howls like a beast

su / 24 / indiekrp blog still under construction!

[flightcrs-blog]

rebelleseoul‌:

   bold, the word filters through tae-luc’s mind. bold of them to fire comebacks when he could very well be a killer. or stupid. why the one night he doesn’t bring his tranq darts is the one night he runs into someone ? he should cut them off. end the pointless conversation since he’s obviously not giving the painting back. just walk the other way. but tae’s boots don’t move. his head tilts almost as if he’s trying to decipher the person. the way he speaks about his family suggests something deeper … almost relatable. it’s not enough to shake him, he knows the talk is all to stall him. perhaps even the cops were called in the brief moment.    “  this has been fun and all, but i’ve got places to be,   ”    gloved fingers motion in a two finger salute,    “  au revoir.  ”

   he’s about to make his escape when the stranger calls for him to stop — again. damn, they’re persistent, he’d give them that. the model’s had years to read people, to learn the ways of fake faces. and the other’s voice rang … well, real, at least, partially. there’s almost a fear in their tone if the way they clasp onto his clothing isn’t sign enough. his feet betray him, as he’s stepping forward from the pull of the other. damn his instincts to help. at the core of what he’s doing, it’s not out of sport or some cocky statement, it’s to help those less fortunate. knocking down the high snakes when the society wouldn’t. 

     the hallway brightens with a burst of color and echoes of loud crackling. foot falters, slightly, putting an inch of distance between himself and the stranger. there’s a pause, a moment where eyes meet, illuminated by fireworks. the next moment passes in what feels like slow-motion. tae-luc’s about to chime a joke about the new year when he’s feeling his face-mask tugged. blue contacted eyes widen, lips slightly parting. what the fu— thoughts halt when lips meet his own.

     instead of shoving the stranger aside, he’s allowing, maybe welcoming, the other pulling him closer. a sensual side takes over as his arm wraps around the stranger’s waist, reciprocating the kiss. thoughts of thieving get shoved to the back of his brain on hold. fuck, he needs to get laid. ( it’s unusually overdue. )  tae’s stomach tenses at the touch of cool fingers against his warm body. his other hand finds it’s way behind the other’s neck pressing their lips further together. his tongue brushes at the strangers lips, asking for permission to delve deeper.

boring, had been the unanimous word his middle school classmates had agreed on during their graduation. boring, they had all scribbled without a single thought to spare and hwisung had taken it to heart, silently letting the insult fester within him. 

he hadn’t expected his conscience to rebel like this - pushed up against the wall by a stranger who’s taking away the one item that mattered to him. a soft sigh flutters out of him, warm hand settling against cool skin. ‘s not fair, he thinks, pressing the pads of his fingers into the other’s hip. no thief should be built like apollo. 

no thief should be able to kiss like this either, as if he’s trying to steal every breath of air from hwisung’s lips. a very happy new year to him, indeed. 

it’s the slight rustling of the thief’s bag that reminds hwisung why he dived headfirst into this inane plan in the first place - he breaks off the kiss with a desperate gasp, dragging his lips down the (ridiculous) jawline of the apollo reincarnate, down to the lovely curve of his neck. 

hwisung took a sculpture class on a whim, back in his haywire university days. he doubts very much if michaelangelo himself would be able to capture this form in sculpted marble. 

he lets his teeth graze skin, wandering hands turning inquisitive on the guise of exploring more skin.  “ i don’t put out on first date usually, ” he murmurs. plays coy just to pull him in a little longer.  “ but you’re-- ” so warm, he wants to say. so  warm, so welcoming, so comfortable. a body to anchor him down and remind him he’s alive. 

the sudden vulnerability creeping up to him catches him completely off-guard.

hwisung slams back into the wall, in the haste to disentangle from the figure. he hasn’t allowed himself to feel that in years and one good kiss unravels all of that just as quickly? hands clench into tight fists, nails digging into soft skin to tamper down the panic, eyes turning away from lovely blue ones.  “ leave before i call security on you. ”

[lhommedesmers]

we always speak with wounded words

[flightcrs-blog]

timetbl‌:

it was perhaps in that moment that things clicked.

there were many times he’s seen men breaking down as puppets whose links with ground control were severed and all they could do was spasming on the dirty ground while looking at the sky ; as if that could ever give any form of consolation, truly ━been there done that, and with an ache that still echoed uninvited in his bones, with the scent of grass mixing with the stench of blood in an oxymoric way he still could feel his liver revolt and the back of his throat tasting like an all too familiar vile.

that boy looked not that different ; tasting like a sleeper agent ready to trigger out a gun and shoot, looking at his own tightening features, the ground below ( ‘you wished it would open up, huh? too bad, never opened for me, as if it’s gonna give you the pleasure’ ) and the hands ━the aftertaste of something that should be there but wasn’t clearly displayed by a frown and skipping irises ━━━━━and then he spoke those words, those lines too familiar to him for he spent so much reading them on a booklet tiny enough to fit in a pocket but with words big enough to give him a sense of warmth and dread alongside.

those were words forgotten by the most, like that promise of ceasefire that never reached realization ━those were words of a man that everybody in the nation saw either as a foolish visionary or a revolutionary inspiration, and that both sides knew well he was dead. like many died afterwards, because the bombs never stopped, still hadn’t stopped. and the fight had to go on, whether it was liked or not ━it burned more than not being yet again considered as enough of a leader even if he had the trust and word of the man who saved his life. “ you can give me whatever name you like━ain’t gonna change what i bring to the table. ” with whitened knuckles and scrapped digits, the flesh of mouth walls under threat of being bitten again and again ; his hands reaching himself for a gun to cock and aim at taller’s forehead while eyes were on fire ━a signature with the immediate silence killing the mutters of soldiers behind his tiny frame. 

