zanyara

[zanyara]

yixingxing:

after the last social event, xinwei doesn’t recall the last time he’s gone out for something that wasn’t work-related. funny how life goes back to the same old ruts once you go back into your comfort zone. this week would be celebratory ridden- everyone seemed to be magnificently patriotic the second the 4th rolled around and there was a part of him that wanted to indulge in that or - a very alternative here- stay holed inside his home and sleep, earbuds, eye mask and all. not very friendly but very atypical.

his work phone buzzes at all hours, but his personal phone is silent as ever. so he wonders if he should just do it. enough lingering, because doing nothing will get him no where. and his life will remain fruitless. his friend’s introductions echo in his mind again, of how xinwei’s reputation was basically one where they had to drag them out. likewise for wang li, but still.

[ ✉ ➝ li. ] hey [ ✉ ➝ li. ] haven’t spoken to you in a while [ ✉ ➝ li. ] do you have time to hang out anytime soon ? 

if there was no response, that would be fine. at least he said something. there was something in the other’s eyes that had him falling back, a want to actually try, and reach out. wasn’t that already saying something in of itself? 

work has been swamping him like they consider him a robot capable of handling any length of oncall days, but li’s hardly in a position to complain. day shifts and night shifts interchange, of course, and his social life has once again been reduced to absolute zero, but the pay is good, and that’s to be considered, right? his exhausted mind scoffs at the thought, and he wonders if he could get a slightly less paying job with more stable hours instead, even now when he’s this many years into his current job already.

still, he’s home now, he’s taken a shower and he can flop down in the couch and fall asleep in front of the tv as much as he wants, because this week he has told them not to call him to fill in anymore. they all know a person needs proper sleep in order to function well, after all, and li’s sleep hasn’t been proper in what feels like months.

enter huang frigging xinwei suddenly texting him. for all the time it has been since they met, that one single time with no other communication to speak of, li still instantly remembers the male, knows exactly who he is, and even feels a surge of energy suddenly vibrate through his veins as if all his exhaustion has been forgotten and he has found a renewed sense of self. instantly his fingers dart over the letters on his screen, typing in a return message.

[ msg ↳ xinwei ] hi. it’s been a while indeed. [ msg ↳ xinwei ] i actually got time tonight if you’re available? [ msg ↳ xinwei ] hope you’ve been well

blinking at the last of his messages, li groans in sudden embarrassment as he realises how stupid that sound safter the previous two, and automatically flops over in his couch, planting himself face down first onto the armrest. will he never get any better at these things than this?

revival.

[zanyara]

zpocalyptica:

(...) Somewhere behind them there was shouting. Yihan was pretty sure that whatever it was that Henry had traded for being discovered as not quite as pricey as it should have been. Maybe it was the beatings, or more than likely it was the cornucopia of drugs they had force fed him these past months but unintentionally, a small silent jolt of satisfied laughter tumbled around his battered insides at the thought of his smirking  love playing the flawless role of some slave buying Tong member. 

Universe help them, he sincerely hoped he and Henry both lived long enough into the future,  so he could share the mirth.

it’s surprisingly easy to carry yihan and run down the hallways like he owns the entire building. surprisingly easy not to trip over his own feet because his mind is too distracted by the nearness of the priest to properly pay attention to his surroundings. but somehow he can apparently do both, because the more steps he takes, the more hyper aware he becomes of the shape in his arms, the priest leaning against his chest, hands fumbling in his coat pocket, breath warm where it touches his skin.

and he too easily remembers other times when that same sensation would have such a different meaning. when yihan’s breath would caress his skin followed by fingers or lips, building a sensation in his chest that would simultaneously make him long for more and fear for it being too much for his body to handle, too much until his chest would crack open and bleed the love he felt for the man in bed with him.

now? now henry does everything he can not to make it too obvious when he breathes in the dusty and dirty scent of the priest. now henry pretends not to realise that he’s holding the other a little too close for what’s generally accepted, that he’s being a little too intimate with the way his fingers are curled around the shape of the man in his arms, not quite allowing himself to let go and create a more appropriate distance between them.

yihan says left and henry turns left, upping his pace once more as he realises they need to get out of there as quickly as they can because time is catching up with them. and indeed, when he’s next ordered to turn right, he can hear the shouting all the same, and it causes him to put even more muscle into their escape. still, no matter how heavy he’s running, his grip on yihan doesn’t tighten beyond the point of comfort, and he makes sure never to curl up his fingers so hard that yihan might get hurt because of them.

he does as told, sticks to the shadows and makes a run for it, his arms keeping their hold on the priest quite well despite the few times he has to dodge a sudden obstacle that those same shadows hid from him. it’s not very long before he suddenly makes it out of the building and back into clean air, and then he’s running for cover, ducking behind cars and horses as they present themselves until he can make it into a somewhat safer space, out of direct sight from the main building.

he lets yihan down again then, temporarily putting him back on his own two feet so his hand can dart into his coat again, this time to take out a different - clearly recently home-made - device. with quick motions, he runs the device over yihan’s skin, a few inches away from it, waits for the appropriate beep that tells him he’s got the slave chip, and presses the button. there is no audible noise to the human ear, nor is there anything else quite spectacular, but the device merely gives a different beep, telling him the chip’s signal has been silenced and taken over by the device.

with no hesitation whatsoever, henry quickly darts back to the nearest horse, drops the device into one of it’s saddle bags and then releases it to run off as it pleases. a quick slap on the horse’s backside makes it gallop off wildly, but henry does not pay attention to where it’s heading aside of making sure it is not where they will be heading.

