IVORY FINGERS.

still waters run deep. don't underestimate what you don't know. don't label what you think you know. keep to yourself. stay alive and alert. survive. thrive.

[blcksaint-blog]

S IM U LA TION ...

READY PLAYER ONE? _

LOADING .. .

E NT E RIN G_E-L EV E L_MIS SI ON_HELIOS.. .

saint never thought that someone like him could survive in an environment like this. tasked to do crazy, dangerous things as form of entertainment for other people’s pleasure. in the outside world, his family had often called him fragile. weak. if saint could hardly keep up with the wolves out there, what made him think that he could run from them in here? it was a question that often kept him up at night; however, he thinks it’s safe to say he’s beaten the presumed odds.

saint has been a toy of the collective for over a year now.

he’s still the same in some senses. the chinese man is still shy. still soft-spoken and quick to help others. saint is a person of peace. it shows in the faction that he’s actually become quite proud to be a part of. though, he’s also changed too. there aren’t enough fingers and toes on his body to count how many people he’s hurt. how many the collective has forced him to kill (in here, it’s either eat or be eaten). it never gets easier, but the hesitation saint used to display is fading. and, god, does it scare him. as someone from cerulean, he’s smart enough to know that the collective doesn’t send him on as many missions as other’s; however, this doesn’t mean he hasn’t been through his fair share of them. he doesn’t expect this simulation to be any different.

like always, though, saint is wowed by the technology that the showrunners seem to possess. it preoccupies his mind for a moment before instructions start to be relayed to him. the mention of the nightbound tournament sends a jolt of ice down his spine. he doesn’t worry for himself. he worries for the other’s that he holds close. even in this crazy chapter of life he’s found himself in, saint still hasn’t learned not to trust other’s so freely.

the simulation itself seems to be something simple for now. get from point a to point b. don’t get caught or run until your legs give out. saint likes to keep himself hidden, if possible, but it’s hard to blend into crowds and what not when you’re one head taller than everyone else. he’s learned to be crafty. that’s another thing that’s different from old saint and new saint. new saint doesn’t panic as badly as new saint. his hands still shake. his heart still hammers away in his chest, but he still manages to be leveled enough to make himself useful. 

but it also helps that his legs are long.

after a staggering punch to the jaw from a sneaky tagger, those sticks of his help him sprint the rest of the way out to point b. even while out of breath, he still has enough energy to think, to know, this is only the beginning. 

[blcksaint-blog]

blckbishop:

💬   DM   |    @ hvnsnt  ○  ○  ○

◆ a lil ◆ apple juice i only drunk apple juice ◆ i cNAT I MUST PROTEC YOU ALWAYS ◆ but i did work hard ◆ wanna nap

💬   DM  ;  @ starshop !

✞ just apple juice ??? ok hyung

✞ you shouldnt let people spike your aj !!

✞ eyes open at all times !!!

✞ go nap hyungie ~~ and drink water !

[blcktmpl-roleplay]

starter prompt.

admin algaea actually had this drafted for the longest time and is releasing them right now as she comes back in a few days. remember the rule that if you reblog it from someone else, send them one back! 

“we need help.”

“you’re gonna be okay.”

“be careful.”

“i am the romantic type.”

“don’t leave me to turn.”

“it’s called luck—and it’s gonna run out.”

“are you still breathing?”

“we’re shitty people.”

“are you flirting with me?”

“what’s holding you back?”

“i’m not comfortable with this conversation.”

“will you /ever/ be comfortable with this conversation?”

“it’s not that easy, you know.”

“our luck had to run out sooner or later.”

“don’t touch me.”

“just fucking go.”

“does it sound like i know how to whistle?”

“i’m a pretty good shot with that thing.”

“let’s get the hell outta here.”

“goddammit—i’m clean!”

“i owe you nothin’.”

[blcksaint-blog]

- ALL ACROSS THE BOARD !

this is who i am ...

saint represents shades of purple. he’s intellectual, but quietly so. he’s an advocate of peace. creativity is one of his favorite outlets. he’s loyal and devoted, sticking to those he thinks highly of. saint is soft. it reflects in the aesthetics that best represent him. he’s a good man with a good heart, and he’ll try with all his might not to let the game taint that.

[fydokyungsoo]

Visit Original Link

EXO - 소름 (Chill)

[blcksaint-blog]

- fever dream.

[blcksaint-blog]

blckhook:

(...)

