hunger

23:47, the lights are long out and your bones still ache for glory

[247taemin-blog]

ooc; i was gonna come back today but taemin murdered me so let’s push that back to another date.

[247jinri-blog]

( ... )

the name is spat out with such distaste and contempt, it leaves a bitter taste in the girl’s mouth afterwards. she took an impatient sip of her champagne, her eyes testing, waiting for his response - to catch the slightest change in his expression. 

[247taemin-blog]

Jinri’s always been easier to read than she probably would like to believe. It’s in her eyes, the way they narrow when looking into defiance, and her lips, in how they purse as they sense a challenge. Her very soul is spelled out on her face, and you really only need a careful read to have a guess on what’s in her mind.

He smiles when her guard visibly threatens to tumble down. It’s cocky, because of course it is, but there’s an undertone of relief.

He is barely able to part his lips to utter a word of gratitude, however. The mere mention of the name is enough to wipe the smile off his face, molars grinding. Another aspect of Jinri he’d learned of with time, the other side of the coin: an inexplicable taste for grudges.

“Why would I care where she is?”

That is the question, isn’t it? Associated with Seulgi are the somber, bitter days, the whispers all over again, and a kittenish, filthy (triumphant) smile ghosting over his last school days. He doesn’t hate, doesn’t believe himself capable of wasting energy on something that isn’t filling his pockets, but he does dislike. Unlike hate, distaste is automatic, a mechanism designed for elimination. And if there’s one person Taemin has every reason at his disposal to dislike, grudge carried in his palms like cartridges, that is Kang Seulgi.

(That’s, of course, the logical approach, the one he prefers sticking with.)

“I have nothing to do with Seulgi.” It feels odd on his mouth, cold spreading down his throat. He owes Jinri, but the debt doesn’t include a detailed report on his life, years after the whole ordeal. He got his, and he remembers it vividly -- there’s no reason for this questioning. “And I can’t prove it. You’ll just have to take my word on this, Jinri.”

And that is the bad side of Taemin’s coin, his own devils never truly forgotten after all these years: always demanding too much.

[247taemin-blog]

ooc; I HAVE A PLOTS PAGE, IT ONLY TOOK ME 40 YEARS. it’s smol but size doesn't matter :) so have a look if you’re looking for a plot, maybe?

[littleshinee-deactivated2017050]

[247taemin-blog]

      & ; @247baekhyun

[ txt → delinquent ]     → i just got the word that i only have a few more decades to live → taeminie there are still so many things i want to do in life → i can’t bear to say good bye → what will you do without me???

[ msg → baekhyun ]     •  seems like enough time to see your career be ruined when a sex tape of yours inevitably surfaces some day and then return as a national hero after a time off in the army     •  i mean, those are your aspirations in life, right?     •  no idea. probably fuck everyone you ever had the hots for?     •  yeah, sounds good to me

[247baekhyun-deactivated20160328]

( ... )

“you, of all people, should know when there’s no choice given there’s very little you can do,” his voice had lowered to something more genuine. rather than handing over the shot of whiskey, he downs the liquor in one go before gesturing towards the ballroom. “accompany my sorry ass to the dance floor, then. because i’m not about to leave until you hear all of it.”

[247taemin-blog]

There’s a suprised pinch in Taemin’s eyebrows when he shifts his gaze back to Baekhyun, a smile edging onto the corner of his mouth. He actually seems to believe there’s hurt in Taemin’s jest, believe there was disappointment in his words. Jaded as Taemin likes to credit himself as, he can’t deny that it’s a shock. Whenever did Baekhyun start thinking so little of him?

He’d proudly wear criminal before he as much as dwelled on running as hypocrite. At least the former could grind him some free publicity.

“You must have gotten me fucked up. Why would I ever expect anything from you?” He halts, backtracks, tongue poking into his cheek. That comes off wrong, words trailing off his original intent before he has the chance to arrange them. The lightest blow to  his ego can do enough damage. He considers the awkward eanestness flickering Baekhyun’s face (sincerity is such an uncomfortable look on him), and decides that is a misstep that needs correction. “What I mean is, don’t bother. You don’t owe me an apology, or anything. Of course I understand.” Of all people, like Baekhyun so lightly puts it, he understands.