“ tell me where the fuck you’ve read those words when every single book has been burned to ashes years ago. ” except for the copy he owned at the headquarters━it couldn’t be, it just couldn’t be.

it couldn’t be the poet ━━it couldn’t be ‘rm’.

your hands are too pretty to be marred with war, a lover has told him once. too pretty to be tainted with blood. an ironic statement, considering that lover’s death was penciled in by kihyun’s very hands. kihyun’s hands were far from pretty - they were capable of spinning pretty tales but they were knobbly and bent. the boy though? kihyun’s eyes drifted to the fingers clutched around the grip, briefly appreciating the way the pale skin contrasted against the dark sheen of metal. 

another fact that was ironic: the sudden peace descending upon him the moment the cold muzzle of the gun grazed his temple. death is a familiar certainty. he learnt from the day he could speak that the only reliable fact in one’s life, is one’s death. so he stared back at the pint-sized fireball in front of him, blazing hot with so much anguish that it caused his hands to tremble. if only someone gave him a pen at the moment, so he could pin down the boy in a poem worthy of his stature.  

❝ life is more beautiful knowing that we’ve taken a loan on death, ❞ he recited, watching the way the unadulterated anger ebbed and flowed in the other’s eyes. he stepped towards him, their height difference allowing him to lean down to whisper the next words, only for his ears to hear. ❝ so are we living to die, or are we dying to live? ❞

that was perhaps the last thing he had penned - the last work he remembered publishing. a silent plea to end this ruthless war that took and took and gave back suffering. if firecracker had known his earlier words, kihyun was sure he’d have known this as well. 

❝ well, you tell me who i am then, spitfire. ❞

[flightcrs-blog]

hello im: crawling out of my cage and i’ve been doing somewhat fine 

[flightcrs-blog]

fcreverain‌:

                     siha can’t help the amused grin that stays firmly on his face with each word the other speaks. how boringly common a view to have — that his interpretations of songs were simply raucous noise one had to tolerate rather than something beautiful taking on a new form. the other is awkward in their stance, leaning against the door frame silently refusing to come any further into the room. he won’t meet siha’s eyes, either, no matter how much he chases his gaze. it’s funny … yeah. funny.

                     “ i’m sensing some very dramatic vibes from you, ” siha states, hand coming up to brush through the untamed mop of black hair atop his head. he’s closed the piano cover now, elbow resting on it and cheek in hand to give an air of casualness. to say he was unused to people picking apart his music would be a straight up lie. it happened more often than he cared to count at this point. all his life he had had piano instructors, theory teachers, other musicians, all trying to tell him how he should play music. it never sat with him, grossly independent as he was. he was the type to get kicked out of music lessons for arguing with the teacher over their lessons rather than paying attention. he had always been bold — more-so than he should have been as a small, sickly child — and it showed in his couldn’t care less attitude. he rolled his eyes pointedly as the other continued to speak, fingers twirling strands of his hair in an absentminded fashion.

                     “ an entire orchestra would be much worse than my hammering i can promise you that. a lot louder. ” siha pushes himself off of the piano cover, now sitting up straight. long arms stretch above his head and he lets out a soft hum, followed by a yawn. the lack of sleep much have been starting to catch up. as his hands come to rest at his sides once more, he reopens the piano cover and begins to play a quiet diddy, eyes trailing down the keys and back up to his companion. “ and anyways, what else would you expect to come from a music studio, my friend ? silence ? ” that last part is kind of mean, he knows, but he simply can’t help himself.

                     when asked what he was playing, another grin forms. he was certain any highly trained ear could recognize bwv 509 even with his modifications. but he would humour the stranger anyways.

                     “ bwv 509. bach. ” he replies. the music he’s playing changes now, falling back into the rhythm he’d found before his neighbour came to interrupt his composing. “ i’ve changed it up some, but the basis is still there. i guess it may sound different to you on piano versus a cello. ”

not that minyeon has been trying hard to sell himself as a pleasant neighbour, but the pianist ticked him off immediately, almost inspiring a physical itch in him with how irritated he’s become. a nice change, perhaps, he ponders, glaring at the black mop of hair. a step up from not feeling anything at all. 

except minyeon let himself feel too much, too soon - the snide comment about minyeon’s eerily silent studio punches him hard, forcing him to take a step back even. too much, far too soon. 

 ❝ i suppose that could be bwv 509... ❞ minyeon shrugs, hands tightly wound around his torso now, a precautionary barrier against the other’s words. or perhaps a physical crutch to keep himself standing? minyeon wants nothing more than to crawl back to their studio, back to his open cello suite exercise with a fine layer of dust gathering on top, to his beloved instrument that has been ignored for so very long.  ❝ suppose that could be it if you were trying to play the singer’s part as well. ❞

minyeon finds the headache knocking at his temples again and he let outs a quiet sigh, watching the dust motes swirl when a puff of cold breath blooms into the air.  ❝ your floor heating isn’t fixed yet, i presume, ❞ he notes, keeping his eyes away from the figure, or the piano.  ❝ might take a while. the landlady’s sweet but, uh, slow. if you’d like to come upstairs for a bit... ❞ minyeon does not like extending the offer - but who better than him to know how awful the cold is, especially when its settles deep into your lungs?  ❝ have a piano upstairs too. the hammers need a little tuning up but... yeah, if you’d like. ❞

[flightcrs-blog]

goldcnbcys‌:

     alfies tries to remember a time, during when he was alive, that someone had touched him so freely. his human memories are hard to come by now. it’s been so long since alfie was alive that sometimes he’s not sure if the scenarios he came up with in his decaying mind actually happened or if they’re just something he made up in hopes that they were true. he knows, somewhat or somehow, that physical touch had never really been a strong suit of his. it wasn’t that he didn’t like to be touched ( because he likes to be touched now more so than ever ), it was just that he didn’t know how to initiate said physical touch. mae makes it seem so easy. the fox-spirit never shied away from alfie’s unsure and questioning touches. even when they had first met him, there wasn’t a slightest bit of hesitation in mae’s eyes over the fact that alfie was, indeed, a part of the living dead. mae treated afie like any other. mae touched alfie like his body wasn’t constantly falling apart on him ( decaying, had it not been for the embalming formaldehyde pumped through his veins before he had awoken ). 

