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send me a āŖ and i will write a short drabble about our muses, based on the first song that comes up on shuffle;
snow white - labyrinth ear
Iām wishing (Iām wishing)For the one I loveTo find me (to find me)Today (today)Iām hoping (Iām hoping)And Iām dreaming ofĀ The nice things (the nice things)Ā Heāll say
[ the emphasis is obviously not on the narration of the lyricsā click the link
[ china au ? where ren is psychotic (read: psychologically fixated on boy) and myungsoo is a boy that exists im sorry
But he just laughed. Ā Told him he was cute. Ā Ran his fingers through his blonde and tugged and tugged. Ā His red disappeared too. But the glitter never left. Ā Something pulled at his eyelashes then; something was different about this Charming. Ā Was he mirrors? Ā His corners didnāt match. Ā Not when their hands touched, not when they didnāt. Ā Everyoneās corners matched. Ā Even at the hospital. Ā Why was he the exception?
Perhaps he should bury him. Ā But then that would be silly, wouldnāt it? Indentations in the sheets, where he moved, but no longer? Ā Overdone. He was too pretty to feed to his flowers. Ā (Not everyone was). Perhaps he was to keep him. Ā He did keep a pair of good hands. Ā And Shanghai was never interesting enough a city without a mouth to keep oneself occupied. Ā Would he be just as pretty just beneath the surface of the Bund? Ā How blue would the blue of his lips be? Ā Would he still sparkle? Heās taken to answering to Charming, now. Ā None of that silly āMyungsooā babble. Ā Though, itās nice to have options. Ā He lets him lick ice cream off the tip of his nose. Ā People keep dogs around, do they not?
His tummy was so soft. Ā It would be so easy. Ā Too easy. Ā Fifteen minutes of secrets, and then maybe he would lose his sparkle. Ā But then he wouldnāt make breakfast anymore, and that wouldnāt be any fun, even if they were truly only ever crummy breakfasts. Besides, this was his favorite set of linen. Ā Charmingās hair was always nice like this; mussed. Sleepy in the way the lines of his face blurred, softened, slackened; sparkle very much intact. Ā It upset his stomach. Ā Two faced boy.
Was it Christmas? Ā It was hard to remember with fingers pressed to the notches in his spine. Ā Charming liked that. Ā Counting things. Ā Fingers, knuckles, breaths, teeth. Ā Liked counting them with his own. Ā Always sparkling, eyelashes a flutter of silver leaves, tongue of gold foil. Ā How pretty would his red smear? Ā Would he disappear like so much sleet down Chinese gutters? Ā Fingers trapped between lips trapped between guitar stings trapped between the heavy of snow flurries make for a warm winter, and Ren doesnāt think that thatās very fair. Ā Winters are to be anything but. Ā It was what sold hot chocolate and mittens, was it not?
He frowned, eyes fixed at his hands placed about Charmingās throat, breaths the even meter that accompanied sleep. Ā He smiled then, the bastard. Ā Something glimmering poking through his teeth. Ā He lowered his hands, shifting to curl into his side.
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When his alarm went off, as per usual; he only came to groan at it first before even thinking of getting up, but after turning it off not making anymore sounds. He had to get up nonetheless, so there was no need to make a big deal out of it. Instead he stumbled upon his feet, hair messy and not exactly dressed in more clothing than his underwear and a big t-shirt, barely covering enough to make any justice of the usage of if more than for him not to freeze to death during night. Spring was coming, so he couldnāt stay it sweatpants anymore without kicking them off. Caffeine did sound awfully tempting, yet there was a ritual to withhold. But before coffee or anything else, Kyungsoo had as of habit to get fresh air. Or well, fresh and freshā most likely polluted. So without further ado, he made his way to the window, eyes half-lidded and feeling heavy like lead when managing to open it. When about to stick his head out the window, he suddenly heard a sound right above him, automatically making him look up. Big mistake. Leaving the window open, he was left stumbling back in surprise as aĀ someoneĀ was actually right there, by his window. How? He had no idea, but it was enough to send him backwards until falling to the floor with a gasp.
