A G A P E

Look with fear at that which surrounds you. Not everything is sunshine and rainbows. Park Sunjung. ☥

[addlvd-blog]

Bring me threads.

[addlvd-blog]

ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇs ᴡʜᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ℠

[lithified]

There’s no clever response here, so it’s just as good the waitress arrives shortly with their drinks. They seem to know each other, the girls — the little wave of thanks is answered with a smile — and he’s left to wonder if she’s a regular and how he possibly could have missed her before. This is, apparently, the downside of exiling yourself at the end of the bar, throwing back drinks with only the surly bartender for company.

Her initial answer is vague, but he gets the sense she’ll elaborate. So he occupies himself with finishing off the glass in his hand and adding it to the ever-growing collection on the table between them, and promptly starting on the new one. It’s what she says next that piques his interest.

"But you like it all right? Hey, count yourself lucky—" here, another gulp— "Better to wear yourself out doing somethin’ you like. I don’t think I know anybody who can say that.”

He’s drinking too fast, becoming careless. “My job fuckin’ sucks.” If it’s gauche to be so blunt he can’t be moved to care. Hey, she did ask. “Boss is a piece of shit. Pretty sure he’s stiffin’ me on paychecks, but he does hate my ass so I’m not surprised.”

Only as the glass meets the table does he recognize this might not be the smartest way to steer the conversation. Time for a clumsy redirect.

"So what do you do?"

[addlvd-blog]

She almost snorts. A sort of choked off laugh bounces out of her throat, almost drowned in the contents of her cup. When she pulls away the rim is stained pink and her smile just maybe reaches her eyes.

“Why don’t you just kick his ass?” He looks like he could take a punch or two - like he has taken a few. “Or find another job?”

He probably doesn’t have the same credentials as she does, but even high school kids can get jobs. He doesn’t look like he’d be overqualified for anything, shouldn’t have to be worried about getting cheated too much. The pay’s never enough, not anywhere, but if this guy really hates his job, it’d be worth it - unless he doesn’t really want to leave. Or he doesn’t think it would help.

And he’s changing the subject. Of course. Who actually wants to talk about themselves in a place like this? She’s just barely willing to oblige.

“Several things. Most of the time I’m working at a tattoo parlor. If you ever in the market for any ink, you should pop in some time. Sareureuk, out in Itaewon.”

A second thought pops into her head and a few more things fall into place, like pieces into a puzzle that doesn’t have a picture on the box. It’s difficult, but not impossible, and this is true of all people she intends to solve.

He can’t escape something in his life.

But the words that come out of her mouth aren’t about him, because this isn’t about him. He doesn’t want to talk about himself because he doesn’t see anything about himself to talk about. Ragged, obstinate; they’re just little pieces of the finished picture. And it’s about her right now.

“I’ll give you a discount if it’ll get you in the door.”

[addlvd-blog]

Fill this in:

Describe your character’s laugh: Quiet, reserved. Pitched twice as high as when she talks, it could be called a giggle. She covers her mouth, doesn’t really let people listen. Tries to smother it before it gets out of control. Drunk laughter is a lot more bubbly; out of control. She doesn’t bother hiding it. Tipsy is sloppy - in-between.

Some features of their typical morning routine?: Drowsiness, lethargy. Not a morning person, she goes through it like a zombie. Wake up, hair up, coffee. Paper. Music on, clothes on, hair done. Outside - to work. 

It’s just a regular weekday, what are they wearing?: Jeans, wedge sneakers, fitted t-shirt, cardigan. Jeans, ankle/calf boots, nice belt, loose shirt, tucked in, flannel, beanie. Loose blouse, nice belt, pencil skirt, heels/wedges. Situational, really, because she’s comfortable in just about everything. Muted color scheme: greys, blues, white, black, pops of other color. Always minimal jewelry.

What is their preferred mode of transport for long journeys and why?: If it’s feasible, walking. It’s probably the only mode of transportation that she can control ninety-eight percent.Otherwise, taxi or subway because they are the most accessible without owing anyone a favour.

Name one aspect of their childhood or adolescence that has shaped a large part of their persona today: Moving to California was probably the biggest thing - she learned the most about herself and about the world around her while she was there. Her parents weren’t really that big an influence - they didn’t do much. Her schooling didn’t do much for her, either - only served to increase her distaste for the government and other large agencies.

Name one form of injustice that they simply cannot tolerate: Subjugation of the weak. She values power and autonomy very highly.

