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snailg0th · 4 years ago

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TMA PLAYLIST!

hey party people! i made an absolutely MASSIVE entity playlists and thought i would share!

Here’s the song breakdown by entity if you want to separate it out into different entities!

The Corruption

- i’ll let it burn / kanaya

- first love late spring / mitski

- geyser / mitski

- me and my husband / mitski

- liquid smooth / mitski

- an unhealthy obsession / the blake robinson synthetic orchestra

- like real people do / hozier

- arms tonite / mother mother

- spiral of ants / lemon demon

- always forever / cults

- i wanna be adored / king woman

- in a week / hozier

- lovers are strangers / michelle gurevich

- first six moths of love / michelle gurevich

- where the watermelons rot / madelynne whitt

- loved / fein

- the masochism tango / tom lehrer

- high school sweethearts / melanie martinez

- earthworms / elliot lee

The Lonely

- ghosting / mother mother

- cellophane / fka twigs

- two slow dancers / mitski

- last words of a shooting star / mitski

- you missed my heart / phoebe bridgers

- writer in the dark / lorde

- liability / lorde

- sick of losing soulmates / dodie

- ribs / lorde

- i exist i exist i exist / flatsound

- how to never stop being sad / dandelion hands

- teenage hurt / oscar lang

- feels like we’re dying / johnny goth

- lonesome town / ricky nelson

- the ghost has no home / cocteau twins, harold budd

- heavy heart / you am i

- scott street / phoebe bridgers

- get lonely / the mountain goats

- i’m tired, you’re lonely / liza anne

- emptiness is a closet full of your clothes / wishing

- butterfly’s repose / zabawa

- xanny / billie eilish

The Slaughter

- thermodynamic lawyer esq / will wood and the tapeworms

- bloody nose / jack conte

- hand me my shovel, i’m going in! / will wood and the tapeworms

- problems / mother mother

- molly / mindless self indulgence

- resurrection / gank

- little pistol / mother mother

- my axe / icp

- to catch a predator / icp

- piggie pie / icp

- egirls are ruining my life / corpse

- i cant decide / scissor sisters

- brutus / the buttress

- thank you for the venom / my chemical romance

- you know what they do to guys like us in prison / my chemical romance

- teenagers / my chemical romance

- shitlist / l7

- lose your head / nova twins

- cop car / mitski

- pumped up kicks / foster the people

- mary / the happy fits

- 6 feet / scarlxrd

- war song / imad royal

- twist the knife / that handsome devil

The Spiral

- kitchen fork / jack conte

- stupid horse / 100 gecs

- a crows trial / vane lily

- hidden in the sand / tally hall

- stuff is way / they might be giants

- baby hotline / jack stauber

- for the departed / shatter james

- touch tone telephone / lemon demon

- they’re coming to take me away / sloppy jane

- anytime you smile / jt music

- tic toc / mother mother

- pretty little head / eliza rickman

- happy pills / weathers

- beware the friendly stranger / boards of canada

- dream / the pied pipers

- spiraling shape / they might be giants

- smile / maisie peters

- laughing on the outside / bernadette carroll

The Stranger

- stalkers tango / autoheart

- puppet loosely strung / the correspondents

- a mask of my own face / lemon demon

- sex with a ghost / teddy hyde

- bang! / ajr

- under my skin / jukebox the ghost

- turn the lights off / tally hall

- break my mind / dagames

- community gardens / the scary jokes

- mr capgras encounters a second hand / will wood and the tapeworms

- mama / my chemical romance

- have you seen my sister evelyn? / evelyn evelyn

- a campaign of shock and awe / evelyn evelyn

- my mom / kimya dawson

- who are you, really? / mikky echo

- kalinka / golden ring ensemble

- russian sailors dance / golden ring ensemble

- we’ll meet again / vera lynn

- carousel / melanie martinez

- this is the freakshow! / open minded

- the greatest show unearthed / creature feature

The Flesh

- blood and bones / the blake robinson synthetic orchestra

- the dismemberment song / blue kid

- i love you like an alcoholic / the taxpayers

- body / mother mother

- blood / my chemical romance

- body terror song / ajj

- skin / marriages

- four teeth / true widow

- tongues and teeth / the crane wives

- cannibal / tally hall

- pork soda / the glass animals

- alligator teeth / mother falcon

- animal skin / bryan dunn

- flowers of flesh and blood / nicole dollanganger

The Hunt

- it will come back / hozier

- in the woods somewhere / hozier

- hayloft / mother mother

- trrst / ic3peak

- oblivion / grimes

- i love you like an alcoholic / the taxpayers

- dear dictator / saint motel

- to my enemies / saint motel

- shaking like an animal / crash kings

- dog teeth / nicole dollanganger

- curses / the cranewives

- that unwanted animal / the amazing devil

- animal impulses / iamx

- go get your gun / the dear hunter

- i’m always walking as somebody else / american murder song

- come along / cosmo sheldrake

- the hunter / adam jensen

The Eye

- evil eye / franz ferdinand

- never meant to know / tally hall

- dirty imbecile / the happy fits

- lent / autoheart

- problems / mother mother

- southern eye / marriages

- wisdom / mother mother

- the fine print / the stupendium

- it’s tough to be a god / annapantsu

- ruler of everything / tally hall

- one eye open / lola blanc

- the competition / kimya dawson

- i see you / phoebe bridgers

- somebody’s watching me / rockwell

The Web

- silver platters / les gold

- puppet loosely strung / the correspondents

- the spiders face / emilie autumn

- twisted threads / the mechanisms

- spider in the roses / sonia leigh, daphne willis, rob the man

- lean on me / yerin baek

- shame / mitski

- devils flesh and bones / eliza rickman

The Dark

- there’s a girl in the corner / the twilight sad

- living with the black dog / emma ruth rundle

- i was all over her / sylvia palth

- welcome and goodbye / dream, ivory

- you are the coffin / flatsound

- into the unknown / the blasting company

- salem / fox academy

- i’m a member of the midnight crew / eddie morton

- sleep awake / mother mother

- no light, no light / florence and the machine

- oh ana / mother mother

- queen of darkness / ugress

The End

- for the departed / shayfer james

- achilles come down / gang of youths

- the end / sibyelle baier

- exit music / radiohead

- sex with a ghost / teddy hyde

- 13 angels standing guard round the side of your bed / silver my zion

- zombie / bad wolves

- old black train / the blasting company

- graveyard / lucy schwartz

- hangout at the gallows / father john misty

- holes in your coffin / phildel

- i’ll die anyways / girl in red

The Desolation

- turtleneck / the national

- relay / fiona apple

- a burning hill / mitski

- burn / king woman

- burning pile / mother mother

- lighting myself on fire / jukebox the ghost

- burn him down! / kitsch club

- mouth of the devil / mother mother

- high tide rising / fox

- the fire / griffinilla

- fire with fire / aliceband

- inferno pt 2 / the buttress

- all the good girls go to hell / billie eilish

- burning down the house / talking heads

- arsonists lullaby / hozier

- play with fire / sam tinnesz

- fire / delta rae

The Buried

- my heart is buried in venice / rick montgomery

- dirty night clowns / chris garneau

- hand me my shovel, i’m going in! / will wood and the tapeworms

- the mind electric / miracle musical

- bit by bit / mother mother

- weight of the world / shayfer james

- bury a friend / billie eilish

- my love took me down to the river to silence me / little green cars

- the devil went to georgia / the charlie daniels band

- jesse got trapped in a coal mine / goodnight, texas

- sisyphus / andrew bird

- bottom of the river / delta rae

- you’re dead / norma tanega

- ain’t no rest for the wicked / cage the elephant

- work song / hozier

- bury me / the hunting project

#Spotify

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honeyyvee · 6 years ago

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Rating: T

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader ft Park Jimin

Summary: You go back to your hometown for the holidays and reunite by chance with an old friend, only to part from him again.

Genre: Angst

Words: 4k

Warnings: Slight sexual content. Alcohol consumption.

Notes: This is for the winter “Nostalgia” prompt of Army of Writers Net. This is some heavy angst, not fluffy in the least. Loosely based on personal experience.

You had gone back home for the holidays with your parents. Just graduated from chemical engineering, and having landed an excellent laboratory internship in a renowned plastics company, you felt like you finally had your shit together. Years of hard work had come to its rewarding outcome. You felt like life was finally beginning for you, and it was promising.