“alright,” he hums as he returns to yihan’s side. he’s slightly out of breath due to all the running, but it doesn’t stop him in the slightest from picking the priest back up the same way he’d been carrying him before. “where to now?”

there’s nothing else he’s saying, no specific kind of looks he’s giving, as if there is nothing else between them except the fact that they’re trying to find a way off this godforsaken planet together. but the truth of the matter is that he’s afraid. afraid that if he lets go of his focus for even a split second, he won’t be able to get himself back together again in time to get out. and the one thing that he considers worse than yihan thinking he’s either upset or doesn’t give a shit anymore is yihan dying, so the choice is quite easily made.

“we gotta be quick about this.”

What Dreams May Come. . .

[zanyara]

zpocalyptica:

(...) His words were a whispering tumbled rush he knew, he just hoped Henry still cared enough at least a little to trust him, listen and not fight his alternate plan. “I know of another boat, that will buy us some time. The slavers fed us gruel made from animal feed. They pay the pilot…in favors–to skim. His transporter is here–but not in the public docks. It’s hidden it out on the plains, outside of town and no one’s the wiser.  We just have to…uhm…borrow it and get off planet before anyone realizes we never went to the docks.”

his quick progress in navigating the halls of the slave trader’s home is brought to a sudden stop by a tug on his hand. and there is absolutely nothing in the world henry wouldn’t put aside when yihan so tentatively asks for his attention. the problem is that he only realises that when his gaze lifts from the device with blueprints on it in his hand to focus directly on yihan’s face, the first eye-contact in months coursing through him like a shot of electricity, as if he’s been messing with the wrong wires on a circuit. instantly fully aware of the entirety of the priest’s being, henry gets lost in those eyes until some sort of sound croaks over the priest’s lips again.

he blinks, eyes shifting from face to lips back to face, wondering what it is that has been done to yihan to turn him from such a solid rock of confidence into this croaking, trembling person. rage builds in his heart, then thrums through his veins, and it takes a solid moment before he can focus his attention on the words that the other male is speaking rather than the cacophony of angry shouting in his own head.

the words make sense, rationally, something about a pilot and a transporter not in the public docks but hidden out in the plains. something about having to turn around, or something of the sort, take a different way out of the building. his eyes automatically travel back down to the device in his hand then, skimming over the blueprint plans, considering his options, wondering about the possible consequences of any route he could take. then, as if listening to something only he can hear, he temporarily stills, head tilting slightly to the right, eyes unfocused for a moment. when he blinks next, the device in his hand is tucked back into the folds of his clothes.

without saying another word, he steps forward, unlocks his fingers from the solid grip they had on yihan’s hand, and instead puts arms tentatively around the lithe - almost worryingly thin - shape of the priest. it doesn’t take much effort to tilt yihan off his feet, as if he’s not dealing with an entire person but merely a small object in the engine room needing to be moved around. still, he safely keeps arms around the man and holds him in an embrace that could be considered gentle, if not for the fact that he doesn’t even hesitate a single moment before he’s already moving again - this time in a different direction.

“you lead the way,” is what he says, voice gruff, leaving no space for question or protest. “there’s blueprints in my inside coat pocket if you need them. “once we’re outside it won’t be hard to blend in.” he rounds a corner and breaks out into a run, nothing much else on his mind other than the fact that they have to get out, out, out.

“and don’t worry about that chip, i’ll disable it the second we’re out of this building.”

What Dreams May Come. . .

[zanyara]

valentinebug:

(...)

Once he had managed to convince someone and hacked the cameras, he waited in one of the last exhibitions as he tapped his foot against the floor.  The sound of footsteps had him looking back and holding his breath, he was ready to make his escape.  Of course, the sight of the man that dragged him into this mess had him relaxing and even though he knew well that the other didn’t know who he was or what kind of situation they were on, he just decided to rant.  “You asshole. Here you are living a nice life while I am just waiting for people to come to my door to kill me or better yet, wondering if I am going to die tomorrow because they moved the schedule.” An exasperated look was sent Hakyeon’s way and then rubbing the side of his forehead, Euitae took a breath.  “You probably think I am crazy but whoever you think you are, is a lie and so is your life. Your name is Lee Hakyeon and you work for the government. Long story short, you discovered a plan to end the lives of half of the population and they erase your memory when they realized that you knew so we kind of need to find a way to stop that from happening.”

hakyeon is a simple man with simple needs. there is not very much necessary to keep him happy and at the current time; he has it all. a job he likes, a wife he loves and a select group of friends to spend his evenings with, enjoying the life he has carved out for himself. he has all of those things, and cannot imagine a life without any of them. his job; a mostly administrative position in one of the higher up offices of the bigger government operated business companies. his wife; the girl he met and fell in love with in high school, the only woman he’s ever loved and the one he is planning to have a family with some day. his friends are people he’s gathered along the way, each of them hardworking and somewhat adventurous, just like he himself is.

yet somehow, even with everything in his life settled so perfectly, hakyeon has been feeling like something’s missing. he can never pinpoint what it is exactly whenever he tries to think about it, but he knows that for the past few months, he’s slowly been growing more unhappy with the way his life is going. there’s something continuously nagging at the back of his mind, and he could almost swear that there are some people he passes by on the street that make him feel things he should not feel for complete strangers. a sense of familiarity or even melancholy on some occasions that he doesn’t quite know what to do with. he hasn’t voiced these concerns out to his wife, of course, because how do you tell someone who loves you that much that maybe your life isn’t entirely the life you want to live in?

but he’s been considering telling one of his friends. getting an opinion from one of the other married men, to see how much of a common thing this is; to figure out how much he should get his mind in check or how well he should follow his gut feeling. he’s been considering meeting one of his friends for drinks one night and having a decent conversation at some point with a little bit more alcohol in his system - because when he’s sober something always seems to keep him from talking.

in any case; it is safe to say that choi hakyeon does not expect to follow a very insistent person out of his work building and over to a museum that day. he definitely doesn’t expect being told to walk over to the furthest exhibition and he most especially did not consider that someone might be waiting for him there whose face almost instantly causes the breath to be stolen from his lungs and his legs to suddenly feel weak. and all of that even before the male has even said a word, because the words that soon spill from the stranger’s mouth are even more confusing. staring at the man in clear confusion, hakyeon just stands there listening to the words spoken to him without truly grasping their meaning. until the last syllable falls from the male’s lips and hakyeon just lets out a little chuckle.

