Andante andante

jin drabbles ; running in circles

weeshu — Mon, 28 Oct 2013 04:41:11 GMT

note: for tumblr roleplay. this was awkward when i realized the oldest member of bts is a 92-line. e_e

yoona - solace
I’ll write my character comforting yours or vice versa.

Jin turns in his sleep and small a sigh bursts through his lips, a reaction to his fitful dreams tonight; as usual the scenes slip away from him and he can't help but lie with his eyes closed against the darkness. His hand reaches out blindly for a person he's not entirely sure was there in the first place and meets only the cold wrinkles of the bedsheets. It warms up under his touch, reflecting his own temperature but it's not enough--it's never enough. He sits, frowning at the space next to him and the cold air of his unheated apartment meets his bare chest.

Kim Seokjin doesn't cuddle, he doesn't stay the night or play footsies under the covers, and he doesn't wake up alone in the middle of the night, searching his memory for the face or name of someone he should have forgotten about a long time ago. He rips the covers off his lap, and snatches his pants from the floor next to the nightstand, taking a second to pull them up. The apartment is silent and he seethes in it, his jaw tightens and his teeth feel like they're about to break and he lets out one shuddering breath, and it does nothing to calm him down.

He doesn't make exceptions for anyone, not for doe eyes and silky skin or delicate gasps breathed gently into the pillow. There are rules he maintains, rules he broke for a mischievous smile, long nails digging into his scalp and wide eyes wandering like a conscious effort to keep herself in control.

Jin wretches the door open, slamming it against the wall in his anger. He doesn't know what he wants to do if she's gone. He could find her, rip out her freshly dyed hair by the roots and show her exactly who she's messing with. The coat rack wobbles as he pulls his jacket off the hook and something clatters from the kitchen. He pauses, coat in hand and scoffs, thinking it was probably just a rat but when it clatters again, he walks towards the room.

A dish crashes to the ground as he approaches, and he turns the corner with a swear on the tip of tongue that he swallows just as quickly. Tiny charcoal worms wriggle helplessly on the floor next to the sink and he grimaces, not recognizing the kind of bug that would make those. Yoona is there, frozen, staring at the worms with tears on the brink of spilling out even if she won't let them.

"Are you-" he whispers, stopping short when her head snaps in his direction. He steps forward, frowning at the worms, but the closer he gets, the more definition they attain. They're hands. Little black hands, convulsing and growing as time passes and Jin backs away immediately.

"They won't do anything," she whispers, and blinks away the tears, raising one hand to wipe at her eyes. She stands up, eyes fixated on the floor and in a moment the hands are ceramic shards again.

"Fuck," he breathes, previous anger forgotten in the midst of everything and he looks back up at her face with an idea. "You good?" He asks. She nods and Jin steps carefully past the broken plate, reaching for her hip as he closes the space between them. Their breaths mingle and she leans forward for a kiss before he puts a hand on her chest to stop her.

"Close your eyes this time," he says and smiles appreciatively when she complies.

soojung - kiss
I’ll write our characters sharing a kiss, it can be innocent or passionate.

"Krys," he hums, slurring his words as he moves closer along the couch. "You're a good roommate." He pats her cheek affectionately, leaning forward into her shoulder. While he's not necessarily as drunk as he's acting, he's got a good buzz going, the vodka he drank is turning bitter on the roof of his mouth and he takes another gulp to refresh the taste.

"What?" She giggles, turning her head away from him and cringing. "Wash your teeth, asshole, that's so gross," she says turning her body away from him as well.

He makes an unintelligible noise, edging closer to her until his face is hovering next to her's, his gaze fixed on the skin of her lips. Her eyelashes flutter, and she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, shying away from his advances but not moving from her spot. He places his hand firmly on her knee, tracing the outside seam of her pants until he reaches the hem of her soft-washed t-shirt. There's a long pause, Jin is still except for a slow caress along the rim of her jeans, but he doesn't wander under her clothes, teasing her. Krystal shifts, her stomach is a little ticklish but she doesn't want this to stop. She grabs his hand, and he takes it as a signal to back away, pulling his hand back towards him and leaning away from her face. She blinks and panics, sitting up straighter and staring at him as he takes another gulp of his drink.

"It's ok," she sighs, rolling her eyes and slumping back into her seat. He glances at her, and she can tell he's embarrassed only by his silence. It's hard to get him to stop talking unless he's like this. He doesn't understand, probably thinks she's consoling him on his stupidity, rejecting him in the most bourgeouis way possible. She clears her throat and cocks an eyebrow. "I mean, it's ok," she says, in a low register and his movements pause.

Jin looks back up at her, and he lowers the glass onto the coffee table before moving back up to her like he's testing his boundaries. He rests his hand against her shoulder and then on the soft skin of her jaw before leaning in to close the distance.

Their lips meet softly, and her eyes shut as he strokes the curve of her cheekbone. They open their lips at the same time, and he tilts her head to the side to deepen the kiss. It's slow, languid, almost meaningless among the haze of alcohol in his brain but the way his tongue slides against hers, her teeth nipping at his lower lip when they pull away to put air back in their lungs tells him it's so much more.

mon - love
I’ll write our characters falling in love.

greed knows well the urges of his power, the need to have more, to be more, to know more and to have the world at his feet. he feels it in himself, feels the impatience and desperation of wanting something he can't quite attain just yet. he spoils himself--and why not, he's got the money for it--and knows nothing about self-restraint. that's why he knows it's not just his own wants and desires that are being played out here, he knows his limits--if and when he has any--and he knows that they often include the temptations of the flesh. yet here he stands, wanting and wiling in front of lust of all people, backed up against a bathroom wall waiting for the other man to relax his grip even the slightest ounce.

"motherfucker," he mutters through gritted teeth, surging forward again only to be slammed back onto the brick surface. lust raises an eyebrow, amused more than anything at greed's lack of control. "i swear to fucking god, lust, if you don't fucking let me go i'm-" he surges forward again, but there's no hands on him this time and he topples into the taller sin before lust brushes him off and walks out of the bathroom. he goes after him, pissed and already semi-hard in his jeans but the man is gone.

they meet again, and greed feels hot and heavy almost immediately. this time lust's not playing around with him. he's glad for it, he hates being rejected but he knows he'd never be able to win a fight with the other man so it's an interesting dilemma. it's still a power struggle, as much as greed can make it one, until lust pulls his back by his hair and holds him in that position as he sucks and bites around neck. he shivers, starting to struggle again and regrets it when he feels lust loosening his grip on his hair and sighing, exasperated, into his clavicle.

he doesn't say a word as he lets go, and this time greed sits down in the same spot lust left him and watches him leave. there's something he's doing wrong, and he feels like he's almost there, almost to the answer and somehow, once he's out of lusts's radius, that thought it a lot more enticing than any sexual advances.

he doesn't see lust for a long time, and he forgets about the man until he feels the familiar pull again. he turns around in the hazy club and sees the glint of his sunglasses but this time he's sure he has the right answer. instead of eye contact he rakes his eyes up and down lust's body, finally reaching him and leaning up to a kiss he thinks will blow lust away. but when he pulls back, smug and satisfied lust shrugs and wipes at his lips.

"so this was about me controlling myself?" greed asks, already a little annoyed, but he's willing to give it another go if lust won't abandon him again.

