#k.ys

[wooyoungisbaby]

[hereisleo]

[you’re now listening to]: “tom’s diner” by dna // by annenmaykantereit & giant rooks

w/ k.ys + reader | g/ sfw, fluff, comfort | w.c/ 462 | t.w/ mention of gun

The diner is practically empty in the middle of the night. Only a few trucks parked on the neon-lit graveled lot, the sign noticeably flickering and buzzing if one stands under it or in silence. The drivers are scattered here and there, sometimes clumping together to discuss their work, route, games or family. A long tedious job, lonely even.

You pour coffee into their empty white mugs. There are many things you hear, many you feel too. Maybe your job is just as lonesome as theirs, working at a diner in the middle of nowhere. Beside the road, there are only the electrical towers and the flat open red desert. There are hardy aloes, big cacti and tumbleweeds. The view of the moon is something else at night while the day is sweltering under the relentless sun.

It’s rather peaceful in a sense. The lone TV providing white noise as you work and the petrol station a few miles down does help with the business. Sometimes there are unsavoury patrons but nothing like silence and a shotgun to the face that couldn’t fix. You have to thank the owner for that.

There’s a distant sound of motorcycle rumbling mixed with the coffee brewing machine in front of you. The bright headlight flashes through from the windows, momentarily illuminating the diner. You smile as you watch the biker dismount from his beloved darling. You could hear the crunching of gravel inside your head and in reality the bell chimes prettily along with the bass of combat boots on the black and white tiles.

“Yeosang, it’s always nice to see you.”

With a helmet through his arm and a fitted leather jacket around his shoulders, Yeosang greets you with much friendliness. His dark tresses that seemed to be slicked back are now slightly messy.

Yeosang is a mystery. He appears out of nowhere one day with his bike, always spotless as if he hasn’t ridden through the vast dusty desert. He has a sweet tooth which you think is rather endearing, a contrast to his tough appearance. Though Yeosang has an incredibly gorgeous face, sculpted by Aphrodite herself. You told him once and he blushed while giggling and thanking you.

The French toast you serve him comes with a vanilla milkshake. You are always impressed he could eat such a sweet breakfast for dinner then again, time is obsolete in this place. People come and leave when the time is right. You know one day, he wouldn’t be coming on this road anymore. For now, Yeosang will be here and he looks at you with those beautiful eyes, marked with an angel’s kiss on one of the corners, oh so fond and a tad bashful in his confidence.

“I’ll give you a ride home.”

[hereisleo]

NEON JUNCTION

w/ k.ys & j.wy

g/ cyberpunk!au, friendship, mild angst

w.c/ 3.8k

a.n/ @moonchildsaurora, here it is finally. from your birthday through christmas, new years and now our one year of friendshipvery, this is long overdue and thank you so much for you patience. ah, time flown hasn’t it. i will forever be grateful of your friendship and reaching out to me first, my lovely 🌹 anon. the incredible talent you have in creativity, you have me absolutely smitten over world building (multiples now) in our convos. you’re such a vibrant person, Sunray, and i adore you dearly from the bottom of my heart. seeing your messages first thing in the morning and at the end of the night is a good way to start and end the day. cheers to more years to come and who knows our dynamics might shift akin to woosang. i love you to pluto and back! here’s to friendship and to our first pieces of the year! (excuse the mistakes you find here pretend they don’t exists).

t.w/ expletives, character death (not the mains)

playlists/ cyberworld | k.ys skates & drones

An illegal virtual world. A damaged psyche.

How far is Yeosang willing to go to find the answers to his questions? Will he put his friendship on the line? Just as how his life is beginning to near its end. The DarkNet is not a place for weaklings and its the only place where he perhaps will get his answers.

A treacherous journey is afoot.

Yeosang knows the DarkNet better than he knows his world, the real world where his body is still on the chair in the attic of his friend’s humble abode. In the net, it’s only his mind and light particles forming his appearance. Dangerous but thrilling. He has come to love the rushing adrenaline, an outlet for him to rid of his pent up frustration. Is he properly armed? Is his supply stocked well? In the old world, this is all a video game played on television. In the current world, the world he lives in, the post-apocalyptic environment, this is his reality. The DarkNet, everything illegal happens here. Credit, fame, information, it doesn’t matter what or who you are in the real world but the DarkNet requires you to build a name for yourself. It has taken so much from him. He’s sore, tired, most definitely overworked although the last is self-imposed for many reasons. He can’t rest until he has answers and the credits needed.

