[xtensia]

Remember me? I was robot-luhan, amongst other things. I disappeared for a very long time, but I’m semi-back! (Not permanently, I have university and work but I just miss my kid and am up for v occasional writing.)

I’ve moved onto this blog here, so if you’re interested in trudging along to that with the idea of starting interactions with Lu, feel free.

[winterfellis]

[salveo2-deactivated20130804]

“Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.”

Edgar Allan Poe (via snowwhiteandthesevensins)

[mumblinbee]

Whatever I am, you did it.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Offshore Pirate  (via honeysucculents)

[waldxsia]

what is this url thing me me me memeME DO ME

Opinion on;

Character in general: Luhan luhan luhaaaaaaaaan. He hurts me. In a good way. I’ve already told you how much I love your Luhan. But I will say it again and again and again. All the little details, the huge word vomits, and the occasional headcanon musings that we talk about and delve into on skype, I love them all. Love them with all my heart because it’s like I’m learning about him bit by bit and I never get tired of anything new you bring up about Luhan—whether it is something that happened in his past or will happen in the future. Every new piece of information you share and trust me with only adds to my love for him as a muse. It is very obvious to me how much work you put into building him and how hard you try to develop him as a character. And I adore him with every proverbial step he takes towards a future that he deserves. (HE DESERVES HAPPINESS OKAY? HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I SOBBED OVER SOME OF HIS TRAGIC THINGS IM-) I will never think of Luhan as a mediocre character. He is not. Luhan is unique. I mean, I don’t see another Luhan that’s an android, who has assimilated so seamlessly into the modern world occupied by humans, he seems almost naturally human himself. If I hadn’t already known, I would’ve never guessed because you play that aspect of him so well. Luhan is tangible; he is concrete. He is a living, breathing person in the world you have crafted for him. He is a force to be reckoned with because he is more than just somebody striving to break free of his past and innate struggles, he is capable of the most terrible things should the right button be pushed. But he resists. And that resistance is what makes me weep. Because he is so inherently flawed and utterly humane (when he is not even human)—the irony of it all. 

How they play them: Beautifully. One of a kind. My favorite. You write like you were born to do it. Shhh no, let me finish. As much as you say you don’t write well and are incredibly self-conscious about your writing, I happen to think you write effortlessly. I love love love your writing! I love how real Luhan feels with every post and every interaction. (Totally biased bc I roleplay with you aha not sorry.) I’ve had the honor of watching Luhan grow into someone incredibly fascinating and full of intrigue. You think you’ve seen one side, but that’s not true. He is layers upon layers of unraveled mystery and you incorporate that so well into your writing. I’m a huge fan of meta discourse and always appreciate it when I am provided with a character’s internal thoughts and struggles. I love me good meta and you write that perfectly. You balance both setting/atmosphere and action so well. Your diction is great; your language plentiful. You don’t overwhelm the reader with sophisticated words. You don’t need to. The melancholy, the emotion, the imagery—you are unmatched in that aspect, love. Showing and not telling is a talent, a skill, and you have it in spades. How do you—hoW DO YOU. Loves everything you do. Screw worrying about inactivity. I, for one, will never stop waiting until you have time to relax and bring Luhan back in full force. I (and Krystal tbh) will be here waiting with open arms, okay? 5ever. 

The Mun: You are my sunshine, my one and only sunshine. You make me happy, did you know? Do you know how much I love you? No? Well then, lemme spill my guts all over this. You were there for me when I was wallowing and drowning in the lowest of the lows and there to celebrate and smile with me when I was in the highest of my highs. You say you give really bad advice. Stop, you do not. I always value whatever insight you have and always appreciate what you have to say. I’m in awe of how much you trust me to be able to lean on me and pour your heart out to me (knowing how much you hate doing so because you think it makes you weak. It doesn’t. You are never weak in my eyes, Taylor.) whenever you’re ready to let go. You always listen to me when I need to vent and handle all of my derp at the wee hours of the morning when I would rather talk to you then faceplant on my bed with grace and so much patience. Like how have you not blocked me for how often I spam you on skype with links to stupid things and bomb you with random plot ideas, headcanon and angst things?!?!