Are they more of a doer or an observer?: Doer. She will observe until she has an adequate grasp of the situation and then she will act based upon her findings and how she interprets the mood. A snake that strikes with confidence.

Name one thing that tends to impress them: Dishevelment that hides a good intellect. She controls everything about herself and carries it all with a calculated elegance - she knows she needs to look good to be worth anything. People that know that and don’t care - actively ignore societal standards - are impressive.

Which aspect of the arts can they most appreciate?: The amount of raw feeling that has to go into each piece. She doesn’t feel much herself so it’s very interesting to know that someone spent hours, days, weeks, or years slaving away over this one thing just to show it to the world.

Which common traits do they seek in both associates and lovers?: Intelligence. She can get along with pretty much anyone that has mastered the art of knowing what the fuck they’re doing. And perhaps a slight tendency towards impressionability.  

Do they reflect the whereabouts or era that they were raised into?: Somewhat. She is very liberal when it comes to most controversial topics, like most people her age. She is also connected to most people via social networking sites and uses her phone for a lot more than simple calls. She does not agree with any of South Korea’s more conservative values, nor does she follow whatever most of the current trends may be.

What would be a safely enjoyable order at a restaurant?: Savory flavors, mostly. Doesn’t like fast food much. Anything chicken, seafood, or steak is okay. If she doesn’t like anything on the menu, she’ll just get a salad.

Describe their social circle, what is their role within it?: Reasonably sized, it consists mostly of coworkers and patients. She keeps them all at a distance, accepts invitations when necessary, and generally just goes along as she has to to keep herself as close to normal as possible. There is no real leader, but she has been known to influence the group without them knowing it.  

In a word, what is their ultimate aspiration?: Entropy.

Tagging: pretty much everyone, go.

[addlvd-blog]

tagged by k-sung tornlimbs

[koreanmodel]

Soo Joo by Nadia Moro

[addlvd-blog]

7 ℠

kmortale:

It’s silent. The cold making the street the last place for people at this time of night and a perfect place for her. Cloaked in familiarity, wandering on the edge of midtown where the fog settles and she can be at peace as the world is still. She lights a cigarette—-fire manifesting under her gaze—-as she sinks down into the concrete letting her head fall against a light post that’s missing a bulb. But, as always, her sliver of peace can only last momentarily and soon enough she hears footsteps approaching.

For a moment, she contemplates outing the cigarette and ducking into her car because in this state she’s not right for human interaction. Instead, she fixes her face into something she hopes doesn’t scream  "i’d like to suck out your existence because my hunger is eating me from the inside" which isn’t easy to do.

But then the footsteps stop and a distinctly female voice speaks

"You know, you really shouldn’t be out here all on your own.

It takes all of her not to scoff. The woman doesn’t know that if she could unlock her full potential she could shift the stars, change the river’s course, dance upon endless possibilties. If. Only if. But now her eyes are sunken in from fatigue, and all she’s got her disposable is adolescent magic that pales in comparison to even the dullest of stars. So, she exhales, words coming easily. She can do this.

"What? Afraid for me?"

Kyungri turns shifting so her face She doesn’t know the woman but she’s a vision, platinum hair contrasting starkly against the night sky. Beautiful in a way that’s odd, almost alien like, like those runway models who never smile with their faces frozen in seriousness. For a moment she just stares until she finds herself digging her nails into her palm and she has to glance away, letting her cigarette hang from limp fingers.

Her voice is shaky when she speaks again,

"Are you my lady in shining armor? Come to whisk me away from all the cruelty, and keep me safe from all the monsters that plague this vast earth. Or are you just fucking with me?”

Her smile is sardonic when she finally glances up again, the irony of her denying her own nature making it comical in a sense. They lock eyes and she winks, plucking another stick from the pack like second nature.

"Wanna smoke?"

It's late enough that most people are safely tucked away in their beds. Half of her world is asleep and the other half is lurking around in the dark. It's time for the monsters to come out to play, to go bump in the night and scare all the children that haven't yet succumbed to slumber.

She is a monster without fangs, only claws. Hers aren't sharp, but they're enough to keep others at bay.

The silence amplifies the sound of her heels on the concrete slabs of sidewalk exponentially. Steps echo down blocks and around corners, spread out and conquer the waking world like gunshots.