"not really, i just love to fuck with you," lust says, not even cracking a smile and greed wants to throttle him but he also wants to suck him dry and it's an interesting dilemma.

important!

weeshu — Mon, 28 Oct 2013 02:26:56 GMT

if you're gna link to my fics or sth please just tweet me @kimminstop
i get really paranoid when people find my personal stuff. sob.

brad drabbles ; steady watch them navigate

weeshu — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 18:18:31 GMT

note: written for tumblr roleplay based on xmen

havok | lee taemin
My character is imprisoned in solitary confinement, and your character swoops in to break mine out of jail.

“Where is he?“

“Prison.” He keeps his words succinct. His eyes are trained on the row of cell blocks above him, secured iron doors just asking for a forced entry. The night vision goggles fastened around his glasses give away the positions of three guards, roaming the walkways.

“Then get him the fuck out.” his boss blows into his earpiece, “We don’t pay you to lose our subjects.”

Brad keeps the long-suffering sigh in his chest, and closes his eyes. Losing subjects was something Brad had only been found guilty of once in his life. He steels his jaw and feels the grainy dust of the desert outside gritting against his teeth.

“I’m going,” he says.

He loosens the earpiece with his pinky, letting it hang from his shoulder as the bellows of his employer squeak out of the speaker. The dry heat of the desert makes his throat burn and the poor air conditioning in the building does nothing to stave off the sweat rolling off his forehead. Breaking someone out of a state prison would be a lot easier if he could rely on the hulk. But he needs discretion. He can’t become a liability.

He cracks his neck, lifting the night vision goggles off and leaving them where he had been hiding. Brad crosses the large foyer dressed in the uniform of a commanding officer that now lay unconscious on the floor of the basement bathroom. The roll of keys jangles at his hip and he picks one up with ease, slipping it into the iron door and turning experimentally. The key sticks and Brad can feel his heart pump erratically as he avoids the question gaze of a guard coming back from his round. His hand jerks, slipping the key all the way in. It turns and he sighs in relief at the sound of the tumblers.

“Sir?” The guard takes a step forward, hand halfway to his gun as Brad drags out the sole occupant of the cell.

It all happens in a flash, Brad doesn’t have time to realize he’s taken down the guard with his bare hands, stripped him of his weapon and taken off towards the pre-planned exit, stilling dragging Lee Taemin behind him. There’s little protest, and he’s glad the other man understands what’s happening.

He shoves the shorter boy out of a door and says “Run, there’s a car waiting for you. And cover your mouth you’ll choke on the sand.”

He closes the door and trusts that the boy has enough sense to leave.

banshee | minkyung
Our characters argue loudly until either one of them shuts the other up with a method of your choice.

“I’m sorry, ok?” he says, standing up to leave. His tone is soft, but forced. He doesn’t have any reason to say sorry, but he will just to keep the peace.

He has no qualms about walking away, having a brotherhood member as a target isn’t the safest choice for him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something important had happened between them, that there was something he was forgetting and it was her fault.

“Don’t be sorry,” Minkyung snaps, her hands gripping the arm of the couch and her eyes fixed on him for an explanation, for a reason. The flash of green in her eyes makes him see green in his own but for an entirely different reason.

“You don’t understand,” he raises his voice, already hearing the blood rush in his ears, “I’m not doing this for me.”

“Excuses,” she bites back, leaning forward in her seat and wrapping her lips around each syllable.

“Fine. I’m a coward! I don’t stand up for myself, I don’t do what I want,” he towers over her, slamming his hands into the backrest of the couch and trapping her “and I don’t care about y—.”

His jaw is numb for a moment, the immediate sting of her slap keeps him quiet. He straightens up before he does something he really regrets and looks down at her angry expression before turning to leave.

wolverine | youngmin
Your character will die in my character’s arms.

Three years of research, five months of planning, and 35 days of surveillance. Development costs, airfare, room and board, food, and the paid silence of scientists and doctors with lose morals. Piles on piles of unpaid bills blamed on faulty phone service—they said a cable was out, he didn’t ask.

You have to live! He had screamed, shaking the small body in the eerie silence of the laboratory. You have to live (for science, for my ego, for the way you laughed like I used to)

you have to live.

shadowcat | amber
Your character will help mine overcome my greatest fear, or vice versa.

“I can’t tell you what I do for a living,” he grins uneasily, hoping the joke will land and the conversation will turn in another direction, “If I did, I’d have to kill you,” he finishes with a wink.

“Ya wouldn’ kill me, man, ya got too many morals for that,” she says. She aims a punch at his shoulder, an addictive laugh coming out her mouth that makes him smile despite himself.

“I don’t have as many morals as you think I do,” he smiles down at the cup of tea cradled in his hands but he looks up at the uncharacteristic scoff he hears from her.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, I bet even your dog would have morals if ya had one!” She throws her head back and lets out a roar of laughter and Brad can’t help but laugh along with her. As he glances back into the tea leaves sitting in his mug, he can’t help but marvel at the small moments that make life so much better.

brad drabbles ; strangers in the wind

weeshu — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 16:56:03 GMT

note: written for tumblr roleplay based on xmen.

AU (in which Kibum was transferred to the American branch) | kibum

It wasn't often that Brad spent time in the offices. He liked to take his work home, sign papers in the privacy of his apartment where he wouldn't have other agents poking their noses in where they didn't belong. He didn't need the strange stares and the mistrustful glances of humans who had applied to the organization all by their self-entitled selfs. It wasn't often Brad sat himself down in a conference room with a new transfer and learned about someone else.

"I hope you can speak English," he started, leaning back against the mesh of the office chair and never losing eye contact. The stranger scoffed.

"Of course I can speak English, why do you think they transferred me?" The man raised an eyebrow, matching his pose and crossing his arms, the new position revealed thick black gloves against the white of his dress shirt.

Brad eyed them for a second too long, and when he looked back up there was a smirk on the bastard's face, smug and daring.

"You don't get in my way, I don't get in your way," he offers.

"Deal," the stranger says.

I’ll write an action filled drabble having to do with the alliances | taeyeons

A roar filled the stagnant air. It was still far off, she was still just out of reach of the large green hands that had taken apart her whole team. She sat up, holding her head and listening to the steady alarms ringing in the destroyed buildings around her. She got to her feet, pen lost somewhere in the rubble.

The hulk roared again, finishing his outburst with a low, persistent growl. Concrete, metal, flesh it was all the same, it all needed to be destroyed--no. He focused his thoughts on the renegades, the mutant group that had come out of nowhere, unpredicted even to the government he was working for, the mutants that he needed to destroy. His nose caught a scent and his teeth flashed in a slow grin.

"Goddamit, this is not happening, this is not happening," she repeated under breath, already hearing the thundering footsteps of a monster racing toward her. She picked up a rock and ran the sharpest side against her palm, testing it. The screech of the rock against the car hood grated in her ears, the unsettling feeling running down her spine but she couldn't stop. When there was nowhere left to run, there was everything left to narrate.

A boulder hurtled towards him through the open space, spinning from the force it had taken to aim it. It hit him squared in the back, scraping against his shoulder blade and ripping the skin as it slid down to the ground. He growled again, throwing his head back and trying to reach the wound with his hands. He flipped around, anger resurfacing and was met with a large black mass, its arms charcoal and muscular, only two feet taller than him.

