multis

Baby. 김종인. Kai. Dissociative Identity Disorder a severe form of dissociation which produces a lack of connection in a person's thoughts, memories, feelings, actions, or sense of identity.

[luculxntus-deactivated20150525]

                                 “ Call me your                                                            darling “

                                               home  ||  ask  ||  law ||  tiffany

[ludvs-deactivated20150501]

Once clear thoughts and goodwill become clouded by bouts of jealous rage and               reckless matches are made, disharmonic love rife in the air.

[ludvs-deactivated20150501]

                                        i.       ii.        iii.

[dxpraved-blog]

And give no opportunity to the devil - Eph 4:27

Chanyeol is ten when it happens. He was good down to the very deepest meaning of the word. Where others lacked in empathy and selflessness, the boy thrived, offering the change lining his pocket that perhaps could have bought milk for lunch to the homeless man that camped outside of his parents’ favourite supermarket time and time again. A smile greeted every stranger, and never were the lonely, bullied children in his class forced to eat alone at lunch. It is into this boy that He crawled, Beelzebub, the second angel to fall from Heaven, nesting deep inside and claiming every fibre of Chanyeol’s being, from the pure goodness of his heart and soul, to the furthest reaches of his mind, where sinewy tendrils sank deeply, locking tight. Yes. He was good, this boy, the demon decided; a malleable vessel of all things pure and Holy and so, so corruptible, bendable to the point of breaking. Good, good, good.

Park Chanyeol. ✞ Instructor. ✞ Possessed host of Beelzebub. ✞  

[misssgain-blog]

Even though Jongin didn’t finish verbalizing his first thought, she understood what he meant, and wordlessly accepted the apology that it seemed to be leading towards. A warm smile curved onto her lips upon seeing him relax, and even more so than he had been before at that. Gain could tell that such things likely weren’t so easy for him. After a spell of time that was probably longer than was normally acceptable, she realized her hand was still holding his and went to let go but before she did, small dots shaded differently than the rest of his skin caught her eye, and she recognized them to be scars peeking out from underneath his sleeve. She glanced back at him when he spoke up and decided against mentioning them despite her curiosity, as she gently pulled her hand away to rest in her lap and gave a nod. “Mhm, that’s right. I’ve got a little more work for the advice column, but that’s about it for right now…” Gain tried to avoid the stack of letters sitting alongside her computer, knowing she probably had more than ‘a little more’ to do. So she didn’t mind when Jongin’s attention shifted to the coupon left in the basket, and she remembered him mentioning it as well as looking over it as she had been looking through the contents of his gift. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear to get it out of the way, Gain leaned in some to look at the slip of paper in his hand as he told her more about it and the pharmacy. “I like having you here too,” she said with a soft chuckle, sitting back again. “But I’ll make sure to swing by the pharmacy sometime, for sure.” Her eyes turned onto the dog when his did, maintaining the beat of silence between them before his question came. “Her name’s Coco! I’m still not sure who’s idea it was to name a white dog Coco, but it wasn’t mine,” she laughed and watched the pomeranian put her paws up on the couch cushion, looking between her owner and Jongin and wagging her tail happily. Gain reached over to gently scratch behind one of Coco’s ears, smiling softly at her and then at Jongin. “You can pet her if you want, it’s alright.” 

[empirikai]

When settled in the right state of mind and not panicked over anything and everything all at once ( though he's still mildly concerned that he's taking up time that could be devoted to her work ), even he feels mildly impressed with how well the woman keeps up with him--he was no easy chore, having been told that and much, much worse nearly all of his life, and despite how tensed it leaves his body, shoulders squared off with how taut nearly every muscle is, he can't deny that he's almost a little disappointed upon the removal of her hand. It had been soft and warm and all things comforting, though, again, he can't quite pay attention to more than one thing at a time, so he opts to let the little spark of awe and gratitude bubble further in his chest over how she had managed to answer everything he had thrown at her, down to the very last, completely unrelated question about her dog. 