Also, I can never thank you enough for being such an integral part of my rp experience because I do credit both you and Luhan for my Krystal’s huge revamp and character progression. You literally helped me revive her and my spirit and my love for writing. Without your constant encouragement, I would’ve been long gone and Krystal would’ve vanished without a goodbye. Luhan is her anchor as you are mine. You’re always so supportive of me no matter what decision I make and always there to lend me a hand when I need it. We may not talk as often now because we always seem to miss each other because busy and timezones. But it doesn’t matter. Why? Because you always reply whenever you get my messages. Be it on skype or kkt. Your good morning kakao msgs always warm my heart bc they’re the first thing I see and always make me smile. But please, my precious. Do remember to take care of yourself because I cannot physically be there to take care of you. Remember that while education is important, you are just as important. If you’re not healthy, you won’t be able to accomplish the things you want to the best of your abilities. Always try to breathe and relax. Five minutes a day is helpful. But nevertheless, I will always believe in you. 

Taylor, you are my precious little sister. Always will be. I am always here, love. I won’t ever let go of your hand nor would I ever think about leaving you behind. Shine bright, my stardust. My star, my ray of sunshine. Shine bright forever. You are a blessing and I love you with all of my heart. Thank you for existing. ♥

Do I:

RP with them: ye. past, present and/or future muses lol can’t stop won’t stop

Want to RP with them: -in my best snape voice- Always.

What is my;

Overall Opinion: If you’re put off by her inactivity/incognito status, well, you’re gonna miss out when she comes back and brings Luhan with her. Approach her to plot! Interact with her Luhan! Follow now! And be wowed by beautiful writing! 1000000/10 follow my bae!

[sad-plath]

[xtensia]

Carnation, Foxglove, Allium, Daffodil, Myrtle, Hibiscus, Violet, Magnolia, Marigold, Heliconia, Dandelion [You can answer as a narrator speaking about what Luhan thinks for any of these, I'm just curious about your darling and I'm sending this OOC anyhow :') ]

Carnation: If I handed you a concert ticket right now, who would you want to be the performer?

In my mind, there isn’t a vast variety of music he listens to, excluding Arctic Monkeys, Brand new and Atoms for Peace— other than that, it’s mostly things along the lines of Frederic Chopin, which he’d have to visit a graveyard to see. So we’ll go with one of the first three. 

Foxglove: Name three facts about your family?

There’s only one person that Luhan really classifies as family, and that’s Chaerin/Sky, a person who he hasn’t seen in a very, very long time (squints at u anza) so currently, maybe not even her. Since it’s been quite a while, amongst a lot of things that have happened before that time, if you asked him the only things he’d have the capacity to recall is that the sunshine glowed an inconceivable gold from her hair, and anytime he ever sees the sun he thinks of her. But then on a slightly more melancholy note, he thinks of her whenever he feels himself get close to (literally) breaking and whenever he finds himself particularly lonesome.

Allium: What’s the best thing you can cook?

 Lu is useless if you want to be fed around him. Your best option is to order take out unless you consider instant ramen fine dining. 

Daffodil: What’s the most thoughtful present you’ve ever received?

I don’t think I could even name one, to be honest. 

Myrtle: Do you like going on airplanes?

Ohhhhhh no. He most certainly does not. He’d opt for a ridiculously long, underground train ride over a flight. The few times he’s had no other choice than to fly (there ain’t no train from Seoul to Poland, which to him makes his life a hell of a lot more difficult than it needs to be) he tries to sleep through it as much as he can— deprive himself of sleep a few days before so as soon as the plane leaves the ground he’s dead to the world. As for why, I think it could potentially be backtracked to when he supposed (still thinks, actually) that Violet died in a plane crash, as well as the feeling that if anyone found his body, he’d simply blend in with the debris of the aircraft and he’d just dissipate from existence without anyone ever truly knowing. 