Up ahead is something like a mirage - a vision in the concrete jungle that allows her to hope for something that she hadn't known she'd needed. She's not noticed by her vision at first; the only movement she sees is the smoke from the end of the cigarette wafting off to its inevitable destruction.

But when she opens her mouth, she's granted  response, so it's not as if this woman is too out of it. Good.

Her newest companion speaks again as she draws closer, comes to a stop just a breath away. Personal space is something she doesn't believe in and it looks like her friend doesn't mind either way. Nervous, but accepting. That's how it always is, isn't it? She gets what she wants because she's pretty. This woman would get the same treatment, looks like. Beautiful and intriguing in a dark, mysterious sort of way. The latter probably as something to do with the fact that she's standing under a street light at some ungodly hour of the night. Maybe Sunjung will ask why later. Now, she must speak.

"Why not both?"

She quirks a brow, allows  small smirk to form. And she plucks the cigarette from the other's fingers. She hasn't smoked in a long time, but it's always the same basic process. And she's not a cough. It won't hurt.

"Maybe I was here to fuck with you, but decided to save you instead? Maybe I was afraid I wouldn't get another chance to talk with you if I didn't."

There's a struggle in this one's eyes but she can't figure out what for. what would have someone unable to sleep and alone in the cold night? Too many things, really. This world is a cruel place and too many fall victim to the terrible circumstances it creates. But this woman doesn't look like a victim, beaten. There's still a fight, there.

Maybe she'd like to watch.

"I'm going to need a light, if you wouldn't mind too much. Don't carry anything on me nowadays. Might need to borrow a set of armor, too. Left my shiny one at home tonight."

[fuckyeahrudyfrancisco]

Your heart will become a dusty piano in the basement of a church and she will play you when no one is looking. Now you understand why it’s called an organ.

Rudy Francisco, "Like Every Other Man" (via fuckyeahrudyfrancisco)

[addlvd-blog]

ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇs ᴡʜᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ℠

[lithified]

The introduction’s flatly one-sided; he’s not surprised. With some girls it’s simple — almost instant rapport, easy smiles, give-and-take. He had no expectation she’d be one of them. There’s a cleverness about her, understated and slightly cold, and if he ever put any thought into this he would recognize it’s inseparable from her appeal.

If he’s taken aback at her presumption, it doesn’t show. The words he almost says are reconsidered over a slow sip: Glad you said it. Though he’s not sure he’ll be trying much of anything.

"Hey, not at all. Knock yourself out." A pause. "Not literally, of course. The barkeep here gets all bitchy about it. He’ll never let you live it down."

The little self-amused smile is neatly hidden by his whiskey glass — let her think he’s serious. Let her think he’s a blackout drunk passing out on bar-room floors. The night’s mood is already cast over the pair of them, irrevocable: she’s gorgeous as she is composed, and he’s a mess. He doesn’t have a chance in hell. But he’s interested enough to keep playing, just as she’s seized on his company for some free drinks.

"So, Blondie—" the first nickname that occurs to him, generic cheapness in place of what she won’t share. With his drink hand he gestures vaguely over the table, the too-many glasses crowded between them, lazy smile immune to the fact he’d almost spilled his own. "Bad night or somethin’?"

[addlvd-blog]

It's a breath of fresh air. It's been a while since she's been able to converse with someone like this - it's always business, never personal. This isn't quite personal yet, but there's potential. A pleasant exchange where they both act as if there's nothing to gain from this, but they both know that's not true. Almost like a dance.

"I take it you have experience with that, then."

Their drinks arrive and she wiggles her fingers as a sort of farewell as the waitress leaves again. There's going to be a nice tip later.

The name is one she's familiar with. When someone doesn't know what to call you, they often pick something unique - and her hair sets her apart from a lot of others that share her heritage. She steps into the identity reflexively; allows it for now. And she laughs, because his hands are too large and the glasses are still here and maybe it's a little funny.

"You could say that, I guess."

The question now is whether or not she should admit the truth. The honest option doesn't seem to be the one that's more fun, though.

"Too much... work." She chooses her words carefully; decides what, exactly, she should give away based on his responses. "Not a crappy job or anything, just taxing."

She exhales slowly before pressing her cup to her lips again. Sungjoon looks like he knows what a shitty job is, so she's betting he'll sympathize. Good.

"How about you?"

