13 elm street.

whatever you do, don't fall asleep.

[13elmst]

박재현 (n.) second year, bachelor of exercise science student with superstrength. house gangcheori's captain.

배수미 (n.) third year, doctorate of pharmacology student with shadow marionette. red hall's resident advisor.

김시아 (n.) first year, bachelor of commerce student with insect swarming.

[13elmst]

park jaehyun's text log ft. @newgvtes's yoo seojun

[ text → mr president ] you alive? [ text → mr president ] i don't remember anything from last fucking night sent 11.56am [ text → mr president ] yo where the fuck is my car? sent 01.18pm

[lisanamjoon]

I'M THE DRAMA KARINA

[13elmst]

wonjae:

( … ) he isn't sure, so he just stews in the thought. still sitting there on the bench. still frozen, still where they had helped him off of the field. he can hear jaehyun in his head, now—we won, a win is a win, why are you so pissed?—but wonjae isn't sure he has an answer for his internal version of the captain's monologue. he's just angry. he can practically feel the kumiho spirit in his chest, fighting and clawing at his ribs, feeding on his rage, demanding to be freed and to wreak havoc. he needs to punch something. bite something. or a stiff drink. better yet, all three.

somewhere, is a boy on a field. spiked cleats planted in firm grass and he’s breathing heavily, feeling the way his chest swells and shrinks with each breath. there are ways in which reality can sometimes feel like a dream, a white glaze over one’s field of vision as time trickles quickly by. similarly, there are ways in which dreams can fool you into a mistaken reality.

in other words, park jaehyun knows what it’s like to lose. he’s not talking about the simplicities of a game— the thought of loss seeming so far away now that the arena’s gloriously lit up with gangcheori’s house colours. he’s talking about that boy on the field, football cut into the turf in front of him as he takes a readying step back, to translate distance into the calculated momentum he needs to score. he’s talking about that boy being benched by his coach in front of a national team’s scout despite being the best player his shitty high school has ever seen.

park jaehyun knows what it’s like to lose. to have things taken away from him.

now even as they’re summoning gangcheori’s members back to the arena to receive their trophy, jaehyun notes that winning doesn’t taste quite as sweet. because a rally is a rally, but the boy is on the field, desperate to play ball. because the boy is on the bench. and the rally is to wonjae as football is to jaehyun, and in this way, the captain knew what he’d taken away when he’d elected another to play in a game that was practically made for his vice captain. back then, jaehyun too had gotten on his knees to beg uselessly in front of a coach that was never going to let him play. and jaehyun was never going to let wonjae play the second he’d heard that crunch.

still. against reason. the boy will always be on the field, and now, wonjae will always be in that arena.

so despite the crowd’s chants, jaehyun orders the rest of the team to go forth and instead, falls into the bench next to his roommate. wonjae can hate him all he wants— he’ll understand. he, too, had once longed for some sort of karmic revenge upon his coach. for his team to lose embarrassingly without him— to be vindicated. so wonjae can yell and kick and spit at him all he wants, but jaehyun will always be here, placing a comforting arm over the latter’s shoulder as he tells him the words he’d always wanted to hear. “this win is yours, alright?” jaehyun pats his vice captain on his chest, as if to wake him, “gangcheori is nothing without you.” the captain stands, looks off to the arena and watches as the other house members gravitate towards the trophy. the crowd cheers at the sight of them. he turns to the latter, offers a steadying hand. “hear that? they’re calling for you. time to give the people what they want.”

