#but then i got a little indulgent with the song and it didn't fit anymore

[lynzishell]

🎶Listening to: Darklands by The Jesus and Mary Chain

Prev // Next

Darklands by The Jesus and Mary Chain

I’m going to the darklands To talk in rhyme With my chaotic soul

As sure as life means nothing And all things end in nothing And heaven I think is too close to hell

I want to move I want to go I want to go

Oh, something won’t let me Go to the place Where the darklands are

And I awake from dreams To a scary world of screams And heaven I think is too close to hell

I want to move I want to go Oh, I want to go

[sourpatchys]

A wip that I never finished because I need to get back on that writing grind instead of rotting in bed

Title: Petals

Warning: none, mentions of blood and injury

Word count: 870

A/n: I cannot seem to figure out a good ending for this oneshot, originally it was going to be a battle of stubbornness, with the reading refusing to admit their true feelings as to not get in the way, and Shigaraki refusing to admit his feelings because he just assumed he’d be turned away. Then it was going to be just an angsty mess and I got sad writing it haha. If you’re feeling up to it let me know how you’d end this story properly, I’d love to hear it!

Masterlist guidelines

—

All it took was one touch.

The gentle caress of your hand on his shoulder accompanied by a shiny reassuring smile.

It was honestly pretty pathetic to say the least. It definitely wasn't something that Shigaraki was prepared to deal with.

But suddenly he couldn't stop thinking about you. Every move you made, every off handed gesture— everything— he paid attention to it all. It was almost as if he were in a trance, completely fixated, unable to look away.

You started to haunt his dreams, and while he was never one to shy away from nightmares, he found that the pleasant dreams you accompanied him in were much more horrific.

He had it bad, and it was all your fault.

It was easy to ignore for while— he avoided you— making Dabi or Toga talk to you instead for whatever task you were being assigned. He never answered your questions, he wouldn't even look you in the eyes.

But then you touched him again, one big hug after an accomplished mission. It almost knocked him out cold.

After that he couldn't ignore it anymore, deciding to just say fuck it and see what else there was to learn about you.

He would invite you to play games with him on his shitty old DS he managed to keep with him— he listened to your rambling over your favorite bands new songs— he watched you indulge in your hobbies and even tried them out for himself when you weren't around.

He knew it was a bad idea from the start, getting close to you, letting you give him friendly hugs and pats on the back.

And when you kissed him on the cheek as a thank you after he gave you a stupid little prize he won in a claw machine— he felt it for the very first time.

A cloudy feeling in his lungs that made his throat feel as if it were full of glass, the shards ripping his throat to shreds.

It started off slow— for a while it didn't really impact him at all, just an uncomfortable feeling brewing in his chest. It didn't slow him down, he never had to stop what he was doing— and no one even seemed to notice.

But then the coughing fits started and the petals started coming out— closing his windpipe and ripping through his body in an unforgiving rage.

Funnily enough, they were your favorite color.

To see something you loved so dearly mixed with his own blood— it honestly made him sick. You were no saint, your hands becoming just as dirty as the others as the days moved on and the league progressed— but there was nothing morbid within you. You killed to live, not to take.

By this point everyone knew something was wrong, even if they couldn't pinpoint an exact reason. He did his best to keep the petals out of sight, shoving them in his pocket or decaying them before they could even leave his mouth. The coppery taste became something he couldn't avoid, his teeth growing weak and his skin going pale.

Their oh so fearless leader was now slow, out of breath and coughing up blood seemingly out of nowhere. Really— who could blame them for being so concerned?

Especially you. The one who started it all.

He knew he was too far gone— that his days were sure to be numbered, and every moment you stood by his bedside was another year off of his life. But really— he didn't care at all. Shigaraki was stubborn, even if in the end it would mean his demise.

He was stubborn enough to keep the issue to himself and he was selfish enough to let it eat away at him— so long as you were by his side.

If anyone were to figure out his situation, to put the pieces together and diagnose his ailment from afar—he was sure they'd laugh right in his face. He had so much to do, so much to live for, and yet he allowed himself to stay dying in your arms.

God, he really was pathetic.

He hated himself for it— he wanted to hate you— but the velvety blood soaked petals shoved in his pocket were there to mock him— to tell him it was far too late for that. There was no hope of escaping, even if he had wanted to.

Your hands were always so warm, tender, reminiscent of something he had long since forgotten. You fluffed his pillow every night and brushed his hair every morning. You were no villain— you had to have been an angel dropped from the sky.

As his body grew weaker, your attention towards him doubled in size— If he had known dying was all it took to keep you glued to his side then maybe none of this would've been happening.

Had this happened only a few months earlier he would've had the damn plant removed— he would've forgotten you, buried your body along with your memory. He didn't want this, he didn't need this.

But oh how he wanted you— oh how he needed you.

You were a curse. His own personal fallen angel.

[stpauligirl]

Weird asks:

44. do you collect anything?

46. A christmas song you secretly like?

(I will put this under a cut because long and probably uninteresting to most.)

44. Do you collect anything?

I don't collect anything in the Complete-Set-Gotta-Get-Them-All sense, but there are certainly things I like to gather.

For travel souvenirs I like to get something for the kitchen. Usually a coffee mug, so that when I'm having my morning coffee I can be reminded of the place I visited. Or one time I got a really nice wooden rolling pin. Last fall I came home from a trip with a bowl in my suitcase.

When I was a little kid I had a rock collection. I liked to take them out and examine them, admire them, and arrange them all this way or that. Then put them all back into the special box to be stored under my bed.

As an adult I am indulging in things that bring me joy so I have allowed myself to start building up a rock collection again. Except now I go to Gems & Minerals expos and purchase "specimens" instead of traipsing around fields and digging my precious little stones out of the dirt. I recently bought myself a glass-topped display case to hold my collection. I call it my "Cabinet of Curiosities" and it sits out in my office where I can look at it every day.

