whitelai

[whitelai]

@clementide​

it’s been hell of a night.

or at least that’s what he speculates, with this hotel-room spectacle in his current range: disarray of clothes on the floor, bunch of half-burnt cigarette butts (mindfully placed in the ashtray, at least,) unknown liquid patches still damp and drying on the carpet (he prays to satan that those are just spilt alcohol,) and some girl lying next to him on the bed, still asleep and sound.

shit, shit, shit.

when he finds himself shirtless, he immediately flutters the bedspread up to check if the bottom half of his clothing are still intact. thank fucking god. then he exhales a relieved breath of whatever he’s been doubting himself of, his finger tracing along his forehead to mind the ringing headache.

“what the fuck? what the fuck.”

is all he can muster up in a stage-whisper, hands now on sides of his head as he takes another glance at this sleeping beauty on the right. it takes him no more than a single filter of his thought process before he bends down, brushing her unkempt strokes of hair away to take a better look at who the hell she is. it’s almost embarrassing when her eyes suddenly flutter open (might he add, the most spine-chilling moment of his life–) and has him hold back an unseemly yelp before jolting back with a grimace. a grimace of disbelief.

here’s the thing: he’s never really ended up unconscious in the middle of his stealing-sprees, and for once is really, really taken aback. or at least that’s his excuse to his broken disposition of a oh-so-cavalier swinger, taking in the fact that she’s the same girl that basically drugged him last night.

and there goes his self-pride. girls were there to use, not fuck.

god damn it, july.

“...don’t fuckin’ tell me–”

[whitelai]

THE ADVENTURE ZONE SENTENCE STARTERS.

❝ Hail and well met, my dude. ❞

❝ Abraca fuck you. ❞ 

❝ God lied to me! ❞

❝ Kiss my ass, you sanctimonious bastard. ❞

❝ You are going to be amazing. ❞

❝ Liches get stitches. ❞

❝ Are you my friend? ❞

❝ Go out and do good. ❞

❝ Yo thug, what’s your name? I’m about to tentacle your dick! ❞

❝ No dogs on the moon, they just run off the goddamn thing. ❞

❝ I’m afraid no one else will have me. ❞

❝ Everything I drink tastes like keylime gogurt to me. ❞

❝ Don’t let them erase me. ❞

❝ What brings you happiness? ❞

❝ Bad news, comprades, this place is magic as hell. ❞

❝ I find that not killing people is very easy. ❞

❝ Everything is for keepsies if you’re sneaky about it. ❞

❝ You’re a coward and I hate you. ❞

❝ Boy you’re not intimidated by me at all, are you? ❞

❝I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! ❞

❝ These potions get you reeeeeal fucked up. ❞

❝ Once you pop, the time control don’t stop. ❞

❝ Hot diggity shit. That is a baller cookie.❞

❝ We don’t have to talk. Let’s just…let’s just watch this together. ❞

❝ So here’s my solution, and I think you’re gonna find it very equitable: I’m not gonna shoot you with this giant crossbow. ❞

❝ I’m about to smooch your fucking brains out, babe. ❞

❝ You’re going to have to fight and you’re gonna win. ❞

❝ I’ll be having my body back, you undead fuck! ❞

❝ You fucking took everything from me! ❞

❝ How would you like to live forever? ❞

❝ I am but a simple, idiot wizard. ❞

❝ Yeah! It’s our first kill! …So why am I so horny? I’m broken inside… ❞

❝ You know…do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore. ❞

❝ Existence, (name), life? Is horrible. To exist, to live, is horrible. ❞

❝ Sometimes there aren’t good decisions. Sometimes…there’s just decisions.❞

❝ I appreciate what you’re trying to do. And I’m on board for whatever the plan is. But understand this: I have nothing, and I don’t give a shit. The world is ending and I. Don’t. Care.  ❞

❝ I will say that if you wanted to lure me in there you should’ve stayed handsome, my fella.❞ 

❝ Who stops serving pancakes at 9am?! I missed the whole thing! I had to get Cheetos! ❞

