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sessho08You know how there are sometimes fic ideas that seem kind of neat? And then you start writing them down and you've got an introduction and all but don't really know what next. I'm often like that. I have some sudden bouts of inspiration, I start writing and it's not even going that bad but I just don't have more specific plans or more detailed ideas for plot (I don't write plot, I think like I can never stress that enough XD), so it sort of just comes to a sudden halt. I have several fic scraps like those and they're not going anywhere, so I figured I may as well post them in their current shape. XD Unbetead and all that jazz.
Funny thing - some of those are longer than whole fics I usually write. XD I guess that shows I'm just not cut out for writing longer stuff.
Monochrome | Homin | AU | 727 words | PG-13 | inspired by one of the photos from KYHD's LE photobook | started writing: 2011.01.15-16
Living in the monochrome isn’t as bad as one could think. And it isn’t anything bad at all when you don’t even know an alternative. (When it’s all you’ve ever know since you’ve been born.)
Some people see, though. Colours, some of them vivid and bright (there are only a few of them, though) and some rather muted but the ability to distinct is still there.
Yunho’s not one of them. Various shades of black, white and gray are what his eyes let him perceive and he doesn’t ever resent that or wish for more. For him it’s just life, the way the world has been made and, more of all, the way he himself’s been made. Of course, he’s read about ‘colours’ in books, he’s heard of them and he is curious. But it’s not like he would know a difference nor could he change anything when it comes to that, no matter how hard he would try, so he just never does. He carries with his life in the way that not many people can – always positive, looking straight ahead and believing in a better tomorrow (and an even better today).
Changmin’s different but he doesn’t know that right from the start. It’s hard to notice that you can see colours when there and no actual colours to see. As far as he’s aware, everything out there is just more hues of gray, gray and more gray. When he looks up (when all people in Seoul do), there’s no sky for him to see, only the curved graphite of the enormous dome that’s been covering all of their city since years already.
And there’s no reason for the government to make anything variegated. Not when almost no one would notice a difference. It’s cheaper, it’s easier, it’s sensible, it’s equal.
People’s pale faces aren’t much of a give-away that there’s something more (and that it actually exists for him) either.
There are some people that can afford a luxury of the sky, though. The prosperous ones have always enjoyed more privileges and Changmin’s unfortunate not to belong to them. (His parents are both teachers and while they don’t really struggle to make the ends meet, quite contrary, it doesn’t put them at the top of the social ladder, either.) He’s also fortunate (or not so as everything depends on one’s point of view) to come in a daily contacts with the well-off.
He’s smart enough to be able to go to one of the best schools in Seoul. He’s on speaking terms with people that actually have been outside the Dome (and not only once or twice which stays a dream unattainable for thousands of people, no. For them those are yearly occurrences, for some even more frequent).
He’s heard his share of incredulous stories.
‘Oh my god, the sky’, they say. ‘And the sun – you just can’t imagine it, the sun’, but Changmin’s not jealous.
He’s really not. He remembers that awful accident that happened at their facility once, several years ago. (Remembers maybe a little too well.)
How they screamed or went temporarily mute with shock. How he himself gaped too at the sight but how it wasn’t at the way that poor girl’s limbs were bent at awkward, impossible angles or how her brain had been smeared all over the asphalt. It wasn’t even at how her blood was spluttered (too generously). No, what made his jaw loosen and his pupils dilate was how the liquid that sept from her body wasn’t just dark and impersonal like everything. It was vibrant, it was deep and something like he had never seen before. He still remembers how fascinated he was with it and how no one else seemed to notice.
Later (when his other senses finally caught up with him and he emptied vehemently his stomach, refraining from filling it again for a better part of the day), at the library he learnt that it was ‘crimson’. And while the way he found out about his ability was a bit too morbid for his taste, it’s opened his eyes and for that opportunity he’s grateful.
So Changmin’s not jealous of what they saw. He suspects that it’s just more of usual grayness, probably just more vast.
He only feels envy when he thinks what he could see, were he given a chance even once.
