#infernalkai

[lacvnc]

research done prior to this is an act that he is grateful for. he knows it's noah's birthday, and even with this malady eating away at his body, the pain multiplied at certain times, he tries to call noah to come to his room. does so via text, he's about to grab the old books that he collected a while back for this occasion when he falls from his bed. it aches even more, but when noah comes in, he forces a grin. "happy birthday, harabeoji. please get your gift from under that table."

   [ ▲—THE DULL THUD that results from the other’s body colliding with the floorboards has Noah rushing through the door into Jongin’s room. If someone would ask him why, he’s not sure he’d be able to answer, but there is quite a fair amount of worry stuck in his mind these days. Worry, because the one family member he knows he has isn’t doing all too well. He wrinkles his nose a little at the sight, even more so at the nickname the other so persistently calls him by. “Is the grandpa joke ever going to die?” He questions before he steps up close. It’s fairly easy to lift the younger male up from the floor and lay him back down on his bed, ignoring whatever protests that may have been thrown his way. It doesn’t really matter anymore. Whatever this bond is, it has already found a stable way to establish itself. It’s not going anywhere and Noah can already tell. “Try not to fall out of bed next time you want to do something, don’t need to hurt more than you already do.” The vampire comments before he crouches down to get the mentioned gift from under the table, eyeing the books for a few moments before he settles on the bedside. “You know, I was almost one hundred percent sure you wouldn’t remember my birthday, I’m glad you did though, thank you. And I really mean that.”

[actwo-blog1]

   somewhere along the line of laying low, jiang fosters a single rule; doubt anything that reflects a part of him. if it makes him not think, doubt that too. so when he, dressed in all blues and just done picking stray daisy petals off his hair, finds himself feeling all he’s come to consider threatening in a single sunset, there’s not much of a reaction to get by. sure, the pebbles by his feet tremble when he doesn’t. sure, he takes a step back and his hand scrapes when he tries to lean for support on the alley’s wall ( were they this close before? were they closing on him? ).

   “ book boy, ” which of the two though?

   he should’ve kept rounding the same corner. should’ve not let the bodies drift him away from the streetlights. jiang assumes the visual spasms he would love to call hallucinations have to do with the width of space, the height of time, but the short sequence of deflections make him wince enough to render him unfocused. the people at his back walk by easily to catch the latest holiday discount, that much he knows. 

   along with trying to find it in him to speak up again, jiang supposes he should make a mental note of two things; this boy, the library regular he finds so refreshing, is suddenly very familiar. gags at the notion he, too, could be a threat.

   second: people can fucking glitch like that.

   “ what’s wrong with you? ”

@infernalkai

[lacvnc]

​❝ i’m sorry, what was that? i didn’t hear you. ❞

       THE    FIVE    SENSES  /     SENTENCE    STARTERS.

— Not accepting.

   ❝ Oh, you thought I was talking to you? How sad. No, I was merely stating to the wind that I have the stupidest nephew in the world and then I relayed a detailed record of why I think so. I thought it needed to know. ❞  He snorts. ❝ I said that maybe we should duck in somewhere so we can avoid the rain that’s about to start pouring at any second. Or are you against sitting down now too? Or is it just me that you’re going to hate on? Can’t be that horrible to get some free coffee. My treat. We can even be quiet the whole time if that makes you feel better. Plus, we get to surprise people by being identical but not really. ❞  

[spoiledsovls]

“is ‘no’ an emotion? because i’m feeling it.”

sentence starters ( x )

“yeah. i mean, yeah no is an emotion. does that make sense?” she looks at the other, shrugging her shoulders. “i feel it every day. when i solve a math problem, the answer looks at me as if i did it wrong. i redo it, the first answer was correct. i look at people cookin’ food on the streets, my wallet says no. i wake up, my body says no. y’know? no is.. such a strong emotion.” she was on the edge of being sardonic, but she understood what he meant by having such a word as an emotion. it was ineffable, really. no was only a word, an answer, and a question if people said it in the right tone or used the right punctuation. “i get ya.. 100%.” hyejung hums, fumbling with her fingers. she keeps her attention on them, continuing to talk to the other. “but why... why do y’feel it? like.. jus’ straight out no, why do ya feel like this?”