[addlvd-blog]

Fill this in:

Describe your character’s laugh: Quiet, reserved. Pitched twice as high as when she talks, it could be called a giggle. She covers her mouth, doesn't really let people listen. Tries to smother it before it gets out of control. Drunk laughter is a lot more bubbly; out of control. She doesn't bother hiding it. Tipsy is sloppy - in-between.

Some features of their typical morning routine?: Drowsiness, lethargy. Not a morning person, she goes through it like a zombie. Wake up, hair up, coffee. Paper. Music on, clothes on, hair done. Outside - to work. 

It’s just a regular weekday, what are they wearing?: Jeans, wedge sneakers, fitted t-shirt, cardigan. Jeans, ankle/calf boots, nice belt, loose shirt, tucked in, flannel, beanie. Loose blouse, nice belt, pencil skirt, heels/wedges. Situational, really, because she's comfortable in just about everything. Muted color scheme: greys, blues, white, black, pops of other color. Always minimal jewelry.

What is their preferred mode of transport for long journeys and why?: If it's feasible, walking. It's probably the only mode of transportation that she can control ninety-eight percent.Otherwise, taxi or subway because they are the most accessible without owing anyone a favour.

Name one aspect of their childhood or adolescence that has shaped a large part of their persona today: Moving to California was probably the biggest thing - she learned the most about herself and about the world around her while she was there. Her parents weren't really that big an influence - they didn't do much. Her schooling didn't do much for her, either - only served to increase her distaste for the government and other large agencies.

Name one form of injustice that they simply cannot tolerate: Subjugation of the weak. She values power and autonomy very highly.

Are they more of a doer or an observer?: Doer. She will observe until she has an adequate grasp of the situation and then she will act based upon her findings and how she interprets the mood. A snake that strikes with confidence.

Name one thing that tends to impress them: Dishevelment that hides a good intellect. She controls everything about herself and carries it all with a calculated elegance - she knows she needs to look good to be worth anything. People that know that and don't care - actively ignore societal standards - are impressive.

Which aspect of the arts can they most appreciate?: The amount of raw feeling that has to go into each piece. She doesn't feel much herself so it's very interesting to know that someone spent hours, days, weeks, or years slaving away over this one thing just to show it to the world.

Which common traits do they seek in both associates and lovers?: Intelligence. She can get along with pretty much anyone that has mastered the art of knowing what the fuck they're doing. And perhaps a slight tendency towards impressionability.  

Do they reflect the whereabouts or era that they were raised into?: Somewhat. She is very liberal when it comes to most controversial topics, like most people her age. She is also connected to most people via social networking sites and uses her phone for a lot more than simple calls. She does not agree with any of South Korea's more conservative values, nor does she follow whatever most of the current trends may be.

What would be a safely enjoyable order at a restaurant?: Savory flavors, mostly. Doesn't like fast food much. Anything chicken, seafood, or steak is okay. If she doesn't like anything on the menu, she'll just get a salad.

Describe their social circle, what is their role within it?: Reasonably sized, it consists mostly of coworkers and patients. She keeps them all at a distance, accepts invitations when necessary, and generally just goes along as she has to to keep herself as close to normal as possible. There is no real leader, but she has been known to influence the group without them knowing it.  

In a word, what is their ultimate aspiration?: Entropy.

Tagging: pretty much everyone, go.

[addlvd-blog]

"So, get up, get out in the real world and you kick that bastard as hard you can right in the teeth."

She grins.

"Fear is the natural response to danger. If either of us is feeling it, we probably have a reason to be afraid." Smile softens marginally. "It's what you do with that fear that's the important part, really. Disregarding it is probably one of the worst things you can do. Why not use it instead, hm?"

[addlvd-blog]

ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇs ᴡʜᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ℠

[lithified]

A few seconds pass, a drawn-out lapse in which he’s half sure she won’t answer. This is why you don’t chat up girls in a bar. Or more specifically, this is why you don’t chat up girls in a bar who look like a solid ten when you’re barely pushing a three. He’s fully aware his vibe is even more desolate than normal. It’s not his night (but really — hasn’t been his night for months.)

And yet, she humors him. She’s definitely too good for him, and here she is making him laugh.

"Words of wisdom."

Finishing the shot, he turns back to the bartender. A quick nod and he’s poured another — impatient gesture of his hand and it’s filled nearly to the brim with another shot, the barman’s darkened expression going willfully unnoticed. And he’s out of the barstool and into a seat, joining the blonde at her table like she’s an old friend.

Another couple rounds and maybe she will be.