He smiles, an attempt at kindness, lightening the mood. Shakes his head at the offer, even if it never (couldn’t possibly) rings genuine to him. His name is enough of a negative association for Baekhyun at the moment, he can guess his actual image would hardly do wonders before the press -- even if just 500-won, garbage tabloid press. “I don’t plan to ruin your career, Baekhyun -- not just yet. It could be useful to me someday.” His smile widens, briefly hardens, and he throws the man a wink over his own glass. “Save me that dance for another opportunity.”

[holdingthegvn-deactivated202104]

– foreshadow.

( ... )

“hello. enjoying the party?” she asked, taking a long drink out of the bottle to avoid conversation. he said something about introducing her to someone, the owner of trocadero to be precise. her eyebrow merely arched before looking to see who was standing beside him. “no fucking way.” it was the familiar figure she spotted out earlier – someone she used to go to school with. her boss assumed the two were already acquainted and left them to be on their own.

“fancy meeting you here, taemin.” she wasn’t one for high school reunions, but the night just got interesting.

[247taemin-blog]

There’s a reason why he’s on his second champagne glass for the evening even though he despised the damn thing. It tastes so vile, straight-up revolting on his tongue, it’s almost sobering. It keeps him from fucking up. Whichever direction he looks, he sees faces in front of which he’d hate to ruin his name.·

And here’s one of the keys to the universe’s mysteries Taemin has long unfolded: self-control tastes like watered down piss.

Faced with the choice between two evils, he can only send the tequila shots a longing gaze before gingerly sipping on his Moët & Chandon once again. A fleeting thought blames it on age, the shrouded fear that he’s (god forbid) past his prime, but the truth is simple, less sharp. After parties are nothing beyond a job, always requiring the trusted work tools: nice smiles and nicer words, idle chatter and enough tenacity to pierce through concrete, nice and clean. It’s enough to wear down the best among your rotten cash-hungry rats after a while. Being that Taemin’s exact category, his time eventually comes.

He’s been running for miles on the same gear, a change in pace would always be appreciated. And, when his eyes fall on the vaguely familiar features of the girl he’s introduced to, the robotic smile is knocked off to allow his lips to part in mild surprise.

The glass in his hand is finished in a quick swig. Finally something he can work with.

“You too.” Still the same, he hastily assumes, except for the stark increase in pleasantness. The Suzy he knew (and had occasional altercations with) was far from the agreeable smile in front of him right now, though its lopsided quality is certain enough of a hint that she may still not be all flowers -- like he would expect any less. He grins, and reaches for the whiskey glass when the waiter tips the tray of refreshments their way.

“Quite the surprise, too. I heard you had left the country after high school?”

[247taemin-blog]

❝ the broken road’s always been home. ❞ — @247jinri ( ben haenow starters )

Words only travel to the tip of his tongue to die, melting into tartness in his mouth. Jinri has that effect on him (though it wasn't always like that, it not always had to be like that. He breathes, because it's the only thing he knows how to do in front of her, even if it takes some self coaching. Inspire, expire, repeat. Keep it safe.

He wants to put his hands on her, like he never did when she was his. He wants to put his hands on her and watch her skin tarnish under his touch, feel her crumble beneath his fingers, along with his fingers. He suddenly wants her in a way he never did, never imagined wanting the one Choi Jinri when she ruled by his side.

A tear pools in her eye, threatening to overflow at any given moment, and he doesn't know of its origin (its causes, its victims), but he wants to kiss it away, take it upon himself, just for now.

Just right now.

What he does instead is stand there. They're close enough so that his eyes can stare into the darkness of hers, feel the void he'd known to be hers spill on him once again, like it would, again and again, back in the halcyeon days of them. What he does is realize that she looks at the shatters of a silly, childhood dream and recognize safety among its ruins. She calls it home.

