dreamin'.

looking at the pictures i keep on my shelf 'cause it's been so long since i've looked like myself.

[mpxminho]

zen

continued from here with @mpsveinn

the laugh minho lets out after seeing sveinn’s gaze is a light and airy one, punctuated by a small, exaggerated ‘oof’ the moment he feels an arm around his shoulders.

“so, who did they serve first? the rejects?” minho fires back easily as he runs his fingers through his hair to undo whatever minor damage sveinn inflicted, “and anyway, they haven’t served either of us yet. that makes you just as much of an idiot as me.” he raises an eyebrow in fake triumph, stealing a glance at the other; his face has already resumed its statuesque expression, though his eyes still twinkle with amusement.

he follows the other demigod inside, and, the moment they enter, he remembers exactly why he’s typically drawn to this particular cafe: the atmosphere is just downright relaxing. even when there just so happens to be a good many customers chatting away and creating consistent background noise, minho can easily tune it out to a casual static. aside from that, the interior itself is preferable — calming, off-white walls and a soft brown hardwood floor, tables on the smaller side and just far enough apart to be comfortable.

“considering i’m stuck with you, probably something with a lot of caffeine,” the younger teases, lips curling into the slightest hint of a smirk. he elbows sveinn lightly as his eyes scan over the menu hanging on the wall. he knows the general items by heart at this point, but he can’t help admiring the handwritten letters and checking to see if they have any new concoctions — and they do. he squints to read it properly, something about hazelnut mixed with white chocolate that doesn’t overly appeal to him and a cold-brew blueberry coffee that does. “—actually, i changed my mind. you can get some bitter thing that matches your personality; i’ll try something new.”

with that said, the demigod takes a quick step forward to be ahead of sveinn and order his coffee first (a bit disrespectful, maybe, but there’s hardly anything respectful about their friendship in the first place — and that’s okay because minho likes the easygoing nature of that). he goes through the motions of relaying his order to the barista and paying; after, he steps to the side both to allow the older to do the same and to wait for his own to be ready — though he hardly has to, because in the next moment or so he ends up grabbing his cup of iced coffee. perks of the cafe being slow today, he supposes.

“—oh, what was that about them ‘serving the idiots last’?” he quips with an arched eyebrow. he pauses to take a quick sip of his drink and hums in contentment as the taste hits his tongue before continuing, “what did you decide on, though? and where do you want to sit?”

[mpxminho]

“ saying my name is so intimate, why would you do that to me? ”

ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ᴛᴇxᴛ ᴘᴏsᴛs ♡ sᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀs — ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ !

there have been many instances thus far with kibin that minho has forced himself not to roll his eyes, and yet his self-restraint fails him as he finally allows himself to. he lets out a sigh and fixes the other demigod with a mostly uninterested and incredulous look — eyebrow arched and all.

“would you prefer if i called you ‘bad listener’?” he asks with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and that’s just another consistency around this particular customer (if he can be called one at this point, considering how much he prefers to talk rather than purchase). honestly, minho never does have interactions quite like the ones with kibin whenever he’s at work; it’s either different and entertaining or long and tiresome, and he hasn’t found an in-between for that quite yet (nor has he been able to accurately deduct which interaction falls under which category).

he leans forward over the counter and rests on his elbows with the knowledge that their interaction won’t be ending anytime soon, deciding it’s far better to be as comfortable as possible throughout their (fortunate or unfortunate, he isn’t sure) time together. a beat of silence hangs in the air as he does, the gears in his mind turning; he isn’t sure if he should bother looping the conversation around back to step one to see if the other has become any keener on listening as opposed to staring after his remark. after all, it’s been a good few minutes of minho answering whatever odd questions about flowers kibin has decided to throw at him, and he’s fairly certain the smaller male is either truly listening (unlikely, he thinks, but not impossible) or spacing out in some way.

“—as i was saying, kibin,” he finally decides to try again, a bit of emphasis put on the other’s name just to mess with him, “roses and lisianthus look similar, but they’re different if you really look at them. the petal shapes are different, roses have thorns, and so on. any other odd questions for me?”