[13elmst]

hi hello sry 4 spammin the dash but i did a really Bad Unwise Thing n brought in a third!! she's a once renowned olympic figure skater who turned into a swarm of beetles in the middle of the biggest performance of her career n the first evidence of her anomaly was caught on camera and made viral on tt for the world to see so !! naturally given her anomaly she's disqualified from performing now so she's livin life as a normal kid aka 2024 sua fresher studyin bach of commerce!! if u wna read up more on shiah u can find her full length intro here ( be warned, it's lengthy ), but otherwise pls LIKE this to plot! im also gna add some rally specific plots under the cut but yes!! tq 4 ur attn luv u mwah!!

orite now that i got the whole gang here imma just say shiah does not give a shit ab the rallies partly also bc she doesnt know jack shit ab them since she j joined but j a general note that id love for her to sorta get in the sch spirit!! so yeah if anyone wants her 2 root 4 them u have a swing voter in the midst !!

morning drills — shiah tends to go on morning runs so i feel like it'd be so funny for her to get caught up in a morning drill inadvertently if they happened to be running in the same direction like j imagine she's suddenly enveloped into their jog.... anw it'd be kinda hilarious ngl if ur muse was part of the morning drill too n she kinda took her anger out on u ORR if ur a random passerby who realises the girl looks hella outta place dressed in black next 2 these green folk n u decide 2 help her out!!

pranks — again shiah herself doesn't participate in the pranks but i'd love to see a prank being played on her !! change up her shampoo or smt !! do smth 2 rile her up ( mayb it wasn't even meant for her but she got caught in it ) n watch her turn into a swarm of blister beetles ....... wyd

live coverage ft. the curious currents — ngl i feel like i can see her gettin into a fight w someone not bc she's a fan but bc idk they didn't Watch where they're going or they're obnoxiously yellin their chants n she gets mad n idk pushes them n maybe ur muse doesn't have to be the heckler but they could just be reporting on the incident n realise wait ...... isn't this ....... kim shiah the olympic figure skater...?? alternatively if she's tryna mind her own business n u realise she's kim shiah n try 2 get an interview w her bc i think the olympics n rallies r sorta similar so it's like one athlete to another type beat ...? n she gets rly upset n starts fightin !! mayb even turnin into the swarm ( the more i say this the funnier it gets 2 me ) !! u could also b a bystander who decides 2 stand w / against her !! totally customisable !!

[13elmst]

taeho:

( … ) "i'm the ra, not a nurse." he feels like he needs to clarify, but then would a ra be opening the door and letting in someone who should be in trouble? or even— "sit on the bed, i'll see what i have." he says with a heavy sigh before turning his attention to one of his closet, he's almost sure he still has some bandages, painkillers and something to clean the blood off on the first aid kit that he keeps there for cases that blue hall parties — or anything really — gets too wild. probably not.

the wheel of time is always turning. it is cyclic in nature, events and things repeating itself with every revolution. and what jaehyun means is this anger, setting ablaze. anger, getting in the way of things. it is a futile attempt to change fate. he knows this because he’s tried, has made himself sit uncomfortably in his rage, to hold things in him like there isn’t a deep incision cut horizontally across his torso.

still, here, with the bloody lip. still, here, a nursing palm held tenderly to his rib.

taeho shoots him the question as he’s getting up off the floor, a light wince flashing across his features. he groans out a banal, “you should see the other guy.” see, how the wheel of time is always turning. park jaehyun is thirteen, fifteen, twenty-six when he ends up at moon taeho’s door. sometimes, it’s bruised knuckles. others, a raw gash from having to tank a fist across his cheek. taeho is there in every aftermath, a steadying hand as he beckons jaehyun to lean on his shoulder. there’s some distance between them now, a regrettable consequence of being locked up in prison for more than half a decade— but times like these, jaehyun’s reminded: some things never change.

jaehyun follows the latter into his room, clicks out a pointed, “calculative,” as he hobbles over to the bed just shy of taeho’s invitation. he props a steadying palm on the mattress and pivots almost laboriously to sit by the edge, lips curling down at the shooting pain in his rib. “how ‘bout a ‘how are you feeling, jaehyun?’” he mumbles, tone lacking the necessary bite. because the truth is no matter their bickering, jaehyun doesn’t think there’s a universe where he could harbour ill feelings for the man. the latter is a bleeding heart in all the ways that matter, moulds his softness into all of jaehyun’s hard places. in this way, taeho softens him, too.

jaehyun kicks his shoes off and slides his feet onto the bed, back against the headboard. clears his throat and answers the question he let sit in the air, “like fucking shit, thanks for asking.” he pulls his shirt gently off, careful not to strain the trauma on his left rib, and he nearly pulls the necklace taeho had gifted him off with it. “fucker thought it was a good idea to scream in my face.” he adjusts the necklace around his neck, and he’s mindful not to mention the trigger— how the asshole on the opposing football team had thought it smart to suggest deficiencies in his upbringing, only because he doesn’t think it necessary to rile taeho up, too. jaehyun peels the patch from his neck, tosses it bitterly onto the bedside table, “he’s lucky i had this fucking thing on.”