❝ I cannot stress enough how uninterested I am in this. ❞

❝ I’m not gonna be the one to pull the trigger on an entire civilization. I won’t do it.  ❞

❝ What brings me joy is…life.  I think you can find joy anywhere in life. ❞

❝ I don’t always do things right. And I don’t always do things smart. But whatever I do, I find joy in it. ‘Cause at the end of the day, that’s all you’ve got. ❞

❝ Tell ya what, if we ever meet each other somewhere in infinity, you can apologize to me and tell me you were wrong. ❞ 

❝ I have an update from [ Name ] Central. Uh, I have updated my list of people I trust and things I believe to no one and nothing! ❞

❝ I’m good, amigo. The bleeding’s all internal. That’s where the blood is supposed to be.❞

❝ I think there was probably a time where I had joy, where I experienced fleeting happiness or anger or fear, but God, it’s just been so long. ❞

❝ I am a man, (name), who knows the answer to the question of why we’re all here. I didn’t like it. ❞

❝ To have friendship, (name), it requires you to…love someone and be invested in your shared happiness and these things, (name): friendship, love, happiness? They’re all so…small. In the grand scheme of things, they last a second. ❞

❝ Look it got – WE got dark back there. I know this journey’s been tough, and it’s only going to get harder. But we can’t allow ourselves to get to that place again. ❞

❝We’ve lost a lot. And there’s a lot more we might lose. But one thing we do have is the thing people in love rarely ever have enough of – and it’s time. ❞

❝When someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal. Some are beautiful and poetic and satisfying. Others are abrupt and unfair. But most are just unremarkable, unintentional, clumsy. ❞

[whitelai]

( sms: 💜 ) 나 그거 버린다

( sms: 🍒 ) ?( sms: 🍒 ) 뭘 니 마음대로 버려( sms: 🍒 ) 사진 보내봐 뭔데

[whitelai]

‘stop shaking your legs, yihyun. it’s bad luck.’ @clementide​

past the window, there is a red-faced sunset with a soft stroke lavender. the boy, unmindful, moons about how colors and memories can be intertwined and then engraved in the back of your subconscious. a forgotten woman’s voice passes by like the wind, and promises a revisit.

when he looks down at the girl fast asleep, the jitter of his leg gradually dissipates. her head perched halfway on the edge of his lap, she breathes as if there is no dissonance in the world. as she should, he thinks, but quickly comes to the realization that she is, in fact, sleeping on the epitome of calamity. how would god describe him? a washout? the bane to everyone who shares a word with him? a black sheep with a smidgen of hope, perhaps?

the back of his fingers gingerly kisses her cheeks, mindful of her repose. the soft features of her face are paradoxical to his indelicate hands, and it prompts him to withdraw his fingers. it frustrates him, coming to the realization that his head is buzzing with too many thoughts and unspoken words. his boundless perception of life is now overcast, rowdy with everything about and of her.

“i wish you’d just leave me.” he whispers, too hushed to be heard and made solid. “but i don’t want to see the look on your face when i go, either.”

he paints the scene with blues in her eyes. lai, don’t leave me. she’ll cry, won’t she? she’d probably clench her small fists and throw them at his chest, too. it’s only the most appropriate scene to be played, yet he closes his eyes to shut off the preview. the boy wishes for a plot twist.

“..lai?”

when he starts untangling his knotted thoughts, she chimes in as if she knows the amount of unnecessary contemplations he’s collecting. he doesn’t know if it’s the weather that’s gotten cold altogether too quick, or if it’s just this particular day that’s making him feel like everything will suddenly evanesce. ‘everything’ as in her, and her only.

instead of throwing some casual, browbeating words, he blinks slowly while studying her features. it’s all a sudden impulse mixed with irrational fears when he imagines this exact moment without her warm skin upon his, without her in his sight. he leans down to wrap his arms around her waist, picking her up just slightly to lie his head close to her neck. he hugs her as though there is nothing else to depend on, and it’s only the unvarnished truth.

“don’t leave me, ji.”

but i still hope you will, someday.