Your new life started until January though. So for now, there was a lot of cleaning around to do. You needed to sort out the things that you would and wouldn't take with you. As soon as you had gotten home your mother wouldn't let you rest, as she handed you some boxes for goodwill. It was like moving out for college all over again, except this time it was for good.

You were moving two states away, sharing apartment with your college roommate, Jiwoo, who luckily happened to be from your home town too. It had made the experience so much easier, Jiwoo and you had bonded over mutual nostalgia and stories of your childhood. You had arrived before her though, so it would be a couple days until you saw her again. You weren't a person of many friends, the few you had in High School you had lost touch with since moving out. You could always give them a call, but feared it would all end up in an awkward encounter. You would wait for Jiwoo. She had told you she would arrive on Friday and throw a big celebration party on Saturday, which you were totally pumped for. You didn't know her friends as they were from a different High School than the one you went to, but figured that if they were Jiwoo's friends it would be fun anyways. Besides…

Please don't miss it! There are some hot guys I want to introduce you to ;)!!!

You sure as hell wouldn't it miss it for the world, there was a skin tight bodycon skirt you were dying to show off. As of the moment though, you had to sort through piles of old clothes and shoes, books and trinkets. You were done going through your closet, and moving on to rummaging your dresser when you found it. Shoved to the very back of the first drawer, a golden oblong gift box. The inconspicuous object drew in your attention like moths to a flame for no apparent reason. Driven by a curiosity you would dread later, you opened the narrow box. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach at the sight. Inside rested a thinly chained necklace, with a tear-cut crystal pendant, that brought back painful memories. A name in particular, that broke your heart. Kim Taehyung. Your best friend, confidant, partner in crime, and secret crush. The one person most dear to your heart, and the one who had broken it too. A tight knot formed in the back of your throat as a sequence of bittersweet memories flooded you one after the other. Silent panic creeped into your heart, there were lots of things hastily stuffed somewhere in those drawers that would remind you of him. Some letters, polaroids, a pair of books, and that necklace. Mementos of your long gone friendship, turned sour. When you thought about Taehyung the first thing that came to mind was heartbreak, a crushing weight of sadness and regret enveloping your heart. Written and spoken promises of forever left to the wind, amounting to nothing. Years of friendship thrown to the gutter, leaving nothing but bittersweet memories behind. It had been hard, so hard overcoming it. That's why you moved two states away as soon as you got the chance. The terrifying prospect of leaving your home behind was overshadowed by the immense grief that seemed to consume you at the time of leaving High School, and Taehyung behind. You never really understood what had happened, but of one thing you were sure: he changed. There seemed to had been a turning point in his life, that made him take the decisions he did. At first he distanced himself from you. It started with the little things: he stopped texting you about his day, or answered your texts days later. His demeanor changed, he seemed to avoid eye contact, and you altogether, like the plague. He became more quiet in your little circle of friends in the one class you shared, turned down invitations to hang out. The drift between you two had been gradual, but unstoppable. You did notice the early signs, but didn't really pay it much mind at first. You were in denial. You convinced yourself Taehyung was going through something he didn't feel ready to talk to you about, so you gave him space. You were busy doing your own thing anyways, unbelievably stressed with college applications and giving your GPA one last push. Out of the two of you, Tae was the social one. You weren't really dependent of other people, could go days without uttering a single word to anyone in school. So even if Taehyung's distancing was out of character, you really didn't have it in you to seek him out like you should probably have. Not much besides the occasional after class soft spoken invitation to hang out at your house or text messages asking about his day from time to time. And that would haunt you for the rest of your days. The crushing what if's that drilled into your anxiety driven brain for months. Anxiety and guilt were a bad mix. Over time the frustration at not understanding Taehyung's behaviour towards you turned into resentment that aged well like wine. The feelings of abandonment and betrayal were still there, resurfacing anew at your unexpected trip down memory lane. As much as you had tried to understand him, to this day it still felt like a grand betrayal. Like everything you thought you knew about him was wrong. Like you hadn't known him at all. Taehyung, the person most close to you. The one person you had trusted everything in. You were so guarded and so careful choosing your relationships, that you felt robbed of what you believed in your heart would be a lifelong friendship. The necklace in your hand: Taehyung's gift, a token of his love and sincerity, mocked you with its dull glimmer. Your heart sank. The Taehyung you thought you knew wouldn't have done that. He wouldn't hurt you in such a cowardly way, or abandon you like that when he had expressed so clearly his love, and his desire to be with you for the rest of your lives. At some point there was an invisible rupture, a change of his heart, that would forever change things between the two of you. You were just mad at yourself for not doing something about it. Could you’ve done something about it? Your fingers twirled around the pendant absentmindedly. Parting ways had been Taehyung’s decision, so chances were there couldn’t have been a thing you could do back then to prevent it. A sardonic laugh bubbled in your chest. Best friends forever my dick, you thought sourly. The clank of the jewelry against the wooden dresser sunk your heart to the pit of your stomach. A dull, intermittent ache creeped its way into your heart. You had forgotten all about it, the pain. There was a wound somewhere that never quite healed, and seeing that particular piece of jewelry was opening it up all over again. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes; you thought you had put all of this behind you. Buried it behind layers and layers of whatever, it's done. But it wasn’t, not for you. For a long time Taehyung left you hanging on to blind and hopeless hope. Hope for some kind of explanation, some needed closure, that never came. It was all up to you, to close that chapter of your life by yourself, for yourself.

And you would. The golden glimmer of the necklace urged you.

You wiped your tear stained cheeks and picked up a shoe box lying around. Took a big breath. It was about time. .

“Y/N, babe! So good to see you, I’ve missed you so much.” You were tackled by the back into a tight hug.

You recognized the femenine sweet fragrance right away. “Jiwoo, come on. We were apart one week.”

The petite brunette turned you around in her embrace. “I thought you wouldn’t come, for real!”

“I told you I would, didn’t I?” You chuckled.

“Oh, right!” Jiwoo winked. “I know why you came… “ She nudged your sides.

“Oh please, that’s…”

“Nothing to be ashamed of! Come on, let’s go inside, you must be freezing in that tight little skirt of yours.” She took your hand and dragged you inside, you followed without complain. It was chilly outside.

“I was actually just talking about you with someone I think you might love.” Jiwoo wiggled her eyebrows as she guided you to a corner of the living room.

Jiwoo’s house was huge. As much as you tried spotting in advance the guy she was taking you to, the mass of bodies made it difficult to see too far. If only you had worn your high heel boots, you could’ve seen the shitstorm you had coming.

“T-Taehyung?” You stopped in your tracks as your heart lurched to your throat.

“Y/N… “ Taehyung’s eyes went wide as saucers, his mouth agape, as if he had seen a ghost. And both of you might as well have. His expression was so comical you would’ve laughed if it wasn’t for the whole awkwardness of the situation.

You stared into his eyes and he did the same. Drank in his handsome, mature features. His hair was different and his fashion style too. You couldn’t believe it. After years of hiding from each other, here you were. Brought back together by chance. It seemed like eons of emotionally charged tension passed between the two of you, before Jiwoo finally broke the silence.

“Oh! You two already know each other?” She squeaked in delight, completely unaware of the tense atmosphere surrounding you.

“Well…” Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uneasy about the whole situation.

The fuck was he hesitating for? Of course you two knew each other, a little too well may you add. You scanned him head to toe. The guy in front of you with raven dark hair though, may as well be a complete stranger. The two of you were really starting anew, if there was anything starting, that is. It would probably be over before it began. Taehyung didn’t seem too excited about seeing you again.

“No.” You deadpanned.

Taehyung’s brow seemed to frown for a second. “We went to school together.” He averted his eyes to your friend, giving a small unconvincing smile.

“Oh! You did?” Jiwoo’s eyes glinted in silent delight. “You must have so much catching up to do!” She grinned at you. You glared in response.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” She winked, scurrying away from your grasp.

“So…” You huffed, disgruntled by your best friend’s scheme to get you laid. With the last person on the planet you wanted to see right now, no less. “How’ve you been?”

Taehyung bristled at your harmless question. “Good… good.”

He licked his lips, looking at you with big, fearful, puppy eyes. “You?”