“you’ve got your work cut out for you, brother,” even in pain, he jests. takes a measured breath to gauge the level of strain he can take without inviting the wince. jaehyun cocks his head at taeho, shoots his friend a wry smile as he confesses the worst, “grandma’s expecting me for dinner.”

[13elmst]

liked by yunayun and others

1312_gh 🔥 minahs.c oh thats not... #pulgasaripride rodeo_r round one and done? ㅋ

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heyooo don't mind me just askin 4 rally plots despite bein way behind on everythin oop... 🤲 jaehyun has pre-rally superstition so he's gonna be laying low and just camping the practice room or talking strategies w strictly his house members, but sumi is a v keen participant of pre-rally activities so !! ( hahh ah ahha plot w me pls )

best dressed — sumi is gna be decoratin the Shit out of her window she's gna do her house proud!! this could tie in to the prank plot but imagine if ur muse graffitis it OR someone does and sumi enlists u to join her on an adventure to find the culprit n graffiti theirs back !! alternatively yall are both decorating n sumi gets competitive n halfway thru yall r like ...... why r we fightin we're on the same team .........

student-run vendors — sumi will be helpin out w the samjoko merch store at some point! i imagine she'd try to have some carnival game ( like guess the amt of jellybeans in the jar ) and she'll give u some free merch if u guess it right!! would b funny if there's been a student sharing the correct answer / using their ability to figure out how many jellybeans are in the jar & sumi gets suspicious and catches u ... alternatively non-samjoko supporters tryna buy merch to idk cut it up or smth sumi will !! fight u !!

morning drill — picture this: the gangcheori assholes r runnin their morning drill every damn morning outside the red hall. unable 2 sleep n havin 2 deal w nonstop noise complaints, sumi, the ra, enlists u to join her 2 throw eggs at them when they come around ORR set up a prank for where they usually march in the middle of the night ( e.g. puttin cow shit on the grass or smt, do not ask her where she got it frm )... wyd

betting ring — she may be a t4d supporter but sumi knows a good deal when she sees one!! id love to have her interact w an evo member tryna place a bet down!! would be really interesting if they alr have some history ( like if she's pissed them off so they give her a hard time ) ORRR if the librarian chooses this time to walk around n they need to b stealthy hoho

live coverage ft. the curious currents — everyone prob knows sumi's a huge fan and once-member of cc by now, but it'd be fun to have a cc member interview fans ( aka her ) of samjoko at the university's hub and if there's a heckler tryna ruin the interview during... or even if ur the heckler n sumi fights u

[parmax]

[13elmst]

hanbi:

( … ) "yeah, in the drawer," she speaks, voice hoarse nonetheless. there's a movement of her chin towards her desk. there's plethora of papers scattered around, broken makeup, scattered jewerly.  "you look like someone killed you last night and brought you back. or — like you saw a ghost. you —" asking the obvious, she knows; but the memory of the shadow creeps up behind her, just like that. "are you okay?"

in her head, everything is fine. bae sumi is a vibrant city girl living in a luxury apartment in the heart of seoul with her cool wine aunt. her mildly grating anomaly dictates that she’s got a spot of bad luck, which means she’s starting small fires whenever she bothers herself to cook or getting coughed on by the sickest, most contagious man in the room—nothing too dreadful, if you think about it—so she sticks the patch on the way one would take aspirin for a killer headache, and goes about her day.

