ミgot nowhere to go

The Difference Between A and B

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 09:09:02 GMT

Title: The Difference Between A and B
Pairing: none. Sergei Kosititsyn, Andrei Kostitsyn
Rating: PG--for club love ;)
645 words
Christmas is different around the world. Yeah, I don't know why this came to me almost mid June. Hello? Summer just began?

December 25^th is Christmas around the world, but Sergei finds the Christmas in North America a little too different from home. Because Christmas in Belarus meant his mother and father. It meant age-old ornaments, hand-crafted out of flattened straw to decorate around the house and Christmas tree. It meant a table with no less than twelve dishes of food and the authentic traditions of zatirka or kulebyaka. Christmas in Belarus meant family.

He makes his way through the corridors of the Bell Centre, steps in sync with his brother beside him, as they walk to their respective cars. Andrei is speaking softly, gently, like he always does when they talk about upcoming holidays. It is five days until Christmas Eve and Andrei is trying to subtly invite Sergei over for a holiday feast while listing out things he has to buy from the grocery store.

“Come on, little brother,” Andrei smiles, warm and inviting. “You’re family.”

Sergei almost scoffs at the remark. “Yes, I am aware that we are family, Andrei.”

Except he doesn’t feel quite qualified to be considered a part of Andrei’s family. Sergei declines the invitation of Christmas with a home-cooked meal in a high-storey apartment and instead boasts to his brother of a Christmas with vodka and friends.

And so he finds himself amidst a crowd of strangers on Christmas Eve in a posh club tucked away in the busy night district of Montreal. He’s not a stranger to the nightlife, and though it is not his place of choice, it is starting to seem like only one that makes sense to him. Here, people are different; they wear a façade of bravery and seduction. He feels alive here, almost famous, almost a king returning to his kingdom. It’s exactly how the media tells it: he’s a young kid with lots of money and no one to spend it on but himself.

Girls brush up against him and coo his name, bats their eyelashes coquettishly and pouts their glossy lips. He wants to think, this is what it’s all about, wants to bask in the attention and be as narcissistic as he wants to be. But he can’t seem to get his mind to sidetrack from the idea of an oven-warmed home and mors to drink rather than the cheap shot of vodka sitting in the pit of his stomach.

There’s a girl trying desperately to strike up a conversation. Sergei feigns lack of understanding to what she is saying, though the sub-conscious in the back of his mind lets him know that he doesn’t have to try so hard; it’s not like he can translate the words as fast as she is speaking anyways. So he opts to just nod along to whatever the girl is saying, mind far away from the pounding music and musky atmosphere. When a dull ache begins pounding at his temple, he closes his eyes and drops his head, mind beginning to feel foggy. The girl catches on to his lack of interest and pours the remainder of her drink on to the front of his shirt with a sound of disapproval before haughtily stomping away. Sergei frowns, fingers the wet material with distaste before setting his drink down and deciding to finally leave for the night.

His mind is still muggy but the crisp winter air helps bring him a few notches back to sobriety. The snow catches on his shoes, sticky, cold; his feet are freezing. He spots his car within distance and breathes out, the heat from his mouth clashes against the night air creating an imitation of cigarette smoke. Briefly, he looks up into the sky, notices the ivory face of a clock at the top of a building. The clock ticks down, ten seconds before December 25^th begins, and Sergei suddenly realizes with startling clarity; Christmas in Montreal is lonely.

-----
Zatirka – traditional flour dish

Kulebyaka – traditional pie

Mors – cranberry drink

eunhae

Sat, 11 Apr 2009 06:32:41 GMT

eunhyuk + donghae!
super suju gay lovin'!
love, love love.
from ages ago.

ambrosia

Fri, 10 Apr 2009 09:11:07 GMT

Title: Ambrosia
Pairing: Ryan Kesler/food hahaha..kinda. Also featuring the awesome Kyle Wellwood. Purely as friends, okay? :x
Rating: G
1508 words
Ryan has a bad day. ☺
How it came to be:
"The only pairing Kes can go with is food. I will read Kes/food."
"YES. He and pasta are star crossed lovers"
...A little later...
"OMG KYLE WELLWOOD IS MY FAVOURITE PERSON EVER D: He just has to be in everything for comedic reasons."
"Ryan/food = otp with Welly as spectator"
"OKAY THAT I COMPLETELY APPROVE. I LOVE IT. OKAY I'M SO INSPIRED I'M GOING TO WRITE OR SOMETHING (watch me stop after 5 minutes XD....)"
"Can you write something like a bedtime story for me? With a happy ending. You know, like, Kes wakes up late and has no time for breakfast and is buttchecked at practice by Mattias Ohlund ~~and then all is going wrong until he gets home and sees pasta salad in the fridge.~~ He smiles, and says with a sigh of relief: i knew i'd find you at last"

Practice was scheduled at the ungodly hour of 9 AM, and on a regular day, Ryan wouldn’t be too bothered by this fact. But today wasn’t a regular day; today he had hit the snooze button three times too many and was thus currently 27 minutes behind schedule. He stumbled towards the bathroom as he slipped one foot through the pant leg of his jeans and slithered one arm through a wrinkled white tee. By the time he had made his way to the bathroom, he had acquired a bruise to his right shoulder and the embarrassment of an unnoticed inside-out tee.

After a quick brush of the teeth and a hand through his hair, he made a quick run around the room to gather all his electronic necessities before bolting out of his room and down the stairs. He slipped into the kitchen and pulled the fridge open to be greeted with a great amount of nothingness. His stomach grumbled its disapproval and Ryan gave his fridge a heated glare. Slamming the fridge shut, he swirled around to pry open all the cupboards in the kitchen and was saddened to find that his house appeared to have been wiped clean. He took a quick look at the digital clock on his oven blinking 8:45 AM at him in angry red numbers and made a beeline out of the kitchen.

He snatched his jacket off the arm of the couch and rushed out the door, hoping he could make a quick Tim Horton’s run before practice. The engine of his Hummer, however, apparently did not want to cooperate.

“Come on, come on,” Ryan mumbled, turning the ignition in vain. Finally after five minutes of tinkering around, the engine purred to life. The clock read 8:51 AM.

He sped his way down the streets of Vancouver, glancing anxiously at his clock every few seconds, trying to will the time to slow down from the force of his mind. Alas, it did not work and to Ryan’s dismay, the lineup for the drive-thru at Tim’s was alarmingly long. He snuck a peek through the glass panes of the fast food restaurant at that lineup and let a wail that was far too whiny for a man of his stature.

A honk from behind snapped him out of his misery and he cruised down the street towards GM place begrudgingly, stomach murmuring its displeasure with its owner. He zoomed in past the fans waiting by the entrance of the garage and found a parking spot next to one Kyle Wellwood. Kyle Wellwood who was currently trying to paw his way out of his vehicle while devouring the most amazing looking breakfast sandwich Ryan had ever seen in his life.

Before he knew what was happening, Ryan was at the window of Kyle’s car, rapping impatiently as Kyle spilled copiously large amounts of glorious coffee on the side of his car. Kyle glanced up, looking awkward and sheepish before he finally clawed the handle of the door open and crawled out, carefully balancing the remains of his coffee in the cup.

“Kes, hey. Morning,” Kyle chirped. He slammed the door of his car to a close before beeping the security function on. He made his way around the car and met Ryan halfway, leading them towards the tunnel to the locker rooms.

“Morning. Kyle. Hey, Kyle, can I have a bite—” Kyle popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth. “—of your sandwich…?”

Kyle looked up, eyes wide and apologetic while mumbling through a mouthful of food, “Oh Kes, you should’ve said something earlier.”

The smell of the breakfast sandwich wafted from Kyle’s mouth towards Ryan and he had to contain himself from drooling. His stomach roared ruefully.

“You want some coffee though?” Kyle held up the cup of java in offering. Ryan smiled to himself as he reached out his hand in acceptance, deciding that Kyle Wellwood wasn’t quite a dork after all. In fact he was pretty—

Kyle tripped over his shoelace and dropped the cup of coffee, stepping on the dark liquid.

—idiotic. He was the biggest moron Ryan had ever encountered in his life.

Kyle stepped out of the brown puddle and looked at Ryan apologetically. “Sorry, man. Hey, don’t worry. They’ll have something in the lockers for sure.”

Ryan gritted his teeth and nodded, increasing his pace and leaving Kyle behind as he speed walked into the dressing rooms. He burst through the doors to be met face-to-face with an unimpressed Alain Vigneault.

“You’re late, assistant captain,” the coach said with a frown. He cocked his head towards to the clock on the side of the wall that read 9:15AM, “Hurry up. No distractions.”

Kyle arrived shortly after with a chipper ‘Good morning, Coach!’ as he navigated his way to his stall. A table of breakfast foods was nestled on the far end of the room, tempting Ryan with each passing second. He didn’t realize he had been staring at the forbidden foods until Kyle passed by him dressed in full gear, giving him a concerned look.

“You alright, Kes?”

“Just peachy,” Ryan snapped. He quickly put the rest of his equipment into place before making his way towards the other side of the room. After trying to unsuccessfully filch some pastries from the breakfast table (Alain had caught him just as he was reaching for a muffin and ordered him to get to the ice), Ryan trudged his way to the rink, his stomach drumming hammers against the walls of his belly. Before he left the bench, he grabbed a bottle of Gatorade, almost downing the entire bottle before Alain appeared out of nowhere and knocked the bottle out of his hands with a frustrated, “go do the drill!”

Ryan sulkily skated his way to his line mates, keening into himself as his body nibbled pretty patterns of ulcers into the lining of his stomach.

-----

They were thirty minutes into the drill when the coaches decided to rally the troops into teams for a scrimmage. Ryan lined up for a face-off against Henrik Sedin, winning the draw. He circled back to his own blue line before his team broke out, a pass from Salo to Sundin to Ryan, who carried it up the left wing and across the opposing team’s blue line. He tried to squeeze by Matthias Ohlund but failed quite disastrously as the hulking Swede’s bum cut him off mid-stride, sending him flying off his skates and forward into the air until he landed in a pile at the other end of the rink.

Today was not the best of days for Ryan Kesler.

-----

After practice, Ryan was untangling himself from his shoulder pads while proclaiming the lack of food in his house when Kyle approached him hesitantly.

“Hey, Kes,” Kyle said, drumming his fingers on the side of his thigh, “How’re you feeling?”

Ryan looked up, feeling drained. He motioned over to where the breakfast table had once been, “it was gone at the end of practice. I didn’t even get a crumb. I think I’ve developed ulcers. And Ollie decided to bulldoze me into next Sunday. So I’m a little sore and tired. ”

Kyle cringed and forced a smile, “I have some food this lady cooked up for me at home. She put it in the freezer, but I can nuke it up real quick for you if you want. I heard you saying you didn’t have any food at your place.”

A genuine smile crept its way across Ryan’s face. “Yeah, you’re a lifesaver.”

-----

“I knew I’d find you at last,” Ryan breathed, eyes fixated on the steaming plate laid before him. Kyle sprinkled some parmesan cheese over the dish before Ryan picked up his fork in glee. He twirled the angel hair spaghetti around the metal fork, twisting the utensil above his head before slowly lowering the pasta into his mouth. Kyle watched beside him, bemused, until Ryan's tongue flicked out to catch the first strands of the spaghetti, coaxing the food into his mouth with the curl of his tongue. He let out a little sigh of contentment, eyes fluttering closed as he swept his tongue out to catch more of the food. Creamy sauce flitted across his lips and he licked the traces off the corners of his mouth slowly, savouring the taste. He chewed slowly, lips curling into a satiated smile, before he swallowed, Adam’s apple quivering.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, RYAN?” Kyle sputtered bewilderedly.

Ryan opened an eye to half-mast and studied Kyle out of the corner of his eye. He nibbled another quick bite of pasta with his front teeth before turning to his friend, eye brow raised in a look that suggested Kyle's nuisance.

“I'm eating, squirt.”

“STOP EATING LIKE THAT!” Kyle rambled on, protesting against Ryan’s lewd way of eating.