A virus slams his wall of codes, dragging him into a fight, vision blurring slightly from the impact and red lights of warning. His monitor reads a huge output of energy from the wild AI that strikes him. The resounding sound of ‘FIGHT’ reverberates in his ears and his light particle fingers flew across the screen, mind racing and the heartbeat bar on the top right corner shines yellow in warning with how fast his heart is hammering in this ribcage. Not being able to code is akin to a death sentence in his line of work. Talons slam on to his screen, vicious orange lines of codes burning into his memory, a phoenix avatar. He hasn’t seen one in so long after- No, now is not the time, Yeosang. A little character waving a sign appears, the nervous bouncing and worried expression have him refocusing. ‘STAY ALIVE.’ He will and with it comes forth his avatar, roaring at the wild phoenix AI. A sophisticated dragon in black codes emerges, wrestling the phoenix on to the virtual dirt ground. If there’s one thing Yeosang has that is his own, it’ll be willpower. His friend calls it being stubborn but he’ll take stubborn too.

The virtual cheering falls deaf to his ears, the colosseum is a mere replica of past time, almost real, he could almost touch it. Almost. Alas, what’s long gone can never be rebuilt the same way. Yeosang simply doesn’t have the clearance or importance to enter the colosseum in the real world. No, those are for the governmental scums. The reason why he resorts to the DarkNet. Another swipe recalibrates his mind that he’s still in the middle of a deathmatch. He hates phoenix, they’re hard to kill. His neon green French nails dance under the black light of his screen, the pads of his fingers typing codes after codes. ‘TERMINATE’ and his dragon glows from within, orange light peeking between the scales, rumbling with brewing fire. The dragon pins the phoenix to the ground by its neck, the angry screeching of the bird makes Yeosang ground his teeth. Too close to home, the similarity of the screams of survival from that night comes crashing to the forefront of his mind. “End it, Mars!” He yells and his dragon obeys, jaws unhinging and relentless waterfall of flames burn the phoenix to its ashes. ‘VICTORY’ flashes on his screen. He doesn’t stick around for long, his vitals are yellow, caution. It’s time to log out, he taps the green box of ‘EXIT’ on the corner. The tugging sensation of his mind being dragged back into reality has him closing his eyes to diminish the dull ache. Yeosang doesn’t see the ashes trembling as his light apparition disappears from the illegal virtual world.

Disengaging from the DarkNet is proving to be difficult for Yeosang, his consciousness ebbs and flows, brainwaves tangled up in what’s real and what’s not. Wooyoung stands stiffly next to the Meta, feeling sick in his stomach, chest constricting with worry. He’s not averse to the virtual world but it doesn’t mean he likes it the same. He watches the Meta shut down, Yeosang’s vitals and brain activity updated on the glass screen mounted on the wall. The little character Yeosang crafted into the AI system jumps up and down with happy chirps, ‘STABLE.’ Hehetmon, it’s called, a moniker after the old TV show from the gone world. He and Yeosang would binge-watch together occasionally when he’s not swamped from juggling two jobs. Three. Watching over Yeosang is a job in itself. A job he’s willing to sacrifice everything else for.

A groan has Wooyoung almost throwing himself to his friend but he digs his heels and instead he kneels beside the blasted chair and hands reaching to disconnect all the wires attached to Yeosang’s body. He doesn’t know all the names of the cables but he does know the two most important, the EKG and the digital implant. Hehetmon on the screen highlights the different wires that need to be detached first. The cables slither itself back to its ports within the chair. He gingerly touches the base of Yeosang’s neck, the wire attached to the neural digital implant gives into his fingers without a fight. He thinks it’s muscle memory, he does this often enough Hehetmon keeps a record on how fast he could bring Yeosang out of the Meta. (Less than a minute when push comes to shove but usually under two.) They have come so far.

14-year-old Wooyoung was putting his younger brother to sleep, a worn-out storybook clutched between his hand as his brother rested against his chest, the strong thumping of his heart and his voice lulling the younger. He could have used the tablet, everything was in it but they only had one and he didn’t want to take it from his parents. They needed it more and they couldn’t afford another one, they couldn’t afford many things. His parents splurged on a book when they first had him, a treasure for their little treasure. He had read the compiled fairytales from cover to cover, the make-believe of the olden freedom, a taste he can only experience between the pages and in his mind when the house was still. A dream far from reality.

The door creaked open and Wooyoung stiffened. It was the newcomer. “How’s Kyungmin?” Timid. The new addition- Yeosang, his parents scolded him for being impolite by not referring to the other boy by his name. Exhausted, malnourished and was most definitely ill. His parents were apprehensive about Yeosang's sudden appearance but took him in regardless. Wooyoung was reluctant to have a new addition in the place. As if they need another mouth to feed. They were struggling to meet ends. He glanced at the barely one-year-old sleeping on his chest, the high temperature took a toll on the small body. “The fever broke.” He left it at that and Yeosang was understanding enough to let the matter rest. He put the book aside and cradled Kyungmin securely before standing up. Yeosang was shifting from foot to foot by the door, Wooyoung sighed exasperatedly, he was tired enough, “Just lie down somewhere already.” The blonde let out an awkward thanks and shuffled to the bottom bunk bed on the other side of the room. Wooyoung didn’t have the energy to tell him the bed Yeosang occupied was his. He left the room and laid Kyungmin back in his crib in his parents' room.