in her head, everything is fine. and lies are easy to believe when they’re contrasted against the sinister truth. how sumi has a family—a mother, a father, siblings—who want nothing to do with her, and so she’s involuntarily shipped off to her estranged aunt who they say is just like her, despite her begging and crying and gripping deathly onto the hem of their trousers. how bad luck is code for demonic shadow that follows her around, that breaks bones and shatters glass and tears through wood, so sumi starts fires and burns things on purpose like it somehow drives the monsters away.

point being: sumi doesn’t intend to lie to hanbi. the girl’s an endearing fire starter who’s just a little politically misguided—in sumi’s opinion anyway, t4d supporter that she is—and sumi doesn’t doubt that hanbi knows better than to judge. but sumi doesn’t want hanbi to know in the way that she’s trying to deceive herself, and an added loose end in a tangle of already loose ends renders the whole lie increasingly hard to believe, fantastical as it is. so there’s this way in which she freezes in her frenzied search, fingers halting mid-air as she veers her head ever so slightly to the left, as if to catch hanbi’s expression through the corner of her eye. she stops herself, of course, tries to play it cool and brings her gaze slowly back to the contents in the drawer. “i’m fine,” short. stunted. there, a glimpse of biofirm’s logo. sumi pulls the box quickly out and peels the backing paper off the adhesive end of the patch, and replaces it on the back of her neck. a pause and she pivots, manages a contrastingly peppy, “oh my god, i’m totally fine!” paired with a smile. “i think we just had, like, the craziest night,” she diverts, brings hanbi’s thoughts towards the party and importantly, away from the moment in her bedroom, “do you remember that wild fight between gangcheori’s captain and sanghyun? or that conversation you had with wooseok? i didn’t even know you knew him like that, but i caught a few people looking so i dragged you away.”

“i mean— i love a cc gossip more than anyone, but isn’t he… t4d?” the implication of hanbi’s political stance hangs in the air. sumi pauses, glances at hanbi’s injured arm, and winces. sumi doesn’t intend to lie to hanbi, and more urgently, she knows that a good friend would check up on the injury that she’d inflicted. but more than that, sumi isn’t ready to accept the truth. so she leans her back against the closed drawer, crosses her arms, and manages a distracting, “god… what was in that punch?”

[13elmst]

a man like him isn’t shown kindness often. in some ways, he gets it. after all, park jaehyun is a two-time convict, godforsaken anomaly with a loud bark and a meaner bite. but there is this way in which one grows used to the things they’re often given. takes it for granted. in the same way, you throw a beggar a spare coin and they think it the world.

suppose it’s why jaehyun finds it hard to hate samjoko’s captain. hating them should come easy to a man like him, rabid dog with an iron leash snarling at any creature planted outside the gated compound of his house. and gangcheori is very much his house, his family, his bed to lie in. but jinsol had shown him kindness at a time when he’d least expected it, two competing players in a game the latter had yet to win. jaehyun there, a reluctant beggar taking jinsol’s helping hand. it’s hard to forget a favour that you wouldn’t offer yourself. that would be hard to reciprocate, even now.

so perhaps it’s why he doesn’t sneer when he sees jinsol in the practice room. doesn’t pivot and leave, afraid to share his own secrets and strategies particularly with the looming rally. instead, it comes natural, the way jaehyun nods his salutation when he locks eyes with samjoko’s captain. how he continues on his path, sauntering into the practice room towards the roll of hand wrap. he plucks it from the table, loops the strap around his thumb and begins unwrapping the gauze around his wrist first. “need a partner?” jaehyun calls out, refers to the dummy jinsol’s beating up as he pulls the roll around his knuckles, between the gaps of his fingers. suppose this is his reciprocation. it pales in comparison to the kind of help jinsol had offered him, but it’s a mountain to climb for the person he is, man as an island. jaehyun tears some tape with his teeth and secures the gauze around his wrist. “can’t promise i’ll go easy,” he deadpans, served more as a warning than a challenge. the back of his neck is bare, absent of the limiting patch.