Taeyeon climbed down the slab of broken concrete, not sticking around to watch the battle between the two monsters. Either her creation would destroy the great hulking beast or it would disappear before it got a chance to do so. But for now, she needed to report back to Minsoo.

kill me - my muse kills yours by the means of my choice | hyomin

The railing creaked, straining against their combined weight and bent even more, further suspending them over the tallest tower in Paris. The helicopter flying over their heads was about to leave with the most powerful nuclear cell designed by the organization and as much as his brain was telling him that he couldn't afford to save the day, he still felt like trying.

"Get me up," she yelled, gripping his hand and trying to keep her body as still as possible in the air. Brad groaned, trying to lift her up with his good arm, which wasn't turning out to be all that good. His other arm hung off his shoulder, relatively useless from the impact of the large shipping container that had crushed it.

"I can't," he gritted out. If he hulked out now, the railing would give way to his weight and send her hurtling to the ground. He pulled again, using his legs to hold up her weight but the strength in his arm was quickly deteriorating. He looked up to the helicopter--of out his reach by now but not out of reach of the hulk--and back down to Hyomin and said his quick goodbyes before letting her hand go. Her eyes widened as she slipped off the railing and she tried to grasp the metal, failing to reach it.

He hulked out, roaring as he jumped off the balcony and grabbed the helicopter from the air as he descended to the ground. He hoped he wouldn't see her down there.

kill me - my muse kills yours by the means of my choice | amber

He adjusts the mask, and his jaw tickles at the fibers rubbing against his face. From the drawer in front of him he pulls out a small glass bottle, and slips the needle of the syringe through the foil. The building was rented out a year for an after-school program by the organization, the desks still stacked at the other end of the room, unused ever since the lease was signed. The stretcher in front of him clatters and brings him back to the present.

"I'm really sorry about this." He smiles down at the girl despite it being blocked by the doctors mask. She mumbled something, struggling against her restraints sluggishly. The anesthesia was taking effect. "It's not that you're too powerful, its just that I shown you too much." He hopes it's something of a consolation. At least she was dying with no one thinking of her as a threat, no one hating her or scared of her. She would die because of a coincidence. And that was the best kind of death to Brad.

VI'S BIRTHDAY DRABBLES: you teach me and i'll teach you && your sunshine smile

weeshu — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 06:32:23 GMT

Title: you teach me and i'll teach you (but mostly the first part) ; alternatively, (dear god help us) catch 'em all
Pairing: poke!xiuris
Rating: g
Length: 863w
Genre: crack, fluff
Summary: kris and his pikaxiu

kris turned his snapback around, two weak tufts of hair jutting awkwardly out in front of his face. half of his brain reminded him of the time yixing called him a tool for wearing his cap like that but the more prominent half was concentrating on the small, but easily identifiable lump of pikaxiu sleeping a few meters away.

the professor had called him up last night, completely unashamed at the fact that he had let kris's starter pokemon escape the lab in a freak accident.

"well if you want a pikaxiu that badly, i'm pretty sure he'll still be in the forest in the morning. you can go find him then."

kris clenched his fists, creeping forward as quietly as possible. he reached for the pokeball in his belt and figured that catching a sleeping pokemon should be the easiest thing in the world. of course he'd be in danger of a pretty fierce attack once he let the creature out of the ball, but he was sure the professor could do something to protect him. the only problem was that for as long as he's been trying to be a pokemon trainer, the only thing he still couldn't do to any fraction of a percentage error was aim the damn ball correctly. if he threw it now, and scared the creature off, he'd have to wait until next year for another pokemon, and it sure as hell wouldn't be as cool (strike cute) as a pikaxiu.

he inched forward again, close enough now that he could see the little locks of orange hair adorning the pikaxiu's face. his cheeks were the most dangerous (strike and cutest) part of his body, but they looked as unthreatening as a buttersoo, with a light pinkish tint scattered over smooth white skin.

the pikaxiu shifted in his sleep and kris held his breath. he was close enough now! his instincts as a trainer were telling him it was time to launch the pokeball. he held the ball between his first two fingers, holding on to a tree for support as he extended his arm back. he looked down at the pokemon just as two beady eyes fluttered open and stared at him.

kris froze, arm still stretched out behind him and choked out a soft "hi," trying not to alarm the poor thing.

the pikaxiu was up on his feet quicker than lightning and kris jumped forward and threw the ball just before he tripped over his own two feet. the ball bounced off of pikaxiu's head and he let out a loud cry before falling backwards on his butt. the ball rolled away anti-climatically into the tall grass and the pikaxiu pouted at where kris was still in a heap on the ground.

"that was mean," pikaxiu said, his over-sized yellow sweater slipping off his shoulders. he rubbed at his head and watched kris warily.

the trainer lifted himself on two shaky feet and stared down at the tiny thing. he didn't look in the best shape, scraped knees visible underneath the bright yellow shorts. sleeping outside in the forest seemed to have done a number on the pikaxiu and kris was only a little glad that he wasn't putting up that big a fight.

"i-i'm kris," he stuttered out.

"i don't care if your name is ben ben, you threw a ball at me," the pikaxiu got up to his feet "what the hell is your problem?"

kris choked again stammering nervously about how being a trainer was his dream and having a pikaxiu even more so and the little pokemon's ears perked up at that.

he stepped forward, a small smile pushing his cheeks out even more, "your dream is to have a pikaxiu?" he asked gently, fixing only one side of his sweater while the other hung even lower on his body, the irresistible skin of his chest visible because he wasn't wearing anything underneath.

kris nodded, not trusting his voice.

the pikaxiu smiled even wider, flashing his adorably crooked teeth. "well good luck with that," he taunted, turning his back on kris and heading back to the lab.

"w-wait i," kris scrambled around the forest floor trying to retrieve his pokeball because that shit was expensive. pikaxu wasn't waiting for him, even had the nerve to call out over his still-exposed shoulder.

"hurry up, do you want me or the pokeball?"

kris made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, forgetting about the pokeball (and the $127 he had saved up to buy it with by rubbing his mom's feet for 50 cents an hour) and running after the pikaxiu. when he caught up to him, he got a better look at exactly how much he towered over the pokemon, and exactly how much cuter he was close up. he reached out to touch the other's cheek, the feeling of elation at finally owning a pokemon getting to him until pikaxiu slapped his hand away with a not-so-light electric shock and a smug smile.

"don't even think about it," his pikaxiu said but kris couldn't really help it at that point.

Title: your sunshine smile
Pairing: genderbent!xiuhan
Rating: R
Length: 1329w
warnings: non-con, some bondage, rape,
a/n: i don't know why i wrote this.

lu hua is sixteen when she finally gives up.

a soft pressure pushes against her thighs and she opens them wider, staring at the dots forming behind her eyelids. she doesn't cry for the first time in her life, and it must count for something because the man on top of her is silent now and he lets go of her hands where he had been keeping them trapped under his weight.

--
minyoung is a sweet girl, but she's naked the first time lu hua sees her in the girls' locker room. she squeaks and hides behind one of the lockers, peeking out and then hiding her face again. "i'm so sorry," she says, "i thought i was alone in here, i-"

lu hua switches her gaze from the towel draped over the bench in front of her to the thin fingers gripping the edge of the locker. she walks forward, face straight and unfeeling and stops just before the corner so all she can see is the curve of the shorter girl's rear end. "it's ok," she says and swallows when her voice echoes back at her, three years too late to recognize anymore.