"I've never been allowed to have a pet." He informs her quite matter-of-factly, though some may argue nothing short of a pout is what crosses his features as he leans forward to tentatively stretch out a hand palm-up to the small dog, though, not wanting to be impolite, he uses the other hand to jab a finger lightly at the centre of his chest, figuring it rude to know someone's--something's?--name without offering up his own. "Jongin." He offers quite proudly, despite receiving but a lick to his palm in return, but by the time the dog has tried jumping in his lap twice and he's lifted his gaze back up to her, his brow is fully furrowed into a grimace, moving to spew out his buzzing thoughts without so much as a warning for her. "I don't think it would be so bad for me to have a pet. I would remember to feed it, but I would have to hide it, so I would need something quiet. Are cats quiet? Oh, what about.. uhm.. Fish. I could get a fish."

[cyxnid-deactivated20150304]

Mama. The word repeated several times in the young woman’s head. Her eyes narrowed in confusion, trying to make sure she heard him right. Her eyes glanced between his face and his fingers, terribly confused. Being nudged by a passer-by’s shoulder, she realized the pair had been blocking their way, and she quickly— but hesitantly— grabbed the strange man’s wrist,  tugging him away from the crosswalk and off to the side where they wouldn’t interfere with ongoing traffic. Once safely out of the way, Vivian tugged his fingers from the fabric of her shirt,  giving him a confused look. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but you can’t just grab people’s shirts like that!” She stared at him for a few seconds, letting out a soft huff before continuing. “Or call them ‘mama’. It’s weird, and freaky. You could have just said hi or something.” Her eyebrows creased together as she observed the other, a frown present on her features. Vivian scanned over the past two minutes, trying to recall if she’d missed anything else strange. His voice. It was oddly… young. Freaky young. He was freaky, and she wanted to get away from him as soon as  possible. She watched tons of crime shows, and there was no way that she was going to allow herself to end up on one of them. But what if there’s something wrong with him? He called me mama and looked really… lost. She huffed a second time at her own thoughts, shaking her head once before realizing he’d remained silent since addressing her as his mother. “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?” 

[empirikai]

Pliant and silent and soft all things that a grown man a good twice her size should never be, the boy's eyes remain pointed downward, in no rush to do much of anything at all, so it seems, and quite content, really, with tracing the movements of an ant that had captured the entirety of his attention. So absorbed does he become in drawing and re-drawing the movement of the little creature, in fact, that it isn't until his fingers are no torn from the material of her shirt that he bothers to notice their change in location, unable to process even the movement of his feet or the grip she had gotten around his wrist. 

To have his eyes on her, of course, isn't to say that she had even a drop of his coherent attention, the only thing his body is able to process and understand even remotely being the removal of the little constant that he had clung onto so readily, empty fingers already wringing around one another as he begins to shift his weight from foot to foot. His gaze drops and lifts a handful of times, then, never meeting the same thing twice--from the point of her chin, to a crack in the sidewalk, to stray cloud in the sky above them, he keeps this up for a good thirty seconds before finding his voice again, a voice that most certainly does not belong to him; thick, childish, coloured lightly with the faint moisture gathering at thick lower lashes. "Jongin? Ma.. Mama." 

Mama. Mama, Mama Mama. Latching onto the only word he can, the boy grows more distressed by the moment, visibly unraveling as his hands scramble in a desperate search of something to hold onto, moving from the hem of his flannel to the belt loops of his jeans until, finally, they find solace in bright, bleached locks, tugging harder than he could even feel as he crouches down close to the sidewalk, knees to his chest and eyes squeezed shut, hard.