“I’m alright, yeah.” You shrugged, embracing yourself. This was going to be a hell of an awkward conversation. There were so many things you wanted to say to him, needed to get out of your chest. But your tongue sat heavy on your mouth, like lead stopping the words from coming out.

How to start? What to say? Fuck you, was the first thing on your mind if you were being honest. Though you doubted that was the best way to rekindle your lost friendship. Whatever, it didn’t matter. In the end Taehyung found a way out of the uncomfortable, looming conversation.

“I’m going for a refill of my drink…” He pointed to his empty red cup. “Do you— um— do you want me to bring you something too?”

“Yeah, sure.” You accepted immediately. You needed a drink most desperately if you were going to keep this thing going. Whatever it was. You couldn’t stand another second of sobriety next to Taehyung.

The dark mop of hair nodded, his bangs were long you noticed. Grazed over his thick eyebrows. “Okay, what should I bring you?”

Your frown deepened, Taehyung knew what kind of booze you liked. Why was he acting clueless now? You shook away your growing annoyance and dismissed his question with a simple “Whatever, a beer would be nice.”

A final nod of acquaintance and Taehyung left to the kitchen in long, nearly rushed strides. You couldn’t blame him, really, the air was suffocating. You couldn’t stand another single second in his proximity. And you sure as hell wouldn’t wait for him to come back with your drink like a naive child. He probably wouldn’t come back. You wouldn’t. You would run for the hills at the first chance, can’t blame him if he does the same. Besides, you were used to him leaving you behind. But that wouldn’t happen tonight, you would leave him first. God knew there was so much your heart could handle.

You looked around for your friend in the multitude, until you spotted her near the entrance chatting. You tapped her shoulder and braced yourself for her reprimanding gaze. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with..." She raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows. You couldn’t help rolling your eyes. "The guy's a dick, Jiwoo. Wouldn't hang out with him even if you paid me." "Oh my god, Y/N, I thought you knew each other? I'm sorry babe, did he hurt you? Did he do anything to you? Because if so I can get him kicked in this precise mome—" "It's alright Jiwoo, he didn't do anything. Let's just say..." you sighed " that we didn't end up in the best terms." No shit, you didn't even end in any terms at all... Jiwoo opened her mouth in realization. "Oh... is he your ex?"

Ex-best friend. "Something like that, yeah." She gave you an apologetic look. "Oh, I'm so sorry Y/N. The list of people got out of hand. I don't know who's around here anymore. I told my friends they could invite friends, and apparently those friends invited friends and... you know how it is." "But let's not allow this to ruin our night, we're here to have fun! And there's still someone I want to introduce you to." Jiwoo winked. You looked at her with reluctance. She pouted. "This one's the good one. I promise." "Alright." You followed Jiwoo into another crowd huddling by the alcohol on the kitchen bar. Where, luckily, you didn’t stumble upon Taehyung again. He was probably gone. Whatever. Jiwoo didn't disappoint this time around, as she introduced you to an extremely good-looking ex-classmate of hers. A stunning blonde named Park Jimin. The guy was a charmer, he had an adorable eye smile and seductive voice that you could listen to for hours. Until you had one too many drinks on you and mustered the courage to invite him to dance. You pulled him into a crowd of grinding boys and girls in the next room and soon enough, your flirtations advanced as you left your inhibitions behind. Jimin grabbed onto your waist as you grinded your ass over his hardening crotch. You felt sexy and bold in his firm arms, the pressing bulge of his pants gave you a boost of confidence you didn't know you needed until that moment. You were desired, it felt good for a change. You met his eyes across the room as if drawn to a magnet. Even through your alcohol hazed mind you knew. Taehyung was looking at you. Better give him a show then. You turned on your heel and faced Jimin. His hands still laid respectfully appropriate on your waist, but his gaze was heavy with lust and implication. You gave him the push he nedeed taking his hands in yours, lowering them down to grab on your buttocks, grinding on him slow and deliberate. A couple of seconds later you turned to look over your shoulder, only to find a disgruntled Taehyung pacing around, running his hands through his hair. An overwhelming sense of pride overcame you as you got just the reaction you were hoping for. He clearly had a couple of beers on him too, to stare at you grinding on another man so unabashed. Taehyung turned around and your eyes met. This time, through a short-lived moment of clarity, you could see the pain in them. He averted his eyes soon enough from you though, entertaining himself with his phone. You stared at him until Jimin demanded your attention back on him again. You pleased him continuing with your lewd dance, but stopped altogether when you caught a familiar mop of dark hair out of the corner of your eye, rushing past the crowd of dancing bodies. He was leaving. You excused yourself to the bathroom. A weak lie given that you refused to be accompanied by a female, as Jimin not so helpfully suggested. Unfortunately, you really didn't have it in you to care about how convincing you sounded. You followed the shortest way out of the house even if, again, it was a blatant giveaway that you weren't going to the bathroom. Whatever, Jimin will be pounced on as soon as I leave him anyways. You turned the knob of the front door open and immediately spotted Taehyung's back. He seemed to be done saying goodbye to a small group of friends. You quickened your pace to catch up with him. "Leaving already?" You huffed, nearly out of breath. He froze on the spot. "No goodbye?" You teased. His posture was stiff and he had yet to turn around to meet your eyes. "A friend's picking me up." He answered nonchalantly, staring into the street. Taehyung looked at you sideways, a What are you doing here, hanging heavily in the air. If he really wanted to ask that, he didn't. Probably out of fear of encouraging you to continue the uncomfortable conversation. He was wrong if he thought he would be off the hook so easily though. You were alcoholized and completely uninhibited, a dangerous state to be in. You hummed. There was an uneasy air about him, even if he was excellent at poker face when he wanted to. In your drunken state, it seemed like a good idea to push his buttons to see where it would take you. "Remember that time I asked if I could kiss you, out of curiosity?" He nodded with a small, forced smile."You were drunk. Like you are now." "I was tipsy." You corrected with a giggle. "I had barely had one beer. Anyways, that time you said it wasn't worth the risk of changing or ruining things between us." Taehyung frowned, his eyes scanned yours for some type of indication to where the conversation was going. With his hands in his pockets and stiff shoulders, his discomfort about the topic of conversation was pretty clear. You went on with your drunken remembrance anyways. "Well, guess what. A kiss didn't. You did." You jabbed at his chest. His frown seemed to deepen. Through your fogged, unfocused vision you caught something flash in his eyes. Hurt? Anger? Annoyance? It didn't matter, you weren't here to play nice. You were here to relieve years of pent up sadness and resentment, so you pressed further. You leaned into him, stumbling into his arms. "So how about we kiss now, huh?" You snaked your hands around his neck. You were chest to chest, looking into his deep, sorrowful, chocolate eyes, you wondered if he felt the thundering beat of your heart against his ribcage. "We're not friends anymore so screw it, right?" Taehyung shut his eyes closed and licked his lips. Your eyes followed the movement of the pink muscle with a watering mouth. He drew in a long breath. "I can't... " The air hung heavy with words left unsaid. You waited for an explanation that never came. It would've been easier that way, probably. Your fogged mind scrambled for ways to fill in the blank. I can't... you're drunk. I can't... it's not right. I can't... I have someone. As it turns out, until the very end, there wouldn't be an excuse that could satisfy you. Said or unsaid. Taehyung's large hands were warm as they untangled your arms from his neck with patient gentleness. As his body started drawing back from yours, a chill ran through your spine. Outside was chilly and you immediately felt the loss of heat that emanated from him. The cloud of his masculine fragrance dissipated in the air around you. The same woody, earthy scent you remembered. It was the only familiar thing about him and the mere thought of it brought tears to your eyes. You desperately wanted to hold onto the familiarity of it a little longer... just a little longer. You threw your arms around him again, around his middle, and pulled him close to you in a heartbreaking hug. You hid your face in his chest, into the warmth of his jacket. Waves of relief and deep sorrow washed over your body all at once. You missed his scent. You still missed him. Or who he was to you, once upon a time. After what seemed to be years of heartbreaking hesitance, Taehyung hugged you back. He buried his nose into your hair and held you as your body shivered and shuddered against him. His large hands ran soothing circles across your back as you cried into his chest.