Ryan pointedly ignored him and continued enjoying his meal, emitting quiet noises of appreciation every so often. There was nothing wrong with the way he ate. Nothing at all.

office!verse

Thu, 02 Apr 2009 02:31:40 GMT

Title: The Office
Pairing: none. Taylor Pyatt and Steve Bernier are the leads though :))
Rating: C. For crazy.
Warnings: AU Office!verse. Taylor Pyatt is as dumb as he looks. Some Canuckian jokes and did-you-know’s, which I’ll try to explain, but some of it is obviously made up, too. Random shout out to Patrick Sharp, IDEK, blame mformilly

1730 words

Taylor Pyatt was rushing to the board meeting that he was currently ten minutes late for when he spilled his coffee all over the floor just before the entrance of the conference room. He watched the expensive carpet absorb the dark liquid before letting out a wail at the loss of his morning caffeine. The glass door opened to reveal an aggravated Roberto Luongo who snapped at him to “leave the coffee and to take a seat, now.”

He slipped in past his boss and took a seat at the far end of the table, trying to look busy as he pulled out a couple of documents from his briefcase. Sunlight poured through the windows, warming Taylor’s back and leaving him seeing spots as the rays reflected off the papers in front of him, burning into his eyes. Roberto returned to the front of the room and continued with the meeting after clicking the latch of the door to a close.

“Although we have been receiving numerous amounts of positive feedback from our clients, we are still concerned about our competition. I have been hearing rumours that the team over in Calgary has a new lineup of very imaginative individuals. We have to match their efforts or it is possible that our clients may be transferred over to them. I’ve gotten my hands on a couple of their ideas that have developed recently and decided to go over them with you to see what your opinion of them is…”

Taylor scanned the room, half listening to his boss and half noting who was present at the meeting. As Roberto began handing out envelopes of information, he noticed that his favourite person was missing. He spoke before he could even think of the consequences.

“Where’s Sharpie?”

“There’s a new member joining the team.” Roberto said stiffly, irked that he had been interrupted twice by the same person in a span of fifteen minutes. He continued to hand out manila files to each member at the table and made sure to slam Taylor’s onto the table with enough force to make the other members of the meeting jump. “He’s coming in from Buffalo, just like you, Taylor.”

“But what happened to Sharpie?” Taylor asked again, shoulders slumping.

Roberto stopped short and put the heel of one hand to his head before letting out an irritated sigh, “I told you, Taylor. He was only a temp that Chicago lent us because we were short staffed. I told you he’d only be here until our newbie finished with his transfer papers from Buffalo. I told you not to get comfortable with him here. I told Chicago not to send him…” He left the last sentence mumbled under his breath.

“But I don’t want a new guy. I want my Patty-cake… I wa--”

“Taylor.” Roberto gave him a look.

“Right, sorry.”

“Anyways, the point of the meeting was to bring this to your attention. Take a careful look over the papers and give me a short review of what you think of them. I’m expecting feedback by the end of the week. That’s all for today.” Roberto put the last folder down and took his seat at the head of the table just as his assistant knocked on the door. She pushed the transparent doors open with a man in tow. “Steve Bernier. He said you were expecting him.”

“I was,” Roberto replied and motioned for Steve to come in. The staff were lining out of the room to give the men some privacy when Roberto called out for Taylor. “Taylor. A word, if you don’t mind.”

Taylor stuffed the last of his papers into the briefcase and looked up surprised. “What, because I was late? Or because I spilt coffee. Again. This is about the multiple times you’ve had to call for carpet clean, isn’t it? I didn’t know you were so petty, Roberto. Okay, fine, you can take it out of my payroll, but that’s a real dick move on your part, Long-dong-o.”

Roberto closed his eyes, let out another irritated sigh, and tried to control his temper. “Please, Taylor. Even just the littlest bit of respect in front of the newest member of our team would make me a happy man.”

“But that was hilarious,” Taylor protested. He turned to Steve for confirmation, “Steve, right? That was hilarious, wasn’t it? Don’t worry, beneath that Italian mafia-vibe thing, he’s as gentle as a newborn kitten, eh, bambino?”

A resounding smack echoed in the room as the secretary that had brought Steve in nailed Taylor between the eyes with an eraser. She glared daggers at Taylor behind her frameless glasses and gritted out a very threatening, “Shut the fuck up, Taylor, you’re such a five-year old,” before stomping back to her desk. Taylor looked stunned and appalled.

“Why doesn’t she like me?” Taylor asked, crossing his arms and glaring after the secretary.

“That would be because you are an impeccable moron,” Roberto replied as he motioned for Steve to take a seat at the table, “And I suppose the fact that she’s my wife.”

Steve shuffled into the room and took a seat next to Roberto, feeling like he had walked straight into the crossfire of an impending war.

“Take a seat, Taylor. Steve, welcome to the company. My name is Roberto Luongo, I am the head of the Vancouver branch of advertisements. This is Taylor Pyatt, he’s part of a special team of individuals in marketing and sales.” Robert clasped his hand around Steve’s in a formal greeting and offered a warm smile. “Now from what I understand, although you have been with this company for a while now, you haven’t been able to keep a steady location, is that correct?”

“Yes, I was in San Jose before transferring to Buffalo, sir.”

“Right,” Roberto pursed his lips in quiet contemplation before nodding to himself unconsciously. “To be honest with you, I wanted to put you in a team with Taylor and his partner right away, but your lack of experience might be a problem. Since you’ve never really gotten adjusted to the basics of any of the firms you’ve been with, I thought you could try shadowing Taylor for a couple of weeks. Maybe act as a sort of assistant for a while until you get a hang of things around here. What do you think?”

“That’s perfectly fi—”

“I get my own assistant?” Taylor perked up from his daydream, sprawling his upper body across the meeting table and leaning forwards with anticipated glee.

“It’s really not your own assistant.”

“But you said ‘shadow Taylor’ and ‘assistant.’ Doesn’t that mean my own assistant?”

“Taylor.” Roberto gave him another look.

“Right. Not an assistant. Gotcha.”

Steve’s eyes flickered back and forth between the banter, trying to shrink into his seat. When their attentions turned back to him, he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen up the tension racking his body before nodding awkwardly. “Like a job shadow then. That’s fine.”

“Great. I’ll leave it up to Taylor to introduce you to the third man on the team. If you’ve got any concerns, feel free to ask me personally.”

The men got up exchanging handshakes once again before Roberto made his way out of the conference room. Taylor turned to the newcomer and just stared; took in the rivaling bright eyes, the wide set shoulders, the crisp grey suit, and decided that he definitely approved Steve’s entire ensemble. He lifted himself out of his chair, shrugging the blazer off his shoulders before tossing the article of clothing over an arm and grabbing his suitcase with the other.

“Let’s go, rookie. I’ll show you where our office is.”

Steve stumbled out of his seat, feeling slightly unsettled after Taylor’s once-over, and followed his superior out the door.

“Are the meetings always like that?”

Taylor shrugged. “Like what?”

“The friendly banter, I suppose?”

“Well, Roberto says that only I get away with it, but I don’t believe him.” The elevator dinged open and Taylor ushered Steve in as he pushed the button for the sixth floor. By the time they descended four floors, Taylor had convinced Steve that such behaviour was not only tolerated, but rather normal in Vancouver. They made their way down the hallway from the elevators and entered a spacious department designed akin to a loft. After zig-zagging their way around the furniture, they approached a very concentrated and engaged desk occupant.

“What?” the owner deadpanned, eyes trained on the computer screen in front of him.

“C’mon Pee-Wee,” Taylor (almost) whined, “Roberto’s already been mean to me today. I just want to introduce you to my new assistant.”

“Not assistant. I’m just shadowing him.”

‘Pee-Wee’ looked up with a raised eyebrow and reached out his hand. “Kyle Wellwood.”

“Steve Bernier.” A quick handshake later and Kyle was telling Steve not to believe anything Taylor had thus far told him.

***

After getting acquainted with his new working space and listening to his partners bicker for a good two hours, Steve let out an incredibly random and incredibly loud laugh. The other two occupants of the room turned to him mid-argument, looking at him like he was the crazy one.

“You know I’ve been here for almost three hours now,” Steve rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hand, “and I don’t even know the name of one single clientele. All I’ve learned is that Taylor is a slow, dim-witted pylon, and that Kyle is a McDonlads loving fat-ass.”

Kyle and Taylor had the decency to look sheepish as they scratched the back of their heads with stiff chuckles. And maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to bring up work because before he knew what was happening, Steve was swimming chest deep in a pile of work. In the midst of his hard work, the other two had somehow delved right back into their petty bickering without missing a beat. Two boxes of paperwork later, Steve had dropped back into his leather seat, arm sore and eyes dry.

“Trop de travail? Too much work, yeah?” Taylor smiled at him with wide-eyed innocence, faux-French accent sounding like an absolute tragedy.

“I’m French,” Steve drawled, “not an idiot.”

“Touché, mon ami!”

Steve inwardly facepalmed with a sigh. The Vancouver branch was certainly a lot more stressful than Buffalo or San Jose.

----

Roberto Luongo & the mafia = inspired by the ‘Hockeywood’ theme for one of our events this season. It was extremely lame and he knew it.

Taylor Pyatt & pylon = he is often referred to as pylon by our loyal fans because of his incapability to make much happen. It’s an endearment, really. …Sometimes.

Kyle Wellwood & Mcdonalds = at the beginning of the season, little Welly was overweight and the fans made a sign saying McDonalds was down the block from GM Place. … which it is!

aspects

Tue, 31 Mar 2009 02:57:08 GMT

Title: Aspects
Pairing: none. Guillaume Latendresse, Maxim Lapierre, Sergei Kosititsyn, Tomas Plekanec, Steve Begin
Rating: G, save for a little curse word smack in the middle of it :)
1200 words
Strictly platonic friendship welded out of the familiarity of camaraderie

As always, it began with Guillaume. The practice started off well enough; a quick warm up and then all in a single file across the boards with the intention of tightening some aspects of their game. It wasn’t until Guillaume had skated over to Max, settled his chin comfortably on the other’s shoulder, smiling all squinty eyed up at the older Francophone did practice unofficially end. Max had laughed at his younger counterpart’s affections and tried to shrug him off, only to have Guillaume grip his arm and continue smiling up at him unaffected. And now here they were, practice long forgotten with Coach Carbonneau shaking his head with amusement.

***

Max’s humour is distinctly francophone, and this is not based simply on the fact that he is indeed Francophone.

The night after a crushing loss to the Maple Leafs, Guillaume is having an interview with the Montreal media. He’s in the middle of describing just exactly what he thinks of the aggressive style of play between the two clubs when Max saunters in, expression far too excited for someone who had just been on the losing end of a game. Max looks around the room and when he spots Guillaume, a smile sketches its way across his face.

…And then he starts yelling at Guillaume at the top of his lungs, across the dressing room and in the middle of his interview.

“Guillaume! ‘Ey! Guillaume!”

Guillaume blinks owlishly at Max, stuttering in his English interview and lets out a soft chuckle before blatantly ignoring his teammate because he’s in the middle of an interview, good lord.

“GUILLAUME!”

“-I’m personally not a fan-”

“Guillaume, the soccer nets have just arrived!” Max yells in French, and the foreign tongue leaves the English reporter looking quizzically at Guillaume.

“If this is important…”

“No. No, it’s really not that important…”

“Guillaume! Soccer nets, come on!”

The English reporter begins to shuffle his feet a little, pulling the microphone away before taking a few steps back and eventually making his way over to Tom Kostopoulus. Guillaume watches his interview dissipate before his eyes and turns his focus back on Max. He’s met with a winning smile and a cock of the head, signaling him to meet him in the hallways. For some particular reason, Guillaume really can’t find it in himself to be frustrated with losing his interview to Tom Kostopoulus.

Perhaps, Guillaume thinks as he takes a shot at the new soccer nets, Max’s humour is distinctly francophone because he is Francophone after all.

***

Sergei is blunt with the media; whether it is because his grasp of the English language is awful at best, or whether he is just pretending not to understand, Guillaume isn’t quite sure. What he is sure of, however, is that Sergei always tells it as it is.

“I scored and we won,” Sergei tells the reporters, and they all laugh at the sophomore (or perhaps, Guillaume ponders, with him).

His humour is something that could be considered aggressive. He says what is on his mind, and it just so happens that the outcome ends in hilarity. Or in Guillaume’s case, a bruise and a blow to his ego that turns his self-confidence a few notches lower.

