#timeline: present

[keepingupwiththeshores]

sofia > ingrid

sofia: r u going to see dad and the bebes today?

[cainhargreeves-blog]

❨ closed for @beauhargreeves ❩

Silence comforted him in the night. As Lucy excused herself after hours of helping him to track down their siblings, as their mother mourned alone in the static of her room — Cain sat in the foyer, on a chair built from memories. Ghosts roamed the halls, but he didn’t address them. They didn’t speak to him.

He watched the door with clenched fists, one leg shaking nervously. The scars on his back stung against the velvet of his shirt; the result of taking to the sky with his metal wings in a brash attempt of processing his grief. Even miles above that mansion, where the clouds became little more than mist, he did not find peace.

Perhaps it was impossible, or maybe he was just searching in the wrong place. He kept his eyes focused on the clock on the wall, on the endless dance of its hands. Cain never thought to look within himself for the answers. Soon, his family would arrive — and he wouldn’t be on his own, with only ashes and regrets and strangers to keep him company. He latched onto that hope.

Then, moonlight; and in walked his only brother, dyed silver and taller than he remembered him being. He sat up, coming to life as the stone of his features gave life to pleasant surprise. “Beau?” he asked, hesitantly, as if he was unsure. It had been years since they had last spoken. Who they used to be were now shadows in the background, a broken bird and a puppet left abandoned.

“Hey, Zombro.” He smirked at the nickname and stifled a weak laugh, amused by how familiar it felt. It was like time stopped in that moment, retraced its steps. And maybe they were those same boys again, before everything fell apart and before tragedy made its home in their bones. He ignored the ache as he hugged Beau, blocking out the memory of bleeding out on a table and the miracle that couldn’t be performed.

“It’s, uh— it’s nice to see you.”

[eas-jechul-blog]

— you never walk alone ; sungmin & jechul 🎈

Classificação: General Audiences (Livre) Personagens: @eas-jechul; @eas-sungmin Horário: 12:27pm Local: Lagoa da Yonsei | Público TW: Nenhum.

Já fazia quase um ano desde que começara a ter aulas da Yonsei, e mais ainda desde que entrara para a Golden Star Entertainment - cujos muitos artistas frequentavam a faculdade -, mas todos os seus dias pareciam-se muito com seu primeiro. Salve alguns cumprimentos de rostos quase-conhecidos nos corredores e pequenas amizades, as únicas interações que tinha com outras pessoas que não as de seu próprio grupo musical acontecia quando um(a) ou outro(a) fã conseguia abordá-lo. Geralmente garotas, elas o elogiavam e algumas vezes mandavam recados para os outros membros, mas, levando em consideração o quão comum era a presença de figuras públicas no complexo Elegans, tais abordagens não aconteciam com tanta frequência e restava a ele apenas alguns poucos amigos.

Era o caso de sua relação com Sungmin, seu colega de grupo e um de seus únicos amigos. Podia dizer com certeza que era um dos mais especiais para si, ainda que tivesse medo de como aquela proximidade poderia proceder dado o fato de que Jechul sempre tinha tanto a esconder. Por enquanto, ainda não havia deixado vazar muita coisa e, até onde lembrava, as coisas que deixou escapar não envolviam nada que fosse de fato muito comprometedor. Bem, pelo menos não perto do quão comprometedoras eram as informações que poderiam ter sido expostas e nada que Sungmin realmente pudesse ter notado. Talvez a própria constante distração do rapaz contribuísse não tão incondicionalmente para que ele permitisse qualquer forma de aproximação de fato, fazendo dos dois melhores amigos na medida do possível.

Naquele dia, de maneira nem um pouco exclusiva, Jechul o havia chamado para almoçarem juntos em um piquenique à beira da lagoa, que acontecia de ser um de seus lugares favoritos no campus. Havia levado consigo na mochila lunchboxes com arroz, napa kimchi, kimbap, sookju namul e gimgui, além de dois pacotes de bala e refrigerantes que comprara em uma máquina no prédio onde tivera suas aulas do dia. Já sentado sobre a toalha improvisada (um lençol), abriu uma das latas e começou a beber dela enquanto esperava o amigo chegar, puxando o sketchbook da mochila para o colo e o segurando sobre as pernas enquanto observava a água.

[eas-jechul-blog]

{#Self!Para; SFW} Late at night I can’t help but think of you. 🌃

Classificação: Teen and Up Audiences (13+) Personagens: @eas-jechul Horário: 2:17am Local: Sala do dormitório 2 do LUPIN | Privado TW: Relações abusivas (menção). Masoquismo (leve; psicológico). Depressão.