[yinkali-deactivated20170417]

It’s not that he hasn’t noticed the same person coming and going; more so that focus and priority is elsewhere. Ordered to do nothing but observe, see details and behavior, he pays no attention to bypassers more than with a glance to know of their whereabouts. But when someone kept showing up, it was difficult not to take interest in them for more than second, even if it wasn’t much more than that. Enough to give him an impression of their actions repeated at the corner of his vision, and their general appearance. Slightly taller, male, average body build— more than that he didn’t notice. There were more important things to take care of. Instead, darkened eyes and a lethal look has him staring for a man that is obviously a regular at the traditional coffee shop next door (nothing that appealed Akali). What he hadn’t expected though, was to be approached (as always, avoiding it as much as possible). The male is walking towards him as much as he can see while looking at something else, and he doesn’t think much of it than for them to pass him once again. Wrong, he was. One of the rare times— or so he would tell himself. Not even when they come to a stop, does he look over; not until he’s forced to, knowing that the sentence is clearly meant for him. No one else is really around, and it’s not like it’s the first time he’s heard it. Though he doesn’t look at the straight away, long, stripy bangs waving along with a mix of a scoff and a laugh. Then, the typical piercing glare is directed to the latter, before they tic down to the bag they’re holding out. As assumed, Akali blatantly ignores the gesture of kindness, only finding it stupid. Why were they to care for a stranger, anyways? Turning completely towards them, he is quick to reach out a hand, purposely a pat a little too hard to their cheek, to indicate he was fine. A tad intimidating it might be, but Akali only thinks of why someone would bother, focus drifting from work, for just a minute. A mistake, a slip not worthy taking, but he can’t help it. Reasons being why he takes a step closer, enough to crash into the bag held out without even flinching. Should be enough for them to understand that he wasn’t interested in any medicines. And frankly, he was fine; just cursed (or blessed) with the complexion of death, or a reaper, had he been called. By now, Akali’s growing a little tired of that, but more so allured by the thought of making their heart race in fright. Out of the little he had seen, it shouldn’t be too hard, not too much work. 

[empirikai]

It's embarrassing, how long Jongin waits before the stranger after he speaks, his company very clearly unwanted, if noticed at all, though when faced with the only two options he can see of turning his back to the man whose lips lacked in colour and eyes in light, or simply standing his shaky, uncertain ground, he finds that his body has already made the decision for him, slumped shoulders remaining squared with the other man's. He's about to try again, or so he tells himself, lips parting to ask if he was in need of help or medicine or emergency responders when something is moving far too close to his face--touching it, in fact. Graceless and all things pathetic, he stumbles backwards then, momentarily losing the function in his legs, and it's only when his back presses into the side of a neighbouring building that he comes to a still, and even then it's only a relative one, his mouth opening and closing three times before he remembers how to formulate words. 

"I cannot tell if that was a yes or a no." He presses, uncertain of what else he could possibly say, and while he's long since given up on trying to offer this man anything, if anything could even help, that is, to walk  away or perhap even call for help ( the highly understandable and probably expected things to do ) simply don't cross his mind; what the stranger wanted and why he came so often proving to be far more important in Jongin's frazzled state than anything else. Wary only of being touched again, the skin of his cheek still stinging mildly from what couldn't be called anything more than a pat, he keeps a good amount of distance between them, or tries, rather, before speaking up once more, already dizzy and struggling to breathe properly. "And.. And it's rude to not answer somebody. I think." 

[misssgain-blog]

After plucking a small bottle of lotion from the basket, Gain set it aside and turned to face him as he spoke, curling a leg underneath herself as she leaned against the back of the sofa. She quietly listened to him recite his schedule (although that wasn’t really what she had meant), and tugged her sleeves partway up her arms before idly applying some of the lotion to her hands and wrists.  Gain was about to suggest meeting up again during one of his breaks, or his day off, when she heard the distinctive ‘Oh,’ at the end of his sentence. She looked back at him and blinked, about to ask what was the matter when he spoke up again. “Oh, no, it’s fine!” When he started to move to stand she reached over to take his hand in her’s with a gentle, reassuring squeeze as she softly laughed, despite her slight embarrassment. “I’m a little tired, but only because work has been hellish lately.” Gain pulled the dog away when it started to climb on him, nudging it back onto the floor with a quiet warning to stop and lie down. “I’ve just been stuck writing all day, I was kind of lonely until you texted me. Besides, you just got here! You don’t have to go so soon.”  

