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primedirection · 5 years

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Needy

Harry thinks Y/N is needy

Weeks go by and almost all has been swept under the rug. As far as you knew Harry had been completely oblivious to the event he missed. Only ever asking questions about it when seeing the trophy and although it made you furious. Very furious. You made the conscious decision to pretty much pretend it never happened in order to save yourself the grief.

Why get so worked up over something that wasn't even a blip on his radar? He probably wouldn't react the way he's supposed to, therefore causing more drama so there was really no point.

Especially since he gets swept into a mania of his own and things are a little tense. Four different performances this week, a televised album release party slash live show, not including other TV appearances, and the perfectionist in him is running wild.

Okay so actually.. things are super tense these days.

The late rehearsals and early sound checks were meshing together. Cutting into the limited time that you two barely had to spend together. Since he was bound to start his international promotional tour in the following weeks.

Today it was Harry's idea to come out and spend the day with him and yet you wished to be anywhere he wasn't.

While in the backseat of a town car on the way to the venue, Harry was completely and utterly glued to his phone. Scowl on his face and stress apparent in the tension of his shoulders. You thought that it would help if you loved on him little bit, maybe with a warm squeeze around his tummy and chaste kiss to the cheek. So you did just that. Smiling an encouraging, "Love you," up at him and waiting for the returned gesture.

But you couldn't have been more wrong.

Harry flinches instinctively, startled more or less and when you smile at him he frowns thoroughly irritated, "Can yeh give me two bloody minutes to breathe? I literally feel like I'm suffocating!" he snaps.

Hurt, you deflate immediately muttering a quick, "Sorry," before sliding back on your side as close as possible to the window. Trying to give him the space he needed.

Harry kills all hope of the ride becoming pleasant again when he huffs a grim but satisfied, "Thank you." Then occupies himself with his phone again.

He doesn't say another word until you arrive at the venue, and it's to a production manager. You get a tour of the backstage area and then of the enormous arena itself. In that process your previous inner turmoil was put out by empathy and pride. All at once you understood why he was so on edge but you were also extremely proud of him. Jeff had just informed him that it was a sold out show too. That all these empty seats would be filled up just to see him.

Filled with enamor, you couldn't help yourself when you catch him coming off the stage. Quietly discussing a delay in the equipment set up with Jeff. A playful pat on his butt instantly grabs his attention and you smile excitedly, "You would be the one to sell out this massive place, I'm so happy for you babe!"

Jeff quickly makes himself scarce and for the lack of an audience your grateful. But perhaps you should've taken note because once again Harry startles in an irritable way. The muscles in his jaw taught as he suddenly and briskly ushers you by the upper arm to an unoccupied area backstage, "Jesus Christ, why are you everywhere I turn? You do realize that I'm working right now, right? I don't have time to deal with this needy shit all day."

Though this time around you struggle to just take it on the chin. Harry was literally treating you like some burden that begged to come and not like you had to clear your whole schedule of things that were actually top priority just to be here. "Needy? I'm just trying to be supportive!"

"Okay and you can't do that from the stands? You're not some sort of puppy that needs to be wrapped round my leg Y/N! Look, I know I invited you but the point is to enjoy the ride and go with the flow not stand in my way." The fact that he lowers his voice and yet his tone is blaring really hits you in the feelings.

It wasn't just because he was stressed but he genuinely felt that way.

Suddenly, you didn't want to be here nonetheless anywhere near him. You hoped that he detected your new jilted attitude, "Sorry, you're right. From now on you wont even know I'm here." You smile so overtly sweet it bleeds of sarcasm.

Harry doesn't even realize the lack of sincerity in it anyway. Stalking off after a surly, "Perfect." Leaves his lips.

With that you go to sit in the stands as he wanted, but on your way theres commotion coming from the same direction Harry just went. In the distance you spot him greet one of his opening acts with the most enthusiasm in the world. Hugging her and laughing with her like there wasn't a care in the world. When literally less than a minute ago he was yelling at you. Suddenly you couldn't get away from him fast enough. Only finding solace in the nosebleeds rather than the enticing idea of going home altogether.

This is disturbingly new. You'd been to plenty of Harry's shows where his moods often ranged from amped to sometimes getting nervous enough to maybe make him a little frustrated. But even then it wasn't unleashed on you, and like that. How could he treat you one way and in the next breath switch it up? You didn't like that one bit.

Watching his set was too difficult to enjoy anymore due to bias, unable to stop playing his words in your head. Needy? Was it really needy to show him some love in times he was obviously anxious? Definitely not, and even if it was it didn't give him an excuse to be an asshole about it. Especially since he wanted you to come in the first place.

Rehearsals drag on for what feels like eternity. Costume changes and numerous sound checks later, lunch is offered in the catering area but you politely decline. Hanger seemed like such a small price to pay in exchange for being subjected to his unnecessary attitude. In this case distance was best for the both of you.

Proven when he doesn't even bother to come look for you, or say anything really, at least not until he's ready to go home. Even then it's only a text.

On the ride home his mood has done a total 180. In the greatest mood to talk about his band mates and opening act's hijinks. You honestly tried not to take the way he acted personally but the complete personality flip made it impossible. How could he be that unfair?

Making it a point to avoid any and all contact with him by sitting in the same position as you had when you arrived. He uneasily takes notice, "Alright?"

"Yeah, just tired..." Of your bullshit! You mentally add on glaring out the window. Conveniently he received a phone call anyway.

Once you get home you decide to cure your possible hanger and make something quick to eat. Missing Harry reappear in the room in the process, "I guess catering doesn't count as dinner huh?" He attempts to be playful with you to check your temperature. Your unusual silence naturally made him uneasy.

"I didn't eat. Didn't want to risk overcrowding so I stayed in the stands," Like you wanted! You ached to add but held your tongue.

He doesn't dwell on it anyway. Chirping and fluttering about behind you as you make your way around the kitchen and to the table. "Love, guess what... I get to do a funny skit with James in a couple days!"

"That's great," you reply sitting down and albeit with forced enthusiasm.

He wordlessly follows suit practically singing, "Do yeh wanna come watch? It'll be fun."

Your sarcasm comes instinctively with a sharp roll of your eyes, "Like today? Hard pass, enjoy yourself though."

Harry's eagerness melts away like an ice cube on a hot summer sidewalk. No longer in the mood for elusiveness, "Alright I'll bite, what's going on with yeh?"

"With me? Nothing." You shrug shoveling around the food on your plate, loosing your appetite more and more by the second. Impending doom so palpable you could damn near taste that instead.

"Doesn't seem like nothing," he retorts with a brow cocked expectantly.

He could go to hell with the explanation he thought he deserved, "Doesn't matter," you sigh pleading to the high heavens that he'd leave it alone so that once again you could save yourself the agonizing grief.

Just as stubborn as you are he continues to push, "Based on how you're acting, it apparently does. So what is it?"

"Just drop it Harry," you groan agitated. At this rate you'll definitely be staying in the guest room tonight.

"No," This time he takes it a step further and moves your plate out of reach so that there was nothing to distract you. "Tell me." He demands.

Though the manner in which he does it is not to simply just to get to the root of the problem and solve it, but seems to be just for the confrontation. To point fingers at you being the problem, and so you snap, "Okay fine! You treat me like shit and it's not okay."

Unsurprisingly his face contorts into total confusion, "Where's this coming from?!"

But you're all too thrilled to remind him, "In the car and in rehearsals. One minute you're snapping at me for being needy when I was just trying to offer support, and in the next you're giving all the love and admiration to your opener and everyone else you work with!"

The frown etching on his face told you that he was going to deny everything and he did not disappoint, "No I wasn't, yeh were all over me,"

"Yeah okay, because reminding you that I love you and how proud I am is smothering?" An incredulous dry laugh summons itself, "Really?"

"When I'm in the middle of a conversation with Jeff! Obviously at that moment I was frustrated." Harry argues.

"You weren't frustrated when you hugged Kacy and joked around with Mitch right after! It's like everyone else gets a pass except me, but you know what it doesn't matter. Just keep that same energy so that I can properly navigate you. Because if I was suffocating then then I must be suffocating all the time." You glumly add, standing up and grabbing the plate you no longer had any interest in eating anymore.

In response Harry sighs loudly, and for a moment you start to believe that he's beginning to come to his senses but a quick glance reveals the most condescending and patronizing eye roll with it. Eventually he stands too, restoring his chair the way he found it. A passive yet aggressive, "Just forget I fucking asked," muttered under his breath.

Irking you enough to toss the plate absentmindedly into the sink, "Or just be a man about it and fucking own it!" You shout at him angrily.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? I can't own something yeh literally made from nothing!" He shouts back.

"From nothing are you kidding me?! Why the hell is it so hard for you to admit when you're wrong! I am so tired of sweeping everything you do under the rug! I let that stupid fashion show slide but today-" Before you can get the words out properly its like something literally clicks in Harry's head. Making him angry as well.

His fingers rake frustratedly through his silky mane, "So that's what this is really about hmm? Why you've been acting so-" He exhales heavily through flared nostrils. You stare annoyed but patiently wait for him to make his point, "For fucksake how many times do we have to go through this? She is just a friend! Ken needed me-"

It's a combination of things. The way he says it and the gall of what he actually says that makes you feel three words short of a brain aneurysm. You explode, "She needed you? Harry, I needed you!" Your chest heaves from the exertion of shouting, "I made an absolute fool of myself that night! That had almost nothing to do with her and everything to do about us! The one fucking time I ask you to put me first, I'm last on your list. I know it's not the Grammy's or the Met Gala but it was important to me."

His head shakes in denial as he forces himself not to roll his eyes again, "Yeh miss things that are important to me all the time Y/N and I never whine about it!"

"If I'm whining about it its because there's a huge difference in not being able to catch a flight across the world at the last minute and not showing up to something on a whim— something I've been talking about for the past three years now!" You yell, so angry that it's actively getting harder to see straight. Apparently the wound had been fresher than you both thought.

"That's not fair," he argues. In his mind the situations were like comparing oranges to apples.

"Exactly." You concede folding your arms across your chest. Getting him to see the error in his ways was something like playing chess. Though the point wasn't to defeat but to enlighten. "How am I supposed to feel when you still don't even seem all that sorry or remorseful about it?"

Defense takes reign over Harry's better judgment as he starts to feel like this unethical argument is not meant for him to win, "Really? Over a bloody office party?!" He scoffs incredulous and somewhat amused at the same time. "I could understand if I did something actually wrong and horrible but this doesn't equate-"

At that another agonizing explosion erupts within and hits hard mentally and emotionally. Starting out as a fit of rage when you slam your hand down on the counter in reflex but rapidly that dwindles down into crushing defeat. It wasn't just the attempt in basically talking to a brick wall but the fact that he didn't want to accept what he did wrong. Maybe ego or even his foolish pride is to blame, either way he just wasn't going to.

Obviously you were wasting your breath but there was just one important fact that your very own pride wouldn't allow you to leave without getting it off your chest first, "Stop calling it that! Stop trying to diminish what it was! Because even if it was a lemonade stand it wouldn't have made the slightest difference — it was important to me Harry."

His gaze passively transfers to kitchen floor and for a few moments you wait for him to say something—anything. But when nothing comes you give up, heading straight to the guest room a total mess. So overwhelmed with frustration and emotions.

(AN: Come share your thoughts with me!xx)

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#Harry styles angst #Harry styles imagines #Harry x reader #Harry styles #one direction imagines #Harry Styles one shot #One direction one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #all me #I write I guess #SWGALW

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vaguewriting · 4 years

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solangelo grey’s anatomy au

this planning is incomprehensible so good luck

nico is an intern and will is the trauma attending and nico is basically like the cristina to wills burke but also slightly meredith/derek in the sense that theyre Made For Each Other

nico craves power and thrives to be the best trauma surgeon ever and kinda sleeps with will to get ahead but soon realizes that hes In Love with will and so instead of sneaking around sleeping with him they get,,, a relationship?? which is wild for nico but will is all for it bc now he gets to make nico flustered in public

and now for all that useless backstory i always get so maria and hades were both great surgeons until maria died and hades just kinda,, stopped but nico still spent most of his childhood in a hospital and bianca became a surgeon around the time that nico graduated high school (so big age difference) and then died in some accident before nico graduated med school so at least now everyone remembers the name di angelo bc bia was p great too so they have high expectations for nico bc of his family and also hazel shows up eventually (like lexie) and shes also a surgeon ((wills backstory is that hes a southern boy raised by his mom and abandoned by his dad who was also a surgeon and probably couldve gotten will into a better school and a better hospital at the start but will wanted to pave his own way and changed his name to solace so that there was no connection to his dad))

nico and leo and other interns are eating lunch and theyre talking about what they saw that day and what attendings they were with and somehow it gets to like “”claiming”” which attending is theirs like theyre claiming specialties and somebody mentions percy and nicos like peds is a challenge and man is he hot but i think chase already beat us to him and someone else says zhang and nicos like “ortho?? u can have him” and so leos like “fine who do you want then” and nico says “solace” with no elaboration until they push him and he says that solace is soft and easily manipulated and screwing him would be the easy way to get extra lessons or w.e plus hes hot and definitely not 100% straight,, and theyre all like “yeah whatever nobodys actually gonna sleep with anybody we’re just picking specialties whats wrong with you” so nicos like fine u wanna bet? ill ask him out by the end of the week

nicos sitting at the bar across the street and will comes up to him and asks if he can buy nico a drink (shot of tequila) and nicos like “but youre my attending” and wills like “its one drink” and this is where nico gets manipulative and will mentions that hes noticed nico watching him all week and will’s requested that nico be on his service soon so that he can watch a lot closer and all the flirting leads to them sleeping together and driving to work together the next morning despite the fact that nico has to be there so much earlier than will for rounds and when nicos changing into his scrubs somebody points out the hickey on his chest and nicos like “oh yeah i slept with solace last night,, he even requested i be on his service so wheels are in motion and i’ll leave you all in my dust in no time” and then he leaves for rounds

will brings nico coffees and kisses his cheek all the time and they eat lunch together sometimes when nico isnt eating with the other interns and its all seeming much less manipulatey and a whole lot more datey so they call nico out on it but he waves them off bc no way he doesnt actually like will hes just trying to get ahead and did he mention that he got to close on will’s surgery today? until will drags nico into an on call room one day and hugs him and kisses him and talks about losing a patient and nico realizes that wills not defenselessly soft but actually still pretty tough and wills like “ok theres no use crying over this more lets go to the skills lab and ill show u what i did bc im still ur teacher too right”

wills sitting around in the attendings lounge with frank and percy and reyna and theyre picking on will for dating an intern bc nicos obviously just using him for extra lessons or w.e and wills like “no hes not” and theyre all like uhhh yeah he is?? And wills like “well what about annabeth?? dont yall think shes using percy for stuff??” and frank and reyna laugh but percy doesnt get it and reynas like “i was talking to him yesterday and when i asked him about you he talked strictly about the medicine and nothing about you” and percy says “yeah annabeth heard him talking to the other interns about how much he was getting out of your relationship” and will gets pouty and hes like “no way yall just misheard him or something that can’t be right” and frank is like “stop offering him extra lessons and see if he sticks around” and wills like “i dont like this conversation anymore” but he doesnt bring it up to nico

will ends up ignoring nico for a few days and feels terrible about it and one day he sees nico sitting with his head in his hands so will calls out to him and nico stands up and immediately passes out and will flips out (nicos appendix burst) and nico gets rushed into surgery and will’s at his bedside when he wakes up

nicos pretty out of it and pumped full of pain medicine and nico tells will that he has to tell him something and says that he was manipulating will bc hes soft but he doesnt want to manipulate will anymore bc he likes will like, a lot bc hes pretty and funny and nice and soft but not soft in a bad way,, and will just tells him to sleep and he’ll be there when nico wakes up and then when nico wakes up for real will kisses him says “so i hear you’ve been manipulating me for extra lessons” and nicos like “uhh idk what youre talking about” and wills like “i caught on but dont worry im not mad bc i know you how u really feel” and will lets nico suffer for a second before he smiles and tells nico what he said to will before and nicos like “youre a jerk” and wills like “a jerk you like”

flash to the future and nicos in his kitchen in his pajama pants and hes standing at the island with a suture kit practicing on bananas or something and will comes up behind him and wraps his arms around nico and asks whats going on and nico says hes practicing for his solo surgery but he cant get this one stitch right and will should help him and wills like “or i could help you relax a little bit” and starts kissing nicos neck and shoulder and nicos like “cmon i have to practice” and wills like “call this practice working with distractions” and nicos like “i dont think these are the kinds of distractions i’ll be facing”

#solangelo #mine #vaguely outlined ideas

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kisaerie · 4 years

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Comforting Mammon

obey me! shall we date | mammon/original character

a reimagining of what happens after Lesson 8-16: After Asmodeus and Mammon's argument, you could tell Mammon was hurt so you took him aside and confronted his feelings. | ao3

A/N: hello friends, this is my first time posting a fic in a really long time. Theres something about the 7 demon brothers that got my inspired and wanting to write so many soft self-indulgent stories about them. Anyway, I hope you like it.