Somewhere inside, an alarm goes off, the sound clawing at his nape for a moment before it's shut off, sounds of a human tottering about in the early stages of wakening tickle his ears, and he smiles. Ā They aren't all the same, but they are. Ā Below, a red balloon slips from the grip of a distressed child's fingers, and so he follows, sliding from his perch to meet it on its way up, patiently hovering by the window that he'd sat above prior, eyes fixed on the slow ascent of the balloon. Ā The gratuitous wailing by the red faced child, only barely anchored by their insistent mother only seems to bolster the balloon, picking up in speed. Ā The sight makes him laugh, and the child, stories and stories and stories below seems to find him, eyes previously rooted to the balloon now on him. Ā Surprise explodes nebulously along the side of the building, and the whining ceases for a moment, before the child is tugging at his mother's hand, screaming to "Look! Look!". But the mother isn't having any of it and the child is taken in the direction of the rest of the goers and no one sees a thing. Ā It happens more often than not, and it's a bit saddening, he thinks, balloon string in his grasp, tinkering with the knot that had come loose at the end. Ā Behind him, there are sounds of little struggle, and he thinks perhaps it might be prudent that he get back to the roof, before deciding that prudence was rather an ugly shade on him anyways. Ā Turning to meet the window opener, he's greeted with a gasp and a flash of wide eyes before the thump of a body hitting the floor resounds, obtuse and brown coloring before his eyes. Ā The responses he's received in replacement of socio-normative greetings as of late have only been getting increasingly strange. Ā Poking his head through the window left ajar, he watches the other curiously, pupils waxing viridescent. Ā "Er. Ā Hello? You've fallen."
Ā Ā Ā It canāt be possible for a goddess to forget her chores but she obviously does as she skips the daily movement towards spring and instead find herself walking along a round at the outskirts or Seoul. The rose in her had looks tempting and dangerous but as she grasps the thorn she feels no pain, instead theres a soft poke almost as the thorn canāt seem to harm her mistress and even if the night is young, she wants to experience something before its over.Ā
Ā Ā Ā But she never expected to see what now is right in front of her. Perhaps only two meters away she spots the body of a young boy only, ever so fragile against the dirty ground and heās covered in dirt and liquid of other kinds which sheād rather not know of.Ā
Ā Ā Ā āOhāā her mind tells her to run, perhaps the stranger is dangerous when (or if) he wakes up but then again her nicer side cannot leave him alone again. āCome hereā weāll end your suffering.ā Pausing after having that said, she collects her mind and uses branches and living plants to create something that can carry the boy to a nearby meadow.
Ā Ā Ā āWe just have to get you out of hereā¦ā she mumbles to herself in silence, watching the plants carry his ruined body towards the soft grass.
It's an ickle blackness he finds himself in, not quite the space he floats through when he's popping about. Ā Teleportation is usually a bit more pleasant, sans the tugging feeling. Ā Here, the blackness pricks, teeth abounds, though he can't seem to distinguish the teeth from the space it resides. Ā Perhaps the blackness in it's entirety is teeth? Ā
There's something vaguely familiar about this sensation, about the blackness, but he's a little preoccupied with the venom that sinks into his veins, viscera tightening against the onslaught of pain. Ā It's too much, this. Perhaps this is it? Ā How it feels to end?
White begins to seep into the blackness plucking teeth like berries from foliage. Ā He almost laughs. Ā Ending was not part of his occupation. Ā Silly me, he thinks. Ā Soon, his eyes peel open, eyelashes sticky with tears, pupils cloudy.
He is moving, though he doesn't remember trying to, and someone is near, words tumbling softly across his cheeks. Ā They were meant for him? Ā Blinking, he struggles to push himself up, noting that the bleeding has only slowed marginally, and would probably be of dire circumstance had he been human. Ā That isn't the case, however, so his eyes pass over his unmoving legs to the plantlife that seems to be taking him somewhere. Ā Odd, he doesn't remember doing that.Ā
Turning to face the vaguely familiar presence, he speaks. "Um. Ā Hallo. Where are we headed?"
He really shouldn't have chanced it. Ā But the colors on that man were absolutely murderous. Ā He hadn't been that frightened (the seizing, enveloping kind) in quite some time. Ā Destruction bleeds from chaos bleeds from destruction. Ā It's so tired, he thinks to himself, trying not to be phased by the lingering (cloying) smell of rot. Ā He thinks of the boy, eyes shooting crimson as the blood seeping from his veins, eyelashes hardly strongholds against the injustice. Ā The tears sting as they drip into the cut in his cheek. He is only vaguely aware of the small blossoms blooming about him, out of the red from his veins, sprites fussing about the open veins and the bruising. Ā It's debilitating. Ā
His eyes, cloudy now, flicker about in an attempt to figure out where exactly he ended up, though it's difficult when the planet spins this way and that. Ā He has to close his eyes. Ā
If it worked out alright, he was probably in the outskirts of some wooded area or another, and he'd stop bleeding soon. Ā If not, it could mean some time before he'd heal. Ā He lets the thought of perhaps console him before giving in to the fingers at his throat and losing consciousness.
