#soricol

in some twisted sort of way, she’s reminded that death has no hold on her. the world went on and on, going and going. she came just as she went. Unlike others, whose footprints will disappear, hers were indented on the ground. there hasn’t been a place here that she hasn’t walked through. there hasn’t been a place that didn’t either bring her joy or pain or maybe it was a mixture of both, only romanticized by the idea that her joy brought pain to the world. or had it been the other way around?because no matter what anyone ever told, tells, or will tell her, she’s an evil little thing. marked off by the dark kings that she did not have to die, and in exchange for that unfair taking of her life, she would take the lives of others. in exchange for an eternity she never asked for, she would do unspeakable cruelties that made her choke on her own tears to gods that stopped pitying her. if the world wasn’t black and white, it was painted red because her hands left a mark on this earth.the world wasn’t as beautiful as it was. the world wasn’t full of vibrant and dull colors. the stars didn’t sing songs to her to help her sleep. everything mocked her, called her a joke for being the woman that she was. they never took into regard of the unfair justice that was placed upon her shoulders and weighed down the heart that was taken from her. and so she grew angry and cold. but the idea of it all terrified her. it made the dust coat her lungs as she exhaled and inhaled into some impregnable fortress. it made her still heart harden and then soften into a forgiving soul even though that was taken from her too. she came to realize that the world was just going on as it was, and if she let it be, it would let her be as well. and so she stopped being angry and cold.

and it helped for a while. it made the colors in the world come back. her eyes saw clearer, but the colors were not as she remembered. but she’d been blind for so long, how can she remember something she could hardly imagine in her head anymore? it was hard to feel like anything for a long time. she felt the strings of an abyss carry her weight through the world. her footsteps deepened more, engraved on the roads she walked. Did you ever walk through the world and see colors muted because you refused to see the good in it all? and she couldn’t just let the world be anymore because unknowingly, it continued to sap whatever life she had in her out of her. so the world became black and white again, stained red by the first time she felt her life draining away from her.“It hurt, that pain.” she figured it was some sort of punishment for being weak. for not seeing the yellows in a field of sunflowers. for not seeing the blue in the sky’s comfort in her sorrows. but while she laid in that hut on the ground with her blood pooling around her, dried by the heat that weaved into the small space, she felt it. it was an inescapable feeling, one that made her toes curl. one that made her feel as though perhaps if she woke up from this, it would all be just a dream. That morning, she woke up in a fright. she pressed the palm of her hand onto the skin over her heart. and in the span of three minutes, she knew her dream would never come true. waves crashed over her, drowned her, and she realized that she’d been crying with a boy fretting over her to stop crying. then somewhere along the way, after time ticked and she remained unchanged by the world, everything just became okay. maybe the pain of it all became her world. the ugly dressed up and called myths to make people believe that fairy tales were just that. but fairy tales lived beneath her skin, and she called them nightmares. but nightmares, if you see them long enough, stop being nightmares. she once thought her dream was crushed, and if you asked her, she would tell you that of all the dreams she’s had, only one came true.

@soricol // text meme

✉ ( SMS: Do Sori ) Again, you never responded to my prior test messages(SMS) but i need to know before tomorrow, will you be willing to fill in for practice at korea national ballet class that i’m going in to mentor tomorrow?(SMS) it shouldn’t take more than an hour, two at most but obviously since i will be observing and correcting techniques i’m unable to play, and you’re my first choice.(SMS) you would be paid well, please just let me know before 9 tomorrow

✘ (SMS: Do Sori) did you eat? would you like me to buy you something, and drop it off on my way... i don’t care what we eat. I just like spending time with you... [ Message Erased ]

☠ (SMS: Do Sori) Not to be prude but can you not do the ‘sori’ thing and not intimidate the students?(SMS) even though you’re behind the piano, doesn’t mean they don’t look up to you(SMS) acknowledge them when they walk in at the very least. And if it’s not to painful, smile?

[SMS: Ueda Blythe] I would appreciate if you do not force assumptions onto our relationship. Especially one towards the future. [SMS] But please let me know if I could help you with anything at the moment. 

The weight of his own sin weighs heavier than usual… (@soricol) (@runest)

Slowly, Marco lowers his violin to count the seconds before lightning strikes again and then the seconds it takes for thunder to follow after. He’s trying hard tonight to force a sense of liberal nonchalant but try as he might, his best effort goes to waste – Sori sees through him. (he always has)

The atmosphere around them weighs heavily with thick humidity. It’s too distracting. And as Sori sits abnormally idle on the piano bench, Marco can feel his partners irritation radiate in waves off his skin. His fingers are still posed on the edge of ivory keys, but don’t press hard enough to make a sound – even though he’s in close proximity to Marco, he still seems to be miles away, has been seemingly miles away for weeks now. The only way Marco is reassured of his presence to be true now, and not a trick made up of his illusions is when Sori jerks from the clap of thunder outside.

It’s almost as if the last of what once was the honeymoon stage, where everything is sickeningly sweet and rich, has long since turned sour as it draws nearer to the end, an altogether bitter rancid tang remains on his lips.

Personally, Marco drawls comfort from the sound of thunderstorms. He’s likes the desolate feeling it leaves. He’s always drawn comfort from seeking shelter from the rain, only this time the storm is no longer a thing of cold rain, and noise. The storm is in the words he leaves unsaid, it’s tangled in Sori’s tense limbs, and it goes with him where ever he goes. It clings more and more to Sori after every instance they meet. 

The time to let go is near. The time came and went a long time ago (he should’ve heeded the warning signs.)