      ❝ it might be awful, but it’s also the truth. ❞ pursing his lips softly, alfie allows mae to maneuver him up and off the floor. he latches onto them as they gently bring him back over to the bed–still missing his foot, but alfie isn’t too worried about that now that mae is here–and doesn’t exactly let go of them until mae is sitting down too. alfie wouldn’t say he’s big, but he’s not entirely small either, and it’s the fact that mae drags him into their lap that causes a small smile to cross his lips. ah, what a sight this probably was: a gumiho and a zombie sharing a bed. his eyes close at the soft touch of mae’s hands through his hair. ❝ i don’t like to think where i would be if i didn’t come across all of you, but i don’t think i’d be far off from what you saw in that movie. ❞ hungry. even now, being fed regularly, alfie is always hungry. his smile turns a little wry at mae’s scolding tone. alfie could only hope mae would take him out if he ever became feral. he chooses not to voice that though, knowing they’ll just argue with him some more. 

      ❝ of course i’m okay. ❞ mae is warm. they’re always so warm. it’s easy for alfie to curl into himself a little bit. make himself as small as he can so he can lean forward until his chest is pressed to their chest and he can fit his head under their chin. warmth. seeping into his worn and soft bones. if alfie still slept, he was sure he could fall asleep just like this. ❝ are you not planning on going out tonight? ❞disappearing for a few hours before returning was something the gumiho did often. alfie learned not to worry too much about it. this was nice though. laying with mae was always nice. ❝ we’re not in a town as small as last time! you could go and explore. ❞

maeyun learnt centuries back that an unfortunate consequence of being a fox spirit was their need to have a pack of their own, to belong somewhere, to surround themselves with love. the bloodlust made things difficult but over the years, maeyun picked up strangling children, orphans without any shelter, any kind child who had a pure soul. it’s another unfortunate consequence that they had to watch all of their cubs die out, one by one - the human body is a frail curse that maeyun repeatedly made the mistake of falling in love with. with alfie perhaps, maeyun wonders quietly as they pressed their lips against the boy’s temple, perhaps mae will finally find a pack that outlives them.

❝ laying you down, here, all right? ❞ they inform the boy softly, shifting so that they were both comfortably cuddling on the bed. the bed isn’t anything to write home about but maeyun burrowed in a little deeper, exhaling warmth into the mattress to soften it just a little.  ❝ hm? outside? but this is so comfortable, aflie. ❞ the words border on being a whine, as maeyun often tends to slip into whenever they are happily snuggled up. the spirit ventured out into the night regularly to hunt, but it’s only been two days since their last kill and they’re still pleasantly satiated. 

maeyun’s hand slips underneath alfie’s big billowy shirt, rubbing soothing circles into his hip. the first time they had done that - almost instinctively - the little bumps of stitch marks had taken them by surprise. by now though, the bumps felt comforting, like an extension of alfie’s little stutters and hiccups. ❝ do you want to go out, love? ❞ alfie hardly ever left their base, unless it’s for a mission and he absolutely needed to leave. maeyun knows it isn’t their place to speak out about this but the foxy part of them perks up at the chance for some fun.  ❝ what do you say, alfie, hm? a hunt with me? i’ll catch you something fresh for dinner. ❞ maeyun can’t smell much except blood - which meant they often caught nauseating snatches of alfie’s decomposing dinners. they nudged alfie with a light giggle, wiggling back to the wall so they could see his face a little better.

[flightcrs-blog]

 timetbl‌:

the air was going thick, oh so much ━like a ticking bomb manufactured by an engineer with trigger happy antics, ready to explode and destroy everything in its path and leave nothing, not even blood or scraps of once humane figures. he knew that the people behind him, the soldiers he was supposed to guide and keep an eye on were getting fed up with the other’s staggering, with the way he seemed to try climbing mirrors in attempts to somehow convince them all.

truth be told, if there was one that needed to ever be convinced of anything, that was himself, for he was the leader of the great movement, for the responsibility had to fall on him and he wasn’t afraid to take those responsibilities, in good and bad. it was what a good leader would do and he wanted to be a leader as good as the man who saved him and gave him a second chance when many would have just let him die ━one of the many corpses piling at the back of the government, rotting and screeching for a justice he himself wanted to be the harbinger.

“ that’s all very interesting but i hope you realize you’re not helping your case. ” the small wildfire boy sneered indeed, with arms still crossed against his chest and hip a touch on the side, looking ━observing the way panic would crease and crack the monochrome mask of the person in front of him and bring him to wonder what kind of unspeakable horror had happened to the point of being reduced like that, like some sort of visionary sent to somehow die at the hands of the rebellion. 

and yet the sheer panic crossed his spine the moment he leaned against him and he had both hands up and a roar right behind him. “ DON’T SHOOT, YOU IDIOTS. ” there was something wrong. there was something so wrong and he needed to know now, immediately ━because he felt like if they wasted even one more minute something bad was going to happen. “ speak now.  who are you looking for? ” gloved hands reaching to push the other away but still holding tight at the shoulders, pitch black staring right into the other’s eyes.

kihyun was certain that death was written in his fate that day. he was meant to suffer a terrible end at the hands of this firecracker standing in front of him, burnt to a crisp, hollowing out into a person he himself did not know. his own mind caging him as an unwilling prisoner. a pathetic existence, really. kihyun closed his eyes, frozen under the man’s grip and a sharp burst of pain unbearable pain mind-crushing pain resonating in him along with the stray gunshots--

the stench of stale gunpowder is disappointingly familiar. kihyun sniffled a little, his thoughts still screeching in a disorderly manner, refusing to align themselves. he had been captured, hadn’t he? unwillingly turned himself over once they had rendered his fingers useless one by one? the memory sent down a vivid shade of flaming blue down his spine, and he glanced down at his own fingers, expecting a horrific twisted mess- except-- except--

oh? where was he trapped in then? a discordant parallel universe? wary eyes took in the surroundings, warier hands rested on the arms of the person who was holding him down.