"No need for a debate tonight," he agrees, pausing only to indulge in the burn of cheap liquor. "Next time I’d skip right to it, if I were you. Tequila makes for some nasty hangovers."

Too soon for introductions? — he doesn’t wonder long. Once you’ve insinuated yourself into someone’s drinking party, one might argue the time for introductions is past. “Sungjoon,” he answers like she even asked, drowning out hope she’ll reciprocate with more amber swill.

[addlvd-blog]

Maybe she's more inebriated than she'd initially thought.

It's an easy transition into laughter as he slides into the chair adjacent. He's not quite in shambles but he's cutting it a little close. He looks like he hasn't slept in days and she's not sure he's going to be able to stand up after this liquid adventure. She's tempted to stick around and see if he falls over.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time."

It's not the first time she's met a guy at a bar; she's been approached numerous times by men that have been anywhere from stone sober to completely smashed. This one is closer to the first end of the spectrum right now, but he acts like he's somewhere in the middle.

After his name, her smile turns into a smirk and she throws back the last of her own glass. Good to know. Perhaps she'll tell him hers when she decides this isn't going to be just a quick chat. She hails her favorite waitress.

"Another round for my friend and I. This one is on Sungjoon's tab."

And the girl is off, and they're left together in a silence that isn't really silence, because the quiet is drowned out by the chatter of the other patrons and the music playing over hidden speakers. She leans forward, rests her head on her hand, and looks at her companion again.

"Hope you don't care too much. I figured if you're going to try me, you might as well buy me a drink."

[liberances-blog]

✄ - - PROFESSIONAL - -

[liberances-blog]

Upon her entrance his body stiffens in an uncomfortable manner as he anticipates what is to occur, even more so at her touch. It’s a natural reaction that has nothing to do with her, it’s his aversion for touch but it melts away within an instant. But he’s fine, he’s always been fine. One had to learn to be fine with this, he can’t be weak. Body now lax, phone now tucked back into his pocket as a glance is given to her that lasts for just a few seconds. There is always in an interest in her eyes when it was dealt with his profession, her fascination always made him more accepting of her.   

                                      “ I expect to be reimbursed for this..                                        of course. This young lady wanted more company. ” 

A chuckle escapes him almost unconsciously, there was nothing funny about the situation merely a habit that occurs. Often people deduced it to his nerves being in disarray or him being uncomfortable. Though some new that it was a trait that occurred recently. Oh well, he was sure that she was used to it by now. Knowing that he could be partially without bounds when around her, for she was more focused on the deceased who was painted in blue, red and purple.  

Silence fills the small gap between them, it is comfortable as it should be. For they were surrounded by what they both felt a connection with. Hands reached for the familiar tools needed in the first process of what he was to show her with the best seat, preservation. 

Body is positioned which heightened the view of her body. A scalpel in one hand and the tube in which he would inject her with, he hums a tune almost unconsciously, now it would begin. The base of her neck injected, so delightful. Delicately an incision is placed on her jugular, for what goes in must come out. 

Watching in mild fascination as the pink liquid, a mix of chemicals that would allow the skin to take a more lively glow even if she was discoloured by bruises. 

                                  “ You’re finally becoming beautiful again.” 

It’s hushed, the smell around them nauseating but he adored it. Loved it, as the table was scored with red trails, flushed from their body. 

[addlvd-blog]

                                                                            Fortissimo.

The intensity with which someone completely loses themselves is something spectacular. It's hard to fake and hard to put into words. To see someone's world melt away before their very eyes is an experience that you can't exactly forget. They enter into something entirely different - something, someplace where you don't even exist.

She loves the process - loves to watch it in motion. And there's no person she loves to see lose it better than her very own neighbourhood mortician.

She leans against one of the tables behind her, wraps her arms around her middle. It's become second nature to control her breathing, keep it quiet. She won't distract him from his work.

And it is beautiful, that work.

With only a layer of latex to separate his hands from his canvas, he gets to work on his masterpiece.  It takes on an unfamiliar odor that pervades even the darkest corners of her mind. It doesn't smell like a corpse - it's just a concoction of chemicals stronger than what she uses to clean her bathroom. But he's not scrubbing his tub - he's pumping life into death.

Her fingers are slow to grip the metal edge of her perch, but her knuckles quickly turn white at the force she exudes to keep herself quiet. Gagging is not an option. She is witnessing art. She will be grateful. She remains hushed.