What he does is realize that it's a mutual feeling.

"It isn't ideal, but at least it's something. It's there for us, it's here." His breath touches her lips as he speaks, knuckles brushing over the fine fabric of her dress. Her mouth is perfect red lines and not his and, right now, he wants to change it – blur its edges with marks it would remember him by, conquer it once again and consume it.

He swallows. "I'm here."

It's not like he could ever truly, wholesomely move on, anyway.

[247iya-blog]

< sms : kim taem >

i know i should take it as a compliment and all

but the fact that a goddamn object is ahead of me on your fave objects list

makes me a) v sad, and b) mildly concerned at your priorities

is that a slight burn i am feeling

i’d be there in a heartbeat if i knew where you actually lived, u dip

also it’s /pizza pizza/ mozzarella that shit could probably survive a nuclear bomb, it’ll never go bad

[247taemin-blog]

[ msg → yoong ]

    •  my priorities have always been notoriously fucked up     •  it’s nothing personal     •  it’s not you....... it’s me     •  so you can stuff your face with all my pizza? yeah, maybe try again later     •  though i suppose i could give you the address if you were the one bringing the pizza     •  what are the incredible im yoona's favorite toppings?

[247jinah]

smokes and ladders

For all intents and purposes, Im Jinah was in a particularly good mood that day. And she decided that going out to Lush would be a perfect place to go waste her energy (pretty much her second home, due to Wonho’s insistence), and the young woman is definitely looking to blow off some steam after such a mentally tiring week. What would a few drinks surrounded by good looking men couldn’t do? That notion, however, was immediately struck down at the very next words that came out of the man in front of her. 

“So you wanna head to mine then?”

“…Excuse me?”

“C’mon, I know who you are– I’ll drive you home or something and you can repay me by giving me a good fuck.”

It was as if all of the colour had drained from her face. Without so much as another word- the girl splashed the entirety of her untouched martini to the stranger’s – honestly, not-to-handsome – face and gave him the chilling glare that used to be able to make kids transfer schools in a heartbeat, before she stormed off. Her heart thundering with adrenaline and her head spinning in anger – and hurt, slowly slipping in – Jinah was on the other side of the dance floor and slipped out of the side door of the club in an instant, coat haphazardly on her shoulders and her pack of cigarettes in her hand. Fingers still trembling, she clumsily tried to light her cigarette, but to no avail– the weak flame getting blown by the night wind in a split second. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” 

[247taemin-blog]

Taemin often witnesses disasters, it’s part of his job (of his life). He has seen enough of them blow up in his face to consider himself capable of identifying one when it unfolds before his eyes, and the scene he’d stumbled on decidedly was worthy of the label. He isn’t even within hearing range, but it doesn’t take a psychic to draw out conclusions from the sight of a female emptying her drink onto a male’s face, as the circle of frozen stares falling on the couple proves.

It just wasn’t pretty.

He doesn’t make himself a part of it when the girl turns around, cascades of hair swaying to reveal a familiar face rush past him. He almost isn’t a part of it at all, a split second too late and it would just be a passing detail in his evening. He possibly would have preferred it that way.

But when the man charges after the girl, forehead creasing and teeth baring in the most unattractive fashion, he lurches into his path, one hand flat on his chest to give it a solid shove. It’s a split second too early, it turns out, and it happens before he can calculate the motion, before he can even blink. Impulse beats rationality, but only by a slight beat -- his mind recoils almost immediately when realization dawns upon him. Still, he never flinches.

A goddamn white knight right there, ladies.

It could have been worse. He only misses a single punch (stumbling back into someone’s drink, ice cold liquor seeping through layers of clothing to spread over his back) before the club’s security handles the issue, bulky arms projecting around the guy’s biceps to immobilize him. He allows himself a second to savor it, the gritted teeth and the bark thrown his way as the asshole is yanked out of his sight. Over before it ever beings, one less headache to nurse at the morning.

