starboy.

i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked. // tyger tyger, burning bright // i have done it again. // do not go gentle into that good night. // the sea is calm to-night. // let us go then, you and i, // april is the cruelest month. // pretty women wonder where my secret lies. // there is a place where the sidewalk ends. // i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) // two roads diverged in a yellow wood. // whose woods these are i think i know, // let us twain walk aside from the rest. // once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary, // i taught myself to live simply and wisely. // it so happens i am sick of being a man // i wandered lonely as a cloud // does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? // o my love is like a red, red rose. // o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done; // out of the night that covers me // it was many and many a year ago // you may write me down in history // do not stand at my grave and weep // some say the world will end in fire // some say in ice. // hope is the thing with feathers // the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, // no man is an island, // remember me when i am gone away, // i met a traveler from an antique land // ‘twas brillig, and the slithy toves // this is thy hour o soul, // when we wear the mask that grins and lies, // death be not proud, // and death shall have no dominion. // laugh, and the world laughs with you; // the art of losing isn’t hard to master; // to see a world in a grain of sand // is there anybody there? said the traveller // nobody heard him, the dead man, // that crazed girl improving her music. // come to me in the silence of the night; // where the mind is without fear and the head is held high // when you are old and grey and full of sleep, // in flanders’ fields the poppies blow // i thought of you and how you love this beauty // life, believe, is not a dream // it may be misery not to sing at all, // if tarry space no limit knows // come live with me and be my love, // had we but world enough and time, // my heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense // bright star, would i were stedfast as thou art- // thou still unravish’d bride of quietness // how do i love thee? let me count the ways. // heaven is what i cannot reach! // my dear, my dear, i know // in visions of the dark night // shall i compare thee to a summers day? // break, break, break // she walks in beauty, // i had a dream, which was not at all a dream. // he clasps the ring with crooked hands.

Rules: Take this test for your muse and post the results. Tag as many people as you want!

REPOST. DO NOT REBLOG.

Tagged by: @khisakawa (thanks babe ;w;) & @grimaldea (ty ty!) Tagging: anyone who might want to.

( @kabonvi / source: here / status: not accepting! )

DESCRIBING SOMEONE SUCH as Carmen to another, who had no idea about the side Sangho experienced, would be like explaining the sun to a person that couldn’t feel warmth. She was kind, understanding and made all his 188cms feel childlike in stature. Anyone who understood that cupcakes were the way to anyone’s (a sane person anyway) heart could be considered a platonic soul mate to the man forced into a vat of ice as opposed to parental adoration.

Any time she was near, he was more than glad to gift her with a smile, all teeth and affection. Many complained about the woman’s coldness, how she could be easily provoked and turned into prickly thorns. But he never saw this and he was grateful.

Though he couldn’t stand being treated as if he was younger than twenty-three, almost twenty-four, he allowed it from her. The cheek prodding, the sweet embraces, the cooing, the abhorred hair ruffling. Carmen made his entire week brighter, the interior of his chest less dull. Even her playful “flirting” (if it was to be considered as such, since she had another to call her own already) made his insides burst with euphoria, rather than shame.

Thin arms wrapped around her lithe frame, bringing her into a tight embrace. Using the top of her head to rest his chin on, his smile overtook his features, hands patting her back adoringly. “Of course I’m your boo, Halloween or not.” It was moments like these that he cherished and wished he to keep forever, instead of certain other ones that took up the space in his memories.

( @mggts / source: here / status: not accepting! )

WHILE SANGHO WAS undeniably naive, he wasn’t an idiot. Even he could catch on to the vague sexual references his friends threw at him (sometimes). Whether they were genuine, or not, he had no idea, nor did he care to find out. But there was no way he’d indulge them, so he merely pretended to be unaware, to not understand. The question posed by Minjae reminded him of a pop song from 2009, Lady Gaga’s LoveGame, except she used “disco stick” rather than broomstick.

A Halloween inspired twist on an older contemporary classic joke. Maybe in the future, Sangho would tell the other just how clever he found it to be. For now, he had an act to follow. He should have become an actor instead of …doing whatever he was currently doing. Drifting into the void with a useless creative major.