❝ is this the revolution i forsook? ❞ kihyun voiced out loud, eyes narrowing at the scene in front of him. war had never made for a pretty sight but the rubble he was suddenly surrounded in made him wonder if the ceasefire he had heard snatches of before he was caged was simply a fabricated myth. ❝ did i entrust the war to the wrong hands, hm? ❞ the man who had him gripped by the shoulders was-- small, kihyun thought with slight mirth. his frame was tiny enough for kihyun to overpower him, if he had been the type to do so. small, but the eyes sparkled like fiery constellations in midnight black, ablaze with the familiar hope and wrath kihyun had seen in so many zealous leaders before him.

kihyun leaned in. bold fingers traced the bandanna while he took in the new shade of confusion diluting the blaze. ❝ you’re the one they call their trailblazer, aren’t you? ❞ he spoke softly, as if a healer coaxing an injured sparrow out of their nest. 

❝ a revolution is not one that upends the system. ❞ hard to forget the words he was the scribe of - they raged in him louder than his very own blood.  ❝ it’s one that builds a new system. ❞ he had never backed the violent off-shoots of the revolution, even in the face of horrifying attacks from the capital. if they were to win this fight, he knew, knew with an unshakable conviction, that fire could never be doused with more of its kind. kihyun blinked back at the leader, now giving him a troubling owlish look-- did no one recognise his poetry anymore? was this truly a alternate dimension? he let out a nervous laugh, hands retreating back to himself. ❝ please tell me this is still mandatory reading. incredibly embarrassing to cite my own words to find out everyone thinks i’m some bygone. ❞

[flightcrs-blog]

realcve‌:

     hands adjust the choker around his neck, a nifty device allowing his voice to sound scrambled, possibly ethereal to a regular sound. he doesn’t have to match it to his disguise, but it looks better than a wire dangling somewhere. better not to have anything that could get snagged, not that he was sloppy at thieving. no, he’s quite good at it. in and out like a night cat without a trace. so, why is he staying as the other talks ? living on the edge tonight. he shrugs to himself and indulges the stranger pivoting towards them.

    a soft glow of street lamps and the moon shine into the hallway. tae-luc tilts his head, taking a moment to look the other up and down. they appear to be a male ( though he’s not one to jump straight to that conclusion ) and of a smaller stature. tae’s sure he stands nearly a head taller. there’s something pretty in how the dim-light hits the other’s soft features, highlighting a an already natural glow. blue wisps rest just above the eyes, tying together the angelic look. tae-luc hates to admit his occasional draw to a cute face. looks were superficial and aside from money, seem to hold a power in the world. he’s a living example of both. he prefers the lasting impression of a personality. but, the upbringing in an aesthetic-based environment did give him a sense of what he found beautiful in the world. and to tae, the stranger projected a sort of fragile, hidden beauty.

    tae maintains the small distance between them, best to not get too close. he needs his escape route intact.    “  you and i both know, this manet is anything but a fake.  ”    lips inch up into a grin. he’s not fooled that easily. try harder.    “  i quite prefer this one than the picasso. there’s always tomorrow.  ”   tae could care less which painting he steals. the reaction of the stranger is what really makes him amused. he must have found the painting’s owner …  interesting.

   deep voice continues with a lyrical distortion to it,    “  too crowded, easy to get caught. though, i could easily work a different disguise and probably pick up thousands worth.  ”    he’s not trying to sound arrogant. he’s just been at the thieving for many years. he works out the parts to play, the people to target, and when to act. tonight, being the exception of how he missed this person.    “  better question, why aren’t you at some bourgeois party on new year’s eve ? late night paperwork or ooh, maybe some scandalous student love affair ?  ”    tae only teases, evident by his smirk. the idea of cheating never sits well. he can’t talk much on students part. he might’ve explored those days once at university.

“really, the best conspiracy theory your brain could muck up was an affair? ” he scoffs into the darkness, weak eyes still struggling to locate any shape or form.  “ what cheap dramas have you been watching? ” reckless, that’s what he’s being. but he needs the painting back and if banter is the only way to make the thief stall in his tracks...

hwisung is gripped by a strange fear at the thought of being left alone in complete darkness. he’s not just stalling for the damn painting, perhaps, but he doesn’t let himself linger on that train of thought for too long. 

“ don’t like my family, ” he shrugs, leaning against the wall once more. might as well make himself comfortable, if he plans to coax the thief to return him the painting with mere conversation.  “ pretentious parties aren’t really my taste. plus, granddad’s quite an asshole. ” might as well give him your credit card statement, a tinny voice inside of him mocks.

he hears the rustle, feels the shuffle of feet that are not his own and before he can stop himself-- “ don’t leave. ” 

it’s desperation that forces him to reach out towards the thief, fingers sinking into soft cotton.   “ i’m--  ” scared, he meant to say. terrified of the dark. the words get stuck in his throat and he tugs the stranger towards him, struggling to put the sudden fear into words.  “ i can’t see in the dark, ” he says instead, a close approximation of the truth.  “ just, a little bit more, until-- ”

light. hwisung’s surroundings light up in brilliant hues of red and blue, the dim hallway suddenly coming to life so painfully that hwisung shuts his eyes with a sharp gasp. it passes by in a strange dream sequence, the thief equally taken aback by the burst of fireworks----and hwisung launches himself headfirst into an inane plan before he’s thrown back into the darkness. “ happy new year, i guess, ” hwisung mutters, lifting himself on tiptoes to tug down the thief’s mask--

--and presses his lips to the other’s. 

it’s his plan - so why is he surprised by his own actions? hwi lets out a quiet sigh, tugging the figure closer to him. he’s warm, too comfortably warm, and hwisung never wants to let go. one hand blindly grasps at the thief’s side, where he had spotted a glimpse of the rolled-up painting while the other boldly creeps up under the man’s shirt, a soft groan escaping him when he finds the stranger to be unfairly blessed with a perfect physique. it’s hard to focus - hwisung’s only human and gay - and for just a few seconds, he lets himself sink into the kiss proper. 