“this.. this is a bad prank,” are the first words he speaks, and somehow it feels like the voice he’s using, that politely distant tone, just isn’t right. as if there is more to be communicated between him and the man opposite of him. as if he is supposed to know the other and know how to behave around him. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t even know who this guy is and he sure as hell doesn’t know anything about a plan to end the lives of half the population. besides - memory erasure? a frown soon follows the expression of disbelief and hakyeon huffs. “my name is choi hakyeon and i don’t even know you,” he responds, hands balling into fists as he tries his best to ignore how uncomfortable he feels right now rather than the displease he should feel.

[zanyara]

orbitum:

(...)

he turns around, arms folded across his chest to protect himself from anything jason might try, any syrupy sweet promises or tantalizing touches (he swears he wasn’t always this weak). by his sides, his hands make fists that tremble with the force of holding back tears.

he will not cry.

“you don’t get to break my heart and have it too.”

the aftermath of his mind’s ironically mindless decision to speak those words hurts more than the first time they broke apart like this. funny how to entirely opposite sentences can have the same effect, as long as you speak them in this particular order. ‘we need to break up’ had yuki recoiling over both physical as untouchable distance, much the same way as he’s doing now that jason has uttered the exact opposite of those words.

and he understands, of course. he’s not an asshole (he really is, that obnoxiously annoying part of his brain decides to remind him), and he can imagine the way yuki must feel with jason being so indecisive. giving everything they have up one moment, then trying to grasp at the remnants of it with his outstretched fingertips the next. he’s tired and broken and yet there is a part of him that knows, that wants nothing more than to be whole again. to be with yuki again.

the light disappears from the room as yuki closes the curtains, drowning them in darkness and anonymity, making sure that no one will be able to see them in their very compromising togetherness - not even they themselves. he hears the other boy move more so now that he can’t see him, but doesn’t have the heart to try and reach for him. he doesn’t have the right, either.

still, yuki’s voice breaks the silence again and he involuntarily cringes.

truer words have never been spoken. a sentiment he can agree with, that he can understand. but not one he can agree with. not right now. not with less than nine hours left before his flight takes off. not when he wishes he could either erase the entirety of their meeting or make sure it would never have to end - but no option in between those two will do.

“i know,” he speaks, and it’s barely a whisper but it’s there. the softness of understanding, of agreement, of those same things he feels. only it’s followed by more words that hold his very inner refusal to accept it. “but i love you.”

if killing weren’t a criminal offence, jason might find a gun to put in yuki’s hands and tell the other boy to shoot him. but it is an offence, and yuki would never be able to live with himself afterwards. jason doesn’t want him to have to go through this either. so instead of getting a gun, he gets up from the bed, slowly walks over to where he presumes yuki is still standing by the window.

“and i don’t want to live without you.”

it’s a laughable thing to say, considering he is the very same reason they have been living without each other for weeks now, even months. he can bear it no longer, though.

"i don’t want to have to leave you.”

one last time ◦

[zanyara]

powertuffs:

(...)

she kept her head down, knowing better than to stare back at him. while she was friendly with the princess, she didn’t know either of the princes that much and preferred very much to be formal with them. “no, your highness. i just woke up and i’m preparing the princess’ breakfast to her preference.” eyes lifting up slightly to address him, she couldn’t help but take notice of the way he was dressed, he definitely just got out of bed to go the kitchen to grab something to eat.

“should i make you something, your highness?” 

he stands there for a moment, looking at the young woman he now recognises as his sister’s handmaiden. then with a start and a sudden, embarrassing sense of realisation, he remembers the clothes he’s wearing and the state he’s in. shit.

but there’s no point in running away now to change, or trying to run a hand through his hair to fix it. it’s beyond messy and he can only hope the hood is hiding most of it from view. as to the rest of his state of clothing, he’ll simply hope that she will understand even the second prince can’t be dressed in exquisite clothing this early in the morning.

“no, no, that’s entirely fine,” he quickly blurts out when he realises she’s asked him if she should make him something. “i just came to get a, uh.. quick. bite. a quick bite, yeah.” his eyes flicker over the kitchen quickly, as if trying to figure out where he should go so he can get out of there as quickly as possible. what was he even coming to the kitchen for to begin with? it’s hard to remember.

swallowing once, siwoo tries his best to recall which stray thought caused him to decide to come to the kitchen, but only remembers it when he stands there for almost a full minute already. “ah yes,” he then speaks aloud, as if he owes her any explanation for his presence, as if he’s supposed to narrate his own actions whenever someone else is around. “i came to get some ice cream. just gonna quickly grab it from the freezer, don’t mind me.”

and he does as he says, heading over to the freezer to open it, rummage a little through the ice cream section and eventually pull out a small box of some chocolate-flavoured, crunchy ice cream. after closing the freezer again, his next stop is the cutlery drawer, from which he quickly pulls a fork. it takes him three steps back towards the door before he realises a fork is definitely not what he needs.

there’s two options there, persist on with the fork and attempt to eat his ice cream with it, or do the three-step walk of shame back to the drawer to exchange it for a spoon. in the end he goes for the latter option, turning around and heading back with a sheepish grin. “wrong piece of cutlery,” he tells the handmaiden while holding up the fork, as if that is yet another piece of information he’s supposed to give her.

midnight delight

[zanyara]

pictoratus:

(...)

