( TRAPPED. )

stars shine bright and i can read the secrets within their endless mazes.  

[dokyunggie]

I Remember You 

[mongdo]

[krisinsanity]

[kyvngsoo]

[kyungsol-deactivated20210104]

kyungsoo’s dark blue leather jacket 

[divinekai]

[hun-a]

how to get attention from your crush 101: fail attempt by chanyeol

[diohs]

his profile (≧д≦)

[kyvngsoo]

[vitunkpoppi]

barely survived the making of this gifset // Kyungsoo Ivy Club

[espiritnoir-deactivated20161112]

         migvng – ALL KYUNGSOO COULD FEEL WAS A DREADFUL STING UPON HIS RIGHT CHEEK. The pain is nearly unbearable, and to think it originates from his father’s hands of wrath. What a scene this appears to be; one moment Kyungsoo stands parallel of his father concealing the fact he’s frightened internally, despite looking utterly confident on the outside. Transitioning to the next, he’s practically running away for his life in prevention of worsening the situation. Kyungsoo runs out of breath prior to stumbling upon his bedroom door, just in time for his presence to be hidden from the satanic monster. It’s believed he deserves rot in hell from the way he behaves in front of the twins. Such a good role model, such a good parental figure–bullshit. The countless lies confessed to their oblivious mother, it’s a heartbreaking thought to clutter in his mind when they appear false to the adult. Excuses such as ‘your father wouldn’t do such a thing’ or ‘you’re being too irrational’ is a repetitive response to their confessions; if only there were some way they would pass from the excuses and reveal the truth to their mother. Is it this difficult to believe the slashes and bruises on a child’s fragile skin? Well, in this situation, it’s apparent.

           The door slams behind Kyungsoo following from his yelping for help (or to acknowledge he’s in pain), even though Seojin won’t hear a peep due to his condition. Breathe in, breathe out. By now, it’s possible he’s scared the living shit out of his twin brother, and to top it off, his right cheek is slashed deeply with blood gushing, drip by drip. The male’s hand conceals the wound, but it’s challenging due to the fact his tears mix with the red substance. Following from this, he experiences a stinging sensation once more which definitely doesn’t improve how he’s appearing right in front of Seojin. Weak hands raise from his grip on his thighs to sign a rather disappointing sentence. “Dad hurt me again.” In times like this, he’s appreciative for their lack of verbal communication; their father wouldn’t assume aggressive conversations behind his back–all he hears his silence. Attempting to gain his breath once more, his standing position soon transitions to him sitting on the floor, knees touching his chin in the midst of his arms clinging them. Maybe he’s implying for his brother to reach forth to receive the comfort and love he deserves. “I’m sorry I look like this. I’m hurting really bad.” Sentences are short and simple, but who would blame the twin who’s injured severely? This is an absolute nightmare, and their only wish is to escape. With their mother.

             He tries to sign again, and this time, with mere detail. “I was arguing with dad, and he got ferocious again. He thought I was back-talking him, but really, I was trying to smack some sense into him. He wasn’t understanding what I blurted out, so in return, he grabbed the nearest knife and slit my cheek as fast as he could.” By now, tears form in the corners of his shimmering eyes, desperate to race down his cheeks. “I really thought I was going to die… right then and there… This hurts, and I’m bleeding and getting blood all over the floor and my clothes. This is embarrassing, and mom isn’t home right now to clean me up.” Cue the obnoxious sniffling. “I need a hug right now, Seojin. And maybe a bandage. Maybe we can find one in here?”

[migvng]

      Their house was a reign of violence and no matter how hard they tried to find ways to fulfill escapist desires, it was exactly like slamming faces against electric fences and whine for the burns caused by the sparks to the blackening skin. It was always like that, since he could remember, since his eyes were attentive when reading hand gestures, body language and lips moving. Days tried to look different for each one of the inhabitants of that castle more similar to a basement, and no matter how hard they tried there were always those three or four facts and acts they could never, ever escape.