[empirikai]

"Please don't take that to mean you aren't, ah.. I didn't mean.." A frustrated noise and the furrowing of his brow are sign enough that his mind isn't working quite as quickly as he would like it to, as it needs to, though he's mildly grateful that before he can try to babble on again, certain to make more of a mess than he already had, something warm and delicate is touching his hand, and he's left blinking back at her dumbly. It takes him a few seconds to process everything, resisting with all of his willpower his body's natural desire to shy away from any and all touch, and while this contact is anything but soothing, it's just comforting enough to have him backing up and taking his seat once more, this time just a little ways away from the arm of the sofa, with his feet kicked up and legs crossed beneath him. 

She had been kind, even months ago upon their first meeting, and he doesn't need to tell himself twice, as he may with others, that she means no harm, and so it's gradual but earnest, his attempt at settling down, until he's succeeded just enough to glance up at her again with meek but honest curiosity. "Writing, because.. Journalism? Am I remembering this right?" With the sun just barely skimming the tops of the large buildings that weren't quite part of Jongin's everyday life, he really shouldn't find it as relatively easy as he does to melt back into the couch below him, fingers fussing amongst each other until the coupon he had mentioned moments ago catches his eyes, and he's quick to pluck it out, a smile just barely tugging at the corner of full lips. "Uhm, that coupon. I told you. It's a good deal, and it doesn't expire til the end of the year, so you can come over--To the pharmacy, I mean, and redeem it, and we have lollipops at the counter, so you can take one of those, too. But, we're not open today.. So I'm here. I like being here." He pauses, blinking down at her dog; easily distracted, childish in his own way, he effortlessly jumps to a new topic. "What's his name?"

[misssgain-blog]

"Yeah, I’ve got water. Just make yourself at home, okay?" She gave him a nod and the same sweet smile she had been wearing, briefly leaving to her kitchen to fill a glass of water for him before taking a seat beside him on the sofa and offering the glass to him. Once she did, the little dog jumped up into the space between them, having decided after further investigation that he was safe.

[empirikai]

"It’s really nice to see you again, Jongin," Gain started, pulling the basket into her lap to inspect it some more as they caught up. "How are you doing, hm? What have you been up to?" A lot could happen in three months, and she was very curious to know what could have possibly changed for him during that time. He looked just as she remembered him, acted nearly as nervous and fidgety too (but she still found that a kind of endearing if she were to be honest). Surely he wouldn’t think the same of her though. In twenty minutes she only took the time to fix the liner rimming her eyes (that she had actually slept in that morning) with her fingers and brushed her hair in the same fashion. Hindsight is 20/20, and it was telling Gain that she could have probably done a better job at hiding just how tired she was from being run ragged with her work. It was too late for that now anyway, so she tried not to worry about it.

Reason tells him that there's more than enough space on the sofa, seeing as the boy's body is all but crammed into one corner of the thing, leaning against the arm even after Gain has returned and he's accepted the glass of water with several, hushed thank you's, and yet he tries to press yet further into himself all the same when she takes her own seat opposite him, merely out of courtesy than an attempt at shying away. "I wake up every morning except Sundays and check books," he begins almost immediately upon her finishing her second question, as though prompted for a script he's long since memorised, because, really, he sort of had. "And then I take a lunch around one in the afternoon, and then back to the counter until five." A brief pause and a sip of water, and he finally glances up at her, his breathing slowed from the walk over and the colour of his face gradually dying back down to something normal, tanned. "Except Sundays, like I said, because we're not open on Sundays.. Oh."