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“You money-grubbing TRASH! A scumbag who'd sell his soul for a grimm! The only thing that would make up for your awful existence is if you just ended it! NOW!”

“HEY, that's no way to be talking to your older brother, now is it?! You’d best start showing me some respect!”

“RESPECT?! What did you ever do to earn my respect?! I'm EMBARRASSED to have someone like you for an older brother! Mortified even!”

What started out as an innocent bicker over you quickly turned into a heated exchange of insults hurled between the two brothers. Asmodeus wasn't relenting in his anger which only fueled the increasingly harsher words directed at your boyfriend, Mammon. While it was funny at first to watch the two fight over you, as the insults got worse you started getting concerned over how far the brothers were going with their words.

“All right you two, that's enough. Stop throwing pillows at each other. You’re sending dust flying everywhere.” Satan interceded.

“It's no use. They won't listen. It’s like they don't even hear us.” Leviathan added.

They were right. Mammon and Asmodeus continued their match without pause. It was like there were two different conversations happening in the room. You wanted to somehow break up the argument but didn't know how without getting in the crossfire of two demons.

“What do we do?” You asked the other demon brothers.

“Nothing,” Satan replied, “Either one of them wins or Lucifer breaks them up, whichever comes first.”

“I'm betting on Lucifer.” Levithan quipped.

“You’d normally be right about that but Asmo might win here.”

“Can I have my cheesecake, Levi?” Beel jumped in.

Ignoring Beel, you replied to Satan, “There's no winning in this situation.”

As Mammon and Asmo’s bickering went on around you guys, you couldn't help but grow worried for Mammon. Asmodeus were saying things that were digs at Mammon’s incompetency, character, and his existence. Which was a regular occurrence among the demon brothers, but Asmo’s words were going further than they typically do and you were growing worried that Asmodeus or Mammon might say or do something they regret. Even more, you were worried about the effect Asmo’s words were doing to Mammon. Because despite Mammon’s holier-than-thou attitude, you know it is nothing more than a facade he puts on around his brothers as a way to take on their harsh opinions of him; “scummy brother,” “greedy scum,” “pathetic.” He’s heard every variation and accepted them all with his flippant attitude, laughing it off or getting comically indignant. You have seen Mammon deny the hurt in his heart with his passing comments. You’ve never reached out to confront him as you thought there had never been a good time; Mammon is like a hurricane, he’ll swing from one topic to the next as does his moods.

But not this time. You looked at Mammon and saw anger marking his face but if you looked hard enough, you could see the sheen of hurt in his eyes with each blow that he hides behind his retorts.

“%#$! %#%! And...and also, you’re a...um a *%#$&%!” Mammon spluttered back. “Maybe it’s time you learned some new WORDS, Mammon. Because your vocabulary is pathetically small! Just what I would expect from the stupidest demon in Devildom! You really set the bar for what stupid can be!” Asmodeus shot back.

You could see at this point Asmodeus words were taking a toll on Mammon’s ability to argue, so you took your chance.

“That’s enough, both of you need a time-out. I'm taking Mammon with me.” You marched forward grabbing Mammon by the arm, dragging him out the door.

Mammon sputtered out some protests while Satan and Levi nodded in acquiescence and waved you guys off as if to say, ‘Do what you like’

“Can you bring back some food when you come back?” Beelzebub asked. “I don't know why you bother taking care of our good for nothing brother, Kisa. It’s a waste of time.” Asmodeus said while shaking his head.

“Look here, you lust-brained—” Mammon started but before he could finish his retort, you yanked on his arm harder out the door and let it fall shut, cutting off his words.

He spun towards you, “Hey Kisa, what are ya doing! Let me give him what he deserves. Asmo needs some teachin’ from his older brother!”

Mammon started for the door but you grabbed his arm with both hands to stop him. “Mammon, please! Look at me.”

He must have heard something in your voice because he stopped and turned to look at you. You let go of his arm and reached for his hand instead and held it gently. You looked into his face and searched his eyes.

“H-hey. What are ya lookin’ at..?”

You didn't reply. Mammon’s eyes were wide staring back at you. Anger was still etched around his eyebrows and mouth but his eyes didn't hold that sheen of hurt anymore that you saw for a moment inside. However, you knew him better than that. The Avatar of Greed hides his sadness and pain behind this veneer of superficial excitement of a child as if nothing ever touched him deeply.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly.

Mammon gulped and you saw that hurt flicker for a moment in his eyes. But it was gone like a candle blown out, yet you could still see the wisps of smoke.

“I’m fine! What are ya sayin’, Kisa! hahaha, why wouldn't I be okay? I’m the Great Mammon, nothin’ hurts me! That, in there? Nothin’ to worry about! Asmo didn't hurt me at all. If anything, I probably hurt Asmo!”

You shook your head and then looked back at him with determination set on your face. You gripped his hand in yours and led him to his room that he shares with Satan and Solomon which you know is empty as they were in your room.

Mammon followed behind or rather dragged along, “Hey, where are we going, Kisa?”

“Your room.”

“M-my room!? W-why?” Mammon stuttered back, “I don’t think that’s a good idea to do this while Lucifer and Diavolo is around! I mean not that I would mind! B-because ya know, who cares if what they think. Let them know for all I care! Even better let them know you’re mine! Maybe finally they’ll keep their grubby hands off of you.”

As cute as it was to watch your demon boyfriend blabber on about his obsession with you and his overactive imagination, you decided not to put him out of his embarrassment. And to your enjoyment, his flustering only got worse as you reached his room’s door.

“K-kisa…. are ya sure about this? I mean not that I don't want to! The Great Mammon is doing ya a favour, ya know! So ya better appreciate it!”

You almost rolled your eyes at his ‘tsundere’ mode but instead opened the door of his room, all but dragging him in. You plopped him at the edge of his bed and you stood staring down at him suddenly asserting an authoritative aura with your reversed height difference.

“K-kisa…?” Mammon stuttered, a blush rising on his cheeks as he stared up at you.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it's not happening.” You finally say, putting him out of his torment.

His face immediately fell before schooling back into a mask of fake mirth. For a moment your heart broke for denying him anything, but you knew you had to confront him about this.

“Mammon, be honest with me. Are you okay?”

Mammon laughed, “What are ya talkin’ about, Kisa? Of course, I’m fine!”

You started to get a little frustrated knowing your boyfriend refuses to seek solace in you. You cupped his face in between your hands to force him to look right into your eyes, and with a deep breath you poured your heart out to him.

“I know you’re faking it. All the time. I know you hide your pain in the depths of your heart to cope with the words that are thrown at you everyday. Your brothers might not know, but I know. I know what you hide behind that mask and I wish you would trust me with that sadness and hurt and let me help you.”

Mammon stared at you with wide eyes as your words slowly sank into him.

“I love you, Mammon. I want to be there for you,” you implored hoping it’ll finally sink in.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence as Mammon cast his eyes down and you let him. You knew he needed a few minutes to run over his thoughts and formulate a response. Your hands gently sloped over his cheekbones as you waited patiently. Eventually, his hands reached up to wrap around your hips as he slowly descended into your torso to bury his face.

“Mammon…?” You quizzically called out his name as you looked down at the fluffy white head.

“How do ya know me so well..” His voice muffled by your clothes.

Your right hand reached up to slide into his hair and gently comb through it. Your other hand reached across his shoulders to hug him closer to you.

“Of course, I do,” you replied with affection laced through the words.

You couldn't help but smile at how cute your boyfriend was being when he’s honest despite the seriousness of the situation. Mammon wasn't crying but you could feel the tiredness in his shoulders that slumped into you.

“It’s just…” he began, “sometimes I don't know if my brothers really want me around or not.”

Your heart broke at his confession but you held back from interrupting to rebut all his insecurities. You knew this was not the time to insert your voice and instead you just listened knowing that sometimes all he wants is someone to hear him out.

“Why am I seen as the worst avatar as if pride or envy isn’t just as bad? Why am I the worst brother just because I’m the Avatar of Greed? I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to be the Avatar of Greed.” Mammon’s voice broke a little at the end of his rant which only made you squeeze him tighter to you.

“I know I’m not the easiest to be around and I know I make trouble for my brothers but…” Mammon trailed off as if he couldn’t find the right words. You didn’t push nor encourage him to talk, but continued absently alternating between running your hand through his hair and trailing it down to caress the nape of his neck.

After a few moments of silence as he took in your comforting caresses, he continued in a whisper that you would’ve missed if you weren't carefully listening, “I want them to see me.”

You felt your heart fracture at this quiet moment of vulnerability he entrusted you with. In that moment, you’re reminded of why you fell in love with Mammon; behind his exterior image of a money-obsessed, troublesome, arrogant demon is one that sought the attention of his brothers, wanting and needing validation of his existence; someone who was the most considerate, kind, and loyal friend and boyfriend. You pushed Mammon away from your torso and held his face so that you could look at each other. You saw his eyes lined red as tears threatened to fall. You saw the hurt that he no longer tried to hide from you and all you wanted to do was soothe that pain; to wipe it from existence.

But you knew this was something you wouldn't be able to fix alone. Mammon’s relationship with his brothers is a tenuous one, forged from hundreds of years of habits that your mere decades of mortal life couldn't compare to. Empty reassurances won't fix what years of coexistence has done to him.

“Mammon, I don’t know what your brothers feel or how they see you, but here's what I do know: they would do anything for you when you’re really in trouble,” you began. “Despite Lucifer’s exasperation and disappointment at times, he’s always bailed you out.”

“Lucifer only cares about his reputation. He only bails me out so that my mistakes don't affect him,” Mammon retorted with a roll of his eyes.

You almost shook his head at how dense he was being. “Or maybe, he does it cause you’re brothers and he cares.”

Mammon only scoffed and opened his mouth to rebut but you cut him off.

“Okay, maybe he also does it because of his reputation, but you know, Lucifer has said he would do anything for his brothers.”

His eyes widened at that news but immediately turned skeptical. “Yea’ right.”

“It's true. Why do you think he was worried when I started making pacts with all of you guys?”

The Avatar of Greed didn't have a response to that and instead he thought over your words.

“As for your younger brothers, I don't really know what they think,” you admitted.

Mammon snorted. “If you’re trying' to comfort me, you’re doin’ a great job.”

You smacked his shoulder. “Hey, I wasn't done.”

He jumped a little at the surprise attack and stared at you with mock hurt. “Way to hit a demon when he’s down.”

You wanted to laugh at his antics but settled with a barely hidden smile and a scolding, “Mammon! I’m trying to be serious here!”

“I’m just sayin’! Your comforting skills might need some work. I’ll even help you! First step, don’t hit a demon when he’s down. See, the Great Mammon is gonna teach you everything.”

Even when he’s hurt, he still manages to make light-hearted jokes. Perhaps it was a habit from trying to hide it for so many years; a coping mechanism. But you didn't dwell on it lest you stray from the issue at hand.

“As I was saying, I don't know what your brothers think, but do you think they would spend time with you if they really can't stand you? They would have done something if they really didn't want you around,” you argued, “So in a way, them teasing you is their way of showing affection. In a misguided kind of way.”

Mammon turned his head away from you with a slight scowl on his face, “Are you taking their side?”

You looked at him bewildered. “What? No! I’m not justifying their words or actions.”

You grabbed your demon boyfriend's face again to get him to face you and placed a chaste but affectionate kiss on his lips. Mammon blushed at the surprise action and you felt him tighten his grip around your hips.

“I’m just saying, don't think you’re not loved or wanted around. Your brothers do love you, but they just show it in a different, and possibly wrong, way,” you explained. “I love you and I want you around. Always. And I'll tell you and show you as many times as you need.”

At those words, Mammon smiled lovingly at you, his eyes soft with gratitude, and you could almost see heart bubbles floating out of him. He stretched up to capture your lips and you gladly leaned down to meet him in the middle. You smiled into his kiss, full of tenderness and contentment.

“Thank you,” Mammon whispered into the space left behind as your lips separated from each other, “And I…. love you.”

You couldn't see Mammon’s face from close up but you could tell he was blushing from his confession. Even after all this time dating, Mammon still was endearingly shy about expressing his feelings. You didn't mind because it meant that the words held even more weight when he actually said it.

“Do you want to go back?” You asked after the shared moment.

“No.” Mammon said bluntly with a slight frown, “You’re MY human. They can do without you for a night.”

As he finished his sentence, he fell backwards onto his bed, pulling you down with him. You let out a squeak at the sudden free fall, trying to not crush Mammon. He rolled you over to his side before swiftly pulling the duvet over the both of you.

“I can’t stay. Satan and Solomon are going to come back and report us to Lucifer or Diavolo,” you pointed out.

“They can't catch ya if you hide.” He grinned.

“Asmo is going to notice I’m not back.”

Mammon let out a curse under his breath. “You’ll just have to sneak back after they’re asleep,” he stated before hesitantly reaching an arm towards you under the blankets.

“C-can I….?” he asked, always worried about making advances towards you. You grabbed his hovering arm and draped it over your waist. This gave Mammon the confidence to pull you closer to him until you were tucked into his chest. You didn't have the heart to offer any more excuses as to why you couldn't stay. You gave into the temptation of Mammon’s arms and accepted whatever the future would hold. Right now, you just wanted to savour the precious time you have with him.

You felt the pressure of Mammon’s lips placing a kiss on the top of your head and let the pounding heartbeat in his chest lull you to sleep.

#obey me!#obey me! shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me fic #obey me mammon fic #hurt/comfort fic #F/M #mc is female #i do use my character's name when others are calling them but I don't know if i should do that for all fics #does that hinder your reading experience? please let me know for reference!

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you-did-well-moon · 5 years

Text

|Relationship with the boys|Monsta x 8th member Au|

A/N: Ahh I'm sorry it took me so long to get the update of the next part of this out, but I really am excited for this series. I really reccomend looking at the lyrics of the songs mentioned to get a closer look at their relationship. If you have any songs you think would fit any of these relationships please tell me!! Yesterday I got stuck in the middle of the road at night hoping no demon would come get me. I just got back from a concert. Anyways I have a seventeen reaction in store. I even have plans for a fanfiction I want to do, and another additional member au. Please don't be afraid to talk to me or to request!!~Moon

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shownu

Showslyn

At first, they ignored each other's existence. Shownu because he didn't really know what to say or how to act. Arslyn because avoiding her made her think he didn't like her. Then that fateful day came where they had been sat next to each other while waiting to do a mission. Arslyn had seen how nervous Shownu had been even though he didn't say anything. Choosing to try and overcome any bad feelings, and calm both their nerves she reached for one of his hands in both of hers.

Shownu had flinched and looked at Arslyn with a wondering expression, but Slyn kept her head down. Shownu couldn't help the feeling of protection that overcame him, so he kept his hand there and let her touch comfort him.

Arslyn feels sorry for the dear leader sometimes. She does everything she can to make it easier for him. Whether it's putting snacks in everyone's bags for practice so they're not complaining or clutching on to his outfit when he's giving a speech. Shownu is probably the most comfortable with Arslyn.