the next day, he dresses up, wears his most comfortable shoes, and heads down to the car that will take them to the shopping center. he has notified the driver yesterday, and when he makes it to the car, he isn’t all too surprised to see hyunwoo there. after the ���rant’ yesterday, he wasn’t expecting anyone else. the man isn’t in casual clothing this time however, and sungjin does a double take, not expecting him to be so… handsome. it doesn’t matter though- he remembers their talk yesterday and pushes that thought away for the moment. with a plan in mind, he gives the man a much-too-sweet smile before he gets inside. “good morning — i hope you’re ready for a shopping spree, hyunwoo.” he forgoes the honorifics altogether and pushes his sunglasses to his head before taking out his phone. they’ll be at their destination pretty soon, and they have a long day ahead. plan a begins.

he goes home and prepares his clothes for the next day. choosing an outfit that will go well with a rich kid without looking too formal. he also doesn’t don the usual bodyguard outfit, considering that might make it too obvious who he is. instead he prepares a set of comfortable but nice looking pants and a casual dress shirt he knows the bullet proof vest won’t show under. it’s a good thing he’s managed to acquire a few newer versions of things so that he doesn’t have to show up looking like he gained an extra few kilos overnight.

when he shows up at the mansion, there is no sight yet of the youngster, but he doesn’t let that deter him and simply heads over to where the driver is already waiting. a quick introduction with accompanying chat tells him that they’re supposed to be headed out on a shopping trip that day, and he’s even more glad that he dressed as he has. he might even be able to pass for one of sungjin’s friends, as long as there is no need for him to pull out his gun.

it takes a little while longer before said fiend finally comes out of the house, but hyunwoo doesn’t say anything about timing or outside temperature. instead he just lets the driver open the car door for the kid and gets in on the other side. the words aimed at him would have maybe irked him if he hadn’t already been aware of the plans for the day, and so he merely gives a nod of his head.

“strapped and ready,” is all he replies, paying no mind to the fact that the boy pulls out his phone and basically disappears in it for the car ride. there is little smalltalk to be had between the both of them, so hyunwoo is more than happy to skip it altogether. he himself spends his time mainly looking out the window, taking in the sights to see and mentally preparing himself for an entire day in and out of stores with a stuck up youth who would do a lot better if someone gave him a good beating. but considering it’s his job to not let that happen, he’s pretty certain sungjin is going to continue being the way he is for a long time still.

only when they reach their first destination does he move again, head turning over to his charge. “i’ll be posing as an acquaintance of yours rather than acting as your bodyguard to throw off anyone who might be keeping an eye on you. you’ll understand if i drop the honorifics,” he tells the young man as if he were using honorifics to begin with, then gets out of the car easily. the minute he straightens up outside and closes the door, his gaze finds sungjin on the other side of the car again.

“so where are we going first?” and the relaxed grin that blooms on his features easily changes him from the serious bodyguard he’s been so far into a young man ready to have a fun day out. it doesn’t take long for him to pick up the cap he brought along and put it on his head. both a way to cover his short hair as well as a way to keep people from noticing the way his gaze is going to wander all over the place.

here come the regrets ◦

[zanyara]

melxodrava:

(...)

That is, until they go tumbling down. 

Which awkwardly ends up with Dongwoon lying on top of Yifan in a rather suggestive way. Dongwoon widens his eyes and quickly stands up, brushing off dirt. “You were going too fast on purpose!” Dongwoon said, pointedly looking away from Yifan because if he were to be honest, he knew his face was super red from the contact. “We could’ve gotten hurt!” 

“of course i was going too fast on purpose!” yifan replies back to dongwoon’s almost affronted exclamation. “what else did you want me to do? go slow? then why did we steal a motorcycle to begin with, we could have just walked!” but he’s not annoyed or angry, instead he’s grinning widely and laughter soon trickles out of him in happy bursts. the adrenaline pumping through his veins because of the entire situation is enough to make him feel like he can take on the world. and right now that means doing so from his still lying down position.

“ah, but we didn’t, did we?” he questions again, as he starts moving his arms and legs as if trying to make a snow angel on the asphalt. he stops a moment later, then pushes himself upwards again. “has anyone ever told you you’re really attractive when you’re upset?” it’s a cliche, honestly, but what is this night if not a time when anything’s allowed? and so he winks again, then walks over to the bike to pick it up. it’s got plenty of scratches now, but luckily seems to still be in a working state.

“come on, we’ll head for your mountain so you can hike. i’ll go slow this time around.” he pats the passenger seat of the motorcycle, smiling over at dongwoon with a softer expression now, trying to reassure the other male that he really is going to be more careful from now on.

and indeed, once they’re both on the bike again, he finishes the rest of their route to the mountain at a regular speed, which allows him to pay better attention to the road, so that they end up arriving at their destination without trouble.

“here we are,” he speaks again once he stops the bike. “just in time for an almost-midnight hike.” his eyes catch sight of some leftover asphalt dust on his pants and he wipes it away quickly, ignoring the scrapes that his own pants have underwent from the tumble. then a hand motion to the mountain is followed by a quick grin dongwoon’s way. “after you, handsome.”

– last night.

[zanyara]

zpocalyptica:

(...)