Sitting rather primly on the railing of someone's fire escape, watching the pedestrians crowd in the direction of a subway station;Ā osmosis, trying to achieve maximum efficiency in their maximum capacity lives. Ā Going, going, going. Ā Gone is the end result, isn't it? Ā After all the going, they get gone and the humans cluster and boohoo at the lack of going one goer is able to go before going to go on with their lives. Ā Miserable lot. Ā He does like watching, though; the colors of hectic are particularly wonderful during rush hour, and he finds himself picking his way over rooftops to get a bit closer. Eyes paling to an off white, he kicks his legs over the edge of a rooftop, dangling outside someone's window, wishing for some fruit to accompany his morning of watching.
{ā } He was surprised by the response he got, how the other male seemed to perfectly calm while he himself was practically itching for something so simple as blood. It made his entire being crumble under desperate needs, made restrain hard to acquire and even harder to actually keep in place when mustered. That was the reason behind his muscles almost aching as he strolled forward to make the distance between the two of them lessen. As the snap of the beingās fingers occurred, already existing suspicions were confirmed. This man,was no human. Though without word Aleksei extended his hand, cigarette carefully tucked in between two of his fingers as he let it ignite with the help of the beingās burning flame. āIt has been a while since I saw such fine tricks.ā He stated calmly, taking a long drag of his cigarette, blowing out a cloud of smoke afterwards, with a content sigh.Ā
No mercy.Ā
He hummed a little, silent as he smoked , keeping an eye on the being in front of him, only letting the cigarette burn for about a minute before he dropped it to chilled asphalt, stepping on it with ease before amber hues lingered by those of the other, a malicious gleam to his own as he smirked. If anything was beneficial to him when it came to the hunt of supernatural beings, it would be his beating heart, his radiation of body heat. His radiating of feigned humanity. It was within the blink of an eye that he had grasped the male by his shoulder and shoved him against the nearest brick wall, fangs bared and gleaming in the dull light of the moon as he chuckled. āMight look friendly, but Iām not.ā He stated without real reason as he leaned in to let sharp teeth graze the column of the beingās neck. āI usually donāt like inhumane beings, but youā¦ your scent. Youāre tempting enough to get my blood to boil, my skin to itch.ā He practically hissed. āWhich is why I canāt let you get away.ā His voice turned soft all of a sudden, an amused hum escaping parted lips as his grip tightened, free hand resting against the tiling beside the maleās head.Ā
Watching with ever curious eyes, almost reflective in the dark, away from streetlamps, he smiles, almost perturbing in its pleasantness. Ā The man before him colors frustrated, and something else. Ā Hungry? Ā Off-guard? Perhaps both. Ā He really is a strange creature, this one. Ā Too soon, a cigarette is being lit, and he watches for the color of surprise. Ā It doesn't come. Ā Reassurance, confirmation, instead. Ā Something in his belly knots at the thought of malintent. Ā His lips, however, quirk up in a smile of mischief. āHas it? You are hanging round with the wrong circle then, my friend. That sounds positively dreadful.ā Ā He watches the back and forth as the small flame hops from alternating fingers, the fire sprites flitting to kiss his cheek beforeĀ dissipating, turning his attention back to the smoking male. "Trickery is the only thing that makes living bearable."Ā Ā
Soon, the cigarette is dropped to the ground and quashed, and he too, is pressed back, suppressed, repressed. Ā The impatience is actually quite tickling, and though he doesn't laugh, he can't help the grin that tugs at his lips. "Too bad it never lasts, hm?" Ā He lifts a hand to place it over a beating heart, the action naive, the intention much the opposite. He hums, eyes lifting to the window of space above the vampire's shoulder, shrugging easily, though the action brings his skin all the closer to waiting teeth. "You didn't look very friendly to me. Ā Agitated, perhaps. Ā Handsome, perhaps. Ā Friendly? Ā It's a bit of a reach." At this, he chuckles, pupils glimmering into the dark. Ā His lips purse for a moment, as the familiarity of the situation settles, and an almost fond smile tugs at his lips. "You wouldn't be the first to say something like that, hemovore. Ā There is good reason my scent triggers you this way." Ā The pause reminds him of a puppy that hasn't properly been fed, and isn't quite sure to do when a bowl of food's been placed before it, though this is hardly a puppy. Still, it makes him smile. "Go on, then."
