#admin stash

He wakes up in a cold sweat about it more nights than he would like to admit, laments about it enough to Wooyoung that his platonic soulmate has promised to back San up on any decision he might make when it comes to Seonghwa.

They've only known each other a week but San can't help the despair he feels when Seonghwa's symptoms stagnate. They're all circumstantial, this whole fucking process is, because none of them really know what the fuck they're doing at the end of the day and San tries not to think about how many people have died simply because they showed the wrong symptom at the wrong gate.

He's tried so hard to stay within the lines, to uphold safety while maintaining humanity, but he knows eventually push will come to shove and red tape and fear will lead his puppeteers to compromise one for the other. San knows the scales will never tip in his favor, he just has to hope Seonghwa recovers before then.

Of course, life has a way of reminding San that he is not the one in control, never has been.

It should be routine, wake up, grab a coffee, go spend time with and check seonghwa, proceed to the gate. San's heart freezes in his chest as he watches someone else examine Seonghwa, jotting down sloppy notes on a battered clipboard. Never before has San pulled rank on anyone within his camp, he likes to keep everyone equal, but that all goes out the window where Seonghwa is considered, apparently.

"There's been no shift change today, so why are you in here bothering my charges?" San wonders and watches as the man barely spares a glance over his shoulder.

"Some of these people have been here for nearly a week - most camps keep them three days at most. Space is precious, they need to either be liquidated or moved to the survivor's yard." San does not believe, nor does he appreciate, the sarcastic laugh that spills from the guard's lips. "Someone clearly doesn't know what they're doing, I'm just helping clean up."

His pen hovers over a box that never fails to make San's guts feel like they're going to fall out through his ass. A loud 'bang!' resounds through the space as the clipboard collides with a cabinet at the far side of the tent, a significant dent left behind in the metal siding.

"We do things a little differently here. Horizon Checkpoint isn't looking for heroes. It'd be best if you got back to your post." San watches as the man's hackles rise and quickly fall the moment he finally realizes exactly who he's talking to.

Silence echoes behind the guard's departure and San uses the moment to gather his sanity and breath before turning back to Seonghwa.

"You're not infected. You're not."

"Not yet, San, but I should be getting better-"

"And you would be if we didn't have you locked in a glorified Tupperware container with bare minimum nutrition. The system is-" San swallows around his bitterness. "It isn't perfect but it's all we have. But I won't let them take you, not until we know for certain. I promise Seonghwa."

Yeosang learning the truth was inevitable, though things tumbled out of Wooyoung's control when they finally woke San, his memories still half-intact unlike the rest.

The Six Lords of Halazia had used the last ounces of power to seal away a vengeful spirit, demon, creature that had threatened humanity's very existence. The creature had fought them tooth and nail and summoned great storms of agony and shrapnel. The razor winds tore their armies apart and poisoned the minds of their people, turning them against one another until only barren homes remained in their wake.

Stupid, overeager Yeosang had picked up what he had thought was nothing more than an enchanted artifact, a focus of some kind, something he could surely use to his advantage as he began his journey to wake the them.

What a delusion of grandeur.

Yeosang stared into the brilliant gold light, the warmth of Wooyoung's transformation tinging his cheeks the slightest pink. He didn't flinch in the face of his own power, siphoned by the parasite he hadn't known he'd harbored. He felt the strength of his magic flag and knew the outcome of this fight would change the course of his life forever. He would either lose his life or his magic, either way it was just one more thing Wooyoung would take from him. Wasn't the warm, gooey inside of his heart enough?

As the golden figure settled into a faceless form of a man, wings of fractured gold emphasizing the already impressive visage, Yeosang hated that even now he thought Wooyoung was beautiful. He stared into the empty gaze of an ancient terror and where fear should have rent his insides he felt only an immense sadness.

The land still bore scars from his rampage and Yeosang knew he would bare his own by the end of everything. He was so glad his lovers (of which Wooyoung would now never become) were far away from here. He feared for what Wooyoung would do to them in his desire for revenge.

He worried for what they would do to Wooyoung.

"What? Nothing to say? Hmph. I thought you'd at least be a little impressed." The twisted golden angel spoke, Wooyoung's voice reverberating from every direction of the strange, liminal space around them.