“What are you doing?” Wooyoung didn’t expect Yeosang to flinch at the question nor did he expect to find the other boy to be curled up on the floor and reading the fairy tales book. Yeosang stood up, the book slipping from his hands and both of them winced when it hit the ground. He picked it up hastily and hung his head, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” Wooyoung waved him off, “It’s fine.” Thick silence blanketed the room and neither moved to ease it. Yeosang opened his mouth before closing it again. He managed to string out a sentence after a while, “There were never any books back there.” Back there? Did he mean home? “Do your parents never read you to sleep?” Wooyoung almost apologised, Yeosang flinched at the mention of parents. The blonde shook his head and Wooyoung felt his stomach twist. “Mum used to sing me to sleep.” His chest tightened.

“How did you end up out here, Yeosang?” Wooyoung thought he was a bastard for not calling Yeosang by his name sooner. He never witnessed someone look so surprised by hearing their name. He walked up to his bed and sat down, patting the space next to him. Yeosang hesitated before giving in and sat next to him, posture tense and ready to bolt. “I ran away.”

Yeosang rouses from his ‘sleep’, the warm dark yellow light welcoming him into reality and so does the familiar voice next to him. Wooyoung is reading to him and he recognises the old story immediately. The Ugly Duckling. “It’s getting worse lately.” The pages flutter and Wooyoung keeps reading line after line in soft tandem. The book closes inaudibly. “You slept through dinner.” Yeosang steps into the Meta in the afternoon and for him to wake up at night, it’s getting worse indeed. He’s grateful that he hasn’t started hallucinating though he knows it wouldn’t be far if he keeps going at the pace he’s been putting his psyche through.

“Woo-”

“I know.”

“Wooyoung, I-”

“I know, Yeosang!”

“I know you can’t stop going into the Meta. I know I can’t stop you from fighting in the DarkNet. I know you need answers. But would you please take care of yourself for once!” Wooyoung runs an aggravated hand through his hair, he slumps forward in his seat, elbows digging to his knees and face hidden in his palms. Yeosang falls silent, letting his best friend, who is as close as a brother, gather his bearing. He stands up and his legs give out under him, muscles convulsing, sending him tumbling back to the Meta chair. He feels like puking yet his throat is also closing up, his head spinning and there is ringing in his ears, Wooyoung’s voice sounds so distant even though he is being held against the ravenette. He could make out flashing blue lights through his blurry vision, the health scanner kept handy beeps but he could barely hear it.

It could have been a minute or ten or an hour before Yeosang takes a hold of reality. His heart slams furiously within his ribcage and he’s once again reminded of the sped-up mortality rate of a DarkNet gladiator. The effects the Meta has on a person is damaging and he started to show the symptoms of what they called the bleeding effect. He currently renders more physical than mental and it won’t be long until the latter catches up. For how long he’s been exposed to the Meta, it’ll be sooner than he expects.

He blindly searches for Wooyoung’s hand, grasping it in a vice-like grip. He’s not the only one who’s scared. Yeosang doesn’t want to lose his sanity. He’s exhausted enough but there’s no rest for the wicked. He can’t rest, he can’t sleep with both eyes closed knowing there are answers for him out there and he needs to find it. He’s quite willing to put his psyche on the line even if it means him being thrown into the loony bin. Wooyoung loops his arms around Yeosang, tight enough for the blonde to feel how fast Wooyoung’s heart is racing. There’s a hole of emptiness in his stomach. “Can you stay with me tonight?” His voice is too raspy for either’s liking. There’s not a peep of sound coming from Wooyoung. Action speaks louder than words, especially when it’s Wooyoung. Wooyoung has a lot of words to use and yet he chooses not to, Yeosang knows better than to question it. He trusts the other with his life, his psyche and all that he is. There’s nothing that would err Yeosang to turn his back against Wooyoung. He owes Wooyoung way too much. All the credits in his account couldn’t repay what the other has done for him. It’s never enough and never will be. The seven years that they have known each other and the experiences they go through, Yeosang thinks he could never not trust Wooyoung. His life in reality and the Meta is in Wooyoung’s hands. Others would say their relationship isn’t healthy, that they are too dependent on one another and maybe that’s true. He knows he can’t function in the real world without the other.

“Promise me one thing, Yeosang. Don’t go into the Meta without me.”