[flightcrs-blog]

【@realcve 】

on his ever growing list of things he’d pay good money for right the fuck now, taking a goddamn shower has been bumped up to first place astonishingly fast. he’s barely two hours fresh out of a race, head space still muddled up from being cramped up in a small car hurtling at the fucking speed of light. he was flirting with death just two hours back and here he is, flirting with a potential sponsor in a swanky bar just a little while later. he shouldn’t be here, sipping a terribly made sex on the beach; he’d much rather be on a beach. 

unreal: that’s what his life feels to him at times. unreal and exhausting. he shouldn’t need to beg to sponsors even after half a decade of racing, not when he’s established enough of a name to get sponsors to be begging for him. it’s just how the business works, his manager had shrugged earlier, swapping his race gear for an equally uncomfortable blazer, we need the sponsors to pull in big races. 

this one is particularly insufferable. he’s been on various sponsor ‘dates’ but the asshole opposite him, another one of those rich bastards’ sons with too much time on their worthless hands, is doing a great job of earning the title of worst potential sponsor. “think you’ve drank a little too much, sir,” he flashes some semblance of a coy smile, carefully brushing the unwelcome hand resting on his knee. chaebol heirs are the worst -  fuckers always thought they could buy out whoever they wanted with cash. 

this one is particularly well-known: he just had to say park joonhae at the entrance to be ushered into the VIP lounge. as far as jaehee has gathered, the exclusive bar had a waiting list 2 months long. he has half a mind to snap the man’s fingers off one by one, but he’s starting to realise that pissing off this man might just be more trouble than worth. 

“my boyfriend’s expecting me soon, i believe,” jaehee tries one more time, flashing the bartender A Significant Look to dilute the incoming orders. jaehee’s head is already starting to spin worryingly, something that a simple gin and tonic combination shouldn’t do. this one doesn’t take the hint however. “didn’t i already tell you to call him over? i’ll let security know about your... boyfriend?” he declares all of this with maddening ease, donning a smirk that jaehee is very seriously contemplating punching. 

instead, he forces out a cordial laugh, pushing his way out of the VIP lounge with a quiet i’ll give him a call. 

who the fuck is he going to call at two bloody am in the morning? who does he know well enough to beg to come down just so he doesn’t end up punching this prick? pretend convincingly enough for an evening that they’re actually interested in being in love with jaehee?  

“glass of water, please,” he leans over to order to the bartender, tugging his hair free from the messy ponytail he’d thrown it in earlier. he considers running away but a quick pros and cons debate rules out that pathetic option as well. sudden desperation inspiration strikes him, and jaehee finds himself scanning the crowd, looking for anyone who exudes a possible kind enough to pretend to be a fake boyfriend aura. 

he settles, after a heated discussion with himself, for the figure that exudes i came here alone and i’d prefer to leave here alone aura. it’s a safe bet, he thinks. if he just grovels enough, the stranger might pity enough to flash a few cordial smiles at jaehee’s sponsor and help him get the fuck out of here. he leans against the counter, sidling up to the stranger with his glass of water. he aims for flirty, but the words that tumble out of his mouth border on overly sincere.

“hi, I’m so incredibly sorry for this trouble but could you help--”

oh. 

he looks good, jaehee thinks, eyes lingering on the bandana that keeps the fringe up and away. so so good. were his cheeks as full the last time? jaehee remembers them being more sunken, a little more hollow, a little less dumpling-shaped: so much better than last time. 

jaehee stares for what he’s sure must be an eternity, at a face that resembles an old (favourite) ghost of his. at a face he sees everyday, the numerous albums stacked in his house winking back at him. oh, it’d be a funny twist of fate, wouldn’t it, to stumble right into his ex at a time he needed someone desperately?

jaehee scoffs a little at his own thoughts. this is hardly a fairy tale; he’s hardly the prince charming to find the love of his life in a hopeless place. 

he’s done it again, hasn’t he? drank a wicked combination of poison that’s got his head spinning in wild directions again. perhaps a side effect of blasting the newly released album during the race? jaehee exhales in a shaky laugh, letting his fingers snag on his hair, hoping the slight pain will pull him out of this clearly drunken haze. 

yeah, he’s probably fucking smashed right now, he tells himself.. the asshole must have mixed something inside one of the drinks.

“god, i’m so sorry for-” jaehee sucks in a deep breath, hoping the face will shift into something else. horrible time to be stuck in his past, to trip all over his words because his pathetic heart is missing byeol again. “you just- you really reminded me of--” fuck, that sounded like a cheesy tired pick up line. jaehee knocks down the glass of water, tries for a confident smile again. “hi, i’m jaehee,” he introduces with a far too formal bow, keeping his eyes focused on the man’s little jut of chin as he lets . “i promise i’m not a creep, i swear, really, scout’s honour, but i’m stuck in a bit of a tight spot and i just need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for the night?”

there could have been better ways, he thinks, his head spinning hard enough for him to steady himself against the counter again. he resolutely keeps his gaze away, keeping his eyes closed while still hunched over in an awkward bow. 

[jimiyoong]

[flightcrs-blog]

realcve‌:

pen taps away. they are tangible for a brief moment to write. sure their energy could be saved for a better time, but in their eyes, it’s important to write, to document. they find a sense of calming as they capture what creatures exist. scribbled notes and small doodles mark the pages. sometimes the ink color changes, whatever is available. today’s a bright aqua pen to match their hair.

legs cross sitting on a tree branch. the height allows them a beautiful view of the landscape. the sound of footsteps, though a different beat from say a human, draws their attention. they look down, spotting a nine-tailed creature. they’ve seen the coat a few times now to recognize them as maeyun. it’s not the fox form that catches minnie’s attention, no, it’s the far from glossy coat. red glistened off their fur and they can’t help but wonder if it’s blood. what else would it be, minnie !

common sense would tell them to go back to the van, but curiosity wins. they slip from their whole form, phasing from the tree branch to the ground. steps are silent and never leave a trace. they almost float closer towards mae ( sometimes the invisibility came in handy ). eyes watch the other in the water with a hungry curiosity. the part of minnie that should be startled is shoved to the back. instead they want to know more and can’t help but look at their beauty.

minnie takes a step back. quickly they look left, right, then behind. no one else is around. the voice sounds again. it takes a moment for them to register it’s in their mind. eyes are looking directly at them ( or wold be if they were visible ). they contemplate floating away. it’s not like mae would ever know it’s them. the psychic talking made them a little uneasy. it seemed a bit invasive.     ❝  sorry !! i didn’t mean to startle you …  it’s, ah, me – it’s minnie.  ❞    they flip on their visibility. being seen never takes energy compared to being physical; much like breathing ( if they could still breathe ). it’s similar to a light switch able to show themselves to whom they choose. 

 maeyun had been ready to strike - they haven’t had the best day and a leisurely kill on a potential stalker might have cheered them up, just a little. they could only hope the disappointment had not spilled over through their newfound teleapthy capabilities. 