…

“You should have fucking kicked his ass,” Sergei says with an accented tilt. It figures he’d have a colourful array of English choices when it came to vulgar vocabulary.

“I don’t hit girls,” Guillaume replies offhandedly, his own English laced with French undertones.

Sergei laughs, loud and short, claps Guillaume on the back of his shoulder and lets him off the hook for now. Guillaume rubs his stinging shoulder with a grimace, wondering if Sergei is being appreciative or not.

…

“Look at these guns, Serge,” Guillaume boasts in a faux tough-guy voice. He brings his forearm up and strikes a muscleman pose, “Oh yeah, jealous?”

Sergei raises an eyebrow and pokes at his biceps. “Feels a little flabby to me,” he declares with a grin before skating back to the drills.

Guillaume’s face twists into a look of defeat before he leans back against the boards, sulking and brooding over the unfortunate turn of events. When Tomas stops short next to him to catch his breath, Guillaume informs the Czech that he is going to lose weight for real this time.

***

Tomas’ humour is vengeful, Guillaume decides after a moment of careful contemplation. Because after confessing his motivation to lose weight to Tomas, Tomas had responded in a lazy drawl, “There’s nothing wrong with being a little bigger than the other guys.”

To which Guillaume had muttered under his breath, “Yeah, says the then-fatty, now-skinny.”

It seemed that the Czech possessed quite exquisite listening abilities, because Tomas had pushed off the boards in a huff the next moment. Guillaume had sighed, feeling a little regretful.

“Just kidding?”

…

A couple weeks later, when Guillaume thinks that Tomas’ moodiness has died down, there is a new video posted on the Canadiens’ main webpage. The question featured is: What New Year’s resolution do you have…for a teammate?

The question is innocent enough, and Guillaume chooses not to pay much attention to the video, until one night when a bad case of insomnia hits. He finds himself somehow dawdling into the Habs’ website, clicking his way to the pre-mentioned video, and ultimately, deciding to see what his other teammates have ended up saying. Tomas appears on the screen halfway through the video.

“I think that Guillaume Latendresse should stop trying to lose weight.”

Apparently, Tomas is a bitter person.

***

If there is one person Guillaume can count on to always be relatively kind to him, he knows he can find it in Steve Bégin.

Steve is nine years older than Guillaume, but he doesn’t act it; not by a long shot. Guillaume doesn’t think he has ever seen anyone as energetic as Steve when he scores in practice. He jumps and whoops as if he had just scored a game winning goal, and rushes over to Tom who is celebrating with just as much enthusiasm. He’s like a kid trapped in a body that’s pushing thirty.

When Guillaume had been launched into the Canadiens’ roster, a truckload of pressure had been placed upon his shoulders. Steve made it easier to adjust, volunteering to be his roommate on the road, giving him tips, and just talking to him when he was still just a shy teen, awkward if he didn’t have his native tongue to speak in.

But then he started adjusting, and apparently this meant that Steve was now allowed to make fun of Guillaume to his heart’s content. When the interviewers ask him what it’s like to be roommate to one Guillaume Latendresse, Steve laughs and says that it’s like babysitting. Guillaume pouts and tries to deny the allegations, but Steve just sits up in his chair excitedly and points at Guillaume accusingly, “See? See what I have to deal with? What a baby! I can’t even say one thing without him crying over it!”

Guillaume decides that Steve is only nice to him so that it makes it okay for him to be equally as mean to him.

nuances

Thu, 04 Dec 2008 09:22:49 GMT

Title: Nuances
Pairing: 315 (Dion Phaneuf/Ryan Getzlaf)
Rating: G, except for one little swear word.. :)
Technically 834 words
Pure I-am-so-in-love-with-you schmoop. Based on #43 (Nuances) of the second 50 sentences set I did.

#43; Nuances:
Ryan is clumsy; in thoughts (he writes messages on the fogged mirror after showering, secret notes for Dion, but they disappear before Dion has a chance to know that they ever even existed); in actions (he forms a heart with his hands and presses it to his chest, just off center to the right); and in words (he opens his mouth to make a confession but the syllables stick to the back of his throat, enunciation awkward and fragmented, until he resorts to a game of charades).

Ryan steps out of the shower, coldness wrapping its arms around him while the steam from his body fights for heat. The contrast makes him shiver, and he reaches for an oversized towel to wrap around his waist, and a smaller one to drape over his head. He hears Dion from the other side of the door; cotton covered feet shuffling on the hardwood floor, a sudden stop, and then a groan as Dion steps on a particularly old plank of wood. Ryan smiles at the comfort of the homey atmosphere they have composed.

He raises an arm up to move the towel over his head onto his shoulders and shakes his head vigorously. The droplets of water splash onto the fogged mirror and Ryan follows their lead, entranced by their marks on the mirror. He lifts a finger and touches the cool reflection, sluggish with his movements. One stroke down and then back up, and he recognizes the cursive writing as his own signature. He smirks. Dion would have something to say about my ego.

He moves to a new spot on the mirror, where the fog is freshly laid on the mirror and drags his fingers across the surface with a smile on his face. He takes a step back to admire his handiwork when he is finished and nods unconsciously to himself before stepping out of the bathroom. He makes a beeline for their bedroom, offering a grin and a ‘guess who used up all the hot water’ to Dion as they pass by one another. He’s rewarded with a slap to his bottom and a playful ‘fuck you’ before Dion bounds into the bathroom.

When Dion is finished in the shower he comes out and settles down to watch whatever currently has Ryan’s attention on the television. He doesn’t mention the words written on the mirror, but Ryan’s pretty sure he’s thinking it all the same.

You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.

***

They’re fumbling into the house after a drunken night at the bar. Ryan tightens his hold around Dion’s waist and mumbles his disapproval when they both go tumbling onto the floor when one of them – Ryan can’t be sure which of them it was – trips over the frayed carpeting at the door. Dion is muttering a story that he doesn’t remember the point of and they both let out a satisfied sigh when their backs hit the soft blankets on their mattress.

Dion turns to face Ryan after a momentary struggle with controlling his motor skills and uses an arm to pull Ryan so that they are facing towards one another. Ryan flops over lazily and wrinkles his nose, telling Dion that his breath smells rancid. Dion, in turn, responds that he is shocked and surprised at Ryan’s vast vocabulary. They get into a petty slap-fight with no winners or losers and eventually, fatigue starts to wear into their bones and muscles. Dion’s halfway to unconsciousness when Ryan nudges his shoulder and his eyes open to half mast. Ryan points to himself, forms a heart with his hands, then points at Dion before tossing his arm across his shoulder and falling asleep in record time. Dion remains awake, Ryan’s arm like a deadweight on his shoulders. He contemplates the meaning of the clichéd gesture and watches Ryan drift off, his lips slightly parted, with a blissful smile.

***

Ryan shuffles awkwardly as he waits for Dion to come home. He’s cooked a dinner for the two of them, and although he had an extremely difficult time doing so, the results are beyond gratifying in his mind. The clock strikes nine o’clock and Ryan hears the sound of keys jingling on the other side of the wooden door, breath catching, gut tightening. The door swings open to reveal a red-nosed Dion who has just braved the freezing Canadian winter snow. Dion looks around hesitantly and catches Ryan’s eyes across the room, cocking his head to the side imploringly. He takes off his boots and jacket, hanging the latter on the coat rack before making his way towards Ryan.

Ryan turns to the dinner he’s prepared and forgets the speech that he’d been practicing all day.

“I. Dinner,” He says dumbly and stares at Dion like he should know what he’s trying to convey. Dion raises an eyebrow instead.

“I made pie too,” Ryan blurts out, and is mentally kicking himself very, very hard between the legs right about now. He motions to the dinner table set with plates for two, and then points at the wine rack next to the meal. He turns back to Dion waving his arms at himself, at Dion, at the kitchen, all while rambling on about god knows what because he is simply speaking too fast and all his words are beginning to sound like the world’s longest run on sentence. Dion laughs when Ryan begins to retreat into the kitchen, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“I missed you too.”

Honey Jar

Thu, 22 May 2008 08:10:57 GMT

Title: Honey Jar
Pairing: Yoochun/Changmin
Rating: NC-17 (Het?)
~1350 words
Prompt: ___ happens and Changmin is turned into a girl. To change back he has to sleep with another man. Yoochun isn't as easy to get in bed as Changmin bargained for...

Yoochun is tipsy by the time Changmin introduces the female equivalent of himself. “I’m Minnie,” he says, smiling cutely at him.

Yoochun raises an eyebrow. “Is this Mickey and Minnie shit supposed to be funny or something?”

Changmin wants to choke him but keeps a forced smile on his face instead as he pours another shot for Yoochun. He bats his eyelashes prettily and pouts his lips in an attempt to seduce the other, but receives a boisterous “did you something get in your eye?” instead.

“No,” Changmin says exasperatedly and tries to sit closer to Yoochun, pressing his chest to his arm.

“You’ve got a nice rack,” Yoochun says appreciatively, and Changmin wants to slap him silly. If this is how Yoochun usually picked up girls, he sure was glad to be a guy. Well, regularly, anyways.

“You’re so much better looking in real life,” Changmin coos, cringing at his own pet voice. He settles a hand on Yoochun’s chest, chin on his shoulder, and looks up at Yoochun through thick, mascara lashes. Any opening would be fine, Changmin thinks, anything! Yoochun pets him on the head and nods.

“I know, sometimes the pictures don’t get the right angle.” Changmin makes a face, removes himself from Yoochun’s shoulder and makes an attempt to sit even closer to him. He puts an arm on Yoochun’s bicep and squeezes lightly.

“Oh my god,” Changmin says, turning on his girlish charm, “you have really nice biceps!”

“Yeah,” Yoochun agrees, “I’ve been working out. I’m glad you’ve noticed, no one else has said anything about it.”

It starts to get late and Changmin thinks that maybe Yoochun doesn’t really like girls after all. So he decides it’s time for drastic measures and puts a hand on Yoochun’s knee discreetly, rubbing two circles around the connecting joint before his hand slips up along the inside seams of Yoochun’s pants.

“Baby, baby,” Yoochun mutters, head shaking side to side and Changmin isn’t sure if it’s because he’s got a headache or if it’s because he’s not liking the suggestive touches. “I think you’re really hot, but I don’t think I can sleep with you.”

Changmin is a little surprised at how insulted he feels. “Why not?!”

“’Cause.” Yoochun puts a hand over Changmin’s hand that is resting on his lap and pulls it closer to his crotch, encouraging a rubbing motion. His eyes slip to a close and a stupid grin creeps onto his face.

Changmin rolls his eyes. Horny bastard.

“I mean, it’s just… you look like someone I know,” Yoochun explains, voice on the edge of sounding like a moan. And then he does moan and Changmin blushes, hand coming to a stop.

“Don’t stop,” Yoochun says in a whisper, looking at Changmin through half lidded eyes. Changmin is doe-eyed for a moment before he remembers what is at stake and begins moving his hand again with renewed vigor. Yoochun’s eyes are closing again, concentrating on the sweet teasing touches that Changmin is tracing up his thigh. His breathing picks up and he bites his bottom lip, head hung over the bar table.

“Come on Yoochun,” Changmin says lowly, “let’s take this upstairs.”

“But you look like Changmin,” Yoochun whines. The statement catches Changmin off guard and he feels a little ashamed of himself for seducing his friend. And then he looks down and all he can see is a perky bosom and white skirt. He gets irritated all over again and grabs Yoochun by the arm, pulling him out of the bar as Yoochun reaches back longingly for his whiskey shot.

“Come on, Yoochun. Man up!”

“You even talk like him!”

Changmin presses the button for the elevator, waiting impatiently for it to arrive as Yoochun babbles on about Changmin’s uncanny resemblance to Changmin. When the elevator finally arrives, the pair stumble in with much difficulty (“It’s going to eat us, Minnie. It’s going to eat us!”). The door is about to close when another man slips in, the smell of his alcohol intake overpowering Yoochun’s.

