his name when quiet voices outside his door draw your attention. A little bit of orange light leaks through the boards over the windows, showing you that it’s only a little bit past dawn. Peeling away the covers except a blanket that you wrap around your body, you step as quietly as you can towards the door, leaning in to listen. You quickly recognize Taeyong’s voice along with Yuta’s.

“She said she needs time to think about it. I think there’s a good chance she might stay.” Ah. The offer that he had presented to you. You can’t help but smile. He sounds almost hopeful.

“Even if she wants out, I want to use her to talk to the RVs.” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Another gang?

“We aren’t going to use her. I don’t want her involved with them. They’re too dangerous.”

“And the Rushers and Blue Veins aren’t? You weren’t so against using her to get the rat out of Park’s. What’s changed now?” Taeyong is short with the way he speaks, but what he says makes you freeze. They used you? Suddenly, it’s painful to swallow and you feel like you’re about to collapse. Everything… everything you’ve built here is fake. You’ve been lied to. They didn’t take you here to protect you. They took you here because they were responsible for the danger in the first place.

Deep pain starts to mix with anger as you listen to Yuta’s response. “I met her back then, you know that. Now, she’s saved my life. She’s more than bait now and she’s more to me.”

“I know you just got your dick wet, but think clearly. She’s the closest woman we have right now and the RVs don’t trust men. We need her to do this.” Silence falls between the two men for a moment before Yuta responds.

“I’ll ask her. Hopefully, she’ll be rational and say no.” He pauses before continuing. “And, don’t talk about her like that.”

When he opens the door and sees you a few feet away from the door, a wide-eyed look on your face with a blanket wrapped around you, he freezes. A moment later, he steps inside, closing the door behind him. “Y/N… how much did you hear?”

“Too much,” you say, your lips feeling numb as you speak, “but also just enough.”

“Y/N…” His expression shifts and he reaches forward to touch your shoulder, saying your name more softly than you’ve ever heard something leave his lips before. A few hours ago, him saying your name like that would’ve made your heart beat faster and a smile grace your lips, but now you just want to punch him. How dare he? You jerk away from his touch and stand up, your blood now boiling in your veins.

“You bastard,” you hiss, “you used me. You used me and then you let me fuck you.” You keep your voice low and your fists clenched despite the urge to scream, to hit him, to make him feel the way you do right now.

His eyebrows furrow. “Y/N… you don’t understand. The whole city-”

“No, Yuta, you don’t understand. I’ve been trying to get my life back on track for two years now and you used me, knowing my life would be fucked up forever after that.” You suddenly feel ridiculous, standing there arguing with the man who had ruined your life even more, the man you had just slept with, with only a blanket draped around your body. You turn, locating your underwear on the floor by the bed. As you slip into it, a headache, a mix of your rage and a coming hangover, starts to pound at your temples.

“We would never do anything with the purpose of hurting you, you know that.” Your bra is next, near where your underwear was.

You scoff, tugging on your own shirt from where it was abandoned in your haste a few hours ago. “Oh, because knowing I would get hurt as a consequence anyways is just so much better, isn’t it?”

“Y/N. Don’t talk like that.” He steps into your path after you pull your pants on and fix them around your hips.

Your gaze, once so timid, is now an intense glare. “Don’t try to intimidate me. I’m not afraid of you anymore, Nakamoto.” You clench your teeth, not breaking eye contact with him. “Am I only now a person worth more than just bait to lure out another gang? Do people not have value before they become useful to you?”

“Of course not. Y/N, you know we’re fighting for everyone. You know how I feel about you. You know I-”

He stops speaking when your hand raises in an attempt to slap him. With lightning fast reflexes, he grabs your arm, twisting it and raising his opposite hand. You try not to flinch, maintaining eye contact with him. “Go on. Hit me back. You couldn’t hurt me any more than you already have.”

At that, he drops your arm and lets you shove past him to exit the room. Suddenly, the building is suffocating and you have to get out. You’ve been here for a month and haven’t left, not once complaining, believing they were protecting you. A part of you logically knows that the other gangs are after you and that, in some ways, they are protecting you, but you’re so angry and hurt that you no longer care. Past all the rooms, down the stairs, to the front, where Jeno is sitting on watch. At first, he just looks at you blearily, but immediately scrambles up and towards you when your hand moves to unlock the door, stopping you.

“Wait, wait, what are you doing? You can’t go out there!” Ordinarily, you wouldn’t yell at the poor kid, as he’s one of the nicest, most innocent members, but right now he’s standing in your way.

“I’m sick of being your prisoner while you say you’re protecting me! Taeyong promised me I could leave, so I’m doing that. I’m so fucking sick of this.”

Speak of the devil and so he shall appear. The stairs creak behind you and you turn to see Taeyong. “Y/N. Go back to your room.”

“You’re not my leader. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“I don’t want to threaten you, Y/N, but I am the one with the gun.” His hand not-so-subtlely shifts to his belt, where his handgun is. Your hand lowers from the locks. “We’ll talk in your room. Come on.”

Obediently, you follow him, your head pounding with each step back into what you feel has become your prison. Once you’re both inside, he turns around. “I understand your frustration. However, we need you one more time. Most of the arrangements have been made. Help us with the RVs and we’ll let you go.”

You scoff. “I don’t get a choice this time?”

“You still want to stay with us?” You don’t respond, so he takes that as confirmation. “We’re going to see them tomorrow. After that, we’ll send you off to Japan with a new identity and a new life. I suggest you take care of all of your business before then.” His eyes flicker to the doorway and you don’t have to turn around to know who’s there.

Not even sparing him a glance, you turn around and walk back out the door, this time in the opposite direction you had come from. You go to the roof, where the door had been locked clumsily last night in your haste to get in each other’s pants. To your relief, he doesn’t follow you. The early morning light is painting the sky in colors that you don’t see too often anymore, soft pinks and yellows that are far too bright and pretty for how mournful and gray you feel. After you shut the door behind you, you see the blanket you had left out, along with the empty sake bottle and cups. In a spike of anger, you walk forward, grab the bottle, and throw it as hard as you can against the concrete of the wall by the door. The bottle shatters, scattering pieces of glass on that part of the roof. A shard flies towards you and you raise your arm, letting it slice into your forearm instead of your face. You just take the pain, listening to the small pieces of glass fall to the ground. You look at the place the glass had sliced into your skin and wince, touching the blood beginning to leak from the wound.

Tears prick your eyes at the pain and, before you know it, you’re sobbing, curling in on yourself, crying into your hands. The anger melts into hurt again. It feels like your heart has been torn from your chest. Without even trying, Yuta had taken everything that you had been willing to give him and you don’t know if you’ll ever get it back. You have to move forward, go to Japan, and start a new life with the pain of the Neos always resting in your heart. There’s only one way forward now. You cry until your headache becomes too painful to handle and there are no more tears left for you to shed.

Inside, you take care of your bleeding arm and drink some water before you sleep. A knock on your door awakens you a few hours later. Taeyong steps inside, a folded pile of clothes in his hands. “Something practical but fashionable to wear tomorrow. The RVs won’t accept anything less.”

He leaves just as quickly as he had come in. While that interaction is quick, the rest of the day is not. The few times you leave your room to eat and use their bathroom, it’s like the first day you were here. You avoid looking at the members and you don’t talk to them. Finally, it’s some time in the evening when there’s another knock on your door. You had been unsuccessfully trying to read for who knows how long, so when the door opens and Yuta is there, it really is like the first day again. He eyes the book open in front of you before looking up, catching your eyes. When you would usually smile at him, you meet him with a blank look this time, waiting for him to say something.

“Y/N,” he starts, voice soft, like it had been earlier. Your heart aches this time. He stays in the doorway. “I never meant for you to get hurt. I’m sorry. You still saved my life. For that, I’ll always owe you.” He pauses, the silence falling heavily between you. “I have feelings for you. I’m not going to lie to you. But I know that won’t keep you here if you don’t want to be here.”

As he starts to turn back around, you call out to him. “Yuta.” He stops, looking back at you, waiting for you to speak. “Why is your tattoo red and not blue?”

He swallows hard. “To remind me that it might take a sea of blood to change the world.”

You nod slowly. “I think… I understand now. We’ll never be the same, you and I. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand you, no matter how hard I try. We might have too many differences to ever reconcile them.”

“I’m sorry. For bringing you into this.” All you do is shake your head. He leaves.

It’s hard to sleep that night.

The meeting with who they call the “RVs” is in the evening the next day. The outfit Taeyong brought you is a pair of black jeans and a flowy black shirt, banded around the waist and with loose sleeves, black ankle boots with a slight heel, and a gray-washed jean jacket. You almost hate to admit it, but it’s the slickest outfit you’ve worn in a while, especially since coming here. With your hair falling loosely, you feel ready for whatever this meeting is.

A quiet knock on your door has you turning around. You open it to see Jisung. He’s the quietest out of the members, so you’re surprised to see him. “Here,” he says, offering you a sheathed knife, complete with some leather straps. You take it from him, your eyes wide. He doesn’t meet your eyes. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but if something goes wrong, it’s good to have a weapon. You can hide it under your shirt. Chenle and I got it for you. Don’t tell the hyungs, they’ll get mad.”

Tears nearly prick at your eyes. “Thank you, Jisung. I won’t tell them. In all luck, I won’t even have to use it.” He bows quickly before hurrying away. With the door shut again, you raise up your shirt, finding that the outline of the sheath isn’t even visible beneath the material once you’ve secured it against your side.

Doyoung collects you from your room a few minutes later and you follow him, Taeyong, and Yuta to a car waiting just outside the front entrance. The last few golden orange rays of the sunset graze the sky. “Do you know how to get to the Bakery?” Taeyong asks Doyoung after he gets into the driver seat.

“I would certainly hope so. I’ve been there enough.”

Yuta leans closer to you and you instinctively lean away. He frowns and you reposition yourself, trying to not be deliberately avoidant. “The Bakery is where the Red Velvets are located. It’s not an actual bakery, just some warehouse they took over.” So, it’s the Red Velvets. You probably should have realized that’s what “RVs” meant, but you were a bit mentally occupied with other things. They’re a notorious female gang, small in members, but particularly dangerous. “They don’t really trust men,” Yuta adds, “that’s why we need you.”

“What do you even want me to do?”

Taeyong speaks up this time. “We’re trying to get them to ally with us. They’re not heartless - they killed their old boss and took off because he was doing despicable things to women. Part of the reason for their distrust. We just need to get them on our side. To cooperate with us. Just do your best to get their confidence in us.”

“Hopefully, Irene isn’t too difficult today. She’s the hardest to convince out of any of them,” Doyoung says. As you talk with them on the way over, things almost feel normal, like the last few days, but your heart feels too heavy for it to feel exactly right. You know Yuta glances over at you periodically and you can’t help looking back at him sometimes.

You don’t know what you were expecting to see when you first meet the Red Velvets, but the image in your mind probably wasn’t this. A stunningly beautiful woman greets you at the door, smiling at only you amongst your group and introducing herself as Yeri. She leads you all down a long, dark hall, into a room. There’s a large circular table with nine chairs, arranged almost like a makeshift conference room. Three of the chairs are occupied by more women, equally as beautiful as Yeri. She sits down next to them. The four of you take your seats across from them. You eye the empty chair curiously and, as you’re doing so, you hear the clicking of heels from behind you. Another woman enters, taking the final seat. All of them are dressed as Taeyong had told you to dress - fashionable, but practical. “I suppose we can begin, then?” One of them says, smiling sweetly. “What is it that the Neos want from us?”

Taeyong glances at the rest of us before looking back at them. “We want to propose an alliance.”

“Oh?” Yeri questions. “And why would we be interested in that?”

“Our organizations aren’t so different. We’re both after something bigger, better than just bullying innocent people into submission. It’s about time that we become allies,” Doyoung says, his voice even and calm.

“Not a bad point,” a third woman says, “what do you have to say, Wendy?”

“Why should we even trust you? What have you done that’s so good and righteous?”

“We don’t abandon people. We save them. Y/N is living proof of that.” Yuta jerks his head towards you after he says his part and you give a shallow nod of acknowledgment.

“Let her speak for herself, then.” The final woman, the one who had walked in last, gets up, walking around the table to your side. She stops in front of you, reaching out a hand and tilting your chin up  with one finger. “Y/N, was it? Tell us why we should trust these men.”

Her gaze is seductive, ruby lips parted, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. Her eyes make you want to tell the truth, unfiltered. You blink to clear your head, deciding that you’ll speak from your heart, consequences be damned. “They’re not lying. They could have left me on that street, could have let the Rushers or Blue Veins kill me. But, they saved me and took responsibility, even though they had gotten me into that mess in the first place. I…” You break eye contact with her, your eyes almost unconsciously shifting over to Yuta. You look back at her. “For the last while, they’ve treated me almost like a member of their own group. And, despite everything, I don’t regret meeting them. They’ve done some terrible things, but I understand why. I want the bloodshed to stop as much as any of you do. They’ve shed blood on their own, changed lives, but I trust them.”

A quiet hum leaves her. Her thumb brushes over your bottom lip once before she takes her hand away, stepping back to her side of the table. The first woman watches her sit down again, a look of mixed amusement and weariness in her eyes. “Are you done playing your games, Irene?”

“Games? I just got a very honest confession out of our most honored guest, Seulgi.” Her painted red lips curve up into a smile. “I trust her and her story.”

“Joy? Wendy? Yeri?” None of the others speak as Irene calls upon them, only nodding. Irene, who you now figure is the leader, gives your side a wry smile. “I suppose we’re in agreement, then. We’ll ally with you, Neos. Should you need us or should we need you, we are in this together, now.” She stands and the others follow. The Neos do the same, so you do, as well. She extends a hand across the table. Taeyong meets her halfway, shaking firmly.

Yeri leads all of you out again, Irene joining her to walk besides you. Though the meeting hadn’t been long, the tension was enough to make your legs feel like jelly. As you’re about to exit the building, Irene stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder, leaning in to whisper in your ear at a low enough volume that none of the boys can hear. “If you ever need a different home, our doors are always open to you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” You smile and whisper back, following the Neos out. Yuta’s eyes follow you the entire way, eyes narrowed as Irene whispers to you. As you leave, he reaches out, grabbing your hand. Your eyes widen, but you don’t shake him off. “What are you doing?”

“Showing them that you’re not on the market.” His grip on your hand is nearly crushing, but you accept it for the moment. The way his fingers interlace with yours feels so natural, so nice, that you almost forget the whole incident from the previous day. After you get back into the car, he lets go of your hand, but the feeling remains.