"can you hand me the towel at least?" minyoung asks, stretching her arm out for it and lu hua catches the quiver in her voice, the increasing discomfort with lu hua's presence. it's cute.

"sure," lu hua says, turning around to catch the white fabric between her fingers and she holds it just out of reach of the poor girl's arm. she thinks briefly of trapping her, of rounding the corner just to see her shocked expression before she tried to run, bare feet slipping against the wet tiles. she shakes herself out of it, leaning until the towel meets minyoung's soft fingers and she hears the short breath of relief as the girl wraps it around her body.

--
"is this because i wasn't around much when you were younger?" her mom questions her softly, but where there was a distance between them there's a chasm that lu hua no longer wants to cross. the panic surfaces in her chest again, and she thinks back to the day before her seventh birthday, to being locked out of the house even though her bladder was about to explode. she had been too shy to run over to a neighbor's house but when her mom had come home to find a puddle on the back porch it wasn't a good enough excuse.

"i'm not lying," lu hua says with more conviction than she's ever had in her entire life, but her mom doesn't hear it, too busy looking for her own faults and too busy blaming herself for the things lu hua does on school nights. "mom, i'm not-" she tries, but she sees the chasm again, expansive and beautiful and terrifying and lu hua gives up for the second time.

--
"i said i didn't take your ipod, just leave me alone," her classmate heaves her backpack onto her shoulder, cowering away from lu hua as if gossip and vapid commentary were contagious, but maybe it is.

"maybe- maybe you put it in your bag by accident?" lu hua hiccups, eyes scanning the contents of her own bag, strewn across the floor in her frantic attempt to find it. her hands are shaking and the tears in her eyes are threatening to spill, but if she could just find her ipod, if she could find it and bring it home and show her mom that she's responsible, that she doesn't lose her new ipod on the first day even though her mom told her it would be gone by the end of the school day.

"what's going on?" a soft voice from the entrance calls out. minyoung is the class monitor, responsible for every single head of hair that should be at roll call right now.

"n-nothing," the girl stammers, gripping her bag and heading to the door, "she's just making things up again." the girl leaves and lu hua bends down to pick up her things, not considering the small girl that is still standing in the doorway.

"i don't get it," minyoung mutters, too close to lu hua all of a sudden as she bends down to help lu hua pick up her things. "did she do this?" the class monitor asks, face stern and trustworthy.

"no," lu hua says simply, but the raise eyebrow expects further explanation and lu hua can't help but roll her eyes. everyone always needs more from her, another explanation, another reason, another-

"well if anything happens, you can tell me, ok?" minyoung smiles, a tease of color in lu hua's dull world.

lu hua nods, and minyoung hands her bag back to her. they're both too late for afternoon roll but it only takes a small apology and a fake excuse from minyoung for their homeroom teacher to wave them off to study hall. she frowns at the floor, hugging her satchel tightly against her chest until it comes time to part ways with the shorter girl. she doesn't spare a glance at her, keeps walking to her classroom because it's not fair that minyoung just transferred this year. it's not fair that in the most crucial point of her life, minyoung wasn't there with her sunshine smile and soft brown eyes. it's too late. it's too late now.

--
it's a long way down to the bottom, but lu hua thinks she's not quite there. she can still see part of the chasm around her, dark and beckoning, but she's already lost.

"i promise it'll feel good," she says, when the small body jerks underneath her. there's a fear in the girl's eyes, and she wonders if that's how she looked when she was sixteen. it's not quite right, she thinks, there's still life in those eyes, there's still fight in her and lu hua's fingers tighten against her crotch, a muffled scream making its way through her duct taped lips.

"i promise it'll feel good," lu hua says, mostly to herself, because she still doesn't fully get the appeal.

--
lu hua is eighteen when her smile comes back, when minyoung whines and throws herself on top of lu hua's bed because she'd had half a point taken off her calculus test. it's overdramatic, especially when lu hua barely managed a double digit. she lets out a breathy laugh and minyoung flips around to look at her, pleasantly surprised.

--
"lu hua," her mother rounds on her, "i told you kwangsoo was going to pick you up from school, why didn't you wait?"

lu hua shrugs, dropping her bag on the floor and walking into the living room. "is there anything for dinner?" she doesn't wait for the answer. she heads up to her room, finding her mom's silence a refreshing change from the incessant nagging.

the door to her room is locked, and she smiles as she takes out her key, comforted by the idea that no one had accidentally walked in while she was at school. she turns the knob, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear as she enters the room and turns around.

"you're awake," she says, doe eyes gazing softly at the girl on her bed.

her panties are still pooled around her ankles from last night, her arms raised over her head, bound to the headboard with a set of handcuffs she'd stolen from an adult store. she shakes her head when she sees lu hua, struggling against the metal and whining softly into the gag in her mouth.

lu hua sits down on the bed, gently removing the gag. minyoung takes a deep breath, ready to scream but lu hua seals her lips with a kiss, smiling softly when the class monitor stops struggling, shivering into the kiss and closing her eyes to wait until it was all over.

--
lu hua is nineteen when she finds another reason to live.

[일반 / 1]

weeshu — Sat, 15 Jun 2013 05:21:09 GMT

note: good lord this is bad. so bad. tried to fix it. nope.

A violent headache woke him to the darkness of the room. His hands stumbled under the covers looking to grip the edge of his bed. A small flutter of panic beat inside in his chest when he found it much farther than his body remembered it to be. His eyes scrambled to find the sliver of light coming through the door, but it just made him more disoriented than he already was. A small pressure on the underside of his arm as he tried to lift himself from the bed.

Slowly, his eyes started to adjust to the darkness until he could make out just the basic outline of a hospital room. His fingers wound tightly at the edge of the bed and it took him a moment to remember why he was here, the white walls strewn in a darkness he'd never felt before. He brought his hands up to rub circles into his temples, his body felt weightless but the pressure on his arm was keeping him grounded. A small bead of sweat formed as the tightness in his stomach got worse and it burned in his chest. The light flickered on, bright and painful and the burning in his chest intensified when a soft hand pressed itself into his back, pressed him forward into a bedpan and he heaved forward. His throat closed up and the tears stung in eyes as the strained cough passed through his lips. He coughed again, heaved again but the burning got worse. The hand on his back shifted and he felt the nails digging into his spine. He felt the burning in his hands, in his head and he was too scared to open his eyes, he didn't want the light to hurt. The nails in his back stabbed through his skin and he screamed, his eyes flying open to an empty room.

The burning sensation is gone, but he could still feel the small flutters of panic as he looked around to the weak electric light shining through the window.

He sat up, for real this time, and reached back to rub his shoulders. There was no IV on his arm, and the crisp sheets weren't the frightening white of his dream. They're his own bedsheets, his own slippers sitting at the foot of his bed, his own clothes in the closet but he won't be tricked this time. He knew that this wasn't his room, and that there were nurses and doctors outside the door monitoring him.

As if on cue, the door slid open and a nurse walked in, smiling with a tray in her hand.