Já passava das duas horas da manhã, mas a aula e os compromissos no dia seguinte não eram suficientes para forçar sua cabeça a parar de pensar. Sentava no sofá do dormitório, olhando pela janela. Seu corpo estava todo encolhido; abraçava as próprias pernas e a cabeça tombava sobre sobre eles. Os dedos de seus pés curvavam-se, e um sorriso tomava seus lábios conforme a dor em seu peito crescia melancolicamente.

Ah… Seus pensamentos. Aquele tipo de coisa sempre vinha a ele quando estava em momentos assim: sozinho e desamparado, sem ninguém à sua volta para ter que se esconder. Todos dormiam no momento, então estava só ele ali.

Ele, e suas lembranças. Confortado/as e acolhido/as na própria mente.

Em momentos como aquele tantas coisas voltavam a si… Tantas memórias… Ruins? Boas? Não saberia que termo usar, afinal, seus conceitos de bem e mal estar eram no mínimo “distorcidos”. Mas o conforto e a sensação de prazer que vinha com elas era inegável.

Naquela noite viu-se de volta sob a guarda de seu padrasto, o que não era um caso particular. Todos os dias o homem lhe vinha à mente, e não sabia dizer se era assombrado ou amaldiçoado pelas lembranças, agora já impregnadas em si e que tão frequentemente visitavam sua mente que já não pensava mais em como deveria se sentir. Apenas sentia. E certamente a dor que vinha com tudo fazia com que se sentisse tão bem quanto qualquer outra pessoa que se considerava “bem” no mundo.

Ainda que sua felicidade viesse da própria dor naquele momento, Jechul não sentia um peso que fosse incômodo em si. Exceto, talvez, a saudade. Do controle descontrolado, da força abusiva, dos machucados, do sangue, das dores.

Todas elas.

[jinyounc]

니가 없는 거리를 걸어 본다

ridleyxpop

❖ ❖ —- She was too tired to notice that she was still wearing her barista apron when she arrived home from the cafe, only realizing it when she was going to change to her night clothes. Ridley was getting ready for bed after a long day of three classes and a five hour closing shift. Gathering her long locks and pulling them up into a lazy and messy pony tail, the buzz of her smartphone made her lose her grip, not even bothering she has to redo it. She was excited, expecting a message from another entertainment agency— a potential client that might need her services, another possible source of income. Yet her grip on her gadget tells that it wasn’t what she had anticipated nor something she ever expected again. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. She mentally told herself while her eyes repeatedly went back and forth on the words on her screen. He had deleted his number but she still memorised them. Heck, even the words he put together—she knew them all to well. She was trembling with rage, her mind flooding with a lot of why's and how dare you's. The devil inside her took over. Two can play at this game. (sms: past tense) Oh hey! Jinyoung, was it?

Shit, shit, shit--

He keeps on mumbling a series of swear words when he realized that his message has been sent, and Jinyoung gritted his teeth by the time he realized that he was actually waiting for an answer from the other party. Oh man, is he this shallow these days?

"And this is why you can't live on the past," They always told him--repeatedly, constantly, regularly, and it's almost creepy how he can hear Minho saying that exact sentence in his mind as he blinks at the phone. He keeps on tossing his body to the side, realizing that his insomnia is getting worst after he texted her. Well fuck, you're damned, he told himself.

However, his phone buzzed just few minutes later and it's almost unnerving how the past could make him feel so vulnerable and helpless. Jinyoung, however, is a brave man. And to be fair, he wasn't expecting a reply--she probably loathed him too much, that's what he thought, but well, this girl doesn't seem to change by time to time, huh?

Jinyoung couldn't help put pulling that sleazy grin of his despite the tinge of bitterness, she's trying to act cool so he should have save himself from trouble by playing it dandy as well. Isn't that what it was like before? They keep on playing the game until one of them lose, and the cycle goes on and on.

( sms : 그 여자 ) Yeah. Jung Jinyoung, the guitarist, used-to-be. ( sms : 그 여자 ) Why aren't you sleeping yet? it's already late. 

[katamite]

Mario Fic 1 of 2: Animal

 ((The first of two fics that explain what actually happened the night Mario supposedly died.  Also the first of many a side fic that will give a little insight to Mario and what he's up to as he continues to search for Nick.  

All text in Italic is flashback scene.  All normal text is present time.

The steady drumbeat pounded against his temples, the music’s tempo causing him to rock helplessly, hips and shoulders rolling in time.  He waded through the crowd, wandering through grinding bodies and sweat-slicked embraces, searching hands grabbing for the Italian as he slid through the droves of men.  He ignored their calls, gold eyes set on the man standing at the exit. 

The man he’d been tracking all evening.

The man he planned on railing into as soon as they escaped into the cool night air, away from the oppressive heat of the club and all its demanding hands and pleading mouths.