[whitelai]

it’s not like him at all: the way he breathes as though there’s a clump in his throat, the way his eyes spill anger, and the way he looks at her. he’s seethed, and he hasn’t got a clue as to why. why? why are you mad? he repeatedly asks himself, gaze latched onto her from start to end of his questions.

he doesn’t find any answers.

“the fuck you mean i’m worked up? don’t trip.”  it almost sounds like a hiss, the way he grits his teeth through the last word said. despite his words, his glare as well as how he uncomfortably shifts his weight to one leg are all too puerile, inching him closer to the edge.  jealous?  he approaches the word as if probing a new born baby, this thing he’s never seen nor heard of before. no way.

“i’m not jealous,”  a chortle spills over at her remark, albeit too dried-up to barely hold up. “i’m just annoyed.”  the glare’s gone, and it’s now just a careful scrutiny of her eyes, her flushed cheeks, and her stiff smile. it’s always the same, how they clash into each other every moment on the same exact street. how come it feels like everything is always on a treadmill? he stops running, and rolls over at the end. a cautious shift of his eyes, and he’s looking at her feet.

maybe she has the answer that he doesn’t. 

“...so why the hell am i annoyed?” 

@whitelai​ (from meme i’m too lazy to find)

midday traffic spills all around her. everything is too loud and the air is too brisk, biting at her cheeks as she brushes through a quick goodbye. what the hell was his name again? she hopes the sweet smile will make up for her lackluster attention.

all she can really see is the red in his eyes. the purposeful calm of his stride. the tip of her tongue as it swipes along dry lips. she’s not nervous, no.

just at a complete loss of words is all.

silence runs uncomfortable and prolonged. like static. like the lull in her train of thought when she starts to wonder why a defensive excuse was the first to slip by her crooked smile. “why’re you getting so worked up?” a sour twist to her expression before, “what’s up your ass?”

there’s a dry huff of laughter as she combs her fingers through her hair. the exasperated flush of her cheeks compliments the weather perfectly, and she flashes a sarcastic grin to match. “jealousy isn’t really your style.”

[whitelai]

◆ ◆   (   AN  ASSORTED  SENTENCE  STARTER  PACK. 