Yeosang nuzzles his head into the space between Wooyoung’s shoulder and neck, his hands bunching the fabric of his friend’s shirt. The emptiness settles deeper. It’s not an answer because he knows he can’t keep such a promise. Wooyoung knows it too.

The DarkNet has shifted again. No two places look the same after each login. It changes constantly to avoid detection from the government’s pesky security. The lines of codes forming his apparition in the Net walk on the edge of a skyscraper. Mars languidly flew around the building ready to catch him if he slips. He won’t die necessarily, forcibly exited from the Net with some repercussions but not dead or just as good as dead. He has heard of those who were in comatose or worse. Mars huffs out a flaming breath, a rumbling growl thickening in its throat and Yeosang halts on his track. A stray orange feather twirls into his vision and his hands involuntarily shake, mind racing hundreds of miles an hour and he almost could feel the phantom cold sweat. He sees Mars’s wing slides between him and the feather, the thick lines of codes that formed the dragon burst into a pixelated mess and his ears ring from the explosion and the angry roar of his avatar. In the distance, Yeosang sights a phoenix emerging amongst the skyscrapers.

He sinks to his knees, hands covering his ears trying to block the screaming in his head or maybe he’s the one who is screaming. Mars knocks him into safety, away from the ledge and under its wing. No! No! No! His nails dig into his scalp.

The screeching of a phoenix avatar was the last warning he heard. The last sound to be ingrained to his memory with his mentor, with his brother, with his only friend in the blasted tech conglomerate. Yeosang could make out the silent words of the man across from him, trapped under locking codes and rubbles. Damages sustained in the Meta transferred over to the real world. The red warning signs ‘LOW HEALTH’ flashed before his eyes. His screen lit up with white words and Hehetmon skipped across the coded lines in loading.

- AVATAR TRANSFER IN PROGRESS -

URL: ORTECH://psh.MARS.980403

PREDECESSOR: [loading…]

Yeosang reached out futilely. The orange feathers fluttered around them, singing with heat as they glowed and sparked. Through his heavily cracked screen, he saw a small content yet the regretful smile of his friend. His eyes prickled with tears, dread, no, acceptance of the inevitable sank into him. Why is it always the best one to go first? One of the feathers zinged, a chain reaction of explosions rained upon them and Yeosang couldn’t hear his scream.

“Seonghwa!”

Take care of him, Mars.

- AVATAR TRANSFER COMPLETED -

“Kang Yeosang, get a grip of yourself!”

Yeosang stills at the call of his name. His battle screen is already up and the rectangular box of the communication line is open. Since when? Hehetmon spins in cheers when his eyes locked onto the pair of brown eyes he’s never tired of seeing. The beauty mark under the right eye puts a soothing balm into his mind. Wooyoung. His nails ease from its abuse against his scalp. Fuck, he must look so pathetic right now.

“You little bastard, I told you not to go into the Meta without me!” Guilt tinges in his chest. Yeosang opens his mouth, apology ready at the tip of his tongue. “Keep your ‘sorry’, we got a bird to cook.” Wooyoung never fails to reassure him but he knows it’s merely the calm before the storm. He’ll get his scolding later. Mummy never forgets.

He does what he does best even in trouble, “I’m still taller than you.” There’s still a quiver in his voice but the incredulous look on Wooyoung’s face makes him feel better. “Strip it off its feathers already, dammit! There’s milk on fire here!” Yeosang exhales and rises to his feet, his screen following his movement. The French manicure is chipped but the neon green is still vibrant in contrast to the black light emitting in front of him. He types in a series of battle commands, Mars flies higher and higher into the virtual light blue sky. Blades like armour materialise over the avatar’s claws and thick orange light peeks through between its scales. The phoenix is still far but his screen picks up the avatar’s image, the damages from their previous encounter aren’t fully repaired. What kind of a gladiator does that? Even Wooyoung can do better.

From Yeosang’s view, Mars appears to be a crow, so small up so high. Of course, he never sees the real bird, far extinct in the old world but there’s nothing that couldn’t be found on the Net. His avatar reaches right below the height barrier and takes a sharp nosedive, its weight falling at terminal velocity. Mars jaws unhinged and the fire stokes in the depths of its belly slowly rise to its throat. The screech emitting from the bird is as irritating as he remembers and his fingers tremble. He can’t tell if it’s fear or physical exertion but his head is in the game and mind is surprisingly clear despite the fireballs of feathers that are about to burst. Mars is partly hidden from his eyes with the myriad of singing explosives surrounding the dragon. Yeosang learns the hard way and he’s a learned man as Wooyoung puts it. He activates the defence codes just as the first fireball of many rains upon the black scales. He smirks from his perch, he didn’t spend many sleepless nights perfecting the codes for nothing, the tautness in his shoulders and back are good reminders too. The enraged squawk from the phoenix AI lifts his mood. The crosshair locks into place and the ‘TERMINATE’ sign appears. “Give it a good roast, Mars.” His finger taps the sign and an eruption of fire falls on the ugly big bird. His avatars claws sink into the phoenix broken pixels and glitches are visible around the broken codes. The storm of fire doesn’t relent, damages blooming across the sky and buildings. Surely the surge of energy catches the attention of fellow DarkNet users and government security. Mars doesn’t let up until each code is destroyed beyond repair, its claws tearing the wings apart by the joints. Yeosang slams his fists against the screen and yells when ‘VICTORY’ pops up in vibrant gold. Wooyoung’s cheers fall deaf to his ears over Mars roaring.