And he supposes that he can understand Sori’s frustration regarding the unfairness of it all. Whenever he turns over the different aspects of their relashionship in the late of night, or moments of quiet he thinks of how he knows so many of Sori’s secrets yet Sori knows so little (if any) of his.

Lightning strikes again. And in the time it takes Marco to count the seconds, lights flicker briefly before the power goes out. They’re soon left in complete darkness. He almost hear the slump in Sori’s shoulders as the piano bench scraps against the tiles. 

Let him leave. It’s better this way. Marco thinks, more like reasons with himself, putting the violin into its hard case. The door clicks after Sori leaves before the following clap of thunder –  strangely, the thunder never comes and this makes the blood running in his veins turn cold. 

“Sori.” Marco calls, after opening the door. His voice echos down the endless corridors, into the pitch blackness of the hallway - only bouncing off the various instruments. What he’s met with instead is the pale silver wisps of a man, not fully a ghost, not fully a man standing directly in front of Sori. 

“Sori.” Marco whispers, voice hoarse. And holds his hand out, “Don’t be afraid.” And with that the ghost of his mentor fades, and Marco moves to pull Sori into his arms, and holds him close. Gingerly, pets the back of Sori’s head as he hugs him. It’s more of a measure to reassure himself that’s he’s alright.

 And for a moment he wonders if he truly is losing sight of reality. (What if Sori is only a wonderfully crafted figment of his own illusion...?)

cuddly / platonic-ish memes

Chanyeol seemed to have a death wish, laying his head so carelessly over the other’s lap, beaming up at the conductor like they’ve been friends for very long. 

In reality, he was just very drunk on wine and their joint vinyl collection, both having spent the last few hours exchanging favorites and trying out the new vinyl player Chanyeol got the other for Christmas. 

There’s a few empty wine bottles already laying on the floor, along with empty containers of take out Chinese food and candy wrappers, and they’ve played three decades worth of music all in one night. 

“Alright, you’re all free to go.” 

The room is filled with the sound of metal against title as chairs were forced backward not even a second after their dismissal. Sliding his own notes into the opening of his backpack (a nice gift from a friend of his) Jongin looks around the lecture hall. It never failed to amaze him how quickly others students left the room. By the time he zips up his backpack the only other person in the room is his teacher and even she making her exit.

As always, Jongin exits the building by way of back staircase. Once outside, he follows the path until he reaches the cross road in the sidewalk and stops to consider his options. 

If he kept straight cut through the library then cut through the meadow behind the library that would take him to the cafeteria where he was supposed to meet a friend for lunch. Kyungsoo in fact. He pushes the thought of Kyungsoo’s scowl out his mind. Now if he turned left, that would take him to the music building. It’s a hard decision to make so he weighs both options.

Stomach growling. Piano. Kyungsoo is probably waiting for me. Baby Grand Piano. They’re serving떡볶이 for some reason. Jongin finds his will slipping at the mention the spicy street food. Full grand piano, though. Mmm, chocolate milk. Oh, he had been meaning to try that new grand they just brought in. Ignoring a growl in his stomach he makes a left turn, walking to the music building. Jongin checks his watch 11:33 AM Yeah, I’ve got time. Lunch isn’t served until 12:00 anyway.

Much to his overwhelming delight, the music building is practically deserted. Taking the time to walk down the hallway, nearly all the doors to music rooms are open. A few are closed here and there, but what matters to Jongin is that the new room at the end of the hall was still open. He enters it and shuts the door. It takes him another good ten minutes just to get himself settled (aka, check his phone, then check the piano, fish Midnight the music department cat out of the piano, put him outside the room or try to anyway, settle on living him in the room, fume over losing to a cat, get over it) before he’s finally ready to play. His phone buzzes. He ignores it. It’s probably Kyungsoo. 

meme accepting! directed @soricol​​​​​!

« status » →  not accepting !

“Just how many times are you going to say you’re sorry? I get it.” No she didn’t. She would never understand the man standing at her front door. She would never understand why he was apologizing so late at night. She would never understand the messages he sent to her saying that he was sorry for what he did. She would never understand why even when he was breathing so erratically that the sound of his voice was still as soft as she remembered it to be. She furrowed her eyebrows, bothered by how much she didn’t understand despite all the lives she’s outlived.

“Stop apologizing already.” What had they even fought about? How many times had they fought that she had finally stopped caring? Or had she cared at all? about the fights? about their friendship? about him? Questions lingered in her head longer than she wanted them to. She almost got lost in them, but she snapped back to reality the moment she heard him apologize yet again. Whatever he was saying to her went over her head, and the only thing that stuck was that she was the one at fault. Not him. It was always her. She was the problem, and that bothered her.

“Stop it already! ” She tried to slam the door in his face, but his strength overpowered hers. She was weak from the constant internal fighting that as soon as he pushed back, she’d scurried a few inches back. The door flung open again, slamming against the wall. They were both breathing heavily, her staring daggers at him while he stared at her with the most perplexed face she’d ever seen on him. “What do you want from me? An explanation? Huh? Is that it? I’m not going to give you one, so back off already. Just…” Her voice grew softer, the anger etched in her face suddenly dissipating as she lost her resolve. 

Where was the strong girl that she used to be? Where had all her fighting spirit gone? She hated what she was becoming. There were days where she felt it coming back and others where she felt her soul leaving her body. But how could that be when she had been without a soul for so long? Her arms fell limp, her hair disheveled as she tried to calm her breathing. Inside her head, she heard a mocking laugh, one that made her blood boil and her skin go cold. And that was when she knew that the man, standing so concerned in front of her doorstep, was in danger if he kept prying into her life.

Damn, all she wanted to do was cry, and that was the last thing she wanted him to see.