—my bones have turned to ash

and words have died on my lips, kim sunggyu. '89. writer. father to monsters of sorts. what no one tells you is that as age creates hollows under your eyes, you learn there is a fine line between gods and monsters.

[blckcarnage-blog]

perfect little wreck.

[advsunggyu-blog]

JINAH:

♢

he is pacing again, long legs and long strides across the kitchen floor. his eyes keep finding the door, teasing the knob—and once he got as far as resting his hand on it, the metal a cool bite in the palm of his hand. the touch reminded him of jinah and he pulls away again, a coward at best, and resigns himself to pacing once more

he was going mad, he swore it. swore by every paperback book in the stacks of his dorm, and by the bottom of his bottle. which he was staring at currently, the glass jar heavy in his hand.

it alcohol does little for him, if not worsening the tight grip in his chest. it makes it hard to breathe, lungs burning and sneering at him as he inhales, exhales, inhales—

the news of the mansion had haunted him, and selfishly he was relieved. glad he had taken the simple way out and chosen not to go. he had received invited, and declined. he knew the faces of monsters well by now, saw them all around him. but in places where fear begins, the creatures are restless and crude and it is more than he can stomach. their always always follow and they always cry out for a chance, a promise he knows they will all but keep.

no, he elected to a night of drinking and folded paperbacks—only to wake the next morning to the news of the tragedy. the horrors that truly awaited the audience—the death toll—

he swears as his foot connects with the edge of a cabinet, and stammers in his pace. his balance wobbles, then returns, and he is left with lingering pain. but it too does not drown out the sink of his chest and thoughts of jinah.

ah, the ice princess herself—he knew she had attended. she had in fact invited, and perhaps that was the weight. guilt. because if he had gone, perhaps he could have protected her better. taken care of her, helped her through the house of horrors and the mess it had done.

he, after all, was a coward at heart though. and no one could change that.

and that guilt is what stops him now. stops him from rushing to her hospital room with apologies and comforting hands, reaching for her hair and pulling her into him.

“fuck,” he gives a grunt of frustration and swings the bottle. the glass collides with the floor and scatters across, decorating the tile with pretty shimmering pieces. he doesn’t move to clean it, only remains still where he stands and eyes the door.

he should have been there.

--it’s the knock that pulls him from self loathing and waves of anger. it snaps his eyes up and he finds himself cautioning the door. for a minute he stares, and then it comes again—louder this time. it shakes the door frame, but does not hide the squeak of the voice it holds behind.

he knows her call by now, hears her call for him and freezes—as if she touched him when she is feet away.

“jinah?” his voice is not loud, a mutter more than anything. she will not hear, will not hear the way his words twist and his heart juts and the guilt is a flame and she has ignited it. she has feed it more and more and it spreads like wild across the landscape of his chest. his hands find his hair and he is tugging, hard. he swears this is nothing, swears his is not a coward and yet she is pounding on the door and he is not there.

he is not answering, only staring and thinking of a way to tell her he is sorry.

at last he can’t take it, his feet dance around the glass, he steps on a  small piece and it cuts and there is blood where he steps but he does not care.

instead he opens the door with his force and his might.

“jinah—“ the sight of her stops him and he is staring again. hair matted and body hidden under a hospital gown.

his brows furrow and he wants to ask her why she is there. why is she not resting, why had she chosen to come to him, the cowardly little lion?

instead his hands reach for her, grabbing her arms and pulling her into him. she smells like bleach and latex powder, like hospital wards—and she is cool like ice. but he doesn’t mind, doesn’t care. freeze me and i will only hold tighter, he thinks and squeezes her into his chest.

his hands find her hair, and he’s holding her like he’s imagined for days.

[advlje-blog]

Keep reading

[advsunggyu-blog]

‘ TRACKER | 0712

for me? you shouldn’t have!

CHA HAKYEON  — anodyne. *this is an event thread!  IM JINAH  — dream boat. JUNG SOOYEON  — silhouettes. KIM HANSOL  —  bottoms up. LEE TAEMIN  — opening. LEE YEJI  — sock it to me.

a gift in return!