Books. I used to have quite an impressive collection of fiction and literature, but eventually we moved to an apartment where I simply didn't have the space to keep them all anymore. I whittled it down to just my favorites, and then next time we moved my entire book collection fit into a single box.

Now that we finally bought a home I feel like it's time for me to rebuild my collection. Plus, we've got built-in bookshelves that are just begging to be filled.

So now I have started buying books again (mostly secondhand) as opposed to reading ebooks on my tablet. Makes me feel good.

[This is a photo of my book collection at its height, about 10 years ago.]

46. A christmas song you secretly like?

Girl, all of them! I especially love the really old ones. When I was growing up Christmas meant we would take out mom's vinyl Christmas records. Mostly old crooners like Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, Nat King Cole, Elvis Presley, and Pat Boone singing Christmas classics.

But I have to admit a particular soft spot for "Do You Hear What I Hear?"

[i-am-vita]

This idea has me spiraling with memories of my quinceañera fantasies.

I had a very normal one because I though it was supposed to be like that, I didn't even wanted it. If I've known there were other options I'd have done a full regency or victorian wonderland party (with taquiza because Mexico It Is) but alas it was the 2000's, small mexican city at the county, social media still was esoterism and themed parties unheard of.

There was one song that I had forgotten I wanted to dance but it wasn't quinceañera material, it's too sad and melancholy.

And I just so happen to know wich blorbo of my Hot Older Guys Headcanons fits it. Imma make some noir looking marine suffer a little now that I've find the perfect song to torture him 🤭

Also some lyrics so everybody can feel it too. It's a long one because it's a mix of two songs originally played by Julio Jaramillo, one of LATAM great ones from XX century second half: Do not Play that Waltz and Reminiscence.

(Spotify may say 2012 but lets just say I got this song looking for waltzes in Ares.)

Whatever mistake or nonsense you detect in the translation... let's blame google and chat gtp 🤫

At the Ballroom

Bogard x FemOcReader x Mihawk

Do not Play that Waltz/Reminiscence Charlie Zaa I'm getting use to not looking at you, I'm getting use to be without you. I don't need you anymore, you're no longer necessary to me. How good it is to be alone, how good it is to live like this. I'm getting use to not looking at you, I'm getting use to be without you.

Bogard's eyes scanned the dancing crowd a second time to make sure it wasn't a delusion of his mind what he had just seen.

Yes, there you were. Among all faces covered by whimsical and colorful masks, he'd recognized your figure, the shape of your cheeks and lovely shoulders, the ruby of your lips enhanced by the red of your dress, your sparkling eyes on your face barely concealed by the golden lace of your mask.

What cursed lips, why do they want to harm me? If without you I'm dying, my life, where are you? Do not play that waltz because its killing me. She sang it to me, like her no one else.

But no, it had to be his mind playing tricks on him because it couldn't be you in the arms of Dracule Mihawk waltzing around the dance floor.

Your favourite waltz, the one you liked to hummed while lost in your thoughts. The one you both danced the day of your debut.

The one he wished you danced again when he asked for your hand all those years ago before you dissapeared, taking his heart with you forever.

If I pass through Florida I remember you, if I pass through La Valle it's not the same. As if I am in Corrientes, as if I am in Palermo, all over Buenos Aires, you are always with me. I'm going to get used to not looking at you. I'm going to get used to it, God, I'm going to...

He had thought he had forgotten you. The demands of his station too high to allow him time to indulge in memories and what if.

Until a woman would catch his eye during his brief free times. Something in her appearance or countenance a reminiscence of yourself, and Bogard would indulge for a night.

Unless they dock at Loguetown. That cursed city drowning him in all the memories of you.

What cursed lips, why do they want to harm me? If without you I'm dying, my life where are you. Do not play that waltz because its killing me. She sang it to me, like her no one else.

When you met again ten years later, tragedy befalling your family and you resurfacing from who knows where, he believed your cover. You being under the protection of a powerful and well conected noble as his assistant in his arts and exportation businesses.

Beloved, it is impossible to erase you from my memory. I'm haunted by the recollection of your strange look and that laughter of yours, your tempting lips that left its charm caught in my anxiety.

He had merely a day with you. A day and a night before he went back to his life job and you dissapeared again with what was left of your family to go into hidding.

And so you let yourselves get a taste of what could have been.

In my wandering soul your soul melted into mine like the plain melts away when kissed by the sun. That's why although other lips offered me their tenderness, none like yours reached my heart.

Now he knows better.

You both are in opposites sides of the cannon.

During your encounter months ago when your ward ran away from home, he witnessed your true identity while defending yourself from Kuro of the Thousand Plans and he had spat your alias.

You are The Ghost Rose from the Phantom Pirates, now dancing in the arms of a Warlord of the Seas.

It was your eyes the rhyme of my songs It was your lips the music in my singing. And now your eyes are my sorrows and my pains, it was your lips my fateful destiny.

Dracule's infatuation is palpable, even with his stoic demeanor, for someone like Bogard who has held you in his arms too, got lost in your eyes, tasted your lips.

And so is yours because he recognizes your smile, the spark in your eyes, the sway of your body when you're at complete ease, letting yourself be drawn in the possessive embrace of your partner while swinging together.

In my crazy bohemia I have loved other women with the infinite thirst of one who wants to forget, but I'm always tormented by your dreamy eyes and nostalgically I sigh when evoking.

The waltz comes to an end. Etiquette demands Dracule to give up his position as your dance partner to another suitor or both of you to retire from the dance floor but neither of it happens.

The Warlord and you remain in position until the next song starts. He giving a menacing look to the few who dare to advance a single step towards you.