Anchor | Yunho-centric | 108 words | G | inspired by one of Couple Talks from All About DBSK 2 if I remember well | started writing: 2011.02.17
Yunho’s all motion. He can’t stay still – it just doesn’t compute. He taps his leg, his fingers dart forward to wander fleetingly over Jaejoong’s hand, Changmin’s thigh, Yoochun’s back, Junsu’s forearm. When he can’t touch, he’s restless, swaying back and forth, unconsciously, inevitably, unstoppably.
He needs to be anchored by someone’s warmth. Otherwise, he’s elsewhere – his gestures get bigger, sentences that leave his lips are increasingly off topic.
It’s like some kind of sickness - maybe not even ‘like’, maybe it really is but when he visits hospitals, there are usually more urgent matter in hand. The body always before the mind and work always before the body.
Heart | Homin | AU | 944 words | PG| started writing: 2011.02.20
What am I supposed to do with your love?
Whatever you see fit. Throw it away or break. But take it. I don’t want it anymore.
You ask and he answers and before you can protest he’s already handed it to you. It’s illegal and you may have done not so innocent things in your life but you’ve never ventured as far.
You don’t want it either but it’s too late, it’s already yours. You feel its warmth spreading in your chest and you guess you know now why people said (wrote anonymously , whispered with their voices almost too low and with careful eyes) that it’s like drugs. You’ve never tried them either but it’s so peculiar and different and overwhelmingly good that you suspect that this is what they must feel like.
You’re lost in this sensation and this one moment in which you could force it back to him has suddenly passed.
You’re left with his love, scorchingly hot and irresistible.
He’s still standing here, you notice in the fleeting moment when you manage to pry your eyes open (still clouded in this unbelievable state he pushed you into.)
What he’s waiting for, you don’t know. The still sensible part of your mind tells you to ask and you would but you’re too blinded by fear and reluctance. You can’t think straight but you’ve heard the stories. He’s manipulated you and now you can’t reject this damn, so alluring love of his anymore.
He must have sensed your thoughts (maybe even heard them? You don’t know how it works and it scares you and enrages even more.) because suddenly he’s leaving. You hesitate for a second too long and then you’re alone.
You return home, your heart (your, your own) completely not at ease. You feel as if all people know, paranoid you feel their heavy gazes and you take the longer, more complicated way home because you don’t want anyone to follow you. No one does but it doesn’t matter – you need to make sure.
Only with your doors locked safely (and checked thrice) you finally take out his love. You put it on the shelf and then on the desk because that way you can observe it more easily and comfortably.
You have no clue what to do with it. You certainly don’t want to reciprocate it – it’s not like you know him and a pretty face is no indicator of personality. Even if it were, what he has done to you is wrong. It’s prohibited and you’ve always been a proper citizen and a member of society.
And now, here you are with your eyes shifting involuntarily to the shut locks every several minutes and with his love laying right in front of you. Inconspicuous and seemingly harmless but you know better.
You poke at it and it reacts – starts pulsing with all those beautiful things and you just know that the things that hide underneath are anything but.
There’s a reason why the government has issued so many laws and warnings about it, why there are so many regulations surrounding it, why you can’t just fall in love with someone. Love’s dangerous; it can’t be set loose just like that.
Right now you’re the best proof of it – even he himself gave you the permission. It’s a good advice but you find yourself unable to take it. You try, you really do but you just can’t bring yourself to actually do that.
So against better judgment you keep it. You hide it in the basement but it doesn’t feel safe. You try many other places but no where’s right. Finally you settle on the depths of your own heart that even the government has no hold of.
It’s uncomfortable at first – at the very least. It’s unnerving and takes a lot of time to get used to but when you finally do, it’s not that bad.
Your life goes on and you almost forget that you have some stranger’s love in your chest.
And that’s when you meet him again – when he approaches you again.
You’ve never really forgotten his face but you still doubt that you would recognise him if not for his love that does it.
You’re wary of him and he must sense it because he makes a proposition to talk in private. You don’t really feel like going anywhere with him alone but you don’t want people to see you together with him even more.
He seems unsure – such a contrast from the blunt man that just forced his love into your hands without asking.