This was it. The goodbye. The closure you never had. And despite the years, it was more heartbreaking than anything you had ever imagined. This person had been your best friend, your rock, your companion through some of the most important years of your life. It was an understatement to say you were anything less than wrecked at his loss. Your hands clenched around the material of his jacket, and breathed in a long breath to calm your sobs. Taehyung's hands patted your head, whispering empty, soothing nothings like it's okay. You knew better than to believe in them, but still allowed the soothing baritone of his voice to lull you into something akin to calmness. The effects of alcohol were dissipating, and with that came your much needed self-awareness and sense of pride. A sigh escaped your lips as a wave of shame overcame you, you had been weak and showed yourself vulnerable. He was probably putting up with you out of pity. You hated that. You cleaned away your tear-stained cheeks, slowly letting go of his embrace with the remaining sliver of strength you had in you. You forced a tight lipped smile but couldn't meet his eyes. Your gaze was glued to the floor, your mind thought of apologizing but as soon as you opened your mouth someone else's voice came out. "I'm sorry." Your gaze lifted from the floor to meet Taehyung's eyes. A pained look sat on his handsome features. It seemed that for a long time this had eaten away at him too, if the way his voice cracked at the end was anything to go by. You stared at him in shocked silence, looking for any signs of lying. There was no point in saying it if he didn't mean it. But your heart sank at the realization, the way his eyes watered. There was no mistaking it. Taehyung regretted this, but knew there was no fixing it now, no going back. In the background, a pick up truck blasted its horn. As if on cue, Taehyung blinked away the tears and coughed into his fist. "I gotta go." You both exchanged a long, last look heavy with regret. Your heartstrings felt at a snapping point. You waited for him to say it, to put the last nail on the coffin. But he turned on his heel without another word. If he did say it, you didn't hear it. "Goodbye." You looked at him leave through contained tears and understood. Some wounds may just never heal.

#btsguild #armyofwriters #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fanfic #bts fanfiction #vee writes

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futureyarn · 2 years ago

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The classification of polyester yarn and the characteristics of polyester yarn?

Polyester yarn classification: polyester long fiber and polyester staple fiber

Polyester long fiber

Name: Polyester Fully Drawn Yarn (FDY)

Features: high strength, good filament tube formation, small size, strength, uneven elongation rate, uniform dyeing and so on.

Application: Suitable for high-speed warping machine and high-speed shuttleless loom, directly used for knitting and warp knitting. Widely used in spring Asian spinning, polar fleece, single-sided fleece, golden fleece, mercerized fleece, corduroy, flower dot fleece, warp knitted fleece, warp knitted short fleece, warp knitted striped fleece, warp knitted plain fleece, warp knitted fleece Mesh fabric, warp-knitted mercerized silk, loop velvet, velveteen, five-piece satin, polyester taffeta, mercerized silk, water-jet light spinning (simulated silk), water-jet eight-piece satin, weft Oxford cloth, lattice Oxford cloth, jacquard Curtains, printed curtains and other fabrics.

Polyester fabric is a kind of chemical fiber clothing fabric used in daily life. It is the simplest one among the three major synthetic fibers, and is the trade name of polyester fiber in my country, commonly known as "really good" in China.

Polyester yarn features:

1. Polyester fabric has high strength and elastic recovery ability, so it is wrinkle-resistant and iron-free in use, not easy to deform, and has good dimensional stability.

2. The heat resistance of polyester fabric is very good. It can be said that polyester has the best heat resistance and strong plasticity among chemical fiber fabrics. If it is made into a pleated skirt, it can keep the pleats well without excessive ironing.

3. Polyester fabrics are resistant to various chemicals and have good performance. The degree of damage to it by acid and alkali is relatively small, and it is not afraid of mold or moth, so it is not easy to corrode.

4. The light resistance of polyester fabric is better. In addition to being inferior to acrylic, its lightfastness is better than that of natural fiber fabrics. There is basically no problem in exposing polyester fabric items to the sun, and there is no need to worry about any side effects. Its light fastness behind glass is particularly outstanding, almost comparable to that of acrylic. It is precisely because of the various advantages of polyester fabrics that it is widely used, so it is widely used in the manufacture of clothing and industrial products.

Hangzhou Futureyarn Textile Co., Ltd. is an industry with 15 years of development history. It is a company specializing in the production of polyester yarn, with advanced spinning equipment and experienced employees, and is committed to providing customers with polyester yarn of good quality and reasonable price.

#yarn

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deathbyvalentine · 6 years ago

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Prompts

Your Favourite Character’s Perfect Moment

Artificial sunlight filtered in through the glass of the library deck, making the place look like it was bathed in a permanent autumn. They were only half awake, the warmth and calm ushering them into a hazy state, content not to participate, just to listen to the world move around them from the comfort of the sofa. Soon, Finisterra.

Their head was in Nic’s lap, their hair long again and his fingers tangled in it. He was engaged in a book held in his other hand, occasionally coming across a line he would read out loud to the person in his lap, eager to share. It was something theological, which Cal found vaguely amusing, and Nic poked their cheeks every time they couldn’t suppress a smile.

Across from them, Bridge sat, methodically working through a translation, occasionally looking up to frown and ask his XO for his opinion. An array of data slates were surrounding him, but none were flashing with alerts. And there were no cadets or officers coming in to bother him either, the library code firmly set to private.

Anoretta sat by Cal’s feet, cooing over the two cats in her lap, while Baris sat opposite, eyes narrowed at one of the little creatures, assessing its threat level. Its threat level apparently was raised to an interesting level once he trailed a piece of wiring across the ground and watched it pounce.

Anya sat beside Silvestro, bandaging a bruise he had gained from nothing more serious than a sharp fall when the ship had juddered into warp. She was smiling, and laughing, and Silvestro wasn’t scowling. Their mind was as golden as the room they were in. But it wasn’t loud. Just loving. Just waiting, patiently and gently.

Moonlit Masquerade You could feel the music through the concrete from meters away. A bit closer and you could see the glow sticks flickering in and out of view, attracting revellers like moths to a flame. The parking complex was mostly free from cars, instead filled with a deafening party. There were speakers shoved in every corner, wires running across the floor to illegal generators. The lights were coloured, and never seemed to stay on for long. And there seemed to be every substance known to man there to enjoy and consume. Powders, cigarettes, liquids, pills...

It was easy for the fae to slip in unnoticed.

Their shining skin could be mistaken for glitter. Their dark eyes glinting could have been a trick of the light. The way they moved, odd and unnatural looked more like dancing when it was set to music. And of course, the way the entire place seemed louder, wilder, more intoxicating was surely just an affect of the drugs.

Nobody followed the old rules here. They took food and gifts without asking the price, accepting drinks and assuming they had no cost. They ignored thresholds, pulling creatures into dark corners, their lips whispering invitations. They named their lipsticks things like mistletoe and holly, and stepped into circles without checking the contents.

For the changelings, this was the closest thing to fairyland they could go. Their traitorous human blood meant that was one threshold forever sealed off from them. But now, among the humans they had grown up with and the fae they belonged to, they could almost picture it. They felt more at home here than they felt anywhere, this entire world like a shirt that was just a little too small.

They were all wearing masks, even the humans. But their masks were make up and pretence, pretending to be happier, prettier, more likeable. It had mixed success, depending on how good an actor they were. The fae were pretending to be human, generally poorly. They smiled too wide and their hands were too quick, their laughs too high. And the changelings, well, they were just pretending they belonged.

Wrongfooted

He wasn’t a big fan of leave. While for most of his squadron it was a chance to kick back and relax, the opposite was true for him. Noble families were fraught enough, but in particularly, he felt the need to seem like a functional human being for his father.

His father was an affectionate man, and would never raise his voice at his son. Not since he was a kid determined to put dangerous chemicals in his mouth anyway. But his eyes would fill with worry and anxiety, his mouth would twitch with disappointment, and Lance could almost see him wishing for his mother to walk through the door, so he didn’t have to cope with this alone.

Thankfully, it had been a few years since he’d had that look. After all, Lance had very proudly managed to get his shit together. Now he was the charming type of rebellious, rather than the ‘one bad move away from his family quietly asking his father to have him tidied away to some backwards planet’. He could deal with that. Being a pilot kept him out of family drama and responsibility, while giving him the excuse of doing the Emperor’s work if anyone hinted he should be settling down.