You not giving a single glance, a mischievous smile on your lips because etiquette can go to hell, if you want to keep dancing with him you will and Bogard wouldn't allow other man's arms around you...

In my dreams, there are reminiscences. Whole twilights I've cried for you that even now, my eyes are moist from tears, recalling those hours that still live within me.

But no, that's a memory from a another life. You are no longer in his arms but in another's.

And he is left with a job to do. To keep undercover and report back how many pirates did he recognized hiding at this ball.

And he knows he'll never have the courage to report back about you because the moment your real identity is revealed will be when he'd finally lose you forever.

.

.

.

An Invitation to the Ball?

(I would like to extend my sincerest apologies for my frantic thoughts of late. I have been under a small amount of pressure lately, and it has been chewing on me with its gnashing of teeth. I owe you all an apology, and I am truly sorry for darkening my page by spiraling down the rabbit hole within the cesspools of my crisis of existentialism)

On a more uplifting note, I would like to play a little game with you.

"You have been invited to a regency era Masquerade Ball: your gown and garb has been dusted off, your hair styled beautifully, masquerade mask attached firmly to your face and you are being led by the hand to the dancefloor. The garden has been littered with tealights illuminating the marble floor. The stars scattered amongst the night sky with their dusted luminance: kissing your cheeks and chin while bouncing off your radiant formalwear."

"As the music swells, your eyes meet with the person in front of you. They look down at you with a coy smile, delighting in your presence as they lead you on the floor."

Who are you dancing with? What melody is serenading you as you linger within each other's arms? What style of movement?

@sordidmusings @writingmysanity @feral-artistry @sexc-snail @vespidphoenix @cinnbar-bun @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @bonedaddi3

This is truly a way of me helping myself out by releasing a little bit of pressure. My days seemed to slip away from me and now I find myself ill-prepared to serenade others with my skills as a musician at, you guessed it, a Bridgerton-Inspired ball.

I am currently putting together an instrumental playlist to accompany me as I do this solo. It would seriously spur me on to imagine all of my beautiful participants from around the world spin within the arms of their blorbos.

No rules, no boundaries. You can have the same blorbo as another participant. Can have the same style of dance! It can be from any fandom, any song you like: I am on the prowl for more accompaniment music on Spotify as I type. I have the playlist from the series already, but I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter.

This is going to be fun.

Here is a link to my performative playlist so far. Help me add to it with your suggestions. I will be playing for 3 hours (in costume) straight. By myself. Alone.

[sarahs-secrets2]

Versace on the Floor (Phillip Graves x Reader) 18+࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

YALLLL the lovely @loneghostwolf made this absolutely breathtaking render for this fic and I couldn't be more obsessed!!! Please make sure you follow and check out the rest of her works!!!

This is sex, money, feelings, die I just changed the song because this one fit the vibe better (don't hate me pls), italics signify an event in the past throughout the fic

Based on Versace on the Floor by Bruno Mars

fem reader! (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: NSFW, smut, pet names, sexual tension, (if I forgot anything pls lmk!)

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Your reflection stared back at you as you finished getting ready before heading down to meet the Commander, your newest catch. He was tall, not the tallest, taller than you though which was all that mattered. He was also very pretty, his blonde hair and blue eyes were fitting for a southern Texas boy. He had money but it wasn't flashy money, he kept it understated. Simple pleasures he indulged in, and you were one of them. 

You had met at a bar, your previous date bailing on you, which had left you sipping wine by yourself in an upscale bar you had no business being in anymore. Always the one being the knight in shining armor, Phillip Graves had approached you, saving you from the embarrassment of being stood up. Despite his appearance, he wasn't a douche, he was kind and even made you laugh, which was rare for a man to do. 

The night had led you back to his penthouse apartment in the city. He acted as if he was embarrassed for you to see his place, he was much more understated than the penthouse. Graves enjoyed his ranch back home in Texas much more compared to the penthouse he stayed in when in between deployments. Since he was rarely there, the place looked brand new, almost untouched. You weren't one for hooking up with someone you had just met but something about Phillip Graves made you think this wouldn't be the last time you would be seeing him. 

You headed downstairs, Phillip waiting for you, looking handsome as ever in his suit. He was back after a long deployment. The two of you had been together going on 10 months, Graves was taking you out for an anniversary dinner, quite the romantic he was. Prior he had sent you to pick out new outfits for the both of you. 

“Doll, don't forget this” he waved the black Amex in the air as you were slipping your shoes on to leave,

“Phil, c’mon I don't need that”, you smiled at him, he loved to spoil you and you loved to be spoiled but didn't want to come off as ungrateful.

“If you don't take it, I won't let you leave”, he looked up smirking as he tipped the card in your direction. 

“And how do you plan to do that?”, you sauntered over to him, making a point to jut your hips out a little more. As you approached him, his hands wrapped around your waist, burying his face in your neck. 

“Phillipppp-” you dragged his name out as he started to place kisses on your collarbone. Instead of using his words, he responded with a light bite on your neck, sucking slightly to make sure he left his mark. 

“Want everyone to know you’re mine, you know that? I’ll leave even more if you don't take this damn card and get us some outfits for tonight”, the Texan accent slipping out as he insisted that you let him spoil you. 

“Fine, whatever you want” you placed a quick kiss on his lips as you grabbed the card,

“Now that’s more like it darlin’”, he leaned up against the counter as you headed out the door waving bye.

You didn't plan to spend so much money but when the lady at the register said, 

“That’ll be $5,625”,

Your jaw dropped and prayed Phillip wouldn't be pissed as you slid the card through the machine. You weren't used to having this kind of money at your disposal, even after being with the CEO of the Shadow Company for so long. He had become quite accustomed to having money, he just didn't spend it, he did enjoy watching you spend it though. Anything you wanted you got, even when you mentioned something in passing. Graves' love language had become gift-giving after he met you. 