❝ Of course it hurts, it’s a spanking. How else would it work? ❞

❝ The only reason we die, is because we accept death as an inevitability. ❞

❝ If I knew what I was so anxious about, I wouldn’t be so anxious. ❞

❝ I am the excuse you give when you cannot follow the rules. ❞

❝ You are the shuckiest shuck faced shuck in the world! ❞

❝ I’m about as intimidating as a butterfly. ❞

❝ You and what army could possibly rescue her from my clutches? ❞

❝ You look better in my clothes than I do. ❞ 

❝ We’re searching for things we should be running from. ❞

❝ When it’s cold, I’d like to die. ❞

❝ The world is full of unrequited love. ❞

❝ Maybe love and pain are synonyms. ❞

❝ I would rather be strong at heart than strong at mind. ❞

❝ We are all just dead air. ❞

❝ Now you got us whammied with the curse of squirmy death.. ❞

❝ If it doesn’t sweat, jiggle, or pant, it’s not alive. ❞

❝ I love glitter, I’m not a quitter. ❞

❝ I have never met anyone who didn’t like gargoyles. ❞

❝ People who always arrive early aren’t worth waiting for. ❞

❝ Look up, always. Look back, never. ❞

❝ In order to do the unthinkable, do not think about it. ❞

❝ Funny how you’re dead, people starting listening. ❞

❝ I can’t save you unless you save me, too.. ❞

❝ Well, if there’s anything worse than a whore it’s a bore. ❞

❝ Nothing says work efficiency like panic mode. ❞

❝ Everything’s just fucking Disney with you. ❞

❝ I think you’re maybe reaching for something that doesn’t exist. ❞

❝ I’m so scared of commitment that I even hate stickers! ❞

❝ Kindness, motherfucker, kindness. ❞

❝ I haven’t even caught your name or your number. ❞

❝ Oh, the dilemmas of a teenage psychic. ❞

❝ Party at in my mind, you’re place sucks. ❞

❝ You want to kiss me, don’t you? ❞

❝ You could have had anything else in the world, and you asked for me. ❞

❝ Bloodthirsty little beasts. Never trust a duck. ❞

❝ I’m beginning to think I should make that the title of my autobiography. ❞

❝ Another thing I don’t want on my tombstone. ❞

❝ I’m going to try not to make an ass of myself. ❞

❝ You’re on fire. You do know that don’t you? ❞

❝ If you answered no, please exit the building. ❞

❝ You’re still mad, I can feel it through the phone. ❞

❝ If I had a dollar for every time you said that, I would be rich. ❞

❝ Murder is all around me, striking everyone except me. ❞

❝ Give me one good reason why I should believe you. ❞

❝ Since when does that mean you have to kiss my ass? ❞

❝ I’m not saying you shouldn’t have a fully loaded weapon next to you round the clock. ❞

❝ I think it’s time you flipped this little scenario in your head. ❞

❝ The road to Hell is paid with good intentions. ❞

❝ Trust starts with truth and ends with truth. ❞

❝ I will look for powdered donuts in the wilderness. ❞

❝ Love is not selective, just as the light of the sun is not selective. ❞

❝ I don’t know how to tell you what I feel. ❞

❝ I think the word for how you usually are is ‘reckless’. ❞

❝ Gratitude builds a bridge to abundance. ❞

❝ Scars are just another kind of memory. ❞

[whitelai]

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG!

BOLD any bad habits that apply to your muse

Swearing | Fingernail chewing | Slouching | Slurring | Drinking | Smoking | Drugs | Impulse decisions | Obsessive checking | Bad time management | Slang | Poor grammar | Overworking | Slacking off | Over sleeping | Under sleeping | Skin picking | Poor eye contact | Lying | Rambling | Skipping breakfast | Junk food | Self-criticism | Procrastinating | Day dreaming | Forgetful | Envious | Jealous | Gossiper | Drama seeking | Secret teller | Spitting | Lip licking | Lip chewing | Drinking from the bottle | Yelling | Poor hygiene | Impatient | Hot headed | Biased | Complaining | Scab picking | Cheek biting | Teeth gnashing | Stealing | Scamming | Speeding | Hair pulling | Large ego | Eavesdropping | Exaggerating | Fidgeting | Free loading | Littering | One-upping | Whining | Borrowing without returning | Unnecessary aggression | Talking during performances | Plagiarism | Copying | Glaring | Spacing out | Ignoring | Over-critical | Messy | Hateful | Overly prideful | Competitive

TAGGED BY: @soeuvre (thank you!) TAGGING: @inhyelation / @clementide, @cestoire, @baudellare, @pijichu, @formidnight

[whitelai]

@formidnight

“don’t you know what its like?” her voice is nearly drowned out among the ambiance. this is a shred of vulnerability shared in this transient moment, and it belongs to them and them alone. “to feel like you don’t belong? to leave everything you knew for a restart? but you end up carrying the same feelings over to this new slate and…” she trails off because she’s hyperaware of the rambling. but it felt more like the words were spilling out from her, because there was no where for them to stay, and she was just so full of fear and longing and hazed ambitions that it seemed there was not much room for anything else.

at least she had the strength not to blatantly cry. she had to give herself that much.

“say that this all falls through: life and what have you. i can’t go home. can’t go back there, back to that –” cesspool of occult and oddities? that was accurate, but not something she could say out loud. “anyway. everything is a variable and nothing matters and i don’t have a place to call home. there, is that what you wanted to hear?” this would be the closest she could get to a tantrum, really, her placid nature had her operating at a steady constance because she was taught to internalize and never show your cards lest they be used against you.

she sighs before burying her face into the crook of her elbow.

“tell me its going to be alright. that i’m exaggerating. and annoying. and i need to shut up.”

god damn it. again. 

he’s been sloshing in puddles of everyone’s blues way too much for, let’s see, however long. time’s not a concept to a boy without a home, without regulations. but at any rate, coming back to this scene, he’s tired. tired of inutile sentiments and woes.