"Hey, you still with me? I want this to be more fun, c'mon, I need a warm up before I go after your little lovers."

There was so much venom in his voice, a tone Yeosang had never heard before and hoped to never hear again. It drew hot moisture to his eyes that he quickly hid by turning his face away. It may be a cliche, but he didn't want to give Wooyoung the satisfaction of seeing him break.

"Was any of it real? Because it was for me." He choked out instead of the likely expected rage. He didn't feel angry. He was just sad - so unfathomably sad.

Somehow, he'd gone from a foolhardy hero to a foolish martyr. He was never supposed to make it out of this alive, was he?

"Some of it was." Yeosang was shocked at the earnest echo that rang from Wooyoung's new visage, his voice now a comforting blanket instead of sharp glass. "You have a way of enchanting people, Sangie. Even old terrors that never asked for any of this."

He whispered the latter part so quietly Yeosang almost didn't hear him.

"What do you mean by that?" He tried to step forward, to close the awkward gap of space between them.

The space was liminal, somehow pitch black at the edges while Wooyoung shone like a beacon. The golden glow that emanated from him felt like a warm hearth. It was impossible to tell how far apart they really were - he felt so close and so far in more ways than Yeosang could fathom.

"What did you mean by that, Wooyoung?" He demanded, taking another step and watching as the golden light shuddered, a shiver rippling through Wooyoung's reclaimed body.

"I never wanted to hurt them. I never wanted to hurt anyone." His voice sounded as fragile as the armlet had been.

Yeosang gasped as Wooyoung's face formed where previously there had been none. Tears of molten gold trailed down his cheeks and his brow was pinched as if he was in pain, as if it was taking every ounce of his control to keep from lashing out now that his body was surging with ancient power.

Yeosang increased his steps to a jog, then a run, but the space never grew smaller.

"Wooyoung, stop! Why?" He knew he had to be the one maintaining the physical distance and he felt that rejection like a physical knife in his gut.

"There's so much you don't know, Sangie. I wish I'd had time to tell you properly." Wooyoung answered cryptically, chest shuddering with a barely contained sob, or perhaps it was a growl. "I want to live and they want nothing more than to prevent that. Is it so horrible that I want to live too?"

Yeosang wanted so badly to punch something, anything. He settled instead for swatting at the fractals of gold that had begun to hang in the air, Wooyoung's wings shattered to create a dome of glittering gold around them. They glittered against the vast blackness beyond, like little twinkling stars pinned to the night sky.

"I don't understand! Why did you do it, then? Why did you kill all those people? Why bring the storms? Why play God like this?" Yeosang demanded, voice growing louder with each question.

"Because humans made me! They created me out of their own malice, they shaped me into a weapon, and the power they fed into me forced me!"

Wooyoung sank to the shiny obsidian floor, his bright glow almost entirely tucked away. The floating slivers appearing sharper now but still shining with what Yeosang felt was a hope reflected in his own chest. Wooyoung wasn't lost to him, not entirely. Not yet.

"You were my last chance. I was going to die and I will anyway if I don't take the others out of the equation. I'm just sorry you fell in love with them."

The space between them was suddenly so small and Yeosang didn't waste a second, kneeling beside Wooyoung but not yet touching him. He didn't miss the way the sharp golden needles had all shifted to point in his direction.

"What did you mean by that?"

"Your lovers," spoken with so much bitterness, "never once stopped to consider I was nothing more than a tool, a puppet with chains for strings. They were every bit as eager for destruction and yet they are celebrated while I'm condemned!" The needles trembled and Yeosang had to consciously force them into his peripheral as he focused on Wooyoung and the anguish on his face.

What was he supposed to say to that? He knew nothing of their time, nothing of what had transpired long before he was born. The weight of it sat heavy behind his ribs and all Yeosang wanted was to untangle the complicated web of tragedy.

"But why did you have to kill?" He wondered, ignoring his own blatant naivety. He refused to feel shame in wanting to fully understand.

Wooyoung was silent again but his wings fell away, falling into a beautiful, glittering pile of gold fractals that almost resembled a heap of sand in the center of an hourglass.