“you get used to it.” perhaps a bit insensitive, it was the truth. homesickness was a feeling they all were familiar with - some worse than others. and although it didn’t necessarily get better, it settles. that was all you could look forward to. “do you want to talk about it?”

hook begins moving and suddenly saint is aware of every single movement the other’s making. sensitive to every little sound that fills the darkness of the room. breath stuck and body frozen, he waits. what for, he doesn’t know. truthfully, saint hadn’t expected anything from this encounter. in fact, so consumed with overwhelming emotions, he hadn’t even thought past the process of getting access to hook and his bed in the first place. he wasn’t anticipating comfort. saint wasn’t looking for acknowledgement. he just hoped that hook recognized that he just needed a body to lay next to. he just needed to be by someone who made him feel some semblance of safe. protected. 

there was something about hook that saint just couldn’t describe. no possible song on any set of ivory keys could define the warm way in which the younger regarded him. the only way saint felt like he could go about labeling it was with a color - orange. like a guarding flame. a guiding light. in the time he had been within the game, saint had stuck his arm through the fire some were too scared of to approach. he remained unscathed. lacking in the pain of rejection. hook wasn’t half as intimidating as he looked. misinterpretation led to missed chances, and saint guessed that the majority of contestants were missing out on a great friend.  

saint recognizes that the warmth he feels is the ability that hook’s presence gives him. the ability to relax. to not have the impulse of looking over his shoulder every few steps. 

the heat of skin skims over his knee, and it causes saint to jerk. lips quiver as his lungs finally fill with air. however, just as his breath returns, it’s knocked right back out of him as soon as fingers curl around his hand. saint is glued to the sheets once more. unlike a few moments ago, this time is different. instead of a wave of panic, a sense of calm washes over him. his muscles unlock. his chest rises. falls. rises. his breathing evens out. he’s afraid to answer that quiet voice. afraid to break the soft silence that wraps around hook’s every word. cushions them. instead, he musters the courage to turn onto his side too, facing hook. the drying tears on his face look like drops of moonlight. 

the shake of his head is enough.

[blcksaint-blog]

- what not to wear.

[blcksaint-blog]

blckfirefox:

(...)

“oops,” he doesn’t sound sorry at all when he dumps his drink all over the other’s shirt. he hardly bothered to even pretend it was a mistake, not even feigning a trip or a moment of otherwise clumsiness. “that’s ruined now, that’s too bad. you’re going to have to throw that out, this stuff stains terribly.”

firefox tries not to look too pleased with himself.

of course, saint is too naive and too believing in others to realize that the action could have been taken on purpose. maybe he would have been able to perceive the intent had he been actually paying attention beforehand, but, unfortunately, it was clear that he had not. his head bows and his shoulders hunch as he stumbles over a few apologizes. waist bending with each one, he finally manages to actually look clearly at the stranger once they begin to talk. there isn’t nearly as much remorse on their face is there is on saint’s. 

“i’m- i’m sure that there’s some way to get the stain out. no worries.” his words and mannerism is a bit timid despite the height he has on the other. hands go to the hem of his sweater, pulling it out and a little upwards to get a better look at the mess that’s been created. it seemed a little extreme to throw the article of clothing out. it’s not like he couldn’t afford another one like it, but it was his favorite. it had meaning. that wasn’t something he just couldn’t forget. a simple stain wouldn’t have him giving up on it.

“i’ll .. i’ll buy you a new drink. i’m sorry for spilling your other one.”

[blcksaint-blog]

-  teetotal annihilation !

[blcksaint-blog]

blckchase:

(...)

“you think they can’t handle a little drinking? they literally have us kill each other, i don’t think they’ll mind if we get smashed.” he almost has to shout for his friend to hear him above the deafening music, but they manage to find a spot far enough from the speakers to hold a decent conversation. chase leaves him just a minute of two, coming back with two beers. “let’s go soft for now. you’re not gonna chicken out, are you?”

there was a reason why saint had won in every never have i ever he had ever participated in. the candidate had never done anything, really. it was hard too when he had his mother’s eagle eyes on him 24/7. he can distinctly remember a time when he had wanted to discuss moving out, but his mother insisted that he stayed. that they had more than enough money to support him. he knew that that was true, but he he wanted independence. she would not take no for an answer. saint had stayed, of course, knowing full well his mother’s only intent was too keep close quarters with him. he didn’t know what she had expected. for saint to wash down the drain as soon as he was by himself? he had not interest. 

now, though, a drink or two maybe didn’t sound so bad. within the month or two that he’s called this collective run group of facilities his home, a lot of newfound stress has been dumped onto him. saint has never wanted an outlet more than he does now. the craving is a bit inwardly, seeing as saint would never allow himself such a thing without a push, but now chase is here to give him that little nudge he needs. he’s made up his mind. he will not chicken out.

clearing his throat, saint gathers himself in a way that he hopes looks somewhat tough. his voice quivers slightly when he speaks despite all his efforts. “no, i’m strong. a rock.” he’s reassuring himself more than he’s trying to reassure chase.