KIM WONSHIK  — battered. JUNG SOOYEON —  lonely hearts club. * this is an event thread!

hello all! sunggyu’s mun, megan here! sorry for the delay in replies. i have a con coming up next weekend and i have 3 costumes to make and its just been a grand mess so ive been a little absent! i’m trying to get on a bit more and this week ill wrap all of these up and start queuing them so when im gone you’ll still have shitposts 8) 

also, all event threads are taking priority right now! so i dont mean to skip over you but with the event ending we’re trying to burn through these quickly <: so i apologize! if you want to plot though, you may always find me here or my aim which is [email protected]! i am also the new jieun muse!

thanks guys ily!

[advwonshik-blog]

Battered

[advsunggyu-blog]

WONSHIK:

♢

sunggyu is awake—he’s always awake. always staring and always drinking and always lost in thoughts of himself. for a man of his time, he was so jammed, so stuck in the past. it was hard to tell he was living and breathing in that very moment.

tonight his memories are crueler than normal. cruel enough to twist alive the mangled body of his sunflower girl. though her face is blank, his memory finally failing him, her body is blue and her neck bruised. an outline he takes for a rope. she is standing over him now, watching him read. and sobbing, loud roars that break his silence. his roommate can’t hear her, and sunggyu is thankful for that. the last thing he needs is a cranky bird boy, chirping in his other ear while the creature is crying in the other.

he tries a few more sentences of his reading, adjusts his glasses and moves further away from the ghoul. she follows though, voice rising in pitch and becoming shrill. and sunggyu, half irritated and half shaken, can only manage to snap his book closed and rise to a stand.

“can you shut up,” he hisses, making his way to their kitchen with the crying woman at his heels. “it is very rude to disturb someone reading and i do not have nearly enough booze to deal with your right now.”

the girl clicks at him but her crying does not cease and sunggyu briefly contemplates bashing his head into the wall so he might find rest in a coma.

the thought is brief of course, and interrupted by the sudden banging against his door. weary at the irony, sunggyu glowers at the frame work. it is late and taemin is in for the night. who could it even be this late into the hour?

there’s muffled shouting and sunggyu is moving towards the knife rack from the kitchen. he grabs one and moves to the door, peeping into the hole to catch a glimpse at his intruder.

is he bashing his head against the door—

sunggyu flings the door open. “what the hell, are you insane?”

he still has the knife, but he moves it from view. with his free hand he gestures, angrily, to the other male. “it’s late and you’re smashing your head against other people’s doors—“

he looks at his hands.

“are you bleeding?”

♦ — lonely hearts club.

[advsunggyu-blog]

SOOYEON:

♢

she always smelled so nice, so pleasant and sweet. simple fragrances, bits of lavender, sometimes citrus. sometimes she smelled simply of soap and whatever she had cooked that afternoon, the spices clinging to the fabric of her skin. it made sunggyu dizzy, dizzier than any alcohol ever could.

she, stronger than whiskey, washed away those memories. washed away the nightmares and the drowned the portrait of the sunflower girl. ripped her petals and tossed them to wind and it made sunggyu wonder, hungrily, what it would be like to lie down with her for a night. to curl her into his chest and fall asleep, arm across her waist and bodies tucked into each other. he wasn’t a sleeper these days, too many thoughts, but he was sure with her there, the night would not come so daunting. instead, he was sure, sleep and dreams would come with ease.

that is what he focuses on here, in this moment. what ifs and day dreams. simple flashing moments, polaroid captures.

he shakes them away—bits of dreams. imagination. he does not need a creature with her face sprouting from her mind, begging to give him her heart. if he has her, he wants her.

( but would she ever be willing to reside in his arms when the memory of another lingers so closely behind? )

the thought discourages him and he debates turning back for his flask. but her hand slips through his arm and tugs him with her and he is too gone to retrieve it. instead he swallows the lump that has formed in the base of his throat and curses his cowardice.

“are you doubting me? im sure i can manage to win a few childrens games—“ he’s grumbling again, but the smile does not lift from his face. “once upon a time i actually attended this sort of thing quite frequently.”

summer nights, hot air. the sunflower bends and smiles when he wins her a color streaked fish from the challenge. it’s so easy to forget her scars when she smiles like that. bright, shimmering, shining. as if she doesn’t hurt.

he sees the same in sooyeon—and it makes his gut wrench. without meaning to he rests his hand on her arm. he realizes then, he’s said a bit too much. there is weight to his words, implied a past. something the two haven’t discussed. his past being something to hide and tuck away so it does not taint her. it makes him nervous. it makes him long for her more.