The restaurant Phillip had picked was of course the nicest one he could find, only the best for you. The two of you finally sat down in a private room he had booked for the night. 

“You are so extra, you know that?” laughing as Phillip fixed his tie,

“Hey, if I'm gonna be your sugar daddy, I gotta know when to splurge”, he chuckled as he threw you a wink

“Sugar daddy? Where’d you get that from hmm?”, Phillip Graves as a sugar daddy wasn't something you had ever seen coming, but the idea of him being yours set your senses on fire. 

“What ya like it?” his hand began rubbing up and down your leg, creeping farther up your thigh with each stroke.

“You could say that, Commander” 

“I like to spoil you, now what’s wrong with that?” his tone had changed and his eyes had gone dark with lust. 

“Absolutely nothing”, you whispered as you leaned in to close the gap between you two. Graves taking charge as his hand snuck around the nape of your neck pulling you in. Your hand cupped his face to deepen the kiss. The hand that was once on your thigh had snuck up under your dress to play with the waistband of your thong, lightly pulling it back to allow it to snap against your skin. 

“I think we should take this home, yeah?”Graves mumbled against your lips, you nodded your head vigorously in an attempt to get out of the restaurant faster. Neither of you even made it past the car. 

Phillip being Phillip, had a driver, which was extremely useful in situations like this. The both of you slipped into the back of the black SUV, luckily the car had a partition that Phillip had closed for privacy. Once the car door closed, he pulled you up onto him to straddle his lap, his hands on your waist holding you firmly in place, slowly rocking you back and forth on his hardening cock. His lips didn't leave yours the whole car ride back to the penthouse.

The two of you stumbled out of the car, Phillip attempting to fix your hair which he had ruined by running his hands through it. You both found your way up to his penthouse quickly, arriving at the door your hands anxiously wrapped around Graves’ back as he fumbled with his keys. The second the door opened you were all over him. Lips connected as you pushed him toward the couch as you fiddled with his tie, too distracted to figure out to take it off properly. 

“Hey doll, slow down, I’m not going anywhere”, you could feel him smiling into the kisses, “Let me help you. He grabbed your hand as he sat down on the couch, tugging you down to sit on his lap. He leaned back into the couch, slowly peeling off his suit jacket, giving a sultry smile the whole time. Once he had discarded the jacket he moved to his tie, hooking his fingers above the knot to loosen it. You were getting impatient as you shifted your hips on his lap, causing him to lightly buck up in response. 

“Be patient,” he whispered as he pulled the tie over his head, you nodded. His hands went to your hips to hold you in place, as you rested your hands on his chest. Noticing he was still wearing his shirt you tugged at the collar as you started to unbutton the white dress shirt. 

Phillip let out a sigh as you moved down closer to his erection as you untucked the shirt to finish undoing the last couple of buttons. 

“What’d you say about patience again?” teasing him with his own words as you could tell he was getting tenser with every movement you made. He ignored your comment as his hands began to roam your body, as they eventually landed at the zipper on your back.

“Stand up and turn around for me darlin’”, which you obliged, Graves standing up with you as well. His hands slowly crept down your back before landing at the zipper again. Before unzipping the dress, he began placing slow kisses on your back, each kiss sending a shock through your body. He mumbled something against your back as you could feel the vibrations coursing through you. Your mind too foggy to interpret what he said.

The sound of the zipper finally brings you back to reality as one of Phillip's hands guides the zipper down, and the other rested lightly on your back. Once the dress was finally unzipped he allowed it to drop to the floor. Turning you around and pulling you close to him so you could step out of the dress completely. 

“Wow”, Graves’ breathed out, he kicked the dress away, sitting back on the couch resuming the previous position as he pulled you back onto his lap. 

“That dress was expensive Phil, you can't just kick it around the floor”, you giggled, your hands rested around the back of the Commander’s neck. 

“Doesn't matter, not when I have a pretty girl sitting on my lap right here” shooting you a grin, as you playfully slapped his chest. 

“Now, what are we doin’ down here? If I recall, my bedroom is upstairs”, Phillip stood up taking you with him as he grabbed the underneath of your thighs, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist as he carried you up the stairs. 

Graves lightly tossed you on the bed, before crawling on top of you, “Now you gonna let me spoil you tonight doll?”, you nodded as it seemed the Commander's new kink had been revealed all in one night.

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

I put my all into this one LOL I hope you all liked it, I lowkey went off from my original plot and got too caught up with sugar daddy Graves

[kitkatopinions]

Anyways, I'm trying to forget the drama and the hate anons who were attacking me, so I'm going to talk about one of my stupid kind of niche little ships.

Don't ask me why I ship these two little idiots so much though it probably has something to do with the fact that I was and still am deep into the definitely not true but fun to think of Rory-is-the-Master theory.

