#jaewon dark packs

[manikas-whims]

Time of the Month

[Read on AO3]

3 times Vin tries to deal with (take care of) Mary during her periods

+1 time Mary returns the gesture

*set somewhere during the Hostel Arc when even Logan Lee was still in J High*

»» Mary's behavior during her periods is based on me and my friends' actual menstruation experiences 😆

1

Vin Jin leaned against the wall opposite the Architecture Department's entrance, sourly watching his long-time friend Mary Kim wait for one Jace Park. Normally he would've opted to stay miles away from those brightly dressed, orange bunch better known as the ‘Burn Knuckles’ but today was different.

A couple of passing students did glance his way curiously but expressed nothing more in fear. Even Logan Lee raised a brow before shrugging and walking past with his obedient herd of otaku classmates. Vin Jin, however, was too occupied watching over his friend to give a fuck.

With all the years he'd known her, he had come to spot the slightest changes in Mary's day-to-day behavior. And if the faintly visible dark circles under her eyes or her extra cranky mood since morning weren't enough of an indication, then her taking a painkiller after breakfast confirmed it all.

She was on her period. And even though he'll never know exactly what she goes through during that time of the month, he had dealt with enough of her mood swings to know it wasn't easy for her.

So he waited patiently for her to get over whatever business she had with Jace Park. Fortunately, the man showed up at that very moment, eyes fixated on his cellphone's screen.

Mary took the initiative and greeted him cheerfully, to which Jace finally looked up and smiled amiably at her.

Now Vin wasn't close enough to hear the following words that were exchanged between the two. And his seven shades darker sunglasses didn't allow him much sight either. But when his friend turned around, he immediately took note of her glassy eyes brimming with tears.

Instinctively, he cracked his knuckles and clenched his fists.

What did that asshole say to ruin her smile? Did the idiot decline her innocent date invitation? Or did he make some obscene comment about her? But Jace Park wasn't like that, was he? He had been nice to Mary on every encounter, right?

So then..why was his friend suddenly so upset and biting her lip to keep herself from crying?

Ah whatever! He rolled up his sleeves furiously. Mary didn't stand here for so long, enduring her abdominal cramps and aching thighs to be treated so harshly by some prick at high school. She didn't deserve any of this.

“Oi moron!” Shoving himself off the wall, Vin walked towards Mary and yelled. “The fuck did you say to her!?”

Jace sheepishly held up his arms. But before he could utter a word in his defense, Mary cut in.

“He isn't..” She sobbed, a tear rolling down her cheek. “..he isn't letting me touch his ears!!”

Vin paused upon hearing that, barely managing to pull back a punch aimed at Jace.

He felt the rage within him simmering down until even the last traces of it evaporated away. He awkwardly looked between his long-time friend and the second in command of Burn Knuckles. Was he supposed to punch Jace Park over something as silly as this?

He averted his gaze back to Mary, who was staring at him expectantly. For what? Did she– the one who always tried to stop him– actually want him to pick a fight for her?

Girls and their stupid mood swings.

Instead, he scoffed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Never mind, let's go.”

“Huhh?? But I wanna touch his ears!” She whined, trying to get his arms off her.

He tightened his hold around her and shook his head in disbelief. Normally he would've beat the shit out of anyone at Jaewon High for free. But today wasn't just another typical day amongst these Seoul bastards.

“Fuck you, Jace Park.” Vin flashed the guy a middle finger and tugged Mary in the direction of the Vocal and Dance Department.

From his pocket, he rummaged out a pack of her favorite chocolate bar. Over the years he had seen her weep and laugh over the most trivial of things when on her period. As such, he had enough experience with her abrupt shift in emotions.

“Eat up.” He said, offering the chocolate to her.

She looked at him, watery eyes shining with a hint of surprise. Then, wiping the tears messily with the back of her palm, she smiled and accepted the sweet. “Thank you, Vin.”

2

Mary had absolutely lost her mind.

Vin narrowed his brows at her from across the aisle with stationary materials. Not that his glasses would actually alert her of the annoyance searing in his eyes.

Their classes were over but instead of heading home, she insisted on buying some spicy snacks because of her food cravings. And she had sworn that she wouldn't dawdle around the convenience store. Yet here they were, a pack of stickers held in her hand. An item clearly of no use to her or her periods.

He sighed in frustration. “We're not buying that.”

She frowned at his declaration. “But I want them.”

“No, you don't.”

“You can't boss me around.”

“Yeah man,” a third voice butt in and Vin momentarily switched his gaze to its owner— a young, brown-haired guy not much older than himself.

The brunette approached Mary from behind, two other guys at his sides. “Don't tell her what to do.” He said in a teasing tone, putting an arm around Mary.

As expected, Mary immediately slapped the arm away. “Mind your hands, punk.”

“Now, now, I'm on your side here.” The guy said.

“Huh!?” Mary raised a brow in disgust. “And who asked you to speak between me and my friend?”

“You could be a little nice, you know.” The guy grumbled, roughly shoving Mary into the aisle.

And in that very moment, Vin's lips turned down and he moved. Not to beat the asshole senseless but to keep Mary from doing so herself. She was quite a piece during her time of the month. Scarier (if that was even possible) and far more reckless than himself. She'd pick a fight as quickly as she'd cry over the dumbest of things. She could easily beat those guys to a pulp and it'd be entertaining as hell to watch. So if they had any shred of self-respect, they'd stop and escape while they still could.

Unfortunately, they'd lost that chance the moment the smartass brunette had tried to put an arm around her. Thus, left with no other choice, Vin grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her along, out of the shop.

“Oi!” She yelled, trying to yank her wrist free. “I'm not done buying my stuff! And I'm definitely not done with those bastards!”

“Nope! We're leaving!”

“Fuck you!” She snatched her hand from his grip and stomped towards the three boys, who looked utterly baffled and terrified. And for the first time, Vin realized what Mary must've felt like, trying to keep him from getting into unnecessary trouble all these years. Best to avoid that kind of attention.

So before she could start anything, Vin snaked an arm around her waist and hauled her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He then proceeded to walk out, ignoring every onlooker's curious gaze.

“Put me down!” Mary ordered.

He kept walking.

“I'll kill you!” She threatened, vehemently kicking and punching under his iron grip.

“I know.”

3

Back at their shared apartment, Mary went to take a hot bath only after narrating the gory details of how she'll murder him if he ever gets between her and her shopping. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little scared.

Thankfully, the bath seemed to have lightened her mood. She agreed to forgive him in exchange for one of his t-shirts, which she wore over her boxer shorts because apparently, his clothes were "far more comfortable to be in".

She was currently slumped across the couch, sipping herbal tea as she watched some cheesy, romance drama with the weariest expression on her face. The ache in her legs must be draining her.

“Go to sleep.” He said, flopping beside her on the couch.

“Can't.” She didn't even look up when she responded in a tone as dead as her demeanor. “The pain won't let me.”

He knew she'd say that. Every month she cried about how she wanted to sleep and get the rest her body needed. But her legs (especially thighs) throbbed so much with pain that it was impossible to even relax.

“Your..legs..” He scratched his neck as he spoke. “I can massage them.”

She peered at him from her mug of tea, dull eyes sparkling at his offer. “Really?”

Before he could respond, the mug clattered noisily with the coffee table and she put her head on the armrest of the couch as she laid down, legs now resting over his knees.

Vin scoffed at her eagerness but began to slowly trace his palms over her right leg. Gently he pressed his thumbs, from her feet to the ankle, easing the knots of stress there. Her eyes instantly rolled shut in contentment. His palms traced further up, fingers kneading into the taut muscles of her shin to her calf.

He repeated the movements several times. Then did the same for her other leg. The warmth of her skin tingled his own as he reached higher up to her thigh and began massaging the supple skin.

A faint, throaty sound escaped her lips.

Vin froze.

To his utter disbelief when he sneaked a glance her way, her eyes were still shut peacefully as if she hadn't just moaned at her thigh being massaged. So he tried to be just as unbothered, shrugged away his initial shock, and continued.

This time she breathed heavily. Then let out another moan. Only this one began as sultry but ended up way more exaggerated and an octave higher.

Vin's lips pressed together into a tight smile in realization. Then he pinched her thigh. “Stop messing with me, you bitch!”