“stay close, i don’t want you getting lost before i get the chance to prove myself to you.”

why does she smile at him like that? twisting his heart this way and that. why is she so close? so dizzy—he wants to lay his head against her and tell her stories. happy stories, like the children books he brings her. watch her devour word after word with that lit to her eyes.

she jests with him, claims herself as his prize. and she is not wrong. and he wants to tell her this, repeat it into her mouth with his.

but instead he is foolish enough to settle for another smile, hand tightening on her arm.

“as you can tell i am already having a terrible time,” he gestures with his free hand to the smarky grin on his face, that she knows it just as rare as he. “i find myself enjoying my time spent you with quite often, sooyeon.”

it feels heavy saying her name like this, makes his stomach lurch. he looks away so she too doesn’t see the flicker of—was this excitement?, in his eyes. instead, he catches his gaze on a nearby food stall and pulls her forward. crepes—bread folded in on each other and filled with sweet berries, saturated in sauce and whipped cream. his sweet tooth aches and he finds himself guiding them both there, reaching for his wallet.

“how about dessert for dinner?” he asks her to be sure, but he’s too excited to wait. sweets always settled well with him, always found a way to make him grin ( and here he is, wolf grin over a dessert, bouncing like a child ). he gestures for two from the stall manager, freeing his arm from sooyeon to reach and grasps the two treats in exchange for his currency.

he hands one to her, with its towering whipped cream ( he gave her the one with more, a sign of affection that only he is to notice ). he reaches to the stall, grabbing two spoons and handful of napkins and passes them to her.

“we can always get real food later—“ he takes a large spoonful of his crepe and stuffs it into his mouth. the sweetness is cool against his blazing throat and it contents him. sets a small, satisfied smile against his lips. “this is the real reason to come to a festival.”

[cvndiedvenom]

♦ — lonely hearts club.

[advsunggyu-blog]

JESSICA:

♢

he’s drunk again.

there’s the taste of the burn in the back of his throat, and he swears the sky is brighter, lighter—not so heavy against the lean frame of his shoulders. he likes it—likes this. enjoys the gasoline he pours down his throat, time after time, and enjoys how the burn sears away his memories of her, like fire to a wound. it closes, sterilizes, allows it to heal.

his liver, though, may beg to differ. he wonders if it swears at him frequently.

one couldn’t blame it though—sunggyu can’t help but smirk at the drunken realization on how much he drinks. he eyes his flasks curiously.

his companion, whos name slips from his tongue, sways beside him and reaches out. sunggyu gives a gruff grunt and passes the flask his way—sharing in the art of forgetting.

the two of them sit there, perched before a fire while the world dances around them. the festival, a simple thing that he had originally no intention of attending, marking the recovery of the city. sunggyu almost snorts at the thought—ah yes, the city is fine but at which cost? he almost questions the integrity of the foundation, sending young mutants and vigils alike into a field of battle. he thinks of all the blood he saw passing by the infirmary doors, thinks of all the battered faces with purple bruises, like streaks of night across the face and arms. thinks of bandage wrapped arms and legs and limbs that will not fully heal.

it makes the festival seem as if it’s a mockery—you almost died, but have a chuuro booth!

he snatches back the flask and he’s taking another drink when she arrives—all glitter and glistening skin. hands slide across the blades of his shoulders, and he tenses naturally. there is weight and a cheerful giggle, and before she speaks he can already guess who it is resting against him.

“hello sooyeon—“ a lick of a smile here, lips turning up and stretching. he tries to ignore the small flutter in the center of his chest.

she jabs at him, and it makes him bark a laugh. half from the wit, but also from the nerves, the tingling sensations that dance across his skin and churn the pit of his stomach. his insides feel tight, constricted—and had it always been this hard to breathe?

no, that was simply sooyeon. the girl of diamond, who’s fragile heart is formed from glass. he wants to pick at it, pick up the broken pieces and stick it all together. but there is only pain from playing with glass so he pulls away.

he looks up at her. “i would say im surprised to find you here,” another sip, but the liquor has lost its taste. “but im honestly not.”

he shrugs, passes the flask to his companion with a muttered “keep it, you need it more than i do”, and stands. his fingers reach to brush the sand from his pant legs and shirt, but his eyes find sooyeon.

