#arrivixun

[zerosive]

sans voir.

arrivixun:

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“go all out? like what,” zero raised his brows, “cut open their stomachs and hang their intestines on the walls?” a hint of amusement made its way to quirk the corner of his lips at the thought before he eyed the other, “it doesn’t take a professional to do that, it takes a psychopath to do that.” he thought for a moment as he leaned back against the counter and watched the corpse slide in slowly.

zero doesn’t take the bait, he didn’t have to. there was nothing to be offended about after all, he knew fully well what he was doing -- shixun, on the other hand, wouldn’t understand. he could explain, but what was the point in telling him more than necessary? with a shrug, he answers simply, “i don’t do it for the attention.”

of course, zero had the capability to do anything he wanted: decorate the street lamps with twenty-feet-long intestine, drain the blood from the body and paint the roads with it even. but what good would that do? ( especially since dried blood loses it’s vibrancy on asphalt, it’d be a waste; concrete pavements would be better. ) 

he valued his life greatly, one where he doesn’t spend locked up behind bars. if he did make a show of out the murders he’d committed, it’d be merely asking to be sent to the electric chair. there would be higher risks of his dna being left at the scene, traces of evidence -- any tiny, seemingly insignificant mistake could easily lead to his demise. he wasn’t foolish enough to lose everything over something only normal humans and suicidal murderers crave: attention.

“it’s best to keep it clean and simple,” he licked over his lips, fingers drumming against the marble surface idly. “i thought you paid the bills with these bodies. it’s not my fault these bastards end up with bad organs. i’ve been generous enough as your additional supplier, don’t you think?”

[saintwithoutasoul]

AU: “Pulsatio,” Shixun + Suho.

The weak are only so if they accept it.

       “Again, Shixun. You’ve done it again.” Joonmyeon’s fingertips dug into the skin at his temple, eyes creased with stress and pointed toward the chipped cup of tea that ran cold with neglect. His throat felt hollow, chest empty, free hand clasped around a light bottle of pills that were more precious than the broken apartment they lived in. Had he not found the boy collapsed over a soft mound of earth near the cemetery, he would have never been able to drag him back into the house before curfew went into effect.        The boy was crafting a reply when Joonmyeon’s eyes caught him sharply and bound him to remission. He was a patient man - but he was angry. It showed through subtle gestures rather than loud words.        “You can’t leave this apartment after dark, you know that. You know what they do to people after curfew.” His grip on the scraped blue bottle tightened, frame tilting to lean back against the rickety chair. His brows seemed to morph with sympathy when he rolled the plastic casing in his hands, flashes of history causing his brown eyes to simmer.         He could remember the exact day he’d taken Shixun to the hospital from heart failure. He was fourteen. Joonmyeon was sixteen. The money they’d saved together for a train ticket away from this broken country was spent on a pacemaker. Since they were children, organ failure had become an epidemic; body parts became a form of currency. Anyone caught after curfew would be collected by the special police. But Joonmyeon had refused to give Shixun a heart transplant; any who couldn’t repay their debts in time had their organs repossessed, often while still alive. The result was one of the only pacemakers left on Earth and a constant struggle to scrape together money for medicine.         They were only two years apart, yet a world of difference stood between their positions. Joonmyeon felt like an older brother; he worked five odd jobs, one of which he’d never notified his roommate of, the others as fleeting as their paychecks. Joonmyeon had to clear his throat to bring himself back to the present moment.        “This was too close. You could have died - you did die, for a moment. I told your mother I’d take care of you, doesn’t that give you any shame?”

[kxmnana-blog]

┼

send me ┼ for my muse’s reaction to walking in on your muse:↪ 17. drunk.status: accepting!

She can smell him before she sees him. A man dragging himself up onto the bar stool beside her, the smell of liquor permeating off of him. It burns her nose and she turns her head away, not wanting to draw any attention to the fact that she had been watching him from her peripheral vision. The doctor has learned one thing when it comes to drinking, and those who drink. Usually when a person drinks themselves into a stupor, it’s because they’re wanting to forget something, or someone - or, they’re just an alcoholic.

She wonders if he’s the latter, but judging by how he’s acting, it’s probably the former. Because alcoholics were typically melancholy people, their bodies accustomed to the alcohol’s impairing affects. The woman’s here waiting for a friend, already with a drink in her hand, her favorite -- a cosmopolitan, it’s flavor so rich and sweet that it was hard to taste any trace of the alcohol content. She tasted her first cosmopolitan back in America, and luckily this bartender knew exactly how to make her drink of choice.

Hearing the man beside her grumbling to himself about how he’s been cut off by the woman behind the bar, who was glaring back at the man for his behavior, Nana turns in her bar stool so that she can get a better look at him. He’s slouched forward, face red from the booze coursing through his veins. She can’t help but feel a little sympathy for the man, so she waves the bartender over and orders a glass of ice water. 

“Here. You really should consider drinking this, and maybe about ten more glasses so that you won’t have a nasty hangover tomorrow.” She slides the chilled glass over to him, the sound of her gentle flowing voice a soft hum under the roar of the music and the chatter of people around them.

“Trust me, you won’t regret it.”

