boop.

오세훈. 20. bartender; weapon designer. ▲▼▲▼

[arcxsehun]

— Tracker [ 12.03.14 ]

Owing —

Gayoon

Han

Miyoung

Pacific Rim!AU

Waiting —

Minah

Plotting —

Amber

Daehyun

Hyeri

Jiyeon

Kris

Narae

Sojin

Taehyung

Victoria

Yerim

Yoona

Yoongi

Please do let me know if I’ve misplaced your or anything. As for anyone who has plotted with Sehun before, please do let me know if you’d still like to replot or retake our old plot (with some changes). Please like this if you’d like to plot with the stoic Poop as well, thank you!

[arcxsehun]

— One [ Han & Sehun ]

[ctzxluhan]

Sehun didn’t answer him right away and for a moment, Han considered the option that he might have rang the doorbell of the wrong apartment but that was impossible since this guy had said his name when he had seen him. Just to be sure though, he glanced at the sheet of paper in his hands and then at the number on the door and there was no doubt about it, he was at the right place but the other still didn’t invite him in. Han waited patiently but eventually the other’s heavy gaze on him started to make him shift his weight from foot to foot out of nervousness. He didn’t particularly enjoy people staring at him although there wasn’t much he could do about it. He bit his lip and gnawed on it, right arm moving so his hand could hold on to his left arm until finally Sehun spoke again.

He sighed softly in relief and shyly bowed before stepping inside the apartment after Sehun let him in. It wasn’t a penthouse and it wasn’t as big as the other house he had to clean but it was still relatively spacious compared to his own. He turned to face Sehun and smiled, waiting patiently for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say. It turned out being a question that Han wasn’t sure how to answer. Before he could answer, he followed Sehun with his gaze as the other walked toward the living room and Han hesitated before following him.

"I know," he blurted out and instinctively raised the sheet of paper in his hands which had Sehun’s name written on it. Then he blushed in embarrassment and tried to reformulate that better. "I mean, hi, it’s nice to meet you. I’m um…Han…as you already know." His fingers played with the sheet of paper until it was folded once again and then he rapidly went to place it in his back pocket. His heart was started racing which was always happening whenever he had to talk to strangers and had to try and get their approval.

"For the payment…I’m not sure. You look relatively young…I mean…you might still be in school so I suppose I could ask for…20 dollars per day? So if you want me to come once a week then it would be 20 dollars and by the end of the month it would amount to 80 dollars?" He reached up to rub the back of his neck. When he had decided to publish his ad, he had not thought to look at the concurrence so he could fix a rate for his payments. He only knew how he was paid when he worked at the brothel but it wasn’t the same thing. "You can tell me if you think that’s too much though."

[arcxsehun]

To say that Sehun needed to polish his social skills would be quite a degrading understatement given that he was severely lacking in that department, especially whenever he was facing someone new, for it always etched something akin to oversensitivity as to how the person would think about him. He’d like to think that he had the capability to craft fonder impressions along with time, but sometimes (or most of the time) people would judge him based on the first glance, on how calloused his first greeting was, or how his facial muscles were strung so tautly when he tried tugging the corners of his lips into a smile, appearing insincere. Sometimes it was effortless to nod along the guide given on how to socialize, and it took some attempts to absorb people’s ways of carving nice first impressions, but none of those two were anything which he could apply in the real practice. He’d had some of the methods memorized at the back of his mind, yet the same thing was still repeated over and over again, like this. It was an old, trite cycle, copied for a multitude of times—enough to carve remembrance into his mind yet it was difficult to actually alter his behaviors accordingly.

Han’s response was enough to make him feel silly for introducing himself again, surprise subtly lining his features as he parted his lips, as though to say something but only a wisp of air escaped the interstice. The sentences which followed alleviated the effects, yet discomfiture still managed to lodge itself in his chest and persisted to stay. At least with the progressing topic he felt more at ease, or so he’d expected. The discussion regarding the payment wasn’t his forte either, given that he’d had limited experiences in hiring and being hired. Twenty, however, fell below the decency according to him, given that the old lady which he’d hired had a salary far above that. He blinked in confusion, uncertain as to how to deliver this thought without sounding rude or condescending.

“Oh, no, I’m... no longer in school,” he spoke, dithering despite the certainty of the message. “Would it... um...” He stood awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot as his mind raced, attempting to find a route to approach the topic, but everything came off as a little offensive and he thought of simply paying more than the rate instead of explicitly stating it. “So, uh, would you rather for it to be transferred, or would a direct payment be better?”