“i suppose this is where i offer to win you a teddy bear or something, yes?” there’s the snarky bite that is sunggyu in his words.

but there is also a smile, faint and light against his mouth.

[advyeji-blog]

╳ sock it to me.

[advsunggyu-blog]

YEJI:

♢

the room is suffocating him again—a pair of warm hands against his cool throat, grabbing and gripping and choking him. and he can all but breathe, slow inhales through his nose and an exhale from his mouth, trying to give his lungs live. but it doesn’t clear the cotton from his throat and it certainly doesn’t make the room stop spinning.

( perhaps it’s the whiskey at fault there, it tends to make his feet so light he finds the world will tip )

either way, it is there. those hands and those memories ( sunflowers, so pretty and bright—why had her smile always reminded him of such a thing? ) and the nightmares. oh the nightmares—she was so pretty, even with the bruise of the noose, ringing around her throat.

he vomits into the garbage can next to him. heaves and chokes some more and spits up empty bile. it reeks, and he can only push it away from his face when he’s done, wiping the remnants from his mouth. a horror writer, he scoffs, and he can’t even fathom the mere image of her death. they could carve pathetic into his arm it would true, hold like a promise of a contract.

he groans and stands, kicks a stand of papers from his pathway, and makes his way to his room. briefly he considers cleaning out the mess from the garbage tin, considers that his roommate would thankful to walk in and not find the lingering stench of his stomach’s contents in the air. but he is sunggyu, apathetic and uncaring. so he leaves it there for his roommate to discover and finds his bedroom.

the air is not lighter there, still thick like smog. and he can only sigh as he peels the disgusting clothes from his skin and fling them to the floor. he uses the dirty shirt to wipe his face and chest, discarding it when finished, and picking up a clean pair of jeans and a shirt from his floor and sliding them on. there’s a moment of hesitation before he shuffles to the bathroom, splashing water across his face and brushing the taste of bile from his mouth.

he leaves home, closes the front door behind and never bothers to lock it. he doesn’t care too—he simply means to escape. leave the images of her in his reflection, trapped behind the fogged glass in his bathroom. he wants to rip her sunflower petals and throw them to the wind.

he walks his way through the foundation and into the city, wanders with hands in his pockets and eyes that never seem to focus on anything at all—looking past. always looking beyond. he sees the creatures of nightmares and imaginations blending in the city crowd, dancing toys with wide smiles and twisted shadows from under beds and behind closet doors. they’re always there, mocking him with the plea of a promise.

but he ignores them too, stares past them and lets his eyes slide across the blur of the city’s colors.

it’s not as bad out here—breathing comes easier. lighter. he’s still struggling to keep a steady breath, but he’s not suffering. not drowning in flashes of simple smiles and small fingers, always reaching past him; reaching for more.

he doesn’t see her when she spins. he doesn’t see the skin of her hand when it strikes his face, close fist and angry knuckles. he only feels it break against his skin, pain exploding at the base of his nose. for a minute he sees black, then the vision returns with spots of freckled colors and all he can think about was the hot pain. a wave, it knocks him back into a stagger and he’s fighting to catch himself ( he hasn’t drank that much this afternoon, has he? but his limbs are meek limbs, snapping. )

“what the hell?” his voice isn’t loud, not against the back noise of the city. and definitely not behind his hands, which are reaching for his nose and pressing against the cartilage under his broken skin. there’s blood, he can feel it, running from his nostril and gracing his lips. it leaves his mouth dry, and he has to resist the urge to lick his lips. “fucking christ—“ his lands lift and find her, a fair face lady. and the last thing he’s expecting. “who taught you how to hit like that? i’d like to know who to thank for this broken nose.”

it hurts to talk but does that stop his running mouth? of course not.

he wonders if he should expect another hit soon, finds his shoulders tensing at that thought, readying to flinch.

“i pity the guy who tries to hit on you.”

[advsunggyu-blog]

                                    ADVMOODBOARD !  ♢ kim sunggyu  x jung sooyeon 

he wants to say i love you,             but keeps it to goodnight because love will mean some falling,              and she’s afraid of heights.

[cvndiedvenom]

♦ — silhouettes.