He smiles sheepishly and wrings his hands in a way that just screams of nervousness. It’s the second time you see him and the first that you actually look at him. If not for the proof concealed in your chest, you’d find him harmless, quite likable even. As it is you just stare at him and try to make yourself wait patiently .
He says that his sister’s sick (comatose – raped of her love by a man she had trusted) and that he knows what he said but –
‘Do you still have it by a chance?’, his face is earnest and there’s a hint of desperation.
You’re well aware that a transplantation of love is possible but finding a fitting donor’s a rare occurrence.
With a bit of effort (you haven’t touched it for a while) you take out his love that you’re learned to live with and give it back to him.
He’s all thanks and promises and it feels so strange to observe how the person whose love you came to know so well actually acts.
sort of Hosu | 53 words | G| started writing around: 2011.02.??
And suddenly you’re reminded of a person that offered you a place to stay when you were on the edge.
That person that selflessly made you such a proposition doesn’t exist anymore.
Or maybe it’s you who’s changed.
Staring at the little black letters flashing on the screen you don’t really know anymore.
There was a Henry-centric piece that was supposed to be a Henteuk in the future but I seem to have lost the sheet of paper I had it written on. :(
Anyway, tell me your thoughts? :)Vote for your favourite, lol!
Funny thing - some of those are longer than whole fics I usually write. XD I guess that shows I'm just not cut out for writing longer stuff.
Monochrome | Homin | AU | 727 words | PG-13 | inspired by one of the photos from KYHD's LE photobook | started writing: 2011.01.15-16
Living in the monochrome isn’t as bad as one could think. And it isn’t anything bad at all when you don’t even know an alternative. (When it’s all you’ve ever know since you’ve been born.)
Some people see, though. Colours, some of them vivid and bright (there are only a few of them, though) and some rather muted but the ability to distinct is still there.
Yunho’s not one of them. Various shades of black, white and gray are what his eyes let him perceive and he doesn’t ever resent that or wish for more. For him it’s just life, the way the world has been made and, more of all, the way he himself’s been made. Of course, he’s read about ‘colours’ in books, he’s heard of them and he is curious. But it’s not like he would know a difference nor could he change anything when it comes to that, no matter how hard he would try, so he just never does. He carries with his life in the way that not many people can – always positive, looking straight ahead and believing in a better tomorrow (and an even better today).
Changmin’s different but he doesn’t know that right from the start. It’s hard to notice that you can see colours when there and no actual colours to see. As far as he’s aware, everything out there is just more hues of gray, gray and more gray. When he looks up (when all people in Seoul do), there’s no sky for him to see, only the curved graphite of the enormous dome that’s been covering all of their city since years already.
And there’s no reason for the government to make anything variegated. Not when almost no one would notice a difference. It’s cheaper, it’s easier, it’s sensible, it’s equal.
People’s pale faces aren’t much of a give-away that there’s something more (and that it actually exists for him) either.
There are some people that can afford a luxury of the sky, though. The prosperous ones have always enjoyed more privileges and Changmin’s unfortunate not to belong to them. (His parents are both teachers and while they don’t really struggle to make the ends meet, quite contrary, it doesn’t put them at the top of the social ladder, either.) He’s also fortunate (or not so as everything depends on one’s point of view) to come in a daily contacts with the well-off.
He’s smart enough to be able to go to one of the best schools in Seoul. He’s on speaking terms with people that actually have been outside the Dome (and not only once or twice which stays a dream unattainable for thousands of people, no. For them those are yearly occurrences, for some even more frequent).
He’s heard his share of incredulous stories.
‘Oh my god, the sky’, they say. ‘And the sun – you just can’t imagine it, the sun’, but Changmin’s not jealous.
He’s really not. He remembers that awful accident that happened at their facility once, several years ago. (Remembers maybe a little too well.)