Mario let a smile ease across his half hidden features, dark hair falling over his shoulder in a lush thickness of shining bangs and straight locks. He nodded to the brunette, gesturing that he would follow the white-suited male out back.  His gaze stayed on the subtle tightness of the other man’s white slacks, enjoying the swell of the man’s ass beneath his tailored bottoms.

“Heya, Nick, right?” he cooed as soon as the door was held open to him and the back alley was offered as a means of retreat.

The cocaine was singing through his veins, white hot electricity shaking up his limbs and rattling all the way up into his brain until all he could do was scream the moment the blunt head of his lover’s cock slammed into his prostate.  Mario clenched, laughing breathlessly as Nick’s mouth tore into his throat, teeth sinking in so deeply the bruises left behind had tiny beads of red swiftly bubbling up to the surface.  He laid his head back, moaning and frantic for more as he struggled to shove his hips up to meet the next thrust he was given.

“Mar,” Nick’s voice cracked, his jaw set tight until the tension slid down the curve of his neck and caused the cords of his neck to appear just beneath his flushed skin.  The gambler held onto Mar’s narrow hips, ringed fingers holding tight and twitching as he shoved forward, momentum sloppy but good enough to have them both leaking and panting.

“Keep fuckin’ me, Nicky.  Come on, baby.  Give Daddy what he needs,” Mario urged, gasping sharply, noises hitching until Nick covered his mouth with his own and they lapped at one another, desperate and shaking for some sort of cool they seemed to think the other male’s mouth would contain.

“Fuck-“

“-Mario,” the conman breathed out, his muscled frame shuddering as he allowed himself to settle back against the brick wall opposite of the club they had just stepped from.  He tangled his fingers in hair the color of spilled ink, glancing down as he forced his cock deeper into his newest contacts mouth.  Nick’s throat worked as he swallowed, lips parting as he was deep-throated without a care.  “Jesus Christ-“

“-Babe.  Mar, I can’t fucking-  Ahgn, shit!” Nick cursed, allowing the smaller male to roll them.  He laid on his back, eyes rolling back as he shut them tightly in time with the fingers splaying against his chest for better leverage.

“Gonna milk it outta ya, Nicky.  Pretty boy all fuckin’ high outta his mind and cryin’ for me.  Right?” he asked, chuckling when his lover of fifteen years could only nod in reply.  Mar curled his fingers in the curls of hair littering the other man’s chest, gripping before he began to bounce himself atop the straining length stretching him and leaving his thighs a trembling wreck.

“Please-“

“-Fuck me,” Nick growled as he hauled the other up to his feet.

Mario shoved him back, swollen lips smashing into the other’s as he kissed him suddenly, yanking the doppelganger against himself and forcing the bit of precum he’d collected into his mouth.  A noise akin to a purr escaped him at the brunette’s moan, nimble hands working to yank open his dress slacks.   “Gonna fuck you raw, sweetheart,” he promised, ignoring the tremors that threatened to make him fumble, trying his damnedest to shove away the memories flashing like lightning behind the hunger of his eyes.

“Make me come.  Fuck, Mar.  Please, please- Everything’s going to fucking fast,” Nick shivered and hushed as soon as skilled fingers pushed against his lips.  He sucked the digits into his mouth, nearly biting before Mario pulled them free.  He watched as his heart continued its threatening beat against his rib cage, fear melting into awe as he watched Mar lean back, his lover reaching behind himself and wedging his hand between the gambler’s already splayed legs. 

“That’s it.  Take it all.  Relax, Nicky.  Ya only did a fuckin’ line,” he chided, eyes half lidded as he forced two fingers inside his lover. 

“I’m not used to that sh-ii-it,” Nick whined, letting out several harsh breathes as seeking fingers pressed into exactly what they’d been searching for.

“But you’re used ta this, ain’tcha, lover?” Mario asked, clenching around Nick’s cock just as he added a third, stretching the other.

Their pace was rough and quick, blunt with every unforgiving drag of his dick against the tightness of the taller male’s insides.  Mario gripped the man’s throat, pinning him to the wall as he forced his pants down further so that the gambler’s thighs were forced wider, exposed to his impromptu lover and anyone that may pass by.  The former mobster grit his teeth, eyes narrowed and elsewhere as precum dribbled and dripped to the damp pavement, his catch’s moans unheard as the sound of splintering wood consumed the Italian’s headspace.

They had almost reached orgasm before the door had been kicked in.  Neither had been aware of the cars that had pulled up to their squat hotel room, neither had heard the doors slam shut, nor had they even expected anyone to come for them, let alone succeed in finding them.  The cocaine Mario had taken had been slipped away from one of his uncles, the dealer’s stash had been easy to find and had seemingly been easy to skim a bit off the top from. 

