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A Monster of the Reboot; A Master of Time - Bang Yongguk 

Hear him whisper through the cracks of time. See him falter with each step. Watch him breathe, chest rising and falling as the memories overwhelm him. Turn around and look at him once more. He shall laugh, pick up his phone and speak to a black screen, run his finger through his hair and disappear. He walks a tightrope, unbound by the theories of time.

He’s a survivor of a line known only to him, the reboot. He’s a monster, buried by the countless threads of time. He’s a master, a self-proclaimed scientist. He’s a mass of drifting memories; a continual lapse amongst the numbers. 

Like |  Follow  | Reblog [Literate; AU Roleplayer; Para}

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✧

Hear them cry; cry so loud.

The archives of time surround him, immersing him in knowledge. It tore at him to realize everything that engulf him, yet it shredded him to know how much was left out for the world about him. Daeryong stands motionless as his eyes drifted over the slowly wearing spines of his beloved stories. He sees all the words that he had gathered in life, yet none of them meant anything to him.

As his eyes danced about the paper, his through wondered, barely noticing the figure that was slowly approaching him

Hear them beg for their future; for their lives.

Subconsciously, the rare emotions flared through him, turning relaxed muscles to whitened knuckles. The images of blood, fear, hope and death whirled in terrifying ribbons about his mind.

Oh how he’d love to leave this world.

At this very moment, however, he could not. Daeryong’s life aside, another part of him lives as that of an introverted librarian. This introvert thrives on the silence, his scowl fading at the slightest with it. He knows who he is and who he has to be.

The figure continues to wait, lightly tapping upon the books lain out in front of the lost librarian. Once his attention was caught, his eyes then pulled themselves down to the pile of stories, nodding at the slightest.

Jung Daeryong — the guardian of books lost to the underworld.

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-- Notes

I am sorry for being so inactive -- all replies will be replied to by i think wednesday this week because fucking exams.

fucking hate maths

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Star symbol.

Humans can be containers.

Such was what he understood.

Humans are the containers of insanity.

Such was what he hated to accept.

Jiyong’s gaze is pinned upon the ceiling of his office. There is nothing about him and there is nothing to bother him. His collection of a thousand and more files sit peacefully, not screaming at him for the first time in many days. If you were to walk in at that moment, you’d be greeted with nothing but a chair turned towards you.

He sits there, pen delicately held between his thumb and index finger, rolling it slightly as his mind wandered. He drifts into that hidden desire he was forced to bury with his occupation as a psychiatrist. He had no choice but to follow it, every person had a part of something erased or haunted by inner conflict. It was what he had chosen in his teenage years, where his fascination towards human thoughts was rather abnormal.

Thick tangents of black and white race through the web of his thoughts, his eyes soon growing glazed with boredom.

Insanity was unaccepted in society.

Such was a factor that he hated.

Once the insanity broke out, then it was praised and hence, the greatest in the society.

Jiyong eyes fall closed, waiting for time to pass and his next patient to arrive. He listens carefully to the barely audible sound of his breathing and, underneath that, the faintest beating of his own soul.

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“I kept always two books in my pocket, one to read, one to write in.”

― Robert Louis Stevenson (via psych-quotes)

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✧

Send me ✧ and I’ll introduce you to one of all the muses I ever had.

His tall lanky frame sits perched upon the high wall, a single, yet unclear, object placed almost delicately within his hands. His head tilts towards the sky, an obvious sign of one’s soul having been pulled away by the many threads of the heavens. The presence of a customer remains unnoticed, slender fingers timidly curling about the stem of what appeared to be some form of flower.

Upon a closer view, the slightest of curled lips becomes apparent, the many scars of life visible in childish brown. The flower, of the purest of whites, turns slowly with the help of his fingers, elegant flicks and curves of petals revealing themselves to sunlight. It is with said sunlight, that an unnatural glimmer runs across the very top of the petals, its artificial makeup being announced to a world it found too cruel to live in.

Silver clad legs swing, the back of leather shoes tapping against the aged brick wall.

Still he notices not.

The white crane orchid, so precious to him, falls. It’s skilfully crafted petals hitting and, from its weight, bouncing off the cold concrete.

Widened heated brown tear themselves from the speckled azure, turning towards the ground upon which the flower lay. Cautious feet hit the ground, the too tall frame crouching as eyes trace over such a valuable possession with worry.