Jinah isn’t hard to spot -- she never was, by any means, but it would be quite a feat to miss the tall figure fidgeting in frustration with her cigarette. Sidling up to her unnoticed is no less easy, and he’s reaching for the lighter before she as much as acknowledges his presence.

“Here, let me get that.” A small smile, careful, and a single, equally calm flick of his thumb over the wheel. The flame flares meekly to life as he holds it out for her, eyes levelling with hers. It’s the first time in years. A brief thought to terms on which they stopped talking tells him it probably was a smart move to disarm her beforehand.

[247taemin-blog]

ooc; i’m really sorry for the lack of activity lately, we’re doing some renovations around the house and the whole thing has sucked the muse right out of me lol well i’ll try to get some replies done for now, and reply my messages in a minute. if you’re new and/or want to plot, 1) welcome! and 2) hmu/like this so i can get to you c:

[247taemin-blog]

        & ; @247iya

< sms : kim taem >

that’s fine

it’s v comforting to know that i’m one number off from receiving all of pizza pizza’s calls

as long as you saved some of that meat lovers w/ extra meat for me, we’re all good

[ msg → yoong ]

   •  it should be, that place's pizza is one of the most important things in my life    •  knowing you come close should be quite an ego booster    •  sure    •  why wouldn't i store pizza in my fridge just in case you decide to show up some day    •  i'm obviously trying to attract you with the comforting odor of rotting mozzarella

[247taemin-blog]

         & ; @247seulgi

His fingertips have gone numb, drawing patterns on the condensation of his glass. His eyes take surreptious sweeps at the room, an attempt in discretion that ultimately only betrays the churning of his stomach, the restlessness. A quick glance to his right hand, to his ring finger, nail tracing the pale band latched onto the digit.

The restaurant is their usual meeting spot. Taemin avoids the school’s general vicinity to best of his ability, avoids Southeast Side or anywhere that has a Jinri’s fingerprints marked on its walls. It’s low profile, inviting and so terribly busy, cacophonous choruses of chatter and tinking cutlery drowning away any soft whispers that might wander past his lips.

He never dwells too much on the fact he has an usual meeting spot.

He blinks and she’s there, soft eyes and saccharine smiles as usual, and his heart never fails to skip that beat, like he’s thirteen and his fingers are still clean and begging for some filth. He leans forward, all smiles, and takes the kiss she offers, hanging on for a beat too long.

It’s the first time he finds himself on that cliff, caught between dry land and the soft roar of the ocean. The dark waters sloshing under him call his name, and the melody is quite nice. It would be so easy to let himself go, feel as the waves digested him whole.

The thumb he presses against his ring is a reminder to hold onto firm land, the silver anchoring in reality.

“Hey.” The chill he feels on his nape comes out on his tone, gaze evading contact. Quite the greeting, he thinks over a chuckle that lost its way somewhere in his throat. Nevertheless, straightforwardness has always served him best. It's best to avoid the petnames, the softness – the sugar coating. “I have something for you.”

Good news first, as usual.

The guidebook advises never to leave a lady empty-handed. He obeys, word by word, and nudges the box across the table top. His father’s assistant had made the purchase two days ago, the most expensive item in stock, as he has demanded. A necklace in gold, diamond stones glimmering on the charm -- his own sunshine in a bag. It’s sensibly more intimate, more serious, than the usual small endearments he’d dedicated to her in the past, the usual passing token of silly, blind infatuation.

It’s a preamble.

[247taemin-blog]

          & ; @247sana

Being one of the few younger faces among the crowd of patrons amounts to more downsides than perks. It’s far from the first time one of the older men sidles up to him, hand weighing on his shoulder, though hardly as heavy as the condescending intonation in their comments regarding his musical preferences. They always perform the same routine, levelling him with "kids these days", always easily impressed Modern, overlooking the techinique inherent to Barroque.