He saw Mary's entire face twitch uneasily, lips trying their best to not move. But in the end, she burst out cackling, teardrops of joy brimming the corners of her eyes.

“You should've seen your face!” She laughed harder.

He pinched her thigh again, knowing it must be hurting her but he didn't care at the moment. She deserved it for the deliberately obscene sounds she let out, fully aware of how thin the cheap walls of their apartment were. And how easy it would be for their neighbors to hear them and get the wrong ideas.

“You want this massage or not!?” He gritted out.

“Yes please~” She murmured in a suggestive tone.

“I swear I'll toss you off the couch!”

“Okay! Okay! I'll stop!” She responded between barely-contained chuckles.

Vin groaned in frustration as he resumed massaging her legs, wishing for her periods to end this instant.

+1

Mary watched the male lead kiss the female lead passionately. But it was barely the 6th episode. It signified that this kiss meant nothing and that there was still 10 episodes worth of drama before they got their happy ending.

“I should ask Jace Park for a kiss.” Mary yawned and stretched her arms, a devious glint in her tired eyes. “Or maybe I should kiss him myself.”

When there was no response from her friend at the ridiculous idea, she nudged him with her feet– which by the way– were still resting comfortably in his lap. And sadly, he was not massaging them anymore.

“Oi!” she called, raking a leg up his chest to annoy him and catch his attention.

Any other day this action would've been enough to rouse his anger and start a fight. So the lack of any sort of enraged reaction from him made Mary curious. She finally looked away from the drama on the television screen to glance in his direction.

Mary blinked at the sight. Vin was snoring peacefully, head laid back on the backrest of the couch. It wasn't unusual but it was still unbelievable that he had fallen asleep in an uncomfortable sitting position on their small couch.

He would kill her if she ever brought it up but it must've been exhausting to take care of her. Not to mention stressful as hell, considering how whimsical she was during her periods. She felt her lips curving into a warm smile as she noticed the drool over his chin.

Cautiously, she wiggled her legs out of his lap and sat up. Her legs didn't ache as badly as earlier, thanks to her friend's efforts despite her teasing him with overtly provocative sounds.

Vin had grown significantly taller over the years and it wouldn't be as easy to carry him as it had been back in middle school. So getting him into his bed was neither plausible nor any good for her in her present state. She pursed her lips in thought, snapping her fingers as the solution lit up like a bulb in her head. She can simply cover him with a blanket!

She scurried to the bedroom and returned with a blanket large enough for two. 

But first…

She picked up her cellphone from the coffee table and unlocked it, scrolling to the camera app. Snickering to herself, she took a bunch of pictures of his drooling face to use as leverage in a future argument. After that, she gently pulled off the sunglasses from his eyes, brushing the stray strands away from his face. Then settled next to him on the couch and pulled the blanket around them.

“Goodnight Vin.” She mumbled, snuggling closer to his side.

This has been in my drafts for 2 months and i finally found the motivation to finish it. Hope guys liked it ♥

[vogteer]

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date(s): july 2020 - february 2021 mentions of: champion members, unity members (samsoo, yul & sunghee mentioned by name but like... blink and you’ll miss it)  word count: +/- 2.3k words (870w lyrics/660 words composition/740 words production) warnings: mentions of anxiety, panic attacks and car accidents details: full lyrics and full composition verification for agree, 3/3 verifications for jaewon’s upcoming album escapism. jaewon doesn’t only know how to write sad boi music, he also writes angry boi music, the only two emotions he’s ever experienced rlly. (a/n: i lost my braincells within the first 100 words and still haven’t retrieved them, read at your own discretion)

the song is born out of frustration, anger blocking up his throat to the point it feels hard to breathe.

it’s the kick-off point of champion’s world tour, a concept that has jaewon disgruntled enough as it is, snatching him away from unity and dropping him in the states like he is supposed to care about this group, like he doesn’t have better things to worry about.

but alas that’s beside his point, as much as he detests the idea behind champion, it’s not his main source of frustration.

traveling out to the states, that part is hell. now jaewon has never been a huge fan of traveling, suffering from a crippling fear of flying ever since predebut that somehow has not gotten any less severe with the sheer amount of flying all over the place unity has been doing. jaewon also absolutely hates airports, they’re too crowded, too hectic and far too stressful to not immediately put him in a godawful mood.

the cameras shoved right into his face both prior to departure and directly after arrival definitely didn't help.

comparatively, champion’s trip to the states this time hadn’t been that bad. jaewon just happens to be in an extra foul mood today but rationally, he has to admit that he’s seen far worse throughout the years.

but maybe that’s exactly the problem, how common these things have become, that getting pushed and pulled at while trying to get on flight was considered to be mild.

jaewon’s frustration isn’t solely aimed at an isolated instance, it’s at the ridiculous standard that’s been set for idols, the things they have to accept like they are normal.

normally he would call soo to complain about whatever was bothering him but with the time difference, jaewon knew his boyfriend was ought to be asleep at this hour and he definitely wasn’t waking him up for something this minor.

he even humors the thought of perhaps finding sunghee or yul to complain to but with most of champion out for the night doing whatever (admittedly, jaewon didn’t listen when they were making plans, he wasn’t gonna tag along anyway) that isn’t really in the cards either. perhaps that’s for the best, jaewon isn’t the biggest fan of actually talking to the younger unity members about what was on his mind.

either way, jaewon is stuck in a hotelroom by himself, no one around to really vent his frustration too so instead, he might just as well write it all down.

and that’s exactly what he does, settling down at the desk in his hotelroom, scribbling on a notepad randomly found laying around.

on the plane the person in the seat next to me that’s not my fan apparently buying info off the airplane company

it’s not entirely relevant to what happened at the airport earlier but jaewon feels angry all over just thinking about it. unity has had it’s fair share of experiences with saesangs, seemingly only increasing the more popular they keep getting. sure, that makes sense but it doesn’t mean it’s okay, contrary to what dimensions seem to believe with how easily the company brushes it off under the pretense of it just being another part of the job.

at the airplane lounge there’s a war between the 200 mm guns privacy, panic disorder, they barter with one another...

in the first place, jaewon’s main concern is unity, it always is. he’s willing to put up with a lot if it means the younger members are left off the hook. but he has to admit, since the panic attacks have started to become more prevalent, it’s a lot harder to take that stance. it’s hard to take care of others when he fails to take care of himself.

jaewon tries not to think about what that means for his position as a leader.

from early morning put on a mask and fight on in short, call it being a puppet...

jaewon knows he’s not an ideal idol, he’s never been and he never will be. maybe in retrospect, he would have done things differently but there is no use in considering those what-ifs now. there is, however, no denying that all of it is just a bigger struggle with him, it will never go as easily as with people who were made to stand in front of the camera’s. why shouldn’t he get to be open and honest about that? he’s not the perfect idol they want him to be, he will never fit that mold.

i know, that’s right that’s right that’s right that’s right that’s right that’s right i know that’s right that’s right that’s right

written out, the chorus feels a bit silly, but jaewon feels justified in his creative choices. not that the song is ever going to be used for anything, it’s just an attest to his frustration. jaewon knows he’s ought to sit down and silently accept whatever is expected of him.

it’s been years since he’s been his own person. these days, he’s dimensions’ property first and that of the general public second, there is no use in fighting that, no space for his voice.

so sure, whatever, he agrees, what else can he do?