While he worked to salvage what remained of his shredded dignity, the deed had been done and he found himself yanked off the stage once again, and hosed off of a month’s worth of his own stench. Then he was dressed in a new rough fiber smock that just barely covered his pale knees, before they had dragged him here and chained him down like so much cargo in the cage by the docks. Yihan fingered his chains again, smile grim thinking of the abasement that had gotten him to this point. He was going to grot the sick bastard that had purchased him tonight slow, one chain link at a time for every second of the slave traders “care” he’d endured… 

His “master” would deeply regret tonight’s booze soaked impulse buy.

it’s been a gruesome trajectory.

weeks of always being one step too slow to catch up with yihan, of trying to dig himself a clear path through sloppy mud. he’s been following after the damn priest for over a month now, maybe more than two months even. all his focus and attention has been on yihan, there’s been very little left for things like keeping time or pretending he’s a capable, acceptable member of society. he doesn’t think anyone on the planets he used to frequent before still thinks of him as that capable, steadfast engineer he tended to be known as.

but it doesn’t matter. very little matters anymore in his life now. he lost one family and left the other - with means to contact him, but very little hope that they actually might. something about out of sight, out of mind, he probably writes it up to. not that the same expression works for him, what with the way he’s been hunting after an invisible man for so long now. a part of him wondered more often than not if maybe it had all been for nothing and he would find yihan at the bottom of a ditch, too late to still do anything at all.

but there is always something to be done. even if he has to pay the alliance every credit he owns.

luckily it hasn’t come to that. luckily he’s giving every credit he owns to a slave trader instead. which might be the worse person to pay out of the two, but at least this means yihan is still alive. whatever state they left him in is questionable. henry has only been able to look at him from a distance, then proceeded to promise the salve trader riches beyond his imagination to buy yihan off of the mean looking lord that seemed to have bid the highest price so far.

and it’s very clear that henry has never owned all the riches in the world, which means that one corridor and five steps behind him, the slave trader is trying to figure out whether the ‘machine’ henry gave him really is as valuable as the engineer has made it seem so far. spoiler alert: it isn’t. it’s a piece of junk. any minute now these people are going to find out and will try to tear him to pieces for lying to them. any minute now his entirely not well-planned scheme will fall apart between his fingers and either he’ll lose his life or he’ll lose yihan - again.

by now the second seems like the worst option.

henry’s eyes fix themselves on the back of the guard’s head. a man sent with him to show him in which of the plentiful little rooms yihan has been stored away until his new master comes to get him. the little room yihan will remain stuck in to be taken out of by that mean-looking lord if henry does not get him out first. it’s all the incentive he needs, all the excuse his tired, aching body requires to fill itself with adrenaline and make him move the second his companion brings out a key and puts it in the lock.

the shot is muffled by the silencer, bullet going straight through the head to avoid having to fire another one. a quick death, because even if this person might have been part of a slave trading organisation, he’s still a person. henry isn’t certain that this specific male has mistreated the priest. still, the body thuds against the door rather loudly and it takes him a moment to be able to drag it aside far enough for him to continue opening the door.

one turn of the lock, one surprisingly nervous, deep breath, and then he pushes open the door, stalking inside with determined precision. “we need to be quick,” is the only thing he says, going straight for the man standing in the middle of the room with the chains locking him in place. luckily his eye is trained enough to know which lock requires which key and so he doesn’t lose half a day with trying every key in his hands before finding the right one. a few quick turns and twists and the chains are off, cuffs lying uselessly on the floor.

“it’s only a matter of minutes before this guy figures out that the piece of junk i gave him is worthless, so let’s go.” he’s not making eye contact. he can’t make eye contact because if he does, the entire world will crumble apart, he will lose his grip on reality and he might even just collapse on the floor right then and there and cry in relief because yihan is standing there, yihan is alive, yihan is more or less alright.

so instead of eye contact, he grabs hold of the priest’s hand to tug him along, then pulls the little machine out of his pocket and brings up the blueprints of the building. it soon marks his quickest way out, and henry tugs the priest along with him as he sets off, completely disregarding the dead guard at the door with the almost perfectly aimed bullet hole in the head. the gun he had used for said action is safely tucked into his belt again, hidden by the flaps of his coat. except for the fact that his current clothing is nothing at all like his engineer overall and the red spikes having disappeared from his hair, there is little about henry that signals he is any different than how he used to be a few months ago, when the both of them were still safely aboard serenity.

What Dreams May Come. . .

[zanyara]

xblackbirds:

(...)

another is the pursuit of companionship, he reminds himself as he strolls into the café area of the school, spotting jinsul, his girlfriend of the last hundred years or so, her dyed blonde hair streaming over her shoulder as she sips a chocolate chai drink, the same one she always gets. there had been a time when they’d been happy to see each other, smiled whenever eyes caught or fingers touched, and it was a nice anecdote that even vampires could still feel things. he’s known that for a while now though, long before he’d ever met her. these days though, they’re not as warm to each other, and as he comes over and sits down with her and a few of their mutual friends, she doesn’t even reach for his hand.

he’s bored for a while as they talk, tuning in and out of the conversation, dark eyes wandering around the large, bright room, before slowly, inconspicuously settling on the figure of someone standing on the opposite side. there’s nothing special about the back of his head and baekho doesn’t really know why he’s watching this child, but he’s about to turn away when the male turns, his face coming into view.

and for the first time in centuries, out of pure almost-forgotten habit, baekho gasps.

school sucks.

that is the eventual verdict jongin has settled on. why is he in college? he has no flaming idea, really. except maybe that this is the one college around with a decent swimming pool that he can use to train his body and maybe actually make something of a career out of it. so he’s not really in college for the school part of it, but more so for the sport accommodations it offers. going to an olympic swimming pool elsewhere costs a lot of money, after all.

and school does not? his mother would say, but he would tell her no, because you can get a scholarship, mom. which is why he tries. he works his ass off to get good grades and when he’s not swimming he’s most probably studying for something. basically his life is boring as heck, and he would love to be able to tell himself that it’s mostly all in his mind but it’s really not. sure, he goes out with friends, he drinks, he presents himself at all the parties, he does what any self-respecting college guy would do, but it never feels quite right.

it never feels quite right until he’s on his motorcycle, driving down an abandoned road at a speed he’s not supposed to be driving at, the wind whipping at his clothes and caressing his cheeks like a lover’s touch. none of his previous lovers have ever touched him that way, though, so he’s not entirely sure why he always gets reminded of something good whenever he drives. why his heart fills itself so fully with life and joy. he doesn’t know, but he craves for that feeling often enough to have had several fines for driving above the speed limit. and still he keeps doing it.