It is as he looks up, satisfied from his thorough inspection that he finally accepts the presence, his very brown eyes almost shining with the flickers of afternoon sun.

”Ah, I should pay more attention, shouldn’t I? Anyways, Junhong to your assistance of all that is floral and gifting.”

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☠ Drabble List

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50/50 Pics of Chen 

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Send me a ✧ and I'll introduce you to one of all the muses I ever had.

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“Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.”

The Lathe of Heaven, Ursula K. Le Guin (via fromliterature)

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Startled would be the first word in line to describe how he felt with the appearance of the letter. It was true that he did commonly receive letters not of his name — yet this bore the ink of his address, stated clearly in perfectly printed letters. Still standing outside of his home, Jongdae shrugs and tears at the envelope, eyebrow arching at the sight of the letter inside.

With a quick scan of its contents, his features brighten, eyes widening with recognition. A long but timid ‘Ah’ passes from parted lips as eyes drift over the contents one more, his legs are already moving him towards the entrance of his home. By the time he was inside, words and thoughts had boiled within his mind, his finger itching to grab onto a pen and begin the short yet languid strokes of his reply.

Once at his desk, with coat and bag thrown carelessly at the couch, Jongdae pulls out sheets of paper, an ink source already held steadily in his hand.

Equally dear to you stranger, though of the name Elsa that I know,

With the start of any letter — especially of such purposes, we’d all be lost for what to say. I too am lost for how to continue, hence this letter shall be filled with all this rambling of unnecessary comments and thoughts. I’d leave blank spaces to express that, but what is the point in making your eyes run over pointless white space?

As you have reminded me, with this letter having arrived to my hands, I have indeed joined the very same event— and might I add; I had joined, yet long forgotten of my participation to such. 

I’d continue to complete the thoughts you have laid out in your words, yet it’d be far more interesting to spin tangents off to every corner, would it not? To quickly complete such thoughts, as to not be rude, I do also hope that our letters let us get along.

Your answers lie here:

The taste of green should calm my mind, yet the whispers of blue entice me. The glow of purple brings a familiar ebbing to my soul, yet the abyssal swirl of black say far more. Of similar thoughts I am to the seasons, where by the summers are too hot, the springs too sunny. As with any bookworm, the winds, rain and snow of the cooler seasons bring joy and absolute contentment to me. In all, I dream to bask in warm sunlight during the winters and to thread my fingers through the frostbitten winds during the summers. That said, I should move towards the other questions you have left me. For food I am not picky — though anything mildly sweet shall have my mouth watering. A place of peace and true tranquillity would easily describe my place for thought — though sadly I usually have to make do with loud, student filled lecture halls. And to end this batch of rudimentary questions asked with every first meeting, I stand in the door way leading towards the twists of nature and the beckoning curls of words and thoughts in archives of both home and libraries.

Now, just for a click of thought, what shall you do, to not live in vain, dear, yet stranger Elsa?

Look at the rambling I have left for you above. I should apologize for it, shouldn’t I?

Jongdae

The owner of the very name grins and almost breaks out into laughter at his sudden urge to write in such style. He shakes his head and mutters quick apologies to the paper before folding his words and sealing them in cream sheets, sent off to whomever it had come from.

Mystery Letters || Jongdae & Elsa

There was this letter exchange at the post office, it was like a penpal but in Seoul. It was an interesting way to know people so she decided to do it, she put on her black coat, her shoes as well before heading down the street to the post office. Within minutes she was there, she stood at the door for a few seconds, wondering if it was really a good idea. What was the worst that could happen? Elsa soon entered the office to receive an address. A few minutes passed and Elsa was out of the office with the address of her soon-to-be-friend in her hand. “I hope this is good..” She uttered to herself as she walked back up to her apartment. Elsa was now sitting at her desk, pondering on what to write, the envelope had been filled with the address and such but the paper that would go inside remained blank. With a sigh she began writing. Dear stranger, I know this isn’t the best letter but please bare with me. I have received your address from the post office down the street, they have this event where we exchange letters to each other as a method of getting to know each other (I assume you already know about this). I do hope we get along and really get to know each other. I’m not sure if I should give you my name or not. Anyway, I would like to ask you some questions, basic things. What’s your favourite colour, season, food and place to think. Do you enjoy going out or staying in? What are some of your hobbies?  I think I will stop there for now, I hope you’re having a good day. From, Elsa With that the blue eyed girl placed the letter in the envelope, sealing it before sending it off to whomever it was destined to meet.

