Catalogue Kid.

one of these days you're going to have to really look at yourself and decide if that's what you want to wake up for. [ Dean ] Kim Minjae. 24. artist. escort

[theoutcall]

I wonder... whether or not my message was eaten or if it simply doesn’t matter anymore; if I no longer matter.

i cant tell if this is ooc or ic, but it’s not my intention to ever make someone feel unimportant 

is everything okay ?? 

[gyllenhala]

Sleeping With Other People (2015)

[theoutcall]

@clementide

There are relationship that don’t need to be picked apart until it becomes unrecognizable. These relationships simply thrive off the absence of questions. Minjae never drove Jieun into the corner by demanding to know where they stood. Neither of them ever wanted to know. Neither wanted more than they were.

Sometimes she visits out of the blue. Her arrival is usually announced with a vague text before he hears the knock on his door. Minjae knows she’s upset about something, but he never asks what. It would be like opening the door for her to bolt and he doesn’t want to give her another reason to run.

“You have a freckle below your right eye.”

Minjae squints, observing Jieun’s face. The only light comes from the city outside, and artificial glare washes over her skin with an odd hue. They’re both lying down on his bed, opposite to each other as they point out features they’re already well aware exist. He sighs.

“The background music you chose is really distracting.”

“The bagpipes?” She closes her eyes, exhaling softly. “I thought it would put you right to sleep.”

“Speaking of-- are you going to sleep in my jacket? If you drool on it, it’s yours.”

Jieun looks at him. Minjae immediately recognizes that glance.

“You wouldn’t…” His feigned disgust become genuine. “Ahhh… you would.”

She wraps herself up tighter, pulling at the collar so only her eyes show. He drags the zipper up to her nose and does not bother to decipher the muffled protest underneath fabric. Jieun closes her eyes, hands curled under her head. Minjae drags a blanket up over her shoulders.

“Do you think we love each other?”

Silence invades the space between these two people. Minjae half expects Jieun to flee the room after his question. Either with a half-serious joke or excusing herself to the bathroom and never coming back. Instead, she purses her lips and then wrinkles her nose.

“Romantic love--”

It’s a question she hangs in the air for him to pluck at.

“No, of course not,” he immediately disagrees, making her laugh before he even follows up with, “that’s gross.”

Silence again before she nods once, and then twice. He starts to nod along with her and stops right when she stops.

Jieun watches him thoughtfully.

“What do you want to do about it?”

Minjae shifts so his head rests in the crook of his arm.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing,” Jieun repeats.

The music stops, shuffling automatically. It’s string instrumental this time. The rhythm starts to pull Minjae’s thoughts in another direction as his eyes drift closed. He feels her fingers card through his hair, brushing bangs to the side of his face.

She’s gone in the morning, and he wakes up next to his neatly folded jacket.

[theoutcall]

@inhyelation​

[ txt; mona lisa ] i hit them in the face with my knee during sex. it was a bit of mood killer driving them to the hospital for a broken nose [ txt; mona lisa ] texted the wrong person, but now that ur looking [ txt; mona lisa ]        >> address attached  [ txt; mona lisa ] you should come if u can [ txt; mona lisa ] I promise nothing illegal is on the agenda. I talked jisoo out of defacing public property this time

[choijnuhong]

[caerium]

Text memes. All of those

[Send “✆” for a MORNING text.

[ ✉ → ⛄️mellow ] are you awake?sent at 6:27:12 a.m. 

[ ✉ → ⛄️mellow ] I’m picking you up in 10 [ ✉ → ⛄️mellow ] get dressed or you’ll be facing the world in star wars boxerssent at 6:51:46 a.m.

Keep reading

[theoutcall]

Send me a Symbol

✉: For a regular text message from my muse.

♣: Here, have a not so regular (maybe even a dirty one) text message.

✍: For what my muse has written about yours in their diary.

✎: For an unsent letter from my muse (May be AU if you want, just let me know what kind of AU you want).

☎: For a drunk phone call.

☏: How about a voice message from my muse?

♥: The favorites of my muse- can be anything from music to sex positions, you're allowed to specify what you want.

∞: A random headcanon about my muse and yours.

☯: Here, have a hug from my muse.

☮: An argument I think my muse would have with yours.

♪: I've put all of my songs on shuffle- now I have to write a drabble involving our muses with the next song that comes on.

♬: Would you care to dance? My muse has to dance with yours.

♛: My muse is royalty for a day and you are their loyal subject- wait, what? What would my muse's reaction be to this idea?

♚: You are my master- hold on. What if my muse was the loyal subject, how would this go?

✖: Your muse is drowning in the bathtub when mine walks into the bathroom.

☠: Your muse has died, this is how mine reacts.

❂: My muse is clumsy and crashes into yours.