Shownu is a quiet man and all the others are pretty talkative, but he can sit in comfortable silence with Arslyn. They both someone know what the other is thinking without saying anything. Arslyn lives for his eye scrunch smile. Both of them aren't the touchy type, but they can make exceptions for each other.

They can often be seen smiling across the room to each other. Shownu is probably the one giving piggy back rides to Arslyn, or just carrying her around if she falls asleep. They care for each other through actions rather than words. They both say they can't imagine life without each other. They've helped the other in ways they never thought possible. Arslyn was the first person Shownu opened up to, and she's often the person he goes to if he's ever feeling down.

She's also the one that can make Shownu laugh the hardest. If Shownu is feeling down bring him Arslyn and he'll brighten up. They get strength from each other, and they naturally get along. Fans often call her his second in command since she tries so hard to remove some of the burden he has from his shoulders as a leader. They both wear their hearts on their sleeves when they're near each other, and anyone can see they care for each other.

Arslyn has produced, written, and sung songs for each of the members.

Shownu's song is called Pondus which is weight in Latin. She explains in the song how lost they'd be without him. Arslyn sings about how she found a safe haven in him when the world had shown her nothing but loss and sorrow. She acknowledges the hardships and negative feelings that come with being the leader of a group from a smaller company. She talks about how he has to be acknowledged and appreciated more. She expresses her gratitude towards him, and Shownu teared up when he first heard it. The song is alike to Jungkook's Begin.

Wonho

Wonslyn

At the start, Wonho acted tough but Arslyn is very observant. She instantly saw him for the little bun he is. From the very start, Arslyn hated to see him cry. It felt wrong seeing him cry. If he cries fans can often see Arslyn reaching for, and gripping his hand. She'll wipe away his tears and lean her head against his.

Arslyn is very protective of Wonho and monbebe often say she wears the pants in their relationship. If anyone disrespects Wonho she'll become snappy and sarcastic towards them. She does her best to help with his self esteem, and she let's him get away with a lot of things. These two naturally gravitate towards each other, and in interviews and fan meetings they're probably going to be placed next to each other.

Like Arslyn helps with his confidence, Wonho helps her with her anxiety and PTSD. They both calm each other down when they're feeling scared or worried. Arslyn looks up to his passion, and Wonho looks up to her fierceness. These two make very good friends seeing as the qualities one seems to lack the other make up for. They often say they're two parts of one whole. Incomplete if they're away from each other. Wonho is also the only one who knows about her past.

They compliment each other well. Arslyn is always there to assure him he is more than just muscle, and he is there is assure her she is more than her past. Wonho can be seen bringing in flowers into the dorm sometimes since he knows how much Arslyn loves them. Wonho adores her, and Arslyn adores him. Nothing is able to seperate them, or change how much they love eachother. Not a crush, misunderstanding, or fight could ever come in between them.

Many idols look up to Wonho because of his body. Arslyn knows it makes him umcomfortable, and she’s the type to do everything she can to make her members feel as happy and relaxed as they can be. She’ll do anything to get them out of that kind of situation. Many idols confront Wonho, and she’ll often go and drag him away if she sees his muscles being the sole focus of the conversation. She’ll leave them alone if she sees that Wonho looks comfortable. Monbebe are often very grateful to Arslyn for taken such good care of him, and the rest of the members.

Arslyn sneaks in a lot of snacks into the dorms and into practice for him. If any of them try to tease him for eating a lot or try to take it away she’ll throw whatever is in her hands at them (which is almost always a book). As mentioned earlier she is very protective of him, and won’t let anyone give him shit. She will accompany him to the gym, but instead of actually working out she’ll probably be writing lyrics or thinking of different beats and melodies. She’s the one that makes sure he eats and sleeps enough. Well, as much as he can while being an idol.

Wonho’s song is called Oenomel. The song talks about how Wonho and Arslyn have been able to find solace and comfort in eachother. It shows everyone who’s heard it how Wonho could have been the difference between life and death for her. Theres a highnote at the end of the song of her saying the title of the song. The title is a greek word and the definiton is of something that combines strenght with sweetness. It causes goosebums and a mouth drop to any listener. She says in the song how Wonho gives her hope and trust in the poeple around her. Wonho almost sobbed when he heard the song. He wouldn’t let go of Slyn for hours. The song is alike to Magic Shop by Bts.

Minhyuk

Minslyn

Minhyuk and Arslyn actually didn’t like eachother for a bit. When passing eachother Minhyuk would giver her faces and turn his nose up while she would knock her shoulder against his and flat out ignore him. This was caused by Minhyuk’s disliking towards Kyun when he first came on to NO MERCY. The situation made things akward and tense when the whole group was in the same room. This silent treatment soon ended when Arslyn went up to the company building’s roof to get some fresh air only to see Minhyuk crying.

She scolded herself. She should have known of all the insecurities and tears hidden behind his smile. That night was spent with akward apologies and small smiles. They weren’t instantly best friends, but small steps matter. Honestly, it wasn’t that long before they were hitting eachother bent in laughter and annoying everyone because they could’t stop laughing. If you didn’t know these two personally, you could say they hate eachother because of their sarcastic conversations and random insults thrown into the mix.

Truth be told, these two would walk through hell and back hand in hand with smiles on their faces as long as they had eachother. They may make fun of each other, but neither of them take it seriously. They both take it in stride. They know each other so well they know which lines to cross and which ones to stay away from. Arslyn can be seen in a headlock from him most of the time, or she can often be seen throwing something from her hoodie pocket at him. Fans do know how much they care for each other when the camera catches them fallen asleep snuggled close together.

Everything may seem like all fun and games with these two, but their relationship is a lot deeper than what other poeple would expect. Arslyn makes it her mission to always be the person Minhyuk can lean on, or the hand he can use to help him back up after he’s fallen. Arslyn knows about everything he hides behind his smile. The home sickness, doubt, and lack of confidence are all things he tries so hard to conceal for the group’s sake.

In a way Arslyn is the one that holds him up. The one that keeps him from going insane by being someone he can confide in. He tells her everything. His fears, dreams, and insecurities. The company’s roof where it all started is their special place. They even have some chairs up there with a cooler full of drinks and a backpack filled with snacks. The roof is the place where they can sob into each other’s shoulders, or they can reminice about past memories. The roof is the place where they let their screams and yells at the world for being so unfair and cruel get taken away by the numbing wind. It’s one of the only places they feel safe to be themselves. There’s no cameras to smile fakely into, or reporters to feel threatened by. Only them, the view of the city, and the stars above them.

They annoy eachother endlessly, but the comfort they give each other is far greater than that. These two are the type of friends that make fun of eachother, but anyone else tries to tease one of them and the other will get defensive. Agaist the other it’s funny, but put both of them together in a team against someone and things can get pretty scary.

Minhyuk’s song is called Sehnsucht. The song talks about how they both long for a place to call and feel at home. Along with that it talks about the sense of isolation they feel when they can’t seem to find that certain place, or how it feels so far sometimes. She talks about how they were able to find a home in eachother, and she says that it’s hard seeing him smile when she knows just how many times he’s cried himself to sleep. She sings about being there to help him up from now on, and she does so with emotion filling the ears or room it’s being played in. She also briefly and discreetly mentions the roof. Minhyuk’s beamed smile practically blinded the room when he first heard it, and it continues to so no matter how many times he hears it. The song is alike to Promise by Exo.

Kihyun

Kislyn

When these two met, they honestly didn’t know what to think of eachother. To Kihyun, she was just another trainee to compete agaisnt. To Arslyn, he was just another face. They didn’t really try to talk or get to know eachother. Arslyn had the rappers to hang out with while Kihyun stuck with the vocalists. They were never paired up for a mission, so they never really got a chance to talk to eachother.

It wasn’t until the final members for the group were chosen that they got as close as they are now. They both basically fell in love with eachother. Kihyun took her in as his newest adopted daughter, and Arslyn accepted him as a kind of parent figure. She constantly denies Shownu as her father saying she already has enough father figures. Plus, Shownu doesn’t let her get away with as much as Key, Heechul, and Junmyeon do.

Monbebe love when they’re given the same parts since their voices compliment eachother well. She says that Kihyun’s habits are the cutest to her, and she loves catching him in the act. When he complains about being short, she just tells him he’s the perfect size to hug. She also says that Kihyun is the cutest overall to her. He’s adorable to her without even trying. Whenever he does anything monbebe see her practically melting. She loves his voice, his smile, and basically everything about him.

The only thing that Kihyun does that she doesn’t like is nag. If he ever nags at her, she’ll flat out ignore him. She may spare him a glance. Whenever he cooks she’ll stay nearby to keep him company, and she can throw spoons at Minhyuk so it’s a winwin situation. If Arslyn ever has any nightmares she’ll go to Kihyun’s room because she finds that his voice calms her down a lot. Kihyun doesn’t mind either loving being able to soothe her to sleep.

These two are very soft for eachother. If either one of them is upset or annoyed the other will be able to calm them down. A simple touch or comforting glance can do a lot more than you would expect. Arslyn has a thing for his face. She can often be seen touching it, or tracing lines across it. Kihyun is the one that will get Arslyn out of uncomfortable situations. Some idols will confront her about being the only female in a male group, and Kihyun will often be the one dragging her away from that conversation.

Arslyn has accepted the fact that the closest thing she’lll ever have to a guinea pig is Kihyun, so she can almost always be seen giving him food just to watch him eat. She thinks he looks like a hamster. Sometimes Kihyun wishes Arslyn wouldn’t speak every opinion she has on her Vlives since he thinks the less people attack Arslyn the better. He doesn’t tell her anything though because he knows she’ll get frustrated keeping so much in. He only worries for her. These two would go to the ends of the earth for eachother.

Kihyun’s song is called Gigil. The song talks about how Arslyn views their friendship as something precious and fragile. She sings about only wanting to see him smile, and how she’s worried of losing him. The song tells him to promise to always stay by her side. The song also goes into depth into how Arslyn views him as something very beautiful that can easily fly away at the slightest wrong move. She says that she wishes she could talk to him, but she fears scaring him off by seeming immature and dramatic. She thanks him for making her feel protected and safe. Kihyun basically cooed and pinched at her cheeks when he first heard it. Monbebe can find him singing it without even meaning to. The song is alike to Butterfly by Bts and Thanks by Seventeen.

Hyungwon

Arsewon

During NO MERCY, Hyungwon was the vocalist she was the closest to, and that she frequently talked to. Well, they got particularly close after a prank he pulled on her. Before the prank they mostly did small talk. They’re both similar to eachother. When first meeting them they can seem indifferent and stone-faced, but when you get closer to them they can be a bit chidish and they can actually be fun to be around.

Hyungwon had been encouraged by the writers and peoducers to prank Arslyn insisting she wouldn’t hold a grudge. The prank consisted of Arslyn in the studio in the process of producing a song, and then leaving to use the the bathroom. Hyungwon had made sure he downloaded the song and put it into a USB before “acidentally” deleting the song under the guise of just trying to hear the song and pressing the wrong button. He pulled the most worried and sorry look he could, and he scurried to Arslyn repeatedly saying sorry.

He explained what he did, and he watched Arslyn bolt into the studio. She tried everything she could to try and get the song back only to fail. Hyungwon had been prepared for her to make a fuss and be annoyed with him. Instead, what he got was Arslyn with sad and dissapointed eyes. She had sighed and given him a sad smile only telling him it was okay, and that she hadn’t really liked the song anyways. Hyungwon knew better though. He had seen the exited look on her face, and the little bounce in her step from his hiding spot when she had come out.

Her reaction had made him instantly want to make a better friend of her. His resolve completly broke when she stared sadly at the screen with a pout telling him she could always try and remake the song or make a better one. Hyungwon put a hand on her shoulder, and he nudged the USB into her hand with a soft smile and a “got cha”. He watched her eyes light up and hurredly plug it into the desk top watching as the song appeared. A huge smile came onto her face as she teasingly scowled at him and made fists at him letting out a “ugh”. She laughed and told him she’d get him back. Their friendship took off from there. Arslyn deciding she liked him, and Hyungwon choosing to let her in to his close circle of friends.

These two absolutely adore eachother. Hyungwon is very fond of Arslyn, and he is always doing his best to help her with fashion. When they’re bored they can be caught making faces at eachother. They have the kind of freindship where they’ve probably seen eachother naked, and it didn’t phase how comfortable they are with eachother at all. Arslyn is always writing songs where she specifically gives Hyungwon more lines. She’s seen what he’s capable of, and she knows he can do a lot more if only Starship trusted him with it. She firmly believes Hyungwon is very talented, and that he should be given more power and identification in the group. Her go to topic when talking about Hyungwon is describing how he’s more than just a pretty face.

She knows how entertaiment companies are, and she’s actually revealed that she refuses to do anything if she sees that Hyungwon has been given unequal representation or line distribution. She says that she’s gotten her way every single time. Hyungwon is vey grateful for this and he does a lot for her. He accopanies her to the hospital, or to volunteer at the animal shelter. He also stays behind with her at the practice room if she’s having trouble with one of the choreographies. He’s the one that almost always sticks up for her if she’s not being taken serisously as a producer or for being in the group because she’s a female. They’ve got eachother’s backs, and they won’t let anyone bring the other down.

Hyungwon’s song is called Querencia. The song talks about how Hyungwon is constantly someone who gives her confidence to be who she is and who she wants to be. She sings about how sunrise to sunset he’s always giving her support and assurance. She aknowlodges him as someone she could never afford to lose, and that she would do anything to keep the friendship they have even in the next life. She expresses how he’s always been someone to help her avoid any hardships she may have. Hyungwon hid behind the first thing he could find because of the sheer gidiness he felt. The song is alike to Sunrise by JB and Tomorrow, Today by JJ Project.

Jooheon

Honslyn

Back in the NO MERCY days her and Jooheon along with Gunhee were the three musketeers. Always attached to the hip, and the three of them basically always doing everything and going everywhere together. They were known as the biggest threat to the other trainess. They were a powerful and unstoppable force to go up against if they were ever put together. They had the vocals, rap, production, lyric writing skills, determination, and passion. They were creative enough to come up with choreographies that wouldn’t make them look bad. Nothing could have put them down. Nothing exept the eliminations, of course.

When Kyun came onto the show it definetely changed their relationship. Gun became afraid of the competition the two bought while Honey couldn’t help but feel frustration and spite towards the two. This put a lot of strain between their relationship and they became distanced. In the end, the distance and disdain they felt rooted a deep regret in them that would stay for a long time. Arslyn cried the most when Gun was eliminated (actually she straight up sobbed on the floor since her legs gave out with the sheer amount of emotion while Gun kept telling her it was okay with a choked up voice).��She wished she would have taken initiative to put the negative feelings aside and made her last moments with him worthwhile. Both her and Honey still talk to him, and they try to meet up but it’s hard when they’re idols.

Her and Honey are now closer than ever before. Monbebe love when these two are put together in songs or in choreographies. They have so much energy when permorming and heart stopping stage presence. These two could get a stadium of millions hyped up with just one verse. Monbebe call these two the DD (Duality Duo) since they’re really aggressive and vivrant on stage while in real life they’re completly different. They’re also the most loved ship. Monbebe love these two together, and it’s not based on nonsense. These two feel a lot of attachement towards eachother.

They’re often saying they’re soulmates calling and greeting eachother with the title. Arslyn has a love-hate relationship with his aegyo. Sometimes it makes her melt while other times it makes her cringe away from him. Honey always whines when she scrunches her nose and grimaces stepping away from him. Arslyn has the most skinship with him out of all the members. They can always be seen hugging or snuggling. Anytime Honey tries to act tough or swaggy, Arslyn will out right laugh. When anyone says he looks scary or intimidating she’ll also laugh right in their face.

