#midseascn

[firewclking]

[ dry ] @ sehyuk

nonsexual acts of dominance | accepting | @midseascn

[ DRY ]  your muse drying mine off with a towel after a shower , bath , swimming , etc .

            FATIGUED FROM his day, sehyuk didn’t want to move from his spot at all but he knew that if he didn’t shower, he was going to feel DISGUSTED with himself the next day. the amount of makeup and glitter that caked his skin, the feeling of strangers’ touches imprinted on his skin and the acrid smell of alcohol clinging to his hair...no, he HAD to shower...

            DID HE have time to do so ?? he knew today was a day HE was coming...surely, he’d spare him time to clean up. for HIM, sehyuk wanted to be his best, which meant he needed to clean up.

            PICKING UP his tired body from the worn couch he had thrown himself on, he shuffled his way to the dingy bathroom, the same bathroom he felt disgusted by when he first ‘moved’ in but now have come to terms with. the water barely hot, mold growing in odd corners, flicker fluorescent lights...all of these became his norm, things he never noticed anymore.

            SCRUBBING HIMSELF down, he made sure to clean up nicely. he knew kihyun didn’t care at all but he cared. sehyuk was just using kihyun as an excuse to go the extra mile. the smell of cheap soap and shampoo permeated the steam filling the small bathroom...though the water wasn’t hot, it was relaxing just to stand underneath the spray of the shower.

            HE MAY have taken too long because by the time he stepped out, kihyun was already lounging on the couch. a towel in hand and only dressed in his underwear, sehyuk gave the male a lazy glance to take in kihyun’s state, watching the other rise from his seated position and before he knew it, kihyun stood just inches from him.

            SHIVERING LIGHTLY as cold air hit his warm body, he stared at the other male in silence. his body still wet from his shower, he felt kihyun tug at the damp towel he held before it was tossed over his head. bowing his head when his vision was suddenly obscured, his eyes squeezed shut when kihyun started to towel off his hair.

            “WHAT’S THIS ??” he asked, “a part of your tactic to get me to come with you ??” he joked, “i’m swooning...if i’m gonna be taken care of like this, i’m so tempted,” he said, offering a lopsided grin, one covered by the towel.

[whitelai]

"i have bullshitted my way through almost two decades of life."

asks memes | closed.

he thinks about it. not long, though, because it’s really not a difficult philosophy to fathom: if you were to find a homeless boy (running away from a bloody felony, but no one’s supposed to know!) scraping by on the streets, or a well-heeled businessman who’s made of nothing but fraudulent wealth–––which out of the two is truly bullshitting through their life?

you’re right: there’s no objective answer to this question.

“and?”  july throws a pebble in the riverbank, his tone as bland as the gray tincture above them. there’s no desire to wiretap into kihyun’s mellow confession, because he may well get one of those pro(an)tagonist heart attacks if he were to be asked a question similar to: ‘so what kind of life have you been through to make you say that?’  now that’s one goose flesh and nightmare-worthy thought! so he decides to keep it voiceless. when one’s climate is distinctively similar to the other, details aren’t too essential anymore.

“it’s the same for me. but what matters is that we ‘have,’ not ‘tried’ to. who the fuck cares, we made it through and out.”  he pauses, cloudy eyes studying his friend.  “why, do you regret it?”

the fact that he doesn’t have a home. the fact that he doesn’t have anything dear to lose, and the fact that his future is nothing but a hazy maelstrom. it doesn’t take long for him to self-justify all these factors to stabilize him mentally, because all of this is just fine. he’s fine.

(stop lying to yourself, lai.)

[citry]

@midseascn: 

“i don’t want to.”

frozen, his breath hovers like a stray cloud, drawn into the boiling steam from the stall beside them. five-hundred won were forced out of his shallow pockets for the second pallet of fried squid, and he is only grateful for the cloth mask covering his crimson nose and broken lips. the evening shriveled an expected downpour with unspoken cruelty, yet false hope remains for ivory flurries to fall from the sky. stiff fingers tighten around hot packs thrown into his coat.  a fool would wait for snow when the sharp winds are drier than his bones.

kihyun scowls.

(2% more emotion than his neutral expression.)

the squid stares at him, long dead, and an uncomfortable sensation stirs in the depths of his stomach. street-side food at the entrance to myeongdong’s busiest street come from another world, are made for those with stronger tastebuds and duller olfaction. america fed him with a silver spoon and a pinch of salt — it explains the extra weight in his face. he looks at wonwoo and shakes his head. carefully brushed hair falls into his eyes but he doesn’t move the strands on account of the temperature outside of his jacket.

“i have to be home soon,” laced with faux concern for the setting sun and thirty-minute commute on the metro, he says, “can we eat somewhere with normal food? i’ll cover it this time.”