[luxinexitium]

— sapere aude »

    → @infernalkai​

evening arrives in a veil of indigo, with jewels of magenta woven through the threads and glittering in the last rays of the slowly setting sun. shadows traverse the city streets like outstretched fingers, dipping beneath frames of steel and scaling freeways. as the sun retires, the city is only beginning to rouse, buzzing with chatter and straining against the seams of night. her veins are doused in fluorescent beams, from chartreuse to violet and everything in between; her lungs swell with the collective sigh of relief that swirls from her citizens. with the changing seasons comes the temporary dip in functioning, sinuses cloying with the drop in pressure and temperatures diving in mid-morning, only to spike once more by early afternoon. in any given area within arms’ reach, there lies the guarantee of at least one person suffering from the distinct haze of illness that looms like its close cousin, death. 

kyungsoo is one of those unlucky few, shuffling idly between shelves upon shelves of meticulously organised books, bound together by thread and glue and all vying for an adventure, for a journey to whisk them to the kingdoms discovered only on their pages. patches of red highlight the tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, creeping along alabaster skin like water colours on hot pressed paper, and the wicked, dreaded flu controls the flourish of the brush, twirling about as if aiming to pierce through the fibres. a soft sneeze interrupts the silence for but a brief moment, but the following sniffle is drowned out by the flipping of pages and scratching of pencils--the common etudes of a public library. ducked heads, stern eyes, and conscious breathing form the orchestra, each piece tuning their instruments in unison and following all the proper cues, but amidst the crafted bows and fixated gazes, an outsider crawls across the pit. he reaches blindly for direction and keeps low to avoid attention, a portrait of embarrassment and pity.

hands sheltered within pockets, his fingers fidget with a piece of lint and an old bubblegum wrapper. his eyes are no less restless in their constant darting, surveying his surroundings and seeking out potential threats to anonymity. as evening encroaches upon the city, shadows stretch across the aisles and shroud his figure where the fluorescent lights can’t quite reach despite even their best efforts. his hands move in practised poise, edging a book from the shelf with an index finger, then swiftly dropping it into his bag with a barely audible thunk. with government property sitting heavily in the bag, he moves quickly after that, working up the illusion of searching for something within these aisles, occasionally glancing to a scrap piece of paper in his hand, as if the untidy scribbles would somehow match with the digits printed on the labels along each book’s spine. a quick survey of the area allows him to slip a second book into the bag hanging from his shoulder, as silently as he had entered the building, and he’s on to the neighbouring aisle for one more selection, head low and gaze avoidant.

[narcotiqs]

❥ Tagged by: @arcavna ❥ Tagging:  @infernalkai, @avnoire, @avinzas, @eembr, @dovelightning, @kmseyong + anyone else interested. ❥ Rules: Take this test for your muse, post the results and tag as many people as you want.

Repost do not reblog.

WARMTH - 54% ⤷ cold, selfish | supportive, comforting. INTELLECT- 90% ⤷ instinctive, unstable | cerebral, analytical. EMOTIONAL STABILITY - 54% ⤷ irritable, moody | level headed, calm. AGGRESSIVENESS - 50% ⤷ modest, docile | controlling, tough. LIVELINESS - 70% ⤷ somber, restrained | wild, fun loving. DUTIFULNESS - 82% ⤷ untraditional, rebellious | conforming, traditional. SOCIAL ASSERTIVENESS - 74% ⤷ shy, withdrawn | uninhibited, bold. SENSITIVITY - 34% ⤷ coarse, tough | touchy, soft. PARANOIA - 78% ⤷ trusting, easy going | wary, suspicious. ABSTRACTNESS - 42% ⤷ practical, regular | strange, imaginative. INTROVERSION - 86% ⤷ open, friendly | private, quiet. ANXIETY - 70% ⤷ confident, self assured | fearful, self-doubting. OPENMINDEDNESS - 78% ⤷ closeminded, set-in-ways | curious, exploratory. INDEPENDENCE - 82% ⤷ outgoing, social | loner, craves solitude. PERFECTIONISM - 90% ⤷ disorganized, messy | orderly, thorough. TENSION - 30% ⤷ relaxed, cool | stressed, unsatisfied.