If his sister and Audrey come to visit, and Arslyn enters the room Audrey will ignore everyone and walk right into her arms. Arslyn has a very calming precense that makes people love being around her. Since she has so many different friends, and some of them are are producers she’s worked with many of them. Songs don’t exactly take one day to make, so she won’t be at the dorms for some time. At times Jooheon will get a bit jealous of her working with others. Especially when he’s having trouble with a song. She knows this, and she does her best to assure him. Jooheon knows his boundaries though. They don’t let this affect their relationship, or their work. It happens very rarely.

Honey is a constant source of inspiration for Arslyn. She admires him for being so passionate, and how he always puts so much of himself into his work. She’s often left breathless when seeing Jooheon talk about his music by noticing the light that ignites in his eyes. Little does she know, the same exact same thing leaves him breathless. She knows Honey can get a bit down sometimes. If she catches him at these times, she’ll take a hold of his hand or hug him until he feels better. She’ll force him out of the studio and outside to get some fresh air. She’ll get him new equiptment, or take him out to eat. She calls Chanyeol or jackson, and she’ll go as far as to call his mom. Arslyn will do anything to see her favotire dimples again. Poking at them and squishing his cheeks when she does. Frowns aren’t present for long when these two are around eachother. Soulmates.

Jooheon’s song is called Meraki. It talks about how she views honey as someone who hung the moon along the stars when things were getting dark. She says in the song that he makes her feel human and normal. She really plays into the soulmate thing. She names Honey as someone that was meant to be in her life. Someone meant to hold her hand as they went through the hardships of being an idol out in the public view in control of the fans. She mentions that brief moment in time where they didn’t talk and her feelings during that time. She sings about all they’ve lost and all they’ve gained. She says that his love and warmth is something that has given her a lot of strenght. He always plays it when doing a Vlive. The song is alike to Heartbeat by Bts.

I.M

Kyunslyn

Kyun trusts Arslyn the most, and he does so for abvious reasons. When he first came on to the show she was the one who stuck up for him if the trainees said anything to him or even dared look at him in the wrong way. When she first found him crying in the studio after talking with Jooheon she reached her breaking point. It’s one of those moments where she hans’t felt that mad in a long time. She hearded everyone into a room, and then continued to yell at everyone for about an hour telling them how wrongly they were treating him. She pointed each person out, and she made sure they understood exactly what they had done wrong. By the end, she was crying. The trainees felt ashamed of themselves, but stayed silent as they watched tears stream down her face.

Seeing no response, she stormed out of the room only to find Kyun outside. He had been holding a hand to his mouth in order to silence the sobs heaving trough his chest. They stared at eachother for a little bit before Arslyn pulled Kyun into her embrace. She cradled his head against her shoulder as they both clutched onto eachother. Soon they were on the groung, and she rocked him back and forth while he spoke a broken mantra of “I’m sorry”. She only replied with whispered comforting words into his ears. That’s how they fell asleep, and that’s how they were found by the other trainees.

After she left, they talked about trying to treat Kyun better. They walked out and found the two leaning against the wall with arms around eachother and foreheads together. Tear tracks tracing each of their cheeks. The sight broke their hearts, and they woke both up telling them to go sleep at the dorms. From then on it was an unsoken promise that they would protect eachother. At the end of the show when Arslyn had fallen to the floor crying out for Gunhee instetad of walking to his pedestal, he had walked towards hers. He cradled her into his arms tucking her face into his neck. He refused to leave her and go to his pedestal staying with her until they finished recording.

Kyun is always the one that helps Arslyn with her migraines. Staying with her until they end. He rests her head on his lap, and he massages her temples singing a song in a low quiet tone of voice. He soothes her, and he constantly leans down to press kisses to her head. He’ll get her water, and he holds her hair when she throws up. He makes her lean against him when she walks since she gets dizzy. He’s the one that she goes to when she wants to talk about how one of her friends is getting treated wrogly by their company. She tells him everything about her acting roles, and sometimes even gives him spoilers.

Arslyn knows all about his insecurities. She knows he thinks that he doesn’t belong in the group, and that he stole the spot from one of the other trainees. At these times she’s the one cradling his head in her lap, and she runs her hands through his hair. She tells him he belongs, and that he’s there for a reason. They practice English with eachother. They’re called the emo duo since they both like to wear darker colors. They both had eye brow piercings. When these two are together they always manage to reach peak crackhead behavior. They definetely bring out the weirdness in eachother even though they can both be really mature at times. Monbebe especially love it when they get to do skits with eachother.

Jooheon and Arslyn may be the best together on stage, but Arslyn and Kyun work best when producing and writing songs. They always somehow manage to know what the other is thinking, and they always seem to be able to agree on everything. When Kyun raps, Arslyn can always be seen boucing around and hyping him up. Monbebe say that if Kyun is Stitch, Arslyn is Lilo. She loves him for his 4D personality, and she’s never judged him for it. Arslyn is probably the only one that can control him. If she also hasn’t gone full crackhead, of course. In that case, just hope for the best.

Changkyun’s song is called Kairos. In the song she talks about having eachother’s backs, and always being there. She expresses how every moment spent together is beautiful and precious to her. She encourages him to keep dreaming and smiling. Arslyn explains that the light that they each have manages to shine even when the darkness surrounds them. She says that it almost feels like a dream being able to have somone as important as him in her life. She tells him that they are capable of so much, and that he makes everything seem so much brighter. He wouldn’t let go of her hand when he heard it. The song is alike to Mikrokosmos by Bts.

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qhostqizmo · 4 years

Text

I breathe in the place I live

and wonder what else can I give this home My Home

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PRE-CONTEXT:

tender thoughts: someone gets a blow to essie's face, and when amon notices she acts skittish and disoriented. after pri heals her she continues acting weary and humiliated, and only mumbles when asked that her face is sore. in private later amon gets closer without essie blowing him off, and there's still a reddish glow to her face where she was hit. he carefully brushes the hair from her face and places his fingers beneath her chin to meet her eyes and softly whispers she looks lovely, and asks if theres anything she'd like him to get her. she shakes her head and he just murmurs a soft apology. there's a too-long lingering eye contact where amon leans in closer before they both sorta realize and amon clears his throat and tells her to rest while he finds some ice to soothe the ache a bit. before they go to bed that evening they sit a while with ess leaning against amons chest and him pressing a chilled compress over her cheek. there is too much cuddling and idol touches to be considered platonic but they are both fools. essie actually ends up dozing against amon. he has to fight the urge to not whisper 'the words' into her hair while stroking it against her nape.

bonus: amon finally whispers 'i love you' in her hair when he's certain she's asleep. but she is only 90% asleep. so a groggy essie thinking she's dreaming mumbles back 'i love you too'. amon has to struggle with his heart not to hold to tightly too hope but it's going !!!! shut up stupid meat organ she's tired she isn't aware of what she's saying, even if she sighs dreamily and snuffles again his collarbone hnnngg ko'd arrow straight through the chest

- - - - - - - - - -

Morning held a faded aroma of leather hide and rainwater on the bark of dense wooded trees. It was nostalgia; not quite a camping trip, but not quite the same as the lone gleaming eyes peering through the wood you thought you once saw. No, it was familiar, and comforting. The world was as quiet, and soft, and solace as being alone without feeling alone. Without being… alone.

She didn’t want to open her eyes. Was it a fear of what reality would display? Once, perhaps. Now, Essätha was merely tired. Excessively tired. Massively, unspeakably, horribly tired. All was silent, but there could be a crowd, and birds singing, and marketplace voices and she would still find it hard to lift her eyelids. They held a weight that could not be compared. It made her wonder how much worse it must be to recover from dying, and she inwardly winced in sympathy for the Master Arcanist of Etheron. Maybe it was more peaceful then this, but she doubted it.

It took a long time; minutes that felt like hours, for her to shift. Each limb felt stiff with sleep, and with an ache. She slept well, but bunched up, her body would not forgive her. A soft, grunt sound alerted her to another presence. The forest was calling.

Essie could only open her eyes so much. It already felt a heavy great burden to lift them so far. Her vision was greeted not with for boding, or darkness, or a stranger. There was no one trying to kill her; stab her through the chest, and no one trying to strangle her or escape the bed awkwardly in the morning. There was comfort, and tranquility. A few heartbeats longer, and her cheeks had the faintest color of pink dyed in them. If she had been uncomfortable; bunched up, then they must feel dreadful. Balled up, her head on their chest; she was probably suffocating them.

Clearing her throat in a rasp, she uttered vaguely, “M’lord?”

Amon smiled at her gently. His eyes were slits; almost a cat’s content. His arm squeezed around her shoulders in a supportive gesture. Even tired, her heart fluttered in response. The feeling it arose in her still gave way to war and conflict; an unending want and what felt like a bottomless terror.

“Good morning, Essie.”

Morning? She blinked her eyes slowly, never fully opening them past a half-mast point. It couldn’t be morning. They’d only just laid down together a few minutes ago, for her to relax and let her eyes drift a moment…

“I couldn’a slept yet,” she mumbled in exhausted conflict. “I feel like I haven’t slept in days.”

Nodding the nobleman responded with patience, “It was a tough day yesterday, Essie. Close your eyes and rest a little longer.”

She would very much like to do that. Waking was almost safer then sleeping. Even if her dreams could be as much a nightmarish hell as reality, it also could have sweet spots, but even the best visions couldn’t match this. When the reality was this; Lord Amon Thomas Illiad so close, and warm, and calm and joyous and comfortable as she felt, she felt she could melt. It was real, it was real, it was real and it was… so many things she couldn’t define or say. Which was hard for someone like her, who really knew how to use her voice.

Feeling tongue-tied tension rippling nausea into her stomach, Essätha tried to rise from the impossibly welcoming spot on his chest. “We’re going to be late meeting up with the others.”

“I know.”

Groggy, she tried to identify the cool, quiet tones of his voice. He seemed so unbothered by this fact; so at ease. His hand rubbed against her shoulder in a soothing, rhythmic gesture. A dragging sigh of relief escaped her. The rampant longing in her mind for him to touch her was ignited like flame to oil; she never wanted him to stop. The way he touched her was an alien solace; a foreign pleasure. It gave way to thoughts in all flavors and kinds, all desires both wicked and unbearably tender. She liked how protected and cared for she felt most of all. She wanted it to last; to cling to the beauty of this thought and those feelings and this moment as long as she could.

Placing her cheek to his shoulder, she nestled herself obediently against him. He did not complain of her suffocating position, curled into his side with her head and shoulder against his arm and torso. His very arm could be asleep from her weight, and he wouldn’t say a word. He’d hold her there without so much as a peep, cradling her.

Like the day prior, Amon nuzzled his face into her hair. He breathed deeply. The fluttering in her stomach intensified.

I love you.

A wave of deja vu slammed into her like a wall. Her face glowed. Why on earth would she believe that she’d heard those words?

Gripping her fingers into his shirt; the very same shirt he’d worn yesterday, still smelling faintly of sweat from the battle, Essie sleep-mumbled into his clothes. Amon’s hand moved to her back, and his breathing seemed to elevate. Wishful thinking, she presumed, placing her other hand against the side of his face as she peeked up at him. He was warm beneath her fingertips. Flush, even. She racked her brain, but couldn’t remember if he was usually quite this warm every morning when they woke. Then again, she rarely moved in to stroking his features so quickly in the day. Mm. Perhaps being so obvious and touchy wasn’t such a good idea…

Ignoring her own advice however, Essie stroked his sideburns a few times with her palm, before digging her fingers through his hair to comb the black locks back. She closed her eyes. She definitely needed more rest. She had to be crazy thinking she saw what she wanted to see in his gaze. It wasn’t the possessive look of others she’d seen before; seeing a fetching prize to be won. It wasn’t a promiscuous glance; expecting something. The way he stared at her was… so much like the feelings burning in her chest. Delicate, and thoughtful, and endearing; gentle, and considerate, and yearning. She wanted so badly to see it, to believe it, her muddled thoughts were convinced she had to projecting and reflecting those fantasy’s upon his expression.

“Need… to get up.”

He was silent. Only the tingles racing after his hand, moving across her shoulderblades, reminded her she was not alone, even as her mind drifted along between consciousness and unawareness.

“How does your face feel?”

She groaned at the reminder. “Tired.”

Lord Amon didn’t laugh. Essie sighed quietly, and replied faintly, “Not as bad. Haven’t opened my mouth enough to know how sore my jaw is. Guess I can tell you at breakfast.”

Inhaling a bit sharply as her fingernails scrapped gently against his nape, the nobleman rasped in response, “Would you like to go have something to eat then?”

She nodded against his chest. Her stomach wasn’t begging to eat yet, but if she laid here any longer she was going to pass out and then someone would have to dig her claws out from clinging to her nobleman-now-bed.

“Alright,” he murmured, unfolding his arms from around her. She wondered if she pouted and blubbered pitifully for him to hold her, if he would. She felt sincerely and insanely too confident that his answer would be a yes.

Baring her weight into the mattress, Essie pushed herself to wobble uneasily on her arms. Her hair was a mess, and she still couldn’t keep her eyes pried more then mere slits. She probably looked more zombie then anything.

Offering her a warm, crooked smile, Lord Amon reached up as he had the day prior, brushing hair out of her face with cautious adoring care to look into her eyes. Her heart flip-flopped.

“Would it help if I offered you my arm while we walk?” The sparkle in his eyes said he was both teasing and genuine.

She nodded mutely, too scared how squeaky her voice may escape her in response. Or worse: how breathless she may sound.

It pained her pulse, which stuttered as he rolled over to escape the bed so that he may come over to her side and help her. She blinked after him, eyes trailing as he moved around the bed. Such a mundane task, and yet he still was a silhouetted glow in her eyes.

She bit her tongue, the strange hallucinating dream; more like fractured glass or puzzle pieces to a full picture she could not recall, hazy in her thoughts.

I love you too.

As Amon greeted her on the other side of the bed, where she was closer to the edge, Essie rolled over. There were not many body aches to pinpoint on, thankfully. Just exhaustion.

Flopping her feet over the bed, she did not plant her weight before standing. Thankfully, her knight in no-armor was standing right there, ready to catch her tired frame from sagging too far to the floor.

“Whoa- I’ve got you, Essie,” he whispered, guiding her back to her feet with a playful grin. “Maybe we should get you to sleep earlier today.”

“Okay,” she mouthed, her throat dry and voice a wispy crackle.

As long as he’d be there, she’d bet a million platinum she would find rest with fair ease. Home was always the best and most comfortable place to rest one’s head after a weary day, after all.

#qhost story #Amon Illiad #Essatha Meduza #OTP: Essamon #softly written

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rorschachmedian · 4 years

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Eulogy

What is the cost of human life, what happens when someone leaps to the other side and leaves the void behind. Who fills it. No one does, because no one can.

Not so long ago one of my mother’s maternal aunt died, she had a son, imran, who died in a car accident some 27years back. Did she find solace in the fact that she still had three sons in her family, that she still had a life to live, that dying is just another phase of living, that imran ‘mani’ is in a better place now and is at peace? Who filled that void? If I’ve to be honest no one did, no one could, he was a part of her. A part of her died with the boy, that part always remained dead, forever dead and forever hurting.

No mother deserves to see her son die. But does that say the son should be the one to bear this pain? That he gets to mourn when his mother is no more? That by any chance he was ready for it and has been making his mind to lose the one person who loves him the most? How can you tell a boy, a man, an octogenarian that his mother has simply passed on? Its a fact that its the natural order of things, but in my heart would i believe it? Would you?

People die but their memory is resilient. It flows in the minds of those they’ve touched, and it settles in the rooms they’ve lived in, it sticks to the clothes like the body odour and the perfume they last used, it echos in the dreams and reverberates in conscious. It lingers. People die and in an instant, mundane becomes eternal.