Yeosang didn't know if it was trust or exhaustion that had Wooyoung dropping his guard but Yeosang was grateful for it. He closed the gap quickly, fingers gently cradling Wooyoung's jaw to tilt his head. His thumbs faintly burned as he wiped away the golden tears but it was such a distant sensation in the face of Wooyoung's obvious pain.

"I was made to be a weapon. It was all I was allowed to be, and then it was all I was capable of. Even now, I want to hurt you. I want to pierce your body, bring you pain, and win for nothing more than the thrill.

I'm a monster, and I can't even truly blame them for hating me. But I still want to live."

Yeosang's mind was working at a mile a minute, more silence echoing between them as he really absorbed what he was learning. Everything they'd ever been told was wrong. Had the others known Wooyoung's origins? He had to believe they hadn't - likely still didn't.

Unable to continue that line of thought, Yeosang voiced the next fear that plagued him.

"And the way you spoke to me? The way you made me l-love you?" He could blame Wooyoung for that much, at least. Couldn't he?

Wooyoung winced as if Yeosang had struck him, turning against his hands to avoid his gaze. "I got too greedy."

He shifted to his knees, hands folded in his lap and seemed to silently mourn the warmth of Yeosang's hands as they fell away.

jongho who isn't good at expressing himself in words but his lovers always know what he feels for them in the way he holds them, secure and gentle. they feel it with every soft brush of his fingertips, the back and forth of his thumb against the fluttering pulse at the inside of their wrist.

his feelings are obvious to anyone that has the pleasure of feeling those hands against them; stroking, petting, massaging, cradling. for someone as averse to skinship as he seems to be, he's a master of it. and maybe that's why, maybe it affects him every bit as much as those he touches.

his touch is like midas', the rose gold something that settles soul-deep in the recipient's heart as a warm, reassuring glow they can hold onto for several days after.

now i wanna write jongho who doesn't touch people because it causes them discomfort and he can always feel a prickling buzzing beneath his palms, like the limb has fallen asleep and the act of touching is more going through the motions rather than feeling.

the first time he touches one of the group it's almost euphoric, the prickling sensation replaced with an aching warmth he feels mirrored in his chest. both he and hongjoong gasp as he leaves a gorgeous amber streak in his wake that fades gradually from beginning to end before disappearing entirely.

when he wipes seonghwa's tears from his face one day he's immediately stunned by the beautiful pink that blossoms across his cheeks as if one of the stylist noonas had just done a touch up - despite the fact they've been back at the dorm for hours now.

san sobs when a purple hand print is emblazoned on his chest and he confesses that he was so scared jongho wouldn't share his colors with him. he knows it's not something in his control but he wanted that connection and had feared what it would mean for them if it didn't come.

🐿️ jongjoong notes 🐻

insane instant chemistry between hongjoong and jongho, fuck that very day. jongho is very attracted to the dichotomy of hongjoong and doesn't resist submitting to him in the slightest. they're both shocked, as their new roles are something they've wanted for a long time but no one else ever considered.

top "dainty" alpha hongjoong, bottom strong "typical alpha" that satisfied all the omegas in heat jongho

🐥 minsang horny 1; mg pov 👑

All Mingi would have to do is nudge his chin downwards the slightest bit and it would dislodge the towel wrapped around his waist, allowing him to nuzzle between the Blue Bird's thighs and-

Mingi's breath left him in a soft gasp as his head was pulled back by the root of his hair. His eyes nearly rolled back as he heard Yeosang release a disbelieving scoff.

🐥 minsang horny 2; ys pov 👑

"So? Your decision?" He loosened his hold, no longer gripping the man's hair but instead almost cradling his skull. Somehow, he felt far more powerful in this position than he had when driving his knife between Yunseo's ribs. He felt more powerful now than he did killing the man that almost took Wooyoung from him.

"Please let me help you," the alpha's breath was warm against his hip. "Use me, however you want."

🐥 minsang goodbye; ys pov 👑

Yeosang knew he had been cruel. He didn't feel this way about all alphas - Jongho for example had always been a pillar of comfort for him. He reminded Yeosang not all alphas lusted for strength and power, not all alphas looked at omegas as nothing more than breeding stock. Jongho treated him like a lifelong friend and it continuously bolstered Yeosang's hope for a better future.