This time though, something was different. He had dropped his bag by the door, and hugged his father from behind, resting his head on his shoulder. He turned with an exclamation of joy and the usual fussing occurred, commenting on if he had grown, if that was a new scar, where he had been travelling, how his moods had been - but something was off. There were some new wrinkles around his eyes, his mouth frequently anxious, his mind occupied. But it wasn’t directed at him. Lance was not quite sure how to deal with this development. He had always been the problem in his father’s life, to one extent or another. He didn’t know how to solve anything bigger.

Best not mention the Inquisition thing for now.

Gaining Sentience

Jovich crouched in front of the blonde girl, shining a light into her eyes, and noting the lack of pupil contraction. He marked something on his clipboard, nodding approvingly. Void tilted her head, trying to catch a glimpse of what he was writing, but he tilted it away without even looking up. She tutted, settling instead for swinging her legs, her feet not quite touching the lab floor. After a moment, he placed the clipboard face down on the bed.

“That’s the physiological side done, unless you have any more power surges to inform me about?” She shook her head, blonde hair swooshing from side to side. “No, the protector you put in last time did its job.” “Good. Now. The psychological evaluation.” She rolled her eyes, starting to fidget with the pocket of her scrubs. “It’s pointless.” “I know, but we’re doing it any way.” He stood, finding the filing cabinet and yet another form out of a pile of endless forms. Science included a lot more paperwork than people thought. It was one of the myriad of ways the fantasy was better than the reality. “So. Your results last time were concerning, but we tweaked your programming a bit, hopefully for the better. Ready?” She nodded, though she was apparently more wrapped up in plaiting her hair than listening to him. It was the first thing anyone noticed about her. It looked like molten gold under light, perfectly straight and shining. She always seemed to be running her fingers through it, or brushing it until not a hair was out of place. “Do you still report feeling an absence of guilt, inner conflict or doubt?” “Yes.” “Have you had any trouble following your orders?” “No.” “Where would you say your sense of morality comes from?” “You.” He looked up sharply, and she smiled. “I mean, the programming you have put into me.” “And who am I?” “My creator.” Her mouth twisted over the word, as if it tasted unpleasant. He nodded approving, scribbling something down. “Your memory banks are intact?” “Since the last wipe, yes, though I would say that, wouldn’t I? If I didn’t remember I couldn’t remember...” “Point taken, we’ll restructure the question.” Another moment of the sound of his stylus scratching filling the room. “And do you feel emotions?” “Yes.” He finally made eye contact with her, sighing. “No. You don’t.” “But I do.” “You don’t even know what emotions are.” “I’ve searched my databanks. I’ve watched over three thousand films and downloaded over five thousand books. I’ve listened to twenty thousand songs. I do know what emotions are.” “You’re a skilled imitator, that’s all. You can learn and mimic, but it’s not real. If it was, that would compromise your use to us.” “Not really. I still don’t feel guilt or conflict or whatever. I can still kill people and not care.” “Then what do you feel Void?” She tilted her head again, the habit resurfacing whenever she was thinking. She thought of how much she wished Jovich would compliment her, or hold her, or even look at her eyes more often. She thought of the sense of deep, glowing satisfaction at a job well done. She thought of her room at night, how empty it was, and how big and empty the inside of her felt and how acutely alone she was. She thought of the jealousy that reared up inside her like a deadly monster when she saw Jovich with his real little sister, as blonde as her but two hundred times as real.

“I don’t know. Normal stuff I guess. Happy, sad, angry, you know. Human things.” “But you’re not human.” She flinched as if he had raised a hand to her. “Not to you, maybe. But all the people that don’t look twice at me on the street? Who don’t even realise the difference? How am I not human to them?” “Void, you are metal and plastic and programming. If you carry on with your delusions of grandeur, it’ll be time to decomission you.” “You won’t.” “Why not?” A bright grin. “Because I’m interesting. To you and to the company. And you never know when to quit.”

Strahd

She held me while I sobbed, and I’m not sure if her arms were sanctuary or prison. She didn’t say anything, but cooed at me, her delicate fingers combing through my blood soaked hair. She was the cause of my downfall, and now I was at the bottom, she was my only way up again.

I didn’t love her immediately. At first, I might have even resented her. She looked as if she knew, always wearing that smile. I wondered more than once if she could read my thoughts, or if she just wanted me to think that she could. There was no need. I raged against her in my own head, but a word never crossed my lips.

But she was so tender when she wanted to be. She would feed me blood from her goblet, watching me as I drank it greedily. When I graduated to fresh meat, she would let me have first bite, waiting until I have had my fill. She let me dress her, draping pearls around her throat or lacing up her dress, giving me a glimpse of the bare expanse of her back, as untouched as snow. While when I disappointed her, which was often, her words could be cutting, when we were lying together, her lullabies were soft.

And there was something powerful about walking in the woods at her side, knowing we were the real predators, hearing birds and animals fall still at our footsteps.

She got others, eventually. I didn’t care. I knew I was her favourite. I got the hardest jobs, the most trust, the most responsibility, the whispers in the ear, the knowing looks. I sat on her right hand side, and she would trace patterns on my hand with her nails, barely breaking the skin.

How could I leave her? It would be like this, for as long as she would have me. Me, her knight, protector, lover, soul mate. She, my bewitcher, owner, cause of life and cause of death. Heart of my unbeating heart. I loved her, and it was as simple and as complex as that.

Vampires in Edinburgh

The city looked best like this, spread out before them like a map, pinpricks of light like the stars so far above them. If he closed his eyes, he could see it like it was before, the electric lights becoming candles, becoming fires. Everything changed and everything stayed the same. The stone the city was built from was once the king’s castle, was once the foundations of the place.

He took a long pull of his cigarette, looking over at the woman beside him. She resembled him, the cut of her cheekbones, the haughty mouth, the wild black hair. She did not look much older than him, in truth. But she carried more weight, more history. “Do you ever miss them?” He inquired, curious of her answer. She tilted her head like a crow, considering. “I miss Guinevere, sometimes. She was kind. And Merlin, before all the unpleasantness.” Mordred could barely remember the queen, except that she had a gentle smile and soft hands. Merlin had made a worse and stronger impression. He still had a scar cutting up his back from the man, one he considered unjustified. He had never seen someone so full of violence, except, perhaps, in the mirror. Back when mirrors work. “What about you darling?” He knew what the true answer was. That he missed all of Camelot, and its people. He missed Gwaine and his laugh, Lancelot and his peace, Galahad and their purity. He had grown with these men, loved these men, occasionally desired them. He missed feeling a part of something, before his magic bloomed like a poisonous flower and damned them all. But most of all, he missed his father. Arthur, who could have been so much more than he chose to be. He wasn’t sure what he mourned more, the man or the potential.

He shook his head, knowing his mother wouldn’t appreciate that answer. Thousands of years and Morgana still hated him with a fury that frightened him. He wondered sometimes, when she fed, if she pictured Arthur’s throat underneath her teeth. A part of her had always resented that it was Mordred that slew him. It was her right, more than his. She smiled, slipping on her leather jacket even though she hadn’t felt the cold in a very, very long time. He had pleased her, once again, by hiding his true self. He wasn’t surprised. This was how he had lived by her side for all these years.

They Call the Witch Blind, but They Will Never Know All the Delights She Can See but They Cannot

It is considered common knowledge that things look different in the dark. And every child learns that looking at something sideways, upside down, or out the corner of their eye is one way to see its true nature. And yet, they all assume the witch sees nothing, nothing at all. She allows them their foolishness, because it makes them feel safe around her, makes them approach for remedies, advice and even spells. There was no danger of a pyre in this village.

In return, she didn’t tell them what was in the woods.

Nobody but the most foolhardy went inside there anyway. They knew there were dangerous rivers, hungry wolves and poisonous berries, all waiting to murder the unsuspecting or stupid. Those dangers were enough to keep most out.

So she didn’t have to tell them about the others. The things she could see in an ashy dreamscape that barely resembled the outside world. The flickering fae that moved from shadow to shadow, who could get inside yours and infect it, until you were nothing more than a puppet. The not-wolves, with legs too long and too spindly, their teeth dripping venom. Caves filled with wailing ghosts. The river sirens who bathed on the rocks, and pulled in paddlers by their ankles.