My grandmother followed her sister to the other side last week. The last memory i have of her is from last time i met her. She was bedridden, she wouldnt recognise many faces but mine she did. I could see love in those glazed eyes, eyes that couldnt focus but saw everything. She was happy i was there, she told me where she was born, her first home, the factory nearby, the tree with the swing, her father, her brothers, her pride, her love, taking care of her, spoiling her. She recalled her adolescence, she recapped her early years of marriage for me, she said it all as if she were there and i was there as well. Thats the beauty of a narrater isn’t it, to take the audience along on a journey that you’ve been through and make them see what you’ve seen and feel what you’ve felt, the gust of wind that blew in your strong black hair so many many years ago, the sound of water rushing in the river on a beautiful evening when you were on your honeymoon. I guess past a certain age its just memories that keep fuelling us, give us a purpose to live. Telling her stories she would at times take me for one of her late brothers, she would hold my hand tighter and whisper the secrets and smile. She was living in past that day. I was out of time out of place, it was her place. The batteries in the clock of her room had died, or didn’t have the nerve to move the hands of clock, lest it breaks the spell and she comes back in present. Even clocks, Even time, starts to respect you if you’ve lived long enough, if you’ve lived good.

I know i miss her now, and i know it was her time. A part of me also knows that shes in a far better place than here but theres this other part, the selfish part, that never stops hurting, that can not fill the void.

I miss you nano jan, i have loved you dearly. Allah bless your soul.

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turuses-blog · 5 years

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Space Suede

Space~Suede

}}}}

UUUNNNN

taste

Without spectacle or speculation To disprove either, why this contrite act Of order - wrought twice over now - with patience Is an obedience foreign to lapse… Within perfect solitude and solace that To rend an addict’s said, dictatorship… Oh! in bellows, battling always, lapsed Steering clear of crystals from any hip… Oh! trapped for good in ambient control A wave formation, phalanx, to peruse Notwithstanding ministry! to unfurl Freedom, from nothing in essence. Peruse A’ some chapters’ few, and connect To an indeterminable static.

sallow / pallor

it must be the burnt lemon tree fall upon us solid-crysallids of almondine kiss and please, never let go of this almond fists’ criss-cross lisp to hold boiling fugue it is that the dusky forever’s took a tan gentle shrub enough of a lover’s hug wild at first yet plunging into cupid’s burning lungs o, that sweet passion, to be thy mouth of windless notion… promontory, flora where to end thy’s pursed-when, or begin, what fond of recoil and jettison-nonplus we’ve bout begged to dine at its smouldering tartine plagued with ragged snakes and flame to please for the sakes of this lonely burnt lemon tree I’ll assail all with what the burnt lemon takes to consume

breakneck

the ivy has pigment on the crux of the arch. the sagging arch of ivy’s pass. it used to be a pasture for silent matters and setting an eye-on and detach. i fear yet the ivy grows me down to this domicile. in the atrium for tea. oh i hate making flavored drinks for such a characteristic ship, sewn together by and by leaves. dare i yank it dare i pull, double-dare i uproot it; and tassle with it’s finland barbs… wait does it flower? does it own this home? where does it retreat at night when the lamp post posits chrome * no this ivy has a freedom. almost sent from thy heaven’s aftermath… calculating cold evenings alone, and sunny days for scaffolding craft… *it has the right to my door I guess, yet, I must depart tonight… I wish it wasn’t that easy to spot the lamplight’s goneth out tight a splaying, praying, hinge!, yet amorous as pups, that gild by day, and sleep by night… ’just where to go, least infected, so and so, I had for breakfast… as yet, to, I follow the light trodden path out of this dwarve’s town quite, all the while pretty sure - with baggage, light - I may endure a night made up for sleep, not just the itch of playful ivy. and which it’s poison is though soft, maest expedia is complicated as if gazing on twilling willows, accord perpindicular armed these pillows made by man, i completely can’t understand how it got there, or if it’s coming down, whether or not storm of protest, or friendly nether… I’ve tide us together… with a silent jag… the keystone pocketed by horse… to ride out until yet

serious settlement issue

“oh its just an odd-knocker, this storm.” Praytell forsooth not for teeth clenching prone to roarish brethren. the typeset that abhors onlookers and grave shade yet, whet for grass movements in an erroneous of swivel-floods and tourist. oh and Percival protecting the glass sass root, cellar with ornament and scone (already on hand) “oh it is quite an odd-knocker, this storm.” grassroots do tell of its aberration, the middle of fall. When and where a witch could scold up a cauldron of cabbage and sugar… to melt your eyes, she switches the lever on… yet no flying, nor sabbotage, in the old bottom-smith, glass loot, cellar for pause. “oh its dying down. this storm, what an odd knock.” as I was in teem, miserable-mind-sleeping… the middle of this seeping womb - the steady creaking of antiquated quaking - without cause. and till the water breaks I shall whisper twas an odd-knocking, as if nothing at all. nothing devoid of a forecast for glasses to toss shadows on the floor which soon shall bind all my fastest convex as storm!

peti teach

if it weren’t as bad as it was the shelter would have taken scorned crops to this hearth but snowfall brawn on the spruce young guns - find the children-chimerical toast points everywhere… green pea pods appear! everywhere, just for a few seconds from way up here…looks toyish, wonda’ if it id be a boy’s-wish!I

‘lest ye revolve around a stick! (once again) a kernel of hope! a bravish…with wits, rope and vhs tapes as these oils, and balsamic vinegarette! my choose, you,

the scalding hot crouton, bouillin outside like noodle… the exposures almost ready….! ‘spooky’-A.R. battle for the prestige of having a show to perform, the second night… the sun is a baffling cradle, lullaby magnets to master for when rapheal posee’s

tittilage

a truck stop south of the horizon… three perfect miles tilled in tile and daily tallied, the lapse being ticket to a calm shout-out…I’m ’talkin max shout out

too many at the table...

shelter… pass it around, At least floridian-meritous, pass the dish… thanksgiving gobbs, out his final mouth. “what is this? a poet convention? I’ve heard the cooking from the fridge. “strange postulate…mmm” Jason takes a sweet friccasi… pass the dish… the moon lost its directions, sitting clock-wise, to floridian-merit boasts! lucky guise… pass that dish… and someone reignite this/that candle, oh yet…” the braille-felt ham tasted too-full, aux musing at last “is that ham from the fridge Jason? is already cooked? shelter, why, I will get it…

oh, it has to… bottom of the jar stuck in pretzal’s sobriety… it has to so it can reach the others! the end of the bag, I do say! inquisitive little grasshopper… oh, it has to last… past the two twilights we caught… develop sobriety like a hawk’s bitten chalk… screeching out the taffy just to feel how hops oh, it has to last shorter? why are we backwards like arks? why do we persevere on this quest for the arts? sobriety teams with the green, forensics will catch sight… of a drunkard, with wallabees stationed peruvial at night…. but, might, this door, be friendly? be friendly this door? how can i call my licensure insured? sobriety oh it has to last longer, take a look at this fjord, theres room for candy, Now, I wonder, it’s make! high fortutious exhibition that three some odd twilights i see on television… all requited and paid trick fore, “i keep mine in elastic bands twirling orange fashioned melt-corn-caramel-candy…’ ‘where did i put my sword…’ ‘in fact next year I’ll get the hang of this and cut the corn out’ “bags of melt-caramel-candy” which is what i would frau, to peaceable elements of the nightgown i see crown…” “oh, the door,” “can this last any longer?” the fastest way to sink a tooth into something, valued like sales!, when the aliens embody us, do they where costumes… pouring ale? ‘i sent a message to an alien once, now in closest procedure, it said, nothing like servicing the eccentric and the outfit’s they where, colloquial as procedure!…’ that’s enough flapping your lonely gums, man, the candles are out…yours?

jump

the snowy peat piques under our feet a week to bend around the corner till cumbersome cleets - may! - be whittlin the trees and run, ran, tepid in a gauzy defeat all along the terrace, yet not where whet marks’ from… oh the dance of fall, trance-like snow and inward expansion, that is, from a handsome dole of ears on farmer’s land some mottled and took shape to swindle ransomed territorial foot jerks, root/root-marm type glances - a lot of this would happen the peckish birds in order the final cloud stops to talk the defunkt plough hits its rhythm when they crash into Noah’s Arc

block-q

liquid frozen cherry hearts

“used to plunder, here, pitch” “nitrogen in the gun, a black shark” appointed toward with the pistol ridge. sequential ultra-violet lights hearken

now, aiming at perfect concentric circles a miracle to miss, a martyr scorned at every outer or other disc a lively ancestral adagio of bank clutching triggers affronting notions of hands with gifts on cigarettes, alleviating the end of this type of pistols’ training measure, arriving behind, now, through doors, a field of ace-cards, to score, Since, as all alive, they arrive via assault rifles brought by forklift to the mire

january in code

although they do know hospitality, and efficiency among the dreary… well, since the nurse left, it was sweltering inside the cabin. which forsook the season came early, Good Heavens and when we couldn’t take it at all, we issued out into the ramps of snow as blockade and like beforehand spotted the of tufts tobacco far off, gunfire outlets and discoed merrily gauging, yet gouging our gait…

we still had the ridge around this necropolis half-faced, and as we spread, like butter on a skillet, we lost contact, our breathe no longer visible, plodding on into the flurries laying in graves

possibly still warm, we had moved out earlier than as expected… the extra flattering isometric movements we made were cantankerous. at mortar - we lay along the ridges - a fresh footsteps’ walkway past the trekked banks, still with us. , digging now back, surrounded by snow, towards the cabin, which this bearing clod and snow curtain imposes in testimony to a feverish loan, …before we start freezing, submachine guns on our postuler comprisals’ with whoady-demons hiding in the banks… whoa… I had strong, black coffee in a flask, which acted fast, yet put me at a loss with the frostbite of that cabin drought…

etc

As he gaze past the blinds, blinded by sun and shade, he pulls the chord aperture, at an angle and walks away to the study… Now as some say he makes beautiful sonnets… he to turn on the light to dawn it - these unbelievable inexplicably structured poems, which, in delight - glaze as he flips through; and raise the top right hand corner at the dancing wick to see the roman numeral to expedient light… Waiting to shop for milk and cheese, just to go ‘home… …and count [his] poems.’ again - replete, with pen names and invisible device, catalouge and camoflauge - jagged jarring shadow mare, bleached-Marrakesh, displaying their centre of weight. - just to eventually feed the perishable… Yet so - conceited, fashion to vague response and acquisitions, sometimes wrought - not just with his abundance of makes and modellas - conceited to the even very first time he ridiculously took time to stray from couplets and into: haikus, tankas, couplets, stanzas, coupons, colored leaves, radio jazz limericks, sonnets and shoes, just you-bet that until you read his work, that’s all you hear about, etc…

spot spice

i trot alien to the moon, passive and plausible to make the rise soon… its still early - while she ties her frown in thoughts, laying down - for her. mirth married to tarrier, wincing fairy-gilded to answer the wrought specs ‘in step with the window - the next possible contact swoon so certain and so far away the curtains of fall and May destined to be some other day - the dry champagne - co-ordinates slow - and the clamor, cauterized by locks of snow… until, ray upon ray of thy whetted smile - the merry festoon parlay as he gestures in a hard place… ‘I shall climb this tower, and rescue thee, not since Aesop, hath I believed, that there, a way to contest in speech, win and render this read heir besmirched your fate-meet, to a tender of every mention of my search… to seek. if I don’t climb to Luna, I may not resolve A pageantry for my waking ours’ and roses, in which to impeach.’

sandy welts

I went through there a while ago… it was fun crouching and dodging the trees… pressed to be, at war with the cite pleading-seething, not early enough to sneeze, yet being and in the beating pulse fleer of a rich,slow, (atomized) culture… in a way it felt untouched, I author… yet as i went on it seemed the way was receding towards an uncomfortable nature. First: the crickets’; sharp territorial lacerations, and the grass; against my calves, the smells of raw dirt; sobbing & the static-firecracker chlorophyll, all dashing ample pressure without building moisture, nonplus- with a bark of tree-like controlled temperature, ready as the rain and sun… it was cool, like an artic-submarine, as i wilted my holder’s keep then yet the thinning sun through the vertices’ expenditures clearly dipped to keep what expedience eye to eye… - I had trekked in a straight line so I took an about-face and marched back through…

‘talk about a red forest; passchendale spread dirt worked crescendo in quiet anticipation… scene from fantasies with a clumsy flourist…(stocked to the teeth) possibly enroute to explore the extra toxic mycological experiential plummets of the sport, known around here as half-plums - down-the-road, flash-back driven to protect snails…that’s all to say about it… yet I know they left trails… all waiting beside, an unevenly undulating mossy-short-fringed-shore…

The forrest sweat with me. It was on fire, the sun reached the luminescence cast from mark… on this relief of a march (more a thoroughfare) I couldn’t remember sites or paths or anything except the cyphered boughs… I dare say the leaves (in control) had me trapped, or lesser-oblong, blinded a gigantic swirling record of historians…! twas, more a terrestrian color brigade’s way of choosing way; and off to the sides: hay and what have you on one side, and a hedge high as high buildings envisioned from the fence ‘far off feudal. ‘all it needs is a fashionable mortuary on this plot to clear the woods I say… ‘next to congregational fences therefore, for they say the woods ain’t no normal woods…could be… I don’t frequent forrests too much, but maybe

the cedar incarcerated graveyard to last past wroughten fig draws

the screech of an antique drawer… the ‘screams at night to be extra visible, in the swift wind. almanac worthy, sale-item, pearl-obelisks of miniature mince through acumen fro-whistling. thats it with the fields, yet a myriad of several more super-imposed ghastly victims float through the dying leaves, kicking up dusts and leaf-coupons… I hear the roof belongs to the moon, and the smallest matters’ seek the light…

partridge

a twisted piece of grass in his responsible thumbs. he takes in, and lets out and some crickets jump in. had he known, grass-gowns for licorice, he’d had not blown his cover, oh so covetted as a tomb ground nearby, so surly, metamorphic reprise done under. what with a sandal stepping on top of small hills. ants and moth and flower and soil… best if he heads home the sun seems to be toiling

may weather

the bulbous’ businesses bias is of this hyacinth park - next to a frequency-trip rhododendron mention -parched my upper and hidden tensions of sinuses on a timeprint trip toward the sun. blocking the way a few feverish violets graying on the task ‘afront. ‘ i uncontrollably thought of sneezing, i know just the one… with a muddy print flurring off into the grassiest patches of hatchwork passes… chastised with practices of cold mashed potatoes and born of bread in sandwhiches…just to get past this…

she wore along with a song of the ancients - some climactic recession - that of butterflies and their swift tangential progressions; more than half - by a bit - past suspension… yet hammer’s smith smith moat, floating - to say - and blinking infinitely on a saucer of dismay… what several willows’ pillows at thought to bade, arrays of colorific centrepieces no more than just a bit clay… yet cloisters holsters sprays and sprays… while indeed the worthiest longlash fashions the gray. running away takes more time… i guess

rest

it was like destiny’s letters… cheavauh brawten… myriadical faucet (on) break-up patents, loose jean, palindromatic headdress on the lap of conclave…

‘just building, destroying miracles.. sorry worry-issue, razing glass tubes with the fictitious friction, how so~ felicitous at mention… rented a co-op back to baccyus (too) painted leisurical

praytell

an oriented cat figured its way across my lap and sat ‘correction, with articulation… and that, these

witchy-cat’s-eyes did stare at my frozen-folded slacks of worrisome pseudo turmoil - contingent on witches-cats’ body prompting hyphenetic enfolding upon, yet may not capture, the riding - crumpled - as i got up. and, yet let the yarn of her fretful sorcery fold mercurially into a snow man’s legs…which happened backwards…accidente’ ‘thought i might snatch my in-hand-done papers; plucked like a c string…out and on this same diaspora singular-editions… of which might defribulate a countenance leaving hooks cards’ on door knobs…quo now and forever, and with thinning trim as, whispering spurs dropped that witchy cat into the time-signature of my noumenal greeting prepositions to date, and all anti-slack band fashion - to temper to hands off and on… for instance I grasped the gnomon that i construed out of wrought natural materials, including but not limited to mangoes, caramel and magnesium… shaving the time…~ it wears like glue I had forth created the sheathing effect of its width set, scent, and scoal that is that time and time again cat’s are proven to exist forever… the scary-witch-cat caught up with me at the door harboring a big, black, bubbly cauldron-stir… with a peacemeal glance back at the forth chapter and muttered, just a bit, whetted. the air quickly jetted to phenomenal… what time was it, was it? i left my apothecary, things were looking up! soon to spread the time ah the settlling slug, the maniacal ant reserves the bald men selling rugs and the pills that people deserve… - always awake yet - and feverishly asleep; sleeping all the time away my undulations and motion-derivatives tart in series and sets complexed the fluish tenders of the herrendous heat tarp to act art contradictory veritas minutely and breathe hearty of the daze chalk if thats what is entailed - the job was simple yet met with some combattant like.