[blcksaint-blog]

- SOCIAL !

user @hvnsnt has posted...

while it’s not completely unheard of, saint doesn’t post pictures of himself often. he likes to stick to the people who he loves and random shots he’s taken along the way.

                                                                                           .... care to comment ?

[blcksaint-blog]

blckbishop:

💬   DM   |    @ hvnsnt  ○  ○  ○

◆ u know in the bedroom ◆ actually my son ◆ ur too young and innocent and pure ◆ i will protect u ◆ u dont need to know

💬   DM  ;  @ starshop !

✞ aaaaa,,, have you been drinking ??

✞ hyung take a break from protecting me from that

✞ you do that enough !! youve worked hard 

[a3sthetic-moodboards]

🔳

[pen1ag0n]

what is yanan doing?

[xblckbishop-blog]

♝ — oasis

[blcksaint-blog]

blckbishop:

ft. @blcksaint

(...)

usually, this means showing him the ins and outs of the complex, but bishop figures they can do something different today. bishop has been cryptic with the details (only because he doesn’t know half of them himself) so he hopes saint isn’t too put off by the secrecy. regardless, he breaks into a wide grin and waves when he spots the other player, jogging up to him and clapping him on the back. “hey! been waiting long? i was trying to rush but my hair—” he points to the carefully messy hairdo and laughs. “beauty takes time, you know?” 

bishop’s hair saga aside… “so, ready to go? hope i didn’t pull you away from something important.”

it’s a running gag throughout the complex, he supposes. a little joke that people like to share about bishop being saint’s ‘dad’. saint never makes a big deal out of it. he doesn’t ask those voices to quiet. actually, he finds it quite funny. bishop is pretty fatherly, isn’t he? from day one, he’s always looked out for saint. he gives him advice (whether he asks for him or not) and shows him around, making sure he can find his way without getting lost. bishop’s never not there when saint need him, which is appreciated greatly, but here’s where it gets a little real. if you were to ask saint, he’d laugh, but truthfully he thinks of their bond in a more brotherly way; however, it wouldn’t be a lie to say that, yes, bishop kind of is like a father figure to him. he’s never had a proper one so saint is very sure that he can even slightly compare anything to it. from what he can recollect, it was always very evident that his mother had worn the pants around the house. she had always taken the reigns while his father sat back and let her do whatever. she was bold and present while he faded into the background. he was always at work, too, so maybe he just hated his mother just as much as everyone else did. maybe work was his getaway and the neglect of saint was just collateral damage. saint wouldn’t have blamed him.

nonetheless, though, saint is always happy to meet up with bishop. always. it’s easy to be relaxed and unguarded around him. so, in result, saint doesn’t put much to what he wears for the occasion. it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that a soft pink sweater and slightly ripped jeans make an appearance. it’s a normal saint look. a comfy one that he stands around in comfortably, waiting for bishop in their agreed upon rendezvous point. he’s a little late, and saint thinks about shooting him a text when the other saddles up beside him. his presence brings an instant smile to saint’s lips. it’s pleasing. easy.

“no, only a moment or two.” the mention of hair makes him think of his own. he hoped it wasn’t too crazy. he doesn’t remember if he stopped in the mirror to make sure it was behaving or not. “nothing too important. just piano.”

[blcksaint-blog]

blckbishop:

💬   DM   |    @ hvnsnt  ○  ○  ○

◆ thse hips dont lie ◆ shakira sharkia

💬  DM  ;  @ starshop !

✞ hyung ??? 

✞ i’m not sure i know how hips would lie or tell the truth.. 

✞ this is so silly ㅋㅋㅋ

[blckth0rn-blog]

🌹.

[blcksaint-blog]

blckth0rn:

(...)

However, it seemed that the other realized that any rescuing attempt was futile. He was still panicking though. Not hiding her frustration, she sighed and walked up to the candidate. She used her free hand to ruffle his hair and, afterwards, to pinch his cheek. “Calm down, kid.” She was not good at this, but she really tried to reassure him and to calm him down a bit. Some people were just not cut for this game. Although babying him was not going to help him later on, she chose that route still. “I won’t pressure you into killing the guy. I volunteer as tribute, already,” she offered. “But, you got to calm down.”