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send me a āŖ and i will write a short drabble about our muses, based on the first song that comes up on shuffle;
where you'll find me now - neutral milkĀ hotel
All I perceive is wasted and broken
Silvery streams, sacred when spoken
Slam into me and into the ditch of debris.
And you smoke in the park, you sleep in the greenery,
Everyone barks but all still believing
To tear out your heart would send all your secrets to me,
But I let you down,
And swollen and small is where you'll find me now
With that silver stripping off
From my tongue you're tearing out,
And you'll never hear me talk.
Your teeth believe that teeth are for tearing
Tear into me and the scent of you sweating
Smells good to me, as long as we keep in our clothes
And out in the dark, the world is still rolling,
Kids in their cars, cigarette smoking
And all that they are, just reeks with the sweetest belief.
But I let you down,
And swollen and small is where you'll find me now,
With that silver stripping off
From my tongue you're tearing out,
And you'll never hear me talk.
All I could want is silver and spinning
Out from your arms and into the prettyĀ
Pit of your heart - so simply and softly we'd flow.
But I let you down,
And swollen and small is where you'll find me now,
With that silver stripping off
From my tongue you're tearing out,
And you'll never hear me talk.
Into you I will glow.
Into you.
[ au where ren's a pathological liar even in death where everything's made up and the points don't matter!Ā
So it's easy when she shows up in his car, feet on the dashboard and promises of bright lights and carnies and funnel cake on her tongue.
By the time they get to the island, they're maybe probably on their fourth blunt, and she hasn't been in her seat for the last two, deciding that it'd probably be easier to run her fingers through his undercut if she was on his lap. It's behind heavy eyelashes that he notices, not for the first time, that she has summer teeth, sunshine that bites into his skin and leaves him burnt.Ā
He pockets the tickets when they leave the booth, already falling in the direction of a concession stand, Kiko already maudlin, leaning into him when the carnival's tall man steps over them in stilts, tugging and tugging and tugging until she has her hands occupied with shaved ice and cotton candy, mouths full of hot dog. Ā The works. He thinks the view from the top of the ferris wheel looks oddly like a card punched kaleidoscope lens, spots of focus and glittering lights, multiplied and magnified, bright lights and skewed lines bleeding into slow drips and cotton candied breaths.
They're spinning, fingers reaching out to clutch at walls that aren't really there, pushing each other along and smearing face paint on each other's necks along the way, eyes pits of endless pretty. Ā Someone somewhere watches their skin peel into neon colors reflecting and refracting, nails digging into their own skin, quick to purple as the cinnamon sugar waxes bitter in their mouths.
It's only when their wallets come back empty do they decide it might be a good idea to head back, falling into each other for a good while before she nicks the bottom of her bare foot on crushed glass, climbing onto his back to be carried. Ā She lost her shoes somewhere between the fun house and the fortune teller, distracted by the carnies and how the world made more sense behind distorted glass, cheshire smiles and bearded ladies.
Kiko's on her kick about aliens by the time the carnival music's turned to white noise, blanketed by cicadas chirping and he's trying to get the key into the key hole, eyes foggy. Ā She's looking up into the stars like they're going to fall any minute and she can't wait to be home. Ā She gets that look, and they're both cross faded as all fuck but it doesn't explain the feeling he gets, knowing that she's not looking up, but back. Ā Knowing that neither of them really belong here, but there, silver and burning, pockmarks in the dark of the universe, but choosing to sit on the hood of a beat up vista cruiser. Ā Just because.
So when they get cut off by a sedan on the bridge back to the mainland, he thinks about the slow slide of her fingers with his, how the river they didn't finish crossing is more debris than water, and how the truck slamming into them is absolutely glowing, and they're laughing, all teeth, because they had it all wrong. Ā
He was expecting it to rain, he was. But it was precisely because he had caught the message brewing in the clouds that he had wanted to move some of his sound equipment back to the studio ere of the grey masses partitioning and delivering an onslaught of moisture that would most certainly damage his newly acquired audio mixer accoutrements. He was only about to take to the skies when the rain had already started, and that hadn't seemed like such a good idea anymore.Ā Zeus. That unfeeling brute.Ā Cursing the god of lightning beneath his breath, cinereal eyes scanned his surroundings for shelter.
Ordinarily, rainstorms brought much felicity to the youth.Ā If it was severe enough, it kept mortals locked inside their homes, doors shut against the weather, leaving him to play about outside as he pleased.Ā Under the cover of rainfall, he was able to put his abilities to use without having to stifle them in fear that a human would see. But this was nary the time to be out in the downpour; there was sound mixing apparatus to be sheltered.