The man leers at Changmin and licks his lips before smiling perversely at him. Changmin is affronted and turns his head to Yoochun, fixing the wandering arm around his shoulder. The next thing he knows, the stranger is pressed up against him and turning his head with one hand as the other flutters up his skirt. Changmin yelps in surprise and pushes Yoochun to the other side of the elevator where Yoochun tightens his hold around Changmin’s neck and glares at the stranger. The man’s eyebrows shoot up in a suggestive manner, lecherous smile back in place as he thrusts his hips at the pair huddled in the corner. Yoochun is about to cross the tight space of the elevator to throw a few punches when a bell chimes to signal their floor and Changmin pulls him out hurriedly.

Except when they stumble out of the elevator, it’s not Changmin doing the pulling anymore. Rather it’s Yoochun tugging Changmin along, all the while muttering under his breath about perverts who don’t know when a girl’s taken. It’s all rather charming, Changmin thinks, and then he gets pushed against the door of Yoochun’s hotel room. Yoochun takes his breath away with a rough kiss that leaves Changmin rather disheveled and thinking that it’s not quite as charming as it is starting to get extremely exciting.

Yoochun has unbelievable hand-eye coordination despite his intoxication; he manages to slip the card key out of his pocket and beep his door open on the first try. The door opens behind them and Yoochun kicks off his shoes, half carrying, half dragging Changmin towards the closest open surface. They make it to the kitchen before Yoochun has Changmin on the counter countertop and his hands under his skirt, fingers hooking over his underwear. He pulls the lingerie down and reaches for the closest lubricant he can find – a jar of honey. The lid of the honey is unscrewed with one hand while the zipper of his jeans falls with the other.

“Honey for the honey jar,” Yoochun breathes, the air tickling Changmin’s ear. His fingers dip into the sweet substance and reaches between Changmin’s legs, already wet with excitement, as he pushes a finger in, and then two just as quickly. Changmin is flushed, arms behind him to balance himself as he watches Yoochun’s arm under his skirt and feels his fingers opening him up. Yoochun pulls his fingers out and reaches for the honey jar again. He coats his cock with the sticky sweetener and then feeds the honey coated fingers to Changmin’s mouth as he positions himself with his other hand.

Just as Changmin begins to suck, Yoochun pushes in, and Changmin groans around the fingers in his mouth. Yoochun sets a quick pace and Changmin can’t help it as he lets the fingers fall out of his mouth, head rolling back as he wraps his legs around Yoochun’s waist and begs him to go faster. Yoochun leans his head down to ghost kisses on Changmin’s neck, honey slicked hand caressing his back, and thrusts getting harder.

Changmin leans forward as he feels himself reaching his orgasm, hugging Yoochun’s face just above his chest. When he comes, he whispers Yoochun’s name in a breathy sigh, and the pleasures continues as Yoochun keeps thrusting. He comes once more before Yoochun reaches his own orgasm, slowly riding out the pleasure in short thrusts. Yoochun pulls out and steadies them down to the heated floors. He kisses Changmin on the forehead before they both fall asleep.

The next morning, Changmin wakes up to a kick delivered by a sleeping Yoochun. He frowns and kicks back with twice as much force and gets a pained groan from his elder. Now roused from his sleep, Yoochun sits up and leans against the cupboards under the counter. Changmin follows suit, yawning and stretching his arms.

“Changmin,” Yoochun says sleepily, rubbing his eyes and mussing his hair, “you’re wearing a skirt.”

Changmin looks down, reaches between his legs, and smiles; his boy bits are back. “So I am.”

Back to hug______?

remembering 315

Sun, 27 Apr 2008 06:41:08 GMT

Title: Remembering...
Pairing: 315 (Dion Phaneuf/ Ryan Getzlaf)
Rating: varying from G to PG-13
50 (not really) sentences to the beta theme at 1sentence
~2540 words

r e m e m b e r i n g 3 1 5

o1; walking.

They are always careful and always hiding, but even those who hide from the sun eventually emerge. Their chance is in the dead of the night, when all the world is sleeping and they stalk the streets. The steps are taken in deliberate, slow synchronization as if this moment could imitate forever with their hands bound together and the silence acting as a sweet haven.

o2; waltz.

Their relationship is different in that they both want to be the leading partner. Neither is confident in being the follower because to them, to follow is to show weakness and weak was a word that certainly did not describe their characters. So they improvise with their own methods, their own ways to dance around the complications, and although they are laced with imperfections, somehow it just seems right.

o3; wishes.

Happiness is not a fish that you can catch, but Dion tries anyways. He tosses coins over his shoulder when walking by water fountains; closes his eyes and hopes for the best when he sees shooting stars; and blows out the candles to the same wish every April 10^th.

o4; wonder.

It must be some sort of skill they have acquired through time, the way they are able to fumble blindly through the apartment and undo buttons with calculated hands in careless abandon.

o5; worry.

It’s a long stretch of games away from home for Ryan, which means unreliable sleeping schedules and uncomfortable time zone changes. Dion buys him a pack of drowsy pills – just in case.

o6; whimsy.

On their anniversary they stay in to celebrate. There are no fancy dinners with crossing arms and toasting champagne glasses; no booked hotel rooms with fluffy beds and manmade privacy. There is only the comfort of intimacy, of soft touches and ghosting kisses.

o7; waste/wasteland.

Ryan watches Dion toss the half eaten potato into the trash can with a longing gaze.

o8; whiskey and rum.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” Ryan says, all confidence and pride. He tosses back shot after shot of alcohol, and to any other this may have been amazing, but to Dion, this was just Ryan being Ryan, and Ryan was usually this reckless. The alcohol seems to hit a switch and Ryan becomes clingy and lovesick, groping Dion in inappropriate places and telling him that he is “seriously the best, no, no, the greatest of the best!”

Dion hoists an arm over his shoulder and carries the blundering boy out of the bar when he starts screaming for beer.

o9; war. (Ref: When Ryan got send down to the Portland Pirates during his first year)

“You don’t understand,” Ryan says quietly, “you’ve never had to fight for your spot on the team because you’ve never been second best.”

1o; weddings.

They get invited to a wedding through a mutual friend and sit together during the ceremony. The bride walks down the aisle, the entire audience holding its breath at her beauty… except for Ryan. His head lolls to the side and he is halfway to unconsciousness when Dion elbows him sharply in the ribs. Ryan makes a loud noise of protest and silence hangs in the altar, all eyes leaving the bride and focusing on the two.

Dion bows his head, red-faced with embarrassment and elbows Ryan again for good measure. Ryan takes the blow readily, offering an apologetic smile and half-wave to the crowd before shuffling towards the exit with Dion in tow.

11; birthday.

It is 11:55PM, May 9^th, and Ryan has practice at the break of dawn the next day. Even so, he sits on his bed, tossing a coin up in the air and catching it with one hand while the other rests on his phone. At midnight, his phone rings and rings, and he lets the tone echo in the room until it stops, silence dominating the night once again. He waits until it is 12:01 before calling back.

“Dee, I’m sleeping,” he lies, fidgeting with the coin and grinning like a teenage girl.

“You say that as if I care,” Dion scoffs, “Happy birthday!”

12; blessing.

“Dee…”

“Hold on, I’m almost done washing my hands.”

“Dee… I think that’s holy water.”

13; bias. (Ref. http://p-userpic.livejournal.com/74045783/6820897)

Ryan shakes his head, closes his eyes and lets the words coming out of Corey’s mouth go in one ear and out the other.

“Nope, Phaneuf for Norris. I’m not changing my mind.”

14; burning.

Dion is torching the blade of his stick before the game when he notices it - the movement of the flame resembles a handwritten ‘ryan.’

15; breathing.

The autumn air is crisp and sharp in Dion’s lungs. He fixes the scarf around his neck and brings his hands up towards his face, blowing warm air into them. Ryan is running, jacket whipping behind him and leaves crunching beneath his feet. He finally reaches Dion and presents him with a messy bouquet of hand picked carnations, apologizing for his tardiness through deep breaths.

16; breaking.

He’s the victor in the end, a little chipped at the edges but whole all the same.

17; belief.

“There isn’t always a fairytale finish.”

“Why not?”

18; balloon.

The wind snags the balloon out of the little girl’s hands and she gives chase; it remains leveled to the ground by the wind for a moment’s time before it begins to pitch up and out of her reach. Her fingers curl to grip the tail but it slips out of her grasp and beyond her reach. The helium toy begins to fly, heaven bound in its journey up, when suddenly it’s stopped. It twists and pulls at the ribbon for escape but even the wind cannot break the force holding it down. Ryan brings the balloon down and ties it around the girl’s wrist, giving her a friendly smile before jogging back to his waiting partner.

19; balcony.

Their reflection catches in the glass, the nightlife painted behind them in flickering lights and flashing signs.

2o; bane.

He does all the silly things that lovers do with a goofy grin on his face but sometimes, the way he attempts to be the perfect boyfriend is a little over the top.

21; quiet.

It is odd when Ryan is not rambunctiously stating his own greatness or shouting out random facts; it means that he is thinking, and that alone could be dangerous. At the moment, he is off in a corner of the room, scribbling furiously on a notepad and drumming the pads of his fingers in a thoughtful rhythm. Two hours later, he stands and trots over to Dion, calling out his name obnoxiously loud. Dion prepares himself for whatever idiocy Ryan may have come up with this time, but is pleasantly surprised (and flattered) when Ryan reads out the poem he has just composed for him.

22; quirks. (Ref: http://my.break.com/content/view.aspx?ContentID=406418)

Dion likes singing, and although he’s not the greatest at it, Ryan thinks that it is quite charming, especially when he is air guitaring center stage in a pub with the crowd rowdy and enthused.

23; question.

He rests a hand on his shoulder, is this okay?

24; quarrel.

Fist fights turn to wrestling matches, which turn to clothes wrinkling in tight grips and hot, hurried kisses.

25; quitting.

Ryan insists that he is not angry when photos of Dion and Miika smoking are leaked on the Internet; rather, he is deeply disappointed.

26; jump.

He’s running now, running faster than he ever has, with the wind combing through his hair and his muscles stretching to their limits. Ryan begins to turn around, hands raising to self defense, and Dion pounces, knocking them both down the hill. They tumble in a tangle of arms and legs, dry grass slipping into their clothes and hair. At the foot of the hill they lay content, heads tossed back in laughter as the sun sets behind them.

27; jester.

“Sssss…”

“What do you want, Ryan?”

“Sssss…Do you hear that?”

“Do I hear you being stupid?”

“Ssss…Oh my god, what is that?”

“It’s you, you bonehead.”

“Sssss…ANDWICH! I WANT A SANDWICH, DEE!”

28; jousting.

They waver in their balance, one leg on the beam hoisted above the water, the other lifted in midair. Dion slowly inches his way towards Ryan, who is trying desperately to find some sort of equilibrium, and swings his arm. It catches Ryan on the shoulder and his attempts at staying upright squandered as he splashes into the pool.

29; jewel.

“Stop it,” Dion says irritably, gripping the hockey stick wedged between his legs and tossing it to the floor. Ryan laughs from the opposite end of the couch, picks up the stick and settles it back between Dion’s legs, poking at him inappropriately.

3o; just.

Ryan flushes the toilet and saunters out of the bathroom while zipping himself back up.

“Did you even wash your hands?” Dion asks with a look of disgust. “That’s nasty.”

“I didn’t,” Ryan says, putting an index and middle finger to Dion’s lips, “I just walked out.”

Dion sputters, eyes wide in shock and Ryan laughs, turning one eighty to run the opposite direction before Dion can regain his composure.

31; smirk.

Dion lies vulnerable in the center of the bed, arms tied tightly to the headrest, and legs strapped to the wood under the bed. He’s about to get his first touch of the night when the phone rings loudly, echoing in the room. Ryan stands abruptly and makes to leave the room.

“Ryan…”

Ryan turns around, smirking mischievously. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move a muscle.”

Dion pulls at the restraints, groaning in frustration and throwing mental curses out the doorway.

32; sorrow.

They touch in public when they are on opposing teams or coordinated events, as players and formal friends; it is only behind closed doors that they touch as lovers.

33; stupidity.

Dion stares at him, baffled beyond his own comprehension.

“Ryan.” He puts a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, squeezes lightly, and continues in a serious tone, “I think you just out stupid-ed yourself.”

34; serenade.

Dion is stumbling and trying to control his voice to woo Ryan with a drunken lullaby. It’s charming in its own right.