He looked around his living room and picked the sole crumpled ball of paper that he’d left on the carpet nearby the coffee table, tossing it into the bin propped against the wall nearby, next to the full-length window. “Would it... be possible for you to come around twice a week?” he inquired. The expression that he donned was perhaps leaking hopes, as he truly needed the assistance with the amount of work that he’d been handling as of late.

[ctzxkai]

— chrysalis [au] ; kai, reina, sehun, hongbin

If there was one thing that he’d commenced to learn from day one, it was the fact that lives meant almost nothing for them. It wasn’t that they were sick, twisted beings, but more because they couldn’t afford caring—not when they were standing at the bloodied lips of apocalypse, attempting to scavenge for the diminutive chance of survival tucked at the sleeves of steel sculpted out of despair. There was no time to mourn, nor was there ever any opportunity to celebrate anything in its justified grandiose manner. There was never any victory counted as infinitesimal considering that they were up against lethal monsters crafted out of something outside their logic, but then again, there was never any loss could be regarded as irrelevant.

And sometimes (or a lot of times, actually—Kim Jongin had witnessed a multitude of instances of this in less than two decades) bereavement and the dulcet taste of triumph coexisted, for with every win there was a defeat. It was a losing game with a thin filament left to hold onto, after all, and with such a frail hope to preserve his own life, he had to be surprised that he’d only lost two people close to him.

One being the man who had made him; the man who had made Kim Jongin, preferably known as Kai, the Jaeger pilot extraordinaire. Renowned for his aptitude in fighting at such a young age, there was this man who had always stayed at the back of his head—a man much greater than Jongin could ever be. A man concocted of dedication and pure passions.

The second and the most recent was the loss of someone who hadn’t only been a comrade for him, but also a mentor. Another man who had played his part in shaping Kim Jongin, his soul lost to a battle against a Category 4, mind barely disconnected from Jongin’s when that had befallen them.

Three days. It had been three days, and now he was standing in the combat room barefoot, knuckles wrapped in tight bandages, stick in his fist. Nine people down, none of them were eligible to be the candidate of his drift—none of them could read his movements, synchronization leaning towards critically low. All too weak for his liking—all too expectant to be his drift, knowing his reputation, but he wasn’t going to take just anyone under his wing. He wasn’t going to risk his missions (and his last name, bearing the Kim name to continue the glory that his father had started) by recklessly choosing his partner, and he wasn’t willing to squander his time and energy on someone who was clearly too novice.

The tenth person was a woman with an interesting face; a mixture of Caucasian and oriental edges. He squinted at the sight of her, slightly condescending for as long as his career had gone he’d never really found a female pilot he was compatible with. This one, possibly, would be another waste of means, and he was ready to take her down as quickly as he could. Preparing his stance, he waited for her to send him her first attack.

[arcxreina-deactivated20140416]

She’s a lost puppy amongst a pack of wolves. Or maybe they are all too similar to her too, feigning a sort of fabricated valour and hiding their own emotions, their own uncertainties and apprehensions because there is nothing else they can do in this apocalyptic world. If they show any sign of hesitance, it’s simply the end. They are only given the option to fight for survival because anything else that doesn’t relate to fighting will lead to death. Except, she is weary of everything and she is hesitant of her own decisions or people’s decisions inside the Shatterdome in general.

Such as where she currently stands, looking in front of her at the boy called Kai. Younger than her and known to be a genius when it comes to handling the Jaeger. She admits, there’s a part of her itching to fight against him because he’s got the reputation that has everyone wondering and the last few matches only serve to further emphasize it. But she doubts her compatibility with him and she can already imagine herself reaching the same defeat as the other. She’s normal and she’s spent most of her life living as a wallflower. She doesn’t expect a sudden change.

She stares at him for a bit, wondering what he thought of her. He surely didn’t recognize her for one, even with her rather distinct features from her family, but with those eyes she wonders if he’s looking down at her. Reasonable, she supposes on one end, but at the same time there’s a small drive in her to prove to him that whatever he thought of her was wrong. She doesn’t reveal her thoughts to him, her face forever passive as she prepares herself.

Calm. Her mind is exaggeratingly clear and hyper alert, her senses tingling for every little thing. She feels strikingly alive but she doesn’t move. Not yet. She circles him for a bit, just analyzing him even further. His stance, the way he adjusts. Then there it is, like those evident marks in a computer game she sees a possible area to strike.