              “You see, young man, Bach writes odes to the true nature of               human soul. Strauss, on the other hand--”

And there it goes again (and again), the unending string of patronizing critiques. No shit Vivaldi’s work holds up with time, you can hear his entire composition list when ringing up customer’s service. The effort he puts into keeping a straight, agreeable face is monumental, but he somehow manages. He does fancy himself as a miracle worker, afterall.

They wind through the backstage’s turns and twists, a choir of thick, ancient voices leading his way as he slackens his pace, hands in pockets. The group is headed towards the administration’s desk, growing unspoken excitement over gathering schedules after the concert, but his feet hinge on their tracks, twisting on their heels.

The image was blurred, caught through peripheral vision, but he remembers seeing a dash of royal blue when passing by one of the waiting rooms’ ajar doors. She had been sporting the color as the violin rested between her shoulder and chin, poised before the orchestra. Quite a lovely execution of a Mozart concerto -- his least favorite one, in all honestly, but her work on it was admirable.

A closer look confirms his suspicions, as her features resonate the violinist's, from where he watched her on the fourth row. The sight is considerably more impressive from up close, too.

“I didn’t think I’d be running into the soloist this evening,” he comments as he pauses by the door frame. A small smile graces his features, head tipping slightly in a sort of greeting. “Not this early, at least. I gotta say I’m embarrassed I don’t have a bouquet at hand, you were wonderful out there.”

[247baekhyun-deactivated20160328]

[ txt → delinquent ]        •  you, my friend, need to google birthday suit    •  pls nobody could ever touch me back then and nobody can now i’m like a #mystery    •  we playing cops and robbers now? you got handcuffs?    •  aw, no fair :( you know i love it when you call me hyung   •  come to me, i’ll fix your broken heart    • buuuuut taaaeeemiiiiiinnnnnnieeeeeee

[247taemin-blog]

[ msg → baekhyun ]

   •  delete my number.    •  seems like someone’s been overrating his ability for discretion all this time    •  why are you acting like you don’t own a pair of those yourself?    •  is the aging process making you this easy? is it that tough?    •  no, i shouldn’t... we mustn’t...    •  if you ‘taeminie’ me one more time, you’re getting blocked

[taeminplease]

[247sohee-deactivated20160126]

( + forget me not. ash & ltm

something in her chest pricks, a hope, maybe, that she’s not so replaceable as to be forever left forgotten after all. she does not crave his touch, she thinks. but maybe she craves the assertion that she did matter. her mouth tastes bitter.

[247taemin-blog]

His feet work their way through corridors and upstairs on their own, each muscle acting out of their own memory. Not a single part of his body trusts his mind to make the decisions at this point into the evening -- it currently is nothing over a daze, numbed out significantly by the multiple glasses he’d had clasped in cold fingers, analgesic to an exhausted conscience.

The echoes of his footsteps through the empty, dark corridors soothe him, head hung over his chest as his legs wind him up the stairs. He recollects having heard them before, having sneaked into the building in the dead quiet of the night, partners in tow. Bad company and a fresh mind, two of the most available resources under his reach -- no regrets in having traded them for awareness and solitude.

And that is what he came seek when pushing the door, wincing at the startling squeals of rusty hinges. A second of silence to figure out how to piece his mind back into coherence. The swish of long, dark hair is enough to shatter that single hope, and his body sinks into disappointment before he can. Her head turns as if in a dazed startle, hooded eyes and rosy cheeks giving the vaguest idea of how many champagne glasses had been in her grip. He blinks against the crisp winter breeze, letting the door sway back into the frame.

“Sohee.” His shoes shuffle over the floor, returning the smile she greets him with (though his doesn’t betray his intoxication quite as evidently, the perks of years of practice). He stops by the railing, sparing the glimmering lights in the cityscape a brief glance before turning on his heels to the female.

“Nobody misses me.” His voice doesn’t quiver, the white of his teeth gleaming under pale lights. A fleeting second of silence. Wind whistles into his ear and sways strands of hair over his eyes, taking them in a dance as it carries away the first of her questions. “But it sure is cold, you sure you’re okay staying up here?”