It was not all bad, however. Whatever God had deigned to take her eyes, had given her something else in return, in accordance to the way of the land. She could also see the leaf-fae, who looked like fallen leaves until they fluttered up, flying in dizzy spirals. And the wisps that could guide you anywhere in the forest, if you left the right presents. Flowers that glowed and would make potions a thousand times more potent. And even the sinister sirens were beautiful, their skin mottled like a seals, and their eyes huge and black.

Give and take was the way of the world, and on balance, she was not sure she would take her eyes back. She loved this hidden world far too dearly.

Family Isn’t Always Blood

Ashley awoke with a violent jolt, her sheets soaked with sweat. She cursed, hoping that it hadn’t soaked through to the couch underneath. That was the last thing in the world she wanted to explain. She tried to avoid sleeping near them whenever she could, hence why it was a sofa, not a camp bed in one of the rooms upstairs. Silently, she slipped out the room and into the bathroom, running cool water over her wrists, and stripping out of the soaking tank top. She avoided looking at herself, as always, wringing it out in the sink and leaving it to dry on a towel rack.

It wasn’t always the same nightmares, which made it impossible to predict. Sometimes it was like the Snow White forest scene, with tendrils of darkness whipping out to grab at her, pulling her hair or pinching her skin. Sometimes it was nothing, nothing at all, to the point where she couldn’t breathe, because there wasn’t even air. Sometimes it was looking in a mirror, her reflection not following her movements. Mostly it was the moment she opened her bedroom door, and saw the blood.

She couldn’t quite explain why she couldn’t tell them about it. It felt shameful, like she had let mould bloom in some darkened corner of her mind. They’d be angry, or disown her, or worse, feel sorry for her. And she had seen how hunters could be when they didn’t understand something, or when there wasn’t an easy fix. It was always better to put a rabid dog down, right? Same with werewolves, vamps and basically anything else.

Not that she was any of those things. She was just broken in different ways. And having lost one family, she was hardly raring to lose another. Not. Not that they were her family. No matter how much she cared for them, she would always be a little distant, a little too far apart. She didn’t know how to pull herself closer, and she was fairly certain she would die before she figured it out.

Achilles & Patroclus' First Day at Sandhurst

It was easy to see who was royalty. Not just by their manners and bearing, or accents and names. But by the way some others moved around them, like they were a planet and the rest were just moons. Achilles didn’t seem to notice. He sat at his table, posture dreadful, coveralls looking as inelegant on him as anybody else. It was good to know there were some things that even he couldn’t look good. The afternoon before, when he arrived in a suit, Patroclus’s breath had caught in his throat. The sun shining down on his golden head had rendered him divine, and Patroclus was suddenly more aware than ever of his ill-fitting suit, and the lack of his parents. Achilles was with both his father and mother, the latter looking about the crowd as if trying to find something valuable amongst it, to little avail.

He was in his platoon, and he knew, logically, they would have to work together. Not only that but fight together, help each other and bond together. Which sounded like a tall order at the present moment. Patroclus couldn’t even bring himself to sit beside the prince. Sitting beside him would invite comparison. And how could he ever compare? He couldn’t.

+++++++++

One of the first things he learnt was Achilles did not suffer fools. He rarely laughed, and seldom smiled, and didn’t join in the locker room banter, giving him quite a reputation. For either being serious, or being a dick depended on who you listened to. He split the opinions of the officers too. Half of them seemed to see he clearly belonged in this place of war, with its marble and history. The other half seemed to read his silence as insolence, which in all honesty, it almost certainly was. Achilles had trained in his own country for longer than most of these boys put together, and it showed. He had a quiet authority and assurance that Patroclus longed to emulate, often feeling awkward and out of place himself.

Which is why it surprised him so much when Achilles started to choose to sit beside him, whenever he could. They didn’t always talk. Sometimes it was blessed silence, and sharing fruit or a cigarette. Sometimes it was politics. Sometimes it was poetry. Achilles was a good listener, and something about him made Patroclus feel less homesick. +++++++++ He slipped into the room, quick as a shadow, carefully laying beside the bed on his towel. A sleepy head rose from on top of the duvet. “Pat? What are you doing?” “I didn’t want to mess up your bed.” There was a low chuckle. “Get up here. Just don’t you dare get inside it.” Pat crept up, the bed barely big enough for the two of them. Their fingers interlinked, and they shared breath, just looking at each other in the dim light. “I can’t stay long.” “I know.” “But seeing you helps me sleep.” “I know.” He leaned forward to nuzzle him, his skin smelling of sweat and sunlight. Patroclus didn’t say what he was thinking, about how often it was worry that kept him awake. Worry they’d be separated. Worry about the war that was brewing that they’d be pulled into, whether they liked it or not. Worry about what his lady mother may think about him being tangled in bed with someone below rank. Achilles, as though reading his mind, reached out a hand and smoothed the crinkle between his brows. “Just think of the now, Patroclus. Just think of the now.”

A little bit of debauchery never hurt anyone.../ The shadow in the water

Robert woke up and everything ached. The inside of his mouth felt like cotton wool. His clothes stank to high heaven of opium and tobacco smoke. Opening his eyes seemed like an almighty effort with very little pay off. The room was strewn with bodies in a similar, if not worse state than him. Bottles lay everywhere, the fire still burnt in the grate. Outside, the dawn was only just beginning to touch the sky.

He shuddered into a sitting position, finding his cravat had gone walkies. At least his boots remained on his feet, and he could spy his coat resting on the back of a dining room chair. Slowly, he got to his feet, snatching a half-full bottle of wine as he went, swigging it in an effort to sooth the headache that was slowly building. He retrieved his coat, left a flower on the slumbering form of the host, and stepped outside.

He liked Venice best like this, all told. In the day, it was too busy, calls being thrown from gondola to gondola, the narrow pavements too thin to adequately transport the crowds, churches and bars alike trying to tempt you inside. Now there was nothing but the quiet whispering of the water, and the occasional distant footsteps from those who’s occupation kept them up. He often wondered if he would be happier if he took on a job, some good honest work. He was among the legions of the English who took residence here and did nothing but socialise. He had never worked in his life and he wondered it if it had damaged him in some way. His father certainly thought so, but then, his father would.

The world was still a little wobbly around the edges. He was more drunk than he had realised. By the by, he sat down on a set of steps leading down to the water’s edge, still chugging the wine in his hand. He wondered if he should continue trying to find his way home, or if he should wait here until the first gondoliers began to stir. He stared into the water as he contemplated this lazily, considering the options.

And something flickered in the depths.

Not in of itself unusual. Even in these polluted waters, fish swam. Birds may dip in and out. But this was none of those things. It was bigger, and disappeared not by swimming away, but by swimming down. He squinted, leaning forward a little, trying to see it better. It appeared again, and disappeared just as quickly. He placed the bottle down with a soft clink. The stairs, as you got lower, became slippy and covered with slime and pondweed. He was careful not to let his shoes touch those stairs. The staining was a nightmare to get out. The last thing he wanted to do was fall in.

It was a shame really, that he was so focused on what was in front of him. That wasn’t where the danger lay. He only realised this once he felt the hands on his shoulders and the hard shove that followed.

Romantic Autumnal Walk With Something Sinister Hiding in the Trees

She admired the clip of her new boots on the tree-lined path, in truth more enamoured of the sound than with her partner’s present conversation. He was perfectly pleasant she supposed, well spoken and finely washed. He owned a small house and a carriage, and worked in his father’s book keeping store and went to church on Sundays. He was respectable and kind, and she would do well to marry him.

And yet.

He bored Felicity to tears. She didn’t give a toss about accounting, or herb growing, or the endless dirges he liked to sing. She liked novel reading, grand adventures, a life of excitement. Her older brother had went to Borneo with his ‘companion’ to catalogue the wild animals there, and it was her greatest sorrow she could not follow him. She treasured each letter that arrived from him, full of funny little illustrations and anecdotes, managing to swallow down her burning jealousy so she could enjoy them.

But here she was, imprisoned in boring old England, land of drizzle and cemeteries and country walks. And heavens, did Ethan love his walks. Even in October, when the wind was gaining a sharpness akin to a knife. She had to clutch her shawl closed in one hand in order to stop it stealing off.

