#minhecho

[renetae]

minhecho replied to your post: Menelaus

// i am going to cry because minho is actually portrayed right and this is a first and i just wanna wow i—

[I am relieved to hear that since I tried to make it believable for both characters sobs---thank you]

[renetae]

Menelaus

Menelaus: my character gets something precious stolen from them by yours.

☥ It was a game for two, but one which had a solitary winner. A game which had its ending already written by the ages, yet it was lain down with words so ancient that the tall, young man who so foolishly walked into it, could not possibly guess their answer. So there they were: two men, facing one another, both so proud and sure they held control firmly by the reins. “Are you disappointed yet?” Choi Minho asked, his voice a deep resonance that needed little volume to carry. His eyes were unyielding, gazing steady, framed by eyelashes long and dark—he would have thought them meant for a woman, had he not been handsome enough to dispute any claims of confused genders.

“My only disappointment is that you are there,” Francesco admitted, though it was said so lofty, light and casual, as glimmering in the dark, bottomless lakes of his eyes there lay amusement, “and not here.” His lips curled into an impish smile, reminiscing that of a mischievous child as he gestured quietly, for the ground a mere feet before him.

“You think I’m that easy?” Minho scoffed and played along, oh what a curious mouse for the cat was he.

“Whatever could you take my invitation for?”“It’s obvious,” he claimed.

“Then if it is obvious, why not tell me, so that I might know too?” Francesco queried, the words soft velvet teases passing his lips as his eyes remained unwavering upon the others. A staring match, unrivalled by distractions around them; it was night and most were deep in slumber, the strings of streetlamps along roads their illumination. But that was not the game with the high stakes; it was the scapegoat which made the board upon which the battle for control was already at large. Had Minho cared to try look away, he might have found he could not do so. Had he tried to walk away, he would find his reasons for doing so diminishing quickly, second by second, draining from his reasoning. In his mind, logic and inhibitions were thwarted; his control, gently stolen… something so precious, withered in the face of death.

“You want me,” the altered mind of the handsome mortal conjured, as without his own notice, steps were taken forth, one after another bringing him closer to Francesco, the boy who was not a boy, the abnormality which did not care for the wine of Jesu, but the blood of man, God’s image.

“I do,” he confirmed softly, taking a step forward himself, greeting him with pale hands, unbuttoning the top button of the man’s shirt.

“Have me,” that voice, deep and once so sure, succumbed without a hitch to leave a mark on his memory. He had lost what he held onto so dearly, that which he had tried to cling to by hiding behind an Internet persona; the absolute control of how you are presented. Within the grasp of the devious sin that made out Francesco, he was rendered to naught but a puppet, for the simplest of reasons: To feed that which could not sustain without acts unholy.

“I will,” he murmured out in quiet response, though words were by this point not needed; they were lost between them, the way control was lost to Minho’s mind. A mind which would not even remember, the way lips touched his neck, and fangs grazed his skin, breaking in.

[elmuoro]

minhecho replied to your post: Spin.

// i— goodbye my friends i am gone-

[[ no......please... ]]

[singleinseoul]

Coffee Shop Confession {Au Plot with Minho)

Ren released a soft sigh as he sat down on the bar stool kept behind the main counter of the cafe. He had just finished serving the lunch crowd and he was quite glad to finally be off his feet. "I really hope Chanyeol comes in today. God knows I could use the help" he mumbled as he glanced out over the now empty cafe. The other employee that was supposed to be working with him, Chanyeol had called in a few hours ago to say that he had an emergency to handle and would be late but knowing the other boy he probably wasn't going to show up at all. 

Now any sane person upon realizing this would've probably called it a day and clocked out early but Ren wasn't exactly the most practical person on the planet. He'd rather sit here and work alone rather then leave and do nothing. His mother had always told him that "Idle hands don't get fed" , a motto he'd lived by for most of his life.

After a few more minutes of resting his feet, Ren finally stood and took a mental note of the things he needed to do before the next set of customers came in . He tucked a few strands of his hair behind his ear and took a deep breath before he set about cleaning the counters and restocking the napkin holders. Occasionally he would stop and glance up at the clock above the door, trying to determine how much time he had left before his next break.