#;pr

[imoribund-blog]

it’s funny, you think anything is possible when you’re a kid.

{random sentence starters - no longer accepting}

He stands idle, hands in his pockets after shuffling to theside of the counter to await the slice of cake and coffee he had ordered fromthe barista. The abundant scent of fresh coffee hung densely about the air inthe café and Kyuhyun could not resist but to inhale deeply. Such paltrycomforts induced a sensation of enjoyment and at last a wash of tranquiltemperance could overtake him.

At length, a paper cup filled nearly to the brim with hissimple order of Americano was presented to him upon the counter. Gently, hereaches for a lid to place it securely atop and trap the warmth of the steamback inside. He cradles the cup as it radiates its warmth throughout the fleshof his hands, holding it with a gentle grip.

Still awaiting his slice of cake, he stares past the crowdof people and outside the windows, thinking of nothing and merely enjoying hislonesome venture. Then, a high-pitched squeal of laughter punctuates hispleasantry as two young children come running into the café, followed by twoadults. They giggle and shout, shoving chairs out of their way while the twoadults stand in the line.

Kyuhyun heaves a sigh, barely giving notice to the woman whohad come to stand next to him.

“It’s funny, you think anything is possible when you’re akid.”

The words give him a start and he turns his head to meet herglance, examining the pale-haired lady. Had those words been directed to him?

Uncertain and nervous, he offers her a tremulous bob of hishead before he replies, “That’s… one way to put it, I suppose,” he punctuateshis statement with a short sip of his coffee.

“There’s certainly more freedom of movement,” he says, ‘and lack ofmanners,’ he adds to himself.

[imoribund-blog]

❝ it’s my hobby to prove you wrong. ❞ [-eunji ]

{ from: random sentence starters }{ Status: accepting }

Deep brown oculars sweep across her face, obsidian lashes flickering with each motion of the eyes before he lowers his head slightly and reluctantly chokes out a laugh before a wide grin spreads across his features, dimples reaching their highest point in his cheeks. 

“You’re talented,” laughter seeps into his words as he stares at the signature gracing the album she had hastily pushed into his face, “Not many people are capable of making me the fool.” He hands the album back to her, shaking his head. The fervor she demonstrated was nearly catching but he found himself incapable of comprehending the reason behind her delight. 

“I’m surprised he was so flippant with his time. Regardless… -” He pauses, faltering. He wants to say more to her, tell her she is capable of real music and that her time is so much more precious than her idol’s, but he doesn’t. Let the girl have her fun.

Instead, he lightly raps his knuckles on the counter, “How about you get me that americano now instead of that I-told-you-so?” 

[imoribund-blog]

☠☯☢

☠ : Are there any recent/daily thoughts they have about death or dying? 

He thinks about death more than any sane person would care to admit. He finds it difficult to find purpose in existence and himself. He wonders, frequently, about who would miss him.

He hates it, but it hurts him because he knows he is invaluable to none. He despises himself more because he knows that’s his own fault.

Kyuhyun considers himself a vacuous soul – if he could be compared to anything, it would be to an innocuous apparition. Who could remember something that… isn’t real?

☯ : Do they believe for every darkness there is a lightness? If not, why? 

How can there be such a thing? To believe in that would be to imply that justice exists equally for all people. This simply is not true and people are not all provided with the same opportunities. Some people experience only grief and others experience trivial misfortunes. 

Only a bigot could convince themselves otherwise.

☢ : Describe a thought or dream that would cause them to have a mental meltdown. 

Mom… the word leaves the boy’s lips gently, timidly.

Mom?

The man’s body trembles as he lays in bed, tossing his body to the side and legs drawn toward him to curl into a small form. Blanket falls to the ground, he shivers.

She is there, surrounded in white. He can hardly make out her form and her face is blurred. It’s like he is staring through a wet camera lens and he can’t make out the subject of the frame through the water drops forming on the glass.

But it’s her. She’s smiling that way she always did in the photographs with his father.

Mom?

He’s sure it’s her. And the small, meek little boy tries to reach her. He pushes himself forward with all the vigor he can force from his small body but he can’t bring himself closer to her. She waves, it looks like she might be smiling. He forces his feet to move faster, but she doesn’t seem to be nearer to him. He can’t breathe but he doesn’t want to… can’t… he can’t let himself stop.

But he has to.

Why can’t she come to him? Why can’t she move? Does she not care?

Mom?!

The man in the bed shakes almost violently, but eyes don’t open. His forehead has formed small beads of sweat along his hairline, his brow is furrowed, but he rests on.

The little boy is crying.

Mom! He forces the word from his lungs like a curse.

She stares at him, blank, any expression he thought he saw on her face is gone. He could convince himself that she was always like that, that he never knew this woman, and that she had always looked at him like that.

I never wanted you, Kyuhyun. 

[imoribund-blog]

☁ :Describe how they would spend a stormy, overcast/rainy day.