- perhaps outside where the cigarettes burn; platonic mnemonic, reindeer begged for antlers cash spent enroute to the spot, most of it traditional cat’s telephone machine… who knows?

a semi-efficient compromise of plexiglass scratch flat - the vivid pock marks of the projector, which’s capacity was quite muddled. and the cat had it (either way) yet the cat call worked the cat, santa claus, some other big names… kicked a freestyle session, pretty dope stuff. for instance… “i bring you presence” that guy has way too much time on his hands.

Houndstooth is soundproof

1. quay

1.tell everyone, the basement’s done flooding…

1.my house, a crumb within a flute sharps of embankments

1.patients testing lesser things for flooding or dried fish

1.“you’ll have yours”

1.“its windy outside”

1.the basement is whetted while i rinse through blades and shower my facial

1.while spirits sink from the comforter - morse code balancing, with this art

1.blinking, blinking, blinking…

1.stridents

1.0

1.kneedeep

1.‘back in the day, when i was young, i’m not a kid anymore’

1.bliss crystals sift through stealth, miss you ‘xoxox’

1.plagarize dexterity for another half-surmised

1.blur of the edges insofar fit for a fistful of life, twitch, came short and sought wife-

1.Those, curious pledges to deltoids, the -esiuz of the ledger

1.blasting surfeit in two lasting past the forth, fortnight eclipse…

1.you get to fight; aside a private glass of modern man’s ant-hill

1.some tvo granted chain of command through the grass blades,

1.sit, fantasy, break, elven toxicology…speak worldly through a spasm i once had…

1.no doubt it would wash away in mineral deposits, so accursedly shallow…

1.pressur

1.patches, on delt’s quay -

1.milk and chips…

1.chocolate on the mint press procedural stress

1.need so many…

1.tell me about it,

1.abdicate

deltoid

i fell into a double-pronged - gift - marriot of song. play flacons fillial fish bladed oblong…merro sketched on sever audacity (semblance) with a crew-dillitant - as if fading hair to a nightmare of irrevocable capacity, to grow there…

poppin off, lots of toss, to the clouds though, the floss (ignoring bliss?) which topped my chart, on my single hit-or-miss mark… flakes of gentle seabass, of which it wash… bark bark!

seriously took a reel in to exist…

chalk melted and bladed the number’s drawn on a pheonix,

of which was sent to bring her flowers? can you believe that, ‘girls in the shower’

metabolizing her voice, rainy day style opaque sky? cast me a derivative - oh ‘that.

coy, built, fahrenheit height, instant passion

the bastings

it truly is beautiful,

which does not

for some instance, at insinuating loss

most of all, the givance-

of tectonic call & calf

which tends to break ocean’s in full yet in half…

mildly tending an impish flame,

the fire texture, fixed-ie-feeling pane

and a flame, for all - yet the forth!

a myriad of haggus or something borne

blurring ant mimic in god’s resin - like an earthworm

a notable fishhook… scraggled into my salmon… my salmon; port.

in don quiote’s fashion he swam on land, like a sailor; port.

a wednesday never came faster in the history’s of monday; though I don’t calm thence…

and an umbrella-spider taut, taught me spider-lingo: i was like, one cheese order…

a peacable reason to deal with whilst vacant… perhaps a book caught the fish, caught the grip, caught the sights, hit the port

2. waltz

2.oh willow, play me crazy, breeze by my censorship on your trip up to a bird’s eye-spicate-spies-especially-willow in my eyes…

2.with each farther and ruse planted to ferment the lurch of dues, of perfect clot and tie, why don’t you turn to the appeasement of the highest skies in you

2.they say

2.be forth written and climactic, aimed at with telephones, tilled derision, still precision, still precision and make marks sifting shifting sniffling, to , to mother, to bride bring down your own centre and break the sky… ive been there, many times

2.what will open the dice face, for miser, in fact, ive never seen a bead of it’s echo the perpetration of a perpindicular tie.

2.start first and end where you began in fact, delineate between a restitution that each petal will latch; yet closest, the fountain needs tract, spritz and follow ornate heaven’s grasp…

2.blasphemy bounded and gave you a match!

2.… pluck a further moment with the lass, who brought sew… she writes, willow, oh you breezy, easy going, so-so.

2.response edition 2

2.s’matter o’dillitant to the number 2

2.catoring brevity points for instant revery’ dilute with two thirds hair and rose…

2.i spose i could check the bars again,

2.mine would be “diaspora co-lect’ my favorite make to model, yet i have one lingering rose point, stemming off and finding water in …well

2.i just walked from here to tim hortons three times in 3 hours, thats prosaic dystolic for a fortress made of forgotten lure…

2.tho’ yo’ spoiler, which stands accrued such as more luke warm cadmium.

2.playin safe here, the number, the winter, you forgot about me… iced percentages, that may melt

2.no edit

2.‘past the point of g hosts’, a dendria lantern for my soul *i press the tip of clasp-broken oration to extend my thumb like a chapter, in the book of yet to put down (robert frost, selected poems) it moved my lighter into a rolled lighter, and right now i was ignorant of the place, where I watched, and what i’ve got. blink

2.20 fast minutes clocked a wall of brick to assail my placard heart, hearing art - and arabic insinuendoes… mesmerized by chalk…when? my knee placed my whole shoe, yet built with the shock, destitute rhythms i misused… i did not want to die, fore my word, lifts strong, then or now a peacable remission into what i thought cool lingo for was ‘friction’… and i stuffed my pecan dish with egyptian ecstacy bliss crystals’ remarks… plark, quarked down and through the nicest police car parlor with talk of being stopped. and there i was for 3minutes i was responsible for, divining my belief in stop…so awake… so awake… the ghosts sought a magistrate… i told my sister of mummy-eating practises in Egypt.. what saved me was television’s widest spectrumx2 tv… on TVO…. i i, and today, more subtle it was Ron Burgundy 2…

2.for the record, i prefer articulation to humour 4 times out of 5

2.double minks

2.the pharoah decreed: we shall not stop, till, there is a top… and with lightening fast reflexes Albert Camus later recites loop and/or ladder building as a mechanism distributed by mountains and rocks… that lead to an uphill battle, all around - yet more importantly - he with the thalidomide predominantly scare out the bliss that’s inside of us, mark, he felt the only logically question is…

2.the pharoah walkled up to the ledge of his honour and a hissing snake caught his attention - waltzing primarily in its unyarned crinkle, and shushed it with great calamity… oh what a great calamity it was. and so, he, was, rejoiced~

2.the outsider l’etranger, excites a little snake into the forces of egyptian solitude, at a reasonable price…

a list of treason

a single wrinkle on the rose petal, arose such suspicion, roses’ thorn’d build failed to permeate…

a paschendale of artifact magic cards crinkled in the pack age… in jumps a soldat- of basketball-talent!

left remission for the hard-wood floors,

a list of treason

—-bleek bloom

watching the 9:10pm its darker than most, clouded thou drought. thought-catching

a misty 9:30pm, conceptualized way far for enough backings baccus flow like foam,

a wooded section of way back.

attaching to too petals, square like a orchid-skin-electric game-docket…

3. russians

3.braille she dots furtive longeurs parting…

3.into a frosted flute

3.braking and entering into the fury of a jazzman’s jazzhand

3.which came with a breathe of fury…. wasn’t, chapped-so

3.quite why i had a myriad of worry

3.so surly to surely moresal-piece wear and tear the lury,

3.whilst penury from pencil tip equitable myriads of lury… into

3.questing for a stop-end bureau or bearer… to bust open the dirty, six-piece cylinder making shift shift shift shaft and lury…

3.and spin

3.a sizeable gap of educative dually provocative slurry, of a book!

3.and rampart the ignitable fruition of a head(strong) blasphemy out of order..

3.departed… roman,

3.arrived… prosaic,

3.middleman… Proxy,

3.-to the cause,

3.and manage the intern, pattern-stripped clasp of a low-riding pair of jeans’ilk

3.bludgeoned to malady, (my lady, my silk) myriad….

3.rare wilting sun of the sun… run with me, ‘till i see the pageantry, build… let alone a quill, that does

stacked mind

i battled minutely and broke the index chapter-area-rearish and pristene in itself; that is an arrangment cloaked within a book’s barriers thinner than the thick letter-plaque, laced and unthinned; it didn’t get me down so much as to renew it, in fact, it seems like its gaining worth, like precious candy, i don’t know, obviously there is a worthier cause to incur growth, yet, none as sweet.

oh the smell - elemi - delicatesans’ sanitation with food… green, mini blade thickets…. ie. take some brick laying liasons… how meddlesome…and obstruct passage in libraries - and those the thought.

turuses

oh its like we are entitled

to every fabric across from this foliage, even the varying fabrige undergrowth wrought of this, a mason's fable, nightmare or shovel

catch us

tracking a whirlwind of pollen as dust onto available petals

and i wonder, if any cross-pollinated beeless…

and that bugle’s horn is to die for

submissive in pledges to and fro, discerning incoming autos

________

turuses

wrags

many…pennies-weight, within the jurisdiction of an edicette known to falter, pre-empts, plausible postulates of which, from all but one can hitherto alter. and yes you or you may have pennies for all the angles of a pressed coin, yet, emblazoning idols with them spastically hurdled through the air in one show of robust emblazoning, does not yield it’s capacity to promote growth against time. and against time is supremacy I guess forthwidth the renegade that it is… whatever bevels it connects eventually in surplus determines the surface of the moment a wrecking ball broke through; entrepreneurial, sadistic. Neitzsche’s “atavism” clocking in….

a direct line of command somehow got contraband…

r.i.p.

4. herbs.

4.a well, felt next to the smooth-shop, and rainwater doused it from time to time.

4.it fell upon the worthiest of the town, to stop and take some time.

4.at once one day,

4.a coin did break,

4.the surface of the water…

4.and just on time - or the clock that authored - it was surfeit with tea and proper.

super

cajolery

blazon, directory from the mashed out

maison, perfunctory list watchers, flout…

grazin’ perfunctory wist latchers, gout…

break the beak or break bread? i mean, what is the dire mutation doing now?

safety

on a samosa of a backwards warpath, petty - perhaps pedestrian - recall from the HQ led Preston into the net structure and pronds of the opposite of oblivion, ‘eh sos goes for us all… by that mark…. engagement where, in the microscopic-frothing-tangiblity experiment-ecosystem, the variety of decedent in ‘sublimated level 3″ unknown section to requisition note biene , ‘a new verse of well-crystalized piety was tinging for recall as those Mills marbled the petrie-centre. some powder, of, magnesium, later; the very small, yet informed hallo-wentrepreneur took just under full form…element 7.5 tacked to his right wrist band with insignia from some government chap, beside~ it

before much, and before long, the thing surprisedly formed around one side of the dish and taut predictable effervescence… again, more much, same long. as it stands, a hatching period known to the subdivision failed to mention or document that this was subservience of the…device!? willing to form - and that it was taking shaped around the slight, circular concave that- thinning?-turning to water? which was growing in uniform metabolism… like the focal prism scratch on the refracted index… element 7.5, has been recalled, ad diminue’ pro quo, and as deciduous’ are pronounced, tangled - appropriately - into the vacuumed perforations of the topiary inert proficiency of shell-like…larger than usual octopus vessels…

str

beyond progress within the computer mainframe and it’s strictly-digital capacity to preface backing up several attempts to testify - these as experienced coherent hackers - sent a rumikab of articles (known as an infinitely singular testament) wheeled light… gyro-cryptic, ‘shells, had a light disco sliding through the avenue fresh with baking soda and drink… blotches of small resisters; which accounted for the eerie glow, tilt-pink. i pieced together the sata and its particle party-favour cable… instant spring…

stand tall

placid it sits; a remonstrance, in the midst… of what-is-it? that of where the best cherry blossom hath splits… cider says hard: its the pits, the fits, the ritz russet-dark cherry molasses tis’ it for a list of super nintendo-binding dualisms to exist,, so jinxed…ummm it would take minxs to douse themselves - and we’ve two shots at this… quick, as a back up, before a tail up, yet ipso-facto… elastic like that of dopamine to endorphins perhaps yet the cherries ferry chariots and arrive in focal piety…the pits, again! we sit with the cherries across the fence. to climb, to the condensation-swine-rhetoric, sits… uhh, blimp? clenched like a rinsed hand, i grab the retrograding-officiated root, and route my right foot for the first elbow of a live one… pinching 2 bundles of hoodlum-ante and jump down and then to eat them… the cabbage-like puncture, to just graze the centre, piece, tincture of light vinegar…. and He’s cleaning the eavestrough for another… on second chomp, a brandish of sheer pheromone, thigh… spots a ladder to the shed and fro… before i brandish another, i’ll throw the rest in my pockets to rest - professed to cherish! yes, they’re unbreakable… —————hey you, where’d you get those… like he didn’t know?

eucalyptus

I”ve gots a shallow for-aloe, wound, wound from malpractise already,

my atlas stabbed my marble backward ‘back gammon theism, with warding capabilities crestfallen to thee tree, and it’s galvanized antissory film decay’a’wedding with the moisture involved in distraught dust and underage car… my first wishes was to dish wash the woven bovine roving of a uut disorganizing pallete entrepreneur in sevens… yet when i arrived tango, it was obviously a “jericho” moment, and i clicked the six six six… my emblem was duty; payed.

