#lostambition

[sanguinie]

“it’s the normal people that scare me.”

prompt / accepting

conversations with minnie come easy. he doesn’t remember when or how they met, the amount of people he talked to blending together after a certain time, but he was thankful he’d befriended her along the way. now they sit side by side on a park bench the baekhyun frequented, finding the nature in the area a nice break from the constant grey of the city. he leans back against the bench his feet lightly scraping across the ground. the girl was one of the few people baekhyun felt he never had to act like someone else around, even going as far as introducing himself by his real name on their first meeting. there was something about her he trusted, but he still wasn’t able to pinpoint what.

“oh?” he tilts his head, turning to face her, one brow quirked. “why’s that?” he glances around the park, taking in the people all around them. there’s a couple walking a rather large dog, something he wanted someday, another couple with two kids, multiple boys running around chasing each other, and a young group of teenagers laughing not far from where they were sitting. were they normal in minnie’s eyes? baekhyun wasn’t sure. he looked back towards the girl and grinned, shrugging a bit.

“yeah normal is a bit weird, huh? i’m not sure if i’d find them scary, though. just... boring.” he laughs then, the puff of air visible in the cold air. he shoves his hands in his pockets then realizing just how cold it is outside. “what’s normal to you, minnie?”

[cir]

things u said in the dark / for jack n min pls uwu

A single streak of light cuts through between the two doors of the closet, and he’s familiar to the way the light doesn’t touch them even in this space. He’s familiar to this scape because they hide all week: behind the doors, the walls, and anything else that might keep everything surrounding truth out and away. 

He doesn’t see her face in the dim light, but he imagines the corners of her lips quivering the way they do, eyes blinking and opening a beat later than usual. She’s holding her legs to her chest, arms around them, making herself even smaller than she already is. The closet reminds him of how shallow her breaths are, the walls barely pressing down against her un-idle chest each time. 

He lets out the breath he’s holding, the lack of the space beginning to drum at his head. 

“Minnie, I’m sure we’ll find him this time. Maybe tomorrow, when the power’s back and the storm’s past the city.” His words used to be comforting some time before – he can’t remember what tone he used back then, or more importantly, what she would look like, without the entire night nipping at her skin. “There’s only so many places he could be and we’ve looked enough.” 

He always speaks too much but it’s because he’s afraid of the silence speaking for him. Afraid of the quiet that’ll speak the facts instead of him.

It doesn’t get easier with the lights on or off.

He shifts, and his clothes make too much noise. Among the rustling, she says something and he misses it. His knee pushes against the door and it opens slightly, letting a fresh bit of air in. He trembles at it, while she stays still. Even in the dark, she remains stronger than him, two hands fisted.

She repeats herself. “You can stop lying for a night. For tonight.”

The door swings back closed, and he barely makes her frame out in the dimness. He’s not sure what kind of face she’s making now.

“I don’t think we’re going to find him, Minnie.” His voice cuts through. “I think we’ve looked enough. He’s not coming back, Minnie. ” The closet suddenly seems too vast and he’s not sure how far she is from him. 

“He’s not going to come back.” 

[audreum]

❛ things like us only exist in dreams. ❜

from x / no longer accepting

“things like us only exist in dreams,” she says softly.

it’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“why can’t good things like us ever last long?”

yeoreum fixates her gaze on the field of grass before them, then on the constellations above them. but never on minnie’s face.

it’s easier to pretend that she’s fine when she doesn’t have to see grief clouding minnie’s expression, staining her shoulders, or settling between the bones of a body that yeoreum thinks is far too young to bear this kind of suffering.

“i’m tired of waiting, minnie. aren’t you?”

“of what?” she queries, hesitantly.

“for people to realize that they cannot hope for fate’s hands to be softer, or to be more thoughtful. i’m tired of blaming everything around us,” she pauses, “to be the reason for bending all we love, and eventually breaking them—for breaking us.”

“but we can’t run from fate, yeoreum…”

despite being on the verge of tears, she almost, almost, laughs. of course she knows; she knows better than anyone else that the two of them can’t outrun fate. they’ve tried, and just like everyone else who to do so before them, they’ve failed. 

“no, we… cannot. fate will always pull us towards things that are supposed to happen, but… just because something is supposed to happen, it doesn’t mean that it will. we,” she takes the younger girl’s hand in both of her own, “let us fall apart.” when she lets go of minnie’s hand, she feels like she’s let their thousand shared promises for a tomorrow they dreamed so desperately of, slip from fingertips. 

i tried, i tried, i tried. she wants to scream, but all that comes out instead, weakly, is a question. “it feels like it’s impossible to forget pain, doesn’t it?” her fingers brush over the thin layer of cotton separating skin from her scar. “but it’s even harder to remember what sweetness feels like. happiness leaves no marks on us.”

she pauses.

“will you remember me, minnie…? will you remember how i loved you?”

she hears minnie begin to cry, and that makes her stop. she inhales, but regrets it a second later because now all she can breathe in is dead, hopeless air. it suffocates her.

“i’m sorry, yeoreum.”

now it’s her turn for the walls she built during her childhood to come crashing down, but she can’t let them do that. not here. not in front of minnie. it’s the last good thing she’ll be able do for her friend.

“i’m sorry, too.” 

she knows it’s not enough. sorry is never enough.

“i dreamed that it’d get easier for you.”

yeoreum is lying. in her dream, she sees minnie collapse and crumble on herself too many times in a week to be be considered healing—to even be considered living. she knows that minnie, too, already knows she won’t be the same after this. but neither of them say anything because it could never make a difference. words will never be enough.

[inwolvesteeth]

hey fuckface!