Hibiscus: Did you ever play an instrument? If so what?

He used to play the piano (rather poorly) and that’s about it. 

Violet: Do you like where you’re from?

He doesn’t, but he truly wishes from the very depths of his being that he could. China (and Beijing in particular) just fills him with paranoia and dread that he can’t shake no matter what, even if it’s just to admire the city for just a little while. 

Magnolia: Favorite kind of candy?

I CAN’T THINK OF ONE DNT HATE ME the only finds of foods I can think of him finding any sort of indulgent delight in is some sort of ramen/soup okay he’s boring

Marigold: Do you listen to what’s on the radio?

I’d say he’d have it on as background noise while he’s working or painting, but he’d never pay it enough attention to actually recognise nor overly enjoy anything that was played. 

Heliconia: Do you like when it rains?

He does. No one ever wants to be stuck in the rain, and he finds a twisted sort of connection with it. He likes it. A lot.

Dandelion: Do you think you're important?

In relation to the people he holds most dear? Not really. In the scope of the entire universe, with every little organism surrounding every monumental person and thing that has ever existed? No, not in the slightest. But there's a feather light feeling with it's barely there presence on his shoulders and that slight twinge in his gut that tells him that maybe, maybe there's something that he could be more than just a looming figure in the corner for.

[xtensia]

Ðreams of mountains sunk below the sea.

                  It’s wasn’t a sprint, it was a full blown marathon. Recuperation was something he was accustomed to, and his endurance proved to be in his favour this time rather than conspiring against him. Each time he shifted a limb, stood up to even just walk from room to room; every inch of his being released a blood-curdling scream that resonated deep within every single recess of his mind, almost paralysing him. Yet, there were still the small things—the things that would have been useless to refute or fight against-- each time he shifted a limb, stood up to even just walk from room to room; every part of him screamed in protest; the pressure deep within his chest, the dislocated feeling in his fingers and elbows, everything. But he knew of perseverance, and knew not fall behind, to become victim to ones own vulnerability. He learnt from the best.

It’s been a day or so since he’d been in the company of the other; the settling ambiance of her surroundings, despite the fact that much of the time spent there literally stunk of blood and an abundance unnecessary antiseptic, but perhaps it wasn’t that. Maybe it was the foreign warmth that contrasted so starkly with the chill of his own home, the warmth that came with that touch which he was once so deprived; the touch of comfort, the expression of gratitude, the calm hand that set his still.

He had an open rucksack splayed open atop his neglected bed, shoving in a few t-shirts, jeans and other small things he saw some purpose in lugging around with him—a notepad, a pencil, a book and a small bag of loose change soon joined the sea of fabric within.

He reaches down, bruised fingers wrapping around the thin device nestled deep within the pocket of his coat, before scrolling through the few names that still remained, before stopping on a single one. He looked at the name quietly, still for a moment, his shoulders turning lax as his thumbs quickly darted out a message on the illuminated screen.

Recipient / / Soojung.

» I’m not too far away. » You’re sure that you’re still okay with this?

Soon enough, the rucksack was thrown over burning shoulders as he locked his apartment door behind him. With steps as quick as his bruised and battered body would allow, he darted down the few flights of stairs receding from his front door, before his foot touched down to the cement that almost instantly became littered with small, circular specks, just a few shades darker than the pavement itself. And with an upward glance, grey eyes met with equally as grey rain clouds, and it was then that it fell most heavily. He brandished a small umbrella submerged deep within the contents of his bag and opened it to the sky, shielding himself before walking (faster than before) down to where he presumed the furniture store would have been; his shoes eliciting a dreadful wet, slapping sound against the pavement below.

