#mptaeyong

@mp-taeyong

it’s not yet too crowded in the club since the performances haven’t started yet, the place only recently opened. he likes it that way; not too many people thinking things that endlessly distract him, but enough so that it’s not just him by himself once again. he’s been by himself long enough now, he thinks, it’s high time he got to know some people, perhaps even make a few friends here and there.

who better to start with than the bartender who’s currently pouring out his drink, seeming ever so kind and gentle. the main language this man speaks is korean, it seems - jordan only knows a few conversational expressions in it though with the many people on this island who think in it, he’s picking up more and more - but when he ordered in english earlier, the bartender answered him in the same language, so at least some conversation can be had, if not a lot. he’ll understand everything the other man says thanks to his ability, but making himself understood is harder.

@mp-taeyong continued from here:

How did he get here? Obviously he remembered going to Foiseach with a lead on something that might be able to suppress his power. But how he wound up on the floor with the owner essentially sitting on top of him, the universe must truly hate him. He was still dazed from the fall. Dried herbs were more slippery that he thought and the poor woman was probably pissed thanks to him pulling her down with him. He muttered out an apology as quickly as he could and tried not to die of embarrassment. “Sorry, sorry I’m so sorry I just slipped and-” This, was the worst. 

it’s not every day that someone enters her store, most of the people on mount phoenix don’t even know it exists. the only place there is even any sort of advertisement about her shop is the business registry, a mandatory thing so newcomers can have an overview of all the places they can go. not many of them remember foiseach for long, though.

so to find an unknown demigod at her doorstep is a curious thing. to have him come inside only to slip and tumble, that is something else entirely. his body goes straight for one of her important shelves, however, so she reaches for him, for the hand he stratches out in an attempt to regain his balance, and tugs him away from the shelf. it’s a good thing too, for the sharp corner would not have done well colliding with his head. she does move along with his further falling movement, however, straddling him in favour of being able to put her hand underneath his head, to cushion a little bit of the blow with the ground.

she doesn’t have the strength to keep him upright, after all, but at least she can reduce the harm from his fall to a minimum.

once the movement has come to a stop, she stays in her position for a moment or two longer, letting herself feel the pain in her hand and then slowly allowing it to pass her by. her gaze is pulled by the demigod starting to speak, a frantic apology that she waves off with a single motion of her hand. she does not yet get up, however, and instead looks down at him from her straddling position.

Angela had been in a rush leaving the shop. Siwoo's stomach had not been feeling well, and while one of the staff watched him in her office, she had rushed away to a nearby convenience store to get some medicine to help her precious little boy. So as she finally got to the register to pay, she found her wallet missing from her back pocket.

When the male approached her, relief summoned over the stressed demigoddess's. Gratitude quickly fell from her lips, and she immediately took the wallet from Taeyong. Angela completed the purchase as fast as possible so that she could once again address her savior.

"Thank you so much, truly. Next time you come back to my shop, please as for me. I can promise you a free meal."

with @mp-taeyong

forty-one days.

it has been exactly forty-one days since minho has last taken a picture — a proper picture, mind you — of anything. honesty, it gnaws at him that he’s a photography major with so many new and interesting things to snap photographs of on the island, and yet he hasn’t taken a single one. what even is a photographer that doesn’t take pictures? (not a photographer, his mind helpfully supplies.)

his solution to the problem is quite a simple one: go out to central park with his camera and take pictures of anything and everything.

his plan goes perfectly at first; he takes pictures of the little squirrels scuttling along, of the beautiful flower blooms along the sidewalk, of the way the tops of the trees frame the sky like an artistic masterpiece. none of these things, however, serve to fill the void minho feels weighing heavy in his chest. no matter how many birds in the low-swinging tree branches he captures, something just doesn’t feel quite right.

belatedly, minho realizes his newfound issue is caused by the focus of his photos. this understanding comes after a bit of aimless walking along the sidewalk; it hits him like a bus the moment his eyes fall upon a man graced with picture-perfect visuals doing little other than sit on a bench and breathe. minho has seen countless pretty faces that would do any photoshoot justice here on the island (it must be commonplace for deities of any kind to be visually pleasing), but he hasn’t had his camera with him to act on it up until now. he debates with himself internally for all of five seconds before he decides that opportunities like these simply shouldn’t be put to waste.

it’s an almost unbearably awkward walk over to the bench, but he forces himself to have some kind of confidence about it because, well— if he isn’t confident about any of it, then how can he ever expect anyone else to be? he straightens his posture, puts a little welcoming smile on his face, and lets one of his hands rest over one of the camera straps slung over his shoulder.

@mp-taeyong continued from here:

( ✉ → Ash ): You know me Ash. Everything I do is sweet;)

( ✉ → Ash ): *note heavy sarcasm*

( ✉ → Ash ): Shouldn’t you already be asleep anyway? Go to bed! lol