"Finally getting used to the schedule, huh?" She said with a small chuckle. "You have a visitor in a few minutes, remember? So, put on something nice and I'll let them in when you're ready."

He nodded slowly, opening his mouth as she slipped two white pills in and handed him a small paper cup of water. After she was gone, he jumped out of the covers and into his slippers. His father had been coming over more frequently so it wasn't a surprise to have a visitor. Minseok pulled on a decent shirt and a pair of pants and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, wondering what new excuse his father had come up with to hold a conversation with him.

He opened the door a crack, and called out a soft "I'm ready," before heading back to his bed and sitting cross-legged. He didn't expect the skinny body that slid through the door, or the chill that ran through his body at seeing that face, that jawline, the frail fingers that had gripped his hand for night on end. The name came out in a low whisper, or not at all and it didn't matter for a single second as he stumbled down from the bed and closed the distance between them.

"Jongdae," he finally said, teeth clattering around the name he hadn't heard himself utter in so long. His arms wrapped around the tiny waist, and he burrowed his face into the younger's shoulder. "Jongdae, you're here," Minseok whispered and it's all he can think to say right now.

手紙　；　letters - 夏目友人長 AU

weeshu — Sat, 15 Jun 2013 05:02:29 GMT

note: GODSLAKDM CAN I FUCKING FINISH THIS ALREADY.

He had a fever.

Chanyeol sat straight in his bed, a light blanket bunched up over his legs, and crossed his eyes to watch the numbers rise on the thermometer in his mouth. He frowned and sucked in a short breath through the corner of his lips. Chanyeol couldn't remember the last time he had a fever, in fact Chanyeol couldn't remember even feeling sick the past week, aside from a small headache two days ago. The thermometer beeped it's third and final measurement at 37.9, and the empty house around him sighed as the wind blew through the treetops above his roof. Maybe living with all these drafts was finally getting to him.

The floorboards creaked under his weight as he lifted himself from his bed. It was an old building, an old temple to be precise, probably left over from the more superstitious era of the small town he now lived in. Years ago, farmland had been sacrificed for shopping malls, shrines for convenience stores--but in the shallower parts of the forest that survived this town's fervent desire to catch up to modernity, forgotten gods and deities laid waiting in the stone sculptures hidden among the branches.

An empty hallway greeted him as he stepped out the door to his bedroom, his bare toes curling up against the freezing temperature of the stone floor, and he figured that his father must have had an early morning house call. Many of the elderly people in this town still believe fervently in the gods that they grew up with, it's the only way a buddhist monk could find honest work in a town so desperate to bury its past. Consultations, blessings, and the occasional exorcism were just a few of the services his father could provide for them.

He felt his forehead as he entered the kitchen, and decided there was no point in missing school for a few decimal-point-centigrades higher than his normal temperature. Even if he wasn't sick, there usually wasn't anyone around to monitor whether he missed school or not, but Park Chanyeol--a mediocre student through and through--was not someone who skipped school.

At the very least, the early morning sun was warm against his spring uniform when he walked out onto the dirt path to his school; maybe it was a little too warm, but the light breeze rustling the leaves around him diminished the heat building up on the back of his neck. He draped his schoolbag over his shoulder, dragging his shoes against the gravel as a scuffling sound to his right got louder and louder through the bushes. Chanyeol tensed, thinking back to the time he almost contracted rabies from one of the larger raccoons in the area, and tried to anticipate the direction of the noise.

Something much bigger than a raccoon flung itself at him, hitting him square in the chest and knocking the wind out of his lungs and the ground from beneath his feet. He struggled against it, and tried to call out to anyone in the area until the movement on top of him slowed to a stop. Chanyeol opened his eyes slowly to see delicate blonde hair and soft brown eyes staring down at him in one of the most frightened expressions that had ever been directed at him. He swallowed thickly and raised his arms, open palmed, above his head to show that he meant no harm.

"Are you-" Chanyeol started, but the boy on top of him jumped backwards, scrambling to his feet as if backing away from a fire. Chanyeol lay on the ground, unsure of what to do. In the end, he didn't have to do anything. As quickly as he appeared, the boy was gone, scrambling away deeper into the forest and looking back at him with a face that had Chanyeol's stomach twisting with nerves.

weeshu — Sat, 16 Mar 2013 03:09:39 GMT

MY BACKGROUND LOOKS LIKE A BANDAID

fanfictions in order of urgency

weeshu — Sat, 16 Mar 2013 02:50:45 GMT

FINISH THESE FIRST
kitty chexmix au
chexmix singing au
chexmix - secret agent gull
chanhun - letters (natsume yuujinchou au)

IN THE PIT
krischen - that's one spicy burrito
daycare fic
exo m - buffy the vampire slayer au
all pairings - mini idol au

MUCH MUCH LATER
manager fic
chanyeol - we can't feel love down here
taetiseo + chanyeol - genie au
ukiss fic
yewook - phantom thief au
all pairings - christmas au

NOT PLANNED
xiuhun
xiuris
xiuhan (maybe someday)

suchen drabble o/

weeshu — Sat, 16 Mar 2013 02:32:33 GMT

title: live with it
pairing: suchen
genre: fluff
rating: e

Out of all his dongsaengs, Joonmyun thinks Jongdae is the easiest to live with. Jongdae, who laughs at the jokes Chanyeol frowns at, even when Joonmyun knows they weren’t that funny in the first place. Jongdae, who doesn’t mind toeing aside a dirty sock as he’s making his way around Joonmyun’s room when Kyungsoo would only pick it up and shake his head.

He doesn’t see Jongdae as much as he sees the K members and Joonmyun wonders if that’s not the reason he sometimes prefers Jongdae, distance molding the fondness in his heart for open-mouthed chewing, snarky comebacks and high-pitched whines muttered into the cushions of the sofa.

Kris tells him he gets the better end of the stick, that Joonmyun doesn’t have to be there on bad days when Jongdae rolls his eyes at everything and snaps angrily at the smallest suggestion. Seeing each other when they’re on break, Kris says, isn’t the same as seeing each other when they’re working but Joonmyun thinks he would like to see that part of Jongdae; if only to calm the pounding in his heart when a sleepy Jongdae wraps his arms around his shoulders, and leans heavily against his back, warm breath blowing on his neck.

Joonmyun tries to reason with himself, he tries to think of Kris’s discouraging words and tries to think of all the bad habits he suspects Jongdae might have. No one’s perfect, and despite all the praises that his members spout on television, he knows even he’s not the shining picture of a perfect roommate. But with all those reasons in mind, all the tossing, turning and hesitance, he thinks Jongdae can’t be that bad.

He changes his mind a little while later, the day before their new year's stage at SBS—-it’s amazing to him how much time has passed—-because of all eleven members, he thinks it really shouldn’t be Jongdae who, with fluttering eyelashes and a smile that curls up at the corners, leans across the kitchen table and places a light kiss at the highest point of his cheekbone.

Jongdae slides out of his chair with a quick good night, even as Joonmyun is still reeling from the shock. It’s now or never, and it hurts Joonmyun to consider living one more minute in his indecision. He turns around, catching Jongdae’s wrist in a loose hold and opens his mouth.