                  As soon as the metropolis became distant and the white noise of pedestrian cries seemed like a murmur in the distance, he began to feel as if maybe he had lost his way; the empty side streets adorned not in the obnoxiously bright store logo he searched for, but with crackling fluorescent open signs and the misty curtain of the downpour. He wandered for a while, probably exceeding the insinuated time limit of not too far away which he assured, but he found his way eventually—one of the sidestreets opening up to a small, humble complex. And he spotted a dark brown head of hair off to the distance, huddled beneath an overly protruding roof of a nearby café. Soojung.

He jogged over slowly, before the horrid sounds emitted by his slightly damp shoes came to an end, his eyes trained on the other as if assessing the damages, to see how she had been healing over the past few days where his presence was far more scarce than previously so. As he approached, a small yet dense realisation dawned on him, one that sent his shoulders buckling further from the weight of his backpack— that sense of obligation, that he too, must have buried deep inside without his complete understanding, whether it be intentional or not… if it even were a weight he wished to be accustomed—even glad to have resting upon his shoulders?

                  ”Look up,” He mumbled, just above the volume of the assault of the rain just a few paces behind. He waited, waited patiently for her to respond to his request, his rucksack weighing down heavier on his shoulders as the time passed by, but it was then that he decided that the answer to his own question, was an irrepressible yes. “Is it healed?”

[spacebrost]

mosaics are made from broken pieces but they’re still works of art and so are you

[observando]

It’s so hard to forget pain, but it’s even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.

Chuck Palahniuk (via observando)

[theoutsiders-blog]

The head of a company survived 9/11 because His son started kindergarten. Another fellow was alive because it was His turn to bring donuts. One woman was late because her Alarm clock didn’t go off in time. One was late because of being stuck on the NJ Turnpike Because of an auto accident. One of them Missed his bus. One spilled food on her clothes and had to take Time to change. One’s Car wouldn’t start. One couldn’t Get a taxi. The one that struck me was the man Who put on a new pair of shoes that morning, Took the various means to get to work but before. He got there, he developed a blister on his foot. He stopped at a drugstore to buy a Band-Aid. That is why he is alive today.. Now when I am Stuck in traffic, Miss an elevator, Turn back to answer a ringing telephone… All the little things that annoy me, I think to myself, This is exactly where I’m meant to be At this very moment

(via theoutsiders)

[arachneia]

abxin eue

Opinion on;

Character in general — LET ME CRY OVER YOUR MUSE INTO THE NEXT CENTURY OMFG. I’ve admired your Lu Han for so long, give me a moment (though I do a have a pet peeve about anyone making “Xi” his last name because his irl full name is literally Lu Han). He’s a muse that I want to know more about, that I like reading the threads just to see how he interacts with others. The way you’ve written his information pages (the background) is gorgeous; I love the amount of show, not tell—especially in the “descend” one. He’s gorgeously written, created, and executed. I could go on forever, but I’d be repeating my main points through all my gushing.

How they play them — Augh, don’t even get me started. Your writing style is absolutely stunning; your sentences flow seamlessly into each other and your word choice is almost always on point (and I only say almost because we all mess up every now and then). I get the distant and occasionally melancholic atmosphere of Lu Han whenever I read your threads. Even seemingly simple interactions can give you the most profound notions of someone and I enjoy reading whatever it is you have to post.

The amount of thought you’ve put into this character is no less than obvious and it pays off a whole lot. It always amazes me, how much time and effort people put into their muses, and you are no exception. Writing information pages and mustering the inspiration for a muse that has a rather narrow image to display can be very tiring, but I admit to fangirling getting really excited whenever I see you on my dash.

The Mun: We haven’t been able to talk very much, but I think you’re a cutie patootie and we should be friends because yes, u v u You’re absolute sweetheart from what I can tell, uhuhu.

Do I:

RP with them — Not at the moment, but I desperately want to change this.Want to RP with them — HELL YES.

What is my;

Overall Opinion — DO THE THING AND ROLEPLAY WITH THEM YES GO DON’T EVEN WAIT. If you aren’t at least following this beauty and stalking their threads, you’re missing out.