『impolite to creep on someone, don’t you think?』they ask, keeping a wary eye on the general direction of the voice as they paddled about.『could have harmed you seriously if I didn’t know who you were, minju』they would have continued the now one-sided conversation, if not for the clear tang of discomfort colouring mae’s mind at the moment.  

oh, they’re uncomfortable with this? 

while an all-powerful spirit, mae still does not have the ability to speak as a fox - and unless their new ghost friend acquires the power to understand foxspeak, their mental link is the only way for them to communicate. they sink down underwater with a quiet sigh, rolling themselves as they shape shift out from the fox to their human form. 

in the human form, the exhaustion settles into their bones even deeper.

❝ hello, little poltergeist, ❞ mae practically coos at the form in front of them, though slightly half-hearted in their attempts to flirt. they were still partially submerged = mainly to save minju the probable embarrassment of seeing their naked form. humans have always been a little more reserved when not inebriated,  even in ghost form.  ❝ what brings you out into the woods, hm? hoping to catch a fox, perhaps? ❞ 

[flightcrs-blog]

goldcnbcys‌:

     he would have much rather preferred that he had gotten up off the floor before maeyun sat on his lap, but alfie was a little ( a lot ) weak when it came to the gumiho, and well, physical touch in general. they were warm, all but radiating heat, so alfie allowed the slight discomfort of sitting on the dirty, grimy motel room floor in favor of having maeyun making themselves comfortable over his thighs. he shifts slightly with a small grunt, large palms bracing themselves against the fox spirit’s waist as he stretches out his legs, back leaning against the foot of the bed. the movement reminds alfie that he still hasn’t reattached his foot, but the phantom aches of losing limbs have soon receded with time. 

     it wasn’t like the zombie was going anywhere either, considering his lap was full of gumiho.

     if alfie still had the ability to bleed he’s sure his cheeks would have flushed under maeyun’s soft hands against his face. for once he doesn’t feel the need to recoil–never really had with his team–and instead chooses to press his cheek into the warmth of their palm. the urge to correct, i’m not a baby, is no longer a desire. a soft pout crosses his lips, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

      ❝ you’re not watching those zombie movies again, are you? ❞ alfie never really likes to think about them. never likes to think about how accurate they are sometimes. his blood-lust has gotten the best of him only a few times, but those scattered memories are ones he has to live with forever. alfie doesn’t like when any of his team watches those movies, scared that one day those kind of monsters are what they’ll see when they look at him. ❝ you know i’d never. ❞ he murmurs softly, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he begins to feel warm. god, he always misses being warm. well, that and having a heartbeat. ❝ besides, if i ever did you’d take me down in a blink of an eye! nothing to worry about, right? ❞

it’s an open secret to everyone that maeyun’s been particularly fond of alfie. they’ve never been one to like humans, and yet the bumbling little undead, with his very human characteristics and awfully inconvenient limbs, has wormed into mae’s shrivelled cursed heart and decided to call it home. 

mae’s decided to not to question it.

❝ it’s supposed to be a popular movie, ❞ mae justifies with a small frown. ❝ why would they show something so awful in a popular film? ❞ it troubles mae, thinking about those demonic creatures ripping other’s throats. a light shudder passes through them and their awkward position on the dust-coated floor hits them then. ❝ shush you little brat, I’d never do that to you. get off first, come on. ❞

a little ironic perhaps, that mae’s giving the instructions when they were the one to burden the other in the first place. they pat down the boy carefully before tugging him towards the bed, gentle and caring. ❝ don’t ever say that to me again, all right? ❞ he chides gently, brushing the boy’s hair back. ❝ even if you’re all evil and bad, you’re still my baby boy, and nothing will change that. ❞

they’ve pulled alfie onto their lap at this point, a reversal of their earlier situation. it strikes mae that perhaps alfie might be uncomfortable - they’ve always been comfortable with their body, in the same way alfie shies away from his own limbs. mae tilts their head, a sharp little twist reminiscent of their fox form, ❝ is this okay? am i too much? ❞

[flightcrs-blog]

timetbl‌:

not one of us. not one of us.

it echoed in the angered murmur of the people who were soldiers and brothers to him ━it echoed in the low whistle of guns wanting to fire and meet blood vessels and pumping flesh, it echoed in the way words felt just forced out of those pretty lips in an awfully familiar sensation he, boy with too many wars to face, wanted not to deal with ever again. and yet here he was, like fire waiting for the hand to get too close in order to burn it ━the blond locks held off his forehead with an old bandanna while cuts and bruises on a cheek and a lower lip were paraded like awards and rewards of a war that still marched on in the lands long forgotten by the governments.

unless it was time to collect children for their sick desire or parade in exchange for votes ━that was all those disgraced remains were good for, how dare he forgetting about it.

“ there was a column, yes. ” he clicked his tongue and spoke with a voice that many would define raspy, with that drag and grit in its acutes and a little presence of a lisp ━his hand still barely lifted, still halting any trigger happy instinct as the eyes of a piercing black stared at the pretty but empty, chiseled but worthless. “ but it had no eagle, not a falcon. it was a three eyed crow. part of a tradition of ours that got━━poof. ” dramatic to some, the two hands gesturing in the air from center to the sides, fingers spreading ━mockery of an explosion itself, of something disappearing out of thin air like people, buildings, crows ontop of pretty columns. “ just like the column itself. bombs fell from the sky and poof. ”

and he was small, he was fast, he was now close with those boots ━devilish the grin in his eyes while the chapped rose lips inched close to the dimple. “ now you better turn and leave without looking back, handsome ━i’ve been too good already by letting you stand here, and it would b such a shame to turn you into cheese, mh? ”

three-eyed crow. something sparked inside of him, somewhere deep down, the first vestiges of memory shaking itself awake in slow but sure tempo. three-eyed crow, he murmured under his breath, struggling to contain the sudden punch of grief that hits him in the guts. what was it? what was it? whose memories was he harbouring inside of him, raging loud and angry within his bloodstreams? 