35; sarcasm.

Dion tries his hand at baking and it turns out to be a catastrophe, much to his dismay. He figures he can fix it by adding some icing on the top, so he thickly layers the icing with his spatula, trying to even out the cake so that it has a vague robust shape. It turns out more triangular than circular. Even so, he packages the cake neatly into a box and delivers it Ryan’s house, whistling cheerfully and anxious to hear the critique. Ryan opens the package, excited at the notion of cake but stops short when he sees Dion’s creation.

“Did you barf that up and paint it brown?”

36; sordid.

“Ugh,” Ryan takes a look at Dion’s shirt and scrunches his face, feeling slightly revolted. “That shirt, this garbage can. Now, please.”

37; soliloquy.

Dion digs a box out of the corner of his attic. It is filled with letters, yellowed with age and stiff with dust. He pulls a few of the envelopes out and smiles at the memories, some he remembers with astounding clarity while others are distantly faint. But there is one amongst the pile that he holds with high regard; a pale blue envelope with romantic letters etched on the front and a confession sealed within.

38; sojourn.

“All aboard. Next stop, Dion’s pants.”

39; share. (Ref. this and this)

Their seasons end one after the other; first Ryan, who can do no more than purse his lips and stare straight ahead. His eyes focus on nothing and he skates routinely to the bench, stomping his way to the dressing room to hang up his jersey.

Dion’s season ends two days later. He sits on a bench, hand to his head and swallows thickly. Reporters swarm into the room, begging for a sentence or two, but he shuts them out, shoulders heavy with defeat.

4o; solitary.

No one had told them that playoffs had also meant quarantine. The first time their respective teams made it to the post-season games, the isolation took them by surprise. By the time April came around a second time, they had learnt that confidence was the key; confidence and desperation to commit themselves to late night stealthy escapades to Internet cafés.

41; nowhere.

They have the media and the gossip, but are not quite celebrities. At the same time, they are far from the regular Joes who do their nine to five and return home to a hearty supper.

They’re somewhere in between the steady and hectic life, somewhere between the norm and the ideals, somewhere but nowhere at the same time.

42; neutral.

They avoid the extremes of black and white, finding comfort in the uncertainties of grey.

43; nuance.

Ryan is clumsy; in thoughts (he writes messages on the fogged mirror after showering, secret notes for Dion, but they disappear before Dion has a chance to know that they ever even existed); in actions (he forms a heart with his hands and presses it to his chest, just off center to the right); and in words (he opens his mouth to make a confession but the syllables stick to the back of his throat, enunciation awkward and fragmented, until he resorts to a game of charades).

44; near.

Ten minutes, Dion had said, but he arrived in eight.

45; natural.

They’re Canadian boys, and because this is a fact, Ryan decides that it is an absolute necessity to go camping in the summertime. They go hiking at dusk, fish in the afternoon, toast marshmallows at dawn, and stargaze at night. Most of all, they enjoy the simplistic bliss of mother nature.

46; horizon.

Dion is on the plane flying towards Anaheim after a month’s worth of absence from battling against the Pacific Division. The plane dips down and the beginnings of infrastructures come into sight; it is possibly one of the most refreshing sights he has ever seen in his life.

47; valiant.

Ryan doesn’t know who the stranger is, but he is questioning Ryan’s loyalty, and that’s something he values. He clenches his fists and snaps angry, offending responses; the visitor is calm and stuns Ryan to silence with accusing words.

“Unlike you, I can be with him all the time; when he is in Calgary or when he is traveling. I’m willing to sacrifice my life to support his. Can you say the same?”

His confidence wavers, feeling like he’s playing up to a role that he’s not made for, but he staggers on to defend his honour – their honour.

48; virtuous.

“I’m too much of a gentleman to take advantage of you while you are shitfaced,” Ryan insists, patting Dion on the head and tugging his shirt back down.

“And I’m not gentlemanly enough to care,” Dion says, pulling Ryan’s shirt clean off.

49; victory.

Ryan is having lunch with Corey when his phone rings.

“What are you doing?” Dion asks on the other line, sounding bored.

“I’m having lunch with Corey,” Ryan replies.

“But I wanted to have lunch with you!”

Ryan hangs up and apologizes to Corey, explaining that he had forgotten a very, very important appointment he had today.

5o; defeat.

Word gets out that the captain of the Calgary Hitmen is different and the team gets a field day out of it.

Dion is visiting from Red Deer and stumbles across the scene: someone is on the floor with a bloody nose, Ryan’s fist is speckled with red and he is smirking with victory. But then his teammates are picking up the victim and sneering at Ryan, denouncing his name and his rank. This time, Ryan does not defend himself; his head is bowed, gaze downcast, and clenching his bloodied fist in a shameful anger.

Dion’s heart aches.

077. Pass

Sun, 13 Apr 2008 09:54:04 GMT

Title: 077. Pass
Pairing: Sungmin & Ryeowook
Rating: G
840 words
The boys play Big 2.

Ryeowook chews on his lower lip and clenches his right hand, cold and clammy with sweat, and reaches out to play with the edges of his pair nines. He peeks over at the other players’ cards; to his left, Yesung with two left; across from him, Heechul with one left; and to his right, Kangin with four. All three pairs of eyes are on him, waiting for him to finish his turn.

“Pass,” he says, determined that if no one puts down a pair next, his cards are still high enough to beat out Kangin at the very least. It is Yesung’s turn again, after everyone has passed, and he puts down a pair of threes, getting first place. Heechul passes and Kangin puts down a pair of tens. Ryeowook groans and passes again. Kangin puts down an eight, Ryeowook puts down his nine, and Heechul wins second place with his ten. Kangin goes next, putting down an ace and for the fifth time in a row, Ryeowook pulls in at last place. He’s down to a five dollars from his original fifty and is about to pull out of the game when Sungmin comes parading in all smiles and loud noises.

“Can I play? Let me play! Hey, I want to play!” Sungmin says, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “What are you playing? Oh Big Two? What’s tha—I mean, I swear I’m really good!”

Yesung, Heechul, and Kangin are dubious of that fact and refuse to let him play. Sungmin pouts and looks at Ryeowook with puppy dog eyes and Ryeowook is mentally kicking himself as he scoots his chair over to make room for Sungmin.

“Yay!” Sungmin slides a chair next to Ryeowook and Heechul deals the cards. As it turns out, Sungmin doesn’t even trust the person who let him play in the first place and hides his cards close to his face, eyes peeking over them in a very ninja-esque way. The game starts with Kangin putting down a single three of diamonds.

“Pass,” Sungmin says with a sweet smile and winks at Ryeowook when the other boy makes a noise of confusion. Yesung shrugs, puts down his card, and the game continues on.

Sungmin passes the next three turns too, and Ryeowook is starting to regret letting the older member play with his money. Yesung, Heechul, and Kangin are all smiles, grinning with satisfaction as their cards dwindle down to one or two left. And then, Kangin puts down a nine of hearts and Yesung makes to put down his ten of diamonds when Sungmin stops him.

“Excuse me,” Sungmin says with a bit of playful attitude, “I didn’t say pass.”

He puts down the two of spades, the Big Two, and looks up at the other players, waiting for them to allow him to go next. Kangin scoffs and tells him that it’s useless to put out the big cards now, because there’s no way he can still win. They all nod for him to go on; none of them are particularly interested in what he puts down next. As far as they’re concerned, he’s dug himself in too big of a hole to crawl out of.

But then he puts down five cards and Yesung gets a little uneasy because it’s a four-of-a-kind and that kind of thing just doesn’t happen very often. They all pass their turns and wait for Sungmin’s next move, wary of the fact that his cards have now decreased to seven.

When he puts down another four-of-a-kind, Heechul stands up and accuses him of cheating. He calmly tells his elder that it was Heechul himself that had shuffled the cards and Heechul sits back down, squirming uncomfortably as he eyes the two cards left in Sungmin’s hands. Ryeowook is in disbelief at Sungmin’s great luck and feels a little better about leaving Sungmin responsible for his money.

Sungmin wins the game, putting down his pair of threes and Heechul demands a rematch that is agreed with by the entire table. Sungmin shrugs, face innocent as ever, and asks Ryeowook if he can continue playing, to which Ryeowook heartily says yes.

After Sungmin wins ten games in a row (and successfully cleans out the other three’s pockets), Heechul kicks him out of the room and tells him that he never wants to play with him again. Kangin emphasizes their irritation by nailing a stumbling Sungmin in the back with a throw pillow while Yesung calls him mean names.

Ryeowook follows Sungmin out, pocket full of coins and bills, and smile wide.

“Sungmin,” he gushes, “that was amazing! How did you do that?”

Sungmin smiles sweetly at him, “I don’t know! That was my first time playing!”

Ryeowook gapes at him, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Sungmin pats Ryeowook on the head, calls him cute, and skips off to bother someone else. Ryeowook is convinced that Sungmin has some sort of godly power that makes the universe flow in his favor.

Back to miracle______

memoirs of 315

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 08:50:38 GMT

Title: Memoirs
Pairing: 315 (Dion Phaneuf/ Ryan Getzlaf)
Rating: varying from G to R
50 (not really) sentences to the alpha theme at 1sentence
~2670 words
2 stories are inside jokes >_>''

m e m o i r s o f 3 1 5

o1; comfort.

When Ryan arrives in Calgary, he smiles to himself knowing that he will see Dion tonight.

o2; kiss.

Dion feels Ryan’s lips curling up to a smile and pulls him closer before mirroring his happiness.

o3; soft.

Dion rubs his eyes, returning from brushing his teeth to find Ryan tangled in the sheets, sun casting a glow on his cheeks. A hand lazily waves him over and Dion complies, dropping down beside Ryan and planting a kiss on his forehead. Ryan wraps his entire body around Dion, his heat fighting away the coldness of morning, and promptly falls back to sleep.

o4; pain.

Ryan flinches and pulls away when Dion touches the bruise. He scrunches up his face and swats at Dion’s hands, turning his body away. Dion hits him over the head.

“Stop being such a baby,” he scolds. He gently rubs medicine onto Ryan’s cheek, the minty smell overwhelming the room.

“You’re the one who pushed me into the boards,” Ryan retorts.

o5; potatoes.

“Did you know that the potato is actually a root which bears fruit?” Ryan asks, setting down his bag on the hotel bed and glancing at Dion over his shoulder. Dion storms in after him, blazer falling to the floor and the buttons of his dress shirt being undone.

“Don’t care about potatoes,” he murmurs, crashing his lips against Ryan’s and pulling them onto the bed.

o6; rain.

The rain splashes over the sidewalk, the pitter patter echoing around them under their umbrella. They walk in sync, left, then right, then left again; until Dion pulls his arm out of Ryan’s and folds the umbrella to a close.

Ryan looks over to Dion, eyelashes spiked from the downpour, and inquires him silently.

Dion smiles, clasps their hands together, and tugs Ryan along down the abandoned street.

o7; chocolate.

Ryan is exploring, with his wicked little tongue, the expanse of Dion’s chest. It is covered in thick, cocoa flavoured syrup that makes Ryan’s mouth explode with the taste of a concentrated sweetness. Dion is looking at Ryan through half lidded eyes, fist in Ryan’s hair, breathing shallow, and heart beating fast.

The door opens and Dion’s eyes fly to the intruder.

“Oh, sorry, guys,” Corey Perry says. Ryan ignores him.

o8; happiness.

When Dion is finished going through customs in the John Wayne Orange County airport, he is not a happy camper. The strap of his carry-on messenger bag has snapped, his iPod is malfunctioning, and he has dropped his cell phone four times.

He tugs his luggage behind him, brooding with an angry scowl, before he spots Ryan standing awkwardly out of place in the crowd, holding a single coral coloured Gerber, and looking lost. When Dion approaches him, Ryan snaps out of his thoughts and looks up, surprised. He smiles bashfully and holds out the flower.

Dion smiles back.

o9; telephone. (Inside joke)

From: Dee
27-Oct-2007 11:43 pm

Some girl named Jessica called me last night.

From: Ry
27-Oct-2007 11:44 pm

Jessica Fisher?

1o; ears.

“What?” Ryan asks for the fifth time in a row.

Dion makes a noise of frustration and crosses his arms, looking irritated.