✈: Our muses are on a plane together, by accident or choice. This is what happens.

☢: It's too hot outside, how does my muse suggest our muses cool down?

ϟ: There's a storm going on and our muses are stuck together in a house- how will this go?

☂: It's pouring down and your muse forgot their umbrella, will my muse offer up theirs?

✧: Our muses went to eat out- where?

★: The stars are shining beautifully and my muse wants you to see them.

☾: It's in the middle of the night and my muse had a nightmare about yours- what does my muse do?

☼: The sun is shining bright and your muse got the bright idea of going out, does my muse agree with this?

☄: My muse is lost, luckily there is cellphone reception- does my muse dare to call yours for help?

♤: Our muses are playing a game, which kind and who is winning?

☻: Your muse got sunburnt, my muse didn't- how'd it happen and how'll mine help?

♒: Our muses are at the beach together, by accident or not, and yours was a bit too close to the waves- will my muse laugh or perhaps be helpful?

♦: Your muse asked mine to marry them, what's my muse's reaction?

◊: Your muse comes to mine, crying, how does my muse react?

✘: Scars aren't very pretty- my muse has to show you theirs.

✦: My muse was attacked but yours saved them- how'll my muse ever thank them?

[una-simul-stare-blog]

Visit Original Link

[theoutcall]

@caerium

It’s winter, and winters in Korea are different than the states. Every time he comes back, he’s wearing a new set of winter gear suited far better to New York’s cold. Tracking his inexperience with friendly foreigners all over the house of someone he met online, no less.

He was raised in a world where his mother preached caution. Constantly breathing down his neck about being careful. Never trust. Never give someone your vulnerability. Never be anything more than what you want people to remember.

It’s funny now considering his entire occupation is meeting strangers and having to predict their every move.

It’s funny now because he’s in bed with the same boy he chatted with about stupid movie theories and complex space physics over internet forums. He’s visited occasionally when his client was in the United States, and it’s strange how close you can become with someone when the time is limited and you both know how temporary moments can be. They never did overcomplicate anything. They just were. They simply existed because they understood how their lives worked.

It helps that Nic’s family likes him, all unaware of what he really does. Sex work as a conversation topic never tends to end well.

“Your feet are cold.”

He has the covers pulled up to his chin when he mumbles into soft fabric. His eyes are closed. Nic’s cold heels press intentionally against the back of his calves and he squirms away.

“You sleep like my mom does.”

“That’s a really weird thing to say, Nic.”

He hears the sigh, doesn’t see their face but can imagine the expression.

“Well-- you do. Wrapped up like a burrito.”

“Burrito…” he murmurs, almost half-asleep. “Like a taco, but flat, and soft,” Nic explains.

His eyes narrow and half-rolls over to face them.

“I know what a burrito is-- I just don’t like being compared to one.”

“Then… something else soft and squishy.”

Minjae starts to rub his eyes. The ache to sleep is leaving his body and tiredness is overtaken by his alert mind.

“Why soft?” His eyes narrow. “Squishy…?”

Nic is still, head resting in the crook of their elbow. Minjae can’t see their mouth that way, and Nic’s eyes had a way of being unreadable even after all his practice reading so many different faces and moods. They shift just enough to suddenly pinch both of his cheeks. He’s stunned, immobile, blinking.

“Soft,” Nic repeats with a smile, letting go. They made their point.

Minjae shakes his head, muffling a laugh under his hand.

“What the hell-- you’re so weird. You’re not even drunk right now.” He rubs his own cheeks, testing Nic’s comparison of his cheeks to tortilla bread.

“Is there something weird about the truth?”

Minjae is still laughing after catching a glimpse of Nic’s unwavering poker-face.

“I guess not,” he agrees, face red from his own laughing fit, almost breathless. “I bet you don’t pinch your mother’s cheeks like that.”

“Why would I do that?” Nic’s brow is furrowed, eyes lost in the contemplation. “That’s a bit weird.”

Minjae rolls over toward the wall, groaning, “You’re impossible.”

“I’m letting you sleep in my bed, though.”

Minjae barks another laugh before he faces Nic again, burying his face into a familiar pillow.

“That’s true.”

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, or if he drifted off, but he feels the soft touch of fingers. They trace below his left eye and it’s almost gentle enough to hide itself as a figment of his imagination. Minjae is quiet because he knows Nic is looking at the bruise painting his cheek bone.

“Are you going to ask?”

Their arm is tucked away again underneath their head, but they watch him in the dark.

“You already answered.”

It had been too simple to lie. Nic cares a lot-- too much, but they hadn't argued when Minjae showed up in the middle of the night joking about getting into a drunk fight with a much bigger American. He hadn’t smelled like alcohol and he doesn’t like to drink. It was easy to look right through that type of lie, but Nic never pressed the issue. Just-- are you okay? Do I need to call someone? What happened?