But seriously, I wish everyone would watch the Matt-Smith-Amy-Rory Era of Doctor Who through the lens of a Doctor-Rory slow burn, because the pining. Like, just imagine it. The Doctor starts having feelings for Rory right around the Hungry Earth and then he DIES and the Doctor is the only one who can even remember it, so maybe he indulges a little in his feelings because who is he hurting when Rory doesn't even exist anymore but then he comes BACK and the Doctor literally calls him a miracle and then Rory is two thousand years old and married to Amy, and the Doctor has that moment where he bittersweetly calls Rory 'the boy who waited' while he watches him and Amy dance and reading that as the Doctor pining for what he can never have is so good! And right after that the Doctor is like 'maybe I should go and you two should stay here,' and that's not supposed to make he think he felt guilty about his feelings and also didn't want to watch Amy and Rory be happily in love? And then I'm sorry but the Doctor in season six almost always treats Rory like a peer who he respects and he hates when Rory is mad at him and then there's the whole thing where Rory was talking about Howie overcoming his stutter in the God Complex and 'not all victories are about saving the universe' and the Doctor is just so soft about Rory, and then he remembers Rory's favorite car, and he's always a little too super supportive and happy for Amy and Rory and tries to get them back together when they break up, but every time they kiss he's all annoyed? Huh, fancy that! And Rory is less obvious than the Doctor (I say 'obvious' but most of this is nothing but headcanon even though the Doctor also did kiss Rory full on the mouth) but at the same time, here's the thing for me. Rory tries so hard to be the guy who doesn't fall for the Doctor or his way of life, and yet he fits into it actually incredibly well, he's super intuitive when it comes to the Doctor and no matter how jealous he got, he never actually disliked the Doctor and actually believes in him a lot! I feel like Rory spent so much of his life making Amy the most important thing and revolving around her, but then when it comes to the Doctor, Rory works as a duo with him easily and does things like go back for the Doctor in Vampires of Venice. It's like he's always getting pulled in two different directions, part of him wanting to avoid the Doctor and TARDIS life and the other part of him just gravitating towards it and towards him anyway. I think that making headcanons for Rory in regards to this ship, I'd say that he probably just blocks out his feelings because obviously he loves Amy and he doesn't understand that he might be able to love more than one person, and the way he loves Amy is different than the way he loves the Doctor so he doesn't even make the connections. And also, the whole scene in the Wedding of River Song where Rory doesn't remember the Doctor or Amy or his regular life and the Doctor is like "you should date Amy," Rory can be read as interested in both Amy and the Doctor, and inwardly being like 'the attractive and amazing man we've been trying to get in contact with is telling me to date the attractive and amazing woman I work for wow.'

And I really don't know if I ship them as eventual endgame or if I just ship them as this underlining never spoken tension that just hurts the Doctor even more when he loses both of them, but either way, I can't get over it and I just really really ship it. Also I have so so so many problems with volume 5-7 DW, but the actors are all amazing standouts who made the characters great and I love all of them but I can't properly write for them and it's frustrating! XD

[hhjs]

rewind, revive. (all that we are.)

pairing. — kim sunwoo x reader.

genre. — angst.

alternatively. — wherein letting go is all but a reminder of why he seemed to hold on.

mystery trope!

word count. — 2.8 k

note. — inspired the nbhd's 'wdywfm' and 'reflections'. (impacting characters exactly in that order of the songs.) this is unedited so bear with me lmao

Regret is a funny thing.

One can feel it approaching light years before the realisation hits. Like squinting at dim headlights in the distance, before the vehicle picks up pace, before the tires skid against wet gravel, before it finally, finally occurs that it's too late, too late to go back and walk away, to stop oneself from facing the impact head on. From having the air knocked right out of one's lungs.

Sunwoo knows for a fact what he is doing fits that criteria.

Something about the prevailing silence that comes after heated arguments is utterly eerie; being an on and off couple for the longest time indicated that you recognised that much.

"I think we should take a break. Figure things out on our own."

He looks at the little scar you'd gotten from accidentally ramming your toe into the doorframe because you were too excited to see him. (It's healing.) No, that's not right. From this position, sat atop the sofa, when he's holding his head in his palms as your tone rises mid syllable, that's all he can see. No, he can't look at you. He can't look at himself in your eyes now, dropped way below all expectations you held to him once, silhouette of his peeved face in them leaves a rancid emotion inside his belly.

"Is that what you really want?" You ask, this time with a slight hint of surrender in your voice.

Sunwoo wants to say he doesn't exactly know what he wants, what he is feeling, perhaps it's the aftermath of working too hard, taking on too much stress, or so Changmin explained to him earlier that week, he doesn't quite perceive himself as someone who could lament his problems easily - however, it's very clear to him that he is pushing you away, sealing himself off suddenly, missing out on dates, calls and falling short in the department of being his usual affectionate self.

Or maybe, Sunwoo doesn't love you anymore.

What if he's never loved you at all? What if whatever you have is all a resultant of mere infatuation and he was too young to differentiate from the start?

Whatever it is, Sunwoo isn't too sure, but you... obviously notice. He's always finding excuses to distance himself and it's changing you, who you used to be when he fell in love with you. In fact, every day is a constant evidence of just how disconnected your relationship is from how it was in the beginning, in the 'honeymoon stage' or whatever. The way he tenses up when you throw an arm around him every night he plops down against your shared bed too late, only entertaining your comforting words with monosyllabic responses; he seems to test your patience, trying to find your breaking point.

And this is it, he thinks.

What you suggested as an innocent movie night with him, trying to get him to talk to you, about anything, anything at all, soon took a bad turn when you reached out to interlock your arms and he found himself brushing you off.

It was just the same little act that piled and piled atop all of his 'little acts' and this final blow sent everything tumbling down, all at once. The way you stared at your spread out, empty palm as you asked him why he was being like this is an image he finds difficult to forget.

Albeit he doesn't hesitate, asking you to stop nagging him, to stop overreacting. To just leave him alone.

Now, with the weight of his words absent inside, all he senses is blatant emptiness taking refuge in its place, an epiphany that he can't take back what he said.

You don't say a word when Sunwoo's reply comes in the form of an affirmative nod and what's worse, he thinks, is that you don't look surprised.

As if you saw it coming all along.

...

When he agrees to put up with one of the double dates Eric set, it's because his friends are convinced that the relationship has reached a dead end. Sunwoo ignores that idea and indulges in what he perceives as newfound freedom.