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"What if someone catches us?”

 “What if someone catches us?”

“Don’t be silly, no one will — I’ve done this enough times to know whether I’d get caught or not.”

 Cautious footsteps echoed through the empty hallway only to be accompanied by child-like laughter and soft whining. From the hallway of lockers emerges two students, one female and one male —one’s expression reluctant and the other jovial.

“I should have never trusted you,” the female grumbles, lips tugging to form the slightest of pouts.

“I promised you that we’d be able to explore — not that we’d be able to know where we are. Plus, the point of this exploration was to find places to hide,” the male cheerfully replies.

“Jongdae, even with all this walking around we still have no idea where we are — it’s a campus, we don’t know everything.”

The whining, bickering and sarcasm interlaced with the ironic dose of joy continues as the two wander their way through empty hallways. The day was closing in upon the evenings with nothing but the afternoon classes running. Around them, the music and art rooms echo their voices and steps, emptied for the day.

With the minutes trickling towards the first hour of their trotting slows to pacing and even shuffling at times. Their expressions, however, remain the same — one annoyed and the other ever grinning. It is at the appearance of another awfully familiar corner that Jongdae, sadly, has an epiphany, his mind’s originally hopeful atmosphere dropping to an itching and irritated one.

“Nevermind, we definitely are lost.”

“I told you that a long time ago, you idiot,” Kyungri sigh, slender fingers reaching to rub at her temples.

Besides her, Jongdae’s eyes drift across the endless hallways, lips pursed into a thin line. Within him, he feels guilt, both sorry and annoyed that he had dragged her into such a mess. At the standstill of the moment, his very mind ticks, the cat-like smile once again adorning his face.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly adds in. Once said, Jongdae leans over, dipping his head lightly to plant a quick kiss upon her cheek.

“Come on, we have quite the distance to cover before we find a way out.”

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"Don't let me die."

Don’t let me die.

Those were his words.

His final true words — filled with the hope he had always buried.

Don’t let me die.

Those few words throbbed and ached within the soul of Jongdae. They ebbed and cried out to the world beyond from his very foolish heart.

Don’t fade…

There were more words that Jongdae had constantly mumbled towards him.  He was the light, the guidance that pulled him from the insanity that threatened to scratch and tear at him. The only flicker within his darkness had now been put out — the only hope among the shadows now gone.

Jongdae’s fingers clenched at his brown locks, tugging desperately at them as heated tears rolled down his cheeks. A familiar burn about the bridge of his nose rose, his breath hitching with the very thoughts of loss. Curled in thin cotton, the tears of grief continued, wracking through his now frail frame.

He hadn’t seen anyone since that day.

Grief comes in seven stages. At first, he denied it all. At first the scowling and irritating replies echoed about the empty halls. Padding feet haunted the silence, clinks of glass pushed pins into his spine. Then, as the seconds turned to minutes, denial faded to shock for he truly was gone. There’d be no more insults, no more lecturing, no more hope. Pain and guilt later swept over him in the aches of midnight. It ebbed to anger and frustration, leading to everything in his room being trashed.

It was his entire fault.

Jongdae would never complete the seven stages. He’d be trapped in the final cycles of depression and hope.

Why?

Within his soul they still flashed.

The first smile that he had ever seen upon that commonly scowl decorated face engraved within his mind. The fingers that wearily grasped at his own remained printed upon his skin. If he had been mere moments faster, nothing would have happened. If he had listened earlier, the life lost would not have had to beg to continue living.

He was well and truly gone.

Don’t let me die.

Tears soon flowed to heart wrenching sobbing.  As a form of ironic comfort, the silence did nothing but chide and laugh at his misfortune.  Death was imminent, and Jongdae understood that. Yet the hour would never be, and it was so that tore at his very sanity.

Cries now echoed about the room, hateful images flashing in an augmented reality. The jovial, the frustrating — the silence.

Come back, Baekhyun.

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"I will smack you to hell"

"I will smack you to heaven"

"I will smack you so fucking hard if you don’t kiss me right now!"

"I will smack you the life out of you"

"I will smack you back to life!"

"I’ll smack the glasses off your face"

"I will smack you to another species"

"I will smack you to another race"

"I will smack you into a coma, don’t say I wouldn’t!"