Drip
Drop.
Ā Ā Ā Drip-drop.
Drip-drop-drip-drop-drip-drop-
Swearing beneath his breath, he finds temporary sanctuary beneath an awning, clasping the mixer to his chest, tugging his coat over the metal in the instance that the rain decides to come down aslant.Ā Outside the safety of red and white cover, people are running to and fro seeking shelter, though his particular spot seems to go unnoticed by all, in the storm induced panic.
It's all desperate symmetry, the white lights, the straight lines. Ā He is a boy on the cusp of manhood, strung like fairy lights on the festive eve of life's Christmas, starlight in his pupils and sunlight in his veinsĀ waiting for the clock to strike midnight as death comes down the chimney, cheeks pink with delight, as he tiptoes about the house, collecting the souls shook loose from sagging skin. Ā Pirouettes through the flicker of his wick, always flirting. But he is the white lights, the straight lines. Ā His skin does not sag, will not sag. Ā Glitter that does not fade. Ā The lights stay up for the Christmas after that, and the Christmas after that, and the Christmas after that. Ā
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..Oh. {`he blinks once, trying to remember if he had or hadnāt given the stranger his name yet, and when he realises that the latter is the case, he flushes a faint shade of pink and tightens his hold around his notebooks, a blatant sign of embarrassment accompanied by the downturn of his gaze as he stares at his suddenly interesting shoes. for several seconds, heās silent, hardly realising what this break in conversation may cause the other male to assume, but his quietude is not from hesitation, but rather from shame. he has no trouble giving his name to his companion, because he seems quite honest and trustworthy (and theyāre about to have lunch together); thatās not the problem. the problem is that heād been stupid enough to forget to introduce himself, and now the stranger may think that he doesnāt even know his own name. how stupid. how embarrassing. he should be ashamed of himself. though it feels as if minutes pass, itās only a handful of seconds that heās lost in thought, and he keeps his gaze downcast as he replies softly, voice just barely audible over the general buzz of traffic around them} My name is Kyungsoo. I apologise for not having introduced myself earlier. {`with his gaze fixed on the ground, he misses the polite (and not at all offended) smile on the other maleās faceāperhaps an accurate representation of his life as a wholeāand is left believing that the stranger thinks him to be an idiot now. as caustic as his thoughts become, however, he replies with a small nod and begins to walk in the direction of where the restaurant is, voicing a quiet āplease, follow meā as he makes his way down the street, unsure of what sort of things people talk about as they walk with companionsābecause, well, heās never had to do this before} ..Are you allergic to anything, Ren? Iām lactose intolerant, so I.. I always check to see if anyone else has any dietary restrictions. You never know..
{`translucent eyes fix curiously at the top of his company's head, as that is really all he can do at this angle, the shorter having looked down, his aura scattering in rather alarming shades at the reception of his comment. Ā perhaps he should have kept it to himself? Ā he watches with some concern, though he is a bit wary, as it is rather customary of humans to tuck away their emotions in light of whatever situation they find themselves in, only to have the memory slip back into their consciousness at a later time. slippery creatures. Ā as of late, it seemed that, increasingly, regret was the most common emotion that seemed to bounce about the collective human psyche. Ā though that isn't exactly how the male before him seems to be coping. (what to, remains a bit of a mystery to him) it's not new, though he's really only been in the company of this man for less than a good hour, he is noticing a pattern. Ā it doesn't much matter the conversation, it seems (lest he be mistaken) he's one to turn blame on himself, judging from the angry colors the illegible babble of the other's thoughts take on, and the blonde's eyes cloud opaque with concern, before the other decides to speak, the concern fading quickly to geniality, smile pricking at his lips} Kyungsoo. {`he fixes his gaze on the other's down turned features, letting the name sit with him a bit} I do like it. Though you really needn't apologize for not having introduced yourself earlier. Ā Formalities can be rather ickle. Ā I often leave something to be desired, myself, and most of the time, I really can't be bothered to remember what that is. {`at this, he titters a bit, though the joke doesn't really call for it, if it could really be called even that. there's a pause, and Kyungsoo is beckoning, so he follows} Allergic? {`he has to think about that one, lips pursing a bit} I haven't any.. food allergies, if that's what you're getting at. {`he offers an odd smile at this} Though, things might get a little dicey if I'm shut up indoors for too too long.
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