[toxicevolution-blog]

“you can only push someone so far, before they break.”

( @infernalkai / source: here / status: not accepting! )

BREAK. A WEIGHTED word. One that’s crossed Sangho’s mind countless times over the expanse of his life. What it means to break, to be broken, to have cracked skin that shatters like glass under the weight of another’s touch.

He was pushed, he was pulled, he was morphed into something entirely not Kang Sangho. And for this, he suffered as a fully shapeless being, possibly not even human anymore. More clay than flesh, bone, muscle and blood.

Yet he pretended. If he presented himself as whole, as someone that inhaled oxygen and exhaled carbon dioxide, then surely he would eventually come to be just that.

The facade he wore had existed since he was six years old. And at almost twenty-four years of age, he didn’t feel any closer to completion. Would he ever? Was he doomed to be encased in emptiness, until death’s embrace took him away? He dreamed, desired, decided. Yes, yes, yes, he chanted like a mantra.

Never would he know true satisfaction or what it was like to feel free or happy. Day in, day out, Sangho would question the actions of companions and perfect strangers alike. People were nothing, but another chance at hurt. So he kept them at an arm’s length, while wearing a bitter, false smile. He was a fake, a phony. And he wore it oh so well.

The worst thing was that no one cared, because he didn’t allow them to. Letters came in the mail every so often to remind him of prescriptions which needed refilling. This was the only notice he had regarding the black stain in his life. But it continued to wrought grief through his entire existence with each shattered breath he took.

“We get pushed, we are broken. The cycle of life. Never-ending.”

He posed a question. “What about you? Are you broken?”

[reminiscis]

@infernalkai​ has sealed a death sentence ✘

                  pitter patter on the asphalt and velvet glows through the flow.                                                                                           k i l l e r.

the discoloration of a naturally pale patch of flesh is drawn through the frost-bound droplets oozing from overwhelmed masses of water condensed above, a tide intense enough to drench fading strings of silver annexed atop of his skull along with clothing of a light coloration, a blinding white under the streets lights, stained in a mixture of sheer, thick blood with the unceasing pouring liquid, black pair of jeans carrying the reflection of what once was set cased between the delicate walls of a fragile vein – despite the rain’s best efforts, the coloration still lies into an masterpiece between human pores and its porcelain frame, splattered across the face of a cold blooded assassin. no, a puppet.

the dragging of step by step results into the attrition of a black boot sole to the ground, wearing off the coverage bit by bit and producing a vexatious sound fading into the heavy downpour. dead; every ounce of the young male’s body reverberates the behavior, or better saying, lack of behavior of a walking corpse. limp, unsteady. however behind hazel colored hues repercusses desperation in its true and pure colors, an unknown fear brought by the slaughtering of an entire faction – human, no, he is no more when seized by the strings of a puppeteer, left to the demons of his own havoc to haunt series of dream into endless and deadly nights.

steps ahead lies a figure outlined by the poor lighting providing by the public government to its citizens. a male, that much he can tell. closer and closer they are drawn until an intersection takes places below the flickering illumination. face recognition, a matter thomas has been both cursed and blessed with throughout the dragging years, the reason creeping behind the prayers in his mind so his name won’t be called out when the once unknown figure takes the shape of a male he had come to meet six months or so ago – wishful thinking, child, the night guards surprises not even you can avoid.

                                                                  “thomas?”

run. the voices in his head scream from the ragged strings of breathless lungs and yet his feet disregard the command to move – he is not in control of his own body, he is a mere puppet caught by the bones in invisible strings. it takes a couple of seconds until a foreign hand reaches out in a futile attempt for the broad figure of his shoulder, rebounded by the swat of a wrist to the side of the latter’s limb.

i’m sorry. a lump emerges by the back of a dry throat as the coiling of slender fingers assemble into a fist, the figure cutting through the chilling breeze of nature straight through the side of the other’s head – a punch, however meant to scare off rather than aiming for a definite collision. words drain every fragment of annoyance from the demons clawing at his insides, painted by shades of velvet across frail features that contrast with the distress call of help imprinted on monochrome orbs. “back off.”