He slumps against the ledge, laughing like tomorrow won't come. He can’t believe it. He’s still alive and he supposes revenge is exacted. It feels empty somehow, he doesn’t know how to process the emotions in him at the moment. The event hasn’t hit him yet. “You’re so melodramatic, Yeosang,” Wooyoung chirps from the corner of his screen, “Give it a good roast, Mars!” His friend mimics his words earlier and Yeosang rolls his eyes but he can’t help the smile creeping on his face. Mars lets out a proud huff beside him, the dragon gives him an affectionate nudge and its ember eyes shine with much familiarity. His breath hitches but the avatar disappear with a sharp toothy grin. “Yeosang?” He makes a noise of acknowledgement. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He might have, “I’m alright, Woo. I’m going back now.” Even now you still look after me. Messages and clips of the fight start to spread in the forum. Data from the scrimmage is filed away, he’ll deal with them later. Hehetmon is skipping over the green box of ‘EXIT’ and he lets the mini AI jump on the button. He closes his eyes as the pull on the base of his neck erases his condensed light form from the DarkNet.

“Six months?!”

Wooyoung clicks his tongue as he inspects the nonexistent dirt under his fingernails, “Do you want one year instead? Okay. I’m completely fine with it.” Yeosang frantically refuses the added length, “Six months! Six months! Deal!” He never wants to wipe the shit-eating smirk off his friend's face so much. “Get scrubbing then.” Mummy never forgets indeed. Wooyoung not only scolds him but also gives his ear a good pinch and twist as soon as he is fit to walk around. Now he’s stuck on dishwashing duty under ‘consider it your retribution for breaking your promise.’ Yeosang sighs, he picks up a dirty dish and squirts the washing liquid on the plate. He’ll count himself lucky Wooyoung didn’t put him out there as hall staff.

“Did you process the data from last time?” His hand stops moving at the inquiry. Hell, he didn’t like what he saw on the files and Wooyoung most certainly wouldn’t either. God, he hates this so much. He doesn’t like it when the past comes biting back. “The phoenix URL traces back to ORBIT Tech.” A utensil clatters to the floor and Wooyoung curses like his seventeen-year-old self. “ORBIT Tech? Please tell me it’s a different conglomerate and not the piece of ‘the future is virtual science’ shit of your lunatic father’s!”

Yeosang nods, lips thinning, “Unfortunately, it is. That’s not the worst.” Wooyoung sucks in a breath, the come hither motion gestures him to go on. “I thought the phoenix was a wild AI or someone from the DarkNet was bribed,” he pauses, eyes searching for the dark browns of his friend’s, “It was under Seonghwa’s name.”

“Seonghwa’s dead! He couldn’t possibly-” Wooyoung halts his rant when he notices the unflinching gaze of his seven years companion. It clicks in his mind the inevitable of many other inevitables are descending rapidly on them. At some point, there will be a time where he couldn’t protect Yeosang. There will be a time where his friend has to return from where he comes from. He would be lying if he didn’t lose sleep thinking of this day. The twinkling skyscraper at the centre of the city mocks him. Yeosang doesn’t belong in the nest infested with lies. He’ll be damned, he much rather have Yeosang fights in the DarkNet instead. He’ll take the repercussions. But the chills running down his spine, the pressure in his chest and the unnerving hollowness in his stomach douse him in the harsh reality they live in. The finality of it grips his marrows.

“It’s time for me to stop running.”

[hereisleo]

NEON JUNCTION (PREVIEW)

w/ k.ys & j.wy

g/ cyberpunk!au

w.count/ 634 (prospect of 4k)

a.n/ this is @moonchildsaurora’s birthday present but as i can’t finish it on time. a preview it is. be warned, this is not edited.

t.w/ none

An illegal virtual world. A damaged psyche.

How far is Yeosang willing to go to find the answers to his questions? Will he put his friendship on the line? Just as how his life is beginning to near its end. The Dark Net is not a place for weaklings and its the only place where he perhaps will get his answers.

