#filenctfound

[cespires]

@filenctfound, i owe you this from your ireniq/covurt account. 

things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear

The nights had once dragged on, and the moon was once jieun's only companion. She spent many nights staring at the moon, gazing upon how it changes each night while enjoying the glass of liquor in her hand. She swore she wasn't an alcoholic, but the nights had once been so unbearably long that sometimes, she had to find a way to push through. she had been so lonely, waiting for something to happen so that her hands were no longer colored crimson or the wet sensation she felt running down her cheeks were no longer there. 

Desperately, she swam to a place that wasn't her home because it was the closest thing that could be her home and that was where she fell. 

Her eyes grew cold, too afraid to love and too afraid to share her pain with anyone else but herself. She slept upon the idea that perhaps this was what it was like to be like a god: to be so alone that you had to find something to entertain you or that loneliness would end up swallowing you whole. Perhaps it already did. 

"Will you sing a song?" She asks no one but the light breeze that swept her room from the open window. It made pieces of her hair weave in front of her face, but she did nothing to move them. Instead, she let boy in the room sit beside her with a heavy smile on his face. 

What are we going to do with you? He wants to ask, and she replies with a bitter smile of her own to match. 

There's nothing more that can be done. 

The boy says nothing, taking the glass out of her hand and pouring the liquor out from her open window. She watches it as he pours what felt like her life line out into the street below but she knows there's no life to take from her. She rests her head on the wall beside the window, letting one leg dangle freely but instead she watches as the boy weaves through her room. He picks up the dirty clothes and puts them into a corner he knows she doesn't use and puts the books back on the shelves.

"It's not going to do anything," she whispers when she thinks he's too far away to hear her. "Cleaning my home, taking my drink, nothing's going to help. Everyone's already left me. It's just a matter of time before you do the same."

[kabonvi]

“do it. i dare you.” ( from blue )

—  5 word prompts *✲ status: accepting!! *;

❝ ♕ — 상환 ❞ His voice is what Carmen liked about him themost. It was gentle and enchanting justlike himself. She thinks she’s become enamored due to the vast differences between them. But, it could also be the continuityof him and his entirety (she doesn’t like change). To her people change as quicklyas the seconds change to minutes and minutes to hours – but not Blue. No matterhow long they went without speaking, there was never a question of who he had become in their time spent apart.

Dare. The word leaves a childish nature in its wake when it passessuch innocentlips and she finds the corners of her lips curling upward in a smile of anaffectionate nature. “Why can’t you ever let me be a bitter almost middle-agedwoman in peace?” The laugh that follows is curt, her fingers flexing in frontof her before she places her palm flat on the table.

A sucker for parlor tricks and brushes with danger all of the same,she is delighted to show him up, even if it is just this once.

Brandishing her favorite knife of choice, an Italian Stiletto shespreads her fingers wide to give enough space for the blade. “I’m holding youaccountable if I happen to lose any of my fingers.” Using the tip of her thumbshe presses it against the sharp edge, a sudden wave of nostalgia hitting heras she is reminded of the days she used to sit with her friends in the kitchen.Times were simpler then. “Do you want to do the honors or would you like for meto do it?”

[zureo-blog]

"You're bleeding... You're bleeding bad..."

His body is nothing more than mere vessel for his corrupted soul, but he sins each time he tries to burn it down to the ground. 

He is standing in the middle of her bathroom, in front of the mirror and over the sink. His back is to the door and he has long since discarded both his shirt and jacket on the floor, tending to the unwanted “gift” his step father left him before they had split and parted ways. He keeps a hand compressed over the unsightly wound stretched across his shoulder, but it does nothing to stop the flow of blood currently pooling beneath his palm. Taeyong stills, averting his focus away from the aforementioned and surveys his surroundings until he spots something he can use to clean his wound: a white washcloth. 

After running the cloth under lukewarm water, he treats his injuries the same way one would treat a newborn baby; cautiously, tentatively. The damp cloth swaps positions with his hand, and he begins to dab at the wound, gently; afraid too much pressure would inflict further harm to what has already been damaged. It’s astounding, and almost pathetic, to say in the least, that even after years in this business, after the countless of times he’s gotten hurt, Taeyong still struggles with patching himself up. 

                                                                      “You’re bleeding… You’re bleeding bad.”

What comes as a surprise next in his life was when she appeared by the door, unexpectedly. He had received no indication prior to her arrival beforehand. No knock, no announcement, nothing at all. He wants to complain, he figures it would be best to keep his mouth shut for two particular reasons: one, this isn’t his home, it’s Sera’s, and two: she has ever so kindly let him in. 

“It could be worse.” He flips the washcloth over and, once again, presses it over his shoulder. The poor material was soaked (possibly stained) with his blood, and Taeyong makes a mental note to purchase a new set for her next time he’s roaming our and about in the city. “I could be on the floor right now, either unconscious or bleeding to death.” 

When he lifts his head, taeyong’s gaze settles over her through her reflection in the mirror. He’s hesitant before he speaks, plush brims pressed firmly together, momentarily. “Sorry about the mess. I’ll make sure to clean it before i leave.” 

