#ichorkind

SOO ( @ichorkind ) said, “i can’t say it.” here / accepting

𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐄.  it’s  a  real  and  horrible  shame  that  they  can’t  say  it,  because  VERSO  isn’t  going  to  say  it  either.  not  because  he  doesn’t  know  —  he’s  had  his  suspicions  for  a  little  bit  —  but  because  his  mother  raised  him  to  RESPECT  the  secrets  of  others.  let  them  have  their  mystique,  she  said,  there’s  no  harm  in  it.  if  someone  wants  to  hold  their  favorite  color  or  food  to  their  chest,  prying  it  away  from  them  is  tantamount  to  BLASPHEMY  in  the  eyes  of  a  long-dead  artist.  

the  problem  is  what  he  suspects  soo’s  favorite  food  to  be.  the  problem  is  that  there’s  an  urge  to  accuse  and  spit  out  insults  until  his  throat  gets  raw  from  yelling.  the  problem  is  that  verso  is  himself,  and  he  is  decidedly  NOT  a  patient  man.  

❝  yeah  you  CAN,  ❞        verso  corrects,  crossing  his  arms  over  his  chest.  he  keeps  his  eyes  on  the  street  ahead  of  them,  but  keeps  tabs  on  the  dazzling  figure  in  his  peripheral.  gods,  he  doesn’t  want  to  chase  someone  down  for  answers.  his  legs  are  already  sore  from  last  night  (courtesy  of  someone  whose  name  he’s  already  forgotten,  and  whose  number  hadn’t  been  put  into  his  phone).

his  gaze  slides  to  the  idol.  from  the  side,  his  glasses  do  precious  little  to  hide  the  intense  focus  swimming  about  in  those  tumultuous  brown-made-gold  hues.  JUDGMENT  is  being  passed  as  silently  as  he  can;  a  shame,  then,  that  he  has  always  had  a  habit  of  wearing  his  ANNOYANCE  on  his  sleeve.

❝  you  just  don’t  WANT to.  ❞ 

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆-𝐒𝐎𝐎 ( @ichorkind ) sought an audience.

CREATURES WHICH LINGER in  long-barren  stadiums  are  oft  his  friends.  it  is  strange,  calling  things  which  would  happily  tear  throats  from  men  allies…  but  one  cannot  judge  them  too  harshly.  they’re  not  human,  after  all,  nor  are  they  the  entirely  bloodthirsty  breed  of  echidna’s  children.  they  are  the  drunks  which  stay  just  outside  the  stadium,  dancing  to  music  only  they  can  hear.  said  the  show  is  packing  up,  the  performers  gathering  their  wares,  and  dionysus  sits  ‘pon  the  rafters  with  a  hand  on  his  masked  chin  as  a  particular  one  moves  beneath  him.  his  voice  carries  amusement,  the  odor  of  grapes  and  wine.

❝  ‘twas  a  good  show  but,  if  i  may,  the  dancing  was…  perhaps  better  suited  for  the  blind.  ❞

it's effortless really, the way that he seems so kind, joyful, like he's filled with the very light that the sun itself bore. all dae-ho had ever wanted to do was bring happiness into people's lives ; help put a smile on their faces, and some warmth into their hearts. every little bit helped, you know ?

there was something about young-soo that made him want to give more than just a fleeting moment of happiness. for as long as he could, for as long as he lived, he wanted to be a source of joy in the other's life.

but perhaps that was the problem ━━ for as long as he lived. because young-soo would live far longer than that, wouldn't he ?

dae-ho had never been one to focus on things that brought him pain ; more likely to avoid rather than face the problem head on. but as the two of them lounge on the sofa together, as dae-ho rests his head in young-soo's lap and looks up at him, he's confronted with the reality of just how painfully human he truly is.

first Christmas together. ❤️💚🎄

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐒  to  give.   now  &&  again,  when  verso  encounters  the  supernatural,  he  dares  to  consider  it  some  kind  of  warped  blessing.  yes,  yes,  chimeras  &&  minotaurs  &&  manticores  galore  tend  to  supply  him  with  ample  entertainment  for  the  week,  but  intelligent  monsters  -  that  is  where  his  attention  tends  to  sharpen.  empousi.  cyclopes.  things  that  have  the  capacity  to  want  to  kill  him  where  he  stands.  things  that  can  feel  fear.   he’s  not  sure  what  the  other  is.  he  has  a  list  of  options  but,  frankly,  none  of  them  are  worth  inquiring  about  as  they  meet  at  what  has  become  something  of  a  usual  crossroads  spot.  it’s  not  a  bad  place  to  meet  up  with  a  stranger-turned-acquaintance.  a  few  stores  &&  a  bar  sit  farther  down  one  beaten  path,  &&  down  the  other  is  a  small  collection  of  bookstores  &&  pop-culture  pop-up  shops.  he’s  always  cared  more  for  the  former  route  than  the  latter,  but  when  in  rome…   verso  rocks  back  on  his  heels  and,  as  has  become  something  of  a  habit  as  of  late,  holds  out  his  hand  for  a  lighter.   ❝  forgot  mine  again,  ❞  lies  verso  by  way  of  saying  good  evening.  ❝  swear  to  god,  it  was  in  my  other  pants.  ❞ 

@ichorkind // starter call !!

" you know, the similarities are kinda weird ━━ you looks so much like him. " it's unsettling almost, but he tries to push that aside, if only for the fact that he'd been invited to the manor ( exciting, he knows ! ) and he wanted to like . . . be on his best behaviour, or rather, not offend young-soo because yikes, how bad would that be, you know ? if he just . . . made himself look like a total ass ?

❝ do you ever worry about accidentally putting people into glamours? ❞ the knowledge that you had about vampires was small. perhaps the few that you met would only be so reckless. you did know that one being in the spotlight like this was dangerous. @ichorkind was walking a fine line. ❝ or does it not work like that? ❞

soo ( @ichorkind ) said, "Nothing feels real."

the  thought  of  smoking  surfaces,  then  is  dragged  once  more  to  the  back  of  an  already  strained  mind.  the  taste  of  cigarette  smoke  would  be  a  comfort,  but  only  in  so  much  as  his  father’s  strikes  had  been;  the  familiarity  of  knuckles  leaving  purple  channels  across  his  ribs  and  elbows  is  one  forever  carried  in  the  depths  of  this  unfortunate  heart.  the  cigarette,  however,  would  provide  some  measure  of  warmth.  it  would  sting  the  back  of  the  throat,  and  in  that  sting  he  would  know  that  it’s  real.  

teeth  find  the  inside  of  the  mouth  and  clamp  down.  his  tongue  hunts  for  the  a  droplet  of  copper,  running  along  the  flat  of  his  teeth.  he  finds  it,  cherishes  it,  disregards  it.  he  is  almost  willing  to  do  the  same  to  the  other’s  observation,  but  there  is  a  kinship  in  dissociation  as  much  as  there  is  one  in  decade-old  bruise-scars.