[advsunggyu-blog]

SOOYEON:

♢

in their short time together sunggyu has come to learn her—in ways he fought and choked upon. he had not asked for this, had not asked for his eyes to always take notice to her eyes and her lips and the way her face crinkles when she smiles, the brush of pink across her cheeks when their fingers cross. he had not asked to see the hollow edges under her eyes, the bags that cannot be hidden and stowed away no matter how hard she smiles.

the tremble of her hands when the nightmares are screaming, always screaming, behind her. she doesn’t see them, doesn’t sense them. but they are there, in the back of her mind, playing the same scene over and over again.

he hates them and he wishes the fire consumed them too. wishes the ghoulish man would leave her alone and let her rest ( let him have her, take her, make her his ).

but he has come to see it—and while it is a curse, an added weight on any already shattered heart, he also appreciates it. appreciates her simplicity. an open book, he pages through her, careful and tender with each page. taking in the smell of her ink and thumbing over the words, hoping they stain his skin so he has something to remind him of her. to remind him she is there, real. not a creature brought forth from a lonely heart and even lonelier nightmares.

she is no enigma. she simply is.

and while he doesn’t know many things about her past, it simply relies on him not caring to ask. not caring to inquire. he’s greedy, perhaps. too selfish to ask what she has seen and too desperate for her to see him.

but the man behind her, skin charred and mouth twisted with its screams, it picks his interest. and the lack of color to her skin, the tremble in the set of her lips, it only pushes him further so.

she thumbs through his work and he isn’t nervous, not like normal. too distracted with watching her, taking in her movements and the slide of her smile.

“you haven’t been sleeping well then?” he looks away from her for the first time since his entrance, eyes and fingers finding a nearby candlestick, old and victorian in age, with a gold tinge that had worn long ago. atop it sits a skinny candle, and he takes it and raises it to his nose, breathes in. it smells of wax and a linger tinge of vanilla. its weak though and makes his nose upturn. he sets it down and lets his finger linger against the metal work, pads tracing over the design work at the base of its frame. “you look ill. have you caught a cold perhaps?”

she marks his inspiration and it takes control, very good self control, for sunggyu to bite back blame. blame directed at her—because it is her fault. her smile so rich, shimmering and shining in color, it chases away the lingering demons behind his eyes and leaves him thinking only of her and how she leaves a warm spot in his chest. a spot he had thought was long extinguished with the death of his sunflower garden.

“i suppose so,” a soft chuckle, and still his eyes stray, finding an aged edge of a picture frame. he strides to where it rests, neatly on a wooden stand beside her door, and his fingers reach for it. the frame too was gold but lacking in luster, almost antique looking. its fair, but it’s the image that captures him.

sooyeon and the man, the screaming man, beside her. he is normal now, flesh pinned perfectly to bones and pretty smile written on his face. the image makes his stomach twist with sick envy. he feels the need to heave it, throw it across the floor and watch his face shatter. break the curse he rests on sooyeon’s gentle shoulders. instead he places it back in its spot, albeit crooked, and faces her once more.

“are you having nightmares?” he gestures to the picture frame. “perhaps about him? is he a brother? an ex-lover of a sort?”

he knows damn well what he is, knows damn well his name is written deeply in her heart. but he hopes still, with sickly optimism, that’ll she’ll say something he doesn’t already know. surprise him with the name of a cousin, an uncle, a brother perhaps? anything that does not scream “my heart is not yours”.

[kimseongkyu]

the star making story ☆ sunggyu

[yifanadv]

conflict within

[advsunggyu-blog]

YIFAN:

♢

the world rose and fell, and then hell descended. everything is fire, burning and smoldering and suffocating—thick in your eyes and your lungs. your heart fights it, squeezing with every cough, shivering with each intake of black smog. sunggyu still hasn’t adapted to it, and even with the war spreading, a famine that crosses the land and settles in the heart of men and monsters, his chest heaves heavily with every intake of air.

he misses the days where he did not breathe death and gunpowder. thinks of the diamond girl, who smelled so kindly of soap and sunlight and all that is right in this world.

he misses the days where things were so simple, and he did not feel so compelled to follow behind a leader.

it has succumbed to such—follow and perhaps you live. or struggle and die alone.

sunggyu, so selfish with intent, had never been the type to step to leaders. but he was never kind enough to blend into a group. he is here, following this man blindly only by need. survival. but his heart will never, never be into it.