The air is twisted now; the scent of decay seeps into the chemical stench. The liquids that once kept the body functioning are evacuating. They are being replaced to keep it looking full, looking normal. She watches as pallor becomes something neither yellow nor natural, but something in between. 

[addlvd-blog]

no.6 better be eun

It’s late but the time doesn’t matter.

It’s 01:00 and her fingers skim over skin she’s not familiar with.

They don’t know each other well, not really. There are few words spoken between them, and it leaves a silence that hangs like a veil, hiding the truth of them both from everyone, from one another. But that doesn’t matter, either.

She’s learned a lot from the little time they’ve spent together thus far. She’s learned that a lot of things are irrelevant. Not everything has to have a meaning, not everything has to have a corresponding weight. The universe is made up of atoms in a random order, moving randomly, vibrating at different frequencies. Everyone and everything is made from the same stuff as stars. They just exist.

It’s both a relief and a terrible burden to know these things. Most people would consider this a sort of existential crisis.

But she’s always enjoyed the feeling of freedom and not knowing what is supposed to come next. And with her, she gets that.

Her fingers trail into dark hair and curl, pull.

Soft lips meet soft lips - just briefly. Enough for warm breath to meet and tangle. And she pulls away again, smiling that little smile that appeared when they first met. And her hands fall, and her eyelids fall, and her resolve falls.

"Until next time, babe."

And she’s gone.

[addlvd-blog]

RULE 1. You can only say GUILTY or INNOCENT. RULE 2. You are not allowed to explain anything unless someone messages you and asks! Now, here’s what you’re supposed to do… And please do not spoil the fun. Delete my answers, type in your answers and tag 3-10 of your friends to answer this.

Tagged by: ritualmurders Tagging: malaekh sanguevitale and i've run out of people i know that haven't already done it. so whoever else that hasn't been tagged that wants to do it. just consider this me tagging you.

1. Asked someone to marry you? Innocent. 2. Kissed one of your friends? Innocent. 3. Danced on a table in a bar? Innocent. 5. Had feelings for someone whom you can’t have? Innocent. 6. Ever kissed someone of the same sex? Guilty. 7. Kissed a picture? Innocent. 8. Slept in until 5 PM? Guilty. 9. Fallen asleep at work/school? Innocent. 10. Held a snake? Guilty. 11. Been suspended from school? Innocent. 12. Worked at a fast food chain/restaurant? Innocent. 13. Stolen something? Guilty. 14. Been fired from a job? Innocent. 15. Done something you regret? Innocent. 16. Laughed until something you were drinking came out of your nose? Innocent. 17. Caught a snowflake on your tongue? Innocent. 18. Kissed in the rain? Innocent. 19. Sat on a roof top? Guilty. 20. Kissed someone you shouldn’t? Innocent. 21. Sang in the shower? Guilty 22. Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? Guilty. 23. Shaved your head? Innocent. 24. Slept naked? Guilty. 25. Had a boxing membership? Innocent. 26. Made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? Innocent. 27. Been in a band? Innocent. 28. Shot a gun? Guilty. 29. Donated blood? Innocent. 30. Eaten alligator meat? Innocent. 31. Eaten cheesecake? Guilty. 32. Still love someone you shouldn’t? Innocent. 33. Have/had a tattoo? Innocent. 34. Liked someone, but will never tell who? Innocent. 35. Been too honest? Innocent. 36. Ruined a surprise? Innocent. 37. Ate in a restaurant and got really bloated that you can’t walk afterwards? Innocent. 38. Erased someone in your friends list? Guilty. 39. Dressed in a woman’s clothes (if you’re a guy) or man’s clothes (if you’re a girl)? Guilty. 40. Joined a pageant? Innocent. 41. Been told that you’re handsome or beautiful by someone who totally meant what they said? Guilty. 42. Still have communication w/ your ex? Innocent. 43. Cheated on someone? Innocent. 44. Get totally drunk one night and you have an important exam tomorrow morning? Guilty. 45. A total stranger treated you by paying your fare? Innocent. 46. Get totally angry that you cried so hard? Innocent. 47. Tried to stay away from someone for their own good? Innocent. 48. Thought about suicide? Guilty. 49. Thought about murder? Guilty. 50. How about Mass Murder? Guilty. 51. Rode in a stranger’s vehicle? Guilty. 52. Stalked someone? Innocent. 53. Had a girlfriend/boyfriend? Innocent. 54. Gotten totally drunk during a holiday? Guilty.