❝ i can’t leave,❞ he insisted, blurting out the words in almost possessed manner. he reached for the leader, the blond with the sharp teeth and sharper words, kihyun’s clammy hands enveloping his warmer ones easily.  ❝ please, don’t make me leave, don’t make me go back, i can’t-- ❞ kihyun felt a sudden wave of nausea pass through him, words tumbling faster than he could possibly keep track.  ❝ there’s someone here i need to find. ❞

not his words, not his words! none of these were his words!

the panic built up inside of him, unable to stop his own run-off sentences. he didn’t mean to say any of these so why was he losing control over his own body? a bodily shudder ripped through him and he found himself leaning against the blond, freezing cold without any rhyme or reason.  ❝ i’ve been dreaming about this place for weeks, ❞ he whispered, begged, finally of his own will.  ❝ been dreaming about the war for weeks. can’t make it stop. please, i need to know. ❞

but what? what was he struggling to find out so desperately that he himself was unaware of? 

[flightcrs-blog]

fcreverain‌:

                     " excuse me your royal highness … my apologies but, if you don’t hurry up we’ll be late for your engagement. ” 

                     the driver’s words fell on deaf ears, the crown prince too occupied as he spoke with the people in front of him. always a social butterfly at the worst times, it seemed. it wasn’t his fault that people recognized him in public, and one could argue that it was his royal duty to interact with his subjects. after all, it was only polite to mingle with those who looked up to you as a ruler … even if they happened to be a giggling group of girls in a starbucks. 

                     “ so i said to prince harry, ‘ please ! you’re much too strong, i can’t handle it ! ’ and so he let his arm go limp for a moment and then BAM !! i won. ” his recollection of events ( while potentially untrue ) sends the girls into another fit of laughter, warranting a beaming smile from niklaus and a roll of the eyes from his driver. the young prince takes a long slurp of his caramel macchiato before finally turning to the driver who had just cleared his throat very loudly.

                     he makes eye contact with the driver who is staring at him with arms crossed. a dramatic sigh falls from his lips. 

                     “ i’m terribly sorry ladies but i do have to get going. please make sure to tag me in those selfies we took, i’d love to follow you all. ” he gives the girls as wink as he turns away, arm looping through that of his driver. as the two walk to the car he gives him a nudge in the side. 

                     “ aren’t girls just lovely parker ? exquisite creatures. ” 

                     the drive back to the palace is twenty minutes of complaining, courtesy of prince niklaus. he was never told what this meeting was about, only that it was crucial he attended it. they had a habit of keeping him in the dark like that due to past experiences of him not showing up at all when the matters of the meeting didn’t interest him. this way, his natural curiosity got the better of him — he just had to find out for himself what was happening. it was truly horrible, the way they used his own mind against him like that. horrible, but to be expected, naturally. he drinks his macchiato with a bitter expression on his face, taking time between sips to tell parker just how unfair it was that he could be ordered around. he was the prince !! the palace staff were just commoners with cushy jobs !! who were they to tell him what he had to do ?! his tantrum was met with no reaction from parker, which caused him even further distress. by the time they reached the palace he was a pouting mess, huffing and puffing as he stalked down the hallway towards the conference room.

                     as he entered the room, the clock on the wall struck three thirty. only an hour later than he was supposed to be — he considered that quite good in the grand scheme of things. practically on time. he bursts through the doors dramatically, phone in one hand and half empty coffee in the other as he raises his arms in the air. in the seat furthest away from him there is a man he doesn’t recognize who appears to be half-asleep. 

                     “ hello ! you know it’s very rude to remain seated when a member of the royal family enters a room. do you want me to go back outside and we can have a take two ? ”

grating. 

that was the first stray thought that yann registered while roused from his uneasy slumber. whoever was yapping at him had the most grating voice he had had the displeasure to hear. he hadn’t quite been asleep anyway - hard to sleep when he was painfully aware of being monitored every second. not to mention, the crown prince shuffled like a baby elephant with two left feet. hardly the grace and prestige he had expected from what was nothing more than a fancy show dog position.  

yann blinked one eye open, easing into a slow stretch. ❝ what, would you like a curtsy too? to the floor? ❞ off to a great start, really, mouthing off to the crown prince like that. he’d end up being sentenced to death here if his people didn’t kill him off themselves. ( he wasn’t sure exactly what he preferred at this point, not when this entire thing was obviously a suicide mission. )  ❝ perhaps a pirouette? a little somersault as a greeting? been trained in the circus as a kid, did ya know that? ❞ toeing the line there, yann, the voice in his head warned.

he sighed as he pushed himself off the chair, glaring at the coat that he completely walked past before standing in front of the crown prince. the pictures hardly did him justice - he was truly ethereal in person, to borrow a word from one of those gushy first-hand accounts he had read.  ❝ i apologise, ❞ he said in a monotone, not a trace of sincerity in his words.  ❝ hard to wait for an entire hour in your uncomfortable chairs. gets a man cranky, ya know? ❞ he dipped into a light curtsy then, ankles crossed lightly. ❝ name’s yann. ❞ he had to crane up to meet the bastard’s eyes and yann had to admit, it was bruising his ego just a tad. ❝ your new bodyguard. i’ve been told you were, ah, ❞ yann spared a glance at the clock, noting the crown prince was a good hour tardy, ❝ supposed to be expecting me. ❞  

[flightcrs-blog]

lctata‌:

–––––––「  “  of course it’s cold, jun,  ”  he laughed, tugging the other boy along with him as he started to get more comfortable on the ice. zihao stole a glance at yijun as they rounded the first corner,  “  i’d offer you some of the rosé but i doubt that’ll make you skate any better.  ”  zihao didn’t realize what he had done at first, but he was grateful that he had somehow bit his tongue in time to stop himself from saying any straighter instead. whatever he and yijun were starting to share between them, something more than the years of friendship that they had but zihao had no more words to explain it with, it felt to zihao like it was so fragile it could shatter with even one misstep like that. 