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

jaewon forgets about the lyrics he’s written down after that.

in the moment there had been no intention to turn them into a full-fledged song, a haphazard combination of lyrics that in their raw form, probably held very little meaning, too much filler between the few parts that he did properly think through.

so jaewon forgets all about it before he even sets foot back in korea again. unity is busy enough, the release of neo zone lurking around the corner and with multiple schedules of his own, jaewon can’t even think about the song if he wants to.

it only comes drifting back into his consciousness at least a month of two having passed since champion’s american tour dates.

the day in itself isn’t anything special, if there is anything remarkable about it it’s the fact jaewon isn’t working for once. he’s just hanging around his and samsoo’s apartment, scrolling through whatever app on his phone keeps his attention for long enough.

until an article pops up.

it’s a news post about a rookie group he’s never heard of from a company he doesn’t know the name of, it has nothing to do with him, but he finds himself reading through it anyway. apparently, they got into an accident on their way home from schedules as they were being followed by saesangs. no one got injured and truly, it’s not the first time jaewon has read news like this but it does fill him with the same sense of anger as what he had experienced that first day in the states with champion.

because this type of news shouldn’t be common, for how long are people gonna pretend it is?

maybe he should finish that damn song.

wait does he even still have the lyrics?

jaewon vaguely remembers at the very least putting the sheet of paper in his backpack after the concert as he had been packing up to move to the next city of their tour but after that, he can’t say he recalls having seen it lay around.

he’s really ought to get more orderly with his drafts.

luckily for him, jaewon does find the sheet of paper, not in his bag but shoved in between the pages of a notebook and with the draft of his lyrics obtained he makes a beeline for his home studio. normally he’d do this stuff at the company headquarters but truly, that sounds like far too much work in the moment.

obviously, the song is meant to have an angry undertone to it, supposed to convey the same anger and frustration that swallowed jaewon whole as he had written the lyrics.

the deep, resonating boom of low brass sounds for the opening of the song are a no brainer, the sound gives a bombastic, ominous vibe, immediately setting the song off on the right note. it’s supposed to sound grande and honestly a little bit intimidating, a dark feeling creeping around the corners.

of course, the sound is far too theatrical to be underlaying to the entire song so jaewon alternates it with a deep, booming bassline, the brass only reappearing right before the chorus other than in the opening section as if to give off a warning. to fill up the verses and the parts in between, jaewon adds rumbling, deep drums in the background, making them feel less empty.

what really makes the song however is the rapidly-cycling electronic stuttering a rhythmic pattern across almost all parts of the song. it feels a little distracting at first before jaewon decides that really, that’s exactly what he’s going for. the melody feels just a little too fast, uncomfortably so and in a song reflecting so much stress and strain, that only feels fair, reflectives of the way his chest tightens up when he can’t breathe, when his hands tremble and his heart beats so fast it might as well make him sick.

jaewon thinks it conveys his frustrations pretty damn well.

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

it doesn’t seem in the books for the song to ever be released until the process of selecting songs for escapism comes along. while jaewon regains some of his creative freedom, most of it had been under dimensions terms, leaving it up to them to shape the album in a way they prefer over his creative vision.

until somewhere near the end of completing the track list, the head producer asks jaewon if he has any songs laying around that could fit in with the rest of the album.

‘agree’ is the first thing to come to mind.

the head producer seems to like the songs, enough to approve it at least and jaewon can’t help but feel a flare of pride. the producer seems intent on leaving the creative process in his hands, letting him handle the production.

it makes ‘agree’ the first song ever that’s entirely his own that he gets to release, it feels like a milestone to jaewon.

he does get a little list of suggestions, mainly pertaining to the lyrics. the producer leaves a few remarks here and there about where lines could be stronger, what he would do differently but all of it are very loose recommendations, jaewon isn’t actually under an obligation to do anything with them.

in the end, he does anyway, shuffles some lyrics around, dares to be a bit more assertive in his wording, right onto the border of what he would consider too gloat-y for himself. but the producer is right, it gets to pack a punch, it gets to be a little bit self-important. somehow having the external confirmation makes it easier to write those lyrics without feeling like a fraud. it’s still his, his writing, his song.

with the last tweaks done they’re quick to get to recording. they’re still on a time crunch as jaewon’s manager reminds him (jaewon likes the man well enough but dear lord would he never let him forget). it's one of the last songs on the album to be recorded after all and at this point, they are cutting it close.

with everything else he needs done, all jaewon has left to do is fine tune the song, the last tweaks and sounds to be added like missing puzzle pieces now he has the bigger picture pretty much laid out in front of him, polishing and detailing it to elevate the song worth of something to be released on an album.

the instrumental is already pretty hectic, fully intentional of course, but with a proper, clear recording it’s easier to spot the empty gaps, spaces to add the last finishing touches. he adds more brass, less grande and dramatic than the ones in the pre-chorus, curling around the edges of the chorus to round them up neatly and as if to scale down again for the verses, still fast paced but somewhat a breath of fresh air between one chorus and the other.

he delays the part at the opening before the brass and bass kick in, a silence before the storm feels even if the hyperactive stuttering beat is already there, he considers taking that out at first too but the point kind of is that it is more or less omnipresent, it’s always there even when there is nothing else much, like the anxiety that feels permanently stuck to his head.

there is also the addition of an extra melodic line, lingering behind that main, slightly headache inducing electronic synth. it doesn’t really stand out, especially not compared to it’s main competitor but it does remain prevalent in the few parts the main instrumental motif is nowhere to be found, giving it small moments to shine. it serves a clear function, or to jaewon listening ear at least (maybe he’s overanalyzing at this point). the little bounces of the electronic beat all over the place keep up the pace of the song, making sure its explosive nature prevails over the dark dreary undertones of the bassline and brass sections, giving it an overall dynamic feel.

it takes some fiddling, jaewon pulls something close to an all-nighter to finish up the song with the sheer amount of detail he ends up focussing on but by the time he sends it in, he has a good feeling about it at least.

when he presents the final product to the head producer, there are no more suggestions. it’s good, and it’s all his own work.

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Sex Contract - Chapter 18

Genre: friends to lovers au / friends with benefits / mature content / romance / angst

Characters: Shim Changmin x Kaia Ashton (OC)

A/N: Due to the overwhelming request I have followed your encouragement to bring back one of my older stories. This was back in a time where OCs were everything and writing one chapter in each main’s point of view was the trend. I hope that even though I have edited this drastically, that you can appreciate this story comes from my older style of writing. I definitely still read this often and find it enjoyable so I hope you will too.

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 - FINAL

Chapter 18 – Kaia’s POV.

It was irrational and fully based on emotions but Kaia promptly decided she couldn’t stay anymore. She took one look around her and went straight for her luggage bag, hoisting it up onto the bed and started to messily pack her belongings into it. The tears soon came and her stomach was eating at itself with guilt. Kaia knew she couldn’t take it anymore; she couldn’t be here watching Changmin live the way he was, remaining oblivious to how she felt. Kaia knew she could tell him but the reality of that was harsh, it was impossible for Changmin to date her. Kaia’s only option was to get out of this contract and hope one day that their friendship would return.

For now though, she needed to escape. After finishing her packing, she tried to quietly depart the apartment, opting to carry the heavy luggage bag so its wheels didn’t sound across the wooden floors. Kaia made it to the front door, and after slipping her feet into her shoes, she opened it. Once out in the hallway, she briskly made her way out of the building, hoping no one had heard her departure. With a final look up at the complex, Kaia wiped away her tears and started dragging her luggage down the still bustling sidewalk. Her pace dwindled, and she eventually found a bench to sit down on. Kaia didn’t know what her next move was. If she went home now, she would be in trouble for not finishing her report of TVXQ’s trip to Japan. However, her front row journalism would be difficult to achieve considering she had decided to avoid Changmin. Lowering her head, she let out a defeated sigh. The contract had damaged so much and they had both been oblivious to the destruction in its path. All the little comments Yunho had been making clicked in her head, and Kaia wondered why the warning bells hadn’t gone off earlier. He had been able to see the outcome before anyone else.

Pulling out her phone, Kaia was slightly relieved that her departure hadn’t been detected after all. Dialling a familiar number, she listened to it ring a couple of times. The recipient cleared his throat before answering. Taking a shallow breath, Kaia played with the handle on my bag. “Jae, I have to leave Tokyo but I hope we can meet in Korea sometime.”

“Tell me where you are? Are you at the airport?!” He was suddenly alert and Kaia grimaced, wondering if it had of better to just text the Korean. Smiling, she knew that there would have been no way to escape Jaewon easily either way. “Kaia?!”

“I’m sitting on a bench on the sidewalk. But I could meet you at our Starbucks?” she answered after a bit and could hear that he was moving quickly around his room.

“I’ll be there, don’t leave until I am, okay?” The phone call clicked off and Kaia slowly got to her feet, heading to the coffee shop she now knew how to get to without little trouble. By the time she reached it, Kaia was surprised to see Jaewon already sitting inside the coffee shop, his dark eyes relaxing when he caught sight of her. She was slightly taken back by his reaction but smiled never the less. Making her way over to the table, she sat down and scooted her luggage bag as close as she could.