She lunges forward with a swipe of her rod towards his shoulders, movements clear, herself silent. If blocked she will plan that later, if not, she would definitely swing again without mercy.

[arcxsehun]

After the years he had spent training in Sydney Shatterdome, it felt odd to return to the hometown which he’d left a long time ago. Everything had fallen into place in the oddest way and before he had noticed as to what had happened around him, Sehun found himself no longer a trainee, and for the first time after such a long, excruciating wait during which he’d promised to become one of the best pilots in the world to avenge his mother’s death, he was going to control a Jaeger for real. It was not a mock run or a trial like the previous instances—most of which had ended with him not being as compatible as he had predicted he would be with the copilots he’d managed to defeat in the combats. Or at least, Sehun hoped that this one wouldn’t be another test with a failure ready to catch him on its end.

The biggest factor which underlay that wish was probably the fact that he’d like to stay in Seoul, alone, than having to return to Sydney where his madman of a father was. He wasn’t all that valiant to have heroic, selfless motives at the back of his mind when his chest pounded with that wish; he probably was suicidal in the first place by signing up for this, but he was more eager to live the rest of his life in peace albeit it being imminently terminated shortly after his missions commenced, if ever. He’d truly had enough of his father’s cruelty.

He held his breath as he stepped into the Drivesuit Room for the nth time—it was his first to enter Seoul Shatterdome’s, but it wasn’t all that different from the one in Sydney. Sounds of chatters surrounded him as the technicians prepared him for the first drift with the ranger, someone called Lee Hongbin, who always seemed a tad too serious and intimidating for Sehun but they were apparently drift compatible according to the combat test, and so this time he wished that he wouldn’t mess up with the process during the neural handshake or do other reckless things to cancel out the possibility of him being formally recognized as a pilot.

Stepping into the Jaeger (a Mark 3, black chrome, red streaks) still felt foreign for him even when he’d done it multiple times beforehand, the cockpits had always felt distinct from one Jaeger to the other. It was as if each of them had a life of their own, breathing in silence even when the pilots weren’t present. His steel boots clanked the moment he stepped into his station, and he tried maintaining his composure as he waited for his copilot’s arrival.

[n-a-r-c-0-t-i-z-e]

[arcxsehun]

— One [ Han & Sehun ]

[ctzxluhan]

Making the decision to leave his job at the brothel had not been an easy one but it turned out being one he didn’t regret making. There was a lot of faith involved in this decision since he didn’t know what the future would hold for him but he wanted to believe that he was no longer alone and that there were people he had met or known for a while now who were ready to help him and help him they did. He received help to write an ad and have it be printed in the newspaper. He also printed his ad on sheets of paper that he distributed in mailboxes of apartment buildings. He couldn’t apply for important institutions yet since he was still waiting after his legal papers but working privately for people was something he was comfortable with.

The biggest problem he had encountered had been to find a way for those interested to contact him because he didn’t have a cellphone and certainly didn’t have a land line in the apartment Daehyun had left him. Eventually, he had shared his dilemma to the old ahjumma who had a small store at the corner of his street and she told him he could write down the number of her shop and that she could take the message for him if he wanted. He ended up spending most of the coins he had in his pockets on a chocolate bar that he shared with her to thank her for her kindness.

In the days that followed, the phone remained silent and a week passed without phone calls. It made him worry a little but he did his best to remain optimistic. The following week turned out being better as a few people called and sometimes he would be there to talk to them which was how he had ended up getting the job to clean a single mother with two small children’s apartment twice a week and then there had been the times where he had not been in the store and the ahjumma took messages for him. He had called back everyone and had set appointments to meet in person and see if they wanted to hire him. Most of them declined when they saw that he was a guy and it’s not like he could show them references to prove that he was hardworking and most importantly honest so he never insisted.

Then there was that evening where he stepped into the store and the old lady ushered him over, telling him to sit before bringing him tea and cookies. She handed him a sheet of paper with a name and an address jotted down in an elegant writing. He had glanced up at her questioningly and she had laughed while sitting down in front of him. “A young man called. I told him that you would be free to meet him tomorrow around noon.” There was no phone number he could call back so the only thing he could do was show up to the appointment the next day.