“Fuck,” you hiss, realizing that Yuta’s grip on your hand had caused the cut from the sake bottle to start weeping blood again. Yuta reaches forward when he sees red begin to soak the bandage peeking out from under your sleeve.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” you say through gritted teeth, pulling your arm closer to your body. He frowns, but doesn’t comment on it again. It’s a quiet few minutes between all of you after that, so Yuta takes the opportunity to turn to you. “The offer is still open. You can stay.”

“Yuta, I-” You don’t have time to respond to him before gunshots start firing off around the car. From the noise the car makes and the way Doyoung loses control, one of the tires has been popped. Before you can really think, there’s an explosion from the opposite side of the car and it’s flipping. You think you hear Yuta yell your name, but your ears are ringing from the explosion and you have no room to think as the car makes contact with the ground. The windows shatter, spraying glass all over all of you. The car tumbles once, twice more before coming to rest upside down. Your head is spinning and red and black spots cover your vision. It smells like blood and burning and you think something in the engine on fire. Everywhere hurts. Somehow, you manage to get your seatbelt off and away from your body. Every move you make feels like your skin is being sliced open and you want to throw up. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you’re getting shards of glass stuck in your skin as you try to crawl out the shattered window, but that’s the least of your concerns. Breathing is a conscious effort and you feel like you could pass out, just go to sleep at any time. Your skin feels hot and sticky with blood. The sheath of Jisung’s knife presses into your side. Finally, with one last pull, your leg is free from the car seat you had hardly realized it was stuck under, and you finish crawling out from the car. After you’re out, you turn to look at the wreckage, seeing the slumped bodies of Taeyong, Doyoung, and Yuta. Yuta. He’s the closest to you, so you reach out for him.

“Yuta…” you can barely choke out his name, your breaths coming shallowly. A line of blood traces down his face and his eyes are closed. Before you can try to get closer and see if he’s still breathing or if any of the parts of the car are impaled in his body, someone drags you backwards. With the little strength you have left, you try to fight back, pulling in the opposite direction. “No… Yuta!”

“Shut up. You think he could survive a crash like that?”

“I survived it! Get the hell off of me!” You try to scramble forward again, but the man holding you back tugs harder. You turn just enough to see the tattoo on his arm. Bright blue veins tattooed artificially into his arm. You want to scream, but you don’t know who would hear you. People you had started to consider your friends are in that car, bleeding to death, soon to burn alive, and you have to save them. “Let me go. Let me go!”

As you scream, the Blue Vein drags you back by your arm, his fingers digging into your bottle cut. That last bit of pain is enough to push you over the edge and the black spots finally overtake your vision.

The sound of crying is what brings you to consciousness. That, and the mind-numbing pain that fills your body. A whimper of pain leaves you as soon as you try to find your voice. “Shh, it’s alright.”

An unfamiliar voice has you peeling open your eyelids, seeing an unfamiliar woman in front of you, using dull tweezers to pull the shards of glass out of your skin. A bowl full of the sharp pieces of the car windows is next to you and a gruff, heavily tattooed man stands behind her. “That’s enough.”

The kind-looking woman moves away quickly and fearfully and the man moves forward. “So, you’re the Neos’ new fleshlight, huh?”

You shakily open your mouth and he smirks, expecting some pitiful comment to escape you. Instead, you grit your teeth and hiss out your next words. “Fuck you.”

By his expression, you can tell he isn’t pleased. However, his face quickly morphs from showing irritation and anger to showing smug pleasure. The smile he’s giving you leaves an unsettling feeling in your gut. “You’re lucky you’re still alive. Or, not so lucky, once we pick out every piece of info about the Neos from you that we can. It will be fun for us, but so much for you. I can promise you that.” He turns to the woman who had stepped back. “Take care of those wounds. I’ll be back later.”

As soon as he leaves and you hear a door open, shut, and lock, you try to get up, but the sharp pain throughout your body brings you to a halt quickly. The woman rushes forward, trying to get you to lie back down. “Please stop, you’ll hurt yourself more.”

You try to analyze her, but your brain feels slow and fuzzy with pain. She has dirt on her face and her hair and simple clothes are dirty, like she hasn’t bathed or changed in a while. All you can tell from her exposed arms is that she doesn’t have the markings of a Blue Vein member. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Sooyoung. But, please, listen to me.” The logical side of your mind wins out against the desperate side and you lie back down, wincing. You recognize that you’re in some sort of bed and the room is dimly lit. From your position, you look out at the rest of the room and see several other people, all huddled near each other, tired, fearful looks on their faces. With a little more observance, they all have cuts, bruises, and dirt covering their skin, similar to Sooyoung.

“Where am I? Who are all you people?”

“You were taken by the Blue Veins. From what they were saying, it sounds like you were in some sort of crash.” The memory of what happened right before you blacked out comes to you and you suddenly feel even sicker. You want to cry, but you don’t have any strength left for that. In all likelihood, Yuta, Doyoung, and Taeyong are dead. You have to pray they’re alive, but with the way the crash was looking, you don’t place any faith in that. You look back at Sooyoung’s face as she speaks again. “We were all taken by them.” Her voice lowers, mostly out of fear. “Girls have come and gone. We think they sell them. Some people are here because they know a member of a different gang. It’s… it’s all just waiting. Waiting for when you’ll be next.”

Suddenly, even in your weak state, you feel like you understand. Why the Neos believe what they do. Why they’re fighting. Why they’re willing to make sacrifices. Who they’re fighting for.

“I…” You say slowly, each word feeling like a promise, “I’ll help you.”

Her eyes widen. “What? There is no way to help. We’ve tried, I promise you we’ve tried, but-”

“The Neos. If they figure out where I am, they’ll come for me,” you take a deep breath, wincing when it hurts to breathe in, “even if they don’t, I’ll find a way.” You become aware of the feeling of Jisung’s knife still pressing into your side. You choose to put your trust in this woman you just met, so you slowly move your body, choking back noises at the pain, reach under your shirt, untie the leather strapping the knife to your side, and pull it out. “Take this,” you say, trying to offer it to her. She doesn’t move, her eyes large with fear. “Hide it for now. I’ll think of something.”

With a little more urging, she takes it. She stows it away between the mattress and the bedsprings of the old, creaky bed you’re lying on before facing you again. “Please, try to recover. They won’t give you long, maybe a few days at best. I don’t know if your friends are coming, but… this is the best chance we’ve got.”

With your promises, you find that the rest of your strength is sapped for the moment and you slip away into sleep.

You don’t know how many days pass. You suspect the Blue Veins are only allowing you to recover now so that it hurts more when they try to get information out of you. With a painfully small amount of food and water being given to you, your body still aches and you want desperately to leave. But, you use the time to think. Wait for the right opportunity. You speak quietly with the others in the room when the gang members aren’t around. Too many of them are innocent men, women, children, weak people. People who have no place being thrown into the violence they have. Every so often, a new person is taken, sometimes crying and screaming, sometimes silent, ready for whatever is to come. Two or three new people arrive, just as afraid as the rest. Some are taken out and come back with gashes and burns and wounds uglier than anything you’d seen while you were shadowing at the hospital. With each person that comes and goes, your resolve strengthens. Slowly, you think of something. You don’t have a very solid plan, but you wait for the right moment anyways. If you have to kill to set yourself and these people free, you will.

One day, you’re woken from your sleep by shouting coming from behind the locked door. Some sort of disturbance. This - this is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. Moving as quickly as you can manage and trying to signal the others that it’s time, they all get up, ready to help you. You don’t know how you did it, but you motivated some of them to try to help you.  The knife is in your hand. You’re behind the door. Once again, you’re waiting, but only for a little bit longer.

Locks are clicking up and you hear more shouting, but you try to focus. The people in the rest of the room shift nervously and you try to still your shaking hand. It’s now or never. You can’t depend on the Neos to save you, so you have to try for yourself. The shouting becomes more coherent as the door finally flies open, nearly hitting you. Side-stepping it slightly, the man who had entered the room practically growls. A gun is in his hand. Some of the others who aren’t frozen in fear begin to cry out loudly from the other side of the room, the first part of your plan. His attention is drawn to them, his next words a bark of anger. “Where the hell is that Neo bitch?”

Now. You lunge forward, but don’t notice the other shadow emerging from behind him in the doorway. The knife is about to plunge into his neck, but a strong hand stops you. A familiar voice. “There’s no need for that.”

The Blue Vein turns, locking eyes with the man who had stopped you. A moment later, a gunshot deafens you and the Blue Vein is crumpling to the ground, howling in pain. Some of the other captives scream, real fear this time. A bullet wound clean through both his hand and thigh. He drops his own gun and clutches at his wounds.

You can’t believe your eyes. Yuta stands in front of you, a pistol in his hand, pointed at the man on the ground. He’s alive. He’s alive. You want to cry and hug him and thank him all at the same time. You settle for just saying his name. “Yuta…”

He smiles and tilts his head towards you, wincing at what you believe is a head wound, indicated by the bandage wrapped around his forehead. “You should get them out of here. None of you want to see this.”

You swallow hard. “Thank you.”

When you turn towards the door to peer out, you’re face to face with Ten, Kun, and Yangyang, more of the Neos. Managing a quick smile, you usher the people out of the room, moving around the figure of the Blue Vein on the floor in pain and Yuta standing over him, steady hand pointing his gun at the other man’s forehead. Once everyone is out, you stay turned around, watching as the others guide them out. With all your sensibilities, you try not to think about the life leaving the man on the ground as you hear another gunshot from behind you. If you’ve learned one thing while trapped here, it’s that people can be vile. Vile enough that you could possibly forgive Yuta for pulling that trigger.

You feel a hand on your shoulder a few moments later and you’re being spun around, familiar arms embracing you. You breathe him in, a scent so freeing and warm compared to what you’ve been experiencing for the last few days. A sob finally escapes you and his shirt becomes wet with your tears. “I thought you were dead,” you cry, your sounds muffled by his chest, “I really thought you were dead.”

“If I was that easy to kill, I would’ve been dead years ago,” he murmurs, stroking your hair softly. “It did take a hell of a lot of convincing to get Kun to let me come with this time, though. I got lucky compared to Doyoung and Taeyong.”

You pull away slightly, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. “Are they…?”

“They’re alive, just in bad shape. We could really use you back with us.” He moves to cup your cheek with his hand, frowning at the small cuts and dirt on your face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alive. You’re alive. I’m okay.” You sniffle, reaching up to try to wipe away your tears. “Yuta, those people… they’ve been here for so long. I’m so glad you came to get us.”

“I’m sorry it took so long.” Despite the dirt on your face and the tears smudging it, he leans down, pressing his lips to yours firmly. He pulls away when more gunshots sound from the opposite direction the others had gone. He takes your hand, pulling you along. “We should go.” You watch the place your hands are connected, feeling like you know him more than ever.

“Why did you stop me?” You ask, trying to keep pace with him. “I could have killed him. I was ready to do it.”

“I know that’s not something you want. You’re different from us. You’re not ready to kill. You don’t want to kill.” His tone shifts into something more mournful. “I’m sorry. For everything. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”

“I’m glad I’m here.”

He stops moving, turning to you slowly, eyebrows furrowed and a confused look on his face. “What?”

“I’m glad I’m here. Yuta, I…” you stop, trying to think carefully about what you’re about to say. “I understand now. Those people will be able to live again because you guys are here. Because you came for me, for us. I might not be able to go back to school again, to ever become a full-fledged doctor, but,” you pause, looking him right in the eyes, “I understand now. And I want to help. It wasn’t the wrong place at the wrong time. I want to stay with the Neos. I want to stay with you.”

“This,” he breathes out, “this isn’t something you can take back. You know that, right?”

“I know. I still want to stay.” You nod firmly, looking him in the eyes. To save people like Sooyoung, to use the skills you’ve acquired, to do something to fight the darkness in the city. You’ll do it for that. You’ll do it for all of them, for Mark’s dad, for Taeyong’s mom, for Hansol, whom you’d never met. You’d do it for Yuta, who is now close to your heart.

With that unbreakable promise that you swear to fulfill, you squeeze his hand tight. He gives you a small smile, full of hope at the future he knows you’re gaining and with a slight tinge of sadness at the future he knows you’re losing, and pulls you forward with him.

[spellnbone]

the inevitable catastrophe

Time: Afternoon, 22nd of March Place: East Wing, House of Bones Status: Closed chat, with: @starbrightblack, @inconsolcble, @peterdpettigrew, @empoweredevans

peter pettigrew is dead

They’re clean, tragedies. They’re restful, they’re certain... In other forms of drama, with those traitors, with those wicked villains, this persecuted innocence, those revengers, those gleams of hopes, it all becomes awful to die, like an accident. Perhaps one could’ve saved oneself, perhaps the good young man could’ve arrived on time with the saving call. But in tragedies one is tranquil. [...] Tragedies are restful for you know there is no hope, the dirty hope. - Anouilh

Peter had come to him late at night, after the meeting concerning the events of March 21st. Around one hand he held a handkerchief. It was drenched in blood. 

“The opportunity,” was what he said. “I seized it, like you said.” And Edgar understood.

Peter Pettigrew, standing alive before him, was dead. 

He brought Peter to one of the empty guest rooms in the East Wing and called upon Severus Snape, who was the source of his knowledge about Peter. 

“Make sure someone finds the finger and declares him dead,” he told Snape. “And come up with an excuse we can give the Order. A reason as to why Peter hiding here must be kept a secret. I suppose something like saying that he stumbled upon some secrets and was found out to be in the Order should suffice, but I let you come up with something more concrete. People will be asking questions.” 

In the meantime, he was going to write Peter’s friends.

They didn’t know how soon his death would be announced in the Daily Prophet, and the last thing he wanted was for his friends, Sirius, Lily, Remus, to suffer grief once again.

In the afternoon of the next day, they arrived. He led them into his father’s office -- the new Map Room -- and offered them one of the seats facing the desk. Then, closing and locking the door behind them, he himself went to lean against the desk. Not to tower over them, but because he would need to move soon enough again anyway.

“Before I begin, I need you to promise you will not ask questions. Not me, not anyone else, not even yourself. I will not make you swear, I will not make this a magical obligation; I just want you to trust me that it is in your own best interest to not go looking for answers. When time has come, they will come looking for you, and until then I want you to promise me, out loud, that you will not ask questions about the why, that is, about reasons for all this.”

He held out his hand, closed and with the backside up, for them to place theirs on top of it and promise it -- not swearing, not magically tying themselves to it, just charming the little object inside his hand to carry the promise.

Remus hesitated, but he was the first to reach his hand out, his eyes on Edgar. "I promise."

Sirius shook his head. "Not until I have some idea what it's about. You didn't tell us anything. I'm not swearing anything until I have some idea what I'm agreeing to."