@filenctfound

[flvrdvsk-blog]

❝ not all good people are innocent. ❞

« lost source .. oops .  // accepting » UPDATING FILES. 「 ♡ 」 ━ *┊ @filenctfound

                        no one was good , these facades of good doers and none judgement ;   all lies crafted by those that knew how to truly bend people at their will to break .  or at was how nita saw the world and her humans —-   orbs of hazel cast upon the male beside her ; a friend ( ? ) that would still be debated for the Latina .    ❛   finally someone that sees through the bullshit of kindness .  everything comes with a price , those that say they do it only for the good of their hearts are after the biggest price of them all ,  your loyalty to bring and bend at their will .  ❜ how odd does it feel ,  letting out foreign words that still felt heavy on her tongue .  new starts didn’t happen easily though and that’s what the dancer knew as the maiden props her chin on her palm ( elbow neatly resting on top of the counter )   ❛   what made you say something like this so out of the blue ,  blue ? ❜

[zureo-blog]

"Here, lean on me."

Taeyong does not always ask for help because he is certain, if not positive, he does not need it; that he has the capability of doing everything on his own without unwanted interference.

That following evening, he merely went out for a walk to get some fresh air and clear his head. He would have had a considerably nice night to himself if he didn’t run into his ex-colleagues: Moon Jaehyeok, Won Daehwan, and Yoo Youngbae, a troublesome throng of three he used to supervise when he was working as an active assassin under his step father’s syndicate: Heisei. What was originally intended to be an act of rejuvenation ended with blood, sweat, and tears. 

He emerged as the victor of the four, relentlessly took out his anger and frustrations on a group he’s detested immensely for five years, all for the “measly” cost of his own physical well-being. He’s injured, somewhat, but it doesn’t bother him because he thinks that this was well worth it.  

There is an arm is wrapped around his torso and he’s limping, struggling to walk in spite of each step he has already taken down the cobblestone pathway. It’s progressively gotten difficult, and he occasionally needed to stop to take the break his body pleaded. Taeyong casts a glance at Sicheng through the corner of his eye as he perceives the younger’s exhortation. He would have answered with a simple “I’m fine,” if he didn’t act before he spoke. Overturning his principles, he drapes an arm over their shoulders and leans further into their side until he could do so no more. 

They’re invading each other’s space, bodies inevitably touching and warmth shared. He hates this, but what other choice did he have when he could barely bear the burden of his weight? 

“Thanks.” It takes more of an effort than he thought possible, to relay one’s utmost gratification. How so? The answer is simple: Taeyong is a man who rarely expresses himself, especially when it comes to sentiments like these They are foreign to him, to say in the least, and will probably take weeks of familiarization before he becomes accustoms to the taste it leaves behind on his tongue. He looks at Sicheng, again, fingers fastened against the material of his own jacket. “I’m staying at the JW Marriott Dongdaemun Square hotel in Seoul. If you can help me there, I’d appreciate it.” 

@filenctfound

[luxinexitium]

“i knew this was going to be a bad day.”

movie sentence starters / accepting! / @filenctfound

beneath curtains of leaves, he finds solace from the city’s restlessness: the agitated screeching of tires, the cacophony of a thousand people bustling from point a to point b, to c then d, a child shrieking in delight from a nearby playground. plastic horses, once vividly grinning but now wan with resignation, squeak and whinny to keep up with the tales of swashbuckling astronauts. somewhere, a dog is barking up a storm, and their owner is quick to whistle, commands futile in the presence of overfed pigeons. seoul is always swelling with noise, with activity. restlessness. but up here, swaddled in the embrace of steady arms, he can take shelter from the pandemonium that is seoul.

as the breeze flutters through the tangles of his hair, whispering gentle lullabies, the clamour in his own head begins to fade. the anxiety-riddled nights, fits of cold sweat, images of twisted limbs and pools of red… albeit for only a moment, they all disappear. screams of agony and snapping bones are replaced with the dulcet melody of rustling leaves, the gradual crescendo and steady denouement, like waves along shores of sunrays. here in this refuge, just far enough from society, kyungsoo can rest. exhaustion and weeks of terror-stricken nights settle deep in his bones, pulling him down, down, down into the safety of unconsciousness.

but the sanctuary is short-lived, severed by the roaring of a hundred voices, all screaming accusations of disgrace, ruin, murder. he had broken the universe, torn her limbs apart one by one, crawled away with crimson-stained hands and flesh buried beneath his fingernails. all it took was a thought. a wish. he had listened to her shrieks and cries for mercy, watched as she flailed to break free from his grip. her face had bloomed with a deep shade of violet, but he didn’t stop until she had collapsed into oblivion. afterwards, he cried.

he wakes with a jolt and manages only a half-formed yelp before gravity takes control, coaxing his body to the ground with eager, frenzied hands. his descent is anything but graceful, skinny limbs reaching blindly for some sense of stability, a semblance of direction, and his landing is even less so. with a dull thud, his body plunges right into another person, both bodies crashing into a tangled heap of limbs and soon-to-be bruises. with a groan, he rolls onto his back and away from the stranger, joints sore from the impact and burning something fierce. he hasn’t broken any bones, luckily. (and even if he had, they would have healed within the hour.) swallowing down the vertigo, he gingerly sits up and rubs at an ache in his shoulder, expression heavy with embarrassment when he makes eye contact. 

“yeah, um.. sorry. it probably got a whole lot worse just now. i can call a doctor, or uh. i have a first aid kit?”

[solarre]

hey!! im currently using your theme white noise and i was wondering if it supports flash mp3 players?? and if not, is there a way i could tweak it so that it could??

ahhhhh i would rather you not put one on your blog as it might make the theme lose its minimalist style. a better alternative would be the billy music player! it’s really easy to implement too :-)