It's far from polite to tell somebody they look tired, regardless of how true one may think it is, and despite having barged into the older woman's apartment with about as much grace and manners as the dog that's trying its very hardest to crawl up one of  Jongin's sides, pink tongue and thick breath and all, he knows how terrible his question is going to sound, but asks it either way, already moving to stand and dismiss himself if need be. "Are you tired? You look tired, and I've already given you the basket, which has a coupon for a neckpillow, I believe, so I shouldn't inconvenience you any further. I'm sorry."

[tvyne-deactivated20150321]

In small diners where your main customers are usually old people or broke university students looking for a cheap feed, it’s not uncommon to see the same person over and over again, eventually becoming imprinted in your mind as a ‘regular’. There was a male named Jongin with sun kissed skin and startling blonde hair, light enough to be described as platinum— a memorable regular although he never did seem to have much to say. His abnormal coloured hair wasn’t the most striking thing about the male, not when there were plenty of uni students bumming around with bleached hair of their own (although theirs was less blonde and more of an unappealing brass). It was the fact that the platinum blonde with a gentle smile and a quiet demeanor (who always seemed to choose a window seat), didn’t appear poor. Yet another difference between them; Tayne was the lanky waiter with a far too loud laugh and worn out clothes, whereas the other’s clothes didn’t seem nearly as worn through as his own and he really didn’t seem like the type that would obnoxiously bray if he found something amusing. With the frigid winter air causing the tip of his nose to turn a soft pink and his body to shiver, Tayne stood outside the diner with a bunch of pamphlets clutched tightly in his hand. Clutching his coat closer to his frame,  he accepted the fact that many would walk past and ignore the offered pamphlet yet it didn’t stop him from trying when he saw Jongin walking down the street. ❝ Good afternoon, back for the usual order? ❞ He greeted the other with a goofy grin and opened the door to the diner with his free hand. ❝ I’ll be in soon to take your order. Want a pamphlet? There’s a meal coupon somewhere in there. ❞ 

[empirikai]

 It’s familiar enough, the little diner tucked away on some nameless street skirting the city, barely there even to the locals that pass it by weekly, daily, sometimes twice. Small and unassuming, it’s the place Jongin could be considered somewhat of a regular at, if only due to the weekly requests - commands - by his father for a cheap alternative to cooking food for the boy himself, or, nine times out of ten, for the caffeine so clearly needed to run the one-man business his father does. Smelling thickly of grease and bustling quietly with fellow customers that Jongin can never recognise, not that he truly takes not of them to begin with, the only constant in the place seems to be the tall boy with curly hair and a crease in his cheek that appears when he talks too hard—something Jongin never thought possible. 

Today is no different, at least not in the sense that, yes, it's the same, lanky boy with honey hair that stands outside of that same diner, and yes it could be perfectly acceptable to assume that the slightly stronger presence the boy carries with confident steps and squared out, un-slumped shoulders could be due to the pleasant enough weather and the fact that the working day was coming to a close--but of course, neither of those were really the case, as made more than evident in Kai's hard eyes when they lift to meet those of the man that stops him. 

"Aye--" It's a short word, if it could even be considered one at all, though it's loud, obnoxiously so. Arrogant, echoing loudly off the neighbouring buildings as the boy turns to face the would-be stranger and flashes a too-wide smile, quickly doing away with any space between them that could be considered polite. "The pretty boy. A coupon, huh?" Quickly, a hand lifts to pluck a flyer from Tayne's hand, though not for a moment do Kai's eyes flicker down to study it, a sharp jawline more than accentuated when his head tilts, eyes narrowed with the grin that's really quite biting, rather than inviting. "Cos free food is a great way into Jongin's mouth, right? It's a pretty thing, I really gotta give it to you. I would know."

[bloodredsongbird-deactivated201]

           Asha Lark

                   It happened on her twenty-fifth birthday, a stranger in the                    woods on the outskirts of her village. He enticed her with a                    flower, fully bloomed to a glorious red, and trapped her with                    his devilish smile, pearl white dagger-like teeth which sank                    into her dark-toned flesh, ending the life she once had.