he has given that passion long ago, surrendered it to the girl with the crystal smile.

today there is blood, and is it ever any different than any other day. he’s seen men chopped and cut and bleeding all shades of crimson, liquid dark against concrete floors.

a group stands, watches with eager eyes ( their hearts chant with fear, flicking pulses that are quick to come and quick to go ), as their leader rings around. he’s aiming, talking but not listening.

had he ever? sunggyu wonders, thinking of the man so set in his ways. stone, a solid statue that stands amidst chaos. the shaking bombs and the quivering buildings that tumble around him, and not a flinch. not a single bat of an eyelash and not a twitch of his mouth. sunggyu wonders if his insides too have been stolen, scooped out and left to rot against the street.

it would be so simple if sunggyu had surrendered to that lifestyle, stoic and stonefaced and without empathy and care.

but he cares, cares for life and cares for the pretty girl in his dreams. he thinks of her in that moment—as his eyes watch the pleas fall from the man’s mouth as his leader stares with distate.

and it is her, voice clear and ringing in his ears, that propels him forward.

“is this,” he steps forward now, brandishes the glares and the stares and gestures with wide spread arms and brows that touch his hairline, “really the image you want them to see of you?”

his hands drop. “fear is not as powerful as you think and killing this man is a waste of life. he did what he did and he suffered already,”

sunggyu’s eyes find his leader, land on the curves of his face and take him in. take in every bit of flesh and frown and scar patterned skin. he is a fool, he knows. to stand against many would make him such, and to stand against a wielded gun only assures that is exactly his place. his role.

always the fool.  

but her memory rings like a bell and he can only think of her, tear stained eyes and quivering lips as the blood of another meets across the floor.

“we don’t have the resources to waste men anyways. im sure you could find some use of him.”

[blckcarnage-blog]

dreamboat.

[advsunggyu-blog]

JINAH:

♢

for a moment he can’t help but admire her face—such a pretty thing. so young. pliable, easy to twist. he wonders who’s twisted that smile of hers, who’s lit the flame behind her eyes. who did she use to sharpen her fangs? did she snap their bones like she snaps her words? pretty mouth even prettier covered in blood.

he laughs, a breathy sounds that bubbles up and forth from his throat. his arms cross and his hip rests against the side of the desk as he watches her. she’s trying to appear so small, fragile. it works, and for a moment he thinks of her as a child rather than a woman. a little girl who bats her lashes at her parents and begs for her attention.

“well—“ he begins only when she’s finished, and his pulse is thumping. eager to push the smile from her face. “i see no ailment in wanting to learn. that’s respectable enough,”

he smiles, a little thing that tugs his lips smug.

“but im afraid it’s not exactly legal to sit in a class you haven’t paid for.”

he walks down the isle of his students desk, passes them each a glance before letting his eyes settle back on her. he stands beside her now, scrutinizing. she’s prettier up close, he notes, skin a soft white and lips pale in color. she almost looks sick, but her face is so charming and her eyes burn behind the length of her lashes. her skin is covered in small scars and sunggyu wants to reach out and touch them. trace them under the pads of his fingertips and feel the bunch of her broken skin under his touch.

he leans over her, palm resting flat against the surface of the desk. “i’ll have to ask you to leave, miss.”

he doesn’t remember the last time he’s been drawn to a woman. doesn’t remember the last time he felt the need to buckle under lust. it had been years since he had cared about a pretty face, years since his fingers last touched the skin of a woman. and it only makes him think of her, pretty and broken and dead.

she reminds him of those moments. cold, battered. but she’s fighting. a little flame licking skin and searing it.

he is reaching towards her flame, ignoring the sting of her heat against his skin.

“but should you feel obligated,” he leans closer, whispers into her ear, taking note of the strong smell of perfume on her skin and the cold pull of the air around her. “you may wait for me after class and we can discuss your education.”

he pulls back, chest heaving from bravery, taps her desk, and then whips forward and marches himself back to the front of the room.

“next week we have your thesis papers due so please pull out your rough drafts and trade them with your partner—“

[advsunggyu-blog]

* bottom’s up

[advsunggyu-blog]

HANSOL:

♢

for a brief, flighty, moment sunggyu almost gives the kid props. he takes the snide twist of sunggyu’s words with pride, he doesn’t even stumble and the smile never falters. he just grins, and it makes sunggyu’s gut twist with guilt.

how much younger than him could he be? he wants to assume he’s a teen, not from the round edges of his face but the little hopeful spark behind his eyes. has he met the cruelty of the world? has he danced with death and slept with demons, whispering, always whispering in the shell of your ear, breath hot and words coiled like snakes.

another gulp, the brown liquid sears as it goes down.