[mpxminho]

"Oh? Are you the son of Zeus? You look alike. I'm Camazotz, most people call me Caça, I'm looking for flowers for my daughter. But I think she'd prefer mushrooms."

now, minho normally doesn’t have interactions that go quite like this. customers usually come in, explain what they want, either get it or don’t, and leave. customers do not, however, come in and deduct his bloodline just by looking at him. it causes a normally schooled expression to quickly shift to that of interest and slight surprise.

“... i am. my name is minho,” he replies politely, pausing just to let out a soft hum that shows he’s thinking. briefly, he thinks of saying something along the lines of ‘no one has ever told me i resemble him before’ but decides against it because, well, he doesn’t think a conversation like that would lead anywhere to start with. instead, he settles on a softly spoken “nice to meet you, camazotz” and focuses on the task at hand.

the demigod doesn’t allow silence to fester for long after his words; the lull feels unnatural even if he isn’t as familiar with mushrooms as he is with flowers (really, it doesn’t help that most of the shop’s clientele prefer flowers over everything else to start with).

“—we have plenty of mushrooms, but… i’m not overly knowledgeable about them. dried mushrooms and flowers always look nice together, though.”

his movements are a bit hesitant as he slowly walks around the counter, and it gives away his uncertainties about the subject; mentally, he makes a note to learn a bit more about fungi so that he can be of better help in the future. he motions for the god to follow him to their left and steps to the side to nod towards a display showcasing a variety of fungi that eventually bleeds into different types of succulents.

“i don’t know if any of these catch your eye, but these,” he points to a group of light lilac wood blewits, “seem to be one of the most preferred.”

[mpxminho]

“Are you saying i'm beautiful like a flower? I really don't get it- You want me to buy you flowers?”

minho lets out a soft sigh as he places the flower pot back down on its assigned stand. he hasn’t been talking to this particular person very long, but he can feel the small beginnings of fatigue starting to settle into his system already. he isn’t certain if they aren’t understanding his use of language (though he spoke quite simply, so surely it isn’t that) or if they aren’t understanding his status as an employee. either way, it proves to be tiresome.

his face is something akin to a deadpan as he looks over at moonseong and, truthfully, he hopes the fact that his expression is in an almost constant state of monotony can mask his slight exasperation.

“no, i was saying that this flower,” he moves his hand to ever so lightly brush his fingertips against one of the flower’s petals, “seems like it would fit you. it’s called an amaryllis.”

he’s being honest, at least; the amaryllis is well-liked for its pretty appearance, adorning a star-like look with delicate petals and long stems. this one in particular has a soft white hue that bleeds into an almost pastel pink, and minho can’t help but remember one of the oldest meanings the flower carries: pride.

“—if you’re looking to buy flowers for yourself from here, i think it would be a good choice.”

[mpxminho]

“ there’s a special place in hell reserved just for me. it’s called the throne. ”

ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ᴛᴇxᴛ ᴘᴏsᴛs ♡ sᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀs — ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ !

why minho decided getting coffee with hades was a good idea is beyond him — or, well, maybe it isn’t considering it’s hades. more often than not, the demigod finds himself taking interest in any and all of the deities; this feeling only amplifies when said deity just so happens to be greek.

the air surrounding them seems a bit awkward so far and rightfully so. minho is quiet by nature when he doesn’t have anything he cares to say, though the silence is far from deafening — to him, at least. he always feels comfortable sitting in another’s company (provided they aren’t entirely a nuisance) even without any sort of active conversation.

the silence breaks the moment the god opens his mouth, and minho raises an eyebrow as he looks up from his cup of coffee. his movement is as slow as a sloth, and if it wasn’t for the slightest upturn of the corners of his lips one could easily think he was either angry or bored out of his mind.

“usually, people are joking when they say that… i never thought i’d hear someone really mean it,” he pauses, shifting in his seat to lean towards his left with his elbow on the table and a hand resting against his cheek to keep his head held up, “what’s it like to literally have a throne down there?”