                                                                 Home — Ask — About — Disclaimer                                                                  Indie TVD-based Original Character

[sehunphilia]

[misssgain-blog]

Gain’s own eyes widened at his reaction to her words. Had she said something wrong? She was confused, and could only helplessly watch as he stood in her doorway without a single word as she wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers curling into the soft fabric of her sweater anxiously as the tone of her voice became colored with concern, “Jongin, are you alright…?” When he broke his silence, she gave a small nod in answer to his first question before he seemed to have a moment of clarity. Gain blinked, stunned, before she softly laughed and added, “Of course I remember you!” The last time they had seen each other he looked like he was ready to turn and run from her at any moment. That wasn’t so easy to forget, but she was glad that it was different today. Seeing Jongin’s smile brought on a similarly bright one of her own, and her gaze only moved to look at the basket he was offering to her as she took it in both of her hands with an “Oh, thank you!”  Gain stepped to the side to let him into her apartment, letting the basket’s handle slide up to rest onto the crook of her elbow as she shallowly shifted through the items on the top as he listed them. A lot of these things she already had laying around her apartment, but still, she appreciated the thought and effort Jongin seemed to have put into this. “A thank you, for what?” She asked him, hoping he hadn’t felt obligated to do something in return for their last outing. After letting him in, Gain closed the door behind them and went to set the basket on the table, giving a quick wave to the sofa behind it for him to sit down. “Would you like something to drink?”

[empirikai]

 It's only when he passes into the immediate and comforting warmth of her apartment that he realises that he hadn't quite been invited inside, two steps too late, and the reaction is near instantaneous, a hot wash of shame flooding to his face to add to the already healthy flush staining it, reaching even the tips of his ears--But he's not allotted the time to panic, or not much of it anyhow, because she's nudging the door shut behind him just as he's turning to exit again and await a proper invitation inside, if he even deserved one at this point, and instead of cold contempt and possibly even shock, he's meeting a warmth that has his jaw going taut and his feet fumbling trying to decide what direction to go. 

"Oh--" He begins less than gracefully, though he pauses to gather his bearings before toeing off his shoes near the entrance, checking twice that he's done so just for good measure, and following her lead deeper into the apartment. It was frightening enough: new walls and corners and rooms to adjust to, new doors that opened to God knows where. It was most definitely not the pathetic little studio his father all but exiled him to the day he he was diagnosed, and while all of the change surrounding him is enough to tighten something low in his chest, the place is warm, and smells distinctly of her, somebody that had, thus far, shown him nothing but kindness. "For the lunch, the other day.. No. The other month." He finally finishes his thought, and it's with a hesitant, but earnest attempt at bravery that he seats himself on the very edge of the sofa as instructed, the small dog that he had failed to hear bark upon his arrival refusing to move away from his feet as his fingers twist in his lap, uncertain of if he was allowed to touch it, or if it was allowed to touch him. 

"W..Water? Please? Just water is fine, and if you don't have any, that's okay, too." 

[sxrtum-blog]

` s ober || mnk & kai

[sxrtum-blog]

Don’t be stupid, Minki. The voice undoubtedly faint, given with the blaring bass almost physically shoving any thought of his own out to the beat, it was more so his own self conscious feebly pulling his senses back to composed. But he was too far gone from reason, and like a script he had memorized word from word, this particular scene wasn’t one he’d consider much out of the ordinary. Hook ‘em. Tease’ em. Exit. It was business, after all. “How about we start with a name, beautiful—” Honestly, there was nothing particularly funny about the simple request, but there he was, laughing in his drunken stupor. Reasoning gone mute to the tune of the other’s breath, almost like velvet, he’d later convince himself that the alcohol would be the influence that physically draws him into the man’s frame as he spoke. “Thaaat’s. . “ he starts, drawing out his words agonizingly slow, intently pressing himself against the more grounded stranger, “classified.” Don’t be stupid, Minki. Nimble fingers begin to move on their own, naturally, examining through dark fabrics. He could tell through the thin cloth that he was fit. Strong. Little, satisfied, touches making it impossible to stop (the alcohol more so a factor; he was too drunk to dedicate much care). If he were ever to invest in operating his sex trade in a more physically, tangible, manner, he’d easily give himself over to the unknown. It was an amusing thought. He momentarily lingers on the image of lithe fingers working through blond locks; arms expertly poised on each of the other’s shoulders. "Why can’t we get to know each other over a drink, hmm?" he tries, round eyes boring deep into the other’s, feigned lust reeling for consent. "I promise I’ll be good." 