How they screamed or went temporarily mute with shock. How he himself gaped too at the sight but how it wasn’t at the way that poor girl’s limbs were bent at awkward, impossible angles or how her brain had been smeared all over the asphalt. It wasn’t even at how her blood was spluttered (too generously). No, what made his jaw loosen and his pupils dilate was how the liquid that sept from her body wasn’t just dark and impersonal like everything. It was vibrant, it was deep and something like he had never seen before. He still remembers how fascinated he was with it and how no one else seemed to notice.
Later (when his other senses finally caught up with him and he emptied vehemently his stomach, refraining from filling it again for a better part of the day), at the library he learnt that it was ‘crimson’. And while the way he found out about his ability was a bit too morbid for his taste, it’s opened his eyes and for that opportunity he’s grateful.
So Changmin’s not jealous of what they saw. He suspects that it’s just more of usual grayness, probably just more vast.
He only feels envy when he thinks what he could see, were he given a chance even once.
Anchor | Yunho-centric | 108 words | G | inspired by one of Couple Talks from All About DBSK 2 if I remember well | started writing: 2011.02.17
Yunho’s all motion. He can’t stay still – it just doesn’t compute. He taps his leg, his fingers dart forward to wander fleetingly over Jaejoong’s hand, Changmin’s thigh, Yoochun’s back, Junsu’s forearm. When he can’t touch, he’s restless, swaying back and forth, unconsciously, inevitably, unstoppably.
He needs to be anchored by someone’s warmth. Otherwise, he’s elsewhere – his gestures get bigger, sentences that leave his lips are increasingly off topic.
It’s like some kind of sickness - maybe not even ‘like’, maybe it really is but when he visits hospitals, there are usually more urgent matter in hand. The body always before the mind and work always before the body.
Heart | Homin | AU | 944 words | PG| started writing: 2011.02.20
What am I supposed to do with your love?
Whatever you see fit. Throw it away or break. But take it. I don’t want it anymore.
You ask and he answers and before you can protest he’s already handed it to you. It’s illegal and you may have done not so innocent things in your life but you’ve never ventured as far.
You don’t want it either but it’s too late, it’s already yours. You feel its warmth spreading in your chest and you guess you know now why people said (wrote anonymously , whispered with their voices almost too low and with careful eyes) that it’s like drugs. You’ve never tried them either but it’s so peculiar and different and overwhelmingly good that you suspect that this is what they must feel like.
You’re lost in this sensation and this one moment in which you could force it back to him has suddenly passed.
You’re left with his love, scorchingly hot and irresistible.
He’s still standing here, you notice in the fleeting moment when you manage to pry your eyes open (still clouded in this unbelievable state he pushed you into.)
What he’s waiting for, you don’t know. The still sensible part of your mind tells you to ask and you would but you’re too blinded by fear and reluctance. You can’t think straight but you’ve heard the stories. He’s manipulated you and now you can’t reject this damn, so alluring love of his anymore.
He must have sensed your thoughts (maybe even heard them? You don’t know how it works and it scares you and enrages even more.) because suddenly he’s leaving. You hesitate for a second too long and then you’re alone.
You return home, your heart (your, your own) completely not at ease. You feel as if all people know, paranoid you feel their heavy gazes and you take the longer, more complicated way home because you don’t want anyone to follow you. No one does but it doesn’t matter – you need to make sure.
Only with your doors locked safely (and checked thrice) you finally take out his love. You put it on the shelf and then on the desk because that way you can observe it more easily and comfortably.
You have no clue what to do with it. You certainly don’t want to reciprocate it – it’s not like you know him and a pretty face is no indicator of personality. Even if it were, what he has done to you is wrong. It’s prohibited and you’ve always been a proper citizen and a member of society.
And now, here you are with your eyes shifting involuntarily to the shut locks every several minutes and with his love laying right in front of you. Inconspicuous and seemingly harmless but you know better.
You poke at it and it reacts – starts pulsing with all those beautiful things and you just know that the things that hide underneath are anything but.
There’s a reason why the government has issued so many laws and warnings about it, why there are so many regulations surrounding it, why you can’t just fall in love with someone. Love’s dangerous; it can’t be set loose just like that.
Right now you’re the best proof of it – even he himself gave you the permission. It’s a good advice but you find yourself unable to take it. You try, you really do but you just can’t bring yourself to actually do that.