"I am gonna smack you so fucking hard that you’ll need surgery to fix that face"

"I will smack you so hard that you will look even prettier then last time"

"Bitch, now, you know you need a smackin’!"

"lemme smack dat ass"

"lemme smack them chest, I know you enjoy that kink!"

"Are you crazy?”

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Are you even listening to yourself?"

"Are you sure they won’t find out?”

"Are you sure this is legal?”

"Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

"Are you threatening me?"

"Be mine."

"Do I know you?"

"Do you love me?"

"Do you remember this?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Don’t go."

"Don’t let me die"

"Don’t look at me like that."

"Don’t make me beg.”

"Don’t you dare come near me!"

"Don’t you dare."

"Explain yourself."

"For you, I would _____"

"Give it back."

"Give me another chance."

"Have you ever even done this before?"

"How drunk are you right now?"

"I already regret this."

"I am not wearing that.”

"I can’t believe you missed that."

"I can’t do this anymore."

"I can’t even look at you."

"I could kill you!"

"I dare you." or "I dare you to _____."

"I didn’t do it.""

"I didn’t know you could do that."

"I don’t want to look at you right now.”

"I guess this is goodbye.”

"I hate you."

"I have to go."

"I just want to cuddle."

"I know your secret.”

"I love you, but I really wish I didn’t.”

"I love you."

"I miss you so very much."

"I missed you."

"I need a drink."

"I need a hug."

"I never really loved you."

"I owe you."

"I think I broke it."

"I think I’m falling in love with you. "

"I think I’m forgetting something."

"I think it’s broken.”

"I trust you."

"I want to be yours."

"I want to try this thing I read in a book.”

"I want you. Naked. In my bed. Now."

"I’ll be there in five minutes.”

”This is really inappropriate.”

"I’m all for spicing thing’s up, but isn’t this a bit much?”

"I’m bad for you.”

"I’m dying."

"I’m going to be sick."

"I’m not speaking to you anymore."

"I’m pregnant and it’s yours."

"I’ve never heard that one before."

"If you stay quiet, no one will know.”

"Is that my shirt?"

"It was me"

"It’s so beautiful.”

"It’s time to choose.”

"Just five more minutes."

"Just go."

"Just leave me alone."

"Just let me die."

"Just relax."

"Just what did we do last night?"

"Kiss me you idiot."

"Kiss me."

"Make me."

"Marry me?"

"My Parents don’t know"

"My parents know.""

"Never again."

"Nh, don’t be so rough!"

"No, that can’t be my baby."

"No! You can’t die on me now!"

"Put it away.”

"Put your trousers on!"

"Put. The. Weapon. Down."

"Shut up and listen."

"Take responsibility."

"That isn’t mine."

"That looked easier on TV."

"That sounds painful."

"That was a bad plan."

"That’s mine!”

"That’s the cheesiest pickup line I’ve ever heard."

"They’re coming.”

"This seems familiar."

"This stays between us."

"Truth hurts, don’t it?"

"Want to hear a secret?"

"We need to talk."

"We’re moving too fast.”

"Well that was unexpected."

"What are we doing here?"

"What are you afraid of?"

"What are you touching?"

"What are you?"

"What do you need?"

"What happened to you?"

"What have I done this time?"

"What if someone catches us?”

"What sort of noise was that?”

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

"What were you thinking?"

"Where are my clothes?"

"Where did you find this?"

"Where do you even find this sort of thing?”

"Where were you?"

"Who’d have guessed you could pull such a face?”

"Why are you wearing that?"

"Why yes, I am as think as you drunk I am."

"You could have died!”

"You could have killed someone!"

"You coward."

"You don’t need to be so gentle.”

"You drive me crazy!"

"You have ten minutes, so make it quick.”

"You lied to me!"

"You mean everything to me."

"You owe me."

"You. Come. Snuggle. NOW!"

"You’re all out of ____."

"You’re an idiot.”

"You’re bad for me.”

"You’re dead to me."

"You’re pregnant and It’s mine"

"You’re really good at this…”

"You’re so weird.""

"You’re under arrest."

Sentence Meme sentences

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I learned not to trust people; I learned not to believe what they say but to watch what they do; I learned to suspect that anyone and everyone is capable of ‘living a lie’. I came to believe that other people — even when you think you know them well - are ultimately unknowable.

An Education, Lynn Barber (via fromliterature)