That’s how he ended up stepping in the lobby of Daehyun’s apartment building and it confused him so much that he actually took the sheet of paper with the address written on it out of his pocket just to make sure that he was at the right place and that the name on the paper wasn’t Daehyun’s. It said Oh Sehun and as he rode the elevator up to the right floor, he tugged on his t-shirt and pressed his palms flat over his head to make sure that his hair was still okay. He was a bit nervous but mostly because he was hoping he would end up getting the job. The elevator dinged and the door slid open. He stepped out and briefly stopped as he tried to figure out which direction he needed to take but after that, it was relatively easy to find the right door. He took a deep breath and pushed the button of the doorbell. It didn’t take too long for the door to open and he was surprised to see a young face. Well, the ahjumma did tell him the one who called had been a young man but he had not expected…this.

The mention of his name snapped him back to the present and “That’s me,” he smiled before bowing and greeting Sehun with an ‘annyeonghaseyo’. He straightened back up and shifted his weight to his left foot. “You had a request for cleaning services?”

[arcxsehun]

He parted his lips again without any word escaping his mouth when he heard the other male confirm that he was indeed Han, the person whom Sehun had hired for cleaning. Still slightly surprised by the youthful features, he took a good look of the stranger and tried absorbing more details, slight skepticism accompanying this attempt. He knew that he probably shouldn’t judge someone’s performance based on their appearance and age, but sometimes it was something visceral which couldn’t be helped, presumptions leaping to the forefront of his mind before his logic could reason with him. But a bigger part of him was leaning more towards the nostalgic feelings as he sympathized with this young male, having to work hard at such a young age—it wasn’t pity and more definitely a sense of empathy, having experienced what he had to go through back then.

Noticing that he’d spaced out a little and Han had probably waited for longer than he should have in front of the door, Sehun hurriedly slapped himself awake mentally and nodded at the question a bit too frantically. He blushed, for sure, discomfiture palpably showing itself across his crimson-dusted cheeks. “Yes—Yes, I did,” he stammered, before stepping aside to let Han in.

He glanced at his apartment, hoping that it wouldn’t be too heavy of a job; the old lady before this had never complained considering that his place only consisted of two bedrooms, one of which was used to store his weapon samples as well as finished blueprints and so he didn’t make it accessible—the space being the only one which he would personally clean himself although it didn’t require that much upkeep. Apart from that, his apartment only had a shared bathroom, a living room where most of his work was done (and therefore where the crumpled balls of paper typically littered the floor around the desk propped at the far end of it, along with some drained gallons of milk that he’d emptied during his stressful gaming escapades) and a kitchen along with the dining table where he sometimes did his job as well for a change of environment. At least he’d had the decency to clean his place from the scattered rubbish, tossing them into these huge plastic bags shoved at one corner of the kitchen—he just hadn’t had the time to take them out.

“Um, so,” he began again awkwardly after closing the door behind him, “about... about the payment.” He was actually at lost as to how he should tackle this subject, as when he’d hired the lady, she had stated the procedure during their phone call, while with Han he hadn’t exactly had a proper talk about it. “Do you—usually—uh... What’s the rate again?” he raised his eyebrows, a discombobulated look sitting comfortably across his demeanor as he walked back into the apartment. It was quiet—his apartment was always quiet except when he was having something turned on, or if Phoenix was being excited—that the only thing which he could hear was the subtle sounds coming from the busy road down there, along with the muted creaking noise coming from the wood as he padded towards the living room.

“Oh, and... my name is Sehun, by the way,” he added, realizing that he hadn’t given out his name formally to Han—he'd told to the lady which had received his call in Han’s stead, but perhaps formal introduction was needed, and he felt the need to do so just to find something to say. He fell silent shortly after, not having anything else to say so he sat back onto the couch, eyes transiently fixated on the motionless figure of Phoenix sleeping soundly before returning themselves to Han, gaze locked on him expectantly.

[arcxsehun]

-a little note is attached to the flower; it states the name and logo of the florist on one side while the other there's a handwritten message- "Happy Valentine's Day!" -a heart is drawn around the message-

{ `what he doesn't expect from this occasion is getting a myriad of attention--he doesn't necessarily get a grandiose amount of it, but more than five presents in a day definitely exceeds his expectation and he finds himself blushing. there's no name of the sender, though, and it discombobulates him but he cannot do anything about it. he makes his way towards the kitchen instead, grabbing an empty transparent glass and filling it with water to put the flower in. }

[arcxsehun]

— Tracker [ 21.02.14 ]

Owing —

Pacific Rim!AU

Waiting —

Han

Plotting —

Daehyun

Kris

Minah

Myungsoo

Narae

Victoria

Yerim

Yixing

Yoona

Yoongi

I managed to forget everyone on my plotting list because it's terribly short when I've approached some on Skype, but please do let me know if you'd still like to continue plotting or retake our old plot. Please like this if you'd like to plot with the stoic Poop as well, thank you!