Lily glanced between Sirius and Remus, biting her lip. How could you promise something you didn't understand? "I'm sorry, Remus. I have to go with Sirius on this one. This is war, Edgar. Can you please tell us something first?"

The tiny object -- a Mexican peso -- in Edgar’s hand warmed up when Remus promised. He handed it to him with a nod. While in his possession, whenever he’d break his promise by asking a question that should not be answered, Remus would now hear his own voice repeating his ‘I promise’ in his head, once and quietly. “It’s concerning the well-being of your friend.” He gave each of them a nod. “Look around. Who is missing?” A hand was raised to cut off any panic. “He’s fine. He’s safe. But I cannot tell you more unless you promise -- not swear,” a look towards Sirius, “that you won’t ask any questions. He asked me to and I promised him.” A shrug and a smile. “I’m sorry.”  

Remus trusted Edgar. It was as simple as that. He muffled the panic that rose in his throat as he held onto his peso, and looked at his friends expectantly.

Sirius swallowed hard, but he eventually reached out for the coin. "I promise," he said, "for now, not forever. Eventually there better be some answers."

Lily, once again, watched the other two men first, thinking it through. But this was about Peter - it was important. "I promise," she said quietly, holding out her hand.

“Thank you.” He handed both Sirius and Lily their pesos, then settled back against the desk, ignoring Sirius’ comment as that was now all in Peter's hands, not his own. “Again, as I said, Peter is safe and fine. But in the following days, the Daily Prophet will pronounce him dead. That’s not a mistake, that’s a necessity, something Peter wanted and arranged, and I need you to play along. I brought you here today because I didn’t want you to believe Peter was really dead, not even for just a second. But this means you three here right now, apart from Peter, me and one other person, are the only people who know the truth. A truth that must be kept a secret at all cost.”

Lily's mouth fell open in shock. Faking a death? The first question in her mind came up quickly: why? But she'd promised not to ask questions, so she turned to Sirius and Remus instead. "We will get to ask him when we see him," she said, knowing they would have the same questions as her.

Sirius had so many questions, and it felt outright cruel that they couldn't ask any of them. The coin burned in his hand, and Sirius took a deep breath. This wasn't fair. Without thinking about it, he reached over to take Lily's hand. Screw it, Sirius had to ask. "When do we get to see him?" Why weren't they allowed to know more? Why would Peter go to Edgar before his friends?

Remus couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't what? and why? and how?, so he said nothing. He exchanged another look with his friends and nodded at Sirius' question, seconding it.

“He’s in the East Wing for now, until we know it’s safe to let everyone in the Order know about the reason for his … supposed death.” Edgar didn’t like having to lie to Peter’s friends. But once Peter had settled on a sound excuse to tell everyone else in the Order, they would have to believe it too. At least until Peter deemed it the right time to tell them the truth. “We’ll have to take the servants’ corridors so no one sees you, but I can bring you there now if you want? And of course, you're free to go visit him as often as you wish taking the same path. The doors aren't locked.”  

"Yes," Sirius said automatically. He looked around, knowing he should speak for everyone. "I'd like to go at least."

Lily nodded, setting her feet firm. "Yes, I would like to go now as well."

Remus' brows were furrowed hard enough that he might've been giving himself a headache, at that point. He hesitated again before nodding. "Yeah. Of course. He's really... fine, you said?"

“He is. But I’m sure his state can only improve with his friends by his side.” Edgar got up and went to the back of the room where, barely visible to the ignorant eye, a door was carved into the wall. Only a tiny line in the wallpaper gave it away. He pushed it open and let everyone through before closing the door and walking down the narrow, dusty corridor to the East Wing. They walked for about two minutes, up some stairs at one point, until eventually halting at the 14th door on their way. He knocked. “Peter? It’s your friends. They have promised not to ask any questions about the Why but wish to see you.” 

Peter had been curled up in a chair, absently picking at the bandage on his right hand. He jolted and nearly fell out of the chair at the knock, feeling panicked and taking a shaky breath at hearing the others wanted to see him. At least they’d promised not to ask why? “C-come in!” He called out then, having left the door unlocked.

Edgar opened the door with a gentle push against the wall -- it had no lock or handle -- and let the others step inside. “Do you want me here or should I wait in the office?” 

Peter stayed curled up in the chair as much as possible, not looking up as they all filed into the room. He stared at his hand where the missing pinky should be, before asking in an almost tiny voice, “Stay?” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his friends not to ask, he was just... scared. Finally, he lifted his head to look up at his friends, to see their reactions.

Sirius all but shouldered past Edgar, but Peter looked so terrified that Sirius stopped abruptly. What was he scared of? Them? Sirius couldn't ask what Peter had gotten into, but he could offer him the closest thing to a smile he had. "Hey," Sirius said quietly.

Remus pushed into the room second, eyes immediately falling on Peter's wounded handed and his brows furrowing. "Wh-- w--," he stammered, but quickly became too aware of the peso in his pocket. "Are you okay?" Hopefully that was an allowed question.

Lily moved into the room last, following the boys more hesitantly, eyeing Peter curiously. What had he done to need protection? Even James, who had been a known Order member hadn't needed to go this far. She said nothing, just observed quietly as she looked around the room at the men who had become her only family.

Edgar gave Peter a nod and when all had moved into the room, he did so too, closing the door behind him. He had no intention to survey, participate or interfere with what was about to happen in this room -- hoping he could trust both Peter and his friends to keep their promises -- but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to stay either. If any further questions came up. In the meantime, he went to the window, moved the curtains and opened it wide. Partly to smoke, partly so that the mood in here wouldn’t be even more darkened by a lack of light. 

Peter was grateful for Edgar staying, even if he was sure that it would be okay anyway. He tried to relax and uncurl himself, noting Remus looking at his hand. "Hey... I'm... okay," He responded softly, "I... this was what I had to do, to make sure there was proof they could find to think I'm dead." He held up the bandaged hand, wincing just a little, and continued, "If you guys could, I... I still need a little bit better help with healing it. There are some potions in the shop, if you can get them for me."

Remus wanted so badly to reach out, offer a hug, a hand, anything. He hesitated, lifted a hand, took a half-step forward -- then talked himself out of doing anything because Peter looked so distant. "Okay," he said carefully, glancing back at the others. "We'll do that. But... Pete, is there... anything you can tell us? I don't understand."

Sirius balled up his hands and shoved them into his pockets, not sure what else to do with them. What had Peter gotten into and why couldn't he trust his friends? Sirius knew he couldn't ask, so he nodded along with Remus' words instead. "We're here," he echoed. "We'll take care of what you need."

It was clear to Lily that the other Marauders were having just as much trouble as she was. But they accepted Peter quickly and she couldn’t blame them. Not after James. She, however, thought of how Ainsley, too, had been a friend, and narrowed her eyes. “I know you know how unfair it was to make us promise something like not asking questions,” she said, the first person to push back.

No one went in for a hug. Edgar observed the friends interacting the way he’d always observed people interacting, silently judging each word and gesture from his corner of the room. So there sat Peter, cowering on a chair, visibly scared of judgement, of death, of himself, and there were his friends, hung-up on the Why of everything. What if Edgar hadn’t made them promise beforehand? Would they now merely have asked: ‘What happened’, over and over again? Each time Peter would have had to shake his head and say ‘I can’t tell you’, and then? What would they have done then? What was the point in knowing something if you couldn’t do anything about it? They were here now, alive, why could they not look at the future of what was to come? Make Peter see, or at least hope, that there could be a future for him? Because that was why he had turned to the other side, wasn’t it? The fear of having no future amongst his friends? When he’d told him this, Edgar had frowned, reassured him that this was absurd. But now here they were. And no one even thought about going in for a hug. 

Peter looked stung as none of them came close, and visibly flinched at Lily’s words. He began shrinking back into himself in the chair again, holding his knees to his chest. So they’d already decided he’d made the wrong decision, he thought. His chin wobbled, and he tried not to cry as he spoke, “I’ll tell you everything as I can. It’s just... everything happened so fast and I’m still just... just trying to process almost dying. I’m sorry...”

Remus, as expected, found physically impossible to just stand back and watch while a friend cried -- or, in this case, nearly-cried. "No, hey, that's okay," he murmured, kneeling over by the chair, reaching for Peter's good hand desperately to squeeze in both of his. "I'm sorry, I'm really relieved you're okay. We're just...?" Confused? Worried? All of the above? Someone else could finish that for him.

Lily’s heart broke - not for the first time in the last several weeks - as they all stood back and watched their friend nearly break down. Remus moved first, but she followed. While she had questions and worries about what happened, she still feel love for Peter. “We just don’t understand what is going on,” she filled in for Remus.

As Peter started to cry, Sirius found himself pacing at the edge of the room, unable to stand still. "Frustrated," he said to answer Remus' question. "You could have come to us." He over at Edgar. He didn't mean any offense to the other, but it was pretty clear who here Peter trusted more, and it apparently wasn't his friends. "You could trust us." He could tell them the truth.

Lily looked between Sirius and Peter carefully. “Sirius,” she said, her voice comforting, but with a small warning underneath. James would’ve done this, had he been here.

Sirius looked back to Lily, holding her gaze a minute before turn around in his pacing. "It's just hard not to know what's going on or even why you won't tell us," he said, as explanation and appeasement.

Peter looked back up as Remus and Lily came over, feeling a tiny bit of hope welling in his chest again. He clung to Remus’ hand like it was a lifeline, blinking tears back as he listened to them, and biting his lip at Sirius’ words. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he managed in a watery voice, “it’s not that I don’t want to tell you, or didn’t want to go to you. It was all just so fast, and I thought that Edgar would have more resources to help first. I was just scared and trying to get to safety...”

“And he is safe now,” Edgar added when Peter had spoken. “If we’re not telling you about the Why of all this right now, it’s because we want to keep it that way, want to keep this secret, you and him safe, and no other reason.” He looked from Peter to the others. “Do you think you could help? If you knew? Do you think you could change something about the situation if you knew what had brought him to me?” he asked, voice neither softer nor harsher than usually, just inquisitive. “I didn’t bring you here because you’re members of the Order. I brought you here because you’re his friends.” He didn’t light his cigarette, perhaps not wanting to attract attention to his own hand that now nearly matched Peter -- if you didn’t take into account that his wound had healed by now, while Peter’s was still painfully fresh and in need of proper medical care. “What has been done, is done. Petti-, Peter now has to stay in the East Wing until the Daily Prophet announces his death, and then he’ll have to stay in this house until… well, we’ll see. But it’ll be a long time, I fear. And instead of trying to figure out the Why of all this, you might want to start talking about what’s going to happen from here on in.”

Remus sighed at Edgar's speech, agreeing with it but knowing it might not land well with everyone in the room. The thing is, he once had a massive secret to hold, too. Something he couldn't tell anyone, something he couldn't trust anyone in the world with. It was instinctual, for him, to accept that someone else could have it, too. Maybe he was biased and projecting, in wanting to accept Peter blindly despite a secret. "Sirius," he called sternly, looking over his shoulder briefly. "We'll talk about it when we can talk about it." When he looked back at Peter, his voice softened, his hand squeezing his friend's again. "Are you gonna be okay? I mean, you're-- it's really the safest way, to stay here? I'm just worried."

Lily watched Edgar explain before Remus tried wrangling in Sirius. Something that wasn't easy to do without James - one of the only people who was ever slightly successful at it. But her gaze stayed on Edgar, even as her hand touched Peter's shoulder. "You have to understand where we're coming from," she told Edgar, though it was meant for Peter as well. "We just lost James and now we have to pretend to mourn the loss of someone else we love without even knowing the reason. If this were Amelia..." She trailed off, giving Edgar a look.

“If this were Amelia, I’d trust her judgement, get her something to heal her hand and give her a hug,” Edgar replied, almost clipped this time. 

Sirius kept himself focused on the wall, not wanting anyone to see his face as he reacted to that sentiment. Easy to say when it wasn't being tested. "We'll do what we have to," he said and turned to Peter, hoping his expression would convey some of the deeper things he couldn't put into words well. He was relieved Peter was okay, but this was all so much at once without any rational. "We'll keep the secret, whatever it is."

Peter couldn't help the tiny flinch again as Lily and Sirius spoke, and at hearing Edgar's clipped words. Maybe this was all a bad idea, he thought, maybe he should have just... no, they wanted him around at the moment still, didn't they? He squeezed Remus' hand tightly in return, keeping that anchor. "I'm sorry," He repeated, this time tears starting to roll down his cheeks, looking down again, "I'm sorry, I promise I'll tell you as soon as I can." He sniffled and added, "It is, it's safe. And this morning, Edgar suggested..." He looked up at the older man then.

“I never doubted that,” Edgar replied to Sirius, though now wondering if he should’ve. He didn't mean to say much more but suddenly Peter's beady eyes were on him and he felt prompted. The jaws that had clenched at Amelia's mentioned relaxed and he sighed. He wished they would've come up with their own suggestions and plans, but perhaps they really were all trapped. Frustrated by these confining walls. “This morning I-, You may suggest something else, but this morning I suggested to Peter that if everything goes well, one of you could stay here with him over night. If you wish. I’ll bring up some dinner later. I’d prefer it if you came to visit him one at a time, simply because it’ll attract less attention, but if you all want to come back tomorrow, I won’t stop you.” In a way, right now, he’d rather encourage it. “As for what he needs for his wound, he’ll instruct you, you better than me, and he better than I. I have to get back to work now,” as if this wasn’t part of that work, “so if one of you wishes to stay, now’s the time to say something.”

Remus saw the tears and found himself easily scrambling closer to pull Peter into a hug, a hand on the back of his neck. Whatever this was, it was big. Bigger than them, bigger than their connection. He didn't even want to think of what it meant, and honestly, for Remus, it was easy to do just that. He might've questioned anyone else, been wary if this was anyone else, but it's Peter. Peter! Their wonderful best friend, crying, missing a finger-- this Peter. "I can stay," he said as soon as Edgar suggested it, pulling away, glancing at his other friends. If they didn't take the offer, that'd be fine, too, but he would be staying, and visiting as much as he could. "I want to. If you want me as company," he looked back at Peter.

Sirius stepped over as Remus closed in over Peter. "I'm no good as a healer," he admitted regretfully. He squeezed Peter's shoulder and shared a look with Remus. They would talk about what they could later. "I'll do what I can when you need me, but... I don't know if I can be helpful." It killed him to admit, but if Peter needed assistance, Sirius couldn't be good at it.