“and you found yourself here?” he raises a brown and swishes his drink about, watching the brown kiss and stain the glass. “im sure you could find better company than me, kid.”

and then he asks him out and sunggyu almost feels compelled to agree. almost finds himself nodding.

but instead he raises his glass. “ive got my day all planned out here. maybe some other time.” again the liquid swishes and he finds himself turning away from the younger male, back facing him as he peels himself from the wall and moves into his mess of a living room.

“the doors that way.”

his fingers find a nearby book and he pages through it. he waits to hear the door, waits to hear him leave. waits for the solitude to set in. waiting, always waiting. and always wallowing. poor old sunggyu, with his shriveled heart and his angry mouth. he downs the rest of his glass, swallows it with his guilt. he isn’t sure what burns his throat this time, his onus or the liquor.  

it’s the small tingle of chains that pull his head, sends it snapping back to the boy, eyes drawn from pages to the figure behind him. they shuffle and click, loud in the silence of his home. he finds the figure, a shriveled girl with twisted features and chains that hang from her skin—they dangle from her neck, her wrists and her ankles. she’s yelling, the nigmares usually do. it’s always the angry monsters that linger in the back of the mind—and that’s what she is. a twisted memory brought from the boy’s past.

it picks his curiosity, yes. but he doesn’t care enough to ask. but it brings another wave of guilt that even brandy cannot dose and dull.

he finds himself sighing, setting the glass to the side and running his slender fingers through his hair. “wait, kid,”

he looks around the room. “just wait there while i get cleaned up. it won’t hurt to show you around i guess.”

the girl is still screaming when he leaves the room, and he rushes through his closet for a decent pair of jeans and a clean sweater. he grabs at a jacket, tugs it on and slides on a paid of sneakers and finds the nearest mirror to begin smoothing his hair. he doesn’t let his eyes find their reflection, avoids catching glimpses at the swollen bags that hang under them and ignores the hallow form to his cheeks.

he re-emerges and his eyes find the girl for a brief moment, before flickering to the boy. he grabs his keys and wallet from a nearby table, shoves them deep into his jacket pockets, and sighs again.

“do you drink?” he asks, grabbing the door and holding it open for the boy’s leave.

[advsunggyu-blog]

* i’ll will get to replies slowly over this week for hyeri and gyu. as well as drabbles and plotting messages.

im kinda very exhausted rn so pardon my slowness please!

edit: also everyone collectively boo jinah with me ok

[k-caps]

Kontrol (2015)

[advsunggyu-blog]

defend.

DEFEND: ill write a drabble of my character protecting yours.

he’s grown tohate the linger creature on sooyeon’s shoulders. the twisted, melted thing that hangs over her and tormentsher. torments him.

the memory ofher fiancé is enough to set his skin ablaze, to make his heart twist withbitter hate and sweet longing. fingers always out stretched, always reachingbut never grasping. but her heart is tied to another, strings twisted andcoiled around the burnt corpse of what use to be.

he makes thecontract without telling her. signs his name in his skin and brings the beingto life. it promises to love her, protect her. and at first it appearsrightfully so, just a normal man with a few burns here and there.

but itcatches sight of her and the body gulfs in flames and screams, and he can hearthe twist of it’s skin against fire. it screams for her, accuses her. spitshate and heat in her face. you killed me.you let me die.

and then it launchesitself on her. and sooyeon screams from under.

at first hecan only stare. only watch as it engulfs her—all spite and rage. and sunggyucan only watch, witness as it tears at her. but she is diamond, hardened skinand translucent in color. it does no damage physically, but he can see her eyestwist and her heart tear.

he wanted thestrings severed, but not like this. never like this.

his fingersreach for what they know best, reach deep into his pockets and pulls the bladethat has made home against his skin. it switches open and he faintly hears herscream, hears his name on her lips. hears her pleas and her no’s.

it doesn’tstop him, he doesn’t falter. the metal meets his skin and he’s slashing,watching the cuts form against his name, over and over and over. it mangles histwist, splits and twists it and coats it in a wave of crimson and iron. thepain is fresh, god it stings and sets his skin on fire. for a minute he thinksits him burning, not the creature he’s conjured, as the skin opens and bleeds.

but themonster fades, and the pain resonates. and it cries out once, twice—then vanisheswithout a trace of body behind.