[empirikai]

It's almost unnatural how easily an arm lifts, shoulder rolling lazily out of the way of the stranger's lithe body as he presses closer, either an intentional move to essentially sit himself down in Kai's lap, or some incoherent, drunken lean forward--either way was welcomed, the latter, of course, preferred. The boy was small, amusingly so, touchably so, easy to get a grip on and yet easier to hold on to, and that's precisely what Kai does when he's given the chance, the faintest arch of the smaller male's body providing just the excuse for an arm to slink around the boyish curve of his waist, his forearm pressing neatly into the small of his back. 

It's not that an excuse was needed, of course, when this boy was so sloppily, embarrassingly drunk, but when he sobers up later on into the evening, long after Kai has gotten the stranger's pretty lips wrapped around his cock and his knees bruised from whatever hard ground they find themselves on, it'll be twice as fun to sell that the boy himself had come onto him, and that, really, nobody was to blame but himself. 

"But where's the fun in giving it up so easily?" He offers mindlessly, hardly aware himself that he had been listening, if he had been at all, perhaps simply proving lucky in the response he shoots out what with the better part of his conscious mind thoroughly distracted by the delicate, wandering fingers gliding through bright locks, down the breadth of his shoulders, over the material of his shirt. He moves once more then, just as thoughtlessly as he had spoken, to shift back into the bar stool behind him and settle his weight there, whatever buzz had been settling deep in his bones easily running cold with this new, far more entertaining high for the night. He wastes not a beat in pulling the boy closer, until he's practically straddled over his lap, their temples threatening to bump less than gracefully with the pulse of the music that seems so distant now as the hand that doesn't come to rest at his hip reaches across the bar, blindly grasping for any abandoned drink that may be there--and he isn't disappointed. "Good kids offer their names, but you can start, I guess, by asking me mine. Open." It's not so much a request as a cold command, that lone word coming out sharper, clipped, slightly deeper than the ones preceding it, with no room for arguing as he lifts the half-empty glass of God knows what to pretty, pink lips. 

[cyxnid-deactivated20150304]

Cigarettes and coffee.            That seemed to be all that Acacia could think about since the moment she rolled out of bed that morning. Grabbing her jacket and wallet,     the woman made her way out of her apartment and towards a nearby corner store where is regularly went on mornings such as this.                     As she was waiting to cross the street, watching impatiently  for  the  glowing  red hand  stopping her and others from crossing to turn into little walking man that would give them clear to go. All of a sudden,        Acacia felt a small tugging on the fabric  o f her shirt  which caused  her  to quickly snap her head to the side the pull was on, finding a male that looked fairly young,          but was the slightest bit taller than her.                     Her eyes stayed on him for several moments as she waited for him to apologize or explain that his hand simply just brushed against her, but nothing.      He just stood there, looking down,        his fingers wrapped around the cloth of her shirt. The light changed and the people around them began to move,       but the pair stayed where they were.    Once Acacia came to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to remove himself from her, she finally spoke up. “Excuse me? Could you not grab onto me like that?” 

