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Bridging The Gap"Donghae, if you don't get up this instant, you're going to be late, and I am not taking you to the school."
Donghae groans and turns his head, face pressing into his pillow. A headache rages behind his eyes, and all he wants at this moment is to close his eyes again and drift back to sleep. But before he can make a stab at the feat, someone knocks at his door -- just once -- before it flies open. His mother, Heechul (although technically Heechul is his father, and not even his feath father at that, but Donghae's never been one for technicalities this early in the morning) stands there, eyes narrowed and lips twisted into a frown. A hand is pressed against his hips, fingers tapping a stacatto beat against his thigh.
"Lee Donghae, get up this instant." There is a dangerous undertone to the words now, one that Donghae can't help but recognize as the getupgetupgetup alarm, and he pushes himself out of bed, falling onto the floor with an unforgiving whump of sound.
He whines; his mo
April 19 -- KyuMiKyuhyun sagged against the wall of the room he'd been sharing with Zhou Mi for the past couple days, head bent and tucked against his chest, forehead pressing against his knees. An arm framed his head, balanced delicately on his knees, the other thrown over the back of his neck in an unconscious attempt to protect the soft skin there. Both fists were clenched, muscles tense and straining against the skin.
He sat like that for an immeasurable amount of time, the second and minutes slipping like sand through his fingers until, after what felt like hours, a knock at the door brought time slamming back into place with the force of a freight train.
"What?" Kyuhyun rasped, throat dry and voice hardly audible.
Another knock, more insistent this time, followed by a muffled voice. "Kyuhyun?"
Kyuhyun swallowed hard, summoning the strength to raise his head. "I'm here. Do you need something hyung?"
Kyuhyun mentally cursed himself. The verbal slip-up was practically unnoticeable to a
Finding An Infinitive: phase 00 - To BeginIt was taking too long.
The clock on the wall opposite his desk, the one whose steady tick tock kept in unfaltering rhythm with his heartbeat, read that it was twenty-five minutes past eight, and it was taking too long.
There was a knock at the door a short while later, almost lost among the noise from the clock. His attention flickered to the door at the sound, and an expression that couldn't quite be considered a smile, and nowhere near relief, pulled at his lips. "Come in."
The door opened, light pooling in across the floor of the room, haloing a lanky figure in the doorway with white light, delicate features awash in the glow from the main room. Eyes narrowed as the other slipped into the room, door shutting soundlessly, leaving both in the comforting safety of darkness.
"You're late," the man mumbled, the sound petulant and rather childlike in quality, lips quirking at the corners in a way that signified fondness and belied his tone. There was laughter, soft, quiet, and soo
River Flows Through YouFingers press to the keys, hands moving swift across the glossed white and black row. A head nods slightly as he plays out the slow, almost-melancholic beginning beats of the song as a melody, soft and oh so sweet, sings through the empty auditorium. A somewhat familiar shock of scarlet hair hangs over the face, hiding the feature and expression from view as the fingers continue their graceful dance across the keyboard, flashing and moving with an enviable ease.
Donghae peers over the edge of the catwalk where he's been watching for the better part of an hour now. His own fingers dig into the threadbare patch of carpetting that lines the walkway as long-forgotten popcorn, dusty and stale with age, bites into the soft skin under his nails. No real mind is paid, because it's not like this is the dirtiest they'll be today when he's just going to walk home after this and stick his hands under the hood of some car or another.
Donghae has lost count of how many of his afternoon free periods
8 Minutes, 23 Seconds"Mom?" The word is quiet, hesitant, almost not even there but his mother still glances away from the road. They are on their way back from the doctor's office, a routine checkup because, at age six, he's always been a little smaller than the kids his age, a little weaker, a little slower, never quite up the par when it comes to physical activities.
She's smiling, that characteristic smile that reaches and curls her eyes into crescents, the brilliant expression he'd inherited from her at birth. "Yes, sweetie?"
Her son frowns, lips pulling down at the corners. "Mommy, why are there numbers above your head?"
His mother blinks, confused, then laughs, the sound light and airy in the interior of their car; if he'd known better, maybe he would have heard the slight tremor in the sound. But he didn't; instead, all he heard was the comfort of his mother's soothing laughter, and he is put at ease even before she answers. "It's nothing honey, they'll go away soon."
They do, in fact, go away soon.