the few times when his license has been pulled for a few days or weeks, he would find solace in the only other thing that can make him feel something alike; staying under water until he almost runs out of breath. just sitting at the bottom of a pool with his eyes closed and his mind empty, feeling the water flow all around him and imagining himself floating through the vastness of the ocean perhaps. sometimes his mind feeds him flashes of images that he always hopes might at some point explain his strange affinity to water. even if they never do, he keeps on going back.

because he loves it, that feeling of being on the edge, of having nothing to lose.

in the middle of the school cafeteria, however, that feeling is as far off as his desire to scoop copious amounts of whatever disgusting athlete’s porridge they’ve made today onto his plate and finish the entire meal. so instead he casually queues in the regular line, gets himself a decent meal with rice and meat and other things that a person should eat to gain strength, then turns around to find his friends so he can take a seat.

he doesn’t know why his eyes catch those of a guy sitting all the way across the cafeteria from him, but they do, and as their gazes lock, jongin freezes. the world momentarily singles down to him and the other male, dark eyes gazing into dark eyes even across such an almost ridiculous distance, and for a split second his chest fills itself with life, taking a breath suddenly gains him a lot more oxygen and he knows that a single touch of their hands would open a world of possibilities for him.

then someone bumps into his elbow and it almost launches his platter of food to the floor. his attention is instantly pulled, eyebrows drawing down in a deep frown and an anger settling in his chest that goes way beyond nearly losing his lunch to the cafeteria floor. “hey!” he calls after the obnoxious girl who strides on like it’s no big deal. “watch where you’re fucking going, you bitch!”

and he’s not a saint, not even one of the nicer guys around, but he’s also not this rude - usually. this time around, however, he feels almost ready to go after her and punch her in the face for ruining his... his what, really? his eye contact with a total stranger? the anger leaves him as quickly as it came on, his chest feeling like it’s almost deflating as the life and air seem to disappear along with it like a whiff of smoke.

when he turns back to the front, he doesn’t even remember which direction exactly he was looking in before, and he refuses to try and search the crowd for someone he doesn’t even know. so he sets for his usual table and drops down on the empty seat next to his friends, placing the platter down as well and instantly grumbling something about rude ass girls and wishing he could just graduate already. the agreeing jokes and laughter that follow go past him, his mind for some reason transfixed on the memory of the entirely unfamiliar stranger.

meet me on the equinox

[zanyara]

dearfaerie:

(...)

minutes later, the small panel on their door opens and minsung sticks out his hands out for the officer to cuff him. finally, he was able to go out to the courtyard for some fresh air– or as fresh as seoul’s air could be. he walks behind the officer as they were both out and heading outside. the sun shines bright and warms his body despite the cool breeze. once the cuffs were off, he looks at the other. “be careful.”

at the already familiar sound of bars being tapped, sungha almost reluctantly heaves himself up from his seated position, standing straight and heading over to the middle of the cell along with the older male. the manhandling is nothing new, but he still makes a face at it. he’s smarter than to try and fight it, however. the guards are not people to pick a fight with. they truly can make your life living hell. or end your life. of course those practices are not out in the light, but that doesn’t mean they don’t happen, and sungha isn’t about to see the end of his days because some low-paid prison guard decides his face just isn’t right for living.

he notices the male next to him glancing his way, but ignores whatever thoughts might lay behind such an action. he simply waits. and when the guards allow them back into their own cells, he walks over to where he’d been seated before. he picks up the blanket that was thrown aside by himself mere moments ago, then once again thrown around by the guards, and calmly folds it up to a neat square, moving to put it where it belongs. his eyes temporarily catch on the sight of his cellmate fixing up every little bit of his belongings again and can’t help the little huff the sight of those actions pulls from him.

but it’s not his business what the man does or doesn’t do with his time. so long as it’s got nothing to do with him, he’s more than fine ignoring the hell out of the other male. which is exactly what he does as he drops back down in his earlier seated position and closes his eyes for the rest of the five minutes.

when the guards come back, he’s up on his feet again soon enough, sticking his hands outside just the same as the older male does and waiting for the cuffs to click around his wrists. the walk is not too long, but he still feels like it takes aeons before they finally reach the outside courtyard, the breeze stroking past his cheeks, making him close his eyes with an almost content sigh.

and then the cuffs are being taken off and the next minute his cellmate speaks up again, causing him to raise his eyebrows. “jeez, i didn’t realise i came here to get adopted, too. i thought i was merely being incarcerated. they put me in twice the prison i thought they would,” he states, grin slowly growing on his features as he takes in his cellmate once more, then lets his eyes go over the area they’re allowed to roam in for the next thirty minutes. or was it an hour? “well, mom, if you’re so worried about my safety, why don’t you show me around?” he looks back over at his cellmate and beams a bright smile at him, as if they were always the best of buddies. “do introduce me to all the cool kids.”

clipped wings.

[zanyara]

ultracocobabe:

(...)

“i’ve missed you,” he stated plainly, as he was wont to do, and held her face in his hands and kissed her and kissed her and tugged on her thighs so he might be able to hold them, or have them around his hips when he sat. he kissed her face, her nose, her cheeks in reverence. was it blasphemous to think that she would have been a goddess, in another life? or that the gods themselves were jealous of her? – no, surely – it was the truth? “i’ve missed you so much – but what is this?” he looked away from her, hesitant, and instead drank in with vision what he was waiting to consume. “did you prepare all of this yourself?” he smiled, and kissed her jaw, “how much am i allowed to have tonight?” 

she easily moves along with him as he pulls her in, following his movements as he sits down and easily sitting herself in his lap. there is nothing proper or modest about the way her legs wrap themselves around his middle, pulled in even closer by his hands on her hips. the sound of his words, of his plain confession to missing her, so clearly and openly said, so unlike any other soldier would, simmers over her skin, raises her heart to new heights. he always, always makes her feel as if she’s the only person in the world who is loved the way he loves her, and she hopes he knows that she loves him too.