ft. park jaehyun & @duskterrace's seo jinsol

[13elmst]

there is a phenomenon to describe the way in which one sees faces in things that aren’t there. sumi sometimes wonders if it’s the way in which the body fulfils a need. like having no memory of the things that would otherwise haunt you. like flinching before the scald. all she knows is this: too many a time does she entertain the delusion of bumping into bae suyeon on the grounds of sua.

it’d never happen, of course. bae suyeon is a twenty year old girl who’d grown up normal, and so, perfect. the worst thing about her is the ease in which she falls ill on a cold day, and sumi thinks it’s just as well that she’s never really gotten close to her sister, fragile as she is. but what would happen? how would it go? and it’s not that she intends to curse suyeon with an anomaly, to feel vindicated that perfect little suyeon was just like her— rather, there is a gnawing at the bottom of her heart just begging to see her, to just hold her and ask her how she’s been.

there are ways in which heartbreak can turn pathological. how sumi thinks she’s almost there. suppose this is how the body defends itself. how she’s breaking past her circle of friends and reaching out towards taeri, the girl with the sunny disposition that sumi imagines suyeon might have— similar to the way in which one assumes the characteristics of a stranger. in her drunken slur, sumi calls, “suyeon!” as she wraps the latter in a tight embrace. pulls away, smiles, pretends it never happens. sumi keeps taeri close to her, palm gripping the latter’s elbow and she drags her aside, an urgent, “wait, i need to tell you something— come with me to the bathroom,” cutting through the noise.

and there’s this way in which she intertwines her fingers with taeri’s. how it’s tight, like she fears to let go, to lose her in the throng. like how taeri fulfils a need. sumi pulls taeri into the bathroom and closes the door behind her. checks the stalls—empty—then turns to taeri with widened eyes as she blurts, ”you’re never gonna guess what happened: i just saw minah leaving with her ex.” she places her palms over her lips in astonishment, pauses to gauge taeri’s reaction like her approval means something to her. suppose it’s true, how all big sisters secretly want their younger siblings to find them cool. sumi continues, “isn’t she with that pulgasari member? oh my god.” she squeezes past taeri towards the taps, twists, and washes her hands as she shoots the girl a look of determination through the mirror, “you have to get that on next week’s podcast.”

ft. bae sumi & @satindupe's yang taeri

[13elmst]

sanghyun:

( … ) "i live here, jaehyun," he drawls, with restrained patience and unbridled patronizing. he inches forward, daring the invisible barrier between them to mean a damn thing. "i didn't move out of the building when you decided to switch rooms," sanghyun rounds on him, sarcastic and condescending to the listening ear. "i'm not giving you orders. you want him out, right? i'm agreeing with you and i'm trying to help you." despite his words, his eyes glow impossibly brighter, and a low, resonant vibration begins to hum. the air quivers with the promise of an impending surge of power. his voice low, steely, only for jaehyun to hear, "what do you think should happen here?"

perhaps one day, when the dust has settled and they’re old enough that how one dies becomes more of a concern than how one lives, jaehyun will think back to this moment. standing here, face to face with the man he once called his friend. how somewhere in the past, he once looked upon the man with mirth, arm around sanghyun’s shoulder as he badgered the man to drink beyond his limit. how sanghyun’s contact still remains even now, rotting in jaehyun’s phone. perhaps then, he’ll bother enough to reminisce, wonder where it all went wrong. it’ll take a couple of weeks and the sort of introspection that he’s not yet capable of, but maybe jaehyun will, one day, come to the haunting realisation that the reason why he’d come to loathe the latter was because deep down, they were not so different, him and sanghyun. sanghyun mirrors the anger that jaehyun carries. the difference between them is that sanghyun knows how to hide it. jaehyun is not so lucky.