Something flashed over Lily’s expression at Edgar’s words. Liar, she thought. This wasn’t as easy as he made it seem. She said nothing, though - just looked between her boys. Remus, staying. Sirius, going. Peter, bleeding and crying and secretive. What had he done? She couldn’t stop thinking about it. “I could help heal,” she spoke quietly. “I learned with Emmeline. But then...” She looked up at Sirius. He couldn’t be alone - not like this. They all knew it. “...then, I’ll go with you, Sirius. While Remus stays.” She gave Remus a look, so he would know why she was leaving him. “We love you, Peter. I hope you can trust us more down the line. But for now, we love you.”

Remus accepted both of his friends' unspoken words. He nodded in reassurance to Sirius, and in deep gratitude to Lily.

Peter was quiet, listening to what Edgar said, heart pounding in his chest slightly as he wondered what the others would choose. He blinked through his tears, surprised for a moment to suddenly find Remus pulling him into a hug, but returned it without a second thought, feeling his heart ease just slightly at the gesture. He clung to him, sniffling again and listening as the three talked. Maybe... maybe this meant he could one day tell them the truth after all. Maybe it would be okay. "Please," He whispered out to Remus then, needing him to stay. "And... thank you," he added then in a tiny voice, looking up at Sirius and Lily again with such sorrow filled eyes, just trying to convey how much he needed them, how much he wanted them to know, to trust him.

Sirius swallowed hard and stepped back, still close but leaving room for Lily and Remus who had more of an idea what they were doing. "They'll patch you up, almost good as new," he promised, though it didn't have his usual level of gusto. He didn't think they could get there when Peter was an entire finger short, but Sirius assumed Peter needed to hear it.

“Follow me whenever you’re ready,” Edgar said and led the way back out. Out of the room, out of the East Wing, out of that oppressing atmosphere which, perhaps for the first time in years, actually suited the events occurring inside the house. 

Lily took out her wand and gently pulled Peter's hand towards him. She wasn't a great healer - not like Emmeline or even Benjy - but she learned enough in the past several months to be of used. The skin-healing spell was one of the first things she'd practiced anyway. She did the incantation on his finger, which helped to seal it, and then cleared away the blood. "We can't grow it back, but..." She trailed off before leaning forward to hug him. "We'll be here when you're ready." She hoped he was ready soon. She stood up to follow Edgar from the room with Sirius.

After Lily hugged Peter, Sirius touched both Peter and Remus on the arm again. Sirius was still conflicted about this whole thing, but after only a second of consideration, he also leaned in to hug their injured friend. He didn't say anything more as he stepped up behind Lily to follow Edgar out.

Remus offered both Lily and Sirius quick hand squeezes before they left, parting with a reassuring nod. He watched them leave, then he turned back to Peter and patted his friend's knee, trying to muster the energy to offer the closest thing to a kind smile that he could. "You and me, hm? It's gonna be alright. We're here for you."

Once Edgar had brought Remus and Peter the extra sets of linen, shown them the way to the bathroom and bedrooms, as well as handed them their meager dinner (toast and jam -- they had nothing else in the house) with some hot chocolate, he bid them goodnight. “And remember, if anything should be, I’m here all night,” he told Remus before finally leaving.

The path led him back to the office, the New Map Room, where he hovered for a while over the desk. Eventually he opened the top drawer and took out a folded piece of parchment. It was the plan James had given him the night before his death. A plan he’d come up with to figure out who the spy was.

Edgar had looked at it so many times before but this was the first time his heart seemed to struggle through its beats. “By Morgana, James,” he sighed and sank down on the chair. “Could you have known we’d find this spy, and it would be your friend?”

His eyes scanned the plan once again, the names and the groups, the dates, and now knowing that Peter was the one they would have to find, he could see that yes, they would’ve found him. “What would you have done?” he continued, barely above murmur for there was no James to listen to him, or answer him. “Helped him? Rejected him? Killed him if in your stead, Sirius had died?” Had Peter betrayed them with no wish for redemption, choosing the Other Side exclusively, wouldn’t it be a fair reaction? Even Edgar… “But he’s here now. He gave up his life for you. He chose us. To at least save those that are left of his friends. Your friends.” And at least here, close, Edgar could survey him, could he not? If he’d outed Peter’s secret to everyone, would the boy not just have run away, and found it all the more easy to spill every Order secret he had until then hesitated to tell the Other Side? “It is the smartest choice but-, fuck, but is it good?” 

“Is giving a second chance fair? Is granting redemption not just weakness?” 

This was now the second time he was coming dangerously close to betraying the Order to help a friend instead… And it wasn’t even a close friend. This moral compass of Edgar’s, of which he’d always been so proud, perhaps it was turning awry without him even noticing. Was it fairness or weakness?

He stared at the plan for a while longer, about how it could’ve been if they had found the spy prior to the Rosier party. Would it have made a difference? Or were not all of them, every Order member, every person involved in this war, a point of weakness, and killing one spy would make no difference? No. They were all potential spies, and punishing done deeds would not bring back already told secrets. What they needed to do was more than fixing what had been broken, it was to go forward, and ensure not more could be broken. They were all potential spies, yes, and to remove this very potential had to be their next step, their next plan. 

He folded the parchment and held it over a candle, let it burn and die with the one who had written it, the past it could no longer fix. 

[aquadrazi]

Find Someone to Carry You

Chapter 25

………Qinghe………

Wei Ying had said that he didn’t want to see the prisoner, or to direct any specific punishment.  Wei Ying had said that it was enough for him to know that he could not hurt anyone ever again.

Anything for Wei Ying.

When Lan Zhan arrived at the Conversation Room, as Nie Huaisang had called it, he saw He Shao trussed up, hanging limply from a cross at one end of the room, and Nie Huaisang sitting having tea at the other end of the room.

“This is all that he seems to know.”  He was in full Sect Leader mode, handing Lan Zhan a paper with notes on it that he had presumably taken during the interrogation.

Lan Zhan quickly read it over, then handed it back to Nie Huaisang.  As Lan Zhan slowly began to stalk towards the prisoner, the prisoner began to beg and whine hopefully.

“Oh good.  Please Honorable Hanguang-Jun…I know the Lan Sect does not allow torture…I’ve told Sect Leader Nie everything I know…please… release me… I won’t tell anyone I saw the whore…I promi-”

Lan Zhan’s hand darted out and wrapped around He Shao’s neck, choking off what he was about to say.  “What…did you just call my husband?”  His voice low and quiet.

“Oh, you did it now…” Nie Huaisang warned from behind Lan Zhan.

The man’s eyes widened in shock and realization.  Lan Zhan let go of his neck and he coughed and sputtered for a bit before he began babbling desperate apologies.

“How many times did you violate my husband?”  Lan Zhan asked calmly.  He knew the answer.  Nie Huaisang had already gotten it out of the man.  He just wanted to hear HIM say it.  To hear HIM admit to violating Wei Ying.

“I’m sorry.   Please Hanguang-Jun, I didn’t know.  We were told that he was a whore who Jin Guangshan bought from a local brothel.  We were told he ENJOYED it.  Please, I didn’t know he was your husband.  Please, have mercy.”  The man was now sobbing in panic.

All of this the man had already babbled to Nie Huaisang.  None if it was the answer to his question, however.

“Hanguang-Jun isn’t here.  You’re dealing with the Ghost of Gusu.”  Lan Zhan corrected with more than a hint of danger in his voice.

A look of realization dawned on He Shao’s face.

“Did you ever ask him?”

“W-What?”

“Did you ever ask the man you were violating who he was, if he was paid for, if he in fact ENJOYED it?”  Lan Zhan said darkly.

“N-no.  Of course not.  Why would I have?  Besides, he couldn’t talk anyway, even if he wan-“  The man stopped talking, as if he had just realized how much trouble he really was in.

“So answer my original question.  How many times…did you violate…my husband?”

The man let out a high pitched whine.  “I don’t…I didn’t really keep count.”

“Give me an estimate then.”

The man was shaking, tears falling freely down his face as he struggled to estimate how many times he had visited Koi Tower.

“I-  I really don’t know.”  He wailed.  “It was every time I made a delivery to Koi Tower.”

Lan Zhan sighed.  “I REALLY need you to Spit. Out. The. Number.”

“57”  The man cried out.  “57 times.”  He became limp again, his body bobbing up and down as he sobbed.

Lan Zhan walked over to the fire pit that was full of red hot embers.  He pulled out the poker and handed it to a guard.

“I will need 57 of these.  Please tell the blacksmith and I’m willing to wait.”

The guard bowed and took the poker, before rushing out the door.

********************Last Chance to back out…I mean it**************************

Lan Zhan turned to walk back towards a high table in the middle of the room.  He waived his hand in the He Shao’s general direction.  “Strip him, then bring him to me.”  He ordered.

He Shao let out a wail, but it was not use.  He was naked in a very short amount of time and being dragged to the table Lan Zhan was at.  Lan Zhan turned around to face him.  He looked him dead in the eyes and grabbed for his limp cock, and squeezed it hard.  “Is this what you used to violate my husband?”

He Shao could only manage a nod.

“Brace his hips against the table.  Do not let him move.”  Lan Zhan ordered the guards.

He Shao shrieked and thrashed and tried to get away, but it was no use.  His hips were driven hard into the edge of the table, and Lan Zhan pulled his cock up to rest on top.  Lan Zhan unsheathed Bichen and all the color drained from He Shao’s face.

“Pleeeeeeease….” He whined pathetically.

“Was my husband shown any kind of mercy?  Did you leave him even a measure of dignity?”

He Shao hung his head.  He knew he had been beaten.

Lan Zhan placed a hand on the organ, holding it still, then swung Bichen down hard into the table, severing the offending piece of anatomy at the base.  He channeled spiritual energy into the wound before the prisoner could bleed too much.  This wasn’t over yet.

He Shao let out such a high pitched and loud scream that Nie Huaisang had to cover his ears as he cringed.

Lan Zhan motioned for the guards to hang He Shao back up on the cross.  He wiped off Bichen, then picked up the severed cock, watching it flop pathetically back and forth.

“Let me.”  Nie Huaisang offered.  He quickly drew a talisman and aimed at the organ in Lan Zhan’s hand.  It immediately stiffened and grew to what would have been its full potential.  Lan Zhan shot Nie Huaisang a questioning look.

“Hey, it comes in handy when I want to go a couple rounds and not rest in between.”  The Nie Sect leader shrugged.

Lan Zhan walked back towards He Shao.  “Not as big as it could be, but it will still leave an impression.”  He mocked in a VERY un-Lan like fashion, before prying open the prisoner’s mouth as he shook violently.  Lan Zhan slammed the man’s own cock in as far as its length would allow, and closed the man’s mouth shut around the end.  He then tightened a gag around the man’s mouth so he couldn’t eject it.

“I would suggest learning to breathe through your nose.  Like my husband had to.  At least YOU have the option to bite down on it.”

Lan Zhan then returned to join Nie Huaisang for tea, and wait for the pokers he had requested.

Nie Huaisang prattled on about nothing in particular, like they weren’t currently where they were, doing what they were doing.  Lan Zhan wasn’t really listening, he was more interested in watching He Shao come to terms with his new, situation.  He had stopped violently coughing and making choking sounds, so he must have learned to breathe through his nose.

The guard finally returned, with another guard, and the 57 pokers Lan Zhan had requested.  He directed them to be placed in the coals.  Once Lan Zhan had finished another cup of tea, he got up to examine the pokers, to see if they were sufficiently hot.  The tip of the one he pulled out was glowing orange/red, so he decided it was time to continue.

He walked over to He Shao.  “One for each time you violated my husband.”  He said with an eerie calm.  He then speared the prisoner just above his left peck.

Lan Zhan continued until all 57 pokers were sticking out of He Shao’s chest, arms, and thighs, like an obscene porcupine.  Nie Huaisang had needed to use a talisman to keep Ha Shao conscious through the process.

Lan Zhan went back to have another cup of tea, and watch He Shao squirm and whine, and sob.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Lan Zhan KNEW that this was wrong.  He knew that this went against everything that he had once believed to be right, and this wasn’t the kind of person he once believed himself to be.  Punishments were not supposed to be torture.  They were given out in proportion to the rule that was broken, and only when that rule was KNOWN to the rule breaker.

He just found that he was unable to access that part of his mind right now.  All he could process was rage at what had been done to Wei Ying, and that THIS man had done it to him 57 times.

Lan Zhan finished his tea, and directed the guards to string up the prisoner in the center of the room for whipping.  He Shao was hung, with his arms suspended above him, and his legs spread, in an X, with his back now exposed.  He cried out in pain because the rods still stuck in his body would wobble with every slight movement.

Lan Zhan stood up and walked over to the instrument wall.  He picked out a stave.  “57 hits with a stave for the 57 times you violated my husband.”

Lan Zhan spared He Shao no mercy.  Even being muffled by the cock shoved down this throat, the screaming was incredibly loud.  Nie Huaisang threw up a silencing talisman on the room.

Once Lan Zhan had finished dealing the final blow, he quickly moved around to the front and started viciously pulling out the pokers.  Since they had cooled, they ripped out skin and viscera as they were torn from the body.   By the time he was done, Lan Zhan was panting and his brow was glistening with beads of sweat from the exertion.

Lan Zhan told the guards to bind He Shao to the table, on his back.  He then walked over to the instrument wall and picked out a curved knife.  Lan Zhan’s head was swimming with rage now.  He felt his blood boiling in his veins with every beat of his heart.  He wasn’t in his right mind, he knew it, he just couldn’t STOP.

He dug the knife into He Shao’s stomach, and cut and incision across his belly, stopping the bleeding with spiritual energy as he went.  He then walked back over to the coals, picked out half a dozen or so, then began placing them inside the cavity he had opened in He Shao’s body.

He Shao bucked and screamed and writhed in pain as Lan Zhan knitted the skin he had cut back together, trapping the burning coals inside his body.

Lan Zhan yanked back on He Shao’s hair and stared him right in the face, while he addressed the guards.  “When he finally dies, I want his body fed to the pigs.  Once they have cleaned the bones of all his flesh, I want the bones collected, ground to dust, and spread over the Burial Mounds.”

He waited until he had He Shao’s eyes trained on his.  “If you even THINK about coming back as a resentful spirit, well, you know who I am, we can continue this misery if you really want.”

Lan Zhan let He Shao’s head fall and he left the Conversation Room.

[youareiron-andyouarestrong]

39 + 87 + rebelcaptain

survival/wilderness + aroused by the sound of her voice 

always had high, high hopes 

It could be worse was the first thing Kay had said after the meeting that officially declared he had been put under Cassian’s jurisdiction. The one they got after Cassian had to convince Intelligence and the members of the Council that walking into the Rebel base with a reprogrammed Imperial enforcer droid was a good idea. 