the continued kisses almost make her lose her cool - almost - but then he speaks again and she has to recompose herself to be able to look aside at the food displayed next to them. another happy little chuckle bursts from her as he asks about it and she nods at him with sparkling eyes when he asks her if she prepared all of it herself.

there’s a flush to her entire skin now, her excitement over meeting him mingling with the adrenaline rush she always gets from the secrecy they have to hold these meetings in - lest anyone figure out what it is they really mean to each other, what it really is they do together. but she gladly succumbs to it, to all of it. to him.

she rewards his next question with another kiss first, hungry and breathless, fingers digging into his tunic and tangling up in his hair. when she pulls away, her own chest is heaving with the heavy breaths she’s taking and her eyes flicker over his face for a moment as she forces her body to settle down again. then she leaves a lingering little peck on the corner of his mouth before smiling. both sultry and sweet at the same time.

“all of it,” she finally gives him as a reply then, smile turning mischievous but moments later as she lets go of him to be able to lean over and pick up a handful of grapes. as she straightens again, she picks one from the stem, then reaches it out to his lips so she can feed it to him. the second one she picks goes into her own mouth and she chews slowly, all the while with that same little mischievous smile on her face.

just being around him makes her this playful, after all. so different from the composed, respected priestess she always holds herself as during the day. so different from anything she ever is around anyone else. only he ever brings out this side to her, this playful and carefree person who wants nothing more than to make him happy, to see him smile, to feel his body react to her touches.

olympia – 409 BC

[zanyara]

yixingxing:

(...) 

the prior comment about the dance floor eats at him and he has to be honest before either one of them actually venture out there. “actually, if it’s rather alright with you, the dance floor is probably the last place i’d want to be.” he’s a wallflower when it comes to things like that. attention-grabbing, sort of embarrassing, xinwei would much rather do those things in private if at all. or have to be blackout drunk. “that or you’d have to get a lot more of these in me before i would do whatever that guy is doing out there,” as he snipes li’s last shot glass from under him  with a quick swig, and points with the empty glass towards the floor.

“how are you feeling about staying here all night? or did you have anywhere else you’d like to go? somewhere quieter, louder?” the night was young, and while xinwei didn’t have to leave quite yet, talking loudly over the bar music wasn’t his favourite thing to do. but moving it elsewhere could perchance change the dynamic, for better or worse. 

li is glad when xinwei replies to him, but moves the subject on to other things than the dancing. he’s relieved, is probably the best way to phrase that, glad that he is not going to have to spend any time that night on the dance floor pretending like he’s in any way capable of moving his limbs in a rhythmical fashion. yet the turn the conversation takes is not entirely pleasant, because as xinwei describes his current life, li hears so much of his own struggles in the explanation that he almost wishes he had not posed the question about hobbies. what if it gets turned on him, after all?

so he’s relieved when xinwei asks him about the work-life balance in a sort of joking manner, or that is how he takes it, and a chuckle bubbles out of him as he already starts shaking his head. “no, i really haven’t, please don’t misunderstand,” he replies easily, and he’s still grinning a little by the time his new acquaintance brings up the dancing again. when his very own shot glass is taken from underneath his nose, however, his eyes widen slightly and his mouth forms a comical o-shape in surprise. his gaze slowly moves in the direction xinwei’s pointing in and, after one look at the clearly much more rhythmically inclined male on the dance floor, it quickly snaps back to his companion.

“i agree,” he makes sure to quickly reassure the other male, nodding his head and then glancing around for a waiter. he’s going to need several more shots to deal with the crippling embarrassment his own incapability to have conversation will probably give him if he happens to think back on everything he just said.

but then the question follows, that exhilarating yet also stressful question, rippling through his veins like a tingling sensation until his heart beats almost deafeningly in his ears. he’s pretty sure he’s fully flushed by now, but then that is something he can always blame the temperature inside the bar for. his own hopes flaring up, however, that he doesn’t know what to blame it on. and he doesn’t know why it’s there either.

so it’s a little flustered, and heavily confused, that he makes a vague hand motion in the direction of the exit - which in all honesty looks to him as if it’s so far away he might not even make it there, not with the way his legs feel like jelly currently. “maybe we could get some fresh air for a bit,” he suggests, before adding like an afterthought: “it’s really hot in here.”

and he wishes he hadn’t said that, because it sounds so much like he’s trying to casually bring up an excuse for why his face is so flushed. actually every word that has come out of his mouth so far suddenly sounds like an excuse for some other shortcoming to his own ears and for a split second he wishes he could escape the entire situation - why did he come out for drinks again? but then he truly considers the thought of leaving and somehow feels all the worse when he considers himself just going home and having an early night.

“you, uh.. you smoke?”

reunion ◦

[zanyara]

i apologise for disappearing for two weeks real life has been throwing a bunch of shite at me. i’ll be trying to get replies out again in the coming week but honestly who knows if life is done yet, so this might turn into weeks. i apologise for the lateness, feel free to kick me in ims for it if you’d like.