(mind on plinko, straight shooter on the hip) -turuses which has x2 paved the way for an astral projection that’ll guide me into the centre of the known solistice - forever just a teem - to deserve uut zero inert… inertia to a rotisserie clocked, rocketflag tango. Bounced that check ‘thralled, in specs. flekked one gold - the army stock in check, slivered to the dentist cuz i swallowed a praying mantis- at best and was the width of elastic band with working man’s best specs… perhaps>>> might need to run through a bit more radial arguments in the past; to, durst, deposit seriousness in my clay-abiding ipso-nouns, pro-abiding, to send in my resume of duality when it comes to rooting out clowns! thanks for the lovely slug you set loose on my concrete slab… x

Set’till

contralto vivified in plurality reign to indict the heart ache of such departure sparks in-dissent the friction of smart boxing, in three fold. a diorama

from

the pandering window, maybe the soda water crystals aside at my desk. Sometimes its good to hear about perfect leisure, when the legions are brass-steel self-alleged

i use to be quite a pro with pencil-spinning, and its strictly from my heart, the art that begins with pencil-rinsing… oh, i gave mechanical pencils something to believe in. doesn’t matter, twas a glorious match up of mechanical pencils, and spinning them, that i partook in. clad in an unsharpened… no question…

bark

a larger than normal tarantula poised to eat a small tree outside the restrictive park area came to the conclusion that, if he had studied medicine, he might have enjoyed eating sooner.

who knows?

title wave

darling loss, providing hosts with mothballs, independent of cause… the objection of walls corrects its paucity - dash costs… and in betrothal of sauces, paints - if thats what you call them - a dish, is left… cold fish… best viewed with a hook

its all wrong, maudlin fathoms, deep brilliant eyes of squid… the watch of witches in the crow’s nest, explode, then make fire for fish

the ice has originally melted - that, thin straw stout route to two too nihilist dire platforms of the underaffected that are down for precedence, that be: ignorance, either side of the fence with indescribable turmoil already, or even just because of the actions which seem impossible; and a strict mouthpiece, within limited to authority, via sanctioning and the underfunded promises therein… yet… as Mephistopheles has it, logic lasts till the last sentence… and the USA is in jeopardy

order some CATs to skulk around and sit and dig

tunnels to offshore…? trenches from spawn fly some jets in there if it helps with aerial footage perhaps isolates of pressure. ie. lots of liquid nitrogen! & even some type of bomb….. i know, bomb a hurricane w/ convoys of concrete trucks and/or logs

yet my venture permits both lines of caring to be merry, i was ready to say fish may need to swim onland for some reason and no that doesn’t help anybody, studying where fish are during so might be beneficial…same thing with people…helicopters!

makeshift trailer bridges? leaving taps on? gtfo of there? the final clue is: where would you like to live? and, the answer: florida

bitter stasis

why is it the sand gold? speakth before’n to see the moulds: grazing iguanas claim, climb, clad the folds, where ‘ and all the little pharoah scald with drolery- it must be the summer-line, crossing into the spill, long-horn, to horn, to horn exploding instruments turn to soil and nefarious- deltoids rest in summer-line wrest,

and as I am for ease of etching…sorry, possibly just saw a necklace-peice of a pendent permeate itself into an anubis coat- of- strictly fashionable-that-some-green, which as the light accustom brown-pouting was incandescent at best, maximized i, its deliverance as a frosted-scarab… motionless, iceberg of fabric from the mathematical subscriptions limited upon brick face, to seize armiture as one and one, yet but not captured… either purpose or meaning… tbc

pick me up twice

that and a night drought came in with a robust, roving massive darkness; across spanning over the minute divits of thunder clods, over this land gratefully, without its gander of low pressure; finally welcomed where the lakefront promenade - municipality to mine own - met the lake. i heightened up and spritzed the window to a cramp. like i say its not everyday one can live among confused feathers and disco lamps. i sped to my notebook and sketched the nuthatch i saw dabbling the air - like my vision was relegated to all and/or most of the movement in the bands - of sleevefilled horizon lines and the figurines. the hedges here to there, the short paved escape, the trees; flanked so-on forever, and the firmament. yet it moved fast, twas twice as vast, iconoclast clear skies bank where aroused was a shaky 5pm red sun- only visible now and so-where, a wind picked up and doused the downed whiskey rinsing through some impossibly pretentious banter, along the shore.

diagonally

it hasn’t even been a lock since my prized synced sundial ammended even blacksmith’s blind… the twilight hour… a still rather elliptical - outfit of my lot’s labor had I could sense turning a final austerity and gently top-heavy field gamon alotting that which continues moderate growth without locusts. at first its like watching a fire, then they settle down around 4:00am. but thats neither here nor there. unless you count the visits I get from Samson I get at all hours. and here we shall share him odd on envoy particular. reticent, self-evident.. my weather vane was drowsy so and so… wishing it could give me a clear patch as a black horse stamped with rider and pulled up… at the hour of 10:00pm Thelma made him a scarlet blend of herbal tea, I the same. Upon courtesy I seated him in my study and we both had at some fresh lemon tobacco. “how are the yellow and red water?” “fresh coal, have you another blend?” “why yes.” I fetched a Drumson Wood and asked Samson, “how long will you stay?” “Oh, just on my way back from town.” Samson took out a newsprint partially twisted in his back over-all pocket. “I’m gonna lay it straight for those aliens.” “…The crop circle people?… they seem vengeful and organized…” “More Drumson Wood, and I’ll just finish this tea here. I say, a price on their heads…” Samson pulled out the page, “seems a group of people do the circles too in order to show the ‘aliens’ we are intelligent too, near the back, smaller part of the publisher, called locustfocus.” “Why that’s as clever as it sounds.” “it says here we’ve seen the last of them this season, or they’re spreading, ready to ground.” “so what am I to do? What are we to do?” “stay vigilant. drink tea. in the extra fine print it says they are a judgement call, a reflection tranmorgified, a mirror as transition through life can only manage, all run by those who use livestock, those who value life.

onew one

its so noiseless that i ask you nobody knows this if i left without a trace to let loose my face,

existence, would start with thee last left bashful eyelash by alibi that to leech around a winding hill of coal at rest and, yet when abreast two fifths fine grass, and a wine glass, broke at home

finishing with an invisible penny for twisting, an oasis reminding me that im out one seashells finding colored beigh with patina of five sevenths temple displacement that striking up on mine own binds of

where my eye is a filament for the engrossment of ‘those’ others - skeptically close- but don’t you know you were never one to run away, from the salted roads

hey cold warm 2

I was on the brink of falling asleep, late and complacent on the couch in the front - for once one floor above the basement. My eyes slightly jumped open now and then, revealing - honestly - the life that played with myself and the scene… Decorations abounding around the walls and shadows from all that was seen. On one extended viewing of the partially lit walls covertly at the door - the indigo ceiling melting into normal orders - did buckle and remotely douse me with ubiquity and order of operations to discretion in architecture, the culpability of movement arrayed. my blanket in disarray - knit and white - became a sleeper’s foyle as it reigned on me as ordinary occurence; yet this, I was deeper.

why yes, the blocks of ceiling, my ballast; window and furniture, shifted, all to make something, something I either slept through or woke up suddenly into subriety - and had come about from all my condescension, with an expedient opt to reassign the ceiling to whatever it was. That know I knotted locales and a opaque ceiling.

My eyes began doubting the stillness, several times. My best guess was a moving candle operative, of fairy or pixie dissent, ushering me into the basement through the vent… the comfort from the blanket growing exponentially, I jarred my eyes, feigning fright. at which the ceiling came bearing down on me and started a lament for the rug in front of the door… I swear I wanted to move; somehow I just knew I was not in the malady of a malevolent being, perhaps just proverbially and most likely - an impish flame rekindling from closed eyes’ near blind, and sallow angles reshaping…

I had been in this purgatory gearbox, for an hour or two… I waited for the birds to chirp. when the candle went out… it was now well-past midnight hour and I lay in the darkness, comfortable, yet partial to wakefulness. I lit another candle… the indigo folds, the impish flame, the blanket, all the same

There it was… the first bird chriping like a lovely siren.f

hey cold warm

a brazen on the barometric deep in the throat of recognition, plumes in loose flute position, angled a slolom solemn, so-seam - so-so - slotting into my lower chest, such as do dotted candy strips and just as memorable as the swindle mentioned specifically its the purple opal octagonal-pointed and the brunt cindrous dazzling cinammon my eyes yet its dark

arising phase I flew on land, a kite that racked from a bird’s nest in the clouds… angels… swiftly upon me eleven albatrosses came down I"m like, “where’s the waitress?” once as was thought, I throttled the full-armor-car-aft-facade on quickwork-flat blatant dune backing up to pull the chord down “all this from from the former backseat the lower order keeping distracted with menial attempts at diction drifting through the world, there she was, she cast a thoroughfare glistening aura, beside - on the board walk

Guage of an arrow, splinted roughhousing nothing more to climb, cherries full and waiting - and flagstone, drops in x. waiting for labels

razings’ dreams drifting through the world… heralding minutely, and casually on a mini skateboard, albatross full foyle ~ about. most - some pure coasting,.., buoyantly why I mean Cinderella had some natural artifice actually restricting limitation the wake of sheer wind, her able lateral shark of compute, which limiting more but hair it just comes to some things thats shes just into and really, across, where onto the window my reflection plucked my core,

the flagstone remorse. searching distance.

"check them, check them.” the limits that attest to, ward, all those feesible mentions… in both edges of a carrion dispositions of regret now, now… I’ve pent the stencils to be filled in and over with ink, the nets can’t even capture prize still frames to sync can’t even think in the now its so quick - the odd neglect cubism tares cares to fasten - yet? so - so finish quick

~moon cycle had i

it gets predictable the miserable the madness talent and those who wrap the falcon’s beak around and break the brow from beaten artists, (going )far'n finite for marbles quark, florid fauna, fond of a final fantasies for real, just how those are where those naught (reached…) phantoms lanterns saturn asprin a symposium where shadows’ riot for platony, create a credenza of its spectrum, a two-something measure of disparity insofar as he who was brought pox inequal pressed-to silhouettes of rockness frets, yes, sir, thats rounded-edges-talk of fast-misery wave-technology all-so spaced out like emaciated chocolate or space cadets… spying loch ness even the uneven

!54 104

as will lace’d rivulets of feathers felt into italic line, become barbarous against a feverish fire where no friction echoes of finite time perhaps already forgotten there own make marking burning - like this very poke - spokes of wind super-tropical winnding and,

nothing but glorious ignition as soon as bent backwards…to the ground, from the grind, as iconic rivulets of home break apart the hands… and posit… pheonix seeds, brought to term in ff7 to plant and plead with reality sometimes…

130

to sew the wounds up… my hand to play the part of spoon, hook, ransacking tolerance. I, with swoon in hand and maudelin talent even if i make a pamphlet on benelovent rancor, someone’s prediliction might ignore the horseshoe plants still stiff as to lay on my to-do list as one thing to hand out once its… in print and then wander into the abyss. till vastness becomes iconoclastic and I last this matress out till its endoplasmic reticulum becomes a magnet, and then on until it fractures, and polarity shifts, do it all backwards, with stronger magnets

farther into the w

breaking broke stuff that’ that satellites back-up flashes that sound as diamond scratches on doctor’s recommendations I vaccine some dollar bills for entertainment crystals - thats non-nickel-cadmium adjacent the cinema with her

just flashin’ against the line

I broke through the borrowed past, presented myself - bounced on calves… neck nexus to the side panorama first strident, an attack secondly merely contender ballast dear hearts with the task of fast or faster.

assured,

entry 3

Journal Entries in Blood Part three I went out to the market at midnight tonight, just to look around. A howling the other day made me think there might be a stray dog or wolf or something. I could probably train a wolf couldn’t I? The shop was dim though the neon open sign still cycled, coupled with metal bars and the lock, I somehow found my way home, and then it was… a howling, not of wolf, but of upset life or wind. It grew closer with another, then it stopped. My eyes were out like a dog, not a wolf, surveying the area for something other than leaves twisting attached to branches. I started my way home, a different way this time, I ate my trailmix and made safely to this attachment. It is nearly waking hour, and there it is again.

new new 1

i reckon there was a coast about 20 seconds ago, the earth drops’ moon cycle

i left without a trace to let loose my face, by alibi that to leech around a wind of fine grass, a wine glass, broke at home reminds that im out one seashells find that striking up on mine own binds of my suitcase working my shovel into an ovendouble shift one for mistakes, one for muscle… and one for miscellanious my find was called a jarhead and was for strictly pure profit in the warbly march sand and soil at this time of night

yes, yes here, where fleeting doesn’t cost - anything - except the loss of a waist here and there, below the flaying gargoyles which embed one’s soul lies some treble conspiracy quo and today in cue stone, turnt to evening fire cutters, even welcomed evening grace, and i don’t see it happening any other way

little foggy, like always probably won’t rain, but i’ll jog if it gets on me… twenty past a single digit, and drunk mates had made a religion to stop me… not on my map, they don’t even know where i live systems down, this was hardly… what you would get out of me.. like always i shutter and i see a zombie, it’’s me

new new 2

i reckon there was a coast about out and abrupt up about 20 seconds ago, the earth drops’ moon cycle had it different

on land. oh how! docking reminds that im out one seashell - my first boat - and up around $1000 each toss of the new one. for that striking up on mine own binds - of my bane suitcase - working my shovel into an ovendouble shift one for mistakes, one for muscle… and one for miscellanious a net growth my find was called a jarhead and was for strictly pure profit in the warbly march sand and soil at this time of night ‘that in treasures found scintillating matches, sparks, and clods

little foggy, like always probably won’t rain, but i’ll jog if it gets on me… twenty past a single digit, and drunk mates had made a religion to stop me… not on my map… they don’t even know where i live systems down, this was hardly his heart, always bound… what you would get out of me.. like always i shutter and i see a zombie, it’’s me

one one

its so noiseless that i ask you nobody knows this if i left without a trace to let loose my face,

existence, would start with thee last left bashful eyelash by alibi that to leech around a winding hill of coal at rest and, yet when abreast two fifths fine grass, and a wine glass, broke at home

where my eye is a filament for the engrossment of ‘those’ others - skeptically close- but don’t you know you were never one to run away, from the salted roads

zrunning

just flashin’ against the line

I lick my pen against the flower to appear chic yet damage nothing… How subject - of abstraction - forms torque on normally debatable craft ending, mending within art’s perametre; thus stated reverence, may exceed instead of submit to vision - though limited - image which is contrary in most cases, hitherto where this percent of contraction may hold true in reverse for cubism garullously settling upon it’s true form…

sober slurry

a puzzling equivalent - unto which i know of at very least twofold - habilitated itself with my side order of large onion rings…to go was and will be, cheddar jalapeno dip, oh, and a bottle of soda, a small pricey one… it seems these were on side as i gazed at the game sippin on my gazzeiu, that of the way over yonder to the other half of the staggering petition to heresay glee club mods who say no and who’d attribute new age convention with extremely age’d tradition… bless them. and their future seeds

nor zeus, nor he be the king of wizards, and poseidon - damned to eat plankton, that i relish eating wagon wheel cookies

—

turuses

curiously appetizing

I passed the telephone company’s brick building on the way back (like always) and like always it caught my glance (and probably, properly stored my electrolytes’ dot product in it’s heaving face)

I couldn’t fit inside the telephone machine building. for some reason, the telephone, had it in for me! yet, after 3 hours i sit by it’s ‘therefore’, wondering… why i must get inside this telephone.

soma

a riddle what starts with a middle four fretting that is, not ice cream, yet just as meddlesome when together between them specimens vary very robust, that is when not brushed… you can pick it up some say you can master it, some do as a clutch rapport, and clash together, with so much but sport. some think silence can take hold of the being… calming astronauts and marrying marigold flocks all abandoning the forge of earthly locks… consuming this tug of war with this rebel heart

destined for back pane, yet strained resonating with two thumbs on next whatever that may mean its suspect to a violence sometimes only ascribed to in old folks home, where the bloods been beaten hot and that

outer space

fare long freight to dim dimensions rate penchants whilst trenches, in… a way.. never saw them coming yet hospitals frost the tips fitness and fair stipulation lips conjugation of list - equivalent - while separation wiles, stat-wiley over intact, nothing - like platitudes dilution of concrete blocks add attitude yet painful memories by diminished blocks are subdued?

wool

Oh, it’s certain… hundred-thousand militant measures of a broken yard by metre (estranged for the reader) a meteor shower amends the broken pleasures of such a Neapolitan attack on the criticism for the cynicism had me open! Yes, oh my… plenty coin-like credit-card-scam-brilliance, sign the marks on my frail, weathered effacement into a blithering commensurate, yet forever emblematic union of staccato! The moon, was following me yet, and As I had sprained my ankle, I were had to, run over roots, scurry past pledges, that with a fluid limp-jump… mildly hopping over tracks, which my upper-back, caught on to splayed roots on the ground… as to be seen, wildly kicking up the scarce twig and twixt, ‘and anon: oxygen millennials - when and where necessary my powers of narration became anaesthetised and somehow configured itself somewhat, that into an old VHS tape conception format. After a little tracking the odour of odium prices on wolf masks with that plastic diffraction slips And the moon by the window, cocked it’s wonder-gun at me, Pleasure of unthinkable amounts, resting in negative, all conceived

v.1 “lemon tree”, postaged bout 10 days, (lemon-earth days)

sallow / pallor

dendrose

1 this is for that usury,

used to be awake, censorship encumbered-package, usually~ Asleep, clad in yesterday’s haze, beep, beep, beep first to rise, which just happens to be a phase… 6, clock, spearmint 6:15, cries. 2 identical clock cavities, brustlin’ busts of oven-cannot, trallop suites… I’ve officially dye-cast silver from coin to sweat, wheat and parametres, of which i’ve never spoke! 3 down by the second leap of day’s scales, the moon’s lymph tickle, play trick on the sicler… ‘say Death creeps out like how it does North Farther… ‘say don’t be scared of the ion, curtain, cascades… they say they break soon enough, that is as the iris tissue combusts!