It could be worse, Kay had said, they could’ve dismantled me down for parts and had you demoted. 

Intelligence agents don’t get demoted, Cassian had replied. We get burned. 

Oh. Kay had sounded like he was recalculating his formulas. Not much worse, then.

Since then, it became a kind of mantra Cassian had adopted. It could be worse. That was what he told himself when times became darker and harder. Things could be worse. He could be dead. It was always easier to feel a little better about your immediate situation when you weren’t irreversibly dead. 

After… well, everything, he had made the mistake of saying such around his team (his people, his network, his rogues). Then of course, inevitably, someone (Bodhi, Kay, Baze, Jyn) would start listing all the ways it could be worse. They could be stuck on a swamp planet. Bodhi could be missing another arm. Baze could lose all his guns, and the spare grenades. Jyn might miss the evening meal. The suggestions would become increasingly more and more ridiculous as time went by and they stretched their imaginations (which were truly considerable) to the limit.  It became a game, a slightly morbid one perhaps, but one that amused them at least, and allowed for them to gently tease Cassian out of his darker moods. Of course, someone would eventually trump them all with pointing out, We could all be dead on Scarif. And then game would end, at least until the next time someone said, It could be worse. 

Cassian was trying to remind himself of that now. Things could be worse. 

He and Jyn were on an uninhabited (hopefully) forest moon, true. They were laying low from the Imperials searching for them, that was nothing new.  Practically routine. It would be about seventy-two standard hours before their ship came into orbit and Kay and Bodhi could reach them. They had food and shelter and it wasn’t raining anything other than water outside their little cave. Frankly, Cassian had survived on less than that. 

If it wasn’t in a Force-be-damned cave, then he might’ve gone so far as to say he had definitely had worse. 

But it was a cave, and anything that wasn’t in the immediate city proper was outside of his experience and thus Cassian hated it. None of his training had covered wilderness survival. He had been placed solely in cities and military bases and maybe an outpost or two, if he was unlucky. He had never needed to learn to survive in anything other than outside the law and within the Empire, and that was hard enough by anyone’s standards. 

This was probably what kept Jyn from needling him too much about his (entirely deserved) grousing. When it was established that they were stuck here for the next seventy-two hours, Jyn had simply nodded, and said, “Time to find shelter.” In the time it took for Cassian to try to set up a transmitter and send Kay the needed coordinates, Jyn had found them a cave, wove a curtain of vines together to disguise the opening, found firewood and then headed out and returned with this particular moon’s species of fish. Somehow she’d gotten wet wood to catch flame and was now comfortably cooking what she’d neatly gutted and cleaned out of her catch. 

Cassian could only blink at her. 

Jyn raised her head, caught his bemused stare. “What?” she asked. “I learned with Saw. He was pretty empathetic about it, actually.” 

“I can see that,” Cassian said finally. “How did you get the fire to catch?”

“I keep a little bit of flint in my pack at all times,” Jyn replied. “Plus, I used your spare flimsy.”

Cassian’s head snapped up at that, only to see Jyn’s grin flash like silver in the gloom. “Very funny,” he said flatly, in much the same tone of voice he used when Kay was attempting to be comforting or encouraging. 

“I thought so,” Jyn replied comfortably, giving the fish a little tweak. “I only used my spare flimsy.” 

The fish was good. Better than good, though Cassian had privately wished he could have a little pepper, maybe some spices to season it. He had given Jyn some of his closely hoarded supply of coarse salt for the fish, a small packet he kept on his person at all times. Along with roasted in the embers an edible root Jyn had also found and brought back, it was, all in all, not the worst meal Cassian had ever had. 

“Are we starting the I’ve-had-it-worse game again?” Jyn asked as she smoored the fire. “You’ve got that look on.”

“I can think of other things to do,” Cassian said, mostly for the form of it.

“Mmm.” Jyn settled down comfortably. “Better string them out, if we’re here for the next seventy-two hours.”

“I have my datapad,” Cassian said, his eyes drifting closed. The sound of the rain was soothing, the smell of woodsmoke and fish comforting, and Jyn’s voice a pleasant hum in his ear. “I could get some coding done.”

A chuckle escaped Jyn. “With what signal?”

He opened his eyes then to give her a look, which just made her chuckle again. “City boy spy.”

“Civilized,” he grumbled, not with any real heat. 

“I can’t believe you never had any wilderness training,” Jyn said, stretching out in the heat of the fire like a lazy felid. “My next training for the Pathfinders is going to cover that.”

“Poor bastards,” Cassian murmured, just to hear Jyn’s chuckle again, a sound he valued more than the beep of a transmitting code, the whirr of a well-programmed droid, a whisper in the crowd, Fulcrum, freedom and rebellion一 “And I wasn’t stationed in the wilderness; there was no use for me there. I was more useful in the cities.” 

“Useful,” Jyn echoed, and then shook her head. “It was still short-sighted and ill-prepared. When you write the report for Draven, you can tell him I said so.”

“He’ll take it under due consideration,” Cassian replied and Jyn snorted. 

A companionable silence fell between them for a moment, until Jyn tilted her head back to glance outside. “We’re going to have to share body heat once nightfall comes.” Her profile was averted to him and her voice now dispassionate, which might explain why Cassian’s initial response was an absentminded “Hmm.” Then when what she said registered, he let out a startled, “Pardon?”

“Body heat,” Jyn repeated, now stubbornly facing away from him. Hiding a blush? The rich light of the fire made it hard to tell. “Plus the bedding. The ground’s not going to do your spine or leg any favors,” she added with a scowl in her voice. Any mention of his bad leg or back always made Jyn glare like she’d like to make the misbehaving tendons and bones work for him, or else.  “And I don’t know how much the temperature is going to drop between now and nightfall. Probably a few degrees, enough to make us uncomfortable. So it’s only practical.”

Cassian felt himself automatically move to wet his lips before checking that tic. Never mind she couldn’t see it.  “I’ll trust you then.”

Now Jyn did look at him, straight through the firelight and into his eyes. “I know.” The words vibrated with the seriousness of the statement, and how Jyn was going to follow through with it with every fiber of her being. The dim red gold light make her look gilded and shadowed, something wrought from gold and onyx and ivory. 

Cassian gave an involuntary head shake. This what came of being in caves. They stripped away all your common sense. 

*

The night came on, and Jyn’s prediction about the temperature came true. It was more than enough to make them uncomfortable and to break out the temperature conserving blankets. Jyn had layered their bedding as much as she could and rolled up their jackets to use as blankets and pillows, as needed. One thing they both knew all too well in this life of theirs was to sleep whenever it was offered to them. Jyn slept facing the fire, and Cassian’s back to the right wall of the cave so that they both faced the entrance. He ran warmer than Jyn, who always seemed to be a degree or two cooler than everyone else. There was some awkward fumblingーwhere to put his arm, where she could rest her head. But they managed it. Cassian could smell the woodsmoke clinging to her hair, the weave of her scarf under his head. He kept himself as still as possible behind her, resting on his good hip. 

It didn’t feel like his life, this part, this small island of quiet. His life was shadows and hard edges and smog filled skylines. It wasn’t the smell of rain and the warmth of a fire on his face and Jyn resting on his arm. 

This wasn’t his life. It was just a respite. 

*           

Cassian woke slowly, only to find that the fire must’ve died down at some point during the night. That would be the only plausible reason for why Jyn was currently so thoroughly entangled with him that he couldn’t tell his arms and legs from hers. 

It was either still dark or almost dawn. That strange, unreal, dreamlike time when the edges of the world were misty and indistinct. It could be worse, he tried to tell himself, registering Jyn’s warmth and her slow, steady breathing. The way her cheek rested on his arm. How relaxed and soft she was in sleep, such a contrast to her waking self.  Things could definitely be worse一

Jyn let out a sigh, a little sleepy sound of pure contentment, snuggled back into him, her rear fit so snugly against his hips that he almost choked. 

He did not want to think about any other time Jyn might make that noise. He absolutely did not want to imagine what other circumstances could possibly arise一

Shut up, Cassian told himself only somewhat frantically. Just shut. Up. He wasn’t some over eager teen falling all over himself over a member of the opposite sex--

Jyn rolled over in his arms, somehow one leg sliding between his, blowing all of Cassian’s rational thought to pieces. Another soft sigh, warm breath brushing against his neck, her left leg slung over his hips一who knew Jyn was a cuddler? Not him. He hadn’t even given himself permission to imagine what Jyn was like when she was asleep一

This is a dream, Cassian thought. It was arguably the worst (best) dream he’d had in awhile, so he might as well enjoy it while it lasted, and hoard the memory for the dark nights and shadowed days. 

Jyn sleeping peacefully in his arms, soft sighs in his ear, warmth against his skin, the sound of rain and a quiet place untouched by anything bad or hard and dark一 

Another sleepy sound, almost like a moan as she tried to get comfortable against him, tugging his arm to better adjust it for her head… 

Don’t let me wake up, Cassian thought. Please, ancestors, the Force, whoever is running this forsaken galaxy, don’t let me wake up. Let me keep this, I have asked for so little for all my life, and this isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, it’s probably the best, please let me keep it… 

Jyn sighed against his neck, shifted slowly and languorously, her lashes falling and rising against his skin. “Cass…?” her voice was a low, husky rasp, one that made his blood run hot and fierce and what time was it even? Was this still a dream somehow? 

In the dim light, he could see Jyn waking herself up, getting her bearings again. Her eyes flicked down to take in their entwined limbs and then back up to his face. Unconsciously his arms tightened around her, and then loosened again immediately. If she didn’t want to be there, then he wasn’t going to keep her there, he would never do anything against her express wishes if he could possibly help it.

“Cass,” she repeated in a whisper. If she wasn’t comfortable in this clench, there was no sign of it in her voice. But her eyes were watchful. “How’s your back?”

“I think it’s fine,” he whispered back. It felt too early to speak. 

Jyn was quiet for a second or two, her fingers flexing against him.  “You need to… do you have to go?” he asked still in a whisper. 

“No,” she whispered back. “Do you?”

Never, ever, they could kill me here and I would die content, only you’d never allow that一

“No,” he said. “I don’t.”

They lay there in the dim, the world a very great distance away. 

“We don’t have to go anywhere,” Jyn said softly. “We can just stay here… just for a little while.”

“Yes,” Cassian agreed. This was, after all, a very nice dream. “Let’s just stay here.”

The corners of her mouth lifted into a smile, a smile Cassian had once thought he would die to earn, and maybe still would. 

“You make for a very good pillow,” she murmured, her body utterly relaxed along the length of his. “Best sleep I’ve had in awhile.”

Cassian was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Me too,” he said back, almost too low to hear. But she heard it. Of course she did.   

[hishopeworld-blog]

Who am I now?

Part one

Genre: fluff; slight smut; angst; sad romance

Pairings: Jimin x reader

Word count: 1.9k

Description: “I loved someone, I felt it, I spoke it, I showed it, I was it. With him, I felt inspired and showed our love in a multidimensional manner. I was kind enough to let him go because it was what he wanted. It was always what he wanted..”

____________________________________

Memories. Something so delicate but strong at the same time. Something that’s faster than light, yet slower than a snail. Something you cherish but take advantage of. Something you hold onto, but try to give it away. You cry you peel, you break, all because of memories. Something so useful in life, yet useless at the same time. You remember that song but you don’t remember the name. You remember the answer, you can see it, but why can’t you write it down? Why are our memories the only thing that brings life to us? You breathe, you move, you touch, you see, you feel, but without your memories, you aren’t.. you.

You wish, with every muscle in your body, with every drop of blood, every small or big cell, every bone. You wish, that you didn’t remember those last 60 days. Those last ‘hello’s’ , those lasts ‘goodbye’s’ , those last smiles, last laughs, last stares, last touch’s, last tears, last breath, last love. You wish you didn’t remember yet, it’s the only thing you wish you had kept. He gave you your last as so you did for him. With every bump, smooth or rough, you had each other. It’s crazy how fast 11:59 pm can change to 12:00 am in a blink of an eye. It’s crazy how life can change, in a blink of an eye.

And it all started with Day 1,

“He just pisses me off sometimes, I don’t even know why I’m still with him. He’s clearly not good for me and I’m not good for him” you’re currently at a restaurant with your best friend, Rose listening to her rant about her wutless, unloyal boyfriend. We arrived 5 minutes ago, got seated pretty quickly and are now looking through the menu.

“Good evening ladies’, my name is Jimin and I’ll be your waiter for tonight, can I start you guys up on some drinks? Or are you guys ready to order?” both you and your friends head shoot up and the waiter, shock washing over your faces.

Holy heaven.

You analyze his face instantly, his gelled back light brown hair, almost blonde, showing his forehead, making his eyebrows dominantly take control. His soft eyes, colour too dark to tell. His perfectly sculpted nose, leading to his luscious, plump, beautifully pink lips. Ending with the sharp cut of his jawline. He clears his throat, seeing as both you and your friend stare at him, eyes heart popping out of your faces. “Ladies” he chuckles, bringing yourself back you awkwardly laugh as well.

He taps his pen against his small notebook before asking again “so um, can I get you guys your drinks?”

“I would just like water please” You quietly say but loud enough for him to hear. You feel his stare as soon as you speak, trying your hardest not to make eye contact. Nodding he doesn’t even lift his pen up to the notebook, having your choice easy to remember. “Can I have the strawberry smoothie?” Rose points to the menu where it’s displayed, looking up at him questionably.

Raising his eyebrows, he leans forward a bit to see where she’s pointing “Of course, but you have a choice, either to mix it with alcohol or just leave it as a normal smoothie” looking at your friend, you can literally see the excitement wash over her face as soon as she hears alcohol

Oh god.

Smirking, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before classically answering “mix it with the good stuff please” he laughs lightly, writing down her order and nodding

“Okay, water should be here in 3, and strawberry smoothie should be in here in 5, I’d be right back with them both and we can then start with your food” you glance up at him regretting it instantly as you make eye contact, quickly looking away, he nods before walking off. Looking in his direction, watching him walk off you take in his attire and gulp. Facing forward, you see Rose staring dead at you. Chuckling at her weirdness you raise your eyebrows before asking “yes Rosey posey?”

She scrunches her nose up in disgust at your nickname for her “okay one, what did I tell you about that name” laughing you look down at your menu “and two, can we talk about how hot our waiter is?” Shaking your head at her comment you look back up at her, tilting your head to the side

“Last time I recall, you have a boyfriend that, may I add, will literally beat him up because you were checking him out” shaking your head at her once again, she rolls her eyes and slouches back in her chair. You miss the way her eyes light up and go wide due to you having a crisis in your head about what you’re getting

“Oh my god, you should-“

“No” you interrupt, giving her a glare, knowing exactly what she was going to say.

