#melxodrava

[pictoratus]

the bet.

( @melxodrava​ && noh kitae ) 

     on the official whiteboard where the officers make their plans, there is a place on the corner reserved, with two names and a number under it. there also used to be a title that made its purpose very clear "who is the best cop/genius ???", though they made kitae erase that part, since the whole precinct knows what these two are up to already. and apparently, it made the environment look "unprofessional", captain's words, not kitae's. he settles with the counter on the corner however, and since he's one ahead this time, the numbers are written and underlined, huge to make it clear that he is winning. and, he's going to enjoy it while it lasts.

     the huge grin on his face is probably an indication as he not-so-subtly points towards the whiteboard when the sergeant turns to the tv, very smugly looking at the other detective once in a while, raising his eyebrows as if to challenge him. it's a huge competition already between the two of them, and well, kitae loves a good challenge. even more so if it's about something he likes, which is detective work. the bet they have going on makes him win it even more, and he knows well enough not to let his guard down just because he is one point ahead. but will he continue bragging ? absolutely. the annoyed expression on the other's face is even better, firing him to continue more and more.

     when the debriefing is over and they go back to their cubicles, he deliberately lingers around the detective's desk, sitting on the chair right in front of it and playing with one of the pens absentmindedly. "oh, you know, might as well give me the next one too ? since i am crushing you... so so hard. it doesn't even feel that fun anymore you know ?" a dramatic sigh follows, though he isn't that good of an actor to drop that grin off his face as well. as kitae continues to boast, it's the sergeant that comes their way, and it takes a minute or so before he actually stops talking.  "oh — what have you got for us ? a homicide ? oh no — a double homicide ?" his eyes glint with excitement as he stands up quickly, wanting to take a peek immediately. a police officer getting so excited over a murder would be a bit worrying, but luckily for him, they all know his... immature tendencies.

     the fact that it's a convenience store robbery does disappoint him a little but he tries to snatch away the file immediately. "look ! ooh is that a.... uh a cellist ?" is the distraction he chooses, having heard the other excited about it at some point.

[moonchildmuses]

i’m sorry but i fell in love tonight // i didn’t mean to fall in love tonight // you’re looking like you fell in love tonight // can we pretend that we’re in love?

[moonchildmuses]

now, let's stop running from love // running from love // let's stop, my baby // let's stop running from us // running from us // let's stop, my baby

[dearfaerie]

san junipero.

@melxodrava // 2018 ↺  2050 . club avenue . gangnam . 11:45 pm

suyeon lived a good life. never did she struggle financially or had major struggles in her life. she had amazing friends and her family supported her through all of her decisions in life. still, suyeon couldn’t fill in a spot in her heart no matter what she did- no matter who entered her life. her husband, the most precious person in her life, spent the rest of his living days with her, the woman he loves. the woman that never loved him back. at least not fully. she loved him for loving her, for being who he is, but he wasn’t what she wanted. what she wanted was something more forbidden, more erroneous to her beliefs and all she’s been taught. to love a woman as a woman is a repulsive concept and suyeon’s hated herself for being so different.

a group of girls enter the bathroom while suyeon touched up on her makeup. she avoided their gazes as two of them settled next to her in front of the mirror while the others went inside the stalls. as much as suyeon wanted to avoid them, she couldn’t help but steal glances at the women next to her applying their makeup and fixing their dresses. for a split second, she wonders what would happen if she let herself go. to hold the woman close and just kiss her passionately like in the movies. how different is it really that her body aches for something other than normal? she notices one of them staring at her and suyeon quickly looks away, putting her makeup away just to make her awkward exit from the bathroom. ‘you’re so stupid. what’s wrong with you?’ she thinks, taking a deep breath before walking into the sea of people dancing the night away.