“Sorry for getting you up out of bed, I felt I should let you know that I’m heading back to Korea,” I explained and Jaewon nodded.

“When do you leave?”

“I just booked a flight whilst coming over here, it leaves at five-thirty AM.” Kaia sighed and gave a weak smile. Jaewon eyed her curiously.

“Did something happen with that musician you’re here with?”

She shook her head. “Not much, I just can’t hack this lifestyle. And to be honest I actually miss Seoul.”

“You’re running away.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “And you like the guy you came with, but he obviously hasn’t noticed you like that so you can’t handle living his lifestyle when he won’t live yours a little too.”

Kaia blinked, wondering how Jaewon had picked all that up without her even mentioning it. She let out a little laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as phony as it did to her own ears. Kaia pointed at Jaewon and wagged her index finger at him. “Have you been watching Korean dramas, Jae? This is the real world, I wouldn’t even dream of thinking I could get with Ch-- my friend.”

“Well, I’ll miss ya, its been fun having you tag along with promotions. You will keep in contact right? So many people say they will, but then never do.”

“Jaewon.” Kaia smiled warmly and nodded. “How could I forget my hero? Course I’ll keep in contact.”

“Email me your home address,” he instructed and she looked at him weirdly. He smirked and leaned over the table towards her. “So I can come stalk you.”

“You would,” Kaia replied with a chuckle and he laughed with her. She sighed a moment later. “Thanks for everything though Jae, I-”

He shook his index finger. “Don’t make the mood sad again, or I will worry and press you for all the details.”

“Alright, I promise. After this drink, I should make my way to the airport though.”

“Well, let’s make this drink last,” he said with another laugh and launched into conversation.

By the time Kaia reached the airport, the comfort of Jaewon’s company was slowly wearing off. She kept checking her watch for the time and not because she was worried about her flight. She had worked out that Changmin and Yunho would wake up half an hour before the boarding time and although she had estimated it nearly impossible for either of them to make it to the airport, Kaia was still paranoid that they would try and respond before she left for Korea.

Now, who’s the one thinking of Korean drama scenes? Kaia thought in attempts to calm down. She even let out a little laugh; the idea of Changmin coming after her did seem highly unlikely. But there was a tiny part of her, foolish to even think of it, that wanted him to realise her feelings and to chase after her.  Sighing heavily, Kaia knew that would never happen. Even if he wanted to, he wasn’t just Shim Changmin, but Choikang Changmin, one half of TVXQ. The idea became depressing as the time went by. Blinking back her tears, Kaia tried to focus on something to make the wait speed up. After sending a text to Keith and Sungra about returning home, she attempted to play a game on the device and failed to play it correctly. Eventually frustrated, Kaia shoved the phone in her pocket, folding her arms across her chest.

Looking up at the overhead screen, Kaia noticed the plane was open for boarding and got to her feet, heading for the boarding gate. The hostess bowed at her lightly and she handed over her ticket and passport. Kaia barely listened to what she had to say, her eyes looking around the terminal. It was busy, as expected of any airport, but within the sea of faces, she didn’t see any familiar ones. Kaia almost laughed out loud at her foolishness and took my passport back before heading through the doors. She didn’t stop walking until she was in the lounge, taking a heavy seat on a cushioned bench. Kaia regulated her breathing, trying to wrestle with the scolding her rational mind was giving. Just as she was calming down, Kai heard her phone go off, and she froze for a moment, before scrambling for the device in her pocket.

Unlocking it, she was instantly let down when she saw it was from Jaewon. Kicking herself again, Kaia opened the message and blinked several times. Her frazzled mind re-read the simple sentence several times before she took a really good look at it. 

Jaewon: Kaia, I really like you. I hope we can meet up in Korea soon. Jae x

“What is up with today?” She murmured as realisation hit that Jaewon meant he liked her more than a friend. She couldn’t help but smile, imagining how awkward he would be feeling and fretting over getting a response. She realised at that she liked him too. Although Kaia was so wrapped up in her feelings for Changmin, rational thoughts started to occur. She enjoyed Jaewon’s company and found him attractive. He was available to give her more time of the day than Changmin ever would. And he didn’t want her for just sex. The idea of Jaewon’s confession became more appealing by the minute and she was soon grinning, wondering how she should respond. Kaia hesitated for a moment, knowing that things could get tricky for her if he found out about Changmin.

He’s unattainable. You could be with someone who wants you for more than physical needs. Kaia smiled as the thought firmly stamped out her doubts and texted Jaewon back, telling him she was looking forward to meeting with him again.

She boarded the plane with a new resolve to her needs.

“Where are the tears eh? Here I was expecting a friend who looked like a mess after the text I received telling me to come and pick you up four days ahead of schedule.”

“Thanks for the welcome home Keith,” Kaia mentioned as the man who had stepped forth to hug her pulled away. She gave him a strong look. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Fretting over you being in Japan, of course.”

“Hah.” Kaia glanced around her friend and blinked a couple of times, noticing for the first time that Sungra had accompanied him to pick her up. They shared a look before she lurched forward, Kaia’s arms soon clinging to Sungra’s petite frame. Kaia started to cry, a wave of nostalgia hitting her. She had missed Sungra more than she had realised.

“I’m sorry,” Sungra said as the tears slowed down and Kaia looked at her best friend and shook her head.

“No, that’s my line, I’m sorry I was such a shit friend. I should have told you, I was just-”

“Scared that I’d put you into a difficult position, I know.” Sungra smiled. “You were right not to you know, I probably would have asked you to let me meet them just once.”

“Can we still do that?” Keith asked with a grin and Kaia shoved him playfully. “No I’m serious; I’d love to say I met a God.”

“Shush you, let Kai relax first before we ask her for all the goss.”

Kaia groaned and started rolling her suitcase to the exit. “Do I really have to? It’s bad enough I have to face Minah and tell her that I’m unable to finish my job.”

“Minah already knows you’re back in Korea too.”

Kaia gasped and looked at Keith, clamping her eyes shut and stopping in her tracks. Sungra laughed heartily. “Kaia Ashton, you will forever be the most dramatic person I know.”

“I don’t want to get fired from two jobs!” Kaia wailed and then cringed as she felt both of her friends grab an arm each.

“First, we’re going to get some decent coffee. Secondly, you are going to tell us everything this time. No details are to be left out, understand?” Keith and Sungra were both looking at her sternly and Kaia sighed, nodding her head.

She just wondered how she was going to explain the mess she had left behind.

_________________

Part 19

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[sysullivan]

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

SERENITY IDEA PROMPT; 01

Sullivan has occupied several rooms on the Serenity and most of those for no more than several days. None of the crew dorms or even the passenger dorms were to Sullivan’s liking, no, of course not. When he first arrived, finding his ‘place’ with the existing crew was quite a process but as soon as Sullivan wandered into one of the larger hidden nooks on the Series 3 Firefly, he realized he’d certainly found his ‘place’ on the vessel. 

He approached the Captain abruptly, eyes burning with an intensity that had proven the capacity to spark a gleam of silent rage or spring tears in an instant depending on the man’s response to whatever question was plaguing his mind. Sullivan had no idea their early encounters were just as stressful for the Captain as they were for him. Sullivan was terrified of the powerful man with his powerful boots and had no inkling the Captain was similarly terrified of the shiny, fragile, little trinket that had come into his possession.

“Captain Yang, might I take up inhabitance in the storage room adjacent to the cargo bay?” The depth and gravel of his voice is still a jarring mismatch from his doll-like face and soft lips which press into a pout as he’s waiting for the man to answer. Still, each word is announced so carefully, as if delivering the request with delicacy will somehow relay its necessity to the Captain. After he blinked for what felt like several long moments, Sullivan adds a “please” and receives a vague nod in reply. It’s not much but it’s certainly the answer he’d been hoping for.

His posture straightens as if a weight has visibly been lifted from those narrow shoulders. Borderline tormented intensity dissipates from dark eyes, replaced with a dazzling glimmer of hope, of excitement, of warmth. The corners of plush lips twitch and then, miraculously, lift; pearly white teeth and pink gums revealed.

He smiled.

The room itself is quite unique as it has two entrances. The first is accessible directly from the catwalk in the cargo bay’s upper floor. There are several other doors in that vicinity, all as nondescript as the next. This door is always locked and many don’t realize where it leads. 