      Like the bruises on the other’s body and the ones on his face, for example --or mouthed insults that probably were meant for him to be heard but the detail of him being born without hearing becoming nothing but a symbol of mental disability.

      But was being naive, being hopeful and still looking at the sunlight and the sky with a smile and thinking how the light was warm and pretty like when he wakes up within the embrace of his twin brother a symbol of mental disability?

      Was watching the swelling eyes of his mother while washing cracked plates and putting them aside, signing to her how tomorrow will be a way better day for sure, a symbol of a mind unable to ‘work properly’ under certain scientific standards he wasn’t aware of?

      Was listening intently to the brother and his misadventures, putting aside his books and pencils to look at that face similar to his if not for the scars and cuts marking them in different place to dedicate attention to those moving lips and signing hands --was moving to him and being delicate when wrapping his arms around that similarly fragile frame, and allowing that face to sink in his shoulder like his own face was sinking in the other’s with fingers drawing spirals and flowers and waves of a wonderful transparent sea against the other’s skinny back. . .

             . . . was all of this a good reason to define him ‘retarded’?

      Because if it was, then he truly was retarded beyond cure and salvation.

[reverieo]

He catches it. His eyes catch the movement because he knew to be attentive in such a dreamscape. The body made more sense than mere words said from the lips – and his shaking hands told him enough. Just like the devil hid between the cracks of the details, and in this particular space, he found it in untied laces and the other’s damp skin.

“Keep living it? You are insane, absolutely nonsensical.” His words were bitter, rat’s poison by the time they left the tip of his tongue. And he swallowed them, much too easy – because they were in a way, words to himself. “You’re right, you can’t fix the past. But you can’t keep living the past either. Or more…” He has trouble finding the right words but then they come to him. “Or more so that you shouldn’t live in the past. It’s not healthy.” Once again, the words are uncomfortable even if he beguiles himself that they are for the boy, and no one else.

His hands disappear into his pockets when he feels them so cold to lose against the battle with the air around them. And that’s strange, because his hands are always much too cold. Here, they seem warm, as if he held heat in them.

“You didn’t tell me you were a maze addict.” His voice is light as he circles around his original spot. A meter is his maximum diameter, and he keeps close to the other. “Are you going to explain things to me, or am I supposed to explore it myself?” His back is thrown against the wall where the other sits and he slides down. He hits the floor, rough in movement. He lets his elbows rest above his knees, head turning to face his eyes. He tries to read them, if they’re fear stricken and just if, just maybe if they might to with his trembling hands and sticky skin. “There must be a reason you keep coming back to live this… of all memories. Why live a maze you’ve already cracked and solved out of?” 

He blinked, spitting out the words then immediately wondering if the answer was the exact reverse. Had he never escaped the maze? Was that the reason lying at the end of this?

“Or… you keep coming back because you truly haven’t escaped?”

[migvng]

      Insulted, he felt. Insulted and belittled, years and years of nails scratching metal and wall paint, skin cut and all kinds of stuff being hidden within the epidermis and pulled out once examinations were over --all the needles that pierced him like mercilessly piercing butterflies in order to expose them onto plain walls-- all scraped away by the few syllables of a mister someone with polished face, tools not so different from the ones used on him back when all walls around him were white and the only door in there was made of pure metal and impossible to open from his side. 

      Funny how words had such power without actually causing bodies to bleed and organs to flush out from windpipes and carved holes.

« I am not an addict, mind your fuckin’ words. » And like enraged banshee he hissed and with his owl-like, tired eyes he glared at the figure now frustratedly leaning on the wall --he could still even feel the bags under his lids pulsating as the tension made the veins underneath boil with venom and vitriol that still had to find the exitway to his mouth. Fists balled and ready to strike and yet he didn’t, not when the echo of his steps moving closer to the intruder he wanted out of his mind immediately. « Addiction comprehends a little part of liking. Infinitesimal, even --but it is there. I cannot be an addict of something that I despise with all my being, of something that is part of my past and my present as no matter how much I run, no matter how much I try to rip off the needles from my veins and run again and again the actual maze I already managed to evade years ago, I am still t r a p p e d. I am still nothing but a series of barcodes, letters and numbers in a medical folder marked as TOP SECRET, product of genetic engineering with mutated DNA, a monster on the run because they want to finish the work, and they won’t stop looking for me and the remaining ones in order to realize their twisted project. Or just finish us all. Fulfilling the scheduled program or becoming nothing but an evidence to throw in a fire. »

      A click from his tongue against the palate, little pause of his speech that still was barely calm, not really betraying a sense of frustration boiling more and more and contrasting with the now evident monotonous accent of his voice.