A treacherous journey is afoot.

Yeosang knows the Dark Net better than he knows his own world, the real world where his body is still on the chair in the attic of his friend’s humble abode. In the net, it’s only his mind and light particles forming his appearance. Dangerous but thrilling. He has come to love the rushing adrenaline, an outlet for him to rid of his pent up frustration. Is he properly armed? Is his supply stocked well? In the old world, this is all a video game played on television. In the current world, the world he lives in, the post apocalyptic environment, this is his reality. The Dark Net, everything illegal happens here. Credit, fame, information, it doesn’t matter what or who you are in the real world but the Dark Net requires you to build a name for yourself. It has taken so much from him. He’s sore, tired, most definitely overworked although the last is self-imposed for many reasons. He can’t rest not until he has answers and the credits needed.

A virus slams his wall of codes, dragging him into a fight, vision blurring slightly from the impact and red lights of warning. His monitor reads a huge output of energy from the wild AI that strikes him. The resounding sound of ‘FIGHT’ reverberates in his ears and his light particle fingers flew across the screen, mind racing and the heartbeat bar on the top right corner shines yellow in warning with how fast his heart is hammering in this ribcage. Not being able to code is akin to death sentence in his line of work. Talons slam on to his screen, vicious orange lines of codes burning into his memory, a phoenix avatar. He hasn’t seen one in so long after- No, now is not the time, Yeosang. A little character waving a sign appears, the nervous bouncing and worried expression has him refocusing. ‘STAY ALIVE.’ He will and with it comes forth his avatar, roaring at the wild AI. A sophisticated dragon in black codes emerges, wrestling the phoenix on to the virtual dirt ground. If there’s one thing Yeosang has that is his own, it’ll be willpower. His friend calls it being stubborn but he’ll take stubborn too.

The virtual cheering falls deaf to his ears, the colosseum is a mere replica of past time, almost real, he could almost touch it. Almost. Alas, what’s long gone can never be rebuilt the same way. Yeosang simply doesn’t have the clearance or importance to enter the colosseum in the real world. No, those are for the governmental scums. The reason why he resorts to the Dark Net. Another swipe recalibrates his mind that he’s still in the middle of a deathmatch. He hates phoenix, they’re hard to kill. His neon green French nails dance under the black light of his screen, the pads of his fingers typing codes after codes. ‘TERMINATE’ and his dragon glows from within, orange light peeking between the scales, rumbling with brewing fire. The dragon pins the phoenix to the ground by its neck, the angry screeching of the bird makes Yeosang ground his teeth. Too close to home, the similarity of the screams of survival from that night comes crashing to the forefront of his mind. “End it, Mars!” He yells and his dragon obeys, jaws unhinging and relentless waterfall of flames burn the phoenix to its ashes. ‘VICTORY’ flashes on his screen. He doesn’t stick around for long, his vitals are yellow, caution. It’s time to log out, he taps the green box of ‘EXIT’ on the corner. The tugging sensation of his mind being dragged back into reality has him closing his eyes to diminish the dull ache. Yeosang doesn’t see the ashes trembling as his light apparition disappears from the illegal virtual world.

[hereisleo]

OUR’S OWN: Pictorials/

ATEEZ Kang Yeosang: THE STAR digital film edits

[hereisleo]

the sleeping beauty/

w/ k.ys

g/ dystopian fairytale

a.n/ @daybreakx’s writing challenge #1. dystopian fairytale? i’m hearing vintage fairytale. which means morbid and i love it. also putting a modern twist between the sleeping beauty and the dollmaker. why not. probably strayed too far away.

t.w/ implied drugging & kidnapping and murder

“That’s not the way things were supposed to turn out.”

A passing comment, a thought that escaped subconsciously. Yeosang shivered at the monotonous tone. He wasn’t supposed to be awake. He wasn’t supposed to be out of his glass case. Last time he remembered he was slumming at the bar with his friends celebrating the first win of the revolution. Now he was somewhere in a warehouse, way too deep in nowhere, all he heard were his and your breathing and the silence.

It was a miscalculation on your part, you didn’t put him to sleep deep enough. Maybe you didn’t want him to sleep his pain through. Someone as gorgeous as Yeosang would look beautiful no matter what expression was left on his countenance. Fear especially so because Kang Yeosang would be your masterpiece. The prince people would fawn over at the Capital.

You made your way to him, a metal spoon clanging against a metal can as you stirred the flexible polymer. One step forward for you and one step backward for Yeosang. Two and three until his back hit the glass case. “My prince, you should have stayed asleep,” you whispered. Fear was incredibly salivating. You reached forward and stroked his cheek with such tenderness and fond smile. Yeosang felt his stomach flipped and churned, his heart hammering furiously, he was afraid you could hear it.