If you enter through there you’re met with a small landing which breaks off to the right or straight down into a set of stairs. The narrow space to the side of the entry has an array of hidden storage compartments where Sullivan keeps many of his more sought after supplies tucked away. Doors pop open or drawers pull out when pressed on certain panels but to the untrained eye, it just looks like a small balcony with two sides metallic ship interior and the other a railing similar to outside on the catwalk that overlooks the large depot below.

Metallic stairs and railing lead down into Sullivan’s room itself which is a sizeable rectangular shape. It’s a very dark room due to its location in the ships’ interior and especially due to the extra space that is open and unlit on the upper floor. This also makes the room colder than many other places on the ship.

At the bottom of the stairs, there’s a space of several feet before the far wall which is lined from floor to ceiling with sturdy scaffolding that’s packed with various cargo. All of the assorted boxes and bins are neatly labeled, dated and most importantly, secured from falling and crushing any small inhabitants that might be scuttling about below.

Despite appearing perfectly organized and ‘kosher’ from the outside, Sullivan has spent years devising his own secret coding system in order to hide whatever illegal goods they might be transporting at any given time amongst everyday supplies. It’d be next to impossible for anyone else to look at the mass of boxes and their neatly printed labels and decipher what might or might not actually be inside. The system is completely designed around how Jaewon’s mind works. It wasn’t long after joining the crew that Sullivan realized literally anything that came into his position would be referred to as ‘scratch.’ So through a painstaking process of trial and error, Sullivan’s system revolves around keywords he can give to the Captain as hints that will stir the appropriate memory from the appropriate adventure and lead him to the appropriate box. Usually, it’s easier for everyone if Jaewon just asks Sullivan to get whatever thing it is he’s looking for but on the rare occasion he needs to get it himself, he knows how. Mina and Henry are also well versed with the system.

Turning right to the next wall there’s the other entrance to the room, which opens up across from the infirmary. This is the door Sullivan uses for most entries and exits. The only personal item Sullivan leaves outside of his room is the beautiful silver nameplate that Kamora gave him for his first birthday with her. It hangs just to the left of the door at eye level (his eye level) and he will murder anyone who puts their grubby mitts on it. The door also remains locked but it has been picked and barged into so many times that the mechanism is faulty which makes it rather easy to get into if you’re so inclined. Anyone even minutely skilled in lockpicking could get the door open and certain habitual ‘pests’ know how to put just the right amount of pressure on the handle while turning it so that the lock will pop.

Along the remainder of that wall and just inside the doorway is Sullivan’s desk. The remainder of the room's furniture is directly due to the ingenuity of their head engineer, Henry. The desk is constructed of wood and piping that is fixed against the Serenity’s wall. A large shelving unit to the right is made in the same style and houses the majority of Sullivan’s treasure collection; a variety of found objects and relics from Earth-that-was and any scrap of book/magazine/literature he could get his hands on.

The far wall of the room is partially underneath the ‘balcony’ above, making it the height of a normal wall but appearing recessed as the remaining furniture was built into the space. In the left corner, Henry constructed a closet of sorts that can be walked into but also extended for extra storage capacity. It also hides a very important item of the room; the toilet (and sink). Yes, Sullivan needed extra privacy for going to the bathroom in a room where he is by himself 99.9% of the time.

The last remaining part of the room is adjacent to the storage unit and is also built under the overhang and the stairs; that being Sullivan’s bed. It has a few shelves and drawers built into the wall on the side by the closet. The bed itself is square in shape and built on a platform that also has an enormous drawer underneath it. It is low to the ground and the mattress alone is a foot thick. It’s mounded with thick blankets and pillows and is much too large for Sullivan considering he curls up into a little ball when he sleeps.

In the center of the room, both to cover the unwelcoming metal floor and add a bit of hominess to what was supposed to be a storage room is a series of rugs and carpets. Above them, in the center of the room hangs a basket chair, one of Sullivan’s favorite places to read or nap.

[syxjaewon]

‘spent a season in hell but i only got a tan’

@syxjiyong

he waits for most of the crew to splinter off after they land, the landscape of persephone stretching out around them, the constant hum and white noise of the millions of engines and electricity spread out all around them. they’ll be docked here for two days, one night, enough for repairs and a job collection, enough for the crew to experience whatever grungy nightlife their little hearts desire. this is a core planet, but it’s one of the few jaewon will allow them to land on, to actually board. he doesn’t like getting too close to londinium, knowing the crowded atmosphere would be too well watched for his tastes. the alliance is still heavily felt here, same with all core planets, but at least persephone doesn’t dress up her corruption.

still though, some crew members decide to stay in, and jaewon can’t blame them for that either. he doesn’t think sullivan ever really leaves the ship, and other have personal issues with this world—issues he doesn’t question. if they want him to know, they’ll tell him. until then, he’s fine with just doing his job while they do their, and that’s the end of it.

except that he’s not really planning on doing the job today, not yet anyway. he strides into the cargo bay, black boots heavy, dark coat bulking around his frame. he’d been hoping to just slip out, but of course that’s not the easiest thing with eyes like jiyong’s watching him. of everyone on board, she’s one of the few who would be able to tell just how many weapons he’s packing at the moment, guns and ammo and knives—far more than necessary for a collection. unless he’s expecting trouble. a lot of trouble.

“you staying on board?” he asks his mercenary, not making eye-contact as he punches in the key-codes to open up the airlock door.

[hadesburns]

in which, as the day demands, i kill something inside myself.

the massive white ship sings, howls, blares, and every flashing red light pulses with havoc, with longing, with nails through the veins in jaewon’s skin, the essence of the alliance vessel dragging at him, calling his name even as he flees through its hallways and tunnels, even as he pounds across its pristine, hallowed flooring. the heavy, thundering boots slow him down, legs wading through the artificial gravity like an ant through honey, but he presses on, he storms onward, his teeth clenched, his eyes burning, his fingers still wrapped like iron around the small, bruising wrist of his charge, the petite ward he’s halfway adopted.

every hallway in this cursed, expensive cruiser looks just like all the others, completely devoid of any traces of personality, any scraps of personal touches, anything reverent or holy, and jaewon has to check the convector beacon in the hand not dragging sonmi along behind him, the handheld equipment beeping purposefully at him in warning. it doesn’t rival the blaring redness of the ship’s own code red operations though, the signals going out to all hands on deck for the renegade hunt, alliance officers rising from whatever other tasks they had, to stretch across the ship in search of pirate captain yang jaewon and his crew. they’ll be descending on him and sonmi any second now, he can feel it, the needles beneath his skin poking out from the marrow of his bones, the hairs on the back of his standing, knotting, scratching, the ghosts on his heels clawing at him, threatening to yank his ankles out from under him as he runs.

but he stays stable, he stays immutable, he keeps pace with the throbbing of his own supernova heartbeat, never releasing sonmi’s grasp, never slowing down for corners or tight fits, never wavering from as straight a line as possible between themselves and their destination. he has to make it, he has to push forward, forward, forward, has to get sonmi to safety, has to get them all together again, safe, secure, out, out, out of this god-forsaken place, away from these prying eyes and fingers and hellish intentions. the alliance will rip them all to shreds, section them out like lab experiments, cut them into smaller and smaller pieces until they are nothing of themselves anymore.

jaewon can’t let that happen. he has to give them all their best fighting chance.

he races against time, against the thrumming of military-grade boots, uniformed and in unison, thudding down the stairwell behind them, muffling out the ragged huffs of breath heaving through sonmi’s nose and panting lips, louder than her small missteps, louder than her wide eyes, louder than her still-unfailing trust in him.

they reach the last leg of the journey, the hall yawning before them, reaching towards the exit bay pods at the end of it, where jaewon can imagine himself almost hearing henry’s arguing, harper’s rushing, mina’s frustration. it boils there, at the end of the line, and jaewon throws himself and sonmi towards it, full speed, full abandon, just as officers behind them open fire. the plasma shots ring out towards them and they duck occationally, one beam singeing sonmi’s coat, another flaring against his shoulder-- but jaewon is too much flame and fury to feel it, and sonmi is more blackhole than girl; they’ve chosen the wrong targets.

they reach the room at the end of the way, and jaewon nearly tosses sonmi into nine’s arms, spinning around to gather himself near to sid, who frantically works to close the blast door and trigger the locking mechanism, helping him as best he can. it works, but jaewon shoves a few travel crates in front of it, just for good measure.