“I can’t help it,” Ryan defends, “I just got off the plane”

11; name. (Ref: Facebook group)

“I don’t get it,” Ryan says dejectedly, “Why don’t they like me?”

Dion peers over Ryan’s shoulder to the page opened on his laptop. “Hate is a really, really strong word… but I hate Ryan Getzlaf?”

“They call me Ryan ‘Getzlaughedat’ Getzlaf and say I’m a crybaby and I spit too much.” He pouts. “Do I spit too much?”

Dion turns back to taping up his hockey stick. “Only when you’re giving blowjobs, but it’s not a bad thing. Trust me.”

12; sensual.

Ryan licks the popsicle from base to top before sucking on the tip, staining his lips purple. He pulls the icy treat out of his mouth and licks his lips suggestively.

13; death. (Ref: WHL game when Dion gave Ryan a concussion)

When Ryan goes to the hospital after getting a concussion from hitting his head against the boards, Dion feels guilt sinking into every bone in his body. He visits the hospital after the game is over and flirts with the nurse to gain entry to Ryan’s room for a couple of minutes; to explain himself, to offer an apology, to make sure Ryan isn’t in pain. Upon entering the room, he sees Ryan perched on one of the beds with a laptop in front of him.

Dion crosses the room and pulls him into a hug that voices all his apologies and Ryan sits, stiff and confused.

“I’m fine,” Ryan says carefully.

“I’m just making sure,” Dion replies.

14; sex.

“This is more than just sex, right?”

A nod, and then, a confirmation. “This is more than just sex.”

15; touch. (Ref: 2006 playoffs)

The arena is in an uproar with Corey Perry’s boarding penalty, booming its disapproval. During the referee’s assessment of the penalty, Dion and Ryan bump shoulders; neither knows who instigated the action, but the next thing they know, fists are flying.

16; weakness.

“I’m going to fuck you up,” Ryan threatens.

Dion grins and throws the punch line. “Oh I love it when you talk dirty, baby.”

17; tears.(Ref: World Juniors 2004)

They force themselves to stay strong while watching team USA collect the golden medals that could have been theirs.

18; speed.

Ryan revs the engine of his new Hummer, grinning out the window and flashing thumbs up to an unimpressed Dion.

“You honestly woke me up at 6AM for this?”

Ryan looks like a kid in a candy store.

“Vroom, vroom!”

19; wind.

Dion’s hit leaves Ryan winded and at a loss of breath. He picks himself up off the ice and to the bench, trying to steady his respiration. When coach taps him on the shoulder for his next shift, he jumps over the boards and races towards Dion to return the favour.

2o; freedom.

Ryan is glad that he and Dion are not prisoners of a businessman’s life because this way, they can genuinely be happy for each other’s success.

21; life.

Ryan eyes Dion before crouching to position himself for the face off.

The puck drops to signify the start of the season.

22; jealousy.

Dion calls the morning before every away game Ryan plays.

“Who’re you rooming with?” He asks, and the reply is always the same.

“Don’t worry, not Corey.”

23; hands.

When Ryan watches Dion fight on TV, he can’t help but ponder about the gentleness of those hands on his body.

24; taste.

Ryan is dedicated, so much that he stays a good half an hour after practice is officially over to test new angles, each with a different power of shot.

Dion sneaks into the Hitmen’s locker room after Ryan is done and catches him before he has a chance to shower. He pushes him against the wall and licks a trail along his neck, savouring the taste of hard work.

25; devotion. (Inside joke)

Ryan laughs every time he goes to Dion’s apartment and sees a guitar pick framed above his fireplace.

26; forever.

On the last day before they are to be drafted, Dion sends Ryan a text message. He writes: I hope we can do what we love forever.

Ryan replies with a cheeky grin: I hope we do who we love forever.

27; blood.

Ryan dresses up as a vampire on Halloween and shows up at Dion’s door, bearing his fangs.

“I’m going to suck your blood,” he says in a faux Pennsylvanian accent. Dion pulls him in into his apartment by the clasp holding his cape together and slams the door shut.

“I’ve got something else you can suck on.”

28; sickness. (Ref: http://community.livejournal.com/2mins4slashing/234943.html) I did write this story too, it's just under a different username

“You’re the worst,” Ryan says in between sniffles, “the worst human being on the planet.”

Dion carries the bowl of chicken noodle soup to the table and hands Ryan a soup.

“Shut up and eat your soup, you sick-o.”

29; melody.

Ryan likes Dion and all his little quirks, and right now, he really likes how Dion is humming a soft tune as he fixes a sandwich for Ryan, carefully putting the ingredients together. A slice of bread is placed on top to finish the sandwich off and Dion stops humming, setting the plate down in front of Ryan.

Ryan devours the sandwich and asks for another one. Dion rolls his eyes but complies, beginning his lyric-less song once again.

3o; star. (Ref: 2008 all-star game candidates)

The candidates for the all-star team are revealed and Ryan marvels at how anyone could choose Nicholas Lidstrom over Dion Phaneuf.

I’m not biased, he insists, I mean, Lidstrom is good. But Dion, Dion is great.

31; home.

The first thing Dion does when he arrives in Anaheim is visit Ryan.

32; confusion.

Dion slips Ryan’s Stanley Cup ring over his finger, feeling the heaviness and coolness of the metal.

It’s impractical, he thinks. The size is too big, the design is too tacky. But I want it.

33; fear.

Dion sees Ryan sliding to block his shot; the athlete in him does not want to let up on the shot, but the lover in him does.

34; lightning. (Ref. Calgary @ TB 12/13/2007)

Dion finds the silver plated chain in his bag when he is in Tampa Bay preparing for the game.

This will help you beat their asses ‘cause we both know you suck! Is scrawled on the little note in Ryan’s messy writing. Dion puts the good luck charm around his neck and continues his preparations. Calgary wins 9-6 and Dion gets 5 assists.

35; market.

Ryan is grumpy after he has been drafted 19^th overall in the 2003 NHL Entry Draft.

“What’s wrong?” Dion asks when the event is over. Ryan crosses his arms and furrows his brows in self pity.

“How come you got drafted 10 spots ahead of me?”

36; bonds.

Dion sends out an email to keep in touch with the teammates from the 2005 World Junior Championships, but somehow misses Ryan’s address.

37; technology.

Ryan is slowly dozing off on the plane, head against the window, and iPod cradled on his lap. The song starts fading to the next and he hears a muffled noise. He checks the screen of his iPod to see what song he had shuffled to and is confused when he sees that the file is named “Recording 000.” He’s about to change songs when he hears a voice from his earphones.

Uh. Hey. It’s Dee. Just wanted to let you know you’re awesome. And I miss you. That’s all. Bye!

The beginning of Nirvana fades into existence.

38; gift.

Dion ties a big red ribbon around his neck and knocks on Ryan’s door. When the door swings open to reveal a groggy Ryan, he pushes his way in, pulling Ryan along. They get to Ryan’s room before Dion manhandles Ryan onto the bed and crawls on top of him.

“Happy birthday, baby, want to open your present?”

39; smile. (Ref: 2004 & 2005 WJC, 2008 all-star game)

Dion is announced as an all-star defenseman in Helsinki and again in North Dakota. When Ryan is announced as an all-star center for Atlanta alongside Dion, he beams proudly at Dion.

“Look, I’ve caught up.”

4o; innocence. (Ref: a game I watched where the commentator said Ryan’s point shot was as good as Dion’s)

“No honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong with that,” Ryan says, looking confused.

“They said your shot is as good as mine on the point,” Dion mutters, scuffing his shoe on the cement, “and my shot is awesome, okay?”

“So you mean I have an awesome shot?”

“I mean stop showing me up and playing my position, you dumb ass!”

41; completion. (Ref: 2006 playoffs)

The series ends after the 7^th game and when they line up to shake hands, Dion tells Ryan to do his best down the road to find victory. Ryan feels disappointed when they lose to Edmonton, but stores the words of encouragement in his heart to find redemption in 2007.

42; clouds. (Ref: Rogers Wireless commercials, any of the ‘fewest dropped calls’ ones)

Ryan is talking animatedly to Dion on the phone when his flight takes off, somehow managing to evade the attention of the stewardesses. The plane cuts past the clouds before his call is dropped and he is left with an automated voice telling him that the call has been disconnected. He rests his cheek on a fist and ponders switching his network to Rogers.

43; sky.

Ryan watches Dion’s plane lift off and into the sky; across the landing strip, over the airport, through the clouds and into the horizon. He reminds himself that when Dion leaves, it is not because he wants to.

44; heaven. (Ref: World Juniors 2005)

They are standing on the open ice, arms looped around their teammates and smiles wide; they sing their national anthem at the top of their lungs, terribly off-key, but they don’t care because they are still feeling the adrenaline from redemption. When all the formalities of awards and photos are finished, the team skates to the dressing room, each player clutching and grasping at their golden medallions in an excited chatter.

Ryan is called for an interview and that’s when Dion realizes that amidst all the celebration, he has yet to celebrate with Ryan. He butts into the interview and plays reporter. When he is done fooling around, he wraps an arm around Ryan’s shoulder with a big grin and faces the camera.

“Let’s go have some fun,” Dion says, and only Ryan recognizes the dirty undertones of that statement.

45; hell. (Ref: 2008 playoff games. Calgary lost 2-0 and Anaheim lost 4-0)

“Tonight was just fucking awful!” Dion says in ire. Ryan holds the phone a good distance away from his ear as he continues to listen to Dion recount the unjust refereeing.

“I mean, what the hell, right?! For every one penalty they had, we had two! Two! This was the worst fucking game ever. We got shut out! That’s just bullshit, god damn it.”

Ryan sighs and finally replies: “You obviously have not seen the highlights tonight.”

46; sun.

It is a glorious day to soak up the sun, but they hide away from the public to mutter sweet nothings in low, whispered voices.

47; moon.

When Dion is exhausted after a game, he sits outside to rejuvenate his senses with some fresh air. And when he feels the biting loneliness of distance, he gazes up at the moon, pondering if Ryan is looking at the same moon that very moment.

And he is.

48; waves.

Ryan’s team is down three men to four and he finds himself next to Dion when he is waved out of the face-off circle. The referee bends over to fix a chip in the ice and Ryan steals a glance at the crowd, taking in the atmosphere in awe; the sea of red rising up and down all around him in perfect synchronization. He stifles a laugh when he sees a large structured man jumping with enthusiasm.

“Dee, look,” he whispers, directing Dion’s gaze with a nod of his head. Dion looks up as the referee blows the whistle, and breaks into a fit of giggles when the puck drops. Ryan stifles his own childish glee and shoots the puck down to the opposite end of the rink.

49; hair.

Dion pulls the hood of Ryan’s sweater down and pats his head lovingly.

“Where’s all the goods?”

Ryan frowns. “Go fuck yourself.”

5o; supernova.

They lie on the beach, toes buried in the cool sand and blankets pulled up to their chest. The fire crackers light up in brilliant shades of pinks and purples and oranges before fading into the velvet sky. At this moment, they know that promises of faith are enough.

042. Suits

Sat, 08 Mar 2008 10:00:29 GMT

Title: 042. Suits
Pairing: Kibum & Kyuhyun
Rating: G
840 words
Kibum performs magic.

Kibum shuffles the deck, red cards topping one another in quick, blurring movements, entrancing Kyuhyun with his agility. He aligns the cards into a uniform pile before spreading it out with his palm, spacing them out in a single swipe.

“Pick a card,” he insists, smiling with anticipation. Kyuhyun nods, scanning the bridge of cards that lay before him, and picks one just off center. He drags the card face down towards himself and picks it up quickly, covering the backing of the card with both hands and peeks over the top to make sure Kibum is not sneaking a glance. He glimpses at the identity of the card (the ace of spades) and puts it back on the table, hands guarding the card.

“Tell me when to stop.” Hands start moving again as Kibum squares the deck even and begins mixing the cards up quickly. Halfway through the deck, Kyuhyun instructs Kibum to cease his shuffling.

“Put your card on top, face down.” Kyuhyun gives Kibum an appraising look, not moving a muscle. Kibum rolls his eyes with a sigh and turns away to let Kyuhyun place the card on the deck with privacy. A tap on his hand lets him know that Kyuhyun is done and Kibum turns back, putting the deck of cards back together into a single pile and between the two of them on the table.

