centimeters

my new url’s on my index page

i’m really just moving after much contemplation about which direction to take this guy and my writing (it’s been decided for the most part, Yes Boy)

also because this blog is a mess...... im losing it

if we have threads on here together, i’m most likely dropping them unless i tell you directly i wanna keep ours (unless we agree on ditching them together, No Biggie). but we can always have new ones?! yeah thanks and please. i highly encourage it, actually. let me write w any of you that are left i miss dash : /

UHHH “blogging” lol! i only . shitpost, my guy

jaundice, is for drunkards and sick babies.

sometimes he’s caught in between both. these times are his best. he’ll stick to that idea every single time, tapping his own face lightly (one, two) before he reaches out for hers. these are times in which he either thinks too much or not at all, never holding her for longer than a verse of a song. her song(s), especially - 

“all two of them,” he slurs,

“five,” she corrects, prying him off and keeping the glass of water right where it is - only now replacing the space where he’d just been. “six, if you lend me your guitar.” one, if we’re being technical.

he’s never gotten to that point, he believes. he keeps believing, by not minding a second of it all when he thinks believing means seeing it as it is. it’s a circular paradox, goes round and round, doesn’t make sense. you can’t see if you don’t look is more fleeting than just one more, pushed away twice as much, never fulfilled.

if he looks in the mirror, that won’t make him any less of a believer anyway.

like hell it’d make him any more of one either.

TO: 지지 ( kkt ) what did i just say ( kkt ) are u telling me ( kkt ) to stop being myself? ( kkt ) fake fan

repost, don’t reblog / bold whatever applies / tag however many people you want / feel free to add stuff in any category, too!

tagged by: @haebxtna and @luxinexitium (thank you, friends) tagging: halloween enthusiasts

GOTHIC HORROR. gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders. books.

CLASSIC HORROR. black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras.

SLASHERS. bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks. scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances.

PARANORMAL HORROR. malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND HORROR. aliens. blinding light. dark woods. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.

i know the prompt says for kiel to be the one opening up about his backstory, but knowing him…. that’s just. not realistic. you’d get nothing, basically

anyway yea vic (that’s u) and i somewhat discussed the other night. but i (yen) wanted to delve into it a little (re: a lot) more, so here goes:

⏳ shinhye usually got a kick in busting their youngest brother, shinchul, for whatever stupid shit he got into - she’s not entirely a merciless bitch, however, so only shinwoo would ever hear about his antics from her first. she’d leave it up to shinwoo to report to their father or not, but i’d like to think he was lenient enough to well… not do that. i assume it would only be relayed to him if it threatened the family in any way.

⏳ when micah was a baby, he got baptized (slam dunk in the holy water method) as urged by his own father. somewhere in the distance of the chapel you can hear yoon dongwan saying “wow. imagine hating mob life (a godless lifestyle, mind you) so much that you go crazy lengths just to go on and pretend to be christ’s bitch instead”

and so that peaceful way of thinking sometimes clashes with the desire to be right, even if it takes him violence to get there. but no, that’s wrong he hears someone’s voice in the back of his mind (probably mom’s) so he doesn’t dwell on it for much longer. if he’s a stray sheep too then he will have to trust that someone will come to stay with him in silence. what am i so anxious for? everything i never speak of.

“it’s not a good habit to speak with yourself.” for the split of a moment, jaehyun contemplates adding people will give you weird looks but he doesn’t. kiel has never seemed like someone who would care too much for the opinions of others but then again, he has barely scratched beneath the surface. what does he know of what the other’s really like? odd, certainly. but apart from that, he can’t tell much more. “if you have something to do, then do it.” curiosity overtakes but he has learned to keep it at bay. there’s no point in digging for a treasure when you don’t know what’s it looking like.

the chair’s screeching when jaehyun moves, the music softly playing through his earphones completely forgotten by now. gaze is fixated on the restless male instead, yet when jaehyun opens his own mouth to pose yet another question, no words come out. at the very least, this might be a question he holds no answer for     jaehyun plays when his fingers itch to do so. in this aspect, for better or worse, he has never exercised restraint.