4 and the parliament in laymens, rise like spite, muscly, and whelk; totally combobulated enough to qualify for thalidomide and seeing wealth. documents privvy to a living type of surrepititious musical scale.

5 around noon, the shops are broken into, the salad’s tossed, the forks, mashed in the gravy… without the sauce… stocktips holdfast like plateaus - how pleasant - bout the size of a yogurt… rain flares out of specifics… and barbers, leave there parlors… cars park - forward and backwards! 6 round about now the static combs diagonals, slate and tie, like an Egyptian wedding order for two, who killed you, and how you survived… 7 soon enough one must become one, and it always may… if i had to I would pat your heart a lullaby in your mummified chestplate just to be certain that I could breathe ~somehow.

8 its safe now for the mystriant, or the leader clad in torn bloody clothes in plain deniable site… to march upon the moons tumultuous creators, now maybe high noon all night.

just x 3

(bystand…)s are outnumbered by and yet while the juri is in… weather the atmosphere is tight enough, expediant and gruesome for the sudden fog! !oh what a sudden fog! plus, the lust for cummulative lush and hush, of, flesh, rut rooted room for relish, oh, im out of legalities to logician’s flexfit fever, ferver-fluish… “rabbitfoot-talisman” and, that they are

at least for now and sheesh I couldn’t count all these…

maudlin, vaudvillian pleats and hill battling in fleets, bleeding the tattle, in thieving the leaves, as this somehow presents itself, in a waltz within the season -

whilst, some reassuring sequence that thy betwixt bane and bosom, slaying, and slalom straight, out the demonic cellar of Helen Keller, ~looking for a piece of plastic - bendy, black - whilst sweating through tissues as would molasses !oh quite reluctant~

just to envelop the feasting concept in enamel-persona, that, “looks”, could be a snug fit as slang for glasses!oh

well, no match for shelves or sleeves in it among mashed-out color additives, “Madvillain” - trapped like tylenol packages… just too, pry that thing off my sling, slang sugar rifle, .35s to just need to carry this for triflin’ broken-oxen+wrought-trophy, a token for the inert.

marching through the swampy mud

balm

~a drag with bisquick, mistaken. a martyr broken, out spoken a pledge ‘though,’ mystics saw - in blind pageant - that it had been coming, the change in self / perpetual melting (maybe even wealth and static (theduality ))(- of practise expedient…) patient momentum quite like: eddies now, that tend to slop up off with the the prophets.’ toxicity and all textures on hand! mesmerism-synthesizing-metabolic, clox “A tall tail of uncommon fixtures to abed the solstice!” Ail uncommon Oxbridge- flyers…

who! ~ never saw this it coming - it, being. antithesizing avec beau shashay - passing by -round noon -,a slash a dash of anti-septic aid from the atmospheric changes )oh what a terrible 1 haiku ) 2 cacoon cannot forget the forfeit with a timurus attendant addendum of excess lemonade, -the patchy landing on cobblestones as a final order of direct ability to access sweet lemon merange pie! so cold! slay the dragon Oh, how moylent whoa, whoa, whoa dragon wings circled, moving more tweaked than lofty, that the shady concentric, crown-ambulent missletoe fleers stocatto flamed resisting arrest, sat down to rest on the ashy rooty charred bark deposit, chalk outline and all. And he seemed to pout, resting in his petulance, all on final penguin-feat exhuming the fallen lemon tree + roots Why? The sky - a death sentence, yet the crestfallen three-dimensional tilt of matter integrity beaming so honest from the sky’ now just past noon, sliding through like a dull lens (ingenuity), christened expedia! as and sent through the bloody-rack of fossilized hub temperature, gaily enjoying and blasting & mashing hulls lithosphere to the dragon, for now. the size of one third day, tending in an ache, forced tired like ambulances, and breaking off chips of lemon rinds like toothpaste…. oh! perambulating fonder chest cavitity status by chasing marche,’ strips, off commonly dragon mouth chaste stasis places, ready to eat pate’ and break blades off a graceless fairy ring, situated for bleak outlooks with its correct gargoyle smile missletoe at every sharp corner and as it was granted that this crystallizing dead tantrum of claws, wings, thighs, to be scaled for consumption

boe-loose

it crumbled like cartlidge, brisky-brisk then nonchalant at its content - ever so rich, in, conch shell whistleblowing labella, labelled able in its lapel to cache and cast a spell, upon which the worthiest pearl-whirring, cat-nip tail made for cats, some effect… for people, zizing - and whizing the cats backwards-bats… out of hell, surprisingly distasteful… cruella deville

perhaps atrocities, within the minds of these pilfered oddities by the hundreds, take malnurish me, on second thought its usually redundant asunder opposition to Gravity that spots of wine cause catastrophe

flying, like snails at a clean stop operation ~loosed from the grave

topsicology

the scarecrow glided past as apostacy towards err. perhaps more than air. the long corn crops gilded the found floundering stare-off. perhaps more wispy than fair… the greatest movement jackal, basically all impaired… just waiting in its frothy, slow-growth to find a child or conjugate terror why, ‘see that, I am a child of burden, sent from ion ridges and whisked past ice-sturgeons with respect to facilitate the growth - that in tandem - sent into the proximate atmosphere for a slow-burning ‘till its torn apart, and till its worn to wrought all a vision a scarecrow, which rends his smarts, filled totally gut of surroundings, and one day imparts a version of itself, which had lorn to lock, but had to step down from the part.

bark

a larger than normal tarantula poised to eat a small tree outside the restrictive park area came to the conclusion that, if he had studied medicine, he might have enjoyed eating sooner.

who knows?

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dahyeri · 6 years

Text

I don’t know why the sunset seems so scary to me right now

I keep looking out of my window and looking at the sun and feeling angry at it. I think it’s because when the sun sets, I know that that’s just another day gone by and time still moves like nothing ever happened... it moves and things become more final

I can’t say i’m surprised about how much this has affected me. I used to be one of those people that when a celebrity died i couldn’t empathise with the people that had followed them closely, were their ‘biggest fans’ and what not. I’d always think “It’s sad..... but how can someone feel that distraught over someone they don’t even know?”

But Jonghyun meant a lot to me. Not in the way that he would to people who know him, I’m obviously no comparison, but people touch our lives in so many different ways and he really touched mine. My life for the past 5 years has been full of lots of ups and downs, and even in the worst times I was able to look to shinee and jonghyun for solace. I also felt a lot of pride for the work he did, he always put so much effort and love and devotion and dedication and heart into everything he did and music meant so much to him and you could just feel it everytime you listened to his songs, and i would always take that feeling with me and use it to make me feel better.

I guess it breaks my heart to think he thought leaving this way was the only option. And sometimes when i’m crying i feel selfish in that theres real people that knew him and who were in his life that are grieving right now and i’m just a stupid girl sobbing in my room somewhere and he’ll never know who i am. I’m not surprised by the fact that i’m upset over this, I’m more surprised about the....feeling? I never expected something like this to hit me so hard. And it’s difficult when you feel its unjustified, you have such a horrible heartbroken feeling, you can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you constantly cry and everything makes you angry just by the sight of it existing, but then what use is it? I actually have a take home exam i’m supposed to be doing right now. I’m in the middle of finals but I just can’t function properly but of course he was never a family member, or a friend to me so I have to be expected to just move through it because i have no excuse. But he really felt like a friend. I remember looking through my posts today and finding a photo of him from maybe a couple of years ago, and one of my tags said ‘he looks like he could give me a really nice really warm hug’ and i believe it. He alwayed inspired he every time he spoke, i would always read quotes from blue night and be shocked by just how eloquent and thoughtful is in everything he says. He gave so much love to the people around hime, even to those he didn’t know well, but i can’t stop thinking about how he couldn’t afford himself the same privilege tw suicide/death

and everytime i think of him i cant help but think about how lonely he must have been at that moment. Sometimes its just one simple spur of the moment thought that makes people do it and then they’re thankful someone came and saved them in the knick of time and then they live long, good lives and it just makes me sad and angry that this didnt happen to him that he stood there in that moment and whether he was afraid or not he still went through with it and i cant even image how painful it must have been... and even the hours and days and weeks leading up until that moment, was he ever happy? sometimes there are things in life that can be that spark to make you keep going, and i see so many of those things in his life but obviously the pain was too great. i guess the sunset makes me angry because i know it means he’s just getting colder and there won’t be any warmth in that body anymore and whether you believe in heaven or a second life or anything of that kind i feel like it doesnt matter because of how final it all is.

And there’s a certain kind of..dissonance to all that i see of him and what he did. I’ve watched funny videos of him to make myself feel better, to see him happy and laughing and making others laugh but then as soon as it ends i am struck with the though of him killing himself and i can’t stop shaking. such a beautiful person shouldn’t ever be related to such horrific acts this never should have happened to him

i find it harder when someone you hear the voice of everyday, see so many times is the one to go, because their presence is so normal and you feel like you’ve taken advantage of it. i feel like i’ve taken advantage of it. I’m not really a mourning person, death hasn’t really touched my life and when my grandma died i didnt cry. i guess i was really young and couldn’t quite understand death at that time, but now with jonghyun the years of my life that i spent knowing him were some of the hardest, and losing him has ben like losing some of the ground underneath that i stand on and i can’t pick myself up I still can’t believe it. I’m the kind of person that actively seeks out information on these things, it seems self destructive but i would rather look at things on my own terms than be caught off guard by a stray facebook post i never wanted to see. And there’s so many regrets i have and so many thoughts that i can’t stop thinking about at the same time. I keep thinking about how much pain he must have been in at that moment, i think of his sister and how much she has to carry with her now for the rest of her life, i think about the possibility of how if they had just been that bit faster maybe he’d still be here, i keep thinking about shinee and when they must have last saw jonghyun, what did they say? was it something they regretted?, how they’ll make it through the next days, months, years, i think of his mother and everything she must be feeling. I just have so many thoughts and each one is worse than the next but then i think about my role in it all and i cant help it. I think about how i was studying while he killed himself, how i had a slight headache when they found him, how i was probably laughing at a joke somewhere across the city while this was all happening. I wonder why i dismissed going to his concert when i had the chance, “nah, i’ll wait till the full shinee concert” and think did i take him for granted? i loved him, but did i love him enough? And to say you ‘love’ someone in this context is so strange, because theyre not directly part of youre life and yet you feel so close to them. For a long time i loved how he helped me when i needed it, i loved how funny he was in his dopey silly way, i loved his voice and the emotion that flowed through it, i loved his smile that i thought “i want to see this, up close someday”, i love how incredibly intelligent he was and i always thought i’d found someone i could look up to and strive to be like. I loved the love he gave to others, including myself, but i feel selfish for taking everything he had to give and leaving him empty. I didn’t want to write this in past tense, but i guess i had to. Seeing things like death date on his profile makes everything so surreal. I think “but, this can’t happen to him, it’s jonghyun” or “there must be some mistake”. I look at the words “died” over and over and over again until i cry and cry and then i look away only to look back again and do the same. It still doesn’t feel real, it feels real and yet it doesn’t I want to be positive like other people have, and say that i’m happy for the time that he was in my life. But i can’t help but think of what he was going through at this time. It feels like i had years and years to do something, anything, but i know this what out of my hands which makes me feel worse and helpless. I really am not the kind of person to write things like this at all. Again, i never understood why people did this when celebrities died but now i know. i know too well. My heart aches in ways i never thought it would and even with how much i’ve said it doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what i’m feeling. I also hate being here, its the first time that i’ve truly hated being in seoul. I didnt want to go outside because all i could see is the snow that came down yesterday and it reminded me of him, i don’t want to see people going on with their lives, i don’t want to see the daily routine of things and time passing by. I feel like i can just shut myself in my room and grieve in my own space because thats the only way i know how to cope. But when i look out my window, and i see the road near my house, and i know that if i followed that road, if i just kept following it and all of it twists and different streets then i know i would end up where he is, where they all are, and i just which i wasnt constantly aware of its existence. Some part of me wants to go there, to just stand outside so theres some kind of finality and closure but i don’t know if that would make it worse. i dont know what will make it better. i dont know what ‘it’ is but whatever it is it hurts. This is a kind of shock i’ve never experienced, and i’m trying hard to validate my feelings. i’m trying to take care of myself but who knew that would be so difficult too? I guess my main feelings right now are anger and fear. Anger for the pain he was in all these years, anger for what he felt he had to do to himself, anger at everyone and everything, rational or irrational i am just angry. And i fear what comes next. I’m scared of all the things people have to say, i’m scared of the funeral to come, i’m scared of turning the tv on and seeing the news and becoming acutely aware of the reality of it all, i’m scared about what lives will be like after this, i’m scared of my own feelings and how to cope with them. Obviously things get better with time, but not for everyone. I admit i’m a sensitive person, i often think and cry about the day my dog will die because of how old he is and how much he means to me. So i wonder now that i will be part of the unfortunate category of people that never recover from these things. and you might think “i know you’re hurting right now, and that’s why you feel this way. but give it time and you’ll look back at yourself and just feel sad that you felt this way”. But i know myself, and i know my feelings. I know how things affect me, and i felt this, and still feel it, so deep inside myself that i don’t think it will go away anytime soon. I wonder when i will stop crying, or i at least wonder when i will be able to function properly. I’m aware that i could fall back into mild depression, i’m at a dangerous point where this incident is combined with the fact that i have most of my major exams and i can’t fail them but with what im feeling i havent been able to do anything and i just feel like i cant muster enough of my energy to care. How have i preoccupied the entire 10 or so hours ive been awake with nothing but thought of him? with nothing but tears for him? It’s sadder now knowing when these things happened, when i was on the brink or at my lowest i always turned to him, and to shinee. i guess its ironic now. This is so dumb and emotional but i just want to scream!!! and cry and weep and sob and i have to get it out otherwise it just hurts too much. The words ‘hurt’ and ‘pain’ i’ve used too much i know but until i have better words to describe what i’m feeling, what has happened, then i’ll be using them

Remember 1of1? it feels kind of cruel now to think they went off a concept based solely on them being a whole unified unit of 5.

Is it karma? to think that while jonghyun was suffering, and i was taking his voice and his music and his thoughts and feelings with me and using them for my own gains, that the only thing i was ever thinking was “i hope shinee never disbands. I don’t know what i’d do without them. i’m so so scared of that day, what would i do after that?”. It seems so small now. I was scared of how i would feel when they parted ways but still lives long happy lives, so now my feelings are so beyond that that im struggling to conceptualise them. It’s difficult for people with mental health issues. We invest our feelings in things that we think will help us through hard times, and even as i think about it i dont think there was anything else that i invested my feelings in. it was always shinee. Theres a certain kind of joy you feel when you engage with things that comfort you thats unlike anything else, its like a big sigh or exhale of breathe and a feeling that you can just forget about everything and just be in the moment with them. Jonghyun always made me feel that way, no matter what.

I’m still trying to express the magnitude of what i feel right now but i can’t..... i would probably type for hours but it still won’t cut it. I see pictures of his face and i have mixed reactions because i know hes gone but i feel like he isnt. I see his pictures everyday, so how is today any different? my brain can’t comprehend the difference and i’m scared about what will happen when it does.

But i won’t feel stupid anymore for how i’m feeling. It’s justified, and its justified for everyone else. I just wish other people could see that so i didnt feel so alone

I don’t want to say goodbye. Even typing that i feel silly, but i just wish he knew how loved he was. I want to pick myself up and imagine him in a better place somehow but its hard. I want to look at the sunset again and not find it so incredibly terrifying, i want to walk outside again and not have to think about how you’ll never have the feeling of the cold on your fingers when the wind gets too strong, or how you’ll never see the snow fall again and settle on the trees, or how you’ll never see that sunset and think “what a good day it was to live”. Why is it so unfair that i have to see these things and know you never will again.

I loved him so much, i love him so much. and i’m so so so sorry for absolutely everything. i’m so incredibly sorry. I hope you feel better now and know so many people love you, i love you i love you You did well.

#i feel like i just had to externalise things #ive talked to people but i feel like i can't fully dump on them without feeling bad or without them understanding #personal #don't know how to move on

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