Even though the excitement of getting to know someone new is momentary, replaced by a strong underlying feeling that nauseates him. Whenever Sunwoo looks over the candlelight and watches his date smile back at him, it feels like he's doing something wrong. Something hypocritical.

Recently, every day feels the same. Every hour melding into the same old routine. This is boredom, Sunwoo tells himself, though he's positive it's anything but.

It's quite a surprise not having chanced upon you by accident, given years of dating has merged your social circles.

Really, when he thinks about it, Sunwoo's known you for the longest time.

Since he was sure he would fail a calculus pop quiz and he kicked your chair to gather correct answers, you were so shy, innocent and how that sparked a sense of adoration in him for the first time ever, since you ended up becoming best friends in spite of your essentially different personalities. Sunwoo tries to remember the exact feeling of snowflakes collecting on his cheeks, in your eyelashes, his cool fingers in his pockets, while a street light buzzed overhead - not every detail is clear - but the sight of your beaming face as he timidly confessed his feelings is unmistakable. As time passes, he tries thinking about it more and more, afraid someday he'll look back and miss out the most essential rudiments of the event. Or worse, forget altogether. It's such a distant, fleeting moment that elicits a bittersweet sensation in him. Sweet because some part of him will always be entwined with some part of you, bitter because you were no longer together.

Sunwoo shakes his head, as though the gesture ought to come in assistance in ridding himself of the aforementioned thoughts. He's the one who wanted this whole break thing, right?

He pushes his trolley around, leans on the handle like he used to as a kid and paces up through empty lanes after looking around to see that the seven eleven store is mostly empty. He successfully breezes through aisles and throws in packaged kimbap, frozen fried rice and crisps to his trolley; and then, suddenly, a juice extract shelf in the distance catches his eye.

Sunwoo focuses his vision and marks his next destination, all the while imitating low humming of a makeshift engine with his mouth.

But of course, much to his dismay, his trolley jams right into another that approached out of the aisle to his side that he hadn't kept an eye on in moving only forward.

He mutters a string of quiet apologies, bowing briefly and hoping to God that the person hadn't heard him swear under his breath. "It's alright."

Sunwoo looks up and blinks curiously recognition washing over him.

It's only been a few weeks but the sight of your face, the real thing, not instagram photos, not the ones in his money bag or photo frames in his drawer, hits him with the force of a bullet train.

Your face is bare, shadows splattered against your forehead and the tip of your nose because you're wearing his - and he only realises now - ridiculously big, pink bucket hat, a hand casually positioned into a jacket pocket, there's something so endearing about this.

"Hey." Sunwoo says.

"Hey."

You stare at him for a good second and then as if realising something, you blink rapidly, fishing out a pear extract juice to dump it in his trolley. "Here."

It is an unspoken gesture, to relay that you still remember what he likes and what he doesn't like, that you've unraveled the likes of Sunwoo, excavated all the little, measly, trivial quirks, secrets and lies buried deep inside the cavity of his chest.

"Thanks." Sunwoo just stares, entranced.

It is only when he's back home, nuzzled into the comfort of his favourite blanket that still smells a little like you, does he realise he misses you.

...

"I don't care."

Sunwoo thinks he means it, like this, when he has a hoodie pulled over his head and balances a controller with great expertise, looking perfectly unfazed by Chanhee's comment about whether or not he should invite you to his party, it almost sounds true. "I just wanna see them." He settles. Time apart only reminded him just how impatient he could be when he wanted something and wasn't getting it immediately. He is seeing clearly, you're the only constant in the overwhelming vicissitudes of his life, the only one who saw him at his worst as you did at his best and stayed. That comfort, that very familiarity, is far better than the infamous honeymoon stage or any stage, for that matter.

Sunwoo realises that now. Even if it's just a little late.

Rolling his eyes, Chanhee pushes a grocery bag containing the former's snack and tears open a packet of honey crisps.

Prior to this confession, no matter how much Sunwoo insisted that he was fine, that his stare didn't linger every time he mistook a stranger for you, that he definitely didn't pretend to do the dishes even though he refused to do the chore under any other circumstances just to overhear his friends talking about a new event in your life, or just... about you, Chanhee doesn't believe him.

In retrospect, no one does. But Chanhee is least discreet about it.

"I don't suppose that's a good idea..." He pauses, swallowing, "What if things go south?"

Beneath an act of trying to untie the grocery bag, Sunwoo contemplates that he doesn't know how to respond to this inquiry, he had pictured your next meeting many a times, prepped himself to do or say very particular things, the way you always made up, time and time again forgiving each other in spite of all obstacles in your way, to a point where you friends got tired of you going back and forth, convinced that you could never really break up... - no, he is sure nothing can change, that's a blatant impossibility, Sunwoo knows you and you know him. No matter how much he fucks up - you know he'll always come back to you.

That's how it has always been.

"Figures, huh?"

Sunwoo scoffs, noting the way his friend's expression morphes to a confused furrowing of brows. He holds the yellow classic salted packet up instead whilst wrinkling his nose more than necessary, knowing the remark would prompt Chanhee to get annoyed and forget all about his own remark. “You got the wrong flavour again.”

The older male crumples a crisp in his palm and flicks it at Sunwoo.

The answer is simple, he'll never know if he never tries. Love is not chance but a decision, love is a choice, isn't it?

Well, Sunwoo chose you, he chooses you. He'll choose you over and over again.

...

"Can we talk?"

You nod slowly, a sigh escaping your parted lips. An expression on your face that Sunwoo can't put a finger on. But he doesn't have to, not when you comply so easily, joining him out into the balcony divorced from the apartment rife with noise and evidence of inebriation.

You lean over the railing, your eyes travelling far off into the impossibly dark scenery, the silence is imbued with a vague sense of eerie, the kind that ensues before something terrible happens.