Then, the questions ended after Minjae easily answered them all.

I’m fine.

There’s no one to call unless it’s to get me in legal trouble for causing a fight.

Nothing happened but a black eye.

It’s not the first time they’ve slept in the same room, and it’s not weird or uncomfortable for either of them. Nic is accustomed to rapidly adjusting to any situation and Minjae is rarely ever uncomfortable with anything.

“You seem like you want to ask again,” he accuses lightly, lips tilting into a smile.

“Should I?”

And Minjae is silent after the question, but the truth is on his face. It’s telling the story in his eyes. The way they look anywhere but at Nic’s face, because honesty has a way of nestling in the right people at the wrong time, and it’s always harder to look at those you care about disappointing. He shouldn’t care about disappointing anyone.

His forehead falls against Nic’s chest and he feels their hand rest on the top of his head. He starts to murmur again, convinced to fall into sleep by the warmth and late hour.

“You’re too nice, you know. There’s a lot of people that would take advantage of that.”

“Depends on what you consider nice.”

“Ahh--” he interjects, eyes closed and fighting sleep the same way he always fights Nic’s logic. “Nice people never admit they’re nice. By default, you’re kind.”

The noise Nic makes sounds like a scoff, but it’s a tired noise that betrays how close they both are to passing out. He’s almost asleep when they decide to speak again.

“You’re nice, too.”

Minjae immediately shakes his head, face still pressed up against the fabric of Nic’s shirt.

“M’not nice at all,” he denies, words jumbled and pressing together.

The window shakes from the wind and Nic pulls the blanket up further over him.

“Nice people never admit they’re nice.”

Minjae’s silent, pretending to be asleep, pretending to win. He’s gone in the morning-- early enough to miss a familiar and nonsensical wake-up call from the other. He leaves before Nic can ask about anything else, even knowing they probably wouldn’t. Minjae feels too comfortable with the other, and his secrets are not the type of secrets to tell good people. So he leaves, but not without drawing a doodle of Nic in a military uniform next to a plane. It’s inaccurate based on photographs he’s seen throughout his life without researching and far too cutesy, the type of thing a doting girlfriend does or an overzealous best friend. That’s why he draws tiny hearts and his own face comically blowing kisses.

It would be months before they spoke again and Minjae forgot to return the too-big shirt Nic let him borrow. He forgets about that, too, until he finds it in the back of his closet after Nic’s funeral. It sits balled up into his fists and he sits there until his knees are numb and it’s dark outside.

Grieving means accepting what happened. Sometimes accepting something tastes acrid. Reality never makes it down the throat, or it’s choked down the wrong tube. 

“You were too nice.”

At least you’re feeling one thing, then, even if it’s denial.

[tartemis]

[theoutcall]

@clementide

on most nights it starts just like this: phone pressed to her ear, tranquility in static connection, random quote echoing past the speaker in place of a standard ‘hey, hi, it’s me.’

it’s half past midnight here; cue the knowing perk of her lips when her phone gives a short buzz, lurks in extended silence as she lets the device illuminate the night-blue wash of her room. four seconds, then five. there’s something about the building anticipation, impending greeting a fluttering whir at the back of her throat.

she swipes across the screen, accepting the call.

“hi to you, too.”

she sits up, kicks back her sheets, laughter like quiet bells that bounce off empty walls. she’s slumping back into a bed of pillows in the next second, lethargic sigh at the tip of her tongue; not quite the thinking man, but close enough. “i’m feeling some type of way about these calls,” lower lip juts out as she mulls over the sequential unfolding of thoughts. “i mean… should you not? only you know what hurts you the most. giving up that kind of control is too much of a risk.” an idle pause here. at least she’s being honest.

“but hey— minjae?” knees to her chest, she curls up against the headboard, loose locks a cascading mess down her pillow, “i’m trying.” she sinks into her mattress, suddenly wishing to think a little less, feel a little more. “i think.. i am.”

like a comma at the end of a phrase, he lingers. here, there, in places she can never quite reach.

“you’d tell me if i was doing a shit job, right?”

he hates cigarettes. hates the smell, the way smoke camps in your mouth and sinks into the tiny cracks of your lungs. it feels almost permanent after one drag, one smoke, and one kiss from a smoker who only felt safe enough to retreat to bad habits with him. he had brushed his teeth five times and scrapped his tongue raw, yet he finds himself still tasting someone else’s cigarette and pausing as if he’d smoked again for the first time in years. but that’s not why his mouth feels so heavy right now.  “Shit...” he exhales, resting his head back against the windowsill. eyes are momentarily forgetting he’s not wearing a watch, and he stares down at his wrist dumbly and pulls at the short strands of hair over his forehead. Tugging over and over.. Maybe to just pause them both here, force the moment to go on longer. And-- mentally kick his own ass.