[waldxsia]

His propensity to fight back was mildly impressive and should’ve warranted a hum of mocking approval had she not been flat on her back and her intentions exposed prematurely. How unfortunate. It would’ve been lovely to test her theory. Even better to see if she could make a carved, bloody masterpiece out of him.

What a pity.

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[xtensia]

There was always that chance, the possibility of him not absconding from the scratched and weathered floor beneath them. That his corpse would be there come morning, destroyed and mangled, just the way it should've been from the start. They were always 50/50, neither possessed any prevalent supremacy; the heady adrenaline and murderous intent for naught-- they were as even as they always were. As similar as they always seemed to be.

Synthetic tendons and bones seared deep beneath his skin, the heat shooting from the tip of his head before the billowing wildfire consumed him; the rage set deep within his stomach like a hundred year old oak digging it's roots in deep, and he felt the sparks like fireworks through every inch of skin, every sliver of awareness and with every blink of violet eyes.

To listen to his thoughts would've been an assumption one with not much eminence. He could not hear himself think no matter how much he willed himself to. No matter how much he told and told himself time and time again that without his thoughts he was more of an meaningless fusion of metal and electricity that he always deemed himself to be. Even if he were human, without your thoughts you are nothing. You are nothing but a walking creature with an empty mind and sandpaper heart; paper thin fingertips and cardboard bones.

He longed to feel the bloom, the sudden feeling of something, anything that could make him feel a little more than that. A little more than something that gets knocked over by a breeze or loses it's colour, bleeding out over time when nothings left but grey scaffolding of something that could've been so beautiful. The yearning almost burnt him as much as fire in his chest, the malcontent that filled his lungs and drowned him in the middle of a city studio apartment.

This all went away with every gasp, every scream, and every word that left her lips, and not once could he determine who those words were adressed to, written in red with the blood dripping from her nose to her crooked lips. The shouts that ran through his head like a freight train but left just as suddenly and left him reeling. His body swayed, his head becoming loose on his shoulders as it bobbed back and forth like a buoy out at sea, and if he listened close enough, he could hear it. He could hear the rushing and the crashing against his ears and the deep thud of pressure so severe he waited for his skull to crack.

He felt an ice cold hand press the handle of the blade into his vibrating palm, fingers curling around it but ceasing to retract. It was just for a moment, a point in time so brief it was gone as soon as he blinked his glazed eyes, the short burst of solace in tandem alongside reprieve, as if she were giving him permission-- condescending, patronising consent. The cool relief her touch brought him those mere ticks of the clock before were abolished as her arms wound so mockingly around his shoulders, and not once did he expect such arms to feel so wrong, to fill him with a warmth that was one of pure hostility that only worsened at the utter of his name in his ear.

His body was weak, but hers was weaker-- he forgot his own inferiority and tore her arms away from him and shoved her back until he heard the thud of her back against the floor. He slowly leaned to loom over her, eyes wide and unblinking, taking in a face that he couldn't recognise no matter how much he tried, and that feeling of familiarity so painfully shrouded in such an obscure mask killed whatever it was trying to bloom deep within him. It was with this, he leaned in closer until he could feel her barely there breaths hitting the side of his face, her slow pulse beneath his fingertips that ran from her jugular down to where the thump thump thump prevailed most strongly.

He repeated like a mantra, wake up Soojung, wake up Soojung, please wake up-- so many times in his head that he didn't notice he began to utter them under his breath, bleeding in with his harsh breaths as he plummeted the knife just above her beating heart.

As the knife slid deep into her chest, the fire dissipated and left sparks igniting down each individual notch of his spine, cracking and shifting each of them and sending his body into an inferno. Convulsing cries of agony tore from his chest and filled the room that fell so, so quiet as soon as her body slumped sluggishly against his, almost sending him toppling onto his back. He had to will his eyes to stay open, to work through the embodiment trying to break free-- he implored it to stop, knowing well and true that if it had it's way, soon enough he'd be breathing his last breath.