“Say the magic words,” Kibum says with a toothy grin, hand hovering above the playing cards.

Kyuhyun smirks, “Only Donghae can do magic.”

Kibum raises an eyebrow and sticks his tongue out at Kyuhyun before moving the pile to the left and spreading them out in an arch. He moves his index and middle fingers to shuffle through the cards and stops when he reaches the one blue card standing out amongst the sea of red. Kyuhyun’s eyes widen and he catches himself before he thinks Kibum notices the surprise.

With a sneaky grin, Kibum separates the scattered cards and squares them up to two decks and picks up the one with the blue on top. His fingers run along the edges of the cards once before he flips the top card over, revealing an ace of spades.

“No way!” Kyuhyun puts his palms on the table and leans forward, staring at his chosen card on top of the pile, jaw open. He shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s not possible, you switched cards or something.”

“Still don’t believe me? Tell me when to stop.” Kibum flips the card back around and tosses the blue card face down onto the table and combines the cards back into a single unit once again. He flips through the cards; right hand moving with precision as his left carefully grips groups of cards, mixing the deck thoroughly.

“Stop.” Kyuhyun says, eyes following the movement of the cards, watching and searching for quick and cheating fingers. Kibum halts his shuffling and shows him the bottom card of the deck in his right hand: a king of diamonds.

“Got it?” Kyuhyun nods, memorizing the card and keeps his intense gaze on the cards, searching for foul play. Kibum puts the deck together once again but this time hands it over to Kyuhyun.

“You shuffle it,” he says, full of confidence and excitement, “so you don’t think I’m cheating when I’m shuffling.”

Kyuhyun takes the deck of cards and splits it into two even piles before fanning them into one another and pushing them back up in a bridge. He repeats the process two times until he is sure that there is no way Kibum could follow the cards with his eyes and hands it back to him. Kibum places the deck in the middle of the table once again, hand over the cards.

“Say the magic words.”

Kyuhyun smiles sweetly. “Only Donghae can do magic.”

Kibum scoffs, pushes the deck to the left and spreads the deck out once last time. He separates the cards with two fingers, shuffling through the mass of red. When he reaches the end of the deck with no sign of an invading blue card, he looks up. Kyuhyun is smiling with glee and feeling victorious.

“I told you only Donghae can do magic.” He begins to stand up but is stopped by Kibum’s next words.

“Wait. There is a blue card on the table. Flip it over.” He motions to the lone card sitting at the edge of the table.

“There’s no way,” Kyuhyun says, reaching for the card, “absolutely no way.”

He flips the card over and is met with a cheery king of diamonds smiling back up at him. He stares at the card, dumbfounded, before he sits himself back in the chair, still staring at the card. Kibum smiles.

“Well?”

Kyuhyun is silent for a few seconds in quiet thought before he nods to himself. He looks over to Kibum, standing up to leave.

“Right,” he begins, looking back down at the card then to Kibum once again. “Only Donghae and Kibum can do magic.”

-------------
It's a real magic trick! :O I changed it up a bit but it gets the same results :D There's another video that shows how it's done but it's kind of boring (the guy's voice is so monotone =_='').

Basically, when he shuffles, he never lets the card that's on the bottom of the deck be shuffled. Using the cards I chose in the story, he starts off with the king of diamonds with the red backing on top of the king of diamonds with the blue backing. When he shuffles, he only takes the top deck of the cards. After the other person chooses a card, the magician puts the bottom of the deck on top of the chosen card, marking it with the blue card.

He spread it out and you see the blue card, then he splits the cards into two piles, picking up the one with blue on top. He does a double flip (takes the blue backing and the chosen card) to reveal the chosen card, then flips it back and tosses the blue aside.

He puts the cards back into one pile, with the king of diamonds with the red backing still at the bottom (because it was in the other pile, not the one with the blue backing) and "shuffles" again, asking you to tell him when to stop. When you say stop, he shows the bottom card, which is the king of diamonds. Says his magic words, looks through the cards, can't find the blue one and then checks the blue lying on the side and voila. Magic! :D

Back to miracle______

012. Chains

Thu, 03 Jan 2008 12:42:08 GMT

Title: 012. Chains
Pairing: Heechul & Kangin (& the other 11)
Rating: G
766 words
Heechul and Kangin get possessive

Heechul and Kangin were both competitive characters, so it was only natural that they were a little possessive. The use of dog tag chains were being abused as the two were claiming household items for their own.

The one to initiate had been Heechul who had been a little aggravated when Kangin had used his shampoo. When Kangin went to take a shower the following day, he had found a chain with a note attached around the cap of the shampoo bottle. ‘This is Heechul’s’ was scribbled on the laminated piece of paper with ‘that means you can’t use it, Kangin’ written in a much smaller font beneath the ownership claim.

Kangin had burst out of the washroom, set on revenge from the call-out. Dragging Eeteuk to the corner store, he’d bought a package of dog tag chains and returned home to scribble ‘this is Kangin’s’ on several pieces of paper before attaching them to the chains. He’d spent the rest of the day tagging things he knew Heechul would use; a hand mirror, a comb, Heechul’s favorite mug, and the closet which was dominated by Heechul’s absurb choice of jackets.

The next day, Kangin found possessive tags chained on his toothbrush, dress shirt, and the laces of his shoes. He sought out Heechul immediately.

Heechul sat at the kitchen table, legs crossed as he sipped on a cup that Kangin recognized as his own, flipping through a magazine. Kangin stopped short in front of Heechul and looked down at the elder. Heechul ignored Kangin’s presence and continued flipping through the magazine, forking himself some cake and sipping on his drink. The next thing he knew, Kangin had punctured a hole through his magazine and attached a chain through it.

“It’s mine,” Kangin said arrogantly, “stop touching it.”

Finally, Heechul looked up at Kangin and frowned. He pulled a pre-made chain out of his packet and snatched Kangin’s hand. Heechul attached the chain to Kangin’s watch and looked at him expectantly.

“What are you doing wearing my watch?”

Kangin growled in frustration and whipped the watch off and tossed it onto the table. He attached a chain to the mug Heechul was using, which resulted in Heechul attaching a chain to the coffee maker. Kangin attached a chain to the sink while Heechul attached one to the fridge. They took turns, slowly taking over the kitchen as Hankyung strolled in, rubbing his eyes and scuffling his feet. In a sudden turn of events, Hankyung found his wrist in Kangin’s hand as a chain was fixed onto his wrist. He looked down to read the little note and looked up in confusion after doing so. Heechul stood on the other side of the kitchen having just claimed the dishwasher and his jaw dropped as he saw the tag connected to Hankyung.

“You didn’t…!”

“Oh I did,” Kangin replied deviously. Heechul let out a noise of frustration and pushed Hankyung out of the way as he rushed out of the kitchen. Momentarily surprised by Heechul’s sudden rush, Kangin quickly followed suit. He nearly tripped from shock as he watched Heechul attach a chain to an unsuspecting Eeteuk who sat with the other members in the living room watching television.

“Why you…” Kangin stomped to Siwon and connected a chain around his wrist.

“You brat!” Heechul attacked Sungmin next, securing a chain around his wrist.

“… Two can play this game!” Kangin snapped a chain on Kibum.

“You started it!” Heechul wrapped a chain around Kyuhyun.

“You did, with the shampoo!” Donghae squirmed as Kangin held him tight to attach a chain on his wrist.

“You two are ruining the show for all of us,” Eeteuk insisted sternly.

“Yeah, and who used my shampoo in the first place?” Heechul ignored Eeteuk as he claimed Yesung as his own.

“It’s just shampoo! There was no other choice.” Kangin’s voice rose as he snapped a chain on Ryeowook.

“You could have used the bar of soap! You know I have to import that shampoo?” Eunhyuk squeaked as both Heechul and Kangin secured a chain on both his wrists at the same time.

“I attached it first,” Kangin said, voice low.

“I don’t think so,” Heechul replied, his gaze steady.

They both looked to Shindong and as quick as lightning, secured a chain on either one of his wrists as well.

The two began arguing, voices overlapping the game show playing on the television. In a moment of frustration, Eeteuk stood quickly and handcuffed Heechul’s right wrist to Kangin’s left.

“There,” Eeteuk said with satisfaction, “Now you can belong to each other.”

--------

...I'm referring to these kinds of chains :)

Back to miracle______

065. Grip

Sat, 29 Dec 2007 14:52:49 GMT

Title: 065. Grip
Pairing: Donghae
Rating: :(
260 words

Donghae knows that he has a vivid sense of imagination; thoughts that could be considered genius, if such a term were to be coined to imagination. It is an invisible talent, a type of magic that he was born with to meld fantasy with actuality. But as much as people tell him that he is blessed with a fantastic sense of bliss, Donghae can not help but feel a little lonely when he has time to sit alone and contemplate his ignorance.

When there is no noise to fuel his imagination, Donghae itches for something, anything, to occupy his mind because if he does not live in a fantasy, he has to live in his reality. And in his reality he thinks too much, scrutinizes mundane things to a point where it leaves him in a daze. A daze where he feels he should be more insightful and educated and learned from analyzing himself. Instead all he’s left with are vague, never ending questions like why and what if and wishes for things that are, in short, impossible.

However, what worries him the most is that if he reflects too much on one thing, Donghae creates a story, a figment of his imagination to help him understand his own thoughts until it starts to cross the line between his world of make believe and his world of truth. Sometimes Donghae wants to get a grip on reality but he gets so confused with what is real and what is not that it breaks his mind and leaves him lost between the two worlds.

Back to miracle______

021. Park Benches

Tue, 11 Dec 2007 05:01:19 GMT

Title: 021. Park Benches
Pairing: Yesung & Kyuhyun
Rating: G
1032 words
Yesung and Kyuhyun redecorate.
Inspired by the Friends episode where Ross and Chandler bought a new couch and they were bringing it up to their apartment. I actually took a few lines from that episode (oh you know which ones I'm talking about :P) so I just want to say, I DON'T TAKE CREDIT FOR THEM!

“Could you at least make yourselves useful and go get us some furniture?” That was the last thing Ryeowook had said to Yesung and Kyuhyun before he’d left to do an interview for the day.

It wasn’t so much that Yesung and Kyuhyun didn’t want to go out and shop for furniture, because they both knew that it could be great fun. It was just that it would be such a bother to fill out the forms and well, the furniture store was across town. They figured they could do it a little later but a little later turned into a lot later.

When they received a phone call from Ryeowook in the early evening, it composed of inquiries of whether or not they had gotten a couch yet. And when the truthful answer of ‘no’ had been announced, Ryeowook had uttered a couple menacing threats that left even Yesung shaking a little. When they finally got out of the apartment and rushed to the furniture store, they found it had closed early for the day. This is how Yesung and Kyuhyun found themselves standing in front of the park entrance, all donned in black and nervous.

“This was your brilliant plan? We’re stealing a park bench?!” Kyuhyun took a step back onto the street and made to head back to the apartment but Yesung grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He put a finger to Kyuhyun’s lips and turned towards the wooden bench.

“We have to be quick and quiet about this,” Yesung whispered. He went to one end of the bench and bent down to pick up it up by the legs. He motioned for Kyuhyun to grab the other end with his head but Kyuhyun wouldn’t budge from the sidewalk.

“I’m not a criminal!” Kyuhyun shook his head and put his hands in front of him in a gesture that reminded Yesung of Siwon. Yesung let out a grunt of frustration, walked over to Kyuhyun and grabbed the back of his neck before pulling him towards the bench.

“I know it seems bad to have the cops on your tail, but having a cranky and angry Ryeowook is worse,” Yesung assured. He bent down once again to pick up the bench and waited for Kyuhyun to grab the other end.

“Well when you put it that way…” Kyuhyun gripped the legs of the right side of the bench and heaved it up. It wasn’t nearly as light as he was hoping it would be and he had to shift his arms so that the weight was evenly distributed on his upper body. Yesung started speed walking back towards the apartment and Kyuhyun followed suit.