DECNUOSADHCOUDS IM SHOOK AS FOOK MY GUY !!!! MY ACTUAL TUMBLR CRUSH TELLING ME !! THIS !!!! fucking wild. I still can’t believe that u like my stuff !! I absolutely lov ur character and ur writing and I just jfnvjwnerjbfejr oh gosh I feel so honored. thank u boOBY !! I wish we talked but then I would probably lose my cool lmao

[cespires]

pink :~)

« status for send me a color and I’ll write a drabble with our muses with that color as the theme  »   → not accepting.

minnie was like the rain. those who understood her knew that she was a flower that blooms in the winter when no one expects anything to grow. she was like the warmth that took away the rose on people’s cheeks and the shivers in their spines. she’s the purity that jieun once had, but she knew better than to believe that that was all minnie had to offer.

“Tell me a story.” She’d say, gazing upon a girl with two minds that fought over and over again. stories were all she could ever give to minnie, breathing her own life into her as a refuge for her to settle upon. the world was a dastardly thing, hurting those who didn’t deserve it and stripping those who needed happiest the most bare with nothing but their skin and bones to love them. so she’s promised herself, that no matter what happens, the faith the girl had in jieun would not die.

She smiled, settling beside the girl on the ground of her broken home. “What kind of story would you like to hear?”

in here, this became their own world. this was a place that became a canvas for jieun to paint her stories until minnie could see the beauties of everything she’s ever seen in her life. She wanted to paint vivid images for her to see, full of colors rather than the black and white she saw for so long. she knew, however, that once all those stories were finished, one day minnie would ask for something more.

But for now, 

“Tell me about a time you fell in love.”

These stories were enough (to soothe the aches in their bones).

[toxicevolution-blog]

“which would be worse - to live as a monster? or die a good man?”

( @lostambition​ / source: here / status: not accepting! )

THE QUESTION POSED was one that had been asked before, it wasn’t anything new. In fact, it immediately brought images of The Dark Knight to Sangho’s mind ― one of the few blockbuster films that could be considered iconic even to a snobbish film student. The scenario is presented by Harvey Dent during a dinner scene, a form of foreshadowing (for those uneducated in said comics universe or to put it plainly, spoiler alert) solidified when said “hero” lives long enough to see himself evolve into the villainous Two-Face.

It was a wretched idea, one that plagued the protagonist for years to come, another point on his seemingly never-ending list of failures. Not that Sangho, a self-admitted DC fanboy, would ever hold such a thing against Bruce Wayne. At least he was trying.

Ah. He was lost inside his own head yet again. Dreaming of superheroes, rather than facing reality. Typical.

For him, the answer was simple. Considering his childhood and the tragedy wreaked upon it, people would understand if Sangho became a monster, even feeling sympathetic towards him, like Darth Vader or Magneto. But he wasn’t. And he wouldn’t. He was simply a man, one who continued to suffer under his mother’s control, despite the fact that she was confined over a hundred miles away.

Would he ever actually answer the damn question?

Words were difficult, left formulating and rotten on his muddled tongue.

“Well, seeing as we all die in the end, no matter what ― I think I’d rather be Batman. Wouldn’t you?”

Childish answer from an undeniably childish man.

[gondryque-blog]

hc + love

Send me a “hc” + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it.

status: not accepting.

Love is beautiful and everyone deserves it. Mihyun loves her family endlessly, they are a source of inspiration both in her professional life and her private life. They taught her how to be a person free from any vice, any temptation or cruelty. She is surrounded by love and it is her priority to spread it to everyone and everything. Her friends are the ones who experience her nice heart the most, though. At 4pm or at 4am, she is awake for them, ready to answer their calls, to give them her shoulder to rest on. Once she considers someone as her friend, they instantly own a big part of her heart.  

Romantically speaking, Mihyun doesn’t know. She never felt the desire to fall in love and to experience everything that comes between two people in a relationship. It doesn’t interest her, she feels complete and she would rather spend all of her life loving her friends without needing for it to be called LOVE. She supports her friends being involved but, for herself, she still believes there is no one on earth able to make her change her mind. 

In her eyes, love is everywhere and for everyone, it doesn’t have to be between a pair called a couple. Maybe, in the far, far future, she would finally think about it. For now, other things make her happy enough to be on her own. Love, for Mihyun, isn’t a “need” or some kind of cure against loneliness. A quote often comes to her mind whenever someone mentions this topic; 

“I do not want to have you To fill the empty parts of me. I want to be full on my own I want to be so complete I could light a city. And then I want to have you Cause the two of us combined Could set it on fire .” 

                                 - Rupi Kaur, milk and honey.

One day, maybe she’ll consider falling for someone. But until then, her love remains for her family and her friends. Appreciate what you already have, always. 

[spinecollection]

❛ you have no control : who lives, who dies, who tells your story. ❜

HAMILTON MEME : open

she’s very pretty, he observes. she reminds him of all those stories he’d read to the children, girls in silk ribbons and chiffon, hidden fairies waiting for the sun to rise and sipping morning dew in dark forests. her light hair and wondering eyes brings life to all those books tucked away under the beds. 

too bad that she’s too old. he’d have taken her in if she had been younger.

he already has a hand of a child in his, long fingers wrapped around his thin wrist as he humors the boy with his own tales, sans the pretty girls and fairies who’d look like her. this time he doesn’t even offer to talk about mountain spirits and dragons that rest in caves, but about man-made gods in political games. how fleeting life is.

wooseok hadn’t realizes that she was listening, and he turns to her, head tilted and a hands on his knees. “hello,” he smiles, waving her over to come closer and scooting forward on his chair when she doesn’t move. 

hmm, if she only knew.

“you’re right.” but imagine if you had that power. “how long have you been here, young lady?”