He doesn't remember how it happened, and by the morning, he doubted it'd come clear, but as he dropped a deadweight body into a bath overfilling with ice cold water and washing away the deep red footprints winding unsteadily from the front room to the hospital white bathroom, he was overcome with the dissipating burn of his limbs and the all encompassing nothingness of the unknown.

[xtensia]

"Who did this to you?"

              The blonde’s piercing gaze was always something he wasn’t entirely certain on— whether or not the looks that could kill a man fitted in seamlessly with a face that, to him, looked like it belonged with the sun and the stars. But he could feel the pinpricks raising on his pale skin from the sheer, unwavering authority that dripped steadily from her lips.

He hoped that the other wouldn’t have noticed the small gash running down the length of the hollow of his cheek and the ever so faint green tinge blooming from the point of his brow. And he didn’t even want to think about the purpling rivers threading and winding across aching ribs. Or hoping that she would at least pay it no attention. After all, he could confidently the face of the man he saw shrouded in shadows from the night before was one he saw long ago, the same blonde before him was standing (or running) by his side in the heavy snowstorm of Russia.

He hoped that it wouldn’t be mentioned, because soon enough her steady gaze did nothing but churn his gut in pure resentment.

              ”Funny you should ask. Maybe you’ve fooled yourself into thinking that you’re more transparent than you actually are, but you stand out. Like a burning black hole in the sky.” He exhaled through his nose shortly, slipping balled fists deep into coat pockets. He clenched his jaw and felt the dull ache.  ”I guess they found me before they found you.”

[xtensia]

"You need to look where you’re going."

He sat with his shoulders squared and hands flat against his jean clad thighs, every moment or so fighting the urge to raise his head to the other. The room— Yunho’s room— seemed wide and open, the evening sunset shone in through the windows and cast it’s golden beams across everything in it’s path. It would’ve been nice, but Luhan only thought of how it would’ve exacerbated his haggarad and beaten face. It left him feeling constricted and nauseous nonetheless.

His face was still throbbing on the right hand side; his split lip and bruised jaw speaking volumes louder than any lie that he could’ve pulled out of thin air. I ran into a door, a glass fell from my cupboards, hit me in the eye then split my lip, I saw an old friend and there was nothing more I wanted to do than shove his face against the pavement— and he was always the prodigy of eventual karma.

He only looked up when he saw the man brandishing a small bag of ice to him, grey eyes flicking up as nimble fingers reached out to wrap around the small bag, the cold almost making him flinch.

"I'll be more cautious next time, hyung."

[waldxsia]

It has been a long time since she felt remotely whole. After all, she was trapped in a body that seemed perpetually split in two. A rigid dichotomy. A physical representation of the benevolence and malevolence fighting for coexistence. It was ironic how words could sound so reassuring and yet, had the uncanny ability to plunder someone and shatter them into a million pieces. Render them completely immobile, numbed to the core. Such was the power of the very words she’d longed to hear when she was but a child. (A stupid child). But his words…his words sounded honest enough—at least, that’s what she told herself. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t pity her. 

Had she any strength left in her, she would’ve smiled. 

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[xtensia]

She was awake.

Later on, he would hate himself for letting his mind wander. For letting his eyes glaze over and feeling the clench in his chest far too profoundly.

Maybe, just maybe, a small part of him would hate himself for getting invested in the first place. For not just fading into obscurity like he always did, what he always does, what he’s best at doing. Darkness is his old friend, one he knew far too well, one that he knew would welcome him back with boneless, all-encompassing arms.

He could not formulate a coherent thought to describe the acrimony pulsing through his veins like venom, spreading white hot. His hands felt as if they were vibrating, the tips of his fingers and his knuckles losing all sensation, turning numb and as cold as ice. He couldn’t control the restlessness, he couldn’t hold himself still; be it his hands, legs, anything. He felt a bubbling screech boil in his throat, and his vision turned white.

He closed his eyes and saw the woods— lush, grassy vines and weeds pouring out from overgrown trees, the sky sheathed completely by overhanging foliage and blocking out all of the suns potential beams. Or, or maybe it was the moon.