“glad you decided to join us, asshole, where the hell have you been?” sid doesn’t look angry, but then again, he isn’t really looking at jaewon directly.

“sonmi saw some flowers, we decided to smell a few.”

the door bangs loudly as the alliance officers reach it and begin shooting at it from the other side, causing sid and jaewon to take a step back, blinking. jaewon turns and is relieved to note that everyone is loading up inside one of the pods; nine gathering as much material as possible that they might need and can hold, jinyi tearing off strips of her clothes to wrap around mina’s bleeding leg. harper’s fingers dig into henry’s clothes as he lays still unconscious in her arms, slowly whitening with each passing second. she and the captain exchange looks. “is he still…?” jaewon has never been one to falter his words, but the last of that sentence, the mere mention of the possibilities of a negative answer, the fact that there is any life teetering on the balance… he swallows thickly.

“still alive, yeah.” her voice is tight, flat, walled and barricaded from all emotion, just in case the avalanche breaks, just in case the floods come and her universe descends once again into a lonely catastrophe of one. she’s always been independent, always a storm in the black, always a legend in wry grins and versatile leathers, but henry is an anchor. for all of them, but especially for her.

jaewon ignores the tick, tick, ticking of the clock, a countdown in his head for just how long men survive wounds to the stomach, how long henry’s had his, how soon he needs to get back to kairos, get back to shiloh, get back to the ship they call home, the life they call theirs. kylynn’s out there somewhere, just out of view of the cruiser, flying the ship in the wings of solar stasis, ready to punch out of orbit, out and away from the alliance who had stolen the boat for a time. she’s waiting for them.

shiloh is waiting for them.

instead, he focuses on another kind of ticking, the kind associated with the bomb nine gingerly retrieves from his pack and sets it down on the far side of the room. jaewon helps him attach wires and cables into a nearby wall socket, the explosive simple enough that jaewon doesn’t feel like a complete idiot setting it up, but impressive enough to know it’ll take out a good chunk of the alliance cruiser ship, after they’ve managed to get far enough away. jaewon nods to his mercenary and nine sets the timer for five minutes.

five minutes, that’s how long they have to just hold off the officers and get bundled up in the escape pod.

the captain rushes over to where sid is programming the coordinates into the pod, his fingers shaking and messy, sweat beading on his forehead as he obviously fights to pay more attention to his task than all of mina’s groans and hisses, her blood staining the floor beneath her, staining the fabric of jinyi’s scraps and skirts as the two women fight to properly tourniquet the wound. “is the pod launch immediate?”

“what?”

“last time i was on one of these, the pod had a countdown of like fifteen seconds-- some kind of safety procedure thing-- do we have to worry about that?”

sid actually pauses, his eyes scanning the dials and electronics before him. “fuck.”

“it’s okay i’ll take care of it. just program everything correctly and--”

the door bursts open just a hair, a few too many inches, just wide enough for the alliance bastard on the opposite side to fire through with minimal accuracy, sending sid into a slew of curses and mutterings. jaewon ducks under a blaze of blaster fire, but aims his own pistol at the hole and unleashes a few bullets, hearing at least one of the men cry out and hit the ground. while they’re semi-distracted, jaewon races back over to the door and shoves hard against it again, relocking it and pushing the crates back into place.

“sid! what’s the fucking situation?!”

jaewon turns to catch sid wiping at his own brow, his eyes panicked and wide, dark brown-on-white plates in the center of his face, his jaw strains, his breathing hitches, and the captain already knows whatever is about to come from his mouth is something terrible, something unfair, something harrowing that already eats away at the hacker’s mind as it races to figure out some alternative.

“sid,” he tries again, lowering his tone but increasing the force of his words. “talk to me. tell me what it is.”

“captain, get inside the pod.”

something in the air around sid pauses and calms, the hurricane in his blood melting to a harmonious stillness, and jaewon knows that silence, knows it like the back of his own eyelids, knows it like the voices calling from the end of his sanity, knows it like he knows the exact tint of the taste of blood, the way it salts and burns and sobers. jaewon recognizes it from years of trudging through mud and guts and filth, years growing from a brown-eyed boy to a golden-eyed monster, knows it from the millions dead between his fingers; the way oblivion descends on a person, perches on their chest and shoulders like a great bird of prey, rests on them as a shroud.

“no.”

“captain--”

“tell me what it is first.”

sid finally looks up at him from the control panel, finally braces himself for the steel in jaewon’s gaze, both hardening themselves into what they need to be, what their positions demand of them. sid was a soldier once, jaewon remembers-- it’s so easy to forget, so, so easy because sidereus still smiles sometimes, still laughs with his whole face sometimes, still learns to love and fear death, still learns to extend beyond his trauma in ways neither jaewon nor mina can go anymore. jaewon shoots a glance at mina now, who is struggling to stand, gritting her teeth and hobbling towards them.

jaewon steps away from the door hesitantly, his gun still trained on it as he comes around closer to where sid stands, only stopping just a few steps beyond the barrier of the pod, so the rest of the crew can hear them. so mina doesn’t step beyond the barrier. he already knows what this is, but he doesn’t want anyone coming out from the pod in protest.

sid takes the bait but only just a little, taking only a step away from the controls panel beside the pod door-frame, just enough to explain in short, terse expels of words. “the door only closes from the outside. it’s got to be locked in. this pod wasn’t meant for human people. i don’t know. i can’t override it. so.”

a beat passes between them while somni and jinyi inhale terrified gasps, harper and nine frown harder, exchanging looks, and mina grits her teeth harder. “you’re not staying.” her voice is clipped and furious even at the implication of it.

“mina, somebody has to close the doors and keep these assholes at bay.”

“fuck no,” is her immediate response. jaewon’s mind flashes back to two nights ago, stepping into the hallways and catching the way she’d kissed sidereus, the desperation in her body, the ache, the pain--

the door bangs again, with something harder this time. they must have gone to get something heavier than their bodies to break against the door, judging from the indentations bursting from it.

sid ignores them, ignores mina, focuses on jaewon, and when their eyes meet, jaewon knows they are no longer a pirate captain and a space hacker-- once upon a time, they’d been brothers in arms, once upon a time, sidereus had been a soldier, and jaewon had been a sergeant. “jaewon. we don’t have time.” his eyes glance over to the still-ticking bomb. “get on the goddamn pod.”

“yang,” harper’s strain reaches into jaewon’s veins, and through it, he hears henry’s labored breathing, the small gurgle at the base of his throat. they don’t have time for this.

“hell fucking no, you’re not about to--” mina starts forward but nine grabs her, keeps her planted and while she would be enough of a match for him on a good day, her injury and the off-kilterness of the situation has her equilibrium in shreds. “nine, no! fuck off! sid! sidereus, i swear to god!”

but sid only looks at jaewon, that infuriating grin tugging on the corner of his lip, the one jaewon has always hated, the one he’d punched him for not a month ago. “i’m not part of your crew. remember?”

the captain inhales deeply, jaw tightened, fists locking, everything in him razoring to this point, to this moment. there’s just… no fucking way. “you’re right, you’re not my crew.” he puts a hand on sid’s shoulder, as though he’s about to commend him, before smashing the butt-end of his gun across his face, kneeing him in the stomach, and then kicking his ass into the pod when he’s doubled over. sidereus crashes into both mina and nine, a small scream breaking from jinyi’s lips. “so don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

he steps back to slam a palm down on the pod’s closing mechanism, the crystal doors shutting air-tight, before shooting the console three times as well, to make sure it’s as irreversible as possible. sparks fly out and jolt towards him and he turns away from it, lifting an arm as the thing catches a small fire, and a countdown begins. fifteen seconds. two bullets left.

jaewon takes a moment to block out the others, their shocked cries and angry exclamations, to just think about his bird, think about her halls and echoes, think about the way she glides and shakes, curves and hurts and tumbles, think about the scars in her hull, the pieces he still has yet to replace, all the things left undone, all the places left unvisited. he’s always felt the ship a part of himself, always felt as though she is the missing half of his soul he hadn’t even realized he’d been born without before meeting her. there is one thing in this verse that jaewon loves wholeheartedly, and it is that ship. he aches with it, he burns with it, he haunts his own history for it.