Mario hit the ground before he had time to move for his gun on the bedside table, the only son of Don Pagano wrenched back and flung so that his head bounced off the wall and he crumpled to the filthy carpet that had already stained his feet black from hours of movement throughout the room earlier that evening.  He looked up in time to see Nick being hauled up from the bed and Mar moved without thinking, the urge to keep his lover unharmed outweighing his already muddled common sense.

“You’s really wanna go there, Mar?” Bambi asked, out rightly laughing as he wrenched the tiny male back, gripping dark hair and flinging him into the wall again.  “Jesus, I always thought you guys were up each other’s asses, but I didn’t think it was fuckin’ literal.  Didjou, Ramone?” the hulking male asked as he caught hold of Mario again, large hands moving effortlessly as he held his boss’s son, slamming a nonchalant fist into the man’s gut to cease his struggles.

“And with that fine ass wife?  Bossman’s daughter?  Please tell me this is the first time and you’re high outta your mind, Nick.  Christ, man.  You really a faggot?” Ramone asked, curiosity genuine even as the lanky blond threatened his lifelong friend with a gun placed lightly to the back of Nick’s skull.    

“Guys, look.  I can explain,” Nick started, green eyes wide, skin pale and his heart hammering painfully in his chest as he stood before the two men he had grown up with, completely exposed in his still half erect nudity. 

“You don’t got nothin’ tuh worry with, Nick.  Well, other than maybe needin’ tuh getchu some more pussy,” Bambi assured the other, beginning to drag Mario out of the room.  “I mean, yeah you’re gonna go through hell, but I’m pretty sure we won’t have tuh kill ya or nothin’.  We just need you’s tuh get the message Don is meanin’ tuh send.  Ya got me?”

“Fuck you.  Let him go.  He doesn’t need to see nothin’,” Mario hissed, stumbling as he was hauled from the room by his hair.  “Nicky, don’t fuckin’ watch.”

“No, I think he needs tuh see this.  Boss wanted him to.  I think you’s knows this lesson…if them rumors are true ‘bout you and that gardner, huh?” Ramone asked, still curious as he followed after with Nick in tow.

“Boys.  Guys, wait.  Wait!” Nick shouted, panic rising as he was held in the doorway by Ramone.  He fought against the other man, shouting for Mario as his lover was shoved across the snow-covered parking lot, pushed until he was on his knees.

Mario caught himself on his hands, soft white falling around him, hitting and melting against his fevered skin as he raised himself up.  Hazel eyes widened slowly behind the messy sprawl of his bangs, breath coming out in harsh bursts of fog as realization dawned on him.  He looked up, the headlights of the second vehicle blinding, but the shock was too great for him to flinch from that.  “Nicky, don’t fucking look!”

“Bambi, fucking wait.  Jesus Christ, we’re your God Damned friends!” Nick screamed, voices cracking in terror as he watched the largest of his band of friends withdraw the 9mm from his suit jacket. 

Bambi paused, glancing over his shoulder at Nick.  He watched him from over the tops of his dark glasses before he looked back to Mario.  “We’re friends, Nicky.  But I ain’t friends with this rabid fucking faggot and orders are orders,” he said simply with a shrug of one massive shoulder.

“Nicky, don’t fucking look.  He’s full of shit.  They’re all fucking full of shit,” Mario hissed and began to rise up from his knees, turning to face the group.

“Mar-“

The gun went off with a resounding crack, the shot sending Mario’s body in a half spin, blood splattering in a long arc across the snow before he crumbled in a heap.

Nick wailed in protest, the scream that ripped from his throat something far from human, echoing in the early winter air.

  Mario’s eyes fluttered, unseeing as he came, spilling inside the screaming, but muffled conman.  He held the shuddering male close, breathing deep as he gripped at him a little too tightly.  He tasted blood as they slumped against the wall and began to regain some form of lust less consciousness.  He dragged his hand from his catch’s mouth, smearing the spittle that had collected against his palm along the taller male’s stubble-covered jawline.  “Good boy,” he murmured, lazily petting at the exposed skin of the man’s hip.

“Fuck.  You’re not half bad,” Nick muttered, panting harshly.  He looked to Mario, face still flushed as he smirked and tried to steal another kiss. 

Mario retracted, pulling out without care save the need to be away from the chosen imposter.  “Yeah, you’re welcome,” he stated shortly, glowering before he busied himself with doing up his pants and righting his shirt.

A frown caught the survivor confusion turning into irritation.  “What the fuck?”

Mar cocked an eyebrow before giving a nasty smirk.  “You wanted a good dominating booty call.  Ya got one, sweetcheeks.  You’re welcome.”

“That’s it?  We fuck and-“

“You want somethin’ more, sweets?  Maybe ya oughta pay for your doms.  I need a drink.  You have a good night, though.  Ya deserve it,” Mario waved him off, slinking back into the club before the card shark could argue further with him.