“C’ mon Y/N, you haven’t been in a relationship in so long, give this a try!” She smiled widely, you sigh and look up at her showing no sign of agreement “okay you don’t have to date him, you can just-“

“No Rose!” You whisper yell “relationships and hookups are not my top priorities right now” you shake your head, noticing you do it a lot to her lately.

Sighing she finally gives up. Just in time as well because soon you see a black sleeve stretch across your face, putting a cup pad on the table to prevent water stains. You catch a swift of his cologne, mentally sighing at the attractive smell. He stretches his arm on your friends' side as well before handing your drinks over

“Strawberry, alcohol-filled smoothie for you,” he says smiling down at Rose, placing the cup exactly in the center of the cup mat. “And water for you” he slowly drops the cup to your cup mat, sighing, before bringing his notebook out for your food orders. “Now, what would you beautiful ladies like to eat?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~After Dinner~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Feeling full you pat your tummy and pout at your best friend, she laughs at your full state and takes a sip, the last sip, of her drink, having it finally finish. “I don’t think they added any alcohol to this” she scrunches her nose at the cup, bringing it up to her nose.

“I’m sure they know the stories between you and alcohol, Rose” you smirk, earning an annoyed look from your best friend. You look around the place once again. While you were eating, you couldn’t help but look around for a certain somebody. That somebody obviously being your waiter. You’ve seen him pass by, walking up to other tables, taking orders and giving them their foods. You take note of how different he acts with other customers. One table he’s being giddy, smiling and laughing. Another he’s being serious, quickly taking orders and nodding frequently. Another he’s being normal, giving them his best service. And another being flirty, and trust me, you can tell.

A few moments pass by. With your dishes neatly piled at the end of the table, you wait for your check. It’s been a few minutes, almost 8 as you continue waiting. With Rose going to the restroom a few minutes ago, you awkwardly play with the nails waiting for your waiter and for her to come back. Hopefully before the waiter.

As on cue, he turns the corner and walks straight to your table. In his right hand, he holds a circular black tray and in his left, he holds the receipt and card machine. He smiles as he approaches the table “Thank you for organizing the plates, makes my job 10x easier”

“No problem” you shyly respond. He looks up from the plates and smiles. He hands you the receipt then turns around, placing the tray on an empty table. Turning back around, he gives you a questioning look “How will you pay?”

With your cash prepared, you quickly hand him your $40 “And your friend? Do you know how she’s paying?” his attention adverts to your hand, taking your money from you “uh no actually, she should be back soon though” you quickly say, giving him a small smile

Moments pass by and Rose is still in the restroom. You see Jimin shift his weight to his other leg, awkwardly waiting. “So uh, how long have you worked here?” Not knowing how long your best friends going to be, you try to bring up a small conversation.

He opens his mouth slightly, furrowing his eyebrows as he tries to remember “2 months, the beginning of this month was actually the first time they let me on the floor” he fumbles with the machine, smiling to himself

“Really? What have you been doing this whole time?” You give him a questioning look

“Cleaning the restrooms, sweeping floors, washing dishes...” he carries on. He sighs, walking closer to the table leaning forward a little bit “How about you, Do you work?”

You sigh “not yet, I just finished teachers college last year, now I’m just waiting for them to place me somewhere”

He nods slowly, staring at you for a moment. “Oh teachers college, huh? So you’re crazy smart?” He smirks, looking at the card machine before glancing up at you, raising an eyebrow.

You lightly laugh “I wouldn’t say that” under the table you fold your hands together, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. He speaks up again “It’s okay, crazy smart girls are cute”

You feel your cheeks go red and give him a blushed smile before asking “w-what about you? Making money to buy your own things now?”

He gives you a questioning look, “buy my own things now?” The joke you tried to make clearly didn’t match his humour, so you try to elaborate

Mentally slapping yourself from the embarrassment you quickly answer “Y-yeah I meant like.. are you tired of your parents' money. It’s just that you look really young so I thought you were still living off of your parents' money..” your voice goes softer as your sentence ends and you slowly look down to your hands, escaping his hard stare.

He tongues his cheek, leans on the table, forearms supporting his torso with his hands crossed. Forcing you to stare directly in his eyes he takes a moment before responding “how old do you think I am?” Taking note on how his voice got deeper and quieter, you suddenly feel your throat getting dry.

You turn your attention away, seeing your best friend walk up. He quickly backs up and takes the card machine in his hold again. She takes her card out - apologizing quickly, pressing a few buttons before a small paper slides out from the top. “Okay, thank you, ladies. You two enjoy the rest of your night” he smiles, ripping the paper from the receipt and turning around to collect the tray from earlier.

“Oh, can I ask?” Rose says standing up, catching his attention. He turns around with the tray in his hands, staring at her waiting for her question “are you single?” Your eyes go wide and you immediately stand up.

“Rose lets go” you give her a ‘now’ smile. Jimin lightly laughs, while you pull her arm in the direction of the door “wait Y/N, you didn’t hear his answer!” She tries escaping your stronghold but gives up once you’re already out of the restaurant.

“You’re unbelievable, Rose”

____________________________________

A/N~ Some of you might be confused as to why I just made a new book when I didn’t even upload the first chapter for “solicit” but honestly the idea for this book just popped in my head and I had to write it out before I got it. I finished the first chapter for this and the second chapter will definitely come out AFTER I finish the first chapter of “solicit”

Also, thank you for reading this, hope you liked it <3 it’s also really early in the morning and I should sleep so if it’s the night for you now, goodnight 💜 it’s if morning, good morning, hope you have a good day!

[asoftslytherin]

sweetener. ch. iv

a/n: *shrugs*

summary: you go to sirius’ place to talk. talking happens. amongst other things.

warnings: so i said at the beginning that i would not be writing smut but every chapter i get closer and closer, hopefully i’ll have a chidi in the bad place. there isn’t any actual sex, just touching of certain anatomical parts that may be uncomfortable for some people. if you wanna read anyways i placed these: 🌫🌫🌫 before and after the dirty stuff. swearing, a sprinkle of angst.

word count: 3.1k (2.8k w/o dirty stuff)

At about 8:30 you finally got out of bed, changed into your softest pair of leggings you owned and threw on a big t-shirt that you were comfortable in, but you knew you still looked cute. You hated that you were planning out your outfit to meet some guy you’d just met and hooked up with the night before. These things shouldn’t be that important! Looking up at the ceiling of your bedroom and sighing, you gave in to the lazy gods, put on a pair of sandals and walked to your car. Once you were actually sitting in your car, you realized that you had no idea where he lived. You knew it was an apartment complex, but couldn’t remember which one, as you were basically running out the door the second your phone said that your Uber had arrived. You texted him to ask, somewhat embarrassed for some reason. When he sent the address, your recognized the name of the complex, maybe you just used to know someone who used to live there. The entire drive over you were so nervous, you had to turn the A/C all the way up to keep yourself from sweating bullets and your power jam playlist going to keep you from turning around and going right back home. The nerves might have been from exhilaration or maybe they were “oh my god this guy is crazy hot and he wants to see me again” nerves; who’s to say?

You arrived at Sirius’ place right at nine. The apartment complex was easy enough to find and you kind of went on auto-pilot at some points. How many times had you been to this place to know how to get here so easily? You shook the feeling away, and parked the car, checking the apartment number again on your phone, noticing that his apartment was on the first floor. Ugh thank god, you thought. I genuinely don’t know if I can do stairs today. Walking up to the apartment number he gave you, you knocked on the door and waited for a minute. Nothing. You knocked again, harder this time. Nothing. You rolled your eyes, berating yourself for ever suggesting this and as turned to leave, and then the door opened.

There stood in front of you, a very wet, very shirtless Sirius, wearing only a towel. Fuck. “Sorry, love” he said breathily. “I was still in the shower when I heard you knock and tried to get decent as quick as I could. Come, come in,” he offered, standing to the side with one arm keeping the door open and the other extended into his apartment, welcoming you in.

Suddenly, you knew why you recognized his apartment complex, it was the same one that your shittiest ex, Asher, lived in. Sirius’ apartment was bigger, but the entryway and kitchen had the same layout. It was like getting flashbacks to things you tried so hard to forget that you actually ended up forgetting them, and now it’s all rushing back. You must have looked shocked or even dismayed when you walked in, seeing as Sirius had a concerned look on his face before asking, “You okay? Need some water? I know it’s not that clean,” he cringed, looking at his dish-filled sink.

You shook your head at him and put on the best smile you could. “No, no, I swear I’m fine. I- uh… I just realized that you live in the same complex as my ex and it kind of threw me through a loop there for a second. Guess I was a little too busy last night to get a good look” you half-heartedly laughed. When you realized you were still staring at nothing you blinked a few times to snap yourself out of it and proceeded to turn to Sirius who was still wearing a towel. You laughed to yourself and then met his eyes instead of staring at his cotton-covered crotch. “I also should have said in my text that I actually wanted to talk to you before we did anything.” Eyeing him up and down, you pushed yourself onto the kitchen island gently, setting yourself down as slowly as your arms would allow and letting your feet dangle off of the marble edge, allowing the coolness of the stone to provide some relief to your areas that were still hurting.

“And what exactly did you want to talk about,” Sirius said easily, moving himself so he was in-between your tender legs as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

You rolled your eyes, tried your absolute hardest to keep your composure, and pushed him away. “Put on some pants, then we can talk.” As Sirius smirked and walked away, you looked at your phone to the texts you’d sent him. “Honestly, I should have seen this coming. This is partially my fault.”

“What’s your fault, love?” Sirius questioned when he walked back into the kitchen, now wearing a pair of sweatpants (Was that all he owned? Skinny jeans and sweatpants?) and using a towel, presumably the one that had previously been wrapped around his waist to dry off the remaining wet spots of his hair.

“It’s my fault for not realizing that the texts I sent made it seem like we were gonna bone the second you opened the door,” you smiled at him. “But, I do wanna set some ground rules if we’re gonna make this a thing,” you said sternly, letting your smile fall and sitting up straighter, attempting to make yourself look more serious.

“Ground rules? Other than, ‘no relationship, just sex’?” Sirius guffawed, walking over to his fridge and grabbing a beer for himself. “You want one?” he offered.

“No, I drove here and beer is disgusting,” you countered. “And yes, ground rules. I’ve tried this too many times with too many idiots, so this time I’m setting some ground rules.”

Sirius gave you a look of disbelief before shrugging and leaning on the counter. “Alright, darling. What are your rules?”

“For one, nothing in public. Cars are a maybe but that’s only if one of us is just having a really bad day and needs to bang it out ASAP and one of our cars is nearby.”

“Well, in case you’ve forgotten, I drive a motorbike,” he stated with a cheshire cat smile on his face.

“Hard pass,” you looked down at him.

“Okay, fine then,” Sirius stood up straight again. “No random texts that you ‘miss me’ or whatever. The only context I’ll allow that in is if you miss sex with me, then something can be arranged.”

“Deal,” you nodded. “Go get some paper, we need to write this down.”

“Paper?! We’re fuck buddies, we don’t need a written agreement! What, are you gonna make me sign it?” Sirius said incredulously with a laugh.

“What? No. I’m just a slut for organization and I like having things written down.” You stared at him for a second before shooing him away with your hands, “Go! Go get some paper and a pen or something!”

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done for sex,” Sirius muttered before wandering off to another room and returning with a blank piece of paper and a pen.

“Not gonna lie,” you raised your eyebrows at him. “Definitely thought that was gonna take longer than it did.”

“What can I say, I’m full of surprises.” Sirius took the pen and hastily wrote down the first two rules. “What’s your next stipulation?”

You squinted your eyes at him. “Oral sex has to be reciprocated! That’s a dealbreaker,” you almost shouted as you realized it and began eyeing him, pointing a finger in his direction.

“Is that not a thing people do?” Sirius inquired, a blank look on his face.

“Oh, Sirius, you sweet, summer child,” you put a hand on his shoulder, closed your eyes and shook your head. “You have no idea.”

“Okay fine,” Sirius laughed, writing down “bj=eating out” in scrawly writing. “Can we make this at least a weekly thing?” the man looked up at you and asked.

“Sure. At least once a week, I mean, it’ll probably be more than that-“

“Oh, trust me, it will be more than that,” Sirius bit his lower lip. “I think that’s enough rules for today,” he threw the pen down on the counter and walked around the kitchen island so he was in-between your legs again, but this time when his hands went around your waist, yours went around his neck. “How about we do what we both know needs to happen?”

“Even though I’m still sore from last night?” you queried.

“I’ll be gentle,” he whispered into your ear. Sending shivers down your spine.

“Prove it,” you challenged.

🌫🌫🌫

Sirius placed slow kisses up your neck, on your chin, next to your mouth, before reaching his destination. It started off slow, he would break away every now and then just to see the look of desire on your face. It wasn’t until you were directly pressed up against him and felt your tenderness on on his growing bulge that he quickened the pace. You were tugging at his hair as if it was a life raft and you were in the middle of the ocean. You needed him more than you had needed anything else in your entire life. He muffled an “Up” into one of the kisses, and you wrapped your legs around his bare waist while he carried you towards his bedroom. He slammed you up against a wall which resulted in a whimper of pain from you, “Shit, got carried away.”

In response, you began tugging on his hair even harder, wincing, “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.” Sirius simply smiled before walking into his bedroom, bending over and softly lying your back on the bed. As Sirius was trying to get your shirt off this time being more conscious of the things that had transpired the night before and the effect that it can have on a person. While he was finagling with your bra, you took this opportunity to snake your hands into his sweatpants to run your fingertips across the head of his penis as lightly as you could.

Suddenly, he grabbed your hand, slowly pulled it out of his pants, and scowled down at you, his eyes dark with need. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Payback,” you smiled, pulling him down to you and kissing him again.

🌫🌫🌫

You breathed heavily, Sirius rolling off of you and flailing his arms out beside him, one hitting you in the boob. “Are you trying to make my whole body sore? Boobs are sensitive okay? Two minutes ago you were being super carefull not to hurt me, which I very much appreciated, and now you’re whackin’ my boob!” you laughed, leaning over and gently setting your lips on his, rolling back over to get out of bed and go to the bathroom.

“Wait, where are you off to?” Sirius asked, looking a little offended.

You paused, “Uh, the bathroom, and then I was gonna get dressed. Why?” You had a puzzled look on your face. No guy had ever questioned you getting out of bed after sex.

“I’ll allow you to go to the bathroom, but I’m implementing a rule that you have to stay in bed with me for at least five minutes before you leave,” he said sternly.