“What? You have a broomstick? Are you being a witch, or something, this year? I’d love to see it! Witches are very in this year, especially after the success of The Witch. You should buy a black goat plushie to carry around with you!” He grinned widely, offering the shyest gaze he could conjure, wondering if he’d ever find someone who wouldn’t fall for his purposeful tricks.

tagged by: @hyejvng​ (thank you bb!)

tagging: nobody.

@toxicevolution liked for a starter ✧

「 🌿 」－ Music is all but a simple pleasure in the detectives life. Where he obtained such a love he isn’t positive. His father rarely listened to music, rarely listened to anything that didn’t obtain to work in one way or another. A habit Shou hadn’t inherited from his father ; and in a sense he was glad he hadn’t inherited much of anything from the man. It’s a cycle of thought ; something he always processes through his thoughts when he heads toward the small music shop. A safe haven he can lose himself in ; search through the titles and artist before deciding what to bring home and what not to. A highlight of his week when he makes the detour to browse through new and old arrivals. And he needs it, especially after a week packed full of cases. Piling higher as the minutes ticked by ; untouched and forgotten about the moment he leaves his office.

He pushes the door open slowly, sliding past them for a moment before his eyes instinctively search for a familiar face. He’s not disappointed when he spots him ; moving through the maze of displays before stopping just beside the man. ❛ Baem, any new records in today ? ❜

SANGHO WAS A creature of mere habit. A man who enjoyed living life fit into an organized routine. He always woke up, brushed his teeth, made breakfast, watered his plants, played exactly two songs on Love Live before heading to work or class, whichever came first. If for some reason, he couldn’t follow this exact method, his entire day felt off.

Though he wasn’t sure where he had even picked up such a habit, one thing remained true: he was stuck in it and chaos was certainly not welcomed. This was why his boss liked him for the most part, aside from his antisocial tendencies with unfamiliar customers. When every patron left, Sangho would always organize the albums messed with back into their proper alphabetical order. And he loved to clean, finding a cathartic calm within the repetitive actions (if his surroundings were clean, then surely his insides would follow). This, along with his flawless recommendations for every person who came in, was what made him a precious commodity.

This was what Sangho was immersed in when the bell over the door rang. A sliver of panic slid up his spine at the thought of a possible stranger invading his precious safe space. But a grin replaced his formerly panicked expression when it was simply Shou who approached him. Flipping through the various vinyl, he pulled out a not so new arrival, but one he considered essential. “Do you know Radiohead? You should. Everyone should. But this is a first pressing of their classic 1997 album OK Computer.” Pulling the album out, he beamed, as if it were his child.

WHILE SANGHO LIKED to consider himself a creative man, he was nothing along the likes of Minjae. Nothing could compare to randomly boasting about following American antics and wanting to dress up as clowns. Maybe he’d indulge in the idea, if there were no mentions of bats, he was far too passive for such an act. He had seen the videos of people chasing clowns down, he knew what could happen!

“Why? What is it a good plan? What could come out of it, aside from getting our asses beaten?” Very rarely was Sangho the more logical in a duo, but it seemed anyone could be considered as such compared to Minjae. “Oh my god. I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that―” Not that he had a problem with the illegal substance, just one with the idea of going to jail.

( @selentieun / source: here / status: not accepting! )

HANA WAS CONFUSING, to say the least. From the moment she had appeared in the record store, easy flirtations hanging off every action, every word ― none of which he had picked up on ― Sangho had considered her an enigma. They were alike in a few ways, how musical ability coursed through both their veins and how they enjoyed Alternative music, but personality-wise, they couldn’t be further apart.

So when she stood in front of the counter, quipping with a smirk curling upon color stained lips, while a random zombie film played on the television situated in a nearby corner, Sangho merely tilted his head. Was that a compliment? An insult? He wasn’t at all sure which was the answer, eyebrows furrowing in deep concentration. Women seemed to always complain that men were too complicated, but truly they weren’t any simpler themselves.

“Uh ― thanks? I guess. I’m not sure if I want to be a zombie, but I guess if I had to, it wouldn’t be too bad.” And now, he was focused on the idea of a looming apocalypse, no longer focusing on the fact that Hana had just overtly hit on him.