( and maybe, had jaehyun been a little more like sanghyun, had learnt to make peace and make do, he’d never have had to go through all the shit that he’s had to deal with. that maybe then, he’d be able to carry the sort of optimism that sanghyun holds, bright-eyed and still having the strength to hold on to hope. )

but today’s not that day.

today, jaehyun curls his fists, fingers reddened with anger at sanghyun’s condescension. today, there is a fleeting impulse thought, a call from the void to drive his fist into the man and together, sate the curiosity of not having to pull his punches for once. jaehyun thinks to answer. the air is thick with the sort of tension that you can cut with a knife. jaehyun breaks it, a ridiculing laughter falling from the sneer. “help me?” a pause. a sniff. jaehyun raises his chin and drags his gaze lazily along the man’s form, “you can’t even help yourself.”

a step closer. a low, “see, that’s the thing about people like you.” jaehyun raises his hand, tips of his fingers pushing the man patronisingly back with ill-controlled strength. takes a step closer, “you think that pandering to the fucking humans like a starving mutt is gonna get you fed.” push back, step closer, “that begging on your knees and kissing their boot somehow makes you better than the rest of us.” and here, there is a way in which his face turns grave, almost sombre. like he’s back in his room, thumb halting the scroll when he catches sanghyun’s name in his contacts. how he forgets to delete it even still. “it’s not. it doesn’t.” jaehyun pauses, a sly grin along his lips as he raises an eyebrow in irony. “matter of fact—” he turns from sanghyun, puts distance between them as he regards their many spectators, two arms raised in the air as he gestures for them to pay attention. “listen up!” he roars, pivots strategically in the circle they’ve left for him as he announces, “together for daehan’s 2024 vice presidential candidate spotted enjoying all evo has to offer! fucking evo’s girls! that’s right—” jaehyun stretches an arm out towards his ex-roommate, eyes still locked onto a spectator’s, “lee sanghyun, everybody! in the flesh!” jaehyun curls his arm in, turns his head towards sanghyun and addresses him directly, “wonder how that’s gonna work out for your campaign when the gossip rag gets a hold of it.”

jaehyun drops his arms, strolls slowly back to sanghyun with a sneer, “you still gonna play dumb? or you gonna do yourself a favour, fuck outta this party and run back to that room you live in before it’s too late?” jaehyun gazes down momentarily to pick off a piece of lint from the shirt on sanghyun’s chest, then leans forward as his words fall to mirror sanghyun’s condescension from before, “oh, it’s not an order. i’m just trying to help you.”

[13elmst]

ryder:

( … ) he hides the chuckle trying to escape underneath his breath in a small sigh as he pulls a cold water bottle from the fridge before gently tossing it onto the futon next to her. and he’s sure sometime during his slow morning rush, he had- there it was. he picks up the phone on his desk he had found on the floor earlier that morning before turning towards her and lifting it up. “and this yours? it was on the ground but battery’s dead.”

—

you can convince a drunk man of anything. sumi knows this best. after all, she’d once been convinced that avril lavigne, singer-songwriter of some of the greatest hits in her youth, had secretly passed and some shapeshifting anomaly—who, by the way, would’ve been ridiculously good at their ability if true—had taken her place. in her defence, it would’ve been a great idea given the obvious marginalisation of anomalies— how else were people like her meant to live out their dream as a popular, semi-gothic rockstar?

beside the point. the point is that you can convince a drunk man of anything, but it’s a pity for ryder that sumi’s starting to sober up. ( probably something to do with the thought of sleeping in bed with the enemy— also known as ryder han, the captain of the house that goes against everything her house—proudly, house samjoko—stands for. ) in all honesty, sumi should adore a man like ryder. after all, a walking, permanent nullivi patch? given the opportunity, she’d love to pinch some of his dna for her doctoral studies. but sumi’s never even spoken to ryder before this, and the one time she’d ever been in his vicinity in any way was when she happened to gossip about him and that hot-headed and positively drama-stirring gangcheori captain.

how totally weird and invasive would it be for her to request a skin biopsy after waking up in his bed? no— sumi’s hungover, not mad to the point of social suicide. so for today, he’s just her house rival. and she’s a girl who’s just regained her wits, notices that her dress is still on her and importantly, on her correctly. no possibility of her haphazardly throwing the outfit back on after doing the devil’s tango. sumi frowns at him, lets out a quick, “mustn’t have been that memorable…” under her breath, barely audible. she gathers enough strength to sit up—still not quite enough to leave even though she’s clearly overstayed her welcome—and a light wince flashes across her features from the pounding headache in combination with the irritating sunlight that seems somewhat brighter up here. ryder tosses her some much needed cold water as if on cue, and she manages a, “thanks,” before uncapping the bottle and taking a large gulp. follows up with a relieved and very audible sigh.