“Why?” You were very confused at this point.

“Because I like feeling your amazing body next to me and I’m a selfish person, as we’ve already established. So, go, and get back quick so I can touch you some more,” he waved you away with his hands as you ran to the bathroom.

Once you were under the covers with him once again, your head resting on his chest, a finger tracing a tattoo on his collarbone, you asked, “So is this like a cuddling thing?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong with a guy wanting to keep touching the person he’s sleeping with, even if they’re not having sex? Your skin is so soft and so is your ass and my hand likes to be on your ass. You should be questioning my hand, not me,” he raised one of his hands in surrender, the other stayed put where it was.

“I’ll allow it, only because I really like what that hand was doing earlier,” you giggled.

He put his other arm around your waist and pulled you closer, kissing you softly. “Now it’s my turn to have to use the bathroom,” he mischievously grinned before running off to the bathroom.

As you were lying alone on the bed, feeling the remnant of the heat where he had been, you yelled, “Okay, I get it now, get back here, I’m cold!”

⭐️🌙⭐️

The next few weeks went on like that, usually you would go over to his place, he would occasionally come to your place if Marlene was out of the house. It worked really well. You were finally getting the satisfaction you needed with none of the annoying asshole to deal with. Plus, you were able to hang out with your friends together and not be weird about it, it was pretty much the perfect situation. The two of you did end up adding a few more rules, all of them sexual in nature, and it just made things even better.

Y/N 📲 Sirius

Y/N: i’m coming over Y/N: everybody at work decided it was asshole day and i need to get this aggression out

Sirius: i’m okay with this

Sirius 📲 Y/N

Sirius: get over here Sirius: asap

Y/N: is something wrong

Sirius: it’s my turn for people to be assholes Sirius: get that ass over here

Y/N 📲 Sirius

Y/N: marlene’s gone for the weekend Y/N: you know what that means?

Sirius: i’m getting dressed as fast as i can

Sirius 📲 Y/N

Sirius: get over here

Y/N: it’s 9am on a saturday and my bed’s really comfy, gimme a good reason

Sirius: we can spend the rest of the day sleeping at my place

Y/N: deal

One evening a couple months after you started this agreement, you and your newfound group of friends, essentially being included in hanging out with Lily, Marlene, and the three boys, decided to have a game night at Sirius’ apartment, he had the biggest dining table.

“I understand that you think I was using a throw away card, but you still should have given me the point,” Lily glared over to James.

“Why? ‘Bees?’ is the worst card in the deck!” James retorted.

“Excuse me, ‘Bees?’ is the best card in the deck!” Lily almost shouted back.

You thought you heard a faint “I have neighbors” coming from Sirius’ direction but between Lily and James’ continued shouting, nobody would have paid attention to it and you knew Sirius didn’t give a shit.

“Lily, I love you. But that card is garbage,” James said as calmly as he could.

Lily slammed her cards down on the table and stood up, almost knocking the chair over. “You know what?!” she yelled.

James did the exact same, except he actually managed to knock his chair over in the process. “You know what?!” he yelled back.

“You know what?” Remus said in a Mr. Rogers-esque voice with a forced smile plastered on his face. “I think it’s time we go home.”

Game nights usually ended like this, especially if it ended up with James going against what Lily wanted to do, with any game. The lot of you picked up the cards, put them back in the box and handed it back to Remus. It wasn’t originally his game, but he kept it at his house for security purposes. Everyone filed out of the apartment, saying their good-byes, Remus giving you a look as he closed the door, leaving you and Sirius alone.

“Whatever shall we do?” Sirius asked in a soft tone, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you down with him onto the chair he was sitting in, you on his lap.

“Sirius,” you whined. “I really, really want to but I have to get up early for a project at work. Like four a.m. early, so I actually need to sleep tonight.” You frowned, planting a quick kiss on his lips. “Once this project is over I will have free time once again!” You leaned your head back, imagining what it would be like to see your friends more than once a month, and Sirius more than just once a week. These were trying times.

“Y/N,” Sirius whispered into your ear. “The second that project is officially over, you come over here as fast as you can and I’m not letting you leave for at least three days.”

You whined again. “Can I have a time machine so I can get to that point without dealing with my colleagues?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Sirius smiled, placing kiss on your temple.

“Okay,” you said, looking at the time on your phone and standing up from the man’s lap, “I actually have to leave now.” Sirius grabbed your arm trying to pull you back down with him. “You’re a terrible influence, I hope you know that.”

“I’ve known that for a while, love,” he stood up, kissing you as you walked backwards towards the door.

You felt around for the doorknob, and managed to open it right as Sirius began to pull you further into his place. “I gotta go,” you smiled, enjoying his eyes for a moment before you had to leave him again. Halfway out the door, he turned you back around for one last kiss, but before your lips touched, you heard a voice behind you.

“Well, look who it is.”

Turning around you saw Asher standing in the hallway, arms crossed, giving you a shit-eating grin.

“Do you need something?” you asked, placing a hand on your hip and looking away from blond asshole that stood before you. Today had been a good day and now Asher was here to fuck it up like he did just about everything.

Asher held up his hands, feigning innocence. “Just seeing what all the yelling was about,” he smirked beginning to walk away. “See you around, Y/N.” Before he fully turned around, he eyed you up and down, making you feel disgusting. You were gonna take two showers when you got home.

As you spun on your heel to leave, Sirius grabbed your hand. “You okay, love?” he said quietly, a look of concern on his face.

“I’m fine,” you sighed. “You just had the pleasure of meeting the shitty ex.” You rubbed your temple with your free hand and tried to calm yourself down.

Sirius pulled the hand he was holding towards him and put his arms around you. “It’s gonna be okay, he’s just a prick. It’ll be fine,” he whispered into your hair.

After standing there for a brief moment, you pulled away, sadly kissed Sirius and walked home, feeling a little calmer, but unsure.

a/n: believe it or not i edited the ending about ten different times thinking i would make it shorter, but here we are. also they definitely were’t playing cah what are you talking about. feedback is nice if u feel like it. good or bad, i don’t give a shit. night night.

💖-ella

[wordsbysarah]

Holy Ground - a WIP teaser

I remember exactly where I was when it all started. The first thing I noticed was the groaning, the screeching, the gnashing teeth. I heard it out of my bedroom window, and was sure that it was my imagination. Oh, if only, if only. Then came the banging at our front door. How the dead knew which wall was a door and not solid brick, I never understood. Maybe there was a little humanity left in them, I don’t know. But they knocked and knocked at the door until my mother foolishly opened it.

The reaction was immediate when the creature stumbled inside and went straight for my mother’s neck. She’d always opened the door without looking through the peephole, and we always joked that it would be her downfall. Of course, she wasn’t prepared to defend herself, and you could hardly say she knew that she was fighting off a dead person instead of a regular man high on some sort of drug. You could hardly say she knew that either he died or she did.

I heard her screams echo throughout the house. As I sprinted out of my room to see what was wrong, I caught a glimpse of the devastation in her eyes. Probably because she thought I was next. She waved her hand away and managed to choke out, “Run,” through the blood flooding her throat.

I turned back down the hall and opened my parents’ bedroom door to see my dad laying in bed, listening to an audiobook through headphones. I waved my arms to get his attention and he slid them down around his neck.

“We have to get out of the house,” I whispered. “Mom opened the door and someone attacked her.” Tears were welling up in my frantic eyes as my brain tried to process what I’d just seen, even though I knew there was no time for that right now.

“What? Are you serious? Don’t joke like that, Seph,” my dad whispered back, getting up and crossing the room.

“Yes I’m serious, she said to run, we have to go out the back now.”

“Not in my house, they don’t,” he whispered, seemingly to himself. He reached down and unlocked the safe, taking out a pistol. “Get in the bathroom,” he commanded me, striding down the hall.

“No, dad, please,” I whispered, but it was too late. I rapidly locked myself in the hall bathroom where there were no windows and only one door. I kept the light off and slid down the wall to sit in the corner and wait for my dad to return.

Bang. Bang. Lots of groaning. A scream, followed by a body hitting the floor. Even though it could have been the intruder, I felt this awful sickness welling up in my body. I covered my mouth to stifle the hyperventilation consuming me, tears rolling down from my tightly shut eyes.

Knock, knock, knock. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t dare make a sound, in the event that the intruder was waiting for me on the other side of the door. Knock, knock, knock. I tried to be as silent and still as possible. “Seph, open up. It’s me,” came my father’s voice from the other side.

Rapid tears flowed down my face as I lept to my feet and threw open the door. As soon as I was faced with my dad, I flung myself into his arms. “I thought I’d never see you alive again,” I wailed. I was so relieved that it took me a while to notice something hot and sticky pressed into my side. “W-what is that? Are you hurt?” I asked frantically.

“I don’t know what that guy was on, but I think I’m going to need stitches. He literally bit me,” my dad heaved a heavy breath.

“I’ll call 911, you put some pressure on that,” I insisted. Speaking of 911… I turned down the hall and, stepping over the intruder’s corpse, ran to my mother’s side. “Oh, mom… What did that lunatic do to you?” I cried. She must have bled out within moments, because she was going cold. I stifled a sob, remembering that my father might’ve bled out as well if I lost myself. I walked back to my room and picked up my phone. Dialing 911, I waited. And waited. But there was nothing but ringing and ringing and ringing.

I hung up and tried again. More and more ringing. “So unprofessional,” I whispered.

“Honey?” I heard my dad say down the hallway.

That doesn’t make any sense. I felt her, there was no pulse, I thought.

Then I heard the screeching, the growling.

“Ahh!” came my dad’s voice, and then a heavy thump to the ground. I ran out to the hallway to see her crawling on top of him, a dead gloss over her eyes, gnashing her teeth in a mouth that was spilling out blood onto his chest. I watched in horror as she went straight for his throat, ripping out his vocal cords and swallowing them with ease. Why she wanted to literally eat her husband, I didn’t know, but I rapidly shut myself back in the bathroom.

I had to listen to his attempted screams for a couple of minutes before either he’d bled out or she’d consumed so much of him that his body was in complete shock. Which one it was, I couldn’t tell you. All I knew was that my life had gone to hell in a handbasket in the last fifteen minutes, and I had no idea why. I knew that I was now completely alone in the world. No siblings, no family that lived nearby. Just me.

I knew that there were at least two literal zombies roaming around my house right on the other side of the door I was pressed against, and I had no weapons to my name.

Well, I supposed I could use a curling iron as a blunt weapon. Assessing the situation, that seemed the most likely way to survive. You’re supposed to hit zombies in the head, right? Damage the brain, stop the body. If there were ever going to be a time to mourn my parents, it was exactly right now. At the risk of being too loud and attracting the dead to my location, I cried. I cried so hard that I thought I would throw up, but at least I had a toilet in that case. I had no idea how long I was in that room. Could have been minutes, or I could have been crying for hours. I figured I had time, because the longer I waited, the more likely that my… parents… would be gone.

Finally, I stood and gripped the curling iron tightly in my right fist, my knuckles turning white in the pale nightlight’s glow. I listened at the crack in the door for any shuffling, and they seemed to have dissipated for the moment. Cautiously, I opened the door, and unfortunately it creaked. Towards the kitchen I heard a groan and my heart shot up into my throat. I flattened myself against the wall, slowly making my way down the hall.

A groan came from directly behind me just then. I whipped around to see my father, eyes bloodshot and glossy, throwing himself towards me. I struggled to push him back, his hands clawing at my arms, presumably to get a good shot at my neck. His nails began to dig into my arm, and the pain fueled me to press forward and bring the curling iron into a heavy contact with his head. I’m so sorry, I thought, repeatedly bashing his head in. Each strike was harder as the tears increasingly rolled down my face. I love you, but please die. Eventually, he slumped to the ground, hopefully dead for good. There were blood spatters all over my face, and I tried to remember not to wipe my eyes, nose, or mouth. I had heard before that the scratches of the undead can also turn you, but since my parents were freshly dead I didn’t know if that would hold up.

I had no time to stand there in shock, rattled to my bones, because then it was on to my next problem: my mother, shambling around the kitchen. I thought I could sneak up on her, but evidently they could smell me, because she turned right around and lunged for me. They didn’t seem to be particularly fast, but also not slow. More like human speed, when someone has no particular place to be.

I learned my lesson; this time I wound up like a hitter in a baseball game and cracked her across the side of the head, throwing her body onto the table to my left. I took a good shot and brought the curling iron down onto her head like a guillotine, smashing her brains all over the kitchen floor.

She dropped dead to the ground, and my heart pounded in my brain and ears. Not daring to set down my weapon here, I quickly walked back to the bathroom and roared the faucet to life. Closing the door, I stripped naked and washed as much of the blood off as I could. I used toilet paper to dry my free-flowing tears, not daring to touch my eyes with my hands. I supposed there was no way to clean my clothes, so I just returned to my room, gripping my weapon like my life depended on it, and found the most durable clothing I could. A black tank top with silver lining and long blue jeans would do the trick. Although it was a hot Tennessee day, I’d heard once that denim was really hard to bite through, so that seemed like it would benefit me.

My body was going through the motions without a brain steering it. My mind was in so much shock that I was calm -- what could I do but move forward? Sit here and wait to die? I pulled on some hiking boots with gel insoles and walked back to the living room, where my dad had set down the pistol. I have no idea how to tell how many bullets are in this, I thought, but it’s better than nothing. I grabbed a backpack and my dad’s holster from his room. I shoved the curling iron into the backpack, along with some changes of clothes and some food items. I didn’t know how long I would be out of the house, but I had to get to McKenzie’s home and make sure she was still alive. That was more important to me than my own survival. At least I had my learner’s permit, so I grabbed the keys off of the keyring and, steeling my nerves, walked outside and jumped in the car. I could see more of the dead wandering through various parts of the street, so as soon as I started up the car I started booking it. Stay alive a little longer, McKenzie. I’m comin’ for ya.

[dstickman-blog]

Chapter 1 - pt. 2

Selia: I run and leap onto Sarah, trying to knock her to the ground "EVERYONE GET DOWN!"

DM: Sarah, Selia slams into you and you both hit the deck. The wind is knocked out of you as you see Linsa grab Taylor and dive down as well. A moment later you hear Yero scream from the crow's nest and then the thunkthuthuthunk of bolts peppering the side of the ship.

Skolldin slides against the deck rail and Rashoun presses himself behind the mast for cover, a bolt missing him by inches. Griswald yelps as a shaft passes clean through his calf, and his legs buckle. From behind the mast, Rashoun yells "I am dropping the mainsail! Someone get to helm and push us away from the coast!"