“Get away from me!” He slapped your hand away and made a break for the exit. “Oh, that was not beautiful at all, my prince,” you clicked your tongue. Running was futile, the maze of death had no exit. The barred and covered windows and chained doors were final. The scream of despair lit your soul aflame. This was it, the insatiable craving clawing out to play. A hunter playing with its prey, a little game of hide-and-seek was always thrilling. “Yeosang, my prince, where are you? You should sleep soon or your skin wouldn’t be in good condition.” All was left for you when you found him was to carve the name of your newest creation on the glass case.

The Sleeping Beauty.

[hereisleo]

Circle II: Lust

Estranged Lovers

w/ k.ys x reader

g/ demon!au, mystery, suspense, a touch of angst and a sprinkle of suggestive

a.n/ this might be my favourite so far. props to you if you figured out which yeosang i drew inspo from while writing this. extra point if you find the reconstructed ‘reference’ to alighieri’s “divine comedy” here.

t.w/ none

recommended playlist:

by shoji meguro -

mistic

because i will protect you

Go home, young one. Go home.

Home is where you don’t want to be. Home is where you’ve been avoiding since the case lands on your desk. You’ve been making yourself comfortable on your desk, the locker room bench, the break room sofa, the autopsy table, anywhere that’s not home. They think you’re invested in the case. To an extent you are, only to make sure it doesn’t go the way the department wants it but hinders the other side just as much. Now that you’re home, all the effort of keeping things neutral goes down the drain.

He’s waiting for you to come home to him.

Home is the representation of your consciousness and home is an empty shell. It has been after you disappear from the underworld. Stark walls, bare minimum furniture, uninviting and cold, everything not home. Home reminds you of the carnal desire guise in soft touches and deep kisses. It reminds you how cold the other side of the bed is. Home reminds you of him. Emotions are funny things. Was it love or lust that caused the divide?

Your body hits the bed, mattress hard and linen sheets crisp. The room blurs when sleep starts to claw its way into your mind and your lids droop lower and lower until darkness shrouds you in its embrace. Darkness is warm contrary to popular belief. It morphs to your need, it transforms into a place where you find your home. You never expect to find yourself in a familiar palace chamber. Feather pillows under your head and silk sheets covering you.

The sheets rustle as the bed dips to your side and an astound gasp echoes in the regal room. You feel the weight of your old flame rest against you, arms coiling around your figure to keep you close. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “You’re home,” he sighs, warm breath tickling your skin. “Yeosang.” He keens at the call of his name. “I have missed you dearly, my love.” The dark is deceptively welcoming. Yeosang is too saccharine to greet you like this. He shouldn’t, not after how badly you two parted. You push him away, knocking the wind out of his chest. The strength in your body is sapped immediately. Your arms wobble under you, making you almost fall on top of him.

Yeosang is still as beautiful as before. Perhaps even more after you’ve not seen him for so long. His dark hair is now light brown, splaying on the pillow like a halo. His eyes are still the warm chocolate brown you adore. You caress the marks on the corner of his eye with your thumb, watching how he chases your touch. “You’re not real.” The hurt is palpable in his gaze and it claws at you. “I’m real. I’m right here, my love.” You shake your head, “No, let me out.” Yeosang leans up and presses his lips to yours, hands cradling your face. Icy grip seeps into your marrows and the illusion dissipates into darkness.

When you open your eyes, you’re back at your bleak apartment. The tautness in your shoulders is unwanted but it’s there to ground you as your consciousness floats back to the Living Plane. Yeosang. His name hasn’t crossed your mind for a while until now. The fog he blankets you in has disappeared when you left.

It’s too warm here. Your icy cold apartment is warming up. The heat is enough for you to feel the shadow contorting in the stillness. You don’t need to hear him utter a word to know who invaded your space. His presence alone brings worldly sluggishness. Kang Yeosang. “Why did you leave?” Oh, how you hate the question. Leave where? The underworld? The illusion? Left you? The more you ponder, the more Yeosang makes himself comfortable beside you. He pulls you into his arms and you didn’t push him away because this is real. “Why are you here?” This Yeosang is the same Yeosang who holds you together back then. “Because you called.” The end of the vow is left unsaid. And I will always find you.

The burnish gold silk shirt is cool under your cheek, you could hear his heart beating steadily and yours eventually matched in the silence. You press closer to him, chest to chest, eye to eye. His chocolate irises are glazed with burgundy tint, decadent like the richest wine in the palace cellar. His eyes flicker down to your lips before meeting yours again. “Kiss me, Yeo-“ He already is. He didn’t listen to anything else after the first word. Lips claiming yours in frenzy, a hand behind your neck and an arm around your waist.