“oh… yes. uhm… thanks,” her gratitude turns sheepish, and she puts the phone swiftly away lest she comes off as rude. part of her wonders if she’d be as hospitable as he was if the roles were reversed. speaking of, “how did i get here?” she probes, a reflexive groan coming from her throat as she entertains the possibilities, “how much of a mess did i make out there? on a scale of one to ten.” she brings the bottle to her lips, takes another sip to hide the grimace, then turns to him. “please say lower than five.”

[13elmst]

minjung:

( … ) "what the fuck," is all she damn near whines before leaping off the roof, landing with a soft plop upon the gravel beneath them, "i thought i was gonna have to kill some weirdo trying to kill us or something. what⏤" a pause as she looks over him, noting the unanticipated shift in the atmosphere, her heart picking up pace at the unknown, "jae ... are you good? what's going on?"

park jaehyun doesn’t know what it means to feel if it’s not through his hands. how the callused skin of grandmother’s palms as she labours to put food on the table can sometimes feel like love. how the overwhelming urge to curl his fingers and drive his right fist into kiwoon’s shit-eating sneer can sometimes feel like hate. how slamming asphalt with the sort of force to tear the skin off his knuckles and invite the scar can sometimes feel like both.

and what jaehyun means to say is that he did this out of his love for her. they forget that there is a version of his grandmother, starry-eyed, skin taut with youth as she stares longingly at a vacant storefront. and when the humans had spread those rumours about him to tear down the bakery she had dreamt of, the bakery she had spent her whole life working to build, they weren’t just settling some score with the criminal, park jaehyun, through his grandmother— they were shattering min okja’s fucking heart.

( or maybe what he means to say is that he did this out of his hatred for himself. how these days, all he ever feels is anger, and maybe this is why a man like him destroys everything he touches. how he’d levelled the humans’ bakery in retaliation, and now that he’s standing here at the heart of its ruins, he comes to the sickening revelation that maybe, he did this for himself. to give it back, blow for blow, for how they smeared his name. how it was never about her. how it was always about him. )

grandmother has never once held him in her arms. never placed a hand on him in a way that is soft, gentle, and he’s always wondered if it meant something. he doesn’t blame her. park jaehyun is a difficult man to love.

and perhaps this is why, at the crack of dawn, knuckles bloodied to the point of disfigurement, he runs desperately to minjung. why he doesn’t think to go home—or why he can’t—because he doesn’t want her to see him like this. to see him and realise what he’d done, how he’d fucked everything up like he always fucking does. “minjung,” her name falls with his breath, laboured and shaky, “i— can you— i need to—” here, the rapid loss of composure. running his fingers through his hair, matted with blood. curling and uncurling his fingers. dragging a palm over his lips. “fuck. fuck!” here, a few feet away from her as though he’s worried he’ll get blood on her hands, too. as though he’s worried he’d hurt her, too. “they’re… they’re going to take me back,” the confession comes quiet, and he holds his palms at his temples, his voice finally cracking with the uncharacteristic sob, “i… i can’t go back.”

park jaehyun doesn’t usually know what it means to feel if it’s not through his hands. today however, he learns to weep.

[suuho]

B.I (비아이) — Keep Me Up, 2022.