                 with as hesitant as zihao had been to let himself continue holding onto yijun’s hand, he didn’t have much time to enjoy it at all before he was suddenly landing – hard – on top of the other boy who was now pinned between his body and the ice beneath them.  “  okay, that was not my fault,  ”  zihao started, laughter returning to his voice once the wind was no longer knocked out of him. but just as the biting cold of the ice was setting into his skin, zihao felt a new warmth when the other boy’s hand snuck beneath the fabric of his sweater once again. he took in a short gasp of air when the fingers started to slowly explore his exposed skin.  “  i, um, i’m okay.  ”  he stumbled over his words. why do you make this so much harder than it already is? he wondered, though any other questions to ask yijun were escaping him completely the more the other’s thumb started to trace patterns onto his hip.  “  i think it helped that you broke my fall, though,  ”  he went on, looking over at yijun though zihao made no move to acknowledge his actions. he couldn’t even reach to touch the other’s hand, or any part of him at all, as they lay there tangled together on the ice.  “  you, uh, you might have a pretty nasty bruise in the morning.  ”  」

yijun tried to shift and let out a low whine, feeling the ache through his body already. yeah, this was about to hurt like a bitch. ❝ the things i do for you, zihao, ❞ he grumbled, resting his head against the ice and waiting for the pain to run its course. on the bright side, he mulled, the sharp cold did help with the pian. ❝ at least i’m icing the bruise right now, ❞ he groaned, shifting just the slightest bit so that zihao wasn’t laying right on his pelvic bone.

except. well. the shift put him far too close to zihao’s face. 

his brain went offline again, in the telltale way it did whenever he was in close proximity to zihao. wasn’t this what his sisters told him? if he falls, you can kiss his ouchies away?

he took a deep breath, tightening his hold around zihao’s waist. ❝ i’m- i wanna try something, okay? ❞ he whispered, slowly as if he was approaching a prey before leaning into chastely brush his lips again the other’s. he suddenly felt warm everywhere, as if his heart was trying to beat out of his chest and pumping all the blood to his extremities as a last ditch effort.  ❝ is that- can i try that again? ❞

[flightcrs-blog]

timetbl‌:

like fire, he would rise the new world from the ashes of the old.

like fire he’ll bring light and shed the darknesses away to release the truths untold all over the capital and the world as a whole ━destroying the false idols and even more false gold coated columns that actually were nothing but a disguise for the thick bars of a cage no one could ever leave because brought to believe it was for the best when it wasn’t at all, burning the flags of heretics while being called heretics themselves and tearing statues apart while standing ontop of the blocks, within his hands the weapons of defense where words, he knew, would never reach.

theirs ━━his━━ was a revolution meant to be strong, virulent, drastic flip of the bloodridden status quo that called for more blood in order to reach the touch of justice. it was a sacrifice he, flesh rotten and torn apart, last of the last who had the great chance of being reborn from ashes and broken bones into a vengeful dragon, was willing to make if it meant the salvation of the all. 

like an unholy messiah, he’ll shine and fire will shape itself as a halo on blond locks.

“ you shouldn’t be here at all. ” it was a concept so easily bleeding from his mouth as he, the revolutionary leader in all its minuscule facets, had turned towards whoever was causing his soldiers to put such a ruckus ━a brow rising and a slight smirk in a click of his chapped, thin lips. he looked pretty. empty, but pretty ━dimples visible and hands of one who spent his time writing and working, he could tell. chiseled to fit a mold, a pity. “ you say you’re not here with malicious intent, and that you know the place━━how so? ” his voice echoing within the rumble of gunshots and flames, the hand moving to have the soldiers move aside. “ if it’s true, i’m sure your pretty mouth can tell me. ”

❝ pretty, did you say? ❞ he caught it a beat too late - he caught everything far too late. thoughts buzzed around him, drugged bees failing to keep up with the noise around him. the man was blond and brash, everything that kihyun was not and something about the double-edged compliment... it made him smile for a fleeting moment. he knew not to antagonise these people; they are not his people and he was breaching city parameters by a long shot.  ❝ i’m not-- ❞ it was silly, he decided, biting his tongue just in time. silly to admit he did not remember anything about this place, except that his feet had somehow brought him to it. that his dreams had somehow been revolving around it. 

i dreamt about it, he said softly, casting a glance around the chaos that surrounded him. it scared him, the mess, the dust and the noise that was so out of what he knew to be ordinary but-- he took a slow breath in, surveying the area again. listened carefully to the thrum in his veins. ❝ there’s a column here, ❞ he nodded at the spot just off the broken fence. it was empty, he noted with mild panic but something in him knew. ❝ there was a column here. eagle on top. ❞ he paused for a beat, squinting. ❝ uh- a falcon, perhaps? i’m-- i’m not great with birds. ❞

yeah, he was going to be murdered in cold blood tonight.

[flightcrs-blog]

                                                                                    ------    { @fcreverain }

he should have expected this, really. anyone with two braincells and an ability to read should have expected the crown prince to not understand the value of time. to understand the value of anything - according to the vile things published on page three. 

he had done his research, of course. he had read up on everything possible, nearly blistering his eyes with the amount of gossip there was on the internet about the prince. it annoyed him that he’s being tasked to babysit a man child, putting him even further away from the actual target of the entire mission - the king. a glorified nanny position, that’s what this is. 

and the suit. yann threw a cursory glance all over the empty conference room before folding back his sleeves as far as possible, shrugging off the jacket. how was he expected to protect the king when he was dressed up like a clown? a velvet blazer? it was suffocating and if he had let himself drift, it was almost like he was back in the desert again, heat choking him up. 

his hands itched for something to hold; he let his fingernails dig into his palm instead. 

❝ wake me up when the prince decides to show up, ❞ he declared out loud, aware that the camera placed somewhere in the room would be able to pick it up. they were always watching: it was the number one rule he had engrained into himself. either this kingdom was watching or his very own. he was hardly free in any case.  ❝ i’m going to take a nap. ❞