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motsenmi:

Look who’s making himself known! Sharp to the g, song gunhee! We’ve been through this! Ey—– That’s not how we greet each other!

“ah! almost forgot.” he raises an arm, hovering it over and pressing its upper part against his forehead to gesture with a casual dab and it doesn’t go without the laughter over the unusual greeting they’d agreed upon. his fingers then click guns at the other as the question strings along. “am i cool like charisma song mino now?”

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souwon:

“Oh.. Well,” Her lips formed a small ‘o’ while quickly averting her clueless stare from the male’s concealed chagrin. Obviously, it slipped her mind earlier while getting ready that shemust avoid wearing leveled shoes when meeting up with him. But as someone who is keen on the details of her outfit, she ended up wearing her white platform strappy sandals that increased her height by about an inch only and most specifically, it was the pair that looked best with her denim A-line skirt. So after a brief flashback of that old deal with him, the corners of Sowon’s lips twisted up in a suppressed grin.

“……You think they’re cute?” The female teased, her shoulders now slightly shaking from her impish snickers.

the snickers attract a mirrored smile that had been threatening to form on his features and ends up suppressed. he looks away, snipping the eye contact to carry away the chuckles that followed right after. “tch,” he attempts to dismiss. “yeah, yeah. it is cute, alright. but see now, i’d have to keep tip-toeing around just to look like i’m not a midget next to you.” he says in jest, bluffing with the shake of his head to display what intent was behind the initial remark. he couldn’t possibly take something as little as an honest mistake against the friend so there’s a simple exhale trailing off of his lips as he looked front. “let’s just go.” 

with his fragile masculinity crushed, the least he’d done was to lead the both of them to their destination. while they walked, his mind drifts. not only was he about the same height as hers with the extra inch added (or worse, appearing shorter than her), he wasn’t dressed as nicely as she was. he blames it on growing up with the loss of a father. always hearing from a maternal figure’s point of view, he didn’t exactly know what to do at times like such. it was also why hyungs were always held dear. going back on where he is at the moment, he at least had the bragging rights on having to accompany someone attractive. for one, it’s especially valued because he was only in friendly terms with a very small number of females. on the other hand, it’s a celebrity; a member, heck— even the leader of one of the top girl groups to date which alleviates her status as a sunbae to the newly debuted gunhee.

his vision scans through the vicinity they were currently in and decided they were lost. he immediately takes out his phone to call for a cab as the lack of conversation stretched between them.

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I think I’d like to be a knife again, like I used to be, but sharper. I’ve watched the light flicker out in enough people to know what my company’s capable of at its worst. And even still, a knife again. Cut less or cut cleaner, but at the end of the day I want to turn myself on myself, pit out my chest, make some reintroductions while the ache’s still fresh. Maybe I’ll leave my heart on the dining room table. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it.

second chances, and other things that might hurt, s.a.

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The Sandman Cover Project

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the driver.

     what's montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,      nor arm, nor face, nor any other part      belonging to a man. o, be some other name!      what's in a name? that which we call a rose      by any other name would smell as sweet.

what does it mean to have a guilty mind? let’s start with a confession.

you hate him because everything he says is witty, his words are always laced with sarcasm. but he would flash you that smile and it’s almost creepy. creepy only because it’s endearing in the same way. as if he’s telling you, there’s no harm to any of it. underneath, there were plenty. he had the mechanics of a smile right straight out of his manual, but he'd seem more authentic whenever he didn't try to feign a smile in his preserved face that looked well under his actual age. 

inadequate to handle emotions. emotionally crippled. void of sentiment. something about him was artificial. clinical.

keeping fit had always been an obsession of his. long runs on the beach, daily workouts, a healthy diet. he would preach about red meat. don't eat red meat. red meat, red meat. he's never spotted with a drink either despite his peers deep into the occupational feature. most everything about him screams, ‘i’m not who you want to hang with.’ he’s simple at best. you wouldn’t even suspect he has his own secrets even when you’re aware everyone does. nothing about him draws your attention because he’s open. or is he? not exactly. it’s all part of the act. you won’t know him unless you were behind his eyes, absorbed into his perspective, convinced of his justice. if you’ve said just now, ‘there’s no way i’m anything like him’, think again.

show me a person who’s never encountered a mosquito, preparing to pierce its tube-like mouthpart into one’s skin and didn’t take pleasure in squashing the fly in self defense. tell me you’ve never found a kind of grim joy in every fresh blood stain you’ve left on your skin, on your walls, wherever else they may have sat still before taking you as their prey. if you can, i’ll tell you the conclusion to this story. give up yet? now tell me you’re not similar in any way. if you can’t, you’re in. feel free to read through in shared confidence.