“what d’you want me to say? i physically don’t have a home.”  the reply comes without a speck of heed, his eyes occupied on everything around him but her. he relates to everything single word she’s said, unfortunately, but he thrashes them away because let’s be honest: none of it fucking matters anymore! ‘home’ is nothing but a drab, full of carnalities masked away with smiles of the devil. it makes him sick in the stomach, almost making him nauseous with tableaus of dirty pool in head.

he’s never been more glad to not have a home.

“you can either run back, or stay. stop whining and wiping out in the middle, you’re wasting your time.”

[whitelai]

clementide:

( kkt // ㅁㅊㄴ ) 내 맘이야 ( kkt // ㅁㅊㄴ ) 응 싫어 니가 와

[ kkt: ㅁㅊㄴ ]  ? 뭐 [ kkt: ㅁㅊㄴ ]  어디서 명령질이야 [ kkt: ㅁㅊㄴ ]  거기가 어딘데 븅신아

[whitelai]

"i have bullshitted my way through almost two decades of life."

asks memes | closed.

he thinks about it. not long, though, because it’s really not a difficult philosophy to fathom: if you were to find a homeless boy (running away from a bloody felony, but no one’s supposed to know!) scraping by on the streets, or a well-heeled businessman who’s made of nothing but fraudulent wealth–––which out of the two is truly bullshitting through their life?

you’re right: there’s no objective answer to this question.

“and?”  july throws a pebble in the riverbank, his tone as bland as the gray tincture above them. there’s no desire to wiretap into kihyun’s mellow confession, because he may well get one of those pro(an)tagonist heart attacks if he were to be asked a question similar to: ‘so what kind of life have you been through to make you say that?’  now that’s one goose flesh and nightmare-worthy thought! so he decides to keep it voiceless. when one’s climate is distinctively similar to the other, details aren’t too essential anymore.

“it’s the same for me. but what matters is that we ‘have,’ not ‘tried’ to. who the fuck cares, we made it through and out.”  he pauses, cloudy eyes studying his friend.  “why, do you regret it?”

the fact that he doesn’t have a home. the fact that he doesn’t have anything dear to lose, and the fact that his future is nothing but a hazy maelstrom. it doesn’t take long for him to self-justify all these factors to stabilize him mentally, because all of this is just fine. he’s fine.

(stop lying to yourself, lai.)

[whitelai]

soeuvre:

         the demeanor of the infamous lai doesn’t surprise sora in the slightest; in fact, he’s almost exactly what she had expected, based on the descriptions. a bit arrogant, flirtatious, not flat out mean ( at least, for now ), but definitely intimidating. even so, she can’t let that show in her face, or in how she behaves. this is a whole new world to her, but after years of writing characters, she should be able to play one. 

        normally, the writer can be quite gullible, but it’s clear that he’s only denying who he is for the benefit of his own amusement. there’s no way he isn’t lai. but she knows how to pick her battles, and that isn’t important right now.  ❛ i just     heard around that if i was looking for some good solid fun, you’d be my guy. if a girl gets bored enough, you never know what she might do. ❛ a casual shrug of her shoulders, offering a small smile as she regards him curiously. 

      ❛ you’re walking around here alone, doing what? i found what i was looking for     you. and you look rather bored yourself. there’s no harm in having some company, right? ❛

      there’s no doubt he’ll have his suspicions despite whatever she tells him, but it doesn’t matter. sora realizes that she has already piqued his interest, merely due to the fact he’s even still standing here talking to her, and hasn’t told her to get lost. truthfully, that’s what she had been preparing herself for from the get-go.

         the pet names were a bit demeaning, the way he was using them. if she had gone with her initial reaction, it would’ve been a flinch, followed by a protest, but the composure is successfully kept. sora knows his type, and all she’ll need to do is figure out how to come across witty, but not overbearing. guys like him need to feel as though they have the upperhand at all times. yet, as she crossed into his territory, that box was already checked.