a millisecond he closes his eyes and remembers the way it had felt to cling to a rooftop on valluria, dust and smoke and sand flying everywhere, and watch as the great hulking form of shiloh burst over the edge into his vision, the way one minute, everything in his life had been all bones and rugged skin, all flayed backs and bleeding sores, and degradation, and humans-- and the next minute, it had been just about her, just about this collective machine of gears and engines and a soul so large he couldn’t hardly breathe looking into it. he’d never been so impressed, he’s never fallen so hard for anything else. she’d brought him the whole sky and all the stars, and he’d spent sixteen years reaching for as many of them as he could.

but she is more than just his home now, she is more than just his soul. she houses more than just him and all his ego, all his inferno and chaos, she opens her wingspan and brings in other orphans as well, a siren song across the black, to attract other wayward, desolate rebels as well. turncoats and traitors, homeless and dangerous. a makeshift family. and they need to return to her, and she needs them to return.

his eyes shift quickly. the bomb. a minute and a half. they’ll get to shiloh’s hull in time, they’ll get out of the blast zone and the alliance won’t follow them, too injured, at least temporarily, to give proper chase. a head start. he has to give them their best fighting chance. isn’t that what leaders do?

he comes back to himself to the sound of mina cursing loudly at him and jinyi crying, pounding against the glass with bloody fists. sid is on the floor and holding his bleeding head but he’s alive at least, and harper is crawling out from under henry to glare at him like the selfish bastard she no doubt thinks he is, and nine is silent but tall as always. sonmi stands like an island, the way she always does, the way she always will.

“you fucking fuckhead, what the hell are you doing?! you really are the stupidest goddamn motherfucker, yang jaewon, i am going to kill--”

“jaewon please! please don’t do this please, please open up, by the gods, please please…!”

“jae no! you’re the captain! i’m not even part of your crew, you don’t need me, i’m--”

“yang, why do you always gotta do shit on your own like this?”

“oppa…?”

he just looks at them for a few seconds-- four, to be precise. and preciseness is important right about now, he supposes, but when he lifts a hand and puts it on the glass, over where jinyi’s fists connect to the wall separating them, everyone falls silent, except for jinyi who cries harder. he hopes somehow the words they never said to each other, the words they can never say to each other now, can be embedded in this movement, imbued inside this one singularity, this hiccupped space of two seconds.

mina can run the ship, she’s always been better than him at everything, always perfectly capable of handling people and missions just fine on her own. she’s more like vera than he ever was. sonmi is still scared and small inside herself but she’s more healed now than ever and the others, kylynn and jinyi especially, have pieced her jigsaw puzzle heart back together, and will continue to do so. henry will be angry with him when he wakes up of course, but… he has kairos and harper, safe, together, mending. nine knows death as intimately as jaewon does, he’ll look after them all. jinyi… beautiful, shining jinyi, full of the stars she so fears, full of the life she so yearns for, she’s found her family. in all this, he regrets her the most, regrets not kissing her longer, not giving her more of himself, not telling her anything he’d ever wished to have the courage to say. sidereus will get over it. kairos, damn him, will probably say a prayer for his soul.

and shiloh will burn on without him.

he steps away and bows, low and deferential to them all, and when he straightens up again, he is nothing of the burning sun they’ve all come to know him as, he is nothing of the maelstrom firestorm that’s been branded across his skin, his eyes, his soul, since the day he’d woken up beside a dumpster on valluria, he is nothing of his tyrannical heritage, the wars and evil bled into him from his heart to his fingertips.

his eyes are gold, but not blazing. just warm. a boy finally of light, instead of only heat. a boy finally of treasure, instead of constantly searching for it. a boy finally as calm and settled as summer sand dunes, for once not barren or dry, just… composed.

somewhere, another orphan on valluria is looking up through the light of kalidasa’s fury and seeing the stars. and wishing. and hoping. and reaching. and things will continue on without him.

“it’s been my greatest honor… to fly with you all.” his baritone is calm. finally a star, instead of a sun. “take care of my boat.”

the pod launches off, quick as a heartbeat. one blink they’re all there gnashing their teeth at them ( beautiful and tattered and half-crazed, just the way he’s always loved them ), and then the next there’s nothing but empty space.

and he blinks out at it, the void, and realizes it’s not void at all. it’s not dark, it’s not cold. he’s spent most of his life needing the sky more than air, more than life, but he’s always found space to be freezing, so unlike the vallurian weather he’s always been more accustomed to. for as much love as he’s held for it, he’s always found space a frigid bitch of a mistress, all wintery and empty, yearning and hollowing, like the ghosts on his heels, the frayed edges of death constantly on his back, in his dreams.

but just now, this moment, the sky is so full of stars he can barely breathe. the verse opens up in front of him and shines, shimmers, yawns into a tapestry of diamond light, and he’s aware dimly of the door banging open again behind him, wide enough now that men are pushing through, aware dimly that they’ve come in, yanked the gun from his limp fingers, forced him down to his knees, shouting and braying commands at him. he’s aware of their guns locked and loaded against his head, the cold metal melting against the heat of his body, the men sneering threats at him that he doesn’t fear, hasn’t feared for years and years and years, but he can’t hear them, he can’t even hear his ghosts anymore. the silence swallows him whole and he understands just how bone-weary he is, how tired, how ready. how ready he is. for this.

he doesn’t look away from the large window, he doesn’t tear his golden, mechanical eyes from the vision of the universe spreading out before him. the second most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, after shiloh.

heaven. or hell.

somewhere behind him, a spark on the bomb catches and alights, grows and bursts out. somewhere before him, a star flashes and a supernova explodes. if he squints, he’s pretty sure he can see shiloh flaring to life, the lights of her hull flipping on as she turns around and burns out into the black.

[06mp]

catharsis;

she was all quiet danger and muted ire. the lengthy negotiation that afternoon left her feeling weary, for she had slipped into her anger and menace like it was a well worn silk dress. nurture breeds violence, she thought, and it initially left her feeling vile, like the grimy corner of a cheap motel. but now... now violence felt like a spark ready to be ignited at any second, like wax coating her skin (don’t let her fall like icarus). 

it was past midnight, and she was still at the clearview dealing with last minute matters. minseo made a life for herself in this pack of wolves. the question remained: was she a wolf in sheep skin, or vice versa? nevertheless she thrived in these busy days, for the quiet left her too much time to ponder.

she entered one of the rooms in the basement, and approached the table where a group of boys played a heated game of cards. she cuffed one over the head, “yah, did your brain fall out of your head? next time answer the phone. i need you at the warehouse.” he instantly placed down his cards, and murmured i didn’t mean to-- but minseo cut him off. “intent is trivial,” she told him, though not unkindly, handing him the keys to a truck. “don’t be late.” 

she flashed the other boys a smile and was up in the elevator in no time. the floor numbers blinked before her eyes, rising and rising. she couldn’t wait to get home and just sleep. the steel doors parted - her reflection split into two - and then she saw him. 

his name sat on her tongue - dark and hunched like december nights. jaewon. she stepped out and walked towards him. it would never get easier seeing him like this; it wasn’t easy to see anyone like this. but she knew no matter what had happened he had made the impossible possible. “rough night?” 

[vertigokrp-blog1]

SUBMITTED FOR YOUR APPROVAL:

The case of one Yoo Jaewon, youth lost in the depths of countryside quaintness and simple delights. A 22-year-old spending days in the small suburbs of Muhan as a projectionist at the local movie theater, an upstanding citizen like many others in town. An unremarkable little story that takes odd turns when you take a second look. Because, in Muhan, nothing as it seems. In Muhan, you must trust no one.

        Yoo Jaewon is one with the vertigo.

CONTENT WARNING.

Mentions of violence and drugs.

THE STORY.

