#helllsh

[clxxder]

helllsh replied to your post“[MSG:] Um, that’s called prostitution.”

[ sms ] trying to get on my god side then? [ sms ] you know how i feel about prostitutes.

(text) in my defence i never asked for the money.

(text) he offered, and i was like.. sure, yo're attractive, clean and i'm getting money out of this

(text) like why not

(text) turns out he was with junsu's lot so i clawed his throat out with my nails but eh the details aren't important 

[ehontee-archived]

helllsh:

[ ♔ ——— He’s sitting on the other side of the bed, cigarette ash floating down onto his bare chest. It singes against his skin but it hardly registers in his mind. She’s managed to distract him from the sting and an eyebrow raises as he shifts in her direction. “Funny, considering you look like that and I look like this. That’s the difference between half a million and whatever you see on your paychecks. It looks like you’ve never seen more than five hundred let alone five hundred thousand. There a reason for that?” He gives her a pointed look and he isn’t sure whether he’s caught her in a lie or whether this is something akin to dramatics on her behalf.

Jaehwa doesn’t make a habit of listening to people when they talk unless it’s something he cares about and it’s not often that he can be made to care. He’s rather aloof when it comes to retaining information like what people do for a living or if they have some deadly disease that will kill them in a month. He made the assumption she hadn’t seen money because she didn’t look like money. He’s still making that assumption now. Something about it is outright classist. Status drawing a line between the two of them. He was slumming it really, but the slums had considerably less women who cared about his latest stock investments or who he ate dinner with on the weekends. She doesn’t care about those things. Or something. He doesn’t really know.

She listened to his words without really paying much attention to it, letting herself stay as she was, head under the pillow. If he meant to offend her or not, it just rolled off her like any other comments because she was used to that. This was what she was aiming for anyway, when she left everything behind and jumped out of her window. Almost breaking her arm in the process, but she was sixteen and more than a little bit stupid she could be forgiven that. 

Still she felt she had to do something, react in any other way than to just let it roll off her. Like a jolt of pride to who she'd been, who he was talking to as if the other her had never existed. When she still lingered, clearly so, somewhere in a far corner of the life she had now. She woke up sometimes with the need to pull out the only picture of her family she had from under her bed and wondering with a frown if she'd made the right choice. All his comment did was just bring back all of that to the surface. So all she did was roll onto her side, settling the pillow under her cheek as she found herself kicking voluntarily roughly so against his side so he'd hopefully fall off the bed, or just get a really bad bruise.

Don't insult my family name, she didn't say but felt as strong as the kick she'd just given him. "If there is any reason at all behind that, you don't fucking need to concern yourself with it. What do you even think you look like?" 

[clxxder]

[MSG:] Um, that’s called prostitution.

(text) yeah welp that’s another thing illegal to add to my list 

(text) other people collect bottle caps, i collect years to add to my possible prison sentence 

[yxhe-blog]

helllsh replied to your post “[text] It’s like eating cereal and milk but instead of cereal it’s gummy bears and instead of milk it’s vodka.”

[ sms to; unknown ] i plan on it. and how would you know it's nothing like that? [ sms to; unknown ] your pessimism is disappointing.

[ MSG → unknown ] Because I've had both?

[ MSG → unknown ] Your milk and cereal must be something different if you think that it's the same as vodka and gummy bears

[scarlux-blog]

                                      Come one come all                                       You must be this tall                                       to ride this ride at the                                       C  A  R  N   I  V  A  L  