[13elmst]

wontaek:

( … ) conjuring up his own demons, they melt from his shadow and ghost towards the beast but he sees them quickly thwarted and embarrassingly so. he’s not used to this; see, wontaek knows very little about defeat, has never felt the twinge of a battle lost, not really. ‘enough!’ he yells with a rage fit for his fury, cloaking the room in pitch.  there’s a story about a man who took the first step on the moon and how he teetered towards the dark side’s edge. wontaek’s not so sure how it ends but i’m sure you get the gist.

this is a story of girl meets boy. the girl, a speck in the throng, unable to take her eyes off the boy who exploits the shadows to earn him the rally crown. the girl, with her thinly veiled curiosity and prying questions that she dares ask friends of friends about the boy with the devil’s grin. the girl, a delicate red blooming across both cheeks when the boy finally approaches, her name falling like a diabolical pact when uttered in his low timbre. the girl, two hands gripping the boy, contract bound with a damning kiss.

this is a story of girl meets boy— but sumi’s not talking about her. she’s talking about it.

it, as in that festering thing that resides within her. it, the harbinger of death and disease, or so mother puts it. it, rearing its grisly head now, lunging at the boy like it means to grip onto his ankles, to beg him to take her. to take it. while the chaos that rouses her from her night terrors, it’s the sight of her paranormal shadow that coaxes the scream. and sumi recoils, flattens herself against the headboard, fingers curling deathly over the top of it. wontaek roars and the room turns an inky black, devoid of moonlight. devoid of sound.

for a moment, she settles. doesn’t remember the last time it’s been so quiet.

then she comes to her senses, eyes darting around the darkness in search for a glimmer of light. as expected, she comes up empty. she lets out a soft, “w-wontaek…?” fear-gripped and almost vulnerably. and it’s like this that she crawls, across the bed, towards the lamp she remembers situated on the table next to where he once slept. dim light bleeds into the dark, and sumi regards the shadows. hers, next to his, behaving once again as it should.

sumi, what the actual fuck? what the fuck is she doing? why the fuck did she come here? skin taut as she grimaces, sumi realises now that she’d been crying. she pulls the blanket towards her chest, wipes her tear-streaked face with the meat of her palms, and she gets up. “i— i shouldn’t have come here,” she asserts, scoops up her dress from last night and slides it hastily on, all while attempting to keep the blanket around her chest. “this was— this was a mistake.” she tosses the blanket onto the edge of the bed, and she turns to him. here is the girl, meeting the boy for the first time. there are many stories like this one, not all of them worth repeating. sumi likes to think this is where this story ends. “please… don’t tell anyone about this,” she implores, tacks on a definitive, “this never happened.”

[13elmst]

sooah:

( … ) she's still crouched low, fur bristled when she hears sumi timidly calling out for her. "i'm here." she responds back. she's yet to identify the source of danger so she looks back over to her friend. "what the fuck was that?" she whispers back, tone biting as she attempts to make sense of the last minute.

there are ways in which people can scare you more than the ghost. how sometimes, an errant shriek in a large theatre can be more effective than the menacing killer on the big screen, peeking from the closet. sumi knows this best, sees the ways in which her friends jump around her. and she doesn’t mean to be this way, but she doesn’t know how else to be. a bead of sweat gathering at her temple, that ice-cold gnawing at the tips of the fingers— sumi doesn’t remember a time when there wasn’t a gun pointed at her head. she’s talking about the way she lives in a constant state of fear. the way she’s always sitting at that desk, playing it cool while she’s screaming inside. how she’s always darting her eyes to the corner, looking for an exit.

still, she’s sorry. a light wince to betray her sheepishness, and she takes her hands off the steadying wall. she skulks towards the light switch, turns the light on but stays put, inspecting the room from the safety of her corner for her feline friend. a whispered “sorry!” leaves with the laboured exhale. “i thought you were a ghost.”

and now that the tension’s died down, sumi assesses the damage. notes the fallen vanity mirror by the table, the brushes and makeup sponges scattered on the floor. a giggle bubbles from her chest, so she sinks towards the clutter to set them upright, like it’ll somehow hide her laughs. “…did you see the way you jumped, though?” she teases after a beat, places the last of the sponges on the table then stands and picks up the fallen mirror. “that was kinda funny.” she rubs the sleep out of her eyes, fixes her hair in the mirror, then sets it back on the table. a sigh, “i’m kinda awake now… are you?”