All Sunwoo can think about is how beautiful you are. Suddenly, he feels guilty - see, he can't remember the last time he appreciated you, showered you with accolades you most certainly deserve. He mimics your position, turning his head slightly to take in every detail. Committing it all to memory. Things are different now. You look different.

Last time he saw you, he could map out the swollen quality of your eyes, nails bitten and chipped, the little characteristics that gave away you weren't doing well. Now, there's an indescribable glow to your face, something under the perfectly dolled up look, the red beret on your head, matched with an utterly fabulous coat that guards you from cool autums.

It's a new outfit. The discomfort is newer.

"You look great." He finally speaks and it's not the best way to start a conversation that's dangling by its last finger, akin to an inexperienced acrobat - he doesn't know what is.

You chuckle. "Is that what you wanted to say?"

"N-no...I just.." he pauses, the words all bundling up on his tongue into one big mess of sentences that don't make any sense. When you finally look at him, leaning back on your elbows now, Sunwoo gulps, this isn't a figment of his imagination, no, this is real. It's now or never. "I'm sorry." He starts, the mere utterance of those words seem to spark no change in your appearance. As if you're waiting for him to continue. Right now, apologies just aren't good enough. "This whole thing was so stupid. Baby I-I know I fucked up but... I love you. Okay? I promise I'll do anything to make it up to you. Whatever you want."

You stare at him for a long second, just letting his words sink in but also just seemingly allowing yourself to think. Then you push yourself up, standing straighter. "You dont have to." You say simply, a hint of finality laced into your tone. All Sunwoo finds himself thinking is how you don't reciprocate, uttering the same I love you like you always did. Out of habit.

He curls his fingers into fists, knuckles whitening and whitening under the strain. His vision is a blurring film against which you look like a faint silhouette, secluded by rivulets of raindrops racing down windows. It's embarrassing, how he feels, all those bubbling emotions reduced to that of a child being denied his favourite candy.

"W-What is that supposed to mean?" He blinks, finding that you're staring at your spread out palms. Like they're evidence for something you've done.

"Sunwoo." You say. It sounds like a warning, like a don't get any closer. "I don't like who I become when I'm with you."

At this point, Sunwoo just listens. In his mind, he hadn't foreseen this. He knew it wouldn't be easy, he knew he had to try his best but...this...losing you... that was out of question. Right?

No, he tells himself, he'll fix it, he'll get it together.

"You know, I was really angry at you for breaking up with me...but it was probably for the best." You produce a garbled laugh, lifting your face skyward, looking up at the glossy layers of pollution, of purplish clouds and the barely there moon behind, like you're reading off sentences from them. Sunwoo stares at you, he wants to reach out and trace the curves of your face without thinking twice, without holding back. "We did need time to think... and it made me realise that I've always loved you more than you've ever loved me. Heck, even more than I loved myself...and... I can't be that version of me again." You sniffle, "That's not love... That's devotion."

"Hey, don't say that!" He drags his fingers up from the railing and reaches out to touch your elbow, "Come on...we-we can work it out. We always do." These words , they come out all choked up and hoarse.

You stiffen up at the sound, "You're not listening to me." You shrug him off, adamantly piloting your gaze to linger away from him, your back's turned away from him but then you pause, just slightly looking over your shoulder and your gaze softens at the sight of him using his sleeve to dab at his cheeks. The gesture makes him feel hopeful, just for a second. 

Then you sigh, shaking your head, "Don't you get it?" You say, "We can't fix this...we can't fix each other.

Inexplicably, he thinks of a perfect world, where he could go back just once, where it all started, everything before, holding his head in his hands and the little scar on your toe and is that what you really want?

This time, Sunwoo would mutter a quick no. He'd flick on the television and snuggle into your side, talking mindlessly about something that makes you laugh.  To forget all about the stupid argument.

But in reality, he lets your words ricochet off of the walls, listening to the transient beats of music pouring into the balcony when you slide the door open to let yourself out. 

It shuts.

Everything goes quiet.

And this soundlessness, this solitude, he knows this, he's heard this, he's seen this, he's felt this, this... this is final,

 this is goodbye.

[westernchords]

2020: a replay & reflection

so... here we are at the near end of a very long, unsettling & strange year. and at this particular moment in time, spotify has released its 2020 wrapped feature, an annual highlight for gay people everywhere (self VERY included). since the world is very large & this is a personal blog with a limited scope, i'll talk about what i know best: the view from my corner of the musical world.

i only had two songs in common with any previous year -- i wish i missed my ex by mahalia & sugar by brockhampton (... i know, the heartache is loud already,)

4 unique rain asmr audios made it into my top 15 (they help me sleep lolol)

show tunes was my #4 most listened to genre and yet not a single one made it into my top 100. (i'm pretty sure it was all of my late night waitress sing alongs)

i discovered 1,012 new artists and 162 new genres

all very fun and interesting things! however, in looking at this year, there are two things to discuss that are most important: the amount of time i spent listening to music (111,989 minutes) and my top song, fake mona lisa. let's discuss both.

on time: in short, music means a lot to me. in long, i mean that music has been central to my life for as long as i can remember. i think of my church choir and my mother singing eartha kitt and corrine bailey rae in the kitchen, my father's surprise talents at piano when he would play in chapel, and how i like to make up little ditties to sing for my dog or while i cook or to solely entertain myself. if one was to take a look at my journals, each entry is annotated with the song i was listening to or suited my mood at the time i was writing. at any moment, i am capable of revisiting the emotional landscape of old memories all set to the very soundtrack that holds that particular past closest.