GeisterfahrerA black car tore along an empty, desolate road that snaked a path between towering pines in the rural outskirts of another unnamed city. The setting sun flittered between branches of trees, painting streaks of red, orange, and gold along the exterior of the car. The windows had been rolled down to let in the crisp springtime air, the breeze created by the outrageous speed whipped into the car, tugging at Cho Kyuhyun's curly brunette hair. He paid it no mind, attention focused on the road, brown eyes narrowed in concentration.
The trees soon gave way to countryside, the road snaking between the hills, driver following without hesitation even as the sun sank behind the horizon and stars began to light up the sky. Fingers tightened on the wheel, knuckles turning white as a green exit sign flashed by -- Mokpo, 3 miles. A foot pressed against the accelerator, car lurching as it sped, double the speed limit, flying past the exit that would have taken the driver closer to the place his
Can You Keep A Secret?Title: Can You Keep a Secret?
Pairing: HyukHae (one-sided?!)
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys; I'm not in the slave trade.
Summary: Secrets can be painful -- physically, mentally, and especially emotionally.
Note: There will be a sequel or companion to this. :]
Mood : discontent
Music : Haru, Haru - Big Bang
Donghae sighed softly, gaze locked but certainly not focused on the flickering screen of the television that sat a few feet in front of him. At some point in the somewhat recent past he'd slumped over, elbows planted firmly on his knees, head resting in his open palms. In the back of his skull there is a distant throbbing as a migraine that he's had for the past day returns full force, each and every throb beating in sync with his racing pulse. His jaw aches, too, and he knows it's because he's had his teeth clenched for so long that even thinking of opening his mouth hurts.
From behind him, there is a soft sound - a yawn. Donghae doesn't bother blinking, turn
Make A Wish"But I don't want to," Donghae says immediately, eyes narrowed in fierce concentration.
His parents exchange a glance, his father grimacing in distaste. "Donghae, we really don't have much of a choice. We put off the binding as long as we could in hopes that you would find someone on our own, but you nver managed to find anyone--"
"They threw themselves at me, father," is the protest, rushed and bitten. "I want to make a connection with someone. A connection like you and mom had!"
A smile pulls at his mother's lips. Donghae knows she finds this funny, because she finds everything funny, a trait she gave to her sons, and his father mirrors the joy he feels through their bond with an almost imperceptible twitch of his lips. But then it's gone and he's frowning and Donghae feels a weight pushing down upon him, pinning him back against the sofa.
Donghae knows what's coming now and he scowls even as his mother rises and leaves the room. His father watches her go before turning back t
Recollecting on FriendshipSometimes feel like apologizing to her.
I miss her.
I miss talking to her.
I miss having someone that understood instantly without my needing to say anything
It's been a year now.
A full year.
And I still miss her.
She got me through some of my worst times.
And I owe her an apology.
But she was the one who decided I wasn't acting mature after I lost not only my grandfather, but my home as well.
I lost friends because of her.
And I lost friends because I was too stupid to keep them with me when she left.
It takes two people to fuck up a friendship.
It takes two people to remake a friendship.
Wold she take that chance if I outstretched my hand?
I should really apologize.
To Walk Into Lovei didn't fall in love with you.
i walked into it, each step a compulsive uncontrolled 'why not?' because...well, why not?
i see you every day, and every hour, and every minute, because you're in my head - stuck, like a song i just can't get sick of. you're a little splash of heaven in my endless hell.
i want to know everything about you, from what you had for breakfast to why you have that tiny, faded scar on the back of your left arm. i want to hear the stories of your life, because i know they'll be the most exciting stories ever. i want to run my fingers through that straw-coloured hair and feel the softness of your lips on my cheek, and whisper your name with the softest breath.
maybe someday (i hope dream pray), you'll turn around and spot me in the crowd, and you'll take my hands in yours and pull me closer, and you'll walk into love with me too.
Till then though,
I love you.
ReassuranceHearing your voice,
Is like breathing in the summer warmth.
It reminds me of the times you whispered in my ears,
More distracting than all the music in the world.
And I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world,
To be with you as time takes its turn.
And when everything comes to an end,
We would've written our own story of love.
Scented LettersI love how your letters smells so good,
That despite all my conscience,
I want to hold them to my nose all the time,
And fall asleep with you on my mind.
I love how you use few words when you mention something intimate,
Then telling me you are leaving the rest to my imagination,
Something you know I use well,
Whenever I miss you in ways words can't come to describe.