This alpha, however, had come into his home uninvited. He had lain in wait for Yeosang to return and attempted to use a moment of perceived weakness against him. He bore the markings of an enemy and wielded a blade no doubt intended to end Yeosang's life.

Yeosang felt very little regret in his cruelty; survival and cruelty looked very similar until held under the black light.

He'd killed assassin's before — should kill this one — but the truth was none of them had ever been quite like this. Yeosang didn't want to kill him. He couldn't fathom watching the twinkle of life fade from those pitiful, beautiful eyes.

"Do not mistake my mercy for weakness. Go home, tell them you couldn't kill the 'omega bitch' and watch them label you as weak, impotent. I want you to watch as the very people you defend turn on you next and I want you to ask yourself if you can accept your role in perpetuating the cycle. What you do from there is none of my business and I fucking pray to Hala we never see each other again."

The alpha at least had enough self preservation to nod, jaw clenched to bite back what? Yeosang would never know. He waited until the man left his sight before taking to the rooftops. He followed him all the way to the border and watched as he stepped foot into the Deadlands.

This time, it was Yeosang grinding his molars together as he swallowed a strange, spiked emotion welling up through his chest. It was the kind that stabbed at the space under your tongue, barbed spines digging in the more you fought the urge to cry. That alpha had been special and once upon a time he would've invited him to stay. It was too dangerous now and the assassin proved his loyalty could be easily swayed.

But what if he had been forced by Jiho's rigid traditionalist values and bloodlust? Yeosang couldn't reconcile the difference between the trained killer he'd fought against and the doe-eyed alpha that had wholly submitted to him. Did he just turn away someone that could have found a safer, more peaceful future within West Metro?

What if that alpha was just as desperate for a place to belong as he was?

A familiar knot of panic swallowed whatever that strange emotion had been, the squirming dread far stronger. Slowly, Yeosang lowered to sit at the edge of a rooftop closest to the border, legs swinging beneath him as if he had no care in the world. The nausea, chills, and tremors said otherwise. It took everything he had to continue slow, natural breaths.

He curled his fingers against the mossy concrete, confused if what he felt was regret or relief. Maybe it was just pure exhaustion. Either way, his mind wandered away from him as the shadow of the stranger disappeared beyond his sight. His gaze remained on the rich hues of the sunrise, but distant and unseeing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he worried that these mental quicksand moments were becoming far too frequent.

It was better to think of all of that as wishful thinking. (He was aware of the irony.)

After that thought brought him back to center, he moved on autopilot to traverse the skyline and silently duck back into the relative safety of Utopia's walls. He only bothered to kick off the topmost bedding from his nest before flopping on the sad mattress and pillow pile. If he was lucky he could sleep for just a few more hours.

"Yeosang." The severity of the tone had Yeosang awake in an instant, wide and wild eyes swinging to the doorway. Wooyoung stood just inside the room like an angry sentinel, demanding Yeosang's compliance. "Meeting in the library. Now."

👑 yeosang and the haze; ys pov 💨

It wasn't that Yeosang wasn't afraid of the Haze. He was terrified of it, but that didn't matter when he had the power to help them better understand it. He wouldn't crumble to that fear, not when people trusted him to find them a better future. He wasn't sure he could, but he had to try.

That's why he rose just before dawn, silently tugging on his clothes and grabbing one of his go-packs. Yeosang didn't leave right away, as he probably should have. Once dressed, he crouched beside his nest, eyes tracing the fan of Mingi's eyelashes. He slowly carded his fingers through his hair and smiled fondly at the little snuffle and hum Mingi made in his sleep.

Gently, he set a small note on his own pillow, just a simple folded paper that read: "back by nightfall" with a quickly scribbled blue feather. He hoped everyone could manage to forgive him by the time he returned.

As Yeosang made his way to Utopia's rooftop he worked to steel his nerves as he knew the select few joining him would need his cool confidence to guide them. He paused just inside the roof access door, hand pressed to his stomach as he pulled in a slow inhale and straightened his shoulders.

Maybe just for today, I can be the Blue Bird. For them.

