#sumieres

( @sumieres )

“I wanna be here when Jadu goes Tae, I’m not going to be sad.”

it’s been awhile since Taeyang started helping out at the shelter and he would still get teary-eyed when one of the animals was adopted. it was good for the shelter and great for the animals, he would swell with pride when dogs he’d known since they were puppies left the shelter but it was bittersweet. it would always be bittersweet. each pup and kitten in the shelter occupied a special place in his heart he was sure this was why it felt like a stake pulled when they left. no matter how much medicine sat on the wound it still hurt. no matter how hard he smiled and bid the new owners farewell it still hurt.

taeyang could be with a new kitten for five minutes and they would already have a name, a favorite gesture and a special way that he’ll call their name. it shouldn’t be this easy to lend parts of himself to animals and it probably explains why his luck with the people around him. everyone who meets taeyang takes a part of him without his consent and consequently he forgets to stop giving so much out. like clockwork he gives and gives and doesn’t let himself feel the burn. he’ll smile during the adoption and his chest will tighten. it shouldn’t be that serious, nor should it be that painful. 

this time he thinks he did a good job with jadu’s adoption. the poodle had been more than happy to find a home seeing as she’s been at the shelter long enough to get her own spot in the front for visitors. that’s how she met asami and that’s how the two bonded. 

asami’s the last person he would have expected to get attached and yet here she was refusing to look at him, two hours after the adoption. here she is with one of her rare pouts sitting on her lips and taeyang just glancing at her from behind the counter. a foggy night settles outside and does nothing to lift the mood.

« status for send a number in for a fic  »  → accepting !

24. things you said with clenched fists.

“How does a rose grow without thorns to protect it?” The rain was louder than her own voice and she’s almost afraid the girl didn’t hear the words she so desperately tried to choke out of her own throat. There was a war going on in her head, her body shaking violently as she clenched her fists not at the girl but at herself. She begged for refuge in the girl sitting on her uneven seat, but that would be selfish. jieun’s been nothing but selfish these days, clinging onto different people for answers that no one could provide for her. it was as though the gods were playing a joke on her, waiting for the moment for her to realize that she was the butt of their jokes and to break down just like all those years ago.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she grew angrier.

“Why is it always that?” She couldn’t look the girl in the eye, afraid of what she might see. The rain pattered against her rooftop while painting her windows with clear polka dots. “Why can’t it be easier? To be able to live without worrying… without fear.” 

She looked at her companion then, trying to decipher the look that she was giving to her. Had it been pity? Was it guilt? She couldn’t see clearly in the darkness of her room. All she knew was that while Asami made beautiful melodies with her delicate hands, all Jieun did was ruin things.

because that’s how she was designed to be. 

five-word starters / accepting! / @sumieres​ 

red is the colour of centuries-old vendettas and split-second reflexes. it soaks the pores of boiling rage and stains hearts hardened by whispers in the shadows. scarlet weaves itself with poise into the spaces between calloused fingers and polished metal, but vermillion floods heavy tongues in a maelstrom of vengeance and the perpetual fight to survive. 

red was the colour that ushered him into this world, and it would be the same colour to escort him out. 

his hands tremble like the bodies strewn about the building, their eyes wide and searching for meaning in the shock which rips through muscle and bone. they sputter and cough, flecks of crimson painting cold concrete in thick, rough strokes, and within seconds the bodies fall still, wasted. they are a portrait of botched trade-offs and poorly-timed sneers, an expired timer to the sparks at the end of a gun powder trail. he can’t even remember what was said or what was done, only that guns had started firing faster than he could exhale. on knobby knees and palms, he had scrambled for cover behind crates of the same firearms taking lives left and right. he was safe, for a while, until the ringing had ceased and a shadow loomed over him, a silhouette of silent grace and practised execution. 

i haven’t forgotten you yet, the shadow greets, her weapon of choice glimmering delicately in the streams of moonlight. save for the clatter of his heart against his ribs and his erratic attempts at breathing, it’s silent in the warehouse. the bodies have ceased their choking and spasming, and all that remains now are two souls trained to survive. quivering hands, smeared in blood, rise in a sign of surrender and a plead for mercy. his eyes are brimming with tears that singe his skin, and his lips glisten in a mimicry of amarinthine sunsets from where his teeth have torn through flesh.