         The sun had long ago taken its refuge, the moon instead hung low in the night sky. Pristine white speckles barely light it up, but that's okay, that's what they're going for, after all, it is October.It's that time of the year again. The time where people seem to think it's acceptable to play tricks on others, to scare them, to startle them. The time where the real monsters come out to play undetected--well at least that's what they think.          It's the third night in a row that Scarlett has unknowingly made her way down a winding dirt path. The third night in a row that she's found herself surrounded by mist, and fog, glowing lights and large striped tents and.. was that a carousel? The third night in a row that she's lost control and hasn't noticed that her surroundings aren't quite real--her illusions have become so realistic that she's fooled even herself, along with a few others that loitered around.           But then it hits her. It hits her like a wave hits the shore, hard, and fast. The pain stinging in her temples, it builds and builds with every step she takes, until her body can take it no longer. She falls, crumples into a small heap on the floor, the lights around her flicker, the game stalls do too, but what remains is the carousel, and the oddly malignant looking clown that operates it.            It takes her a moment, a hand pressed to her temple to numb the throbbing if only for a minute or two, before she's able to rise to her feet once more. And though she's shaky on her feet she steps towards the person closest to her. "Leave, leave this place it's not safe--" she warns, reaching both hands out to the man and his son, but they push her away, and turn in the direction of the carousel. "Please sir--" she calls out, eyes flickering from the pair, and then over to the 'man' operating the damn thing, but they don't respond, instead theres a ringing in her head, and they fade away as if they'd never been there, just another god damn illusion she hasn't been able to control.             "Fuck--" she mutters, the real world, and her own twisted nightmare flicking back and forth until she bumps into someone. An actual someone who doesn't fade away. 

[vedrremo]

helllsh:

There’s a brief honk of a horn and a man sits in the drivers seat; clearly of questionable reputation. He only waves once he catches sight of someone coming to inspect what he’s doing and leaves an envelop in the seat in bold typeface. 

     This isn’t really a Christmas present so much as a; thanks for doing business with me bit. I couldn’t care less about the holiday. I had one of my associates drop it off I’m out of the country for the next two days. See you in Japan.

( image )

The scarf around her neck does its job of covering majority of her features so when she finds herself with her head down and heading back home to her penthouse, she doesn’t plan on being spotted. Maybe it’s her dyed locks that give her away, or just the air with which she holds herself. She really doesn’t know, but just as she passes the car, she’s startled into a quick jump by the honk. Ebony’s ready to scold whoever for such a scare, but the sight of the man is all it takes to silence her. He isn’t one of hers, but when she’s so involved in the underground, it doesn’t take her very long to identify anyone of their kind. With quick steps, she approaching the vehicle, and what happens next isn’t what she expects.

“Hey –“ She calls out. Not quite a shout, however not at her usual volume. She knows he hears her, but his steps are rapid and she has no plans of chasing him down. So instead, her eyes flicker to the envelope he’s left in the backseat. For a second she considers her choices. She could burn the suspicious letter and rid herself of the vehicle itself, or she could take the risk. There’s never really much debate when the second option is presented so her fingers curl around to tear open the envelope. It’s not signed because it doesn’t need to be. He’s left enough hints in his words and she’s taken aback.

Running a finger along the handle of the car, she feels her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. How much did this cost? Why was he burning so much money on her? Questions with no answers swim in her mind and despite it all she’s laughing. “Impressive, Jae, impressive.” Is all she mutters under her breath before tucking the envelope into her purse and hopping in to get a feel of the car in a little drive around the city. 

[yxhe-blog]

[text] It’s like eating cereal and milk but instead of cereal it’s gummy bears and instead of milk it’s vodka.

[ MSG → unknown ] It's nothing like that actually

[ MSG → unknown ] You have fun with that

[ehontee-archived]

down by the side of a club, { jaehwa & sash }

was where it all began, wasn't it? 

This was like a routine now. Sometimes, when she was clearly not in the mood to refuse any company, she'd let herself be dragged to a club. Simple laughter of people she now considered her friends making it impossible to not feel light as she let her footsteps fall in sync with theirs. She'd join in the conversation, trapped in this thing that she had to do to survive. Mingle. 

"You've changed." One of them let out when they were finally past the doors of the club chosen for the night and Sash knew what they meant without having to ask them. Everyone knew, everyone who caught the words and gave her a meaningful look at least. Shed opened up, was what she'd done. Change wasn't the word but she gave a shrug.

"Gotta grow and evolve or yo'know, just like in a fight it gets boring and you end up the loser." Because if you did not evolve, if you did to change, grow stronger ,opened up more possibilities and left behind your weaknesses, grew too stubborn to break some limits, then you ended up always using the same techniques and your opponent would always know what waited for him. Know where to hit to hut, know where to hit to put you down. 

She hated being down. 