He stepped out to the twinkling light of dawn slowly beginning to crest over the shattered cityscape, the roaming vegetation waking in answer. West Metro was a living, breathing organism and they were truly just simple symbiotes (or parasites, depending on one's outlook.) Somehow, the vastness of that soothed some of Yeosang's worries. No matter what happened life would continue on, the sun would rise, and the earth would answer.

🐿️ san seeks comfort; hj pov 🐈

If the mood had been somber on their first night of rest, the second was worse. They were tucked away in an abandoned shack that smelled of rotting wood and the vegetation that reclaimed the walls around them. A small, low lit fire just kept the nightly chill at bay and Mingi and Yunho had already curled into two exhausted heaps on either side, backs to the flames. Hongjoong kept watch, knowing he and sleep disagreed even on a good day. He just kept telling himself he could rest once they reached Utopia — hopefully.

"Joong?" San wheezed from beside him, bundled in the softest fabric they could find, shoulder bandaged as best they could without risking further injury to the afflicted flesh. "Joong… I'm going to die, aren't I?"

San had never sounded so fragile or so small before and Hongjoong didn't know what to do with that, didn't know how to reconcile the broken body beside him with the larger than life runner with craters for dimples and an infallible spirit they all took inspiration from.

"Oh, Sannie," He whispered, gently pulling San's form into his arms and leaning down to press their foreheads together. He could tell the burns had traveled, expanding further across his chest and down his bicep. He could feel a distinct wetness on the palm cradling San's neck and still, San didn't utter a single complaint. "Just a little farther, Sannie. We love you so much, cub. Please hold on just a little longer, okay?"

He hated that the words tasted like an ashy goodbye in his mouth. Hongjoong prayed these wouldn't be the last words they exchanged, but if they were he needed San to know how loved he was.

What should have been a familiar pouting cadence to San's voice was laced with pain and something that sounded suspiciously like resignation, "I'm tired, Joongie."

"I know, baby. One more day. Just one more day, please." He pressed a kiss to San's forehead and gave a wobbly, watery smile at the teasing gasp beneath him.

"I really must be dying if I'm getting Hongjoong kisses." San fell into silence and his lopsided smile faded away as two cold tears dripped onto his cheeks. Good. Idiot.

🐥 minsang smut; ys pov 👑

‼️explicit, cunnilingus, premature ejaculation, coming untouched, omegaverse, omegas have vaginas, knot, D/s dynamic

His heat demanded he keep going; the alpha showing no indication of stopping as tiny kitten licks against his throbbing bud drew a shiver of over-sensitivity down Yeosang's spine. He couldn't remember the last time he'd masturbated (let alone slept with someone) and it all felt like too much all at once. He couldn't afford to spin out of control, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Stabbing, electric desire lanced at his center and derailed his thoughts entirely. Yeosang struggled to hold back his whimper as the man between his thighs gave a sudden, sobbing moan against his sopping cunt. A thick cloud of rain and wet grass aroma filled the space and Yeosang shivered, nipples pebbling as his skin erupted in gooseflesh.

"Did you seriously just cum all over my floor from eating me out?" He laughed. Yeosang propped himself up on his elbows, gazing down at where the alpha now rested his glistening face against his inner thigh.

Hala, he looks delicious and already half ruined.

The assassin turned his face to hide against his scent gland but the redness of his ears peeking through his shaggy hair was all the answer Yeosang needed. He wanted to consume the pretty little thing.

"Sweet cub, do I taste that good?" He asked as he threaded his fingers through the alpha's hair and scratched at the base of his skull. He'd never been much of a talker in bed, Wooyoung always so playfully offended by how quiet he and Jongho were during his heat. This alpha brought something out of him that felt adjacent to his Blue Bird persona, but somehow sharper and softer at the same time.

He was surprised when the alpha answered breathlessly against his skin, "so fucking good," before he tried to swipe his tongue across his soaking lips again. Yeosang whined and grasped the alpha's hair close to the root while clenching his thighs on either side of his head. He kicked against his shoulder and released his hold, the man landing gracelessly on his back in a pile of lumpy, half empty pillows.