“I think I can live with that.”

the beast you made

weeshu — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 10:02:12 GMT

note: written for a tumblr roleplay a million years ago. song drabble: howl by the florence and the machine

If you could only see the beast you've made of me
I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free

Three candles sat in the middle of the table, the decorative holders glowing from the light of the flames. Conversation filtered in and out in front of half eaten dishes placed on top of the green and red tablecloth in the dining room. There are plates of rare steak for the adults and roasted chicken for the kids, buttered mashed potatoes, and stuffing seasoned to perfection—a Christmas dinner made by the caring hand of his mother.

His own plate lay untouched on the corner of the table in front of him, watching his family members throw tentative smiles at him in the middle of their warm exchanges. The house itself was much too warm for his liking, with the fireplace crackling underneath the mantle and the heating cranked up to what felt like eighty. He sighed, picking up his fork and digging it into the slice of cold chicken, face blank with bitterness.

“Bradley?”

A hand rested itself on his arm, gentle like the woman it belonged to. His mother stood next to him, unsure of how to continue so he smiled tightly at her effort, trying to enjoy this as much as he could.

“We’re just glad to have you back, Bradley,” she says. Tears welled up in her eyes and she sniffed discretely, trying to hold them in. He looked back to his father, and for the first time he could see the striking resemblance between the three of them. His dad’s jawline, his mother’s eyes, his father’s nose, his mother’s cheekbones, in a few seconds he could point out all the details that made him their son.

The knowledge welled up in him, stirring in his guts until he could hardly control the disgust crawling under his skin. He nodded, excusing himself from the table and his knee slammed against the underside as he pushed his chair out. It smarted, but not as much as the shocked faces looking up at the sound of him getting up. The kitchen was just as warm as the rest of the house, suffocating, so he placed his palm against the cold counter, taking deep breaths.

The past fifteen years were coming back to him, every painful moment, every night he spent crying out for his mother as a little boy, every whip, every injection, pounding against the door of his locked room and screaming for hours on end in solitary with no one around to hear him, no one to grab his hand when he stretched it out through the bars on the window—

He jumped when he felt his mother’s hand on his arm again. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she looked up at him, her mouth opened as she grasped for some way to comfort him. He felt disgusted, the anger boiling closer and closer to the surface.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, jerking his hand away from her’s and walking across the silent dining room to the foyer. He opened the door, grabbed his jacket from the hook and held it in his hand as he made his way into the cold december night.

--rewind

weeshu — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 09:47:22 GMT

note: written for a tumblr roleplay a million years ago.

Do you think all eyes can behold beauty?

It was five in the morning when he awoke to those words, still ringing in his ears like the fading vibrations of a warning bell. Four years after he’d first heard them, the sounds had jumbled in his head—scattered and strewn by newer more important knowledge until all he could hear was the faint warble of his father’s voice, worried and scared.

The words tighten their grip around his heart and he finally knows what it means to regret, to wish with all the pain in his heart and the tears forming at the corners of his eyes that he had done things differently. Another squeeze and he thinks about where he would be if he’d never left the mountain at all, or if he’d never found himself captured in a net, and had never laid eyes on the boy—the human—that had taken his breath away.

Four years ago, if Ryeowook had understood the words that his father had said to him, if he had—with all his infinite wisdom as a creature of the light—stopped to ponder the question, stopped and mulled over the overwhelming evidence, would he had still run down that mountain with a smile on his face?

He understood what naive meant now: the word he had so often heard be used to describe him, and had just as often looked up in the dictionary. The concept had been foreign to him, just as everything else had.

He opened his eyes again at 5:09 in the morning and sat up on his bed. The suitcases he had packed the night before rested against the back wall and the calendar on his nightstand told him he had a train and ferry to catch in less than an hour.

He pulled a sweater from his empty closet and threw it over himself. The last days of summer were still hot and heavy, but he didn’t mind sweating if it would hide him, if it would stop people from looking at him and raking their eyes over his body. His olds jeans were lose around him now, and he pulled them up as he took his bags and locked the door on his way out.

Benediction and Dream

weeshu — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 09:33:39 GMT

note: written for a tumblr roleplay a million years ago based on xmen.

He jolted awake as the flash of lightening outside his window illuminated his entire bedroom. He huddled himself up in the blankets, tiny and fragile in the king sized mattress and waited for the rumble of thunder that he knew would come.

He’d had that dream again.

The dream where he feels weightless except for the pain in the middle of his forehead, as he glides past closed wooden doors—nameplates blank and rusted over, the people who had once been written on them have been wiped cleanly from existence. The building itself seems new, restored somehow by endless sources of money, and a sick interest in the way that things used to run, the way that mutants used to be treated.

He doesn’t know how things are supposed to work now, the dream doesn’t explain it, but he knows they’re different somehow, much more peaceful than they used to be.

The pain in his head intensifies as he closes in on his destination, and he focuses on trying to dispel it, letting his body lead him through the familiar path to a familiar place. He feels lighter and lighter, as though being in the building is wasting him away, piece by piece, grain by grain. Gently, he smiles through the pain, because it’s worth it, because he’ll find who he’s looking for.

He’s surprised at himself. It’s been months since he felt this sure of something as uncertain as another person. It’s been months since he could no longer feel his heart beating steadily in his chest, since he’d seen the world as bright and hopeful as he used to. It’s been months since his prince charming had struck him across the cheek, and shoved him against the bookshelf in a fit of jealousy, for smiling at the mailman.

His headache lightens as he reaches the large mahogany doors, closed and locked by whoever was taking care of it these days. He places his hands on the library doors, and searches in his pocket for a key that he doesn’t have. He must have dropped it somewhere along the way, but he only feels a tiny twinge of disappointment, a tiny pull at his heart when he realizes he can’t have what he wants—what he needs—once again.

The clap of thunder startled him out of his memories, and Ryeowook looks down at his thin arms. Lightning hits the ground outside and he almost wishes it would hit him.

At least he wouldn’t have to waste away, piece by piece, grain by grain.

10 song drabbles

weeshu — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 09:26:07 GMT

1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it’s over. No lingering afterwards!
4. Do ten of these, then post them.

notes: written for a tumblr roleplay a million years ago. i sort of edited them but i didn't want to change much. wow, i cheated on 3, 4, and 5. but i like them at that length. i don’t think they could have been any shorter without compromising. i didn’t edit these dear god i don’t wanna read my horrible writing.

1. Ours - The Bravery

After tonight, this will be a lifetime ago.

“Jongdae,” Minseok whispers against his roommate’s hair. Jongdae is motionless under the covers, save for the slow rise and fall of his chest. It calms Minseok, and he snuggles further against the warm body. “Jongdae, I…” he stops quickly, not wanting to wake him up, he knew how lightly he slept, how the smallest sound could wake the young from a rare dream.

He doesn’t know if he should continue, but for once in his life, he decides not to forego the obvious, whether or not Jongdae is asleep, he’ll say it out loud.

“Jongdae, I love you..”

As he turns around on the bed, he misses the small smile on his roommate’s face.

2. Dancing Out - Super Junior

In the distance, two figures run wildly towards the top of the hill. The heavy sun bears down on the nearly dry expanse of green, withering whatever life there was left in the plants. Despite the heat, Minseok lets himself be dragged up by a panting and stumbling Jongdae, only half convinced of what his roommate had explained to him.

“It’s an incredible view, hyung!” he’d shouted from across the street, and Minseok had followed.