[zanyara]

an act of kindness ◦

park byeol & ahn woojin ; university texting au

her eyes are on the lines of text on the walls of the bathroom stall for the entire time, skimming through all the messages, reading the little things that are left by people with no respect for the university or the people who’ve built it. not all of them are bad, however, nor vulgar, some are nice and she finds herself smiling at some of them. she always tries to take in everything, to see if anyone is being pinpointed more often. not that she thinks she can change anything about it, but the least she can do is report it to the people who are supposed to be able to do something.

today it’s not bullying that catches her attention, but instead it’s an actual real-looking phone number scribbled down with the words “call for a good time” beneath it. it’s not exactly the message itself that makes her feel uncomfortable, but more the way the people who wrote it seemed to have been truly enjoying themselves. truly wanting people to randomly text a number and send it stupid texts. still, she doesn’t think it’s a good idea to leave a personal number around for anyone to see.

so she leans down to reach into her bag and pulls out a marker. hesitating for a split second, she pulls out her phone on a whim and takes a picture of the message, before scribbling over the phone number to make it intelligible. it takes a few moments, and her phone starts buzzing right as she’s done. alarm clock, telling her it’s time to head to class for one of her nerve-wrecking class presentations which is supposed to happen in about half an hour. if only they stopped giving tasks like those in university. if only.

quickly gathering her stuff together, she throws her bag over he shoulder and leaves the bathroom behind her, immersing herself into the loudness of the ever-crowded hallways again. later on she would probably claim it to be stress or something of the sort, but as she’s walking, she lifts her phone again and starts typing a text at the number on the picture she took. perhaps she could bring a smile to someone else’s day. and perhaps that someone else could temporarily take her mind off of the horrors of speaking for a group as well.

you never know until you take a shot in the dark, after all.

[ text ↳ unknown ] hey, found your number on a bathroom stall saying to call for a good time. i hope texting works too, cause i could really use something to take my mind of the class presentation i'm about to fail at horrendously.

@tcphra​

[zanyara]

ultracocobabe:

(...) 

“you’re here early,” he called out. his voice sounded unusually loud in this space; its teasing tone embedded itself in the small crevices and floated off into nothingness. “were you that excited to see me?”

she steps out from behind the column when his voice speaks up, indicating that he has seen her and knows she is there. her features automatically spread into an expression of warm happiness, as she crosses the distance between them in a quick run. it’s not hard to launch herself at him, knowing that he would never drop her no matter the circumstances. she laughs as she lands in his arms, her own wrapping around his neck as she nuzzles his face before kissing him.

it’s a long kiss, dragged out by the time in which they haven’t seen each other, by her affection for him and her expectations for the evening. when eventually she pulls back, her breathing has quickened, but she smiles at him with slightly parted lips and sparkling eyes.

“i am always excited to see you,” she says, love littering her words and expression. allowing herself to slide back down onto the balls of her feet, she unwraps herself from around him and takes hold of his hand instead. her dress smooths itself out almost automatically, falling back around her slender frame as if it had never been rumpled up in her jump at him. “come with me, my love,” she tells him, pulling him along to a more remote corner of the temple, where she has already spread out a blanket and some sweets.

it’s not easy to sneak things like that into a temple, of course, but as a priestess people give you a few more liberties when they see you walking around. nobody wants to invoke the wrath of a goddess, after all. it’s something she makes ample use of to facilitate their meetings happening in private, as well as acquiring everything they consume.

to get free food for your lover’s affairs in the name of the goddess might not be seen as proper, but she believes hera would understand. she is the goddess of marriage, after all, and if there is one thing she would do with this man in a heartbeat; it’s getting married. that or make babies. not necessarily the getting babies part, but the making babies part... definitely.

coming to a halt when they reach her little display, she shows it off with an arm motion that takes it all in followed by an excited, happy giggle as she once again moves closer to him to kiss him. it always seems like she can’t get enough of this man, who has somehow wormed his way into her every dream, making her live through the highest levels of anticipation whenever she knows they’ll be meeting.

“tell me you’ve missed me,” she utters against his lips, hands moving to tangle in his hair so she can pull him in for another proper kiss. she can’t ever get enough of him, it seems, always hungry for his lips, his touch, all of him. heedless of the repercussions their romance might eventually bring them.

olympia – 409 BC

[zanyara]

collide ◦

yoo hyejin & kim joowon ; ghost au

she’s late. she’s late. she’s late. she’s late.

it’s like a mantra in hyejin’s head, only this one is not reassuring or calming at all but entirely stressing. there’s a cardboard cup holder with four coffee cups as well as an expensive smartphone in her one hand, and a series of files, folders and other papers in the other. like that she is making her way through the streets of the city, a little frantic and in quite the hurry.

avoiding the other people on the sidewalk as best as she can, she utters quick apologies whenever there’s a near collision, raising the coffee cups over other people’s heads at times just to be able to pass by faster.

there’s an important meeting that morning and she needs to make it on time, but of course on a day like today the trafic is shit, meaning she simply got out of the cab she’d taken to work and is now walking the rest of the way. why on earth she ever got the idea to do that, she doesn’t know either but by now it is what it is and there’s no use in trying to hail another cab - it’s not like any of the cars on the road are truly moving, after all.

when there is a moment where no one is ahead of her for a few steps, she quickly glances down at the phone to check the time, which is when her left hand seems to brush past someone else’s lightly, but she’s not in time to avoid the collision of shoulder to shoulder with the person who seems to have come out of nowhere. bumping into the man harshly, hyejin needs all her concentration and balancing skills to keep the four coffee cups and phone in her hand and upright, but it goes at the cost of the files under her arm falling to the floor.

“oh no no no no no!” she exclaims, reaching feebly after the fluttering papers with her now free hand, before she manages to come to a full stop. her first thought is for the stranger she ran into, turning on her heels to face him with an apologetic expression on her features. “i am so sorry!” she instantly states, eyes wandering over the man to make sure he’s alright. “i did not see you, i was not paying enough attention, i apologise!”

she only has the time to spare another quick look before she’s already crouching, putting the coffee cup holder down on the ground a little out of people’s way and then quickly scurrying to gather her papers and folders before they get stepped on or blown away by the breeez. “i’m so sorry, let me first just pick these up, i apologise, truly!” she meanwhile still babbles on to the victim of her inattentiveness, swallowing harshly as she is already imagining the way her boss is going to chew her out for being late.

and probably the coffee is going to be cold too by the time she manages to gather all these papers.

@dredakerwood