[addlvd-blog]

ᴅᴏ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ғᴀᴠᴏᴜʀ ℠

[malaekh]

Yejun. Was it Kim Yejun? Jung Yejun? Choi Yejun? He’swriting the name over and over and over again on the paper put beside the keyboard in front of him. He’s not sure, but it doesn’t really matter until they call out his name, only then will he need to care. He’s the messenger, nothing more, nothing less. As the days grow long, and the nights stretch even longer, the court trials get worse and worse. He can sense the guilt in the child’s body when he comes into the room. Immediately, Hyunseung feels a snap under his palm and his eyes are flickering from right to left to make sure no one saw. He frantically rubs the ink spilt from his, now broken, pen onto his thighs before readying himself for this painful hour.

His fingers work at the speed of light, or at least they should. It’s boring to have them flit across keys at such a speed. Would it even be called speed at this rate? Slow, cutting through honey. The task is relaxing, almost familiar but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. His fingers are harsh on the keys, and an hour flies by with his teeth grit and jaw set. He hates human. He hates hates hates — loves them. He repeats the word love under his breath once, twice, three times, and then continuously till he makes it to his dingy apartment in under twenty minutes.

The place smells of moth balls he meticulously places in every corner, changing them every two weeks. It’s a barely furnished flat. A couch here, a small television there. His room only consists of a bed, desk, and a shelf filled to the brim with various types of scriptures. He’s about to pull one out when he reminds himself to write down the hearing that replays fresh in his memory. Word after word spills across the page, becoming a blur of text only to be cut by the phone vibrating beside him. He practically glares at the unknown number, picking it up and remaining silent. If they wanted to talk, they would – and so they did.

“Yes?” He doesn’t know the voice, but he still refrains from hanging up like he normally would. It’s that gut feeling again. ( He hates it. ) With phone between his ear and shoulder, he continues writing rapidly. “Who is this? If it’s a telemarketer I don’t want anything, my windows are fine, and whatever else you’re trying to sell.”

[addlvd-blog]

If she could get away with just tapping the screen and ending the call right here, she probably would. Presumptuous and quick to dismiss - two traits she doesn't exactly like in a person. He's got both of them.

( So does she, but hypocrisy isn't on that list of dislikes. )

Her eyes roll nearly out of her head before she sucks in a breath to respond.

"Park Sunjung. Provided I was given the correct phone number you're Jang Hyunseung. Stop me now if I'm wrong."

She doesn't actually wait for a confirmation. Instead she presses a finger to her free ear as she wanders over to the nearest bench. It's easier to listen, like this. She doesn't hear herself or anything else outside. Perhaps it would have been easier to wait until she had reached the quiet of her apartment to make the call, but it's beneficial to get the whole thing taken care of as soon as possible. And if she can get what she needs immediately, it'll be faster to depart from here.

"You were recording for a case today - Kim Jihye versus Jung Yejun, right? I was wondering if you would be able to make a copy of the transcript for me. I need it for my records, as part of Yejun's recovery process." It's not until the words have left her mouth that she realizes she sounds more like a busybody than someone asking a favour, and she backpedals. "If it's not too much trouble, that is. I'd be extremely grateful."

[addlvd-blog]

ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇs ᴡʜᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ℠

[lithified]

Down below malaise, general dissatisfaction with one’s existence, disgust with various personal habits and addictions more stubborn than blood on a starched white shirt, there is a certain wry amusement to be found in going through the motions. Predictably, he crosses the threshold of this seedy bar for the some-hundredth time, throwing his often-professed hatred of alcohol into a curious light.

He never promised to make sense.

It should be some kind of red flag that the bartender takes one look at his face and starts pouring. Whiskey on the rocks, not the cheapest brand they carry but only one step up. He hates this place, hates to drink, and he has a usual.

There’s not much to do in a bar like this, and never is one more pointedly aware of this than when they’re trying to keep their mind off its own convoluted dysfunction. In the absence of TV screens, it’s only natural to turn to people-watching. Besides a few regulars nursing drinks at the bar, nearly everyone is occupied with lovers or friends; they aren’t likely to notice the extra pair of eyes. Only one stands out from the rest, drawing his interest. It’s just the pop of contrast, at first, the platinum of her hair — but that’s not what keeps him from moving on.