“why don’t you play when you want to?” the inquiry’s spoken innocently enough, for a boy so quiet. still, jaehyun is being genuine. and kiel’s not getting any notes until he has his answer.

“who says that?” he counters, though not quite defensively. “your mom?” a wry chuckle escapes his mouth, a smile lasting longer than that this once. “you learn more that way.” to this, himself. jaehyun can vouch for such advice too, if it’s in his best interest to keep listening (any fellow self-conversation-haver would call this eavesdropping).

ignorance is his own stealth, he figures through the other’s simple question. kiel doesn’t remember once asking, further arguing with himself that he’s never exactly had to - or so psychoanalysis goes. that’s his excuse for doing more observing than hands-on interaction, a softened expression in place of a sour look he’s not interested in relaying in jaehyun’s foresight. you don’t know much, and you (probably) won’t. “obviously to study,” he answers simply then. that too, a genuine* reason. though perhaps not for the reasons his companion would expect.

no one’s good at that when it comes to himself anyway. it’s selfish fun.

the question flies past him, too.

everything flies past him in circles, enough that his forehead creases and his jaw clenches, shutting his eyes tight for a good few seconds. they don’t open when he exhales - slowly, an impending migraine ready and waiting. one hand settles on the roof of the car, propping himself up as his balance wavers, having been standing longer than he’d expected to (and running, god forbid).

he opens his mouth to speak/breath/speak/breath, except now he’s being dragged to the other side of a silver vehicle that must belong to him (re: lance), at least. considering -

where are the keys?

he doesn’t understand why he’s crouched behind his car in front of kiel’s apartment, doesn’t bother asking since kiel only ever gives vague replies. it’s the adrenaline rush  in his veins mixing with the lithium, the former, however, dissipating enough for terry to land on his ass on the concrete road. he leans his back against the car, pulling his arm away from kiel’s grasp to run his fingers along his forehead. there’s a bitter taste at the back of his throat.

( he wants to throw up. )

another sharp intake of breath.

finally, “yeah.”

fucking asshole.

“give me the fucking keys.”

toss (and turn), he grants the other’s wish. ever so kindly, just as requested. something tells him he should be afraid of this more than anything else, more than whatever he’s been running away from just now. not that he’ll say shit about that, though.

even if you ask nicely, (which, for the record,)

well.

exhale, “i’m sorry.” he can’t tell if he’s said that out loud or in his head, but regardless - he’s not checking the other’s face for consolation nor confirmation. the time’s steady in his pulse, tempo a ragged signature of lazy offbeats threading in his head first, everywhere else never. kiel’s up before he can say something (else), hands coming up to brush his own hair out of his face  and smooth both sides towards the back of his head. for being useless.

not that that needs to be said, either. a belated cause.

the air’s awfully tense and cold for a summer night. so many things reign to the left and to the right without having to mention them in the slightest, shoulders pressed down by some invisible weight at the presence of warm air upon unclothed skin. the hairs on his forearms rise at the thought, hands unknowingly settled on his cheeks with his gaze focused mindlessly on the nearest semblance of a reflection.

( where are you? )

“we’ll just walk,” he offers under his breath, fingers clasped together at the back of his neck. “i can like, piggyback you or something but - we need to get out of here.”

repost with your muse’s results for the following quizzes.

HOMERIC EPITHET: You are Kiel, great teller of tales. The Greek hero Odysseus had many epithets ascribed to him (others included “much-enduring,” “cunning,” and “man of twists and turns”), and this was one of them, so you’re in good company.