[mpxminho]

“  it may look like i’m having deep thoughts,  but really,  i’m just thinking about what to eat next.  ”

ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ᴛᴇxᴛ ᴘᴏsᴛs ♡ sᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀs — ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ !

“good to know.”

it’s only after a few seconds of silence that minho realizes how harsh he might’ve sounded; a straight face with no hint of a smile nor frown coupled with his borderline uninterested tone of voice has never once made for a great impression. his thoughts don’t line up with his expression most of the time, and he finds himself making up for that quite often.

he forces his tone to soften enough to where it matches the tell-tale gleam of amusement (mixed with slight concern, honestly, because there are always a few things that concern him when it comes to taejoon’s mannerisms) in his eyes.

“—did you forget to eat earlier, or are you actually being philosophical? i can order food either way.”

the demigod is telling the truth and nothing but right then; the ability to seamlessly lie never has appealed to him in these types of situations. he lifts his hips off of the couch just enough to reach into his back pocket and fish out his phone, tapping away at the screen to navigate to a list of what’s open and what’s not. he turns the screen to face taejoon after that and holds it out for the other demigod to either stare at or take.

“here. you can pick, tae.”

[hyunjinz]

name someone more beautiful

[ohthehorrors]

Can’t Feel My Face

with the always electrifying @mpxminho ⚡️

Oh, so this was what riding on a buzz felt like. Taejoon couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an alcoholic drink. Had it been the beer he’d tried at ten years old on a dare by his friends? That had tasted awful. Maybe it was the sip of champagne at the party for his dad’s promotion. That memory hurt more than the taste. Whenever his last sip had been, it had clearly been way too long ago, because Taejoon was only a drink and a half in and he was feeling light and heavy at the same exact time. His mood ascended while his face seemed to be pulled on by some unseen force, his big bright eyes glassy, cheeks pink and round like eggs for Easter.

Taejoon snapped to attention, remembering his surroundings. He was in his own kitchen with Minho, the kind florist he often bought flowers from. They were supposed to be cooking, except a patient had passed away during Taejoon’s shift almost eight hours ago and it was still eating at him. He was never the best at coping with the final, inevitable things in his career. This time, however, he was determined not to spend all night staring blankly at his television or scrolling through his phone. When Minho asked him if he wanted to hang out, his automatic “oh no oh god no please I’m too awkward” changed into a yes. Spontaneity is good sometimes, right? Taejoon thought so, right up until he realized he had an hour before Minho was set to arrive and he hadn’t had anyone in his apartment...like ever. He had rushed around to tidy up his already clean place (he wasn’t usually home enough to create a mess) and had just enough time to shower and change out of scrubs. His outfit was a real stunner: grey sweat pants, black hoodie, a beanie to match and because he hated cold ears. In other words, runway ready.

Back in the present, Taejoon squinted and leaned in closer to read the recipe on his phone. Somewhere between sipping through his drink and his stressful day, he’d completely forgotten basic reading comprehension. “Wait, waitwaitwait. Aren’t you supposed to have the temperature set to 400? I think we did 350...”

[mpxminho]

the thing about minho is this: he positively hates seeing his friends in discomfort of any sort. he’s learned to keep a watchful eye on taejoon over time, knowing good and well the boy lets anything and everything haunt him — which is why when a few texts seemed a bit off from taejoon’s end earlier, minho was quick to come up with something for them to do that just might offer some sort of solace. it just so happens that solace came in the form of ‘hey, let’s drink some and try to cook.’ (and, thankfully, taejoon said yes to that idea.)

currently, minho finds himself absorbed in making sure he has all of the correct ingredients out and arranged in a way that they won’t knock everything over in the process of tripping over themselves to cook. it proves difficult to focus on it entirely, but he manages; somehow, matching the amount he drinks to however much taejoon consumes doesn’t seem to be taking too much of a toll on him thus far.

