as first love mv


make me choose:

anonymous asked: sugar vs thnks fr th mmrs

Inktober Day 5: Sad

I’m okay


IMFACT - 첫사랑을 부탁해 (Please Be My First Love) MV / IMFACTORY Part 2



How Why makes me want to walk on a beach by myself and meet new people, spend the entire night looking at the stars, and find little treasures I can keep to myself.

glimpses (past, present, future)

inspired by the japanese bst trailer (x) + run mv (x) + inu mv (x)


yoongi doesn’t know who started throwing the punches. all he sees is red, red and more red. there are hands fisted in his shirt, a face blurring in and out of focus, and water in his lungs as he shoves, struggles, fights against the other. 

let go.

arms around him, a chin digging into his shoulder, warm breath ruffling his collar. there is wetness seeping into his shoulder, pain flaring along his knuckles, and he still can’t see a thing. a red filter, a red screen, just red. 

hyung, please.

yoongi barely hears it. he’s going nuts, he swears. the voice is familiar, reminding him of teeth like a bunny’s, dark brown hair, a plaid shirt worn out from constant wear, smelling cleanly of soap. 


“it’s his place. the dental records confirmed his identity.”

jungkook steps into the apartment, nose automatically wrinkling up at the burnt smell. he steps around remnants of furniture, muscle memory guiding him through the familiar space. it still looks the same to him. 

a table on the left side, yoongi’s headphones too big for his head, black a sharp contrast against mint green strands.

his foot catches against a nail sticking out from the wall, the sharp tip dragging along the brown canvas of his shoe. jungkook curses softly, crouches down to inspect the scratch. those shoes were new too, he had saved up on three months of his pay to get them for himself. 

a white box in his hands, his face hurting from laughing, yoongi’s gummy smile lit by the dim yellow light emitted by the hanging bulb. 

he inspects the remnants of the bed frame, his eyes following the crusted black edges of the wood dully. he hates that he still recognises everything in this apartment; he hasn’t been here in three years. he didn’t want to come back to his place. the memories still hurt. 

a metal hook at the side of the bed, a worn plaid shirt with mismatched buttons, yoongi’s fingers gently slipping it off his shoulders. 

jungkook shudders, bites his lip as the tears prick the back of his eyes on his way out. 


vacant stare, needle in his arm, slowing pulse. fuck, he shouldn’t have ended up like this. yoongi grasps the back of his neck, shaking him hard, his eyes locked on jungkook’s face. no reaction, not even one look at him. the bile curdles in yoongi’s stomach as fear clogs up his throat; he swallows it down.

“c’mon, kiddo, wake up!”

jungkook still doesn’t look at him. his gaze is locked on the wall, like the bland white tiles are the most interesting thing he has seen. yoongi feels his stomach curling up as he eases the needle out, his fingers digging hard into the younger’s back. it wasn’t supposed to happen, jungkook was supposed to be home, not here, not here. he shoves him forward, pulls him back; rinse, repeat. 

“kid! jungkook! can you hear me?”

finally, he turns to look at yoongi, his gaze dreamy, unfocused. the laughs start spilling from jungkook’s mouth; broken, splintered, shattered. he shakes his head, ducks his head down. his fingers find yoongi’s shirt, holding onto it like a lifeline, burying his head into yoongi’s shoulder. somewhere along the way, the laughs turns to sobs, and jungkook is shaking as yoongi brushes their cheeks together gently. 

“kook-ah, let’s go home, kay?”


jungkook flinches away, eyes clenching shut as the glass shattering rings too loudly in his ears. everything hurts; his hands, his sides, his legs, his back. all of it is dulled by the ache in his chest as he tucks his face into his hands, nails digging into the fresh scar on his cheek. pain, pain, more, more. 


yoongi can’t close his eyes. he can’t stop staring. a crumpled body in the middle of the road, a dent in the bonnet of the car, red seeping into the black of the granite. the crowd is too loud, the colours too bright, everything a blur of movement. he can’t look away, can’t, won’t, never. 


a man. brown hair. a hole where his heart should be. glass shattering. an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, fair trade. balance, stability, order. all wrecked by selfish desires to change the past. to rewrite. 

jungkook and yoongi wake up, gasping for air, in each other’s arms. 


its the few, the proud, & the emotional

happy birthday to fairly local |-/