FATAL FLAW: Your brutal honesty. You’re blunt. You’re outspoken. Frankly, you’re kind of a jerk. But you get away with it because you’re usually right and also because you’re indispensable to the major plot. But honestly? It’s going to come back to haunt you. One of these days, you’re going to be TOO honest. You’re going to refuse to lie at a critical juncture, upholding your honorable caustic truthfulness, and you’re going to pay the ultimate price for it.

GREEK MYTHOLOGY DEATH: You got killed by your own reflection. You spurned the romantic advances of a mountain nymph, so the revenge god has decided to punish you. One day you enter a cave and see your reflection in a pool, and you’re so transfixed by your own beauty that you decide to just stare at yourself forever. This continues until you either a) starve or b) drown or c) fall upon your own sword out of grief, depending on which poet is telling this story.

LITERARY SETTING: You got Gatsby’s mansion! This larger-than-life crib is the perfect place for a party animal like yourself. It’s located on the Long Island Sound (ideal for swimming, lounging, obsessively staring across the water with a LaCroix in your hand and unattainable fantasies on your mind, etc.), but it’s also just a train ride away from New York City (city of dreams and $1 pizza). But let’s not forget the best part: it’s got a library that’ll make you wanna grab a fluffy blanket and a chai latte and literally never see the light of day again.

hyunwoo doesn’t ask     doesn’t push for answers to questions he’s never voiced, doesn’t linger in shadows for too long to catch glimpses of another, better life or to spy on another’s ruined day just to forget his own disasters. there’s no sincerity in most people these days and he thinks that he too, sometimes struggles with it.

how do you know right from wrong? who teaches you what kind of man you are supposed to be and what do you do when those people no longer are with you?

it’s late and he thinks he might be all over the place again. misses a few like crazy, hardly remembers the faces of others. their voices though, they stick with him     alongside the words of wisdom that strangers would kindly, ever so often offer to him. he wonders if kiel understands that, if he’s had a similar experience before. if he can relate.

“do you miss home?”

he feels drowsy but that’s no excuse for his quietly spoken words, almost as if he isn’t sure he wants to know. hyunwoo’s not yet completely lost in his own, somber thoughts but he cares, genuinely cares for what kiel might have to offer him as an answer. we’re both strangers here    so how have you managed to cope when i barely can?

there are two plausible answers.

1) am i allowed to? 1.5) it depends.

neither seem appropriate given the weight of the air between them — SIKE! 

shut the hell up. 

his heart drums in his head in favor of not having to think for once, tongue smacking against the front of his teeth, palms closed in on one another and eyes shut. hair matted with some sticky mess of sweat and someone else’s something (he’ll hope it’s dirt - which is just as good as anything. jesus fucking christ), his back finds solace in the damp bricks, midnight fog just as welcome against flush skin as the cold air that accompanies it all.

“fuck if i know.” 2) it’s been a while (so shouldn’t that go without saying?) is what this translates to in his head, to what hyunwoo could muster if he’s smart enough (please). kiel’s breathing is shallow as he opens his eyes and checks his pulse, thumb pressed deeply into the one stubborn vein of his right wrist. “we, are two asshole americans in an alley butchering our fathers’ native tongue one syllable at a time.” punctuated by a coughing fit, he’s quick to turn away so it doesn’t reach the other, mouth upon his inner elbow to finish it off. one wheeze, a sniff and a wave at the incoming fog afterwards. “on purpose.” a pause. “well.” and a shrug, the next words intentionally careful and taunting all at once. actually, “i don’t know about you.”

3) does that say enough? or should i go on?

4) why do you ask?

( kkt // kiel ) i’ve tried it! ( kkt // kiel ) too healthy for me 🍒

( kkt // kiel ) does that mean i’m not the real deal?

( kkt: hyeri ) um, yea ( kkt: hyeri ) you’re obviously a hoax and i’ve been wasting my time thinking otherwise ( kkt: hyeri ) but i /guess/ that makes two of us 😪 ( kkt: hyeri ) 💢 💢 💢 ( kkt: hyeri ) my favorite emoji. in case you couldn’t tell by now