He’s not into blondes, but she’s cute enough to keep him distracted. While he’s sure not to stare, no effort is made to keep his gaze from gravitating back to her every so often. It’s interesting sometimes, the little things you can figure out about a person from their mannerisms. Like how the old man at the end of the bar has a tremor he should get checked out, but he’s decided to dole out his own medicine. Only sometimes the quirks just raise questions and explain nothing. Like how she’s holding the same drink he is and her table’s already full of ones she killed, nothing left but neon dregs melting into ice and sugared rims dyed with food coloring.

He was never into blondes (okay so maybe that’s a lie) but he’s too intrigued to keep quiet.

"Six rounds of that sugary shit, and now you go with whiskey.”

[addlvd-blog]

There are some tastes you never want to wash out of your mouth.

It's not as if she enjoys the burn that lines her throat when she swallows and it's not as if she doesn't like the taste of salt and lime on the tip of her tongue. She just prefers the honesty of hard liquor. It's easier to stomach, somehow.

He looks like a mess - a hastily put-together man who's atoms were assembled while the universe was having a drink of its own. He's all legs and hands and hair and she can sort of sympathize, even if it's only a little. When he walks in it's not inconspicuous. He's been here before, looks like, because the bartender starts pouring before he even sits down. She can't say she knows how that is.

And when he looks at her she's not looking back - not any more. It took two seconds to figure enough out about this guy to know that he's not her type. She's not a regular like him. But he's fascinated and she can't blame him for that; it's only human nature, after all. She knows more about that than most. So she replies.

"Sometimes you need to let yourself believe you're going to go home buzzed before you finally commit to getting wasted."

A smile, small - all lips - and a quick appraisal of his glass. His is on the rocks, hers isn't. Interesting stuff.

She doesn't bother mentioning that the rest of this wasn't hers. It doesn't matter. Might as well let him think that she's on a binge, because it might make him feel better about his own problems.

"Looks like you've already made up your mind, though."

[addlvd-blog]

ɴᴏɴᴀ ™

She scrapes her knuckles down the face of someone she doesn't know. 

He's not part of her usual routine - picked up like a stray off the street. He says a lot of things, at first, talks incessantly about different topics, like how nice the weather is (and then how nice her ass is, but she pretends not to hear). She lets him go for a while, only interjecting every few sentences with a hum of acknowledgement.

Her dusters are his blood, the laws of motion from his body as he made his way to the ground.

He follows her almost to her apartment, but they stop a few blocks short. She motions towards the far side of the building they've claimed as their sanctuary, and he leads the way. There's a door at the back that they can use for entry without being disturbed. And they aren't.

They descend into the basement, dark and damp. Nobody's been down here in a while, it looks like, or they just haven't felt the need to keep it up. The lights flicker twice as they come on, but remain steady after that. Its not anything like a horror story, though it should be. She's tempted to ask if he loves.

It's an interesting situation from there, because he seems intent on getting one thing, and she's planning on giving him something else entirely. Some gifts, however, are unable to be exchanged. This is one of them.

His present is her fist's repeated contact with his sharp cheekbones, marrying her fingers with his blood and spilling over into what could be considered insanity. A frustrated cry - exertion is too much, too fast - and she slips her hands around his throat, squeezes. She doesn't feel the nails raking down her legs, her arms, trying to get her to stop. He chokes and he turns purple, thrashes hard, and she continues to hold him.

"It's going to be alright. I'm going to help you, okay?"

She keeps hugging her fingers to his neck, tighter, tighter. She's sitting on his chest and his bucking is starting to slow down and his hands eventually fall away from her wrists and she's left there, still squeezing.

A few more moments of laboured breathing on her end and silence on his end and she releases him. Her fingers ache and her hands feel stretched, but she pats him gently on his beaten face, presses her lips to his wrinkled forehead as he stares lifelessly at the concrete ceiling above.

She slides slowly from him, and returns to the world on shaky legs. There's a water heater near by and she seizes a lock nut between her fingers and begins to turn. Pressure goes up, and up, and up.

And she closes the door behind her as she leaves.

[addlvd-blog]

Fuck you! And your eyebrows!

There’s a moment of pause before she raises one aforementioned eyebrow. This man definitely has some gall, yelling like this. If she were more impulsive, he’d be seeing the underside of her sneaker. But she’s probably managed to piss him off somehow - just doesn’t remember it..

"Only in your dreams, Sweatheart. And even then, it’s not gonna be willingly."