“a good, solid fun, huh? wow. i wish you’d elaborate further. and exactly what might you do?”  his tone fills up to the brink with utmost amount of mischief and disaster: the devilry! justifying whether or not he is or isn’t july isn’t his main objective, it’s her reaction that he’s getting in return to whatever (dis)information he’s providing. and to be honest, the girl seems like she’s done her research. be that as it may, it’s all the more reason to cage her in his hands in order to prevent any possible setbacks.

“i am bored.”  he moons through the seemingly languid air, enthusiasm in his voice tepid. july decides not to rush it; he’d rather put the situation into a slow cooker, letting it boil until he deems it’s the right time to open the lid. it’s not like he’d let this get away without having her come clean by the end of this theatrical, anyhow. he knows that she knows. or so he hopes, because if not... poor thing!

“i’ll give you a point for being bold, walking right up to some random dude to ask for their definition of ‘fun.’ that just might mean you want to stride into the nearest motel together. or maybe, you’re more of a hotel sorta girl?”

he narrows an eye through his set-off, a jab at her approach. the air’s dry, his laughs are dry, and probably her expression is as well by now. before she can muster another reply, he continues with eyes now seeping with bad blood: just slightly, with a side of smile still hanging by the corner of his mouth.  “or, is this just about gettin’ the dust? tell me which one it is, doll, and i just might play along.”

[whitelai]

pijichu:

a note about: the ten year old boy with his father’s jacket, too ill-fitting to be comfortable. the fourteen-year-old fumbling with a cigarette, the twenty-three year old trying to shed himself of his adolescent past.

there’s something about his eyes that betray the rest of his body. 

“i know it’s you. we were in the same class together- you lost my notebook once.” more than that– gangly legs pushing off the swings on the neighborhood playground; the gentle scratch of his pencil against a shabby notebook, her pink elbows bumping playfully against it.  stop worrying, she always used to say, stop thinking.  

(why is this time different?)

“what’s wrong–” she loses two steps, the heat from his palm radiating off her shoulder.  it burns, uncomfortable, unfamiliar.  this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. “why are you acting like you don’t know me? are you mad?”

(why?)

even so, she regains her place beside him.  he smells like deadened fall– smoke and something sadder.   “i guess you really never cared much for our friendship.” it’s said lightly, less of an accusation.  less than she intends for him, even with his hardened expression.  

she ignores all warning signs and grips his sleeve, determined.

“yihyun, whatever you call yourself now– you made me lose my cat, so you’re helping me find him.”

are you mad?

instead of letting the question pass through his subconscious filter just like that, he catches it, thinks about it, then admits: he’s mad. he’s mad, not because she bumped into him, not because she’s prying, but because she made him face that clutter of qualms in his messy mind. out of all the muddy recollections, she’s at least a gem, a periwinkle stone made out of unnecessary zest and a glow.

that, by far, is the uttermost reason why he’s mad.

“listen,”  he starts, shaking her hand off.  “there are millions of people in this goddamn country. d’you really think there would be only one person in this world that looks like me? stop dreaming.”  he doesn’t mean to reel the whole hot-blooded-antagonist-on-the-run sort of vibe, but he does. there’s no way of helping the boy out of that matter, because he, by flesh and bones–––is essentially the epitome of what is considered ‘the great outbreak of a traumatized teenage boy’! and as sad as it sounds, it’s not even a joke nor a movie, because then he’d maybe have some sort of conclusion by now.

he really hopes that won’t take another decade.

“me?”  with a finger pointed at his chest, he leans just a bit forward to add to that gesture of doubt. if this was the usual july, the story wouldn’t even have advanced thus far. but because this scene has busybody1 (jisoo) in the script, he’s staggered both mentally and physically. he doesn’t even know why he’s still standing here, tossing back spineless replies–––yet he already finds himself glancing over the red-bricked walls, moon hovering half-way beyond.

“you should be glad that i’m not out here to rob some girl in a daze for a cat. get going, i don’t want to freeze my nose off.”  a sough, then he lets his superego surpass his id for once; perhaps the first and the last.