They made their way down the side of the apartment so that they could bring it in from the back. Of course, they hadn’t taken into consideration the vast amount of bushes that lined the opposite side of the apartment. Yesung’s curses were flying left and right as branches scratched and snagged their faces and clothes. Finally, with great effort, they opened the back door and squeezed the park bench in through the doors.

“Okay. Now the hard part.” Yesung was backing himself up towards the stairs when Kyuhyun dropped his end of the bench. Surprised at the sudden bang of metal hitting the floor, Yesung let go of his end as well.

“Wait a minute. If you’re going backwards up, that means I’m going forwards up.”

“Good job figuring that out. What’s your point?”

“But that means all the weight will be on me!”

Yesung stared at him with an expressionless gaze. “Yes. Now hurry up, Ryeowook’s going to back any second now.”

“No! We’re switching.” Kyuhyun made a move to push Yesung towards the other end of the bench and received a smarting smack over the head.

“You’re younger than me,” Yesung reasoned, “You have more energy than I do.”

“But hyung - ”

Yesung’s phone started ringing and he held it up for Kyuhyun to see. It was Ryeowook. Yesung picked up the phone and gave a few curt answers before ending the call and shoving it back into the pocket of his pants.

“He said he’ll be back in twenty minutes, let’s hurry.” Yesung picked up his end of the bench and starting backing up towards the stairs again. Kyuhyun reluctantly picked up his end of the bench and started heading towards the stairs as well. They had gotten up the first ten steps when they noticed the staircase changed directions in ninety degree right angles.

“It’s okay, we can do it,” Yesung said, tugging on the bench. When they reached the first corner, they had to experiment a number of awkward positions before they could get it even halfway turned.

“Okay, pivot. Pivot. Pi-vot. Pivot, Kyuhyun. Pivot… Pivot…Are you pivoting?”

“I’m pivoting!” Frustration laced his words as he huffed and puffed from the strain of carrying most of the bench’s weight. Finally they got past the first corner and continued their way up. Fortunately for them, they lived on the second floor, but unfortunately for Kyuhyun there was a moment in which he had to carry the bench all by himself because Yesung had to open the door. They put the park bench in the middle of the living room, right in front of the television set and stood up, proud of their accomplishment. Grabbing a few blankets and pillows from their respective rooms, the two made themselves comfortable on the bench.

A few minutes later, Ryeowook returned home to find the two completely absorbed in the show that was on. At first he didn’t realize that what they were sitting on was a park bench and made his way to tell them how satisfied he was with them. But when he got closer and realization hit, he found himself unable to speak.

Yesung and Kyuhyun glanced over to where Ryeowook was standing, staring at the stolen park bench and gave a chorus of greetings.

“I… I thought I told you to go get furniture!”

“We did.” Kyuhyun pointed at the park bench and shuffled over towards Yesung. “Come sit.”

Ryeowook decided that he’d do the furniture shopping himself from now on.

Back to miracle______

089. "I like your face."

Mon, 10 Dec 2007 07:54:33 GMT

Title: 039. "I like your face."
Pairing: Kangin & Ryeowook
Rating: G
881 words
Kangin is a bit of a dunce.

It was twelve o’clock in the afternoon and eleven of the thirteen members had already gone out to do a little grocery shopping to replenish their house. They’d left Kangin behind because he’d still been sleeping and Ryeowook had been the next one on the list to watch over him. Ryeowook was just glad his turn had come when Kangin was sleeping in, not when he was drunk with alcohol.

By one o’clock Kangin had woken up and was getting restless from the shortage of activity in the house. He went to look for Ryeowook and found him in his room. Ryeowook was on his laptop and Kangin was having an intense staring contest with the side of Ryeowook’s head. Kangin was starting to get antsy and decided he’d have to bully Ryeowook into talking with him.

“Ryeowook. Pay attention to me.”

Ryeowook turned his head towards Kangin and raised an eyebrow. “Yes…?”

“You’re pretty smart with how to talk to people, right?” Kangin figured that while he had the younger boy in his company he’d exploit his brains all that he could.

“That’s what people say, I guess.” Ryeowook looked mildly interested in what Kangin had to say.

“Well, you know how I sort of have a man-crush on Eeteuk, right?” Kangin gave him a look that dared Ryeowook to mock him. Ryeowook looked slightly terrified.

“Er … yes. Yes, I think mostly everyone does. Well, except for Eeteuk I guess. He’s kind of oblivious.”

“I know,” Kangin said with a glare. An involuntary squeak escaped from Ryeowook and he closed his laptop to give his full attention to Kangin. Kangin gave a look of approval and continued, “I want to tell him.”

“Okay, how would you start?” Ryeowook walked over to his bed and sat cross legged with his hands on his lap and waited patiently for Kangin’s answer.

“I don’t know,” Kangin replied. His arms were crossed while he paced back and forth in front of Ryeowook. “Something that’ll make him really happy, you know? Kind of romantic, but not super cheesy because I’m not really a cheesy kind of guy, you know? I want to say something nice like, ‘I like your face.’”

Ryeowook looked at him with an expression that articulated great concern. “You’re not serious, are you?”

Kangin stopped his pacing and turned towards Ryeowook. He uncrossed his arms and stalked over to the bed, towering over the younger boy. “What’s wrong with that?!”

Ryeowook leaned back from his presence, and stuttered out an apology. “I’m sorry! It’s just… ‘I like your face.’? … really?”

“Of course not! That … That was just example!” Kangin re-crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling searching for inspiration. He inhaled a breath, leveling his gaze and began pacing once again.

“Here, I’ll give you some ideas,” Ryeowook suggested as he straightened up his sitting position. “You could start with something casual first, like ‘I’m so happy when I’m with you!’”

“I thought I said I didn’t want anything cheesy.”

Ryeowook scrunched up his face and stuck his tongue out at Kangin while his back was turned from his pacing. “How about ‘my heart beats faster when you’re around?’”

“Now you’re just making fun of me,” Kangin said with a frown. He shuffled across the floor racking his brain for something original and classy to say but nothing came to mind. He was so engrossed with his thoughts that he hadn’t realized that eleven members had just returned from their grocery trip. He snapped to attention when he heard Eeteuk shouting from down the hall. It sounded like he was running away from someone.

The door swung open and Eeteuk ran in and looked around the room. Seeing that Ryeowook was closer to him, he grabbed Ryeowook’s wrists and pulled him up off the bed and shoved him out the door. The only reasoning given for his actions was a quick shout of “Sacrifice!” before he slammed the door back shut and secured it with a chair on the knob. He let out a sigh of relief and looked up at Kangin with a smile and slight indent on his left cheek.

“What were you two doing in here?”

Kangin froze wide-eyed and stiff, unsure of what to say. It was the perfect opportunity with the two of them secluded from the rest, but he hadn’t had time to rehearse his lines at all. Ryeowook’s help had been a complete failure and really, he hadn’t gotten further than ‘we need to talk’ in his own ideas. Eeteuk’s smile was fading and a worried expression was starting to form. No! No, change back! Kangin tried to will Eeteuk’s face back to a smile but it was too late. The worried expression was there and Eeteuk gave him a questioning gaze.

“Kangin, wha-”

Kangin couldn’t help it when the words came out.

“I’m so happy when I’m with you! My heart beats faster when you’re around! I like your face!”

Kangin stood still, mouth agape and horrified at his own outburst.

Eeteuk looked taken aback at the sudden rush of words. He blinked once, twice, three times before the smile was back. He took three strides towards Kangin and pulled him into a hug.

“I like your face, too.”

----

Ummmm I don't know if this was kind of cheating or not. I hope there was enough Kangin + Ryeowook to make it legal >_>'''

Back to miracle______

suju challenge

Mon, 10 Dec 2007 07:09:15 GMT

100 Super Junior fic challenge :)

Start: December 9, 2007
Progress: 6/100

001. Freefall, Eeteuk/Kangin
002. Christmas, Heechul/Ryeowook
003. Blindfolds, Hankyung/Yesung
004. Chocolate, Yesung/Shindong
005. Overworked, Ryeowook/Kibum
006. Burn, Heechul/Yesung
007. Dark, Eeteuk/Sungmin
008. Locket, Heechul/Sungmin
009. Coffee, Eunhyuk/Donghae
010. Shiver, Heechul/Heechul
011. Rooftops, Hankyung/Sungmin
012. Chains, Heechul/Kangin
013. Watermelon, Shiwon/Kyuhyun
014. Home, Heechul/Donghae
015. Lick, Heechul/Hankyung
016. Quiet Places, Yesung/Ryeowook
017. Accidents, Ryeowook/Ryeowook
018. Keys, Eeteuk/Shiwon
019. Clocks, Shindong/Eunhyuk
020. Glow, Donghae/Kibum
021. Park Benches, Yesung/Kyuhyun
022. Diamonds, Sungmin/Kibum
023. Tears, Yesung/Shiwon
024. Spotlight, Sungmin/Kyuhyun
025. Smoke, Eeteuk/Shindong
026. Pressure, Eunhyuk/Ryeowook
027. Replacement, Heechul/Kibum
028. Choking, Eeteuk/Ryeowook
029. Sea, Sungmin/Shiwon
030. Warmth, Kangin/Donghae
031. Midnight Walks, Shiwon/Ryeowook
032. Roses, Shindong/Shindong
033. Flirt, Yesung/Kibum
034. Acceptance, Hankyung/Kibum
035. Blind, Heechul/Shiwon
036. Bathroom Tiles, Hankyung/Shiwon
037. Rotation, Hankyung/Kyuhyun
038. "I want you to stay forever.", Eeteuk/Kibum
039. All the People, Hankyung/Donghae
040. Skin, Shindong/Kyuhyun
041. Dance Practice, Shindong/Kibum
042. Suits, Kibum/Kyuhyun
043. Washing Machines, Donghae/Shiwon
044. Rejection, Eunhyuk/Eunhyuk
045. Smooth, Shindong/Sungmin
046. Stuffed Animals, Kangin/Eunhyuk
047. Stutter, Sungmin/Sunmgin
048. That Girl, Eeteuk/Hankyung
049. "What's the difference?", Hankyung/Hankyung
050. Lost, Heechul/Kyuhyun
051. Aliens, Ryeowook/Kyuhyun
052. Cake, Sungmin/Donghae
053. Puppies, Eeteuk/Heechul
054. Self-Image, Hankyung/Shindong
055. Shatter, Kangin/Kangin
056. Filth, Donghae/Ryeowook
057. Scales, Donghae/Kyuhyun
058. Lies, Shiwon/Shiwon
059. Calendar, Eeteuk/Eeteuk
060. Humid, Heechul/Eunhyuk
061. Disguises, Yesung/Yesung
062. God, Hankyung/Kangin
063. Video Games, Yesung/Eunhyuk
064. Balance, Kyuhyun/Kyuhyun
065. Grip, Donghae/Donghae
066. Mice, Eeteuk/Donghae
067. Sunrise, Yesung/Sungmin
068. Degradation, Kibum/Kibum
069. Sailing, Kangin/Shiwon
070. Thunderstorm, Kangin/Sungmin
071. Plays (Theatre), Hankyung/Ryeowook
072. Muscles, Kangin/Kibum
073. Milkshakes, Eeteuk/Eunhyuk
074. Flu Season, Shindong/Ryeowook
075. Wrap, Yesung/Donghae
076. Youth, Shindong/Shiwon
077. Pass, Sungmin/Ryeowook
078. Sickness, Kangin/Kyuhyun
079. The Same Old Thing, Eeteuk/Yesung
080. Crackle, Eunhyuk/Shiwon
081. Noise/Noiseless, Kangin/Shindong
082. Evening, Shiwon/Kibum
083. Fever, Hankyung/Eunhyuk
084. Snowflakes, Eunhyuk/Kyuhyun
085. Ache, Shindong/Donghae
086. Violins, Eunhyuk/Kibum
087. Belief, Sungmin/Eunhyuk
088. Numbers, Eeteuk/Kyuhyun
089. "I like your face.", Kangin/Ryeowook
090. Clean, Heechul/Shindong
091. Stars, Yesung/Kangin
092. Gorgeous, WC *
093. Bubble Baths, WC *
094. Makeup, WC *
095. Drowning, WC *
096. "I like you. I like you. I like you.", WC *
097. Glasses, WC *
098. Soothing, WC *
099. Apples, WC *
100. Regrets, WC *