[arcxsehun]

— One [ Han & Sehun ]

It had been two weeks since the cleaning lady had retired, and Sehun had been cringing at the sight of his apartment given that he really couldn’t clean if he’d wanted to. He’d been working at least four nights a week behind the bar, and his once a fortnight due date was creeping closer, looming over him with the threats that he couldn’t finish the required number of designs demanded from him. It wasn’t that anything would really happen to him if he didn’t turn in enough apart from receiving less salary according to the set which he failed to hand in (and even when he didn’t deliver the entire quantity, normally the pay was still abundant), but he sometimes felt viscerally apprehensive when it came to that line of work. There was a fear of losing it, for the memories of those older days which marred him with more scars mentally (even when he’d thought that he hadn’t had the capability, the space to etch more of those grotesque lines across his psyche after years of being his father’s son) still haunted him, and losing his job would mean to revert back to those days of being unable to support himself, of being dependent on someone who would demand for something that he could offer in despair.

(He’d lie if he’d said it didn’t hurt. It did. It had always been.)

Three more blueprints, four more days. It was barely enough, and his head was heavy with the ache of lost inspirations, escaping the crevices of his mind with every passing moment. He couldn’t really concentrate with his surroundings being littered by crumpled pieces of paper and a lot of scattered books, decorated with a plethora of mess which he knew he couldn’t deal with himself for he was still a little too fatigued after the previous night’s shift. So as he plopped and sprawled himself atop the couch, he just wished that this new housekeeper which he’d hired out of luck would do a great job with the cleaning.

He’d been pampered, apparently—he just noticed that. His life had been made easy with the presence of the kind old woman who had done everything for him as long as he’d paid her decently, and she sometimes had even shared simple meal recipes so that he wouldn’t die from starvation. His life had always revolved around work (and video games when he wasn’t working, since sometimes he felt too lethargic to function, body decrepit from being battered overnights), and so now that he had to return to his cleaning routine, he’d forgotten how. His limbs had forgotten how—lassitude had claimed its place for too long in his sinews.

It was almost the time of the appointment—almost twelve, and he closed his eyes as he stayed still, letting his mind relax but not to the point where he would fall asleep. He couldn’t fall asleep, even if he wanted to, for waiting for something and being waited for by someone engraved restlessness in him. He wondered if the person would actually make it, though, or if he would be left with another week of trying to scavenge for another person to hire. It did seem dodgy since the person didn’t come from an agency or anything of the like, but Sehun himself had no knowledge whatsoever as to how the whole hiring business was processed formally, so he’d chosen the similar route that he’d done back then, and surely expected the same outcome.

“Han” was the only detail which he’d attained about the service provider and he hadn’t been in contact with the person directly. He’d called the number given on the pamphlet plastered, and had been redirected to a lady who took the call for the boy. So it was as much as he knew about this person, and so he had his fingers crossed as he wished that this person could be trusted enough with the task.

Almost twelve. He flicked his eyes open and thought of getting another cup of coffee even when it had only been less than two hours since his first one, the lethargy weighing his mind too much that he couldn’t be as innovative as he’d like to be. He was about to get out of the couch and head towards the kitchen when the doorbell rang, so he hurriedly scampered onto his feet to reach the door and tried to not wake the puppy up as he approached the entrance for Phoenix was still sleeping soundly, curled like a ball of orange fur nearby the rug. He couldn’t see the male clearly through the peephole, but it seemed like it was the person he’d been waiting for, so he opened the door to find the supposedly housekeeper, and was slightly taken aback by how young the other male looked. He blinked once, before asking tentatively if he’d gotten the right person, “Han?”

[arcxsehun]

{ `the sight of this man called Kanye West on his Valentine's card discombobulates him for a good minute before he understands what the card implies, thoroughly amused but only a little of the mirth travels to his features. he mentally applauds these people who have the creativity to make these kinds of cards, since it's really entertaining to see this as a variation of the typical Valentine's Day card. he nods at the card, as if the sender could see it, to indicate that yes, he can feel the love tonight. }

[arcxsehun]

{ `he blinks at the sight of the card, and wonders as to why he has to hook up with the dead. as far as he's aware, as morbid as he could be he hasn't trod into the necrophilia brackets. } Uh... { `he hesitates, wondering if he should contact this familiar sender or let it slide as another antic of hers--he eventually chooses the latter. }

[chanbaec-deactivated20130331]

11/100 edits of 엑소