Being kissed by Yeosang feels like free-falling, wind whipping the hair and head fuzzy. All inhibitions lost to the sensation of him working you into a heated passion, fire consuming the soul. His lips trail down to your jaw and neck, the collar of your shirt obstructing him from his ministration. You nod when he glances up and your suit jacket and shirt fall to the floor. Lust and Treachery go hand in hand. You and Yeosang are convenient for each other.

Everything in your mind escapes you. Everything resets to old habits and bad habits. You are home after all. There’s nothing to hide at home, Yeosang strips the closet bare and the skeletons dance in liberation. He makes you lose yourself and your back arch. The frozen apartment seems like a setting at the height of summer.

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[hereisleo]

Closing Hour Surprises

w/ k.ys & reader

g/ comfort

a.n/ final instalment of angels in the streets! have a good day or night wherever you are. drop by the inbox if you behind the scene questions.

t.w/ none

It doesn’t matter when you step foot into the cafe, Yeosang is always there at the register, ready to serve you. He says his work schedule is all over the place at your comment of ‘you’re always here.’ You don’t mind, Yeosang makes the best drinks, even his experiments make it into their seasonal menus.

Over the months you frequent the establishment, you slowly get to know your favourite barista. He likes all things sweet and rather shy. His ears turn fiery red when you compliment him of how unfair it is for him to be blessed with the sweetest smile. You heard his flustered giggle that day, an angelic tune that you saved in your mind. On a different day, you tap the corner of your eye, mirroring the place of the red discolouration on his visage, “You’ve been kissed by an angel, Yeo.” He smiles wistfully at your praise. He squeezes your hand when he delivers you your regular fix, “I certainly was, maybe one day I’ll tell you the story.”

Today, you visit the cafe near its closing hour. A different barista welcomes you with a charming grin, golden hair swaying as he bounds toward the kitchen, “Yeosang, your friend is here!” He waves you bye as Yeosang takes his place. “You’re here late today,” he quips playfully whilst fixing you a drink. He seems to know what you always want without you ordering anything. His brown eyes shimmer under the retro lights, a galaxy hidden within the irises.

He comes around the counter with two hot beverages in hand and gestures you to take a seat, plenty of options since the place is empty. Hot chocolate. Yeosang makes you hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and a sprinkle of crushed peppermint candy cane. Your eyes prick, a blow to the waterworks. “You look like you needed a pick me up, it’s on the house,” he has a gentle smile adorning his face. Your fingers curl around the mug, cold skin leeching off the heat, “Thanks, Yeo.” He hums in answer never pressing further at your obvious fatigue. You’ll probably tell him tomorrow yet he already seems to know and still will listen to you vent aptly.

A stretch of ambient silence befalls between the two of you, draining hot chocolate peacefully. Yeosang reaches out and pats your head before standing up, “Take your time, I’ll close up the cafe.” You watch him move around the space, flipping chairs onto the tables, locking the door and turning the sign to ‘sorry, we’re closed’. He returns to you when the shutters touch the ground, his drink now lukewarm yet he pays no mind to it. “I’ll walk you home,” the resolute note in his voice leaves no room for argument.

Leaving through the back door, Yeosang let you out into the Seoul winter. You tuck your chin into your chest as a roaring wind rage past the area. He chuckles, not the least bothered by the chills, he loops his scarf snugly around your neck. If he tells you it’s made out of the finest heaven’s cloud, you would believe him, too soft to be of this world.

Yeosang walks closely beside you, arms knocking against each other, and in minutes you’ve reached your apartment. The night is bright and the street is safe. “Keep it,” he motions to the scarf. His stares into your eyes, you could discern fondness in them. In a moment of impulsivity, he quickly leans forward and plants a kiss on the corner of your eye, the same place where you told he’s been kissed by an angel. Such a fleeting moment, you wonder if it’s a figment of your imagination but the hammering in your ribcage tells you otherwise. You stare into his shaking eyes and words tumble out of your mouth without permission, “I’ve been kissed by an angel.” The redness of his ears and cheeks from the cold hide his embarrassment. Yeosang starts to stutter and all the grace leaks out with his shyness. He motions you to go inside, slightly manhandling you in the process.

Through the reflection on the glass, you witness a pair of the most beautiful white wings unfurl from his back. A breath of astonishment is expelled into the air like a dragon’s smoke. Kang Yeosang. “Have a good night,” he whispers, wings creating a massive gust of wind. You close your eyes and burrow your face deeper into the scarf from the sheer force of a flap of his wings. When you open your eyes, Yeosang has disappeared and several feathers descend to the ground, one touching the same place where Yeosang kissed earlier. He’s an angel.

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