The sweat on his brow did nothing to dampen his mood, and he smiled as they reached the edge of the hill, overlooking a small town, alive with summer festivities. Neither of them could speak, too concentrated on catching their breaths, so they sat down, enjoying the view of tiny figures running around the carnival.

“I told you hyung, I told you!” Jongdae half-sung, half-yelled at him once they’d calmed down a little bit. He stood up quickly, inspired maybe by a cartoon he’d seen that morning, or by the fleeting memory he’d managed to latch onto for the whole morning, but which he’d now long forgotten, and started moving his body in all directions.

Minseok laughed, “What are you doing?” He spared a glance around the hill, to see if anyone was looking at them.

“Hyung, dance with me!” Jongdae yelled, still moving around and he reached out down to pull Minseok up. Minseok laughed again, louder this time, as he took Jongdae’s hand and spun them across the hill, stopping only when they were both too dizzy to continue.

Come run wildly with me, race on that field. Yell as loud as you can at the top of the mountain, don’t stop. In this incredible world, I’m alive. Dancing out on the Edge together.

3. Baby Baby - 4men (Fanseok AU)

Minseok’s eyes flutter awake, the tendrils of a dream still pulling gently at the corners of his mind. They don’t mean much anymore, dreams that is. They don’t mean what they used to.

He pulls himself off the couch, stretching until his back cracks in several places, wincing at the pain in his neck as he rolls his head. Couches were never his thing.

The house is empty this morning, void of the sounds of his fiance clattering around the kitchen, making breakfast. The silence of the hallway rings in his ears instead trying, and failing, to fill the sounds of her slippers shuffling against the floorboards, trying to surprise him and wake him up.

He realizes he forgot to set the alarm for earlier in the morning—or rather, he’d been used to Fany doing that for him—and had slept until noon, face buried in the seat cushion. His phone has three missed calls (from his mother) and a voicemail he’d failed to see before today. The date on the machine tells him it was from before his life was empty, before Fany left him wandering between each room listlessly.

“Minseok, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get angry at you like that. I know you didn’t mean it. It’s ok, I forgive you. Hey, when I come home, I have a surprise for you! Wait for me, ok!”

The phone clatters to the ground and he crushes his hand against his lips in an effort to hold back a sob. A box is on the kitchen counter, leaning haphazardly over the edge where Minseok had careless tossed a couple of nights back when he’d returned from the hospital. He hadn’t touched it since, but now he sited through them carefully, as if they were made of glass or of dust and would disappear with the lightest touch.

At the bottom of the box, beneath her purse, jewelry, and clothes, was a dvd box. A pristine disc lay inside, despite the ominously large crack on the cover, and slammed his hand against the counter, letting his tears flow freely.

His favourite movie.

a/n: I REALIZE THIS IS A BREAK-UP SONG. I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THIS CAME FROM OMFG. FIRST SHE HAD BROKEN UP WITH HIM, AND THEN ALL OF A SUDDEN SHE WAS DEAD. WHY IS MY BRAIN LIKE THIS.

4. We’ve got a big mess on our hands - The Academy Is…

The crowd cheered, clapping happily as his opponent’s body hit the floor. He’d barely known what happened, one moment he was reeling from a blow to the gut and the next he had kicked down the boy in front of him and his arm was the one being raised in victory. His teammate ran over to him, congratulating him on winning the Championship and beating one of the toughest guys from their rival high school and he stood there, stunned, unbelieving.

The high came afterwards, in the car, as he held the trophy, and he finally cracked a smile in the backseat, his mom looking over proudly and asking him what he wanted as a reward. He told her nothing, the offer dampening his mood only slightly.

When they got home, he rushed out of the car, and he didn’t need to be told twice not to leave the trophy in the car. He ran through the front door, looked around quickly, and walked determinedly to his brother’s room, where they’d left him when the family had gone to watch Minseok’s taekwondo championship. He burst through the door, finding his brother sitting on the floor with a book, and closed it again quietly.

He threw the trophy on the bed from where he was standing, narrowly missing his brother’s head and he closed in, looking down menacingly until the younger boy stood and stared, eyes filled with both fear and anger.

“I won the championship.” he said, voice hiding his intentions until he shoved the boy back against the wall and aimed a swift punch to his gut, tried to follow up with an elbow to the back of his neck.

His brother had a different idea, and used his bent over position to shove him forward with all the strength in his legs, towards the bed. Minseok stood his ground, he knew what he was planning so he turned them around, using the force to drive him back onto the bed, onto the trophy that was still lying there and when one of the stars on top dug shallowly into his younger brother’s shoulder he stood there and watched.

5. Changing - The Airborne Toxic Event

“Minseok,” his mother called, sitting properly at the kitchen table, shiny from the scrubbing she’d just finished with. “Minseok would you be a dear and start dinner for me? There’s some chicken in the fridge.”

Her voice was pleasant, and at age 11, Minseok would have happily helped her after he had finished his homework. At age 16, Minseok has plans with his friends, so he tells her politely, “Mom, I told you, I’m going out today.”

She bristles only slightly, but her voice is still gentle when she turns back to answer him. “But Minseok, I miss when you used to cook for me..”

He falters, the sweetness of her voice twisting at his heart. He nods, swallowing at the thought of having to cancel on his friends yet again. “I’ll call them again. You said chicken, right?”

She smiles and nods.

6. Same Blood - The Academy Is…

“We’re not the same ok?” Minseok shouts, stumbling for words, “I’m human, I’m normal. You’re just a…. a..” freak. It weighs on his tongue, and doesn’t quite come out because he knows it’s irreversible. Even with time travel.

“Yes, we are Minseok,” Luhan says softly, tears that had been on the verge of escaping throughout this whole conversation flow out little by little. “Yes we are.”

7. The Rhyming Song - The Muppets

“Hyung, what rhymes with orange?” Jongdae sticks his tongue, shaking his head and pulling his notebook away when Minseok stares at him confusedly.

“Nothing rhymes with orange,” he says, snorting at the crestfallen expression on Jongdae’s face. “Does it have to rhyme?”

“Yes!” Jongdae says. ans frowns, looking back at the paper, and hands it over to him quickly.

Minseok hyung, I love you

Like I love oranges

too. And coconuts!

8. Reflections are Protections - La Roux

Classmates aren’t something that Minseok is used to at age 8. He’d been enrolled in public school for less than a year and he can already recognize that he doesn’t fit in to the tight knit groups of kids, formed since kindergarten.

He frowns down at the lunch in his hand and wonders what he could do make new friends. He doesn’t have much to give, though, so he walks shyly over to another table and smiles back, surprised, when one of them waves him over.

“Is it true?” he asks. And Minseok blinks back because it’s the most ambiguous question he’s ever had to answer. It seems like a yes or no question, but the boy looks like he wants an answer.

“Is it true your little brother is a snake?” the kid asks smiling widely because he obviously thinks it’s really cool.

Minseok gets sent home that day for starting a fight in the lunchroom. He isn’t suspended, but his parents don’t take him back until they’ve lectured him several times.

He doesn’t make any friends that year.

9. I’ll Drown - Soley

He’s home alone again, lying on the floor of his room. It’s as far as he got.

It’s there again, he can see it with his eyes closed, pulling him down and weighing in his chest, pushing against his lungs until he stops breathing for a few seconds. His chest burns when he takes a breath and a slow frustration creeps in.