So against better judgment you keep it. You hide it in the basement but it doesn’t feel safe. You try many other places but no where’s right. Finally you settle on the depths of your own heart that even the government has no hold of.
It’s uncomfortable at first – at the very least. It’s unnerving and takes a lot of time to get used to but when you finally do, it’s not that bad.
Your life goes on and you almost forget that you have some stranger’s love in your chest.
And that’s when you meet him again – when he approaches you again.
You’ve never really forgotten his face but you still doubt that you would recognise him if not for his love that does it.
You’re wary of him and he must sense it because he makes a proposition to talk in private. You don’t really feel like going anywhere with him alone but you don’t want people to see you together with him even more.
He seems unsure – such a contrast from the blunt man that just forced his love into your hands without asking.
He smiles sheepishly and wrings his hands in a way that just screams of nervousness. It’s the second time you see him and the first that you actually look at him. If not for the proof concealed in your chest, you’d find him harmless, quite likable even. As it is you just stare at him and try to make yourself wait patiently .
He says that his sister’s sick (comatose – raped of her love by a man she had trusted) and that he knows what he said but –
‘Do you still have it by a chance?’, his face is earnest and there’s a hint of desperation.
You’re well aware that a transplantation of love is possible but finding a fitting donor’s a rare occurrence.
With a bit of effort (you haven’t touched it for a while) you take out his love that you’re learned to live with and give it back to him.
He’s all thanks and promises and it feels so strange to observe how the person whose love you came to know so well actually acts.
sort of Hosu | 53 words | G| started writing around: 2011.02.??
And suddenly you’re reminded of a person that offered you a place to stay when you were on the edge.
That person that selflessly made you such a proposition doesn’t exist anymore.
Or maybe it’s you who’s changed.
Staring at the little black letters flashing on the screen you don’t really know anymore.
There was a Henry-centric piece that was supposed to be a Henteuk in the future but I seem to have lost the sheet of paper I had it written on. :(
Anyway, tell me your thoughts? :)
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no subject
Date: 2011-04-27 02:13 pm (UTC)Heart przeczytam jeszcze raz, kiedy przed padnięciem na twarz będzie mnie powstrzymywać coś więcej niż ździebko energii czerpanej z puszki Red Bulla wypitego kilka godzin temu XD Przyznaję, że bardzo niewiele z tego zrozumiałam, ale właśnie dlatego mam misję powrotu do tego.
Z Hosu zapowiadał się (hm XD) fajny angścik, ale cóż XD
/cienki komentarz kogoś, kto nie spał xD
no subject
Date: 2011-04-27 03:01 pm (UTC)Konkrety, czemu ja mam z nimi takie problemy.
Brak dostatecznie rozbudowanej wyobraźni, ot co. XDCo ciekawe (jeśli wypada w ogóle tak mówić o własnej pracy), to o ile dobrze pamiętam, pierwszy pomysł zakładał stopniowe tracenie umiejętności widzenia barw, ale nie pasował.
W każdym razie miło słyszeć, że idea zaintrygowała. :)
XD Ja i moje zamiłowanie do pisania niejasnych rzeczy. XD Będę czekać na komentarz <3
Hosu do mnie przyszło chyba jak się uczyłam kanji raz, więc niestety nie mogłam mu poświęcić więcej niż kilka minut, no i uciekło. XD
<33 Żaden cienki.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-07 02:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-07 02:40 pm (UTC)I'd really like to continue those. But the problem is that I honestly don't have a clue how to proceed with them. (When I write, it's mostly instinctive and when I have to actually come up with plot, it just doesn't work.) In fact, I'd have no qualms against 'donating' those ideas to someone that could actually develop and write them properly. XD Sort of like a bit longer prompt or something.
Anyway, I'm really glad that you liked those. <3 It really means a lot. :)
no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 11:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-05 12:53 am (UTC)or, more like, the middle of my night XDI don't really see any of those ever being finished (which sort of frustrates me because I really wanted to make something of those ideas) but do know that your words really mean a lot &hearts