The apartment is quiet; he likes it that way. The door to the mudroom is closed, and Kyuhyun pulls the heavy curtains across the main windows, the soft gray light that illuminated the loft now dimmed to nothing but a pale shadow. His dark figure moves away from the windows, scanning the room with eyes narrowed against the remaining lightness, legs carrying him across the main living area and into his kitchen where an electric kettle has almost reached boiling, but he breaks the charge before it can get any hotter. A stick of FrenchCafe is dumped into a large mug, and then another and one more. Water is poured over the mixture of instant coffee, sugar, and powdered milk where he stirs it with one of the empty packages before lifting to his lips and then wincing as the hot mixture burns his tongue.

Kyuhyun carries the mug by the handle, past his bedroom, past his living area, into his office. The blinds are lifted and he can see outside across to the other apartment building. Mug is held tightly in hand as he draws himself toward the window, hand placed flat against the surface and optics peer downward into the courtyard. He can see the puddles forming on the sidewalk and he can feel the coolness of the window against his palm and he can watch as the rain hits the glass and slides ever-so-slowly down the window in one long trail of water droplets.

He takes a sip from his coffee.

It’s quiet.

Except for the

Pitter

             P

                a 

                   t

                     t 

                       e

                           r

of the rain against his window, down as it falls from the sky and to the ground and strikes the Earth with life.

He removes his palm, looks at the window and the condensation that has formed in the shape of his hand upon the window before it disappears just as suddenly. There, he sits. The antique chair cradles him comfortably while he stares out the window, watching the grayness outside and the water fall.

He would work. But not now, not yet. He would pray for the repose of his soul, lay in the felicity of something that finally brought him contentment.

[psycheprints-blog]

[ curious. ]

   ---- There he was again, quiet as always while students of all genders fawned over his mere existence. Even Moaning Myrtle squeaked at the mention of him. Min Young was borderline disgusted, but even the brunette could not stop staring at the stranger with long piqued curiosity. Alastair, she believe his name was, seemed to be absorbed in the book he was reading, however, observant as she was, she saw the smirk on his face as a group of passing first-years giggled and whispered upon seeing him.

    ---- Min Young gave a scoff at his obvious feeling of what she could only guess to be self-imposed superiority. Despite her rolling eyes, the witch could not help but wonder what went on his head. Or any Slytherin’s head, for that matter. But, the only way the brunette would find out was by making conversation with the seemingly elder male across the room from her.

    ---- Gathering her belongings into a satchel, Min Young stood and scurried over to Alastair, plopping herself into the chair across from him with inquisitive eyes and a grin across her face. Sitting her satchel onto the table beside her, she waved a hand in front of the ebony haired male to draw him away from his book.

      ---- “Just how do you do that?” ----

[psycheprints-blog]

[ between the pages ] | m&m

Downtime was a rare commodity in Min Young's consistently bustling life. Between being Chief Investigator and full time mother, she almost never had a moment to herself outside of sleeping. So, any day where the brunette was was free of both was like a personal miracle. However, when she did have these days off, the detective almost never knew what to actually do. 

And is was thus she woke up that Sunday morning, the house abnormally quiet with the absence of her miniature pop star as she visited her equally strange grandmother and the office also quiet with the lack of urgent cases, that Min Young groaned because she was absolutely dying with boredom. Taking about an hour before she actually crawled out her bed, Min Young shuffled about the empty house in search of something to do.

It was another hour before the brunette threw herself onto the couch with a soft groan, nothing to do and not a book in sight to read, the nearest bookstore being a full twenty minutes by car. However, she had seen what seemed to be a little nook only a few streets down that looked rather quaint and almost resembled a cottage.

Soon enough, Min Young was striding down the quiet sidewalks and out her small neighborhood, clad in a simple green sweater and jeans as she searched for the tiny bookstore. If only her sense of direction was as good as her sense of investigation. Or if she had bothered to, you know, look at the signs, the brunette would have realized she had passed right by it and the shop owner himself several times in the last ten minutes.

[dominaetyler]

[ beauty ≠ good ] | e&r

   Drinks weren't something she gravitated towards, not her cup of tea normally. But, the night had been exhilarating, three rich bastards dead, covered in their blood as they screamed and begged for mercy. One of her messier kills, but certainly her finest work yet. To celebrate, she showered the amaranth liquid off her skin, but still left the coppery scent on her before changing into simple black slacks with a crisp white blouse and sleek, patent pumps.

   She didn't bother looking around the expensive lounge, in no mood for company and simply wanting a peaceful spot to revel in her exploits for the evening. The spot was extravagant enough for being so close to the red light district, decent performers, nobody broke out into brawls nor did they haggle Eve for her number or promise a 'good time'. 

  With a slow sip of her drink, basic rum and ginger ale, the caramel haired woman took a glance around the establishment, catching the eyes of some guests, however, she found no one of interest. Not even someone she could bother after her glass was emptied. Sighing quietly, Eve took another drink, barely noticing the near ridiculously tall male take a seat beside her, ordering a drink of his own. Turning her head to him, Eve only absently regarded him with a single one over. Hm, maybe he knew about something exciting going on in this pisshole of a district.

              --- "Hey, you. Know of anything happening in the area tonight?" ---