metamorphosis

n. change of form, or structure, an organic complexity; transmutation or transformation — a king growing into his own skin.

[inssng]

hwangsia:

     She wasn’t in the mood for jokes, not after finally seeing him for after a long time passed. Usually, she’d laugh. She was one to laugh easily, fill the room with loud noises upon every small thing that amused her but not today. Was it because she was upset that he didn’t talk to her? Was it because she was sad about the fact that he didn’t tell her he’d leave? Or was it because she was disappointed, knowing that it was once again her reaching out to others. Did he even miss her the way she did? 

And while she didn’t ask these questions, not a single one, they still lingered in her head as she flicked his forehead with tears in her eyes. “ You’re stupid. ” It was all she could say for a moment, all that her usually big vocabulary let her mind find. All she could muster before her arms wrapped around his middle, the height difference of the two allowing her to hide her nose in his chest. 

“ I wouldn’t have had to miss you if you didn’t leave, too. Don’t get smart on me or else I’ll punish you by grounding you… And I’ll make sure to feed you food you don’t like, instead of noodles. ” And now she was the one joking, trying to light up the situation. Because even after what he did, she couldn’t stay mad at her ’ son ’.

here is the part where he's supposed to excuse himself, think of alibis, and laugh everything off as he's always done. and, maybe, this time sincerely ask to be forgiven. the words are thick against the back in his throat and the aftertaste is bitter, gnaws the whole of his tongue in pain. he tastes her expectations, her disappointment.

he hugs her back, wraps his long arms around her smaller figure, frowning when she couldn't see his face. "i needed to leave," he says. "i have a lot of work to do. you know... family business." it’s the kind of suffering he has to deal with every single day for the rest of his life. a permanent sacrifice.

(he’s always the one who leaves, always the one to break what he forms.)

"i rarely see you and i can't get smart on you, too? how is that fair?      yeah, well, if you give me food that i don’t like, chances are i’ll never eat them. " a small curl reappears on his lips. a hand rubs the spot on his forehead she'd flicked. it doesn't hurt, though inseong feels like it should. "hey, mom, i keep track of you too, you know.   i mean, the news about you and ‘dad’."

[inssng]

🤔

- still thinking whether to create a twitter account or not 🤔 should i 🤔🤔 - or even a promo (as im slowly getting back to writing here) because last time it ended like this - need to fix tagging system - follow + plot w more people (where is everyone????)

[inssng]

childhood revisited

okay but inseong whined a lot, had zero time to rest and tolerance for anything less than perfect

[dream-hearse]

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[inssng]

ryuination:

[ ... ]

“I wasn’t done, geez-” Where words may bite she’s soft instead, yielding with a childish snicker when the mole takes on the form of a smiley face.  Mimics what’d she’d just done by swiping at that very spot he’d pointed out with a charcoal-smudged finger. It’ll wash off. “Happy now?”

She could say no.  “Only if you’re treating.”

"next time i meet someone new i'd go, ‘hello. i'm yoon inseong. twenty three. yk group heir. always tired.’" he tells her animatedly, hand outstretched and all, "i spent most of my childhood pestering my older sister and my bodyguard how i'm on my way to a business conference and not playing with the rest of the kids on a sunny afternoon.    it was brutal."

shoulders lean forward, eyes squinted to see the details— is that a smiley? he looks back up and she greets him with a charcoal-stained finger. he tries on a poker face but a quirk of an eyebrow gives his surprise away. a finger dabs on the spot she’s smudged on, presses a little too long before he swipes back his own darkened fingertip on the tip of her nose. 

his grin is lopsided. “now i am happy.”

time continues to slip between muted breaths and sips of coffee, and stops with uttered words and shared glances. their little bubble allows him to be lazy and tired— that it's okay to be imperfect and slump on the table. so he does, gracelessly, and rests his chin on folded arms. he tilts his mug to one side, then the other, wondering if the minutes would pause at his refusal to take that last sip of coffee.

his act of defiance murmurs  'i want you to stay.'  and  'i want me to stay.'

"really? that's it?" and maybe he's tempted to buy the entire establishment while at it (but that's a different story about the subtlety of his corporate greed).     "consider it done."

[inssng]

@bonappo continued from here

the last time inseong got starstruck was when he dined with the crown prince of dubai roughly seven years ago.         since then he's sat amongst the aristocrats of the world, rode with them in gold and shared legacies greater than an entire nation.    unfazed.        (because you are one of them, his mind reminds him) 

yet he stands in front of her, tongue bitten, swallowing the thorns in his throat one by one. she is estranged yet overfamiliar, neither a stranger nor an acquaintance, but his nerves are teetering on the edge of his composure like them meeting wasn’t bound to happen in this lifetime- highly improbable given their line of work.

he doesn't tell her about it. 

(he also doesn't tell her that he's an official ujung 1기, that she's his bias, that he's almost completed all members’ photocards or that he sulked for an entire week because he can't attend their upcoming concert.)

what he tells her is that,  “my friend’s name is inseong."  and  "you can sign the back of my phone,” while suddenly all his three phones are already stacked between shaking fingers. "phones. i have three."   he grins, stupidly stating the obvious before hesitation bridges the gap between his thoughts.  "ah, just your signature would be more than enough."