i still remember plucking violin strings at 5, how i used to stack music books so i could sit up straight on my piano bench because i was too short at 7, picking up woodwinds in highschool and letting my best friend act as conductor, and now, singing endlessly- day in and day out, because it makes me feel like i am traveling home. i think of creole folk songs that connect me to my family, my diaspora. i remember the favorite songs and artists of people i don't know anymore, but still. it stays with me. my friend cj says i have a great emotional sensitivity to music, but more so, music simply connects to every cornerstone of who i am. the creation of it, the listening, the love of it. the constancy.

music is integral to my daily routine and life. since i was 13, maybe younger, i have always believed that the first song i hear in a day sets the tone so i always try to play something i love and makes me feel joyful to start off on the right foot. i will do this my entire life. every day is permeated by sound and the data shows it. 111,989 minutes is almost 3 months straight. this doesn't even count soundcloud listens or youtube tracks or music i play on my own. this felt fitting. music, this year in particular, has been a salve to both new and old hurt. and maybe i am picking at my scabs, but 2020 has amplified so much anger and shame and fear and despite that, there is so much joy in art. music is a balm for the world, it is poetry in its own right.

on fake mona lisa: so .. i am kind of obsessed with this song. fifteen hours worth of listening, i text my friends i'll join the video call soon - i just need one more replay, i got high and played this song while lying in the middle of a meadow and experienced more emotions than i had had in a very long time, my friends lovingly tease me about it so it's sort of like a character trait now, kind of obsessed. my turning to this song was the sort of romance that i didn't anticipate, but fell very hard into and, if you know me, you know that's my favorite kind. let's get into why: when dedicated side b came out, i was heartbroken. there's really no other way to put it. i was alone, back in my childhood bedroom, and harboring a reopened wound from past relationships that maybe had never closed in the first place. i was in this strange, melancholic knee-deep-in-emotions place & if you're an avid CRJ fan, you recognize that's a place she knows and sings about well.

as a song, fake mona lisa tends to be one of carly's more lyrically opaque tracks. which is fine, i'm a storyteller at heart, i'll craft my own narrative. (and honestly, there wasn't much legwork here.) without doing a full blown analysis, here are pieces that i find important to note about the song lyrically and resonate most with me -- big or small.

(transcription at bottom)

what i'm basically saying is that this song is about risk and young love and sex. its about secrets, cheap thrills, fast & easy desires, and the fantastical euphoria of a dead-end-but-still-fun “we're young so what's the matter,“ relationship. (very reminiscent of LA hallucinations, imo) and to me, someone who has been in and out of this same subset of emotional affairs, fake mona lisa stuck with me. vegas is a city of high risk, high reward- where else to chase that superficial, unattainable someone? more so, the song gives you the understanding that the relationship doesn't last, but that was not what carly ever truly wanted out of it. fake mona lisa is, at its core, about over indulgence in pleasure as a stand in for actual love + commitment, something i am oft to do myself & only did more of after dedicated side b dropped. i latched onto the slow and simmering exposition into glittery pre-chorus, starlit imagery, shiny-faraway vocals, and frankly, there was no competition for my song of the year. the song is a dream. i love it and i know what that says about me, but i stand by it. 

dedicated side b, especially fake mona lisa, carried me through the healing process of heartbreaks that crystallized into many other things- indulgence, desire, risk, short lived romances, secrets, joy, kisses i should've kept to myself, spontaneous dance breaks, tears, etc., it is an album about love, recovery, and returning to the self. fake mona lisa is just my favorite stop on a long train ride to an okay-ness with aspects of romance (both with the self and others) that i am still figuring out the messy, rose-tinted, contours of.

and sonically? i just adore the key of d minor.

as a last touch point, fake mona lisa was only the tip of the iceberg of songs  i obsessed over about not-exactly-ideal romances. again and again and again, heartbreak anthems appeared in my top 100, a deviation from my typical warmth towards romantic sentiments that appeared in past years. instead, there is a sense of love-at-a-distance, a painting yourself as the object of desire, a severed attachment, a not wanting to commit at all (see let's be friends, heartbeat, want you in my room, all by crj ... all appearing on the list.) however, much of what appeared celebrated love and having tremendous, special, struck by cupid, feelings. it's all there. what i'm saying is that carly rae jepsen writes music for lovestruck people- both lucky and not so much, hopeless or hopeful -- you name it. she writes about how you can fall in love with almost anyone, soundtracks for the highs of the first throes of intimacy, the first (and last) kiss, the shared moments between two people when they are each other's whole world, and the palpable distance of heartache, separation, and the landscape between. 

she writes as though she is both eros and psyche, armed with arrows of cascading melodies, tipped with a salve for suppressing+healing+amplifying heartbreak, and lyrics so intimate and dreamy, you really can't help but believe in love with the way she speaks of it. love is a venture from shame, a fantasy that is more real than anything else, tender and kind, pleasurable, and escapable into. the world is better in it, the world is better because of it. in carly rae jepsen's discography, love is the defining pillar of experience. a northern star and guiding principle. it is the only thing, no matter what form. & frankly? i cant help but agree.

as a final note, in hanif wills-abdurraqib's emotion review for MTV, carly rae jepsen's public displays of affection, he says this:

thats all for now. bye 2020.

- august

///

transcription of my notes:

verse 1:

city/star light imagery

i am known for wearing a star stamp on my cheek

infatuation & attraction

paints a photo of a starlet and her lover, a fair weather affair

pre-chorus:

always waiting fro a chance the object of desire

a high from love, addictive pleasures

chorus:

sex & art & risk taking (art synonymous with beauty. + seduction)

she knows she cant handle this in a real way, but wants it

desire vs/& (in conjunction with) pain

verse 2:

an idealistic worldview, hoping for the best, always somewhere else not present. 

dreamy lyrics + dreamy state of mind, cloudy even.

specifically the words fake mona lisa:

contrast, beautiful yet fully acknowledged to be unreal/superficial

a stand in for “real art“ aka “real love“