« Look for the EXODUS PROJECT, doctor --if I can define you as such. You’ll find all the responses you want to know in there. And I am sure someone as skilled as you will find easy to, well, sneak and obtain whatever you need. Deep in my memory, in the outside world --wherever you want. »

[cassolace-blog]

Lips part attempting to think of a valid argument to that, yes he might be sure of what he saw just a few floors above his, but can he really argue with logic? Last time he checked irrefutable facts were more powerful that the judgement of a sleep deprived. Secondary effects of the pills he supposes. Thus, his words end up in a jumble.

“Maybe they were falling off I don’t- I thought the best thing was to make you know.” He shuts his mouth staring at the other´s evident frown  “You must think I´m crazy.”

[migvng]

« Crazy? No. In need of a vacation? Definitely. » 

      And he was kind of internally screeching. Why must he have these sparks of luck right ten seconds before being wrecked. Why must karma be still so terrible with him.

« Or maybe you just need to take a cup of warm tea and lie down. You look like you just got ran over by a car a few times. »

[candiidus]

       with the very definite no her pout intensified. what was so hard about her just paying for netflix like every other normal person. well, she would, had she the money to afford it. secondly, her complete and utter lack of skill when it came to computers prevented her from doing any of the things he’d suggested. she felt at a loss, but more importantly, defeated. 

      “well, if my only choice is to use netflix at your house i hope you’re prepared for me to be over A LOT . i have a bunch of shows i need to catch up on!”

[migvng]

« I am sure Tao and Sehun will appreciate your presence within the ranks. » More or less. But the younger ones were the ones still more used to how the ‘modern trends’ of youth worked differently from their stern leader, so he was sure the girl and the duo held the highest chances to become friends immediately. Probably over some stupid tv program about idols doing stupid things.

« And you can also enjoy my cooking, too. »

[inflvmes-blog]

“I know better than to make hungry people wait,” he nodded, the smile that had crept onto his face not waning. Jaehyuk thought about the last time he had a fully cooked meal rather than hurried snacks over case files. Yet he couldn’t remember the last time he took care of himself that well.

The man seemed to believe him on the allergy excuse and Jaehyuk did feel slightly guilty for lying to him but he had a secret to protect. The feeling of guilt was one he was just as used to as hunger. “Yes, safe sounds good. Do you need help with shortcuts? I know every bit of this city. Born and raised here in Seoul,” he sighed. Jaehyuk knew that there was a darkness to this city but he still loved it so.

[migvng]

      The key word indeed being ‘seemed’, for Kyungsoo’s senses were still kind of alerting him to hurry and move away before the already messed up balance of the conversation between himself and the other was going to crumple like paper in a shredder.

« Well, I don’t really want to bother you, sir. Especially if you might have other things to do that I’m not aware of and I might pull you away from if I dare accepting. » A pause. « Born and raised here? Lucky. I am aware of my recent surroundings only --Gangnam, barely Hongdae. »

[dvizng--archive]

“There’s more to being a leader than to be smart and fast. You have to care for everyone and take initiative when it’s needed. You did that. Don’t regret it. Sometimes, unavoidable things happen, but you shouldn’t let them break you.”

[migvng]

« What if I’m broken already though, Kris? What if I’m already nothing but dust? You can’t reform a vase from dust. »

[migvng]

[txt;] But being a stripper would be so great [txt;] my name will be the candy man cause this ass so sweet

тхтмѕɢ「 jongin 」:

No.