The tragedy begins as the tale of a bastard born to an average woman from Busan, his father of rising wealth, an established businessman. It is a romance held in secret behind the back of his estranged wife. From this love is the child conceived. Jaewon is the name he is given. His light eyes resemble the stars in his mother’s and his wide smile mimics his father’s. His birth brings joy, but the euphoria is short lived. His father’s scorned wife ensured no happy endings. The existence of the child engulfed her in hatred. Her mouth spills lies that deceive those with power to rip the toddler from undeserving arms. Old clothes hang from his thin frame, clear marks of neglect, she claims. Balled fists, tiny and weak, resist the grasp of his capture. He cries for his mother to no avail, for she is no longer there to hear. She will never see her child again. He finds himself swept away to another city, forced to drown among a sea of unfamiliar faces. The decrepit old building looms over a dead street, its aging foundation festering with an infection of ivy and mold. The interior is packed to the brim with toddlers and glassy eyed adolescents. Their faces are sullen; aged seven and already wise to the unyielding hand of reality. “This is your new home,” the woman snarls, wrought with misplaced contempt. “And you would do well to be on your best behavior or I will take you away from this place as well. Mark my words, boy, if fate were on my side I would have you in a far worse place.” She speaks with purpose, cognizant of the child's capacity to understand despite his young age. She is a wicked being indeed, and her face twists with agony as Jaewon pulls on her greying hair in a blinded rage. Thus he is forced in amalgamation with parents not his own; and he is well aware of who they are not. He bounces from home to home, leaving a trail of hellfire in his wake, a cautionary tale for whomever came next. He’s a boy made of recklessness and untamed fury with a raging fire in his belly. The boy matures into the charms of his prepossessing appearance. Arrogance grows with him. He is aware of the power of his own fists, knuckles colored with healing shades of purple and crimson. Disputes can be caused with a quarrel. Hunger’s claws are satiated with theft. Desperate fingers clutch the expensive leather of a lady’s purse as he tears it from her shoulder. The decision is bold and foolish, as the authorities are hot on his trail and his crimes uncovered. “Have mercy on him!” Begs his aged guardian. For the teen is ascertained as a thief not yet punished for his previous wrongdoings. "He is just a troubled young man.“ But the pleading falls on deaf ears and he is swiftly labeled a criminal, submerged in another tide of faces he did not know; faces like his own. The inner walls of the detention are cold and stark, blistering from the corruption of those it houses. These faces are dark; aged sixteen and hardened by society. The other boys are tough and mean, and caged warriors often clash within the confides of their cells. Balled fists, heavy and determined, resist the grasp of callused palms around his wrists. The pain is an excruciating one. Their heels dig into the crevasses of his ribcage. Their knuckles scrape against the roughness of his teeth. He screams for repentance are to no avail, for their laughter at his anguish roars too loudly. The boy, now a man, is contrite in his wrong doings - if only slightly. Atonement is to come soon, he knows, but not at the moment. He is handed a second chance at life, unaware of the whisper of influence the father he had yet meet has. This is how he catches wind of his mother’s location. Trembling fingers shove what little belongings he has into a suitcase and he makes his way to the small town just half an hour from the city a loving family who raised him as their own brought him. Muhan is far from the bustling cities he grew familiar with, but in less than a years time he finds himself adjusting to the strange atmosphere. Though he is aware not everything is as it seems.

THE TWIST.

The tragedy begins as the tale of a bastard born to an average woman from Busan, his father of rising wealth, an established businessman. It is a romance held in secret behind the back of his estranged wife. From this love is the child conceived. Jaewon is the name he is given. His light eyes resemble the stars in his mother’s and his wide smile mimics his father’s. His birth brings joy, but the euphoria is short lived. His father’s scorned wife ensured no happy endings. The existence of the child engulfed her in hatred. Her mouth spills lies that deceive those with power to rip the toddler from undeserving arms. Old clothes hang from his thin frame, clear marks of neglect, she claims. Balled fists, tiny and weak, resist the grasp of his capture. He cries for his mother to no avail, for she is no longer there to hear. She will never see her child again. He finds himself swept away to another city, forced to drown among a sea of unfamiliar faces. The decrepit old building looms over a dead street, its aging foundation festering with an infection of ivy and mold. The interior is packed to the brim with toddlers and glassy eyed adolescents. Their faces are sullen; aged seven and already wise to the unyielding hand of reality. “This is your new home,” the woman snarls, wrought with misplaced contempt. “And you would do well to be on your best behavior or I will take you away from this place as well. Mark my words, boy, if fate were on my side I would have you in a far worse place.” She speaks with purpose, cognizant of the child's capacity to understand despite his young age. She is a wicked being indeed, and her face twists with agony as Jaewon pulls on her greying hair in a blinded rage. Thus he is forced in amalgamation with parents not his own; and he is well aware of who they are not. He bounces from home to home, leaving a trail of hellfire in his wake, a cautionary tale for whomever came next. He’s a boy made of recklessness and untamed fury with a raging fire in his belly. The boy matures into the charms of his prepossessing appearance. Arrogance grows with him. He is aware of the power of his own fists, knuckles colored with healing shades of purple and crimson. Disputes can be caused with a quarrel. Hunger’s claws are satiated with theft. Desperate fingers clutch the expensive leather of a lady’s purse as he tears it from her shoulder. The decision is bold and foolish, as the authorities are hot on his trail and his crimes uncovered. “Have mercy on him!” Begs his aged guardian. For the teen is ascertained as a thief not yet punished for his previous wrongdoings. "He is just a troubled young man.“ But the pleading falls on deaf ears and he is swiftly labeled a criminal, submerged in another tide of faces he did not know; faces like his own. The inner walls of the detention are cold and stark, blistering from the corruption of those it houses. These faces are dark; aged sixteen and hardened by society. The other boys are tough and mean, and caged warriors often clash within the confides of their cells. Balled fists, heavy and determined, resist the grasp of callused palms around his wrists. The pain is an excruciating one. Their heels dig into the crevasses of his ribcage. Their knuckles scrape against the roughness of his teeth. He screams for repentance are to no avail, for their laughter at his anguish roars too loudly. The boy, now a man, is contrite in his wrong doings - if only slightly. Atonement is to come soon, he knows, but not at the moment. He is handed a second chance at life, unaware of the whisper of influence the father he had yet meet has. This is how he catches wind of his mother’s location. Trembling fingers shove what little belongings he has into a suitcase and he makes his way to the small town just half an hour from the city a loving family who raised him as their own brought him. Muhan is far from the bustling cities he grew familiar with, but in less than a years time he finds himself adjusting to the strange atmosphere. Though he is aware not everything is as it seems.

[syxjaewon]

‘forming prayers to broken stone’

@syxhoon

jaewon hunches the pack up on his shoulder aggressively, anger burning in his veins like a dull drum, mostly just lazy frustration. he’s not going to rush anything or jump to any furious inclinations after ephraim just fucking left him in the kitchen by himself after his orders had been as clear as a summer day on lindinium—fucking stay with someone. stay in a group. don’t go off on your own; and what does ephraim do, the first sign of problems? abandon ship, even with jaewon yelling after him to stop. great, just fucking perfect. at least now jaewon knows who not to trust on missions like this.

then again, ephraim is only the chef, it’s not like this is his area of expertise, and jaewon had only wanted him on board the derelict to help him pick out good foods versus bad foods in the kitchen; he doesn’t intend on bringing ephraim out on any other sort of their usual expeditions, so he shouldn’t judge him too harshly. especially since jaewon knows what shellshock looks like. perhaps it’s just that it had come from a corner he hadn’t been expecting.

and it’s not like jaewon is scared of walking back to serenity on his own. the drifting ship is creepy, sure, and he’s not super keep on the way it’s cold atmosphere screams of ghosts and mysteries, but as soon as ephraim bolted out that door, jaewon’s blood began boiling hot enough that it wouldn’t matter if he really does see a ghost—he’ll probably try to shoot it. fuck this ghost story; his vexation is warming him up and putting his soul back into himself, reminding him that the scariest thing on this mess of a boat is him when he’s enraged.

he’s passing a large side-view window, the sight of serenity connected to the ramshackle seeming larger than life, when he spots something pale and gleaming along the side of the dead ship. he stops and squints, even his enhanced eye-sight having a hard time picking up the details. it looks bumpy and strange, almost white as though the ship is bloating with pus. he clicks on his communicator, directing it to the bridge. “hey jihoon? are you at your chair in the cockpit?” he steps up closer to the glass, still squinting. “i’m at a window facing the right side of the bow of serenity, can you turn the lights on and shine them over here? there’s something on the side of this boat, i can’t make out, it’s too dark.”