He thinks while he’s on the floor, thinks of Fany and how he plans to break up with her later this week, later when he can feel anything except the emptiness running through his veins.

His tears run so fast, in his house out there We try to get out His house took our hands and smiled. We’ll never escape from this sad, sad house. I take his hand. We sink.

I’ll drown when I see you.

10. Once - Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova

“I know,”

“I know,”

They exchange those two little words, two tiny words that they lived in for years uncounted. It meant everything to them, and maybe it still does somewhere but they don’t need to say it.

Jongdae’s not quite sure what he knows, but he’s afraid to ask, afraid to force Minseok to remember things he might not be willing to, and for a moment he’s jealous that Minseok has that choice.

Minseok means all of it, all of the emotion behind those words and he desperately clings to the hope that Jongdae understands, that he still remembers their promise all those years ago.

Just this once, Minseok hopes, just this once he puts his trust into Jongdae’s memory and figures that even if he doesn’t remember, even if he doesn’t understand maybe it’s better. Maybe it’s better to forget the memories that Minseok has clung to for all these years, the memories that crushed him day after day.

Hear the sirens call me home, hear the sirens call me home, hear the sirens call me home

Eyes closed. Hands held. They forget together.

weeshu — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 06:37:46 GMT

my posts are beginning to look really really similar like.
"wow haven't logged in in forever, i should work on the 3 millions fanfictions i have saved in private on this account" except i never do and i probably never will.
and wow my writing is awful sob.

and oh my god i found that fanfiction i wrote a long time ago about eli being a pervert and spying through kiseop's--the new kid's--window at night and watching him undress and his parents don't say anything because what that doesn't happen in suburbia.
and the one about ryeowook being master thief who accidentally starts a game of cat and mouse with detective kim jongwoon and then inspector cho kyuhyun comes in and cockblocks everyone.
or the other weird ukiss fic that was going absolutely nowhere.

welp.

weeshu — Fri, 13 Jul 2012 01:30:32 GMT

maybe i should finally get around to making that chexmix livejournal blog.
maybe i should finally get around to like.
a lot of things.
like.
writing.
and shit.
but.
meh.
just going to wallow in my muses.
on this blog.
now.
hi.
bye.

weeshu — Sat, 07 Jul 2012 19:24:56 GMT

bias > food > boyfriend.

yup. i have my priorities in order.
yep. i made a post just for that.
okay. bye.

omfg

weeshu — Fri, 11 May 2012 10:16:21 GMT

Ok, every time I want to post something here I'm don't because what if people find it but lmao who would be looking here, like. I'm being an idiot. Just some more writing..

Locations for my fanfiction:

The Hill

The hill had always been desolate. Stories of vicious murders and mysterious disappearances had plagued the town at the bottom for years. As far as they knew, no one had lived in the mansion since before the renovation of the town buildings more than 50 years ago. At the time, there had been a Count that had owned the mansion. He pleaded to the renovation workers to spare his mansion and in return he would give them riches beyond their wildest dreams, but only when they were finished with their work on the town. They agreed and shook hands to that effect. The renovation lasted five months, at the end of which they sent a representative up to the hill to remind the Count of his promise. But the renovation had completely ignored the mansion, and no one had gone to visit the Count in five months, busy with their own preparations to move back into their homes. The count was dead, lying face down in his bed when they found him, and had been for about two months. The stench filled the giant bedroom that he was in, and the worker that found him promptly threw up. The death was strange by itself, but adding to its mystery was the fact that all the coroner could determine about the death was that it wasn't natural. What exactly he meant by that, he never divulged, as though it was a secret too large for the world to know. Perhaps the secret killed him, just as it did the Count, since the coroner died shortly after visiting the mansion again.

Over time, the town filed it away as an old wives tale. But the death count had been increasing steadily over the last ten years. There's something up there, but no one is curious enough to risk their lives...

The Desert
A desolate piece of land located miles upon miles away from civilization. It was known as a place for savages, and anyone from there was not to be trusted. In reality, the civilization that lived was well hidden by the sand. Concrete forts extended deep into the ground, covered by dust storms as designed. The desert people made their home here, somewhere near the middle of the vast wasteland, and kept livestock and other types of sustenance. Their features consisting of dark, olive skin, offset by unusually light colored eyes of blue and green shades. They are secretive society, furtive even when living outside of the protected village in the desert. Murmurs of magical powers and unknown phenomenon ripple through the crowded Capital.

The City/The Capital

"Welcome to a bustling metropolis. We have all the latest gadgets, amazing transportation, restaurants, and all that your heart could desire. If you are just visiting, we would prefer that you sign in at the front desk of the Gate 1 Building, located to your right after walking through the first gate. If you are coming back from a long trip, and please note we would prefer that you enter through the second gate and to have your identification checked at the Gate 2 Building."
The city was located to the east of the forest. The entire city boasted of its technological advances, and equal rights for all who entered into the gates. In fact, many years ago when the City was founded, this many have been true. Just before the war, however, the governing parties of the city took a greater interest in protecting it and its citizens from crime. The campaign was based largely on lies and falsified information. Crime, they said, was at all time high when in reality it had never been any lower. The government used the campaign to drive out "foreigners," and citizens of other areas of the land that had lived in the city for generations were forced to go back to villages that they may no longer have had ties in. The main targeted group, the public enemy number one became those who had moved from the Desert. Their tan skin, and light colored eyes became the representation of evil and malevolence in the public media.

The Forest/Wasteland

Before the war, the forest was a peaceful place. It was a place of co-existence between humans and the ecosystem, provided by the trees and the ground. The forest had a lot of resources, which was the reason it was so fertile and why it was home to some of the oldest trees in the world. The war had began on the western-most point of the forest, the small force of opposition using the shadows of the forest floor and the high treetops to ambush the soldiers that tried to infiltrate. More and more, however, as the size of the opposition grew, and their resources became more scarce, the group had decided to utilize the resources hidden underneath the soil. The once-lush and bustling life of the forest quieted, and became a deserted wasteland, a cemetery for elegance and faith. The mills that were set up by the opposition were manned by prisoners of war and civilians they had picked up from the surrounding towns. After 10 years, the resources that were readily available on the surface became scarce. Unable to invest in more drilling, all production stopped and the mills and forest were left to rot in the devastation. Recently, a thick mist has settled over the spacious land, preventing travelers from passing safely through. To get to the towns that are situated across the forest, the traveler has two choices: pass through the Capital, situated to the east of the forest, or journey through a mountain pass to the southwest of the forest.
There are few who are brave--or maybe the proper term is foolish--to try and pass through the mist. But there's something in there, the villagers who live on the mountains say, something besides the old mills and the rotting trees. Once in a while, a farmer will look up from his soil and see something through the fog. It watches him while he watches it, and it looks human. Curious though the farmer is, he doesn't trust it, and turns his back.

It's gone when he looks back up.

weeshu — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 00:39:52 GMT

weeshu — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 19:38:15 GMT

if we work on the basis that love is always close to us, we will never find it.

weeshu — Thu, 01 Apr 2010 05:26:46 GMT

"if tonight is the night, then what happens tomorrow when intentions aren't hidden by the half light, when our faces are in plain sight as we wave each other goodbye and push ourselves off this never ending train"