Suddenly, it wasn’t a forest anymore. It wasn’t anything he could attribute to that kind of place. The ground that was once damp and soft was now grimy and hard beneath the soles of his feet. The trees were gone and the moon cast ugly, illuminative shadows against his weathered face. The cold crept down his spine, but he still couldn’t feel his fingers.

The neglected, rural woodlands were gone, but the vines remained. They grew with exponential efficiency, slithering against the obsidian black tarmac beneath him, the relentless moonlight exposing the skin of thorns and razor sharp edges adorning the creeping tendrils. He looked at them, engulfed in panic and suffocating in the urge to move, move! Why aren’t you running? But he looked down to see his feet rooted to the concrete, tree roots coiled around his ankles and holding him in place— but when he looked again, they weren’t really there.

The vines moved faster than his eyes could comprehend, and in the blink of an eye he felt them tighten their hold, pulling his limbs in and out of position, the sickening cracks reverberating through his empty shell and sending him into a trance. Slowly, slowly, one raised to wrap around his throat, and then it ended as quickly as it happened, he felt the familiar sensation of his head being detached from his shoulders, his mind losing all coherency before being reconnected.

He opened his bloodshot eyes, and his skin turned ice cold, hands still trembling. Luhan reached up with gritty, bloodstained hands. Her blood. The blood of Soojung, and not the monster staring deep within him. She flickered like television static, between colour and grey, between brilliance and nothing. He seethed, bony wrists bruising against the floor beneath him as K held him down— but it was not with a force he could not retaliate. His lips twisted into a malignant snarl, dark hair falling into glazed, violet tinged irises and staring at the rabid woman hanging above him like a puppet on a string.

Tapered fingers curled deep into his quivering palm-- quivering not from fear, but anticipation, a pent up energy that confounds him for having held it in for so long. He feels like he's about to erupt from his own skin, and everything shakes.

Why on earth would you care?

What's in it for you?

Something broke loose deep within him-- he felt sizzling static and an electric pulse that would've worried him in any other state of mind. But he couldn't convince himself in one state of mind or the other, what the answer to that question was. How he legitimately could not bring himself to answer, and it dissipated, resonating deep within him and digging in it's roots, something that he'd forget about now, but would surely unearth itself when he thought it was lost completely.

Such questions were thrown into the back of his mind along with any well meaning or kindness he previously bequeathed, nothing put poisonous contempt contaminating every part of him, burning white and violet in his flat, dense eyes.

"I would dare you to find out, but..." He spoke evenly, tone dropping low enough that if there were in a room full of people, only her and her alone would've heard such words. "I would much rather--" He kicked his leg out from underneath him, twisting around the back of her left knee and digging the heel of his foot deep into the soft skin, simultaneously crushing the bone against the hardwood floor. In a split second, he had her pinned down with a hand to her throat and a knee pressing hard against her hip, holding her down securely. "-- see that pretty knife of yours against your throat."

[waldxsia]

His confession was something she’d subconsciously prepared for when she came to and realized that here was someone who did not die by her hands. The one exception to the rule. To think that he would consider telling her the truth instead of blatantly lying to her face like so many others did put her at ease. The rigidity of her shoulders lessening until she was no longer hunched over and burdened by the weight of shame and fear.

Guilt imprinted itself into the paleness of her face and etched a sad smile on her face, her eyes blinking a little too quickly to hold back the well of tears that sprung up again at his words. Oh, how the lies would unravel one by one.

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[xtensia]

The seconds passing by flew right over his head, and he began to wonder how long he remained holding his breath; every inch of himself being shoved down his throat and locked within his chest to the point where he felt the stabbing ache in his side, and he began to accept the subjugation that was about to be presented to him on a silver platter. He knew what was going to happen, but it was the uncertainty of her words that momentarily paralysed him. How in this very moment, he was unaware of what profanities were to be uttered, if she’d throw him out of her home then and there and vow that never again would she see his face. His jaw clenched, and his fingers gave a small, barely there twitch.