[inssng]

[adaestra]

WHAT ARE YOU MADE OF, KID? 7% flesh; bloody and raw. and human (or so they tell me). it doesn’t feel like that though. under my own fingertips skin is too sharp. i am too sharp to love myself. 45% smoke; it’s all fog inside – my skull, my lungs – i breathe out and smother everyone in two miles radius. 20% hunger; i will eat my rotten thoughts just to prove a point. pray for my body, for i will forget who i am, who i could have been. 28% agony; am i broken? i am not sure. but my bones ache.

sooner or later we perish; b.s.h; my new chapbook ROOTED - read on tablo.io  (via adaestra)

[inssng]

Why does my son not attention me? Why do I have to miss him?

“mom,”  he begins, carefully, deliberately, before he lets his unspoken concerns weigh between the spaces of his words,

( how are you? how’s dad? how are my siblings? how many siblings haven’t i met yet? if i apologize for my absence, will i be forgiven?    i feel lonely without all of you. )

but he ends the heavy silence in dry humor,  "you won’t miss me if you think of me always.   let’s meet up soon.“

[inssng]

@ryuination continued from here

sunlight drifts into his coffee. there's warmth on his arms and the side of his face, and he begins to talk through the haze of his cigarette smoke, slipping little smiles in the disquiet. he tells her about last night's quarterly meeting with the board of directors that still echo around his thoughts in grandfather and sister's words. stocks continue to rise. investors flocking over like never before. rival companies are backing down. for someone who's been out of the loop for nearly a decade he remains exceptional.

it’s the only thing he knows he’s good at.     work.

"oh? but i'm always tired. i've been complaining about everything since i was little. ask my bodyguard, he's just right outside—" inseong says, laughter dissipating in the air as he drops his cigarette stub in the nearby ashtray.   "that's part of being me, i guess. being tired."

sleepless nights spent studying for midterms doubled over with stock exchange updates, superficial high society drama, muscle pains, a severe case of carpal tunnel syndrome and a rotten pair of lungs. 

there are days when the bags under his eyes turn purple. sometimes they turn red. today, it's a mix of both. he hopes she won't add too much detail and include the creases of exhaustion on his face.

curious eyes peer over his mug of coffee, gaze flickering in excitement as a version of himself forms on the paper beneath her hand.    "i have a mole here."   he mumbles out of thought, a finger pointing below the corner of his right eye before his grin grows.         

"say, if we meet up again tomorrow, will you draw me again?"

[inssng]

[inssng]

hi. i miss you a little bit.

“can you say that again? just a little bit?”  a chuckle bubbles past his lips, but he’s apologetic. a hand finds the back of his neck to scratch an itch that isn’t really there.

“but really, you actually do? i’m swamped with work and— everything else. sorry.   i’ll make it up to you.        hey, aren’t you a superstar now?”

inseong doesn’t try to hide how his eyes train over her to search for the changes (she pretty much looks the same, he thinks), trying to familiarize all over again, jogging back to inside jokes and late night talks. everyone’s becoming a blur of faces now (sometimes even his when he glances on a mirror).

“i miss you a lot.”

[jjonqsuk]

[honeyvocal]

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[jellythingy]

후회하지 마라: Don’t have regrets: 좋았다면 추억이고, If it was good, it was a memory, 나빴다면 경험이다 If it was bad, it was an experience

(via00cm) living by this (via fashion-and-seoul)

[inssng]

rietsu:

[ ... ]

Yerin gestures for him to come closer, resorting to standing on her toes because of her much too small stature. Damn giant! Cupping a hand around her mouth, she whispers discreetly into his ear, “You didn’t hear it from me, but I heard the chocolate parfaits give you bad diarrhea. See that man in the corner over there? No, no, the other corner– yeah, that one. Anyway. He’s been stuck standing there for thirty minutes! Wife hasn’t come out of the bathroom after clearing two of those. Poor thing! She’s probably running out of toilet paper as we speak.”

if she didn’t have his full attention before, she has all of it now. inseong looks at her, searching in her eyes the source of fault. misinformed or ignorant? others would’ve scrambled to fulfill his request, aware of the precipice beneath their feet. the opportunity to excuse himself from a fading conversation with older associates from smaller companies has finally risen; inseong grabs it and waves them off with a half-hearted smile. their excessive hovering only made him notice that their words held empty promises and their tongues licked the soles of his shoes. ( but it’s highly uncharacteristic of his personal butler to forget!  mr. jang always makes sure the chocolate parfaits are ready for him  - for more than fifteen years. always!   where is he anyway ? ) “i’d rather have what i asked for.” he says, though slender fingers pick a brownie from her tray, if only to ensure he’s taken her suggestion out of manners, as he had done with the cookie, and not out of interest. “oh, sorry. whose job is it then? can you ask?” an honest query quipped with an easy smile, though the cynicism is blatant. it’s easy to get swallowed by the arrogance he had in his younger years; with the world dancing at the slightest movement of his fingertips, inseong struggles all the time. who is she to deny him of anything — !   putting down the image of his beloved dessert won’t get her far. in fact, his smile sours and he crosses his arms defensively over his tailored suit, brownie pinched by careful fingers. the man in the corner has a face and a name too unimportant to be remembered. is she mocking him? perhaps, a potential power play happening in the background? quite low for business competitors to stir him now and let the media scuffle for whatever negative reaction he’ll give, but inseong wouldn’t put it past them. “i’ve been having chocolate parfaits since i was a kid. it’s my favorite. there’s nothing wrong with it.” his frown deepens. he mimics her whispering and cups a hand around his mouth, shoulders hunched to stoop down, “tell me, who do you work for?”

[hitoritabi]