[whitelai]

fyi: changing july’s face claim to jimin temporarily (hopefully?? probably) because i’ve been stuck with how i want to write him out for the longest time 😔 i’ll notify you guys again if i revert him back to mingyu’s face claim and whatnot !!

[whitelai]

storvtime:

she wears a familiar expression of chagrin on her features, a scowl telling of juvenile resentment that was more befitting for someone in their early teens. her wrist slackens albeit begrudgingly, wielding a weapon that was too blunt to do any damage. haeun hadn’t even intended to go through with the threat in the first place, but yielding at all still didn’t sit well with her. “oh, if only i had known i was in the presence of a main character: destined for much more.” her gaze travels skywards for the sake of dramatics, grounded again moments later with a flat look in his direction. “tell you what, let’s go find a cliff and i’ll kill you how scar killed mufasa. sound good?”

with a purse of his lips, he shrugs. it’s one of those ‘what-can-i-say?’ kind of shrugs, his complexion teeming with faux arrogance (but is it really faux?)  “oh, good. i knew you were quick-witted enough to notice. now with that in mind, get that out of my sight.”  her tone, laced oh-so-much with cynicism, is bounced back with a paddle of his own. he’s not too intent on ruling out their senseless banters, and so he offers a hand for that grand forehand slam against her own witticism.  “i don’t know, that’s just copying an iconic death that’s already been done. how ‘bout we change it up a bit and have it so that i drag you down with me? now that’s a good twist for an original, protagonist-worthy death.”

[whitelai]

it takes a while. who was it? after a blink, it slowly rewinds: a small classroom filled with stale air and adolescent murmurs. too many workbooks, too heavy and insubstantial for youths who thrive not-indoors, beyond scholarly obligations. he remembers because he sat in one of those tiny desks, mid-row, far right, and she sat in front. their conversations are blurred, but he hears muted laughters as well as heedful ‘shhh’s’ whenever the teacher would walk in the room, those tepid knocks on each other’s weatherworn wooden desks.

he cuts off the rest.

(she was there and now here, but that boy’s nowhere no longer.)

“excuse you.”  she’s not at all weighty, but the heedlessness of the bump is enough to have him stumble back half a step. he catches a whiff of wet leaves, skittering of the stray cat, then those curious eyes rippling in reminiscence. nothing else is prominently vivid in the mind’s eye; mostly because he doesn’t want to. because he despises anything pre-july, and because he wants none of it. 

those memoirs she’s brought weren’t too pleasant, either.

“not my name. excuse you, again.”  were they good friends? maybe. probably. but does it matter? truth be told, not really. not when he’s come so far in his free rein, unbound by everything he’s left behind. an exhale, then he places a hand before her shoulder to give it a light shove. with colorless steps, he shifts through and away with the space he’s allowed for himself, hoping she won’t pry.

then he remembers that she’s always been too wide-eyed.

he goes against the odds, anyway.

for @whitelai

it begins with a chase, and ends with a capture. (alternatively, recapture.) (a forgotten memory.)

four am finds her in the streets with a scarf snug at her throat, remnants of stage makeup coloring her cheeks.  the street is littered with stray pedestrians heading home after a night out. they pass by without sparing her a second glance, and she does the same.  oddly enough, it’s comforting.  it feels good to be invisible; feels good to be alone. after a while she gets lost in her thoughts, arms tucked comfortably at her sides, eyes distracted, the moon gazing down from afar.

it’s a streak of white that gets her attention when it darts between her legs, its tail sweeping furiously in the air.  instinct prompts her to follow, clumsily falling in pursuit. for a moment it’s just her and the kitten as they wind around the cobbled path, their shadows tracing one another beneath the yellowy street lamps.  but it’s not long before she stumbles face-first into something- no, someone.

her feet manage to steady themselves, catching her breath before she whips her head furiously round to regain sight of her target.  it’s nowhere to be seen but the figure before her hasn’t moved.  they haven’t said a word, either, so she takes a step back and opens her mouth to apologize.

and then blinks.