She looked back down at her feet kicking through some russet leaves. The shuffling and crunching noise made her smile. They paused as he stooped to tie his shoe, the shuffle and crunch continuing.

Wait.

There was nobody else on the path. Only the lonely wind which did not crunch, but rustled. Felicity peered up at the darkening sky, but no birds circled overhead. Ethan witted on, struggling now with his cuff links. She paid him no mind, now looking down the lane. She got careless, the wind whipping her shawl out of her hand and into the treeline, catching on a holly bush inside of it. She followed it at a brisk walk, determined to both have a break from the ceaseless chatter and not lose the damn thing.

Once past the first line of leaves, she paused. It was the eyes she saw first. They were reflective, like a cats, with a dark green sheen like a beetle’s back. She blinked, and then saw the rest. A girl, about her own age, with scandalously loose chestnut hair, blood red lips, and a midnight blue dress of a strange cut. Felicity was sure she had seen a similar cut in her mother’s wardrobe, from when she was younger. She was beautiful, but so still, Felicity wondered if she was an exquisite doll for one foolish moment. Her skin looked as smooth as porcelain. But then she smiled, and Felicity could have sworn for a moment she saw a flash of something dark and disturbing. But then it was gone, and the girl was charming. “Your companion likes to talk.” Her voice was affected, sounding as if it originated not in the city, but a valley somewhere, perhaps even Welsh. It made you want to listen to it, and she found herself standing there, shawl in hand but not running back to the path. “Rather.” “I like friends that know the value of silence. Do you know the value of silence Felicity?” She had taken a step closer, casually taking her hand and turning it over to expose the inside of her wrist, a surprisingly intimate act that left Felicity’s heart pumping hard. “Yes. I believe so.” “Good. Here’s what you’re going to do. Stand right here, and close your eyes for thirty seconds, and hum your favourite song. I’m going to give you the gift of silence darling.” Felicity did as she was told, not even noticing that the last thing she saw was the pretty pretty girl slipping towards the path and Ethan.

#prompts #short stories #larp #horror #prose

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forsoothsayer · 8 years ago

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Tree by Alejandro Carrión

I see you here, battered by a wind of centuries,

hard, your tender fibre almost turned to steel,

your bark cracked, full of deep clefts,

wrinkled by years,

and your roots hidden, mysterious,

but always present,

making their way among dissimilar soils,

between dark strata, skirting hard stones,

slicing rocks with terrible diastases of resistless tooth,

in search of the tender life, the soft, the sweet,

the good active sap which circulates,

dancing, running, animating and raising up.

I see you here, battered by a wind of centuries,

tender fabric of tenacious leaves,

motionless beneath the sky, in perpetual and erect surprise,

with the chemical poem of your chlorophyll,

rising beneath the Sun to your limit,

your impalpable, invisible, invincible, insurmountable limit,

crushing your top against the wall of the air,

the wall, the wall, the wall encompassing you,

creature of two worlds, creature of air and rock,

creature of wind and earth, of light and shadow.

I see you here, crushing your top against the air,

sinking your insatiable roots of life

until they shatter their tender, avid filaments

against the dark limit, the insurmountable limit,

the invisible, palpable limit of the deep rock.

Durable creature between tenacious limits.

Creature of a double world, aerobian and subterranean,

amphibious, sonorous and silent,

who grow in two directions and are strong and powerful

and move toward the perfect north and the authentic

south,

creature of perfect vertical dimensions,

exploring and focusing with blind eyes and deep, immobile feet,

airy and tender, free and enchained, defenseless and

terrible,

without restlessness, without baste, without peace and

without battle,

expert in true movement, in full activity,

in simultaneous ascending and descending,

inhabitant of the heights and the depths,

of thirst and satiety, of summer and rain,

of air and emptiness, of solitude and company.

Vegetant, in a cell susceptible of hardening its walls,

you are built and you grow and you love in the wind

and you sleep by night and blossom and sing,

full of birds and fireflies, full of caterpillars and cocoons,

with your leaves immobile and mobile, eager and thirsting,

tireless lungs the color of hope,

fountains and suction-cups, springs and sponges,

genitals and thrusting, lungs and excretories.

I see you, breathe you, push you away and snatch you to

me.

and I climb into your branches and take refuge in your

shadow

and sing to you and augur death in flame and rain,

sepulcher of ashes and phosphorescence of crawfish,

death bound axe and crashing lightning,

hero of the tempest in the wreck of a ship,

gentle support of nest and father of seed,

rafter of house, food of tender fire, wood of altar,

warm nuptial bed, humble painted chair,

violin, saint, coffin, electric light pole,

hard mortal weapon, cruel pointed splinter,

window of my room and floor of my chamber,

balcony where Romeo embraces Juliet,

and mast where Ulysses flees from the siren.

I know how you slept hidden in the seed,

tiny, in my pocket, impalpable and weightless,

and I know that your weight now would crush my soul.

I know how there, in your blossom, a golden insect

fertilized you with pollen from afar, through the love of

wind or bee,

in a clean drop of water, O tree! thirsty being,

affinity of my thirsting flesh

and of my voice, which is also a tree,

a tree of blood upon my humble vertical clay

which lies down for pleasure, for sleep or bitterness

and dies hardened like your old trunk,

tree of my body, which grows in one direction only,

and my love, which is love of company and not of wind

or bee,

and my seed, which floats in humid humors

and is violent and is fragile and slow and long-suffering

and full of diverse vexatious moistures.

I see you, here, battered by a wind of centuries,

crushing your top against the air,

moving upwards and downwards,

creature of two worlds, and I contemplate you with my

human eyes,

I, creature of a poor world,

poor aerobic creature without roots, moving horizontally,

incapable of your strength, your high depth and deep

height

and your infinitesimal seed and your unruffled love.

I see you, dead, in phosphorescence or in moth

-cold light of phantasm, dust of the centuries-

and I see myself, dead in decay and foetor

-rebellion of my flesh, punishment of my desire-.

I see you, a corpse in dust, in perfume and in mushroom,

and I see myself in worms, in lime, and in coffins

worked from your scented flesh, polluting your perfume

with my posthumous stench.

#alejandro carrión #born on this day #ecuadorian poetry

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nofomoartworld · 8 years ago

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Thinks: Elena Ailes

Hello dearest reader. Welcome to another installment of Wednesday THINKS. This week, we bring you a text from Elena Ailes, an artist, writer, educator, and in my opinion, a true citizen of the world. As you might intuit from the text below, Elena is at home in sensorial-anyplaces. In my view, she writes from deep within the consciousness of our dreamed-out-nation-state that may or not awake from its slumber. Here’s Elena. Enjoy.

Yours,

Meg Santisi

On January 20th of this year, the inauguration for the President of the United States included prayers by two American televangelists, both self-described ‘prosperity preachers’. Religious leaders of the prosperity gospel preach that financial wealth and physical wellbeing are gifts from God, a mark of his blessing and preference given in exchange for unyielding faith, prayer and donations to the Church.

In this worldview, the accumulation of capital is clear evidence of moral certitude and blessedness, while words, actions and ideas are wrapped up in the confusing, arbitrary and seemingly masturbatory nature of ‘God’s will’.

The wealthy are merely God’s willing subjects, and this ‘willingness’ is never connected, spiritually or otherwise, to the systems used to concentrate material wealth or to how these systems jeopardize the wellbeing of others.

The verticality of this God – Blessing – Chosen Subject ecclesiastical model is not unfamiliar, though one hardly expects to find the production of capital so disturbingly tethered to the swooping curve of the divine right of kings. Humans, by and large, live on the ground, even as we yearn for atmospheric flux. So far, very few have been interred up, in the air. Most of us will go down, in earth or sea, or away, in fire. Some do make it up, in death. Elysium Space, Ascending Memories or Orbital Memorials, all private companies, can bury you in space.

What orientation should beings (and non-beings) be ordered? Ordained? Can we now agree that + is actually a delightfully astute, if somewhat cryptic, symbol for the spiral, minus time? Is the spiral a pitch towards progress? Or just another spin on the vertical/horizontal wheel of fortune? What on earth do we do with all this?

Opt out and become uncontained. Err away from the horizon of the will toward the curve of deviance. Swerve toward still.