[floradawn]

//  arrivixun //

┇✿┇▬ ❝ I was hoping it was just a trick of the light... ❞

[jonginstretto-blog]

' I know you steal my wifi to watch porn but it's kinda hot idk' AU

ODDLY SPECIFIC AUS

Chase found it strange how his internet connection speed grew drastically slow recently. The only uses for his Wi-Fi were his laptop as well as his boyfriend, Sehun’s. It became so bad to the point where Sehun constantly complained about how the lag kept making him lose his games and of course, being the meticulous boyfriend he was, he couldn’t just sit back and watch. He knew how much those games meant to him.

It was convenient to have a computer hacker as a best friend; because the next day, Chanyeol was at his house, downloading some sort of program onto his laptop to scan for IP addresses that were using his Wi-Fi. “Really now? You named your Wi-Fi ‘Wi believe I can Fi’?”, his best friend turned back to throw him a look before returning his attention to the screen. “What? It’s funny,” Chase retorted as he masked a snicker behind his fist.

It took hours of waiting, “tracking packets” (and a whole ton of computer lingo he didn’t quite understand) for Chanyeol to inform Chase of his neighbor using his Wi-Fi to download those kind of movies, and Chase almost let out a disbelieving scoff at that. This never happened before… Until that pair of twins moved in next door—

Twins. He only let himself ponder briefly over what those two could be doing with what they downloaded but he was quick to put those thoughts away. It didn’t help that they both looked like his boyfriend, and just for a fleeting moment, he contemplated sharing the dirty pictures he took with Sehun to them when Chanyeol told him that they could have access to some shared folders on the system but decided against it.

Chase was much better than that.

Creating a new shared network folder, he downloaded over fifty pictures and videos of cute baby animals into it, and named the folder “To cleanse your soul”.

[choanel-blog]

"Why are those freshmen staring at you?"

She quickly ducked her head, using her hand to cover half her face. “Are they still looking?” She quickly peeked over at the group of freshmen, quickly averting her gaze as she heard their snickers. “You trip over your own feet one time in the middle of a campus tour and you’re suddenly referred to as the ‘klutzy idol’ by all the freshmen. It’s not my fault that my head has a stronger gravitational pull to the ground than the rest of my body.”

[cheongukapts-blog]

WELCOME YOUR NEW NEIGHBOR!

Mortician Shixun ʜᴀs ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇx!

renting flat #450, a two-bedroom apartment, rooming with sephitic.

HISTORY : GUIDELINES : TENANTS

[jo-ngin]

⊗

Send me “⊗” and I’ll generate a number:215. Muse A and Muse B are forced to pretend to love each other as a publicity stunt but they hate one another and continue to hate one another and it turns into a crazy all out fight scene at the red carpet!

Oh Shixun. The name was pleasant, the person not so much. Jongin’s lips curled into a tenebrous sneer as his manager unfurled his schedules for the day - the most prominent slot occupied by the red carpet premiere he would have to attend in just an hour with the aforementioned nemesis. He actually had no reason to hate the man - the deep rooted loathing had seemingly blossomed out of nowhere, and the tabloids had been more than willing to exploit them in order to induce a rift that would aid in media profit. Since the public was already opinionated, Jongin decided that it would be easier to throw fuel onto the fire, rather than clarifying their squalid relationship.

It wasn’t until the media had blown their rivalry out of proportion - to a point that it affected the company’s royalties, that a solution had to be found. Apparently some imbecile thought that doing the opposite of what people speculated would be the end of it, and in a way, it was. Except Jongin was now trapped in a loveless relationship that went against all of his moral principles and more. Pathetic really, considering everything else about his life was great.

The gloomy train of thought was dissipated by the sound of approaching footsteps - and sparing a glance behind him, he saw it was Shixun clad in a suit, face an apathetic mask as usual.

"I see you’re smoking again, Kai."

Turning back to the window, Jongin just grunted in reply, sucking in a feverish lungful of smoke. One other thing he hated about the younger, he decided spontaneously, was his aesthetically pleasing exterior.

It just didn’t match up to his personality.

*     *     *     *     *

The ride to the event was relatively undisturbed apart from a few sharp looks thrown to the other, mostly on his behalf. Shixun, for the most part, looked utterly relaxed in his spot, even opting to send Jongin a blank smile halfway through.

It wasn’t until they were posing for photos on the red carpet that the tension got out of control. Following his manager’s orders, Jongin tried his best to act affectionate with the younger man, but Shixun was having none of it. 

“Babe," Jongin grit through his teeth, after seeing some paparazzi had noticed their abnormal behaviour. Lowering his head to whisper a warning into his faux lover’s ear, he managed to plaster on a half hearted smile. "Don’t fucking ruin this for me, or you can fucking say goodbye to your career."

"Are you threatening me?" Shixun’s eyes were cold, his voice loud. Running slender fingers through pale hair, his lips curved into a taunting simper. "At least I have a career, Kim Jongin. Yours has been going downhill since last year, I presume? I guess you can say goodbye to your contract now to save heartbreak later."

Jongin’s hands curled into fists at his side as he clenched his jaw. The cameras were all onto them now, but he could only see red. ”Say that again.”

"I said," Shixun repeated in an almost sultry whisper, honey orbs locked onto his own blackened gaze. "You can say goodbye to your career, and hello to bankruptcy. Kim. Jong. In."

Raising his hand to strike the latter, Jongin changed his course midway to crush Shixun’s lithe body against his, lips bruising the soft pink ones in a physical expelling of his white hot anger. With eclipsed eyes still burning, he murmured against the mouth still brushing against his own.

”You can expect worse later.”