“—400?” his head snaps up and oh, okay, maybe he isn’t here as much as he thought he was. “.... i put 450. i could’ve sworn that said 450, tae.” he promptly makes his way over to taejoon’s side to lean over him and read the directions — and there it is, 400, as clear as day. he lets out a soft sigh of defeat and thanks every god in existence that his cheeks are already light pink from the alcohol.

the next few moments are spent accordingly: minho hurries over to the oven to turn the knob fifty degrees back and finishes mentally checking off the ingredients he so graciously put out for them to use. butter, flour, sugar, chocolate, baking powder…

satisfied with his deduction of those five things being all they need, he pops open a few cabinets to search for proper mixing bowls. it’s taejoon’s apartment, yes, and he knows the other would know where those things are in a heartbeat, but he either finds himself independent enough to do it himself or just loves to suffer. minho leaves that dissection of thoughts for later, preferably when he isn’t tipsy (besides, the poor nurse is struggling with reading a mere recipe — not that he’s done much better, considering the initial temperature he had the oven at — and he’d love to chalk it up to the kindness of his heart).

“okay, so,” he finally speaks after placing three different bowls on the countertop for them to use at their leisure, “we just mix all of it together, right? it can’t be that hard.” 

[mpxminho]

photogenic

with @mp-taeyong

forty-one days.

it has been exactly forty-one days since minho has last taken a picture — a proper picture, mind you — of anything. honesty, it gnaws at him that he’s a photography major with so many new and interesting things to snap photographs of on the island, and yet he hasn’t taken a single one. what even is a photographer that doesn’t take pictures? (not a photographer, his mind helpfully supplies.)

his solution to the problem is quite a simple one: go out to central park with his camera and take pictures of anything and everything.

his plan goes perfectly at first; he takes pictures of the little squirrels scuttling along, of the beautiful flower blooms along the sidewalk, of the way the tops of the trees frame the sky like an artistic masterpiece. none of these things, however, serve to fill the void minho feels weighing heavy in his chest. no matter how many birds in the low-swinging tree branches he captures, something just doesn’t feel quite right.

belatedly, minho realizes his newfound issue is caused by the focus of his photos. this understanding comes after a bit of aimless walking along the sidewalk; it hits him like a bus the moment his eyes fall upon a man graced with picture-perfect visuals doing little other than sit on a bench and breathe. minho has seen countless pretty faces that would do any photoshoot justice here on the island (it must be commonplace for deities of any kind to be visually pleasing), but he hasn’t had his camera with him to act on it up until now. he debates with himself internally for all of five seconds before he decides that opportunities like these simply shouldn’t be put to waste.

it’s an almost unbearably awkward walk over to the bench, but he forces himself to have some kind of confidence about it because, well— if he isn’t confident about any of it, then how can he ever expect anyone else to be? he straightens his posture, puts a little welcoming smile on his face, and lets one of his hands rest over one of the camera straps slung over his shoulder.

“—excuse me,” minho speaks softly at first, just loud enough to get the other’s attention, “sorry to interrupt you, but you have a good look that would be perfect for a portrait. would you be okay with me taking a few pictures of you?”

[mpxminho]

moving on

with @mp-zeus

minho was never one to stress over the small things in life — that is, until the day came for him to leave his life of familiarity for one of… well, not that. he’s been a constant ball of anxiety since he woke, packing and repacking all of his things ten times over and nervously asking his mother to walk him through the list of essentials somewhere over six times.

y’see— it’s been a long two years of minho sharing little other than quick phone calls and texts with his father, so the idea of finally meeting him and leaving to an island full of things he used to think could only be real in his wildest dreams proves to be daunting. he’s ever grateful for his mother, then, for offering little utterances of advice and sweet, encouraging smiles that are the epitome of ‘you’re doing great, sweetie.’ he truly thinks himself lucky she hasn’t snapped at him considering how many times she told him to make sure he didn’t have any other packing to do on the day of his departure (and, honestly, he doesn’t have more to do; he’s just so stressed he finds himself nitpicking the smallest of things about it).

it takes another hour of, to put it nicely, suffering before minho finally deems everything to be good enough. he sets his things near the door and spends his last bit of time conversing with his mother, assuring her time and time again that he’ll be okay, he’ll keep in contact, he’ll be back in incheon to visit her one day soon. most importantly, he gives her the pink carnations and white chrysanthemums he’d arranged earlier that week to silently remind her: ‘i love you, and i won’t forget about you.’