‘you’re here to forget everything and have a good time. just... relax.’ suyeon lets the music eat her whole and follows the flow of those around her. the music is loud, but her cheers are even louder. she lets the men hold her, maybe even kiss if she feels up for it; the drink in her hand makes her do silly things- take her whole life as an example! in moments like these, it’s best to keep ones eyes closed as the room is already dark and the lights make it difficult to see, and for good reason too. it’s important to lose oneself in the music, feeling the bass throughout the body and dance with everyone without judgement. everyone is here for a similar reason, and suyeon wants the same thing. forget until she has to go back.

but the moment she doesn’t follow the rules, her gaze lands on a beautiful woman at arms reach. a sane suyeon would have just stayed where she was, and she did, but it seemed like something greater pushed her forward... or someone might’ve pushed her forward by accident because it didn’t take long before she brushed between two people and was now in front of the other. because of the buzzed bliss that the alcohol supplied, she smiles at the other and continues to dance with the other and somehow her focus completely centers on the woman in front of her.

[ultracocobabe-blog]

sehnsucht + apollo !! (they were all so nice omg)

sehnsucht

marcel thinks: that man can outgrow the universe.

he lives in space, comes alive in the tiny, indescribable nooks and crannies of letters that make them letters; of words that make sentences; of white that makes all that ink stand out. 

marcel thinks: how can i not write about you?

for a while, since coming back to philadelphia, and on the way here, marcel tried to write about other things. the sea, perhaps, and the way it separates. there are lovers on the ship back home. they dance around and catch each other in the sunlight, and press their laughter against skin. it’s love’s stamp he sees imprinted on the neck of the woman who covers it up with a flimsy scarf. he tries to write about metal, about air, about worldly things, as if they’ll ground him, or remind him, or take him further away. either one works. he meets another artist (writers! they’re everywhere, aren’t they, demystifying the world?) and holds the man’s hand in his own, and traces the light scars of a sculpture. 

all the while he writes about them and apollo, and his smile, and his brightness – they’re all on paper.

marcel thinks: how can i not –?

– love greets him at the harbour. he writes poems about her and she’s delighted by them. by all accounts, it’s educated work. those brooklyn bastards might have something to say about it, but marcel is in philadelphia, and here they think he can write art out of the world’s soul-ink. he’d dip his pen on the essence of love and life and they won’t know where, exactly, it comes from, but thinks he’s writing about his wife. (they get married before he can blink himself awake.) right, right, my wife – now, listen – she smiles like the sun, he says to a bunch of up-and-comers, who come to his home thinking he’ll inspire them. he doesn’t make it his business to teach. he tells them to go out, to love, to get married, too – but that last part doesn’t quite sound right, so he usually stops at the second point.

he fights the urge to buy tickets to europe. his wife begs for him to stay in bed at night so he won’t look for someone else in his words. his wife begs for him to make love to her, so he does, and forgets love every time.

he doesn’t forget. he doesn’t forget. to forget is to lose your mind’s way, and god knows what he’ll do if he can’t remember the way home, to that dingy little place compared to this american home. paris is chock-full of people trying to keep their hearts beating and alive with the rest of the city, but marcel knows that his heart lies in that home that isn’t really his. and how can it be? it’s been a year, two, three. he counts it like the books he publishes; on philosophy and history and europe and life. they ask him things he wishes he knows more about. 

he drinks and smokes with the lads and one time, one time, finally – someone says that name. different context, of course. they’re talking about gods. they pause for a moment in contemplation and his god returns to him like the devil –

(marcel found his already, in the sunrise, knees on the floor and taking his god in his mouth.)

“i have to go,” he says, he excuses, and apologises: “no, i can’t stay, gentlemen – i’ll be back next week, don’t you worry! – of course we’ll negotiate that... yes, of course. the wife is waiting for me, you know...”

he wishes he could’ve made good on his word. he wishes he could be good.

in the morning he’s on a ship. in a week (or so, or more) he’s in paris.

he looks, and looks, and looks –

and knocks on the door. repentant sinner. “i tried.” he hasn’t slept. “i tried.” it’s warm; these arms, this body. marcel doesn’t have to wonder why he’s named after the god of light. “i tried.” 

“and i waited,” comes the response. here it is: the judgement. the forgiveness – “welcome home.”

[inquisitorsshq]

              ↳ PARK MINJI. the lovers arcana. | ( @melxodrava )