“you’re-” both foreign and familiar. 

“…yihyun?”

[whitelai]

[whitelai]

it’s already past two in the morning, and you see our infamous rioter walking down the murky gloom of a street. as much as he dreads getting icy nose amidst the cutting wind and soaking his sneakers in slush, his boredom calls for much more than just sitting in a hut for the night. monotony gets him to more than anything else, even surpassing his loathing for winter and its ruthless clime–––what a bother!

nonetheless, he doesn’t complain. together with the muted yellow lights, he passes by each block of the neighborhood that he can by now limn with his eyes closed. an age-old flower shop, utility pole covered with flyers and posters, green-rooftop apartments, red-brick street burdened with scraps and litter, and then–––

a stalker?

“oh,” is what he says first, a response to a stranger’s knowledge of his name more than it is for anything else. to make this even better (or worse,) she’s apparently been roaming around to find him, specifically, out of all the reasons to be out here at this time and place. weird. july takes a moment to take this, or better yet, her, in, before responding in a staggered manner. he doesn’t forget to give a sloe-eyed run-down from head to toe before doing so either. you know, just out of courtesy.

“sorry peaches, but i think you’ve got the wrong guy.” there’s no need for lies, as he is one with nothing to lose. his lies are simply for the romp and laughs, as she’s already driven his curiosity enough to wonder what she wants from him, how she’s aware of his name, and why she’s out here in the dusk looking for him. she’s a doll, an innocent who’s walked right into nothing but a wrack-up.

“he’s a friend of mine though, great guy. but what’s got you searchin’ for him so late at this hour? don’t usually see pretty princesses like you lookin’ for him, either.”

starter for @whitelai !

      it’s not uncommon for writers to seek inspiration from sources outside their comfort zone. i mean     if for every book they were to look in the same places, all the stories would be the same in some way. sora’s usual genre is romance with a supernatural or science fiction edge to it, and she consistently aims to create her characters with complexities and quirks. in order to make them as realistic and relatable as possible, they need to have flaws     some more than others. even in romance, there are bad people who do questionable things, and the main character in her upcoming book is one of those people. sora, being the person she is and coming from the background she does, isn’t very knowledgeable about what it’s like being deemed a threat to society and living the life of crime, so to speak. yes, she sees plenty of examples on television, but television isn’t always reliable in how realistic it is.

     perhaps her commitment to the new book is over the top, considering what she’s about to do could be… dangerous. she’s referring to it as “field research” to those who ask in an attempt to make it sound ordinary, but what she’s about to do is anything other than ordinary.

     as provided by close friends, there are a group of boys that are constantly spotted in sinrim dong, and although they’ve never been caught doing anything illegal, many people have their suspicions. they’ve practically become infamous for looming around the area, giving the impression that they’re up to no good. there’s been word of them hanging around seoul as well, although sora has never witnessed this group for herself. tonight, however, she’ll take it upon herself to seek them out at their supposed usual spot in sinrim dong. she’s certain that they won’t be hard to notice.

       even her image is drastically different for the temporary role she’ll be playing as someone who wants to be involved in whatever mayhem it is these boys cause in secret. since she’ll need to blend in a bit more, she appears dressed in blank skinny jeans, a white v-neck and a plain-looking black leather jacket over it in hopes to give her look some edge. she had to borrow that item from a friend. the doc marten boots she already owned, but they’d been lost in her closet for the longest time. she has even gone as far as asking around to find out some of their names and what they look like prior to this, to make her search a bit easier.

     she’d only been leisurely walking the street for, maybe, twenty-five minutes by the time she spots him. it must be one of them, because he fits the exact description someone had given her. lai, she believes they said his name is. it’s ten o’clock at night in one of the sketchiest areas of south korea, and she’s by herself, ready to approach a guy she’s heard nothing positive about. this is not one of your intelligent days, sora. well, she didn’t put in all this effort to back out now. keep it natural. keep it natural. it repeats as a mantra in her head as she approaches him. 

    ❛ it’s lai, right? ❜