take a boy; a fifteen year old boy who didn't know how to stop. or rather, if he ever could. a numeric threshold in terms of the number of victims, and an element of time; a period of cooling off in between and spree spanning over years. take all three and you get cold blood, inside and out. crimson pooling thickly on the carpet. going back, were they victims at all? he’s ruthless, that’s for sure, but if there was one thing his late foster father had left him in a world so cruel, it was to separate the cleansing execution of moral justice from the persisting evil that leaks from numbed slaughter. to this day he follows the code; his only means of a moral compass and the gateway to his yearning to connect.

as a way to control the demon inside, he went after the guilty whenever the law couldn’t do anything about it. he has eyes everywhere. once someone falls into that condition, it’s over. he takes them and he keeps them down. good or bad? the lines are blurred. he makes sure no innocent is harmed. on top of that, he rids the world of malevolence. that’s justice to him. doesn’t that sound like a continued success in fulfilling a heroic destiny? doesn’t that give you the security that what lurks around, threatening your very life for reasons selfish and impure is decreasing in the surface of normalcy? we do want him to fulfill his destiny, don’t we?

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* it starts with suerotonin.

“i can’t tell or i’d have to kill you.” a smirk plays on his lips over the obvious joke. the words leaving his mouth giving him a funny feeling of relief. it was a burden to fake every human interaction. most people did, except he faked everything. even friendships. though there were some anomalies. if there was someone truly close to him—the one relation that wasn’t part of his disguise—besides his adoptive sister, it was sueji.

around her, he behaves in a way that suggests he feels some rudimentary human connection. the descriptive, gruesome stories he pretended to create didn’t make her queasy and he was genuinely laughing with her. if he was capable of love, oh how he would have loved her. the tragic part of that was even she couldn’t find about his secret. his most important one. it didn’t bother him but the arguments would take away some of his sleep. now that that was out, it was time to change the subject before it dragged onto a confession never meant to be said. 

“so, i’ve got the tickets to the ice festival at gangwon-do already. next week, alright? don’t forget.” he winks at her and clicks his tongue against his inner cheek then turns his back on her, then he realizes what he always missed. “oh—” he steps back, head turning to reach her sight. “how was your day?” he says cautiously with a soft tone as he swings himself back to face her. he was learning. or rather, relearning. since his father had passed, there was no one to remind him what underlays social synergy except sueji.

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Very private people have mastered the art of telling you little about themselves but doing it in such a way you think you know a lot.

Anonymous

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#Gun’s instagram update 160531

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/ yall i lied lmao

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brsdknckls:

“the lyrics to what song? hyung’s song? the one you showed me before?” to be a little more assured that he’d heard the right thing, jiyoung asked on. some extra emphasis couldn’t hurt anybody after all, especially a person that was as strong as he were. besides, gunhee knew all about his situation already, so if he were smart enough to he would have figured that speaking to the younger required much patience and will by now, considering his disablity. “if it’s your song then of course. you know that makes things a lot easier for me so i don’t mind. i just thought you were talking about something else…”

at this point, he’s thinking the other male might be a bit slow. other than the hearing impairment, he’s considered what he did for a living. fighting. maybe those were contributing factors, something to do with him taking hits very so often. in which case, he stays attentive to his needs. “it’s too late, dongsaeng. the damage is done.” it’s in a flat tone that he says this then he makes a pretense of dismay that comes with a sigh, looking away for extra dramatic effect. he breaks out of the act quickly either way, grabbing his phone to whip up the electronic version of the lyrics to his song. “yeah, i meant my song. what else would i be talking about?” he asks, raising both of his thick eyebrows. “noses?”

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the sick panicky feeling floods over him. plagued, waking up screaming nightmares. no one wanted to hear the apocalyptic phone calls and he was left lurching at his own two feet. with thoughts taking a cruel twist an endless refrain sits in the back of his mind, the rallying call shouted and sung in unison by the crowd of divine; the fraction of his conscience remaining was a hint of lucidity beneath delusions

“someone catch me. i can’t control myself.”

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he’s damaged.

he’s damaged just as you are,  but that’s the beauty of his existence. he’s damaged, so you won’t have to be afraid of hurting him. but you have to be afraid still. his capabilities are boundless. and they won’t be bound by anyone. not even you. if in rarity it does, you’re dead. you will be. you won’t have the chance to regret it anymore. and that’s the beauty of a life with him. him around meant this: no pain, no feelings, no regrets. nothing hurts.

instead you’ll find yourself in paradise and with a view of the world you’ll leave behind.

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[ universal ; tag dump ]

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[ gen ; tag dump ]

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[ au ; tag dump! ]

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