“im sorry—“he cries at her, and his face is wet. he doesn’t remember the last time he’sfelt, he’s shed. but here he is before her, sobbing her name into the blood ofhis arm.

his legscollapse, fall under his weight and bring him to the ground. she is there, armsaround him and fingers in his hair. he can’t tell if she’s crying too, can’thear her sobs over his. “i needed you to smile again.”

his shouldersshake and the blood loss is already making his head tilt, swoon and twist. hefeels weak and there is an edge of shadow in his sight. “i couldn’t do it. buthe could before, couldn’t he?” his eyes lift to meet her’s.

“i justwanted you to smile.”

[cvndiedvenom]

♦ — silhouettes.

[advsunggyu-blog]

advjsy:

♦

he is feeling unusually unmotivated lately—he notes it in the way his fingers linger against the keys for too long, how his pen taps eager against the paper but never writing quite enough. nothing gets far, his mind hindered. he can’t conjure enough villains, enough blood. so he sets the papers aside, pushes aside the manuscript of gore and horror and pulls out the stack of colorful papers instead.

he stares at it for a minute, as always. it makes his heart twist, brings up moments of pain and anguish.

but it also reminds him of her, with her diamond tears and her crystal smile.

he takes the new few hours paging through the papers—all childish. a small story of a child who is alone, who cries for friends, with fingers that reach for the sky. the sky falls, the stars catching in her hands and her hair. and the stars glow and shine and they bring her life, friendship love. it’s a simple tale, a children’s book he began working on years ago. with crude drawings at the end of each page—a clear sign that while sunggyu is a plentiful writer, his art skills were severely lacking.

“i like the drawings—“

he had thought of the first meeting between  him and sooyeon, with her fingers hungry and eyes scanning over every page. he had kept to hiding the children’s book, it becoming more of a coping mechanism for his loss than another mean of money. even his editor, who proof readers his works and guides him through the publishing process, had yet to see the manuscript. and he planned on keeping it that way, after all it was his tale to tell. his hide away.

and she had found it. nosy. it had angered him at first, words snapping and harsh. crude. but she turned to him and showed her smile, so sad and withered and he saw the past, saw the broken edge in her features. it reminded him of sunflowers—standing and tall and bright in color. they flourish. but the season changes and they wilt and their steams break and rot.

he wanted to catch her petals between his fingers then.

in some time he finishes his work with it, adding a few drawings here and there, revising a few pages, adding in a few lines and pages. he thumbs through it, the story nowhere near finished but his heart content. the book closes and he stands, shuffling into his room to change from his scrubbed clothes and into something decent and clean. he slips on a pair of slacks and a long button down shirt, navy in color, and leaves the first two buttons free.

on his way out he catches his reflection, notes the bags under his eyes ( when had he last slept? two days now? does his breath still reek of the whiskey from the night before, his skin clutching to the stench of his cigarette smoke? ). will she see his ghosts?

will he see hers?

he ruffles his tresses and grabs the manuscript and exits the dorm, not bothering to lock it behind him, and makes his way to her hall.

he knocks once and waits—and she is there within the minute. sooyeon pulls the door from the frame and greets him with her usual smile.

and he expects the usual—a smile here, the bursting color of her petals flourishing against his face.

it is not what greets him. instead his eyes first find the haggard look on her face, the swell to her eyes and the weight beneath them. she looks ill, wrong and wilted. and behind her he stands. usually the image changes—but it is always a man, a golden ring on his ring finger. sometimes he’s burnt, sometimes he’s whole.

today he is melting—a screaming figure with twisted features and angry eyes. he yells at her, and she while she cannot hear him, sunggyu is sure he’s heard the words before.

“you should have died instead”

he can only stare past her, at this contouring thing, with narrowed eyes.

without word he places the manuscript into her hands and pushes pass her, through the doorway and into the apartment he has already found becoming another home.

he moves pass the monster and mutters, voice soft and hushed, but breath angry and heart clenching.

“shut up.”