So as I slowly touched the pages,
I am reminded again that soon,
When our hands are together,
There will be no need for lovely letters in between
Skin DeepShe is beautiful, in a ruined way. Her eyes are wide and wet, bright blue made brighter by the cherry stain of burst blood vessels. Her skin is milky white, her lips are rosy red. She is thin, like an elegant skeleton, an insectiod humanoid crawling through the narrow tunnel of passer-by's vision, uncanny and enthralling. Tangled, matted hair and a rasping, broken voice turn her into a fantasy. She was a queen, in another life, and now she is all that is lovely, thrown away, gone to waste. But this is what makes her a heroine, a shining beacon of urban myth become truth become legend, beckoning in all her glory as she stands on the corner.
Her beauty is what makes me open my car door as she smiles broken teeth at me, inviting. Her's is a world I want to know, and anticipation of the sweet taste of it makes my breath come fast as she slides carefully, carelessly onto the smooth leather of my passenger seat. With movements quick and halting, she turns to face me, dilated pupils flaring w
falling asleep in summertime.you haven't seen him for a while.
10 months, 23 days, 8 hours and 59 minutes, to be exact.
as the two of you walk along the road, hands seeking warmth in woolen pockets, a snowflake hits you in the eye and you flinch.
"it's snowing." he murmurs.
you agree silently and continue walking.
a few seconds pass by, carrying a couple hundred of snowflakes along with them.
"are you cold?"
"are you cold?"
soft laughter filled the surroundings, and the snowflakes fell faster.
"i have a spare scarf if you need it."
you softly decline, but he drapes it around your neck anyway.
as the street-lamps flicker on, you slow to a stop by a crossroad, and point to your right.
"my house is that way. i guess it's good night for today."
he smiles at you as he agrees.
"it's great catching up with you. i'll see you soon?"
he watches you quietly as you wait for his response. he smiles again, and you take his smile as an answer. with a smile of your own, you turn and head home.
or you planned to, anyway, un
namelessYou ravage me
leave me as worn
as a used book
pages tattered torn
Rebirth - SleepTwisted under featureless sheets,
I drag unbearable shapes.
Clutch them closely to my mouth
and restless; stay awake.
I find one day to be finished.
The walls bare, the lights out,
The streets fallen silent and still,
No sails turn in the cool of tonight
No willpower works the mill.
I would be reborn a phoenix,
If I could clear my head-
Instead I lie, my plumage crushed,
Buried in ashen bed.
small talkhe doesn't do small talk; never has done in the seven-or-so years i've known him. he's a cut-to-the-chase kind of guy i met in a down-town pub. i'd been drinking he hadn't and he lent me an arm for the three miles home.
"irresponsible… alone… could have been hurt…” - the only snatches of his tirade i remember now.
we met again, a week later, in that same down-town pub. i bought him a drink - a thank you (soft, of course) - and basked in his approval at my own orange and lemonade. i once swore i’d never change for any man.
we got talking, there in the bar. the hum of the underage youths larking around by the pool table and the sound of whatever song was favourite that day faded away. we talked on our island, our utopia, until my ten o'clock curfew brought it down around our feet.
he walked me home again, and on my doorstep i pulled away from
If I Die YoungIf I die young,
take out my worn down,
with the love letters
to my angel
sapphire and crimson ink.
Give my journals to my mother,
so she can see
the inside of my mind,
for a few hours,
and know that
I adored her.
Let my dog,
sleep on my bed
to make up for all the times
I never let him in.
Give my daddy
all my cameras and memory cards
to let him see
all the times I wished
that he was there.
Send my grandmother
everything I ever wrote
fine point Sharpie
to show her that
I still think about Grandpa
Then tell God,
or whoever put me here,
that I'm sorry
for not giving Him
a second chance.
to be a best friendstaring down bullies
that leer and loom,
though their shoe
weighs more than you do
funny faces with crossed eyes and waggling
fingers to chase away
the teasing words;
uniting together against the popular kids
that don't understand
why we're friends when you're you
and i'm me
growing together, physically,
mentally and emotionally, taking strength
from each other, learning
wrong from right and right from left,
and knowing that even though we're growing up,
age is mind over matter;
as long as we're together,
if you don't mind, it doesn't matter
graduation, that great accomplishment,
a ceremonial walk across the stage,
heart drilling a cadence
as we laugh, dance, cheer --
we're all together,
you, me, us, them --
together for the last time
because life starts now,
and nothing will ever be the same
moving miles away, no longer
in walking or driving distance,
unreliable internet the only means
of communication was we struggle
to piece a relationship
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More