Her thoughts were cut short with another bust of laughter, and she tsked, tongue poking slightly against the corner of her mouth, letting the arm that was slung around her shoulders tug her down in a headlock. She pulled when his hands made to pull her hood off and mess with her hair.

"Hands off, I washed it and brushed it tonight."

"Why? Trynna look good for someone?" 

Another tsking sound, a disbelieving stare and a roll of her eyes asshe shoved him away from ehr side so she could slide in the booth before he could. "Like hell." 

But truly, when was the last time she'd dne that? Try to look good for someone? she couldn't remmebe. Her first time had been when she was fifteen, putting on her best clothes, making the best out of her first date, being bold, being coy, getting her first kiss and then literally falling out of all of it once they'd been in the sheets and out of them.

It'd been awfully dull afterwards. 

The memory left a bitter taste in her mouth, she refused to settle down for this reason. She ran away for this reason, through the years , trying to keep a relationship was like trying to stay still under the icy jet of a shower. There was no way. It just made her run away, not because she was scared. She just did not want ot ocmmit. It always ended up dull.

Tasteless, too used, or not used enough. Too many fights or not enough fights. Never right enough, never wrong enough. She rose from her seat and leaned over her neighbour's legs to get to the other side, laughing a little when she felt his hand give a firm slap to her behind. The back of her feet hitting his shin in retaliation once she was out and standing.

"Bathroom." She explained to one of them when he looked up at her with a questioning look, having to shout over the music that was now clearly going to hurt her ears for quite awhile. It was half a lie, half not. She was heading for the bathroom, but she'd take a smoke break first. So her steps were more directed towards an exit and her eyes searching for the sign that would lead her there.

She might have been a bit too distracted though, to catch the sight of too many bodies coming at once towards her. Clubs were such a hassle to walk through sometimes. She hissed lightly, but then clearly shoved away whoever had just bumped against her side, purposefully or not did not matter. 

"Watch where you're going." 

[ehontee-archived]

red string of fate

6. Our muses are destined to be each other’s eternal rebounds

what they are,

She wanted to ask at times.

Burning at  the tip of her tongue, but she’d recoil with what it’d mean she needed, wanted from him. So tongue tied, she let it fall into places. Because she’d just left someone else behind—or did they let her walk out? She wasn’t sure. The last times they’d done this, they’d used the excuse of him being dumped.

But if it wasn’t her, it was him, or both at the same time. Then the intensity seemed ot just build higher, longer, until when they reached their high, she’d come down with a sort of blissfulness that made her want to try it again But the fun thing was—it never lasted.

Then they’d return to their normal state. Bump into each other, share jokes, laugh and smiles, but no kisses no lingering touches. No, they’d let themselves fall into someone else’s arms instead. Let themselves kiss someone else, introduce the new lover to the other.

As if wanting to say—soon, we’ll be soon again. Sharing a look over the table and his leg that reached hers under the table, although she had another pair of mouth stuck to her ear whispering words that could be interpreted as the reason why crimson would bloom on her cheeks.

So she didn’t ask.

The thrill came from ending, then beginning what this was she had with him right after. Ending up at his doorstep when it was her turn, with nothing but this quiet certitude that he’d be here, that he’d know the moment he opened the door. He’d let her just shove her fists against his chest, push him back, push until he hit something, anything.

Or until she had enough of pushing and wanted to grab, then she’d grab a fist full of anything she could get, his hair, or his clothes, his collar and then she’d drag her mouth anywhere she could find. At times more tempted to just press it against his, at times against the vein that pulsated against his neck.

At times she’d just breathe and laugh against his mouth without doing anything and he’d join her and they would be nothing but the moment of realisation that they could finally do this again. Until the next round at the very least, that she was allowed.

Then the question would stop burning on her tongue. Replaced by the bitter taste he’d leave on it instead, with a sprinkle of spice that she’d lick as an after taste. Right before she fell numb against the sheets and let sleep claim her. Sleep that she seemed to always find easier to fall in when she was covered in his scent and nothing else but this.

It was always just a few nights. Taking in the bliss right before the numb familiarity that’d install itself later on. 

nothing and everything.