“Sometimes days I feel like I know you better than I know electromagnetism, and on days like today I’m not too sure if I know you any better than I’ll ever know relativity.” 

He’s not too sure of anything besides the tray of squid held so thoughtfully between his two hands. This side of the city isn’t one he’s ever near, the only excuse in how foreign the streets seem. He prefers his surroundings to be more familiar. It’s the reason he’s closing into Kihyun a little more than usual, the notion of space taking up space elsewhere.

(2% more close than the norm.)

A few squid legs pop into his mouth, a brief moment of warmth before the frigidness of Seoul’s January cuts at his tongue again. Three or four more legs disappear, then get thrown into a trash can near by. With both his hands free, he shoves them into the solace of his pockets, before he nudges at Kihyun’s shoulder.

“Define the concept of ‘normal food,’ for Kihyun The Great. Because certainly, it’s not a norm in my book.”

[tianfcn]

16 & 17

q’s for me about my muses | accepting | @midseascn

16 ) In what ways are you better than your muse? In what ways are they better than you?

--- i...try to find some light in the darkness while my muses tend to let themselves have their past define them then they get HOSTILE or shut within themselves. 

in numerous ways, they manage to get over their struggles ( either slowly and surely or quickly ), they connect much easier to other people and interact with people easier than i can. they’re always willing to get out there and try to be outgoing.

17 ) Why do you think you connect to your muse?

--- science, definitely. they all have some sort of scientific background. they also LOVE to dance ( like i do, albeit much better than i ).

they also mirror my life struggles, my personality, part of my life, part of my experiences...that’s how i connect and that’s WHY i connect because of how much we share between us...if that makes sense. our SHARED EXPERIENCES and INTERESTS.

[tianfcn]

warsinmyhead replied to your post: 

Perhaps for one of the female Muses like Jennie Kim a prodigy with languages – self taught due to a love of them. Offers services as a translator and a dash of sass to those who question her profession. “You have the face to be a model.” (cue some comeback said in another language)

shit, that’s classy and wow, it really plays on my love to learn languages !! thanks !! i’ll definitely ponder on that !!

midseascn replied to your post:

i vote for boa && j.r.

so one vote each for boa, j.r. and jennie and a suggestion for yugyeom

[existheory-blog]

"sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine."

siken sentence starters / still accepting.

   He was right about something. The blood— he’s had adifferent kind of blood on him as of late. And now, there was a different kind on his mouth. This time, not his own at all; a blood that tastes of arsenic,like he’s licked the perverse off a prayer. And god, did standing hunched onthe sink feel like the aftermath of the ritual.

  I wish too,he’d say, but he’s too busy spitting and rinsing the back of his hand to tell him how ideal that’d be. Moonsikcan see him from the mirror, looking elsewhere and nowhere, spiking his curiosity. This misfortune andKihyun were loosely tied, he’s convinced, and wants no share of it.

   “What was that?” He moves with the grace he has left, eyes so sereneand fingers so restless, unfurling when he leans on the table. His nails digand he scratches it. “Here’s to hoping you’re next,” but there’s no yearningfor that, his grinned sigh betrays and exposes that clearly. This tastealready feels rusted, like it won’t come off as long as he’s near him.

   “Just don’t change your mind on me.”

[wtchinghr]

"you’re wasting your time." (thanks for the reblog!)

「 @midseascn 」

as a pessimist herself, hyesoo now understands why most people tend to make her words go through one ear and out the other. having her parade rained on certainly is demotivating, but the only difference between now and the usual circumstance of her being the resident buzzkill is that she’s too stubborn to let someone try to bring her down. when she has a goal, she’s going to meet it, no matter what it takes– and in this particular case, nothing is going to get between her and this cat but death itself, if it comes down to such drastic measures.

“it’s cold outside. i’m not leaving it here,” she finally answers, in between coos and clicking her tongue and whatever vocal measures she can use to try and entice the stray to come closer to her. from what she can tell, it doesn’t look feral, and she has too much of a bleeding heart to walk past such a sad sight when she has a warm home and an extra bed to offer. people tend to give her odd looks and question why she carries cat treats in her purse when her own cat rarely ever leaves the house, and it’s for this reason entirely.

 the last ten years of her life have been spent away from the farm that she calls home, whisked away to the big city of seoul by impulse and now stuck there by contract and habit. caring for strays and tending to her indoor garden is the closest she can get to mimicking those times that she misses dearly. even as her fingers start to lose feeling and her cheeks sting from the cold, she holds out the fish-scented treat at arms length in hopes of getting the cat to leave its spot behind the dumpster. “maybe i am wasting my time. but no one’s making you waste it with me. let me be hopeful, for once.”

[mxgicxksj-blog]

"i don’t think now’s the best time." (thanks for the reblog!)

          “Well, what time would be better for you?”