[empirikai]

What they were waiting for, he couldn't tell--or, perhaps more accurately, he wasn't aware that they were waiting for anything at all, barely conscious of where his hand was, or what it was grabbing, finding comfort only in the soft, repetitive feeling of whatever material was gliding over the pads of his thumb and forefinger, finding comfort in the certainty of it. Failing to give even a flinch when the sea of strangers around them begin to move as one, passing them by as easily as they could, what with how resolutely he's holding onto her and forming quite the roadblock, it's only when her voice pierces through the foggiest parts of his mind that he glances up, only really responding to the noise more than the words. Blinking twice, he continues to fidget with the clothing in hand, eyes darting down eventually to find what he deems his own hand before he finds the space between this strange woman's eyes, unable to meet them fully, though when he speaks, his voice is decidedly not of a twenty-something year old man, the hesitant light flickering in his gaze taking five, ten years from his age. "Mama?" 

[misssgain-blog]

                                                 Son Gain ○ Journalist

                                              AU ○ 18+ ○ Literate ○ Reblog

[empirikai]

Delicate and soft looking, all short hair and large eyes, she's innocent enough, standing on a perfectly busy street surrounded by perfectly average, local businesses, with, undoubtedly, perfectly understandable errands to run. She's also who sends Jongin into a fit, chest tightening to the point where breathing isn't so much of an option as a luxurious, occasional thing that results in a flushed face and a burn bubbling low in his lungs, uncomfortable to say the very least. It doesn't last but a handful of moments, though, not quite long enough to garner the attention of one or two passersby, and even then all he earns is a quick glare or shrug, before all of the colour drains from his face and he's left looking five years younger, easily. Shoulders drooped and gait significantly less graceful ( not that he had any grace to begin with, really ), it takes him longer than necessary to claim his spot beside the woman from across the street, one hand lifting until his fingers find their grip at the hem of her shirt, where he holds fast silently, eyes downcast and the fingers of his free hand fussing amongst themselves, apparently perfectly content in the spot he finds.

[misssgain-blog]

While waiting for a reply to know he was coming for sure, her concentration she had before was broken. Gain stared at the open word document blankly, chin resting on the heel of her palm as if she were waiting for the words to simply come to her and achieve the word count asked of her. She leaned back against her sofa and heaved a deep sigh, one hand resting on the fluffy white dog at her side as the other reached for her phone again to check the time, before it vibrated in her hand three times again with new messages.

[empirikai]

[ txt: Jongin ] Yes, I know :) [ txt: Jongin ] That’s okay, see you then! 

She replied swiftly to confirm their meeting. While she couldn’t be bothered to remove herself from her place in front of her computer just yet, Gain still made room on her coffee table and cleaned it of her notes, placing them into a neat pile to the side after saving her article and shutting the computer off. She decidedly wasn’t going to do anymore work until later. 

Twenty minutes seemed to fly by and soon enough she heard the soft knocking, enough to trigger her dog’s barking. Gain hushed the Pomeranian before pushing herself up to stand and go to answer the door, brushing her hair through with her fingers quickly before doing so. “Hey, stranger,” she greeted him with a playful smile, pulling the door open further. “Haven’t seen you in a long time. Can you come in for a little while, or are you busy?” 

The horror is immediate and very, very real, all too palpable in the air around him the moment she speaks and calls him not by his name, or any sort of name he might have been expecting--but no, she deems him a stranger, and if he knew anything at all, strangers were not welcome and certainly not liked. As his shoulders stiffen up and his eyes grow to two, three times their normal size, almost comically, his mouth opens and closes a total of three times before he manages even one, broken sentence, the gears in his head working doubletime as he tries to make sense of what he just walks several miles for. 

"No.. N-No, Noona, it's me, Jongin, do you remember? Did you think it was another Jongin--" And then it hits him, far harder than he had been prepared for, and the wave of relief that washes over him as the coral staining his cheeks glowing twice as bright as he breaks into perhaps the widest smile he had dared to give in months. "Oh!" Is all he can give after that, unable to focus on righting his wrong when he had a goal here, a goal in the form of the little basket he quickly juts out in front of him in offering, already taking a step closer as a wordless answer to her question--he had all of the time in the world, and sitting down sounded quite nice. "There are a lot of things in there, like tissues and lotions and I think bath salts. Uhm. As a thank you."