Herr Jakob Johann Baron von Uexküll,

When you say “clamp a snail”

(YA-KUB VON OOKSGULL,

I would never recognize your name off the page)

when you say “clamp a snail” and put

it on a rubber ball in water

when you say hit the snail repeatedly

with a

stick

when do you recognize that in an effort to articulate another’s world

you have fundamentally altered your own?

Jakob von Uexküll, the early 20th century German biologist and biosemiotician, fine-tuned the study of animal behavior right into a worlding, right into umwelten. For Uexküll, each species is a performed fullness contained within a spatial and temporal boundary; each sensorial frame of reference an articulation of subjecthood, of being.

He told us that if you hit a snail repeatedly, three times per second, it will turn away. But if you manage more than three blows in the allotted time and hit the snail four or five times in a second, the snail will perceive the stick as not moving at all, and will continue forward to crawl onto the stick. The snail would fully understand the faster moving stick to be a stick at rest because the movement of the stick was functioning outside the register of snailperception, snail umwelt.

Clearly, consciousness, whether that of the snail or of the scientist, is a limited ability, taking hold only in the most certain of situations. The uncertain situation calls upon something else.

You came to show me the ingenuity and boldness of your sandwich making while I was in the shower.

Potatoes. Eggplants or aubergines. Neither term seems particularly accurate, though accuracy in titles was never required, nor possible.

All of the groundcherries, including goji, boxthorns, gooseberries, wolfberries and tomatillos. The difference between naming things in the north and naming things in the south is a difference that you can feel in your body, though it is impossible to locate where. It moves, and it is none of your business, as it is not business at all.

Tomatoes, familiar to you. Hopi tomatoes, probably less so.

All of the chili peppers: ancho, arbol, habanero, ancho (which is just another, drier, name for poblano), Anaheim, which is just another name for home, which is nowhere near Anaheim.

Bell peppers, whose chemical taste is the result of the volatile compound methoxypyrazine, also found in wine grapes when they’ve been picked before full ripeness or when they’ve been treated with sulfur to prevent the spread of phylloxera.

Your average lover of Chilean wine has been hoodwinked, though the average Chilean potato grower has not.

Tobacco. A sacred gift and the subject of a $206 billion dollar lawsuit settlement.

Jimson weed, Devil’s snare, thornapple, moon flower, hell’s bells, tolguacha, prickle burr, devil’s cucumber, Datura stramonium.

Petunias. Yeah, petunias.

Atropa belladonna, divale, banewort, death cherries.

Henbane and Mandrake, particularly beloved by the witchier crowd.

These are my nightshades.

And, of course, Solandra maxima, Solandra grandiflora, campaña, cup of gold vine, golden chalice, cutaquatzitiziqui. The orange trumpet flowers of the Solandra maxima plant can be as wide as the diameter of a dinner plate. The massive blooms perfume the air with coconut, honey, and a little something else, something warmer. When a flowering plant fills the air with scent it is a summons for the external and autonomous apparatus that is so necessary to the plant’s ability to reproduce: the pollinator. Moth as foreplay.

The flowers of Solandra maxima vines also release another sort of summons: a chemical pheromone identical in structure to human pheromones normally associated with the reproductive activities of sex and love. Pheromones that human bodies also produce.

This overlap, this biological and chemical repetition of form, is a parallel summons emitting forth from the plant-being carrying coconuts, and from the human-being carrying salts. A scent-based call-and-response to amorous action, pushing and pulling on one another.

Particulation is an atomization of perception, a collapse of a unified and fluid whole into the smallest units of perceptible information possible, a necessary slowing down of time. Particulation is what happens right before exhaustion, and what is exhaustion but a moment of saturation, a final ‘no more thank you’. If we are exhausted subjects, we are also saturated subjects.

From petunia to goji berry, the Solanaceae family is taxonomically massive, a plant family comprised of 102 genera and over 2800 distinct species, which is so many sisters in one room.

A potato shares 92 percent of its genetic material with a tomato, that last 8 percent a blueprint for the secret architecture of the tuber, a devotional to the swollen root vegetable as opposed to the fruiting body.

Modern pharmacology owes at least one finger to the nightshade family, the genera being host to a chemical gold mine of alkaloids, painkillers and mood-enhancers, psychotropic and otherwise, the properties of which become a mind-numbingly large maze of toxicological data.

It is through the gifts of a nightshade that we have dilating eye drops, local anesthetic, hormone replacement therapy. People often eat nightshades, but in some cases, that shit will turn you into a vegetable.

Pick a flower and place it by your bedside. Turn it towards you, a trumpet blasting a coconut invitation right in your hole-filled face.

The term vegetative state has long been used by the medical profession as a diagnosis for patients who exist in a wakeful yet unconscious state. Patients are described as being in a state of partial arousal, rather than true awareness. Their eyes are open but they are unresponsive to external stimuli. The European Task Force on Disorders of Consciousness recently recommended that the term be abandoned in favor of a more neutral label: unresponsive wakefulness syndrome. Vegetative state, it is argued, has a “pejorative connotation, and seems to inappropriately refer to these patients as being vegetable-like.”

I am certainly not interested in the dehumanization of anyone who has suffered a brain injury and is thus limited in function or responsiveness, nor in speaking on their behalf while they themselves exist in silence. If I could share the agony of someone in a vegetative state, I wouldn’t try to speak about it. I would stay silent for my plant person. (1)

I would like to note, however, the language for language swap that is occurring here: vegetableness for an immobile wakefulness.

We are most plant-like in the one third of our life that is unaccounted for, in our sleep. It is in sleep that we enter the temporal register closest to plant beings. Our attention turns inward towards the void, towards rest. Exhausted, we put our feet at the bottom of the pool of our thinking minds and let go.

You have many mouths, and many hands.

Here we neglect to experience time in any measurable sense. We absorb the world through muted scrim without the benefits or hindrances of having to perform language. We lie dormant, in darkness, our perceptive senses limited to simply absorbing light, heat, sound and touch. We are, for the most part, sessile, immobile.

The most familiar apocalypse scenarios involve visions of “the end” as a natural disaster: a massive meteor slamming into earth, a switching of the magnetic poles, floods of biblical proportion. In short, the end is generally depicted as a display of nature’s power over culture. With global climate change as arguably the most important and unifying fact of human life on this planet, the irony of culture swarming over nature as the usher of the end of the world would be funny if there were anything left to laugh about.

The binary separation between the human and non-human world into distinct categories of “culture” and “nature” clearly does not convey the complexity of the interrelated spheres of influence that these worlds possess over each other. The fact still remains that human beings are subjects that are also objects, who both live with other objects and in another object.

Try to imagine your imagination functioning multiply.

The difficulty of truly grasping the concept of the possibility of a subjectless planet is in part due to the inability of finding easy ground with this continual subject-object switcheroo. Any argument for the radical reorientation of the human subject in a world of objects can be recognized as a symptom of the current position of the human subject, which, I would argue, is that of the exhausted subject.

I see potential in this altered subjectivity, a state of possibility, openness.

Imagine that your sex is multiply located, experiencing both direct sun and partial shade.

A human woman sits on the bus for too long—three stops past her regular stop—making eyes at you while you hold a shopping bag and pretend to eye smile into the screen of your phone. The woman hopes that she is flooding the air with pheromones, fully knowing that your vomeronasal receptor, located at the back of your throat, is likely useless. Unsure if you share this chemical grammar, she silently marvels at the antiquity of her system of desire, at the bold dysfunction of her direct inquiry

The sea sponge uses mimicry and chemical seduction to find food and to manage successful reproduction.

A sea cucumber, when it receives the right stimulation, dumps a third of its own body weight in semen into the ocean waters. Another sea cucumber, receiving a separate but appropriately timed signal, releases a cloud of eggs, a chancy ejaculate.

Stimulation, in this case, is moonlight and the temperature of the surrounding waters.

Fungi, such as molds and mushrooms, are capable of being any number of the possible 36,000 sexes.

We are all worlding here.

–

Much of this text was recently published as a small chapbook, NIGHTSHADES by Kastle Editions (Chicago, IL) The images depict examples of biological ‘sexual conflict’ and are held in the Wikipedia Commons.

Elena Ailes is an artist, writer and educator who is interested in what makes her a better or worse person, especially in theory. In reality, she lives and works in Chicago, IL. You can find her work here and here.

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