Selia: I cast mage hand on the wheel and turn it while moving as fast as possible to get up there.

DM: Rashoun dives up the mast and grabs a rope, pulling himself up arm over arm. Taylor pushes himself and follows.

Sarah Blackpowder: I aid in getting the main sail down.

DM: Sarah, you pull a rope near the bottom crossbeam of the mast and unravel it, preparing to lash the sails in place when they drop. Skolldin lunges forward to grab Griswald and drag him to the rail for cover. Across from you, Sarah, Linsa's face tightens with fear. "Oh hell."

All along the coast you see small fires light, spreading like a rash across the sand. Five, ten, twenty, forty. The crossbows pivot up and then release, sending a torrent of burning bolts straight toward you.

Selia: I move to the wheel, and drop my mage hand, turning it manually now. I cast magic missile on some of the arrows in an attempt to knock them out of the sky.

I feel strange, like my whole body has centered itself, my mind has gone blank, only focusing on a single goal. I move as if on instinct and force my hand outwards. It feels like I've drawn something from within myself, this pulsing feeling surges out, starting from my gut following through to my arm. For a second, it feels serene--that this is natural. In the next second blue arrows of light fire from my fingertips and just like that, the feeling is gone.

DM: The arrows of light shoot through the air towards the incoming bolts. As they approach the magical arrows seem to stretch and bend to your will, flattening themselves to crash through the flaming crossbow bolts like a bowling ball through pins. Ten of the bolts shatter into splinters and plummet into the sea as your arrows plow through them. About half of the remaining arrows are short or wide. They splash into the sea with a sizzle as the saltwater douses the flames.

But the rest pepper into the ship, slamming into the mast, into the deck, and into the mainsail. The sail catches, and two of the bolts wedged into the deck seem in danger of igniting the pitch that seals the boards together. Linsa cries out and launches herself at one of these spots, stomping at the embers. Skolldin puts his full weight on Griswald's calf, eliciting a howl of pain from him. The dwarf looks up towards you, Sarah. "Need a bandage! Or a tourniquet!"

Sarah Blackpowder: I pull out my rope and tie it tight above the wound, not cutting it now though.

DM: You cinch the leg, and Griswald winces. "I'll keep it tight!" Skolldin hollers. Take it from here to that fire.

Sarah Blackpowder: I run over to the fire, and it resembles the usual stray fire in Papa's shop. i stomp it out with ease like i would any other fire and try to perceive anyone near the fire. on the shore

DM: The sail is catching quickly. Selia , the smell of smoke finally hits your nostrils and for a second you snap back to the horrors of Barelby, a ghost town melting and crumbling before your eyes. Of unbearable heat squeezing you from all sides and choking on ash as you call out for help.

Sarah, you do not see any activity on the coast, and the ship is reeling away towards open water. But you do catch Selia as she locks up. Her eyes seem a million miles away. Somehow, instinctively, you know she is on the edge of something.

Sarah Blackpowder: "SELIA FOCUS STAY WITH US!!"

DM: Selia, you feel the pulse of uncontrollable forces ripple through your body, like a jolt of electricity in your bones. You grow two inches taller in a matter of seconds. You can feel your bones and joints groan as they lengthen and stretch. The constant pain in your hip dulls to an ache, as if you've been on bed rest for a couple of days. The growth spurt seems to have sped the healing process somewhat.

From the top of the mast you hear Rashoun's voice. "HARD APORT!"

The main sail finally unfurls, and puffs outward as it catches the wind. The ship accelerates sharply and the timbers creak to compensate. The next round of bolts, like the first, is unlit and almost invisible as it rips through the dark sky. All of them splash into the water as The Hummingbird lurches out of range. Rashoun slides down the rigging and slices away the smoldering section of the sail, letting it flap over the deck and into the water.

Selia: I run to the nearest side of the ship, hopefully out of view, crouch down and cast minor illusion forming a box around me.

My instincts kick in and the only thing I can think of is to hide, or to run, and I've got nowhere to run nor anywhere to hide. My head aches as I curl into a ball, holding my hands out for an impending shot from the gun and suddenly all around me are wooden walls.

DM: Sarah, you see Selia duck away and out of sight and stay there. Taylor and Rashoun climb the rigging to the crow's nest while Linsa runs over to help pull Griswald to his feet so they can get him downstairs.

Sarah Blackpowder: I run to help Linsa get Griswald downstairs.

DM: You shoulder as much of Griswald's weight as you can. Every step sends a small trickle of blood oozing from Griswald's leg. Dern sees you coming down the stairs and sweeps the table clear, then helps lift Griswald to lay him on top of it.

Sarah Blackpowder: "I wrapped it tight, I gotta get back up top"

DM: Griswald nods, gritting his teeth, but Dern pulls you aside. "I know it looks clean, but depending on who that was those bolts may be poisoned. Or worse. The safest thing to do might be to take the leg at the knee." Dern looks towards the table. "I've seen mere scratches from different lurker weapons turn into the worst of wasting diseases."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Do what needs to be done to keep him alive. He's no stranger to losing appendages."

DM: Dern nods grimly. "I need your help."

Sarah Blackpowder: "W-What?"

DM: "We don't have numbing tincture or ether aboard. Whatever we do here got to be done as quickl. Every second of surgery is another your grandfather could bleed out, or go into shock."

Sarah Blackpowder: I have an appalled look. "Okay.... What do I have to do?"

DM: "Skolldin will have to hold him down, and I'll saw through the joint in half a minute--or hopefully less. But we have to seal that once it's done. I got a pan on the stove, flat iron. I need you to get it hot and seal the stump when I'm done. Ever worked with Smith's gloves before?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Yeah, a lot. I can do it."

DM: You both glance back at Griswald on the table. It hits you suddenly that tonight could easily be the last of his life.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Come on we gotta hurry."

DM: As you turn towards the kitchen you can still see your grandfather in your mind's eye. You are pulled back into a memory, one that shaped helped shape your relationship with him.

**Sarah Blackpowder:s* It's the time that he first showed me black powder. He piled up a small amount of it and with a poof it was gone. The smell was oddly satisfying, and I giggled every time he lit some up for me.

DM: He smiled for you when you did--the first time you ever saw him do it.

You hear the rumble of thunder as you put the pan on the heat. Rashoun's weather has come after all. Selia you are sitting on the deck, knees pressed to your chest, when you see the flash of lightning across the sky. A few seconds later, the deep roll of thunder.

Selia: I poke my head out of the illusion, trying to see what's happening

DM: The illusory wood around you winks out as you put your head up. You can see Linsa's back at the helm, juggling the wheel and some kind of nautical instrument.

Rashoun and Taylor are lowering Nero's body from the Crow's nest down to the deck. Around you, you hear the first few plops of fat raindrops as they hit the deck.

Selia: At first I jump as the illusion dissipates, then I take a deep breath move over to Linsa and grab her shoulder "Is there anywhere I could help?"

DM: She flinches hard, and yelps. "Gods! Running up on someone like that!"

Selia: "I'm sorry, just please, I want to help"

DM: She points towards the deckrail with the instrument still in hand. "Can you see the shore? I have no idea where I'm steering us and if the storm turns us around or pushes us into shallow water we're as good as drowned."

The wind picks up and the ship crests a tall wave, crashing down. For a split second you get the pit in your stomach from the feeling of free fall.

Selia: "Okay, just tell you how to keep the boat straight? I can do that" I move to the head of the ship, facing the shoreline and begin calling out port or starboard depending on if we're too close or too far.

DM: You can just barely make out the waves as they crash against what looks like a cliff face.

Selia: I continue to try to give directions as best I can.

DM: You shout over the wind. The clouds burst, sending a waves of rain down between cracks of lightning.

The ship is pitching back and forth over the waves. You manage to fight off a brief twinge of seasickness. Sarah, the iron pan is red hot. Skolldin is holding Griswald down and clearly feeling queasy while doing it.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Let's start."

DM: Dern nods and his knuckles whiten around the saw he is holding. He pulls the tourniquet around Griswald's leg tighter. Skolldin pushes a wad of cloth into Griswald's mouth. He nods at Dern, who places the saw against the underside of Dern's knee. Griswald starts to hyperventilate, his nostrils flaring.

Sarah Blackpowder: "It's gonna be okay papa, you'll survive I promise."

DM: He grunts. And Dern nods. He begins to saw through the back of Griswald's knee, working fast. Griswald writhes violently, his howls muffled by the cloth.

"Hold him down!" Dern shouts.

Sarah Blackpowder: "You got this! I'm here, just stay with us!"

DM: Skolldin presses down hard to pin Griswald and minimize the trashing. Dern doubles down and you soon hear the sickening squelch of the saw tearing through the ligaments of Griswald's knee. Another five seconds and Griswald's lower leg comes free. Blood oozes freely from the stump as Dern grabs a knife and quickly slices through the tendons holding the kneecap, removing that as well.

He stands aside and holds the thigh in place. "Now, Sarah!"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Sorry Papa." I press the hot pan against the wound hard.

DM: The flesh sears and pops as you press the iron into the stump of Griswald's leg. He screams through the cloth and thunder echoes him. The wound is sealed.

The gruesome task finally completed, Skolldin can't seem to hold back any more. He lets Griswald pass out on the table and runs up the stairs to the deck.

Selia you see him climb the last of the wooden steps as the ship rocks back and forth. He leans over the side and vomits through curses.

Sarah Blackpowder: I'm close behind.

DM: The fresh air up here is better than the smell of sweat and blood in the claustrophobic hold below, but up here you can see the fury of the storm and instantly understand why Rashoun wanted to wait it out.

Selia: I move over to Sarah and Skolldin still giving directions and speaking in between "Is Griswald okay?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "He will be when he wakes up..."

Selia: "Shit, I'm sorry Sarah... this wouldn't have happened if I wasn't on board."

Sarah Blackpowder: "No none of this would have happened if we never left Everton. Don't blame yourself over our bad choices."

Selia: "What brought their wrath upon you? You already know why they'd be trying to kill me"

Sarah Blackpowder: "The pistols. Black powder was edging on their wrath, pistols are crossing it. We left so our village wouldn't be subjected to the trials."

Selia: "Oof, you poor things" I wince at the sight of both of them

Sarah Blackpowder: I walk back downstairs, wiping my mouth. I call out to Dern: "Is he okay?"

DM: As Sarah leaves, Skolldin turns to you, Selia. "I'm no poor thing!"

The ship dips wildly between the waves, and the wood groans as a wall of water slams into the starboard side. Sarah, you stumble down the last few steps into the hold. Dern has extinguished the torch down here and it is pitch black Selia, you grip the rail in total reflex, preventing yourself from going overboard. Skolldin is less fortunate, hitting the rail full force and then tumbling to the deck.

Selia: I grab him and help him stand "I suggest you hold onto something."

DM: He nods and winds a coil of dangling rope around his arm.

**Sarah lackpowder: "Dern?"

DM: Dern replies from the dark about 10 feet ahead of you but from below. "We have a problem," he says. You can hear the slosh of water as he takes a few steps.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Oh no. Is Papa Gris gonna be safe down here?"

DM: "I hope so. Can you give me a hand?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Yeah what are we getting?"

DM: A lantern comes to life and you can see Dern standing in an open hatch. The floor you're standing on comes up to about his shoulder. Even from here you can see that the space below is slowly filling up with seawater. Currently the level is about at Dern's shins. "We need to stop this up or start bailing water. Fast."

Sarah Blackpowder: "How big is the breach?"

DM: The ship rocks to one side,and the water sloshes towards it. Dern steadies himself and then lowers his lantern so you can see into the space below. The boards along the starboard side are cracked, and water is seeping through. You may not know ships, but you know pressure, and you know structural integrity. What's happening here? What's going to happen here?

Sarah Blackpowder: The ship is going to capsize if we don't fix the breach. I run and find the boards and tar I found earlier. I grab two boards and slather a large area of both of them with tar. I run to the breach and slam them over the breach, sealing it. Then, I grab a hammer and nails and hammer the boards in place so they add support to the wall.

As I do that I yell to dern "Start getting water out of here!"

DM: You splash down into the small space with your tools. The water is numbingly cold. Dern nods and hoists himself out of the hole to find a bucket.

Selia, up top it seems like the storm is finally breaking. The rain and wind have slowed to a normal feeling rainfall, and the flashes of lightning are fewer and further between.

Selia: I move over to Linsa and call out "Can you navigate solo from here while I check elsewhere?"

**DM: Linsa nods. "I think we'll probably be good to drop anc r soon. Look."

She points, and you can see Rashoun and Taylor calling down to Skolldin. The three of them are working to furl the sails.

Selia: I move over to them and help with the sails.

DM: You do your best to assist Skoll with the rigging. It takes a while, and makes your hip ache. While you're working, Sarah appears from below. She is drenched somehow, and it looks like her hands are covered in oil.

Sarah Blackpowder: "We may have a... sticky situation..."

Selia: "What the hell is going on?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Nothing now, wanna help clear water from underneath?"

DM: Rashoun's feet hit the deck behind you, Selia. He looks stern. "How bad is the breach?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "About the size of our heads together. It's patched now."

DM: He jerks his head towards the hold. "Water?"

Sarah Blackpowder: "Shin high."

DM: Rashoun grabs a bucket from the deck and heads downstairs. "Skolldin!"

Skolldin follows, supporting himself along the deckrail.

Sarah Blackpowder: I find a bucket and follow.

Selia: I do the same.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Just form a line it'll be faster!"

DM: Describe the bailout process. It's a tight space, and Sarah's bucket brigade idea is a good one.

Selia: Rashoun, Sarah, and I all form a line equidistant from each other from the currently flooded area to one side of the boat, back and forth passing the bucket until we get most of the water out of the ship.

DM: When it's all clear, Dern gives a thumbs up from the small space and climbs up. He shuts the hatch behind him and Rashoun sits hard on the steps. He sighs in equal parts of exhaustion and relief.

"Well," he says. "I guess it's time for second shift dinner."

Sarah Blackpowder: "Go and eat, we will hold the fort down"

Selia: "Nothing like soup after a near death experience"

DM: "Just the four of us, I suppose," says Dern. "Now that Yero's gone." He mops his brow and heads to the kitchen. Rashoun follows, but Taylor stays behind.

Sarah Blackpowder: "Shall we hold a funeral after the supper?"

DM: Taylor nods. "We will return his body to the sea." With that, Taylor turns and walks up the stairs to the main deck. Rashoun returns with a bowl of stew. "You know, Selia, I should consider your travel paid after all you've done tonight."

He puts a second bowl in front of you.

Selia: "Don't mention it" I push the second bowl back to him.

DM: "But I must mention it. I've never had a magician on my ship before."