[ trigger warning: graphic death ]

Keep reading

time and time again, in the path of tragedy, there are countless tales of selfless people who risk their well being to save others. saint doesn’t want to be the collection’s martyr. he doesn’t want to die at the hands of captivation and wrongdoing because of his seemingly hardwired need to help those who cry out (or don’t even ask for a hand in the first place). he’s never really sent himself out on the battlefield to die, a medic weaving in and out of gunfire. but he will never have enough strength to steel himself. he will never be able to walk away from the chance of changing the outcome of something horrible. it was different before blcktmpl. this insufficient impulse to assist. his soft spoken ways never one deterred him from helping a crooked old women take groceries to her car or from helping a little one stab their straw into a juice pouch. those things were all easy compared what he had to go through now. those things were all child’s play. no matter how hard saint wished for those simple problems to arise once more, hard reality was set in stone. he’d be dealing with life or death from now on. funny enough, though, even that wasn’t extreme enough to change his standpoint. to change who he was. saint doesn’t know who thorn was before this. he doesn’t know what her standpoint used to be. her views. he doesn’t know how she liked to take her coffee or what color was her favorite, but he knows that in this moment, in this timeline they’ve been steered into, she isn’t afraid to put herself first. before, saint would have frowned upon such behavior; however, now, he thinks it wouldn’t hurt to learn a thing or two from her.

his reactions have been quite negative so far, and one would think thorn’s point blank shot would have aroused something extravagant, but saint is still. his chest doesn’t rise or fall. his eyes, transfixed, do not blink. saint is staring death in the face and he has nothing to say. a life lost, just like that. memories, connections, ups, and downs - pointless. what is life if it’s just a precursor to this? for someone who quietly feels so much, at this time, saint feels nothing. he feels nothing, absorbs nothing, as he retrieves his cylinder. later on, the only thought he’ll remember having is that without his sympathy, he could have walked away from this scene without a weapon. defenseless. he doesn’t fret over the blood on his hands nor the rest pooling at his knees. cotton mouthed and vacant, saint works on autopilot.

he doesn’t fully come back around until they’ve started to make the trek to their next destination. their final destination, hopefully. thorn has started to talk, but his ears feel full of wool. muffled. he only catches the tail end of what she says. the weight of his cylinder feels to heavy in his hand. dazed, he finally speaks.

“did you.. did you mention a temple just now?”

[blcksaint-blog]

- SOCIAL !

ft. @blckhook, @blckbishop, & @absolemblck

back before the collective snatched him up, saint never really used social media. he much preferred face to face contact rather than the interactions one could come across online. now, he realizes how handy it can be. it keeps him up to date with his friends and the happenings around the facilities as well as expose him to sponsors. much like everything else, he likes to keep it all organized and clean. 

[xblckchariot-blog]

—rotation.

[blcksaint-blog]

blckchariot:

(...)

the early morning annoyance was bringing out the worse in him, he sighs as he looks around for a seat to relocate to. his eyes land on the only other person present. chariot has always noticed him, but never thought to do anything about it. people here generally scared him, but this guy didn’t seem so bad (bite your tongue, sweet summer child).

“you’re here early,” he tries his best to sound friendly, a small smile on his face as he gestures to the seat across from the stranger. “mind if i sit here?”

the food here reminds him of home. it’s luxurious and precisely prepared. saint can never find any faults no matter how hard he tries to criticize. it reminds him of his mother’s need for perfection. her many hirings of different chefs - all because they didn’t meet her ‘needs.’ it was cutthroat and unnecessary, saint sticking up for every sorry soul whose pride was crushed by his mother’s tyrannical reign. the quality reminds him of home, but unlike there, he can eat his breakfast in peace. despite his mother’s busy schedule or her seemingly undying hate for anything nicely familial, she had always insisted on eating together for the first meal of the day. there were a lot of things saint had dreaded back when he was jianyu, but family breakfast had always been near the top of the list. he was always subjected to being picked and prodded at by his mother while his father sat idle, his sister saved by favoritism. every answer he had ever given in lieu of her questions had never been enough to sate her. saint had never been enough for his mother. maybe that’s why she had sent him here, unbeknownst to saint.

the ex-pianist loves the silence that mornings greet him with here. he ventures out to eat everyday around the same time, coming into the dining hall as soon as it's available. showing up so early, one would think he’d be alone through the period of filling his stomach; however, surprisingly enough, there’s always another body in the room with him. they don’t ever really talk or exchange glances, but unlike a majority of others, saint doesn’t feel a need to keep an eye on him. it also helped calm his nerves knowing that they were in the same faction. of course, saint recognized him.

saint isn’t overly surprised or thrilled when the guy starts making his way over. he figured it would happen sometime, this game of ignorance going on for far too long. silence was a gift. he knew he wasn’t going to be able to enjoy it forever; however, maybe an ally could be discovered here today. a good thing could come from this.

“it’s hard to find quiet, uncrowded spaces around here.” it’s said almost sheepishly, the corners of his mouth lifting up into a shy smile. company wasn’t too bad to have. saint has to keep reminding himself that he can isolate. he can’t cut himself off. he won’t possibly survive living that way. “i don’t mind. please, take a seat.”