He’s disgusting, and she sees that now. It was different back then, in that time so long ago where every single person was like him; not marginalised but glorified as a breakthrough in engineering, but how much of the real world really thinks like that? Throughout his life in Korea it was all he ever knew—every second person was like him—but every single one of those people were confined in the walls that restrained him from the real world. He’s never had to deal with the situation of telling anyone, because everyone he ever knew already knew—like there was a barcode inked across the expanse of his forehead to let everyone know. And now that he’s here, the constant questions he throws at himself leaves him in a comatose state, future unclear, livelihood never within reach, relationships absolutely out of the question.

It was her soft voice reverberating around him that reminded him to breathe. Breathe. But deep in his side, the thorn still remained—the contempt and disgust dripping from her lips that took him a few moments to realise was not said to his face, and when he looked up he got the sudden urge to reach out before she crumbled into nothing right in front of him.

A prodigy was indeed his first thought when he first saw her there, a pure white face with a lab coat that he had only seen on the broad shoulders of middle aged men, her high rung in the hierarchy in comparison to him left him awestruck, and indeed, that word was the one word that came to mind. But the structures and bones of that trivial hierarchy came down with each strongly punctuated word that she shoved out. And as he sat there, dumbstruck, unable to conjure any word or coherent sentence within himself, he felt like this was the first time he truly ever saw her since the beginning.

He stared right back at her, dense grey eyes slipping through the cracks of the blue ones holding him still, still reminding him to breathe. His felt like his body froze over with her words, he could feel the pressure in his ears like he was thousands of miles deep within the ocean. His airways opened up and the thorn was gone. There’s nothing wrong with you. He felt like a child, enver knowing what to expect, never knowing what the future held for him, but looking at her unwaveringly, her words shook him in a way that he could never have expected. The feeling when you’re sent to an institution, the feeling when you find out your worst fear is clawing their way back into your life-- a feeling that was never the penultimate, but the final mark of your life. It was like this, it came in all the same; his mind in shambles and his senses obliterated. But the wreckage it left was different—the two born from the same vein, one turning ice cold and one warmer than anything.

He scanned her face and felt the last drops of his composure slip over the edge. On unsteady, faulty feet, he rose. Fingertips digging into the side of the chair below and hoisting himself up before taking a small (yet careful) step towards her. Deep breaths, he reminded himself, find the words.

His fingers curled at his side, shifting and raising at their own accord and brushing against the side of her arm, before that crushing fear he’d never want to admit to forced his hand back to his side, but his eyes remained steady. “Maybe you didn’t deserve that title, that title was never yours to take. Humans might be weak, despicable, I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of imbeciles I’ve come across in… in such a short life—people who pretend to know so much yet realistically know so little. That title was one that people like that clung to as some sick confirmation that they’re special and worth so much more than the rest of us. But, Soojung, you don’t need that to cling to, you were and are not low enough to have to hold onto something as meaningless as that. They’re no better than you, than anyone—you’re the one and only person I’ve seen any flicker of truth in, of wholesomeness…”

His train of thought crashed and burned right before his eyes, the splatter of crimson against alabaster skin putting a stop to any sane or composed thought he failed miserably to articulate, his breath caught in his throat and his skin running cold. Instantly, ignoring his previous withdrawals of his hand against her skin, he reached out but failed to catch her before she fell, but he knelt down beside her almost as soon as her body hit the floor.

Maybe it was the blood loss from before, maybe it’s exhaustion. Thousands upon thousands of excuses flooded his mind in hopes of rejecting what it really, truly was. Something that he never wanted to see, something he refused to see. Panic—panic from the moment he broke down the door to the very moment his trembling fingers slid across her cheeks numbed every part of him. He looked down at her, eyes not leaving her face for one second. ”Soojung, Soojung, fight it, please, fight…” And as her face flickered, a dull wave of dread drenched him completely, flicking in and out of a face he could and could no longer recognise.