“What time is it for you? Two? One? Ass o’clock?” But still, she makes him laugh that easy, comfortable and breathy laughter. The type of laugh where his shoulders shake and he would’ve shot water through his nose had he taken a drink. They did get along in a way that could never be duplicated or remembered differently. He keeps the phone cradled between his shoulder and neck, watching cars pass below the hotel window. It’s another place that’s familiar and strange all at once. He hums. “What type of way? I only hope to inspire any response at all, even if it is to tell me to shove it and stop reading so much meaningless poetry.” and he’s quiet, because she is. hearing jieun’s voice grow small anchors him in place. the walls fall away and there is no window or world in front of him. her voice nestles inside his ear, and all he can register is the quiet crack of the phone line.  “You’re trying,” he encourages, quietly, like talking any louder would break what had formed between them. “You’re trying harder than anyone I know, the only way you know how.” Jieun isn’t so fragile as to need the gentle words, but she needs something. So he offers what he has to give and smiles to himself as he draws small designs into glass. “You know I’d be the first one to tell you if you’re doing a shit job and take away your igloo rights.”

[theoutcall]

caerium

let's just all admit that he liked nic at some point

everyone is in love with nic though

[theoutcall]

﹤ copy this post into a new text post; remove my answers and put in yours. when you are done, tag up to ten people and also tag the person who tagged you.  ﹥ tagged by: @clementide​ and prob someone else but  tagging: i dont remember any urls rn i just finished my finals

A - age: 24 B - biggest fear: being forgotten C - current time: 1:39 PM (KST) D - drink you last had: Black tea E - every day starts with: staring up at the ceiling before hearing the alarm go off F - favorite song: I don’t have a favorite, I have a very long playlist that’s been in the works since I was 14 G - ghosts; are they real: Prove that they aren’t I - in love with: you K - killed someone: Now that you mention it L - last time you cried: Don’t remember M - middle name: - N - number of siblings: None. O - one wish: Wish Jieun would talk to me, but you can’t wish progress on others for your own benefit. Have to wait for her, be there for her instead of make her be there with me. P - person you last called/texted: They’d be a bit peeved if I outted them like that and I have some sort of integrity. maybe. Q - questions you are always asked: “do you wear insoles? maybe you should” “why do you look so familiar” “you high right now?” “can I pinch your cheeks” “are you this nice to everyone” “what aren’t you into” “do you do this often” R - reasons to smile: warm afternoons and clear skies, people who you can sit in comfortable silence with, new books, old books, art that comes from your hands, my mixtape S - song last sang: TT by twice. I would say I was drunk, but I was very, very sober T - time you woke up: Six a.m. U - underwear color: Guess, see what happens V - vacation destination: in the mountains, or forest, anywhere that seems less altered, less busy, less noise. X - x-rays you’ve had: Skull, nose Y - your favorite food: doenjang jjigae Z - zodiac sign: aries

[thepapercuts]

Visit Original Link

“You have loved You were not alone You have braved the weather When the storm cut you to the bone There was always shelter…”

[fy-dean]

a day out with dean in london

[kdramafeed]

[clementide-archived]

@theoutcall

[theoutcall]

had feelings for someone whom you can’t have? guilty. / explainz

I hate you for making me explain this

Okay, so. Minjae has never been in love. Habitually, reflexively, automatically-- he tries to take care of people. He tries to mold himself to fit the tiny cracks people have acquired from their lives. He nurtures. He pleases. He appeases. He tries to fix. That’s what he does, that’s what he’s learned to do, that’s how he’s survived, that’s how he’s always lived. Becoming someone else, being the version people need. 

His mother loved him, but it was suffocating, critical love, and she took care of herself before she took care of anyone else. But Minjae has never witnessed a stable or normal or healthy relationship. He grew up in unstable circumstances & his views on love are very skewed. Not to mention he’s a prostitute & he deals with people who are married, in stable relationships, and still coming to him for sex. what-is-love.mp3

and yet, he’s a romantic. He develops feelings for people very easily. He feels so much about everything and falls into intervals of depression. and yet there’s the part of him that’s very grounded in cynicism even if he wants to be optimistic & is to a degree. he has witnessed terrible things, is the last person you would want to be in a relationship with. and he knows what’s he capable of, that he fucks up, that he has these commitment issues and abnormal view on relationships. 

so he has feelings for someone, and it’s not that he can’t have them. it’s that he won’t try to because every single relationship he’s ever witnessed and been a part of has never lasted. so he simply lives, and accepts what he’s done with his life and the fact he could not even think of bringing someone into that life and expect them to give that much. his mother only ever took, and he’s not his mother.