"Enough. Need you inside." He growled as if the admission hurt him to say. It did, a bit. There was an undercurrent of shame in everything he was doing, a sticky glue trap of guilt waiting to catch him unsuspecting one day. Still, there was the thrill of the power he had over his intruder and the deliciousness of his wholehearted surrender. "Arms above your head."

There was a cloudiness to the man's eyes that had Yeosang tilting his head, curious what could be causing the glazed look when he'd seemed so present a moment ago. He snapped his fingers in front of the alpha's face and bit back a laugh at the way he jumped.

He repeated the instruction and was grateful his attacker followed it before staying perfectly still. Yeosang adjusted his bonds so his arms were secured above his head, hooked on a large wall mounted eye plate that usually held his belts and various pouches. He wasn't sure if the "ancient" concrete could withstand the force of a full grown man, but it would have to be enough.

"You're going to lay there and I'm going to take what I want from you. I'm going to milk you of every last drop without ever letting your pathetic golf ball of a knot inside me, understand cub?" He purred as he traced a finger down the alpha's nose, caressing his wet, swollen, and pillowy lips, before traveling down his neck and teasing at the dip in his collar where slick and sweat had gathered.

Yeosang knew he had been cruel. He didn't feel this way about all alphas - Jongho for example had always been a pillar of comfort for him. He reminded Yeosang not all alphas lusted for strength and power, not all alphas looked at omegas as nothing more than breeding stock. Jongho treated him like a lifelong friend and it continuously bolstered Yeosang's hope for a better future.

This alpha, however, had come into his home uninvited. He had lain in wait for Yeosang to return and attempted to use a moment of perceived weakness against him. He bore the markings of an enemy and wielded a blade no doubt intended to end Yeosang's life.

Yeosang felt very little regret in his cruelty; survival and cruelty looked very similar until held under the black light.

He'd killed assassin's before — should kill this one — but the truth was none of them had ever been quite like this. Yeosang didn't want to kill him. He couldn't fathom watching the twinkle of life fade from those pitiful, beautiful eyes.

"Do not mistake my mercy for weakness. Go home, tell them you couldn't kill the 'omega bitch' and watch them label you as weak, impotent. I want you to watch as the very people you defend turn on you next and I want you to ask yourself if you can accept your role in perpetuating the cycle. What you do from there is none of my business and I fucking pray to Hala we never see each other again."

The alpha at least had enough self preservation to nod, jaw clenched to bite back what? Yeosang would never know. He waited until the man left his sight before taking to the rooftops. He followed him all the way to the border and watched as he stepped foot into the Deadlands.

This time, it was Yeosang grinding his molars together as he swallowed a strange, spiked emotion welling up through his chest. It was the kind that stabbed at the space under your tongue, barbed spines digging in the more you fought the urge to cry. That alpha had been special and once upon a time he would've invited him to stay. It was too dangerous now and the assassin proved his loyalty could be easily swayed.

But what if he had been forced by Jiho's rigid traditionalist values and bloodlust? Yeosang couldn't reconcile the difference between the trained killer he'd fought against and the doe-eyed alpha that had wholly submitted to him. Did he just turn away someone that could have found a safer, more peaceful future within West Metro?

What if that alpha was just as desperate for a place to belong as he was?

A familiar knot of panic swallowed whatever that strange emotion had been, the squirming dread far stronger. Slowly, Yeosang lowered to sit at the edge of a rooftop closest to the border, legs swinging beneath him as if he had no care in the world. The nausea, chills, and tremors said otherwise. It took everything he had to continue slow, natural breaths.

He curled his fingers against the mossy concrete, confused if what he felt was regret or relief. Maybe it was just pure exhaustion. Either way, his mind wandered away from him as the shadow of the stranger disappeared beyond his sight. His gaze remained on the rich hues of the sunrise, but distant and unseeing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he worried that these mental quicksand moments were becoming far too frequent.

It was better to think of all of that as wishful thinking. (He was aware of the irony.)

After that thought brought him back to center, he moved on autopilot to traverse the skyline and silently duck back into the relative safety of Utopia's walls. He only bothered to kick off the topmost bedding from his nest before flopping on the sad mattress and pillow pile. If he was lucky he could sleep for just a few more hours.