( so maybe she gets a bit teary-eyed, but that’s what happens when your beloved only child leaves the nest. )

a knock at the door is what breaks them apart; minho, like the always easily startled boy he is, just about jumps out of his skin. he shoots his mother an uncertain look, to which he receives a supportive smile and a gesture for him to be the one that opens the door.

he’s certain his entire existence gives off the exact vibe he’s feeling on the inside (read: unbearably apprehensive) as he approaches the door and ever so carefully cracks it open. it’s when he sees the man standing on the other side, however, that his facial features turn rather blank.

“oh— are you…” he trails off for a moment, and, for all of his ridiculously high intellect, he finds himself unable to figure out who in the world this could be. he decides to use context clues to the best of his ability in these trying times. “—are you my dad’s chauffeur or something?”

[promptfairy]

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒   ♡   𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

    change gendered language to your needs.  ♡

“  crying is very punk,  trust me,  i do it all the time   &   i am a punk.  ” “  do i like him or is he just tall?  ” “  not to be dramatic but if i don’t get my life together i will die.  ” “  am i dramatic?  yes.  is it justified?  also yes.  ” “  everything that you feel is just a chemical reaction inside your head.  wow.  ” “  there’s a special place in hell reserved just for me.  it’s called the throne.  ” “  let’s get high!!   …   grades.  ” “  i think my gps secretly gets mad at me when i deliberately disobey its directions.  ” “  it’s a bird!  it’s a plane!  it’s   …   me, trying to outrun my feelings.  there i go.  ” “  i am here to say that i am a bisexual who loves mangoes.  ” “  why has no one fallen in love with me yet?  i’m so bored.  ” “  honestly,  i don’t even play an active role in my life.  shit just happens   &   i’m like  ‘  oh,  is this what we’re doing now?  okay.  ’  ” “  life hack  :  you don’t have to be a wolf to yell sad noises at the moon.  ” “  what the fuck do mirrors do when nobody is around?  ” “  it may look like i’m having deep thoughts,  but really,  i’m just thinking about what to eat next.  ” “  do i deserve back pain at this age?  ” “  i’m a simple person;  anything happens,  i cry.  ” “  i’ve mastered the skill of feeling guilty for asking for anything.  ” “  yes,  the rumors are true.  i’m a lovey-dovey dumbass.  ” “  i try not to sound like an asshole,  but it’s really hard because i am an asshole.  ” “  someone has to date me eventually,  right?  ” “  what circle of dante’s inferno did you crawl out of?  ” “  your inability to learn complicated handshakes is tearing this friendship apart.  ” “  there’s no way that  EVERYBODY  was kung-fu fighting.  ” “  saying my name is so intimate,  why would you do that to me?  ” “  don’t ask me about my sexuality.  you’re not gonna get a straight answer.  ” “  i would follow you to the ends of the earth with only mild complaining.  ” “  the first step to any murder is to have fun   &   be yourself.  ” “  i think i am subconsciously trying to ruin my own life.  ” “  i may seem like an angry person on the surface,  but deep down inside, i am actually angrier.  ” “  i push everyone away,  but in a way,  i am doing them a favor.  ” “  what do you mean a thesaurus isn’t a dinosaur?  ” “  i’m not even a hot mess.  i’m more like a lukewarm mess.  ” “  i’m not interested in being polite or heterosexual.  ” “  can someone please explain to me how i’m supposed to sleep for eight hours straight when i’m not even straight?  ” “  you’re not allowed to be busy,  you’re my only friend.  ” “  becoming older than ten years old was the biggest mistake of my life.  ” “  is it cold in here,  or is that just my heart?  ” “  if i sigh loudly enough,  will all my problems go away?  ” “  hey,  sorry i’m late.  i didn’t want to come.  ”