#her hair is so grey im gonna die of thirst

[mxquill]

@catherinerusse2: Having fun with your brilliant boy today @KathyLette #jason #julesrobertson #HolbyCity

[ambroseias]

「lorenzo zurzolo & male/questioning」⇾ ambrose , elijah, the junior horton student’s records show that he is an virgo and 21 years old. he is studying classics and econ, living in noland and can be charming, diligent, self-centered & vain. when i see him i am reminded of clenched teeth, pyrrhic victories & a laugh that comes to haunt you. ⇽「momo & 20 & est & any pronouns.」 

“all stories are about wolves. all worth repeating, that is. anything else is sentimental drivel.” - margaret atwood

hi it’s momo ur resident mess and this is adapted from a previous intro i did so pls dont make fun of me if u catch mistakes. if u like this, i’m coming into ur dms to plot and, if u don’t, i’m still yearning for connection with ur chara. pls. come validate my cliched average bacchanalian icarus bitch, toxic faerie princeling, dark academia fuccboi, dorian grey in the FLESH.

full bio to be found HERE bulleted bio below

AESTHETICS.

sunlight on skin in the morning, like ribbons of gold gleaming between tousled sheets. he throws his head back, laughing. if you do not love him, then you will now. clothes, always pressed. hair, meticulously in place. a dog-eared copy of a streetcar named desire in the crook of his arm. lies. they come so easy to boys like him. lies. tinged honey sweet to hide the fact that there is nothing but teeth behind them. you’ve seen his face in a painting somewhere, you’re certain. and if not, then it haunts you in your dreams. kisses that always taste like champagne, no matter what time it is. if you cut him open, he’d be more red wine than blood. secrets. there is something he’s not telling you. secrets. something rotten behind that sweet-faced grin. walden and thoreau in place of a father figure. choosing dickinson instead of the mother he had. clenched teeth. pyrrhic victories. he wins, always, but at what cost? climb into his chest, now. ignore that miraculously still-beating heart. feel how hollow it is here? he has tried to fill this emptiness his whole life. he has never succeeded.

BULLETED BIO

TW parental issues

first off, say mommy issues into a mirror 3x and this bitch appears behind u like the demon he is

‘that’s it. thats the chara.

im jk but not rlly. eli is the only child to one of radcliffe’s esteemed feminism + gender studies professor (prof. vivianne ambrose) and their relationship has always been... rough

it’s not for lack of love. it’s just that-- sometimes, people are too alike. and it’s hard to apologize and express the love that you feel.

halfway “ignored” by his mother, he’s spent his entire life trying to gain the attention and love of everyone around him. he definitely tries to shift his personality to be the person u want him to be--- but can only really settle on pretentious intellectual + wild child

so ig what i’m trying to say is that ... he’s the duality of man if both dualities were the WORST and most pretentious

mostly, what’s happened is that the people who like him really like him. and the people who don’t-- he refuses to spend the time of day on.

+ like ! i guess the best way to describe him is bright, glittering, hard to look at directly.

he wants u to want him.

but he doesn’t want u to know him

classics n econ bc honestly, he wants to be a professor like his mom and teach classics or theatre BUT he refuses to admit it so he’s getting a double major in econ and telling himself he’s gonna be like a politician or lawyer or some other slick shit

he... ............... would make a good politician probably. 

but still. 

he rattles off a list of dream roles he wants to play. hamlet. coriolanus. oedipus. caesar. creon. gatsby. some are leads, some aren’t. but most of all-- “they’re tragedies,” you say, “you really like tragedies that much?”

he laughs glibly. “no--” he says, “god, of course not. but they’re the only things i can play. look, i know what i look like. i know what you think of me. deep down, you want nothing more than to see me suffer. on stage, you can.”

“and off-stage?“ you ask tentatively. his eyes flash green, his lips press together almost imperceptibly,  “oh come on. look at me. no one’s ever going to deny me of what i want.“

it’s a lie, of course. but it’s a good one. and it’s one that he goes to sleep telling himself.

pls i beg u!! yes, he’s terrible, but, deep down, i think he wants to be good. i think he wants to be soft. but the only time he ever got his mother’s attention was when he was doing something wrong and it’s made his perception of how love is supposed to be— skewed.

he definitely FEELS like an old soul, but he also probably has a very active thirst instagram using oscar wilde and margaret atwood quotes as captions

i hate him dearly pls

IMMA ADD MORE WANTED CONNECTIONS

people who have studied under/knows his mom -- ur too close. everytime he sees u he flinches. he’ll walk in during ur consultation with his mother and the two of them will stiffly update each other on their day and ur like god dang what a weird ass relationship. alternately, he’ll sit outside his mother’s office while ur doing consults. and u can’t help but wonder... god... what kind of mom, would make her child wait.

friends/enemies/etc. from childhood --- he grew up near the university has always been around town

wld die for a childhood crush on him or from him, but likely from him bc that’s cute af

a childhood friend that has always been his ride-or-die, even though they’ve definitely grown apart bc elijah has a fear of Emotional Intimacy!! but u knew him once and u know... there’s a real boy behind that layer of pretense.

step/half-siblings !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! --- his mom might have remarried! his bio dad maybe is lurking out there with another family! who knows!

a tormentor --- for anyone who knows the ambrose family, its’ not hard to see that the relationship btwn mom + son is strained. and like-- that’s something eli is always gonna be sensitive abt. ur chara knows that eli isn’t the hard shell he pretends to be. he’s just a soft boi longing for approval + that scares tf out of eli

people who eli hates -- mostly softs who remind him of his own failure to become completely unfeeling

rlly pretentious friends

unpretentious not friends

party friends

litcherally anything

neighbors

one night stands

fwbs

exes (elijah is tentatively pan, but objectively hates labels)

i live for apartment plots so pls hit me up if ur chara lives in noland

[littlemeowyoons]

Bonded

A/N- It’s my first time posting my writing on Tumblr but I guess better late than never huh, so here you go. More is in work so please anticipate a lot.

~Fay

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff(lots of them), a drop of angst, Single Dad! AU, College! AU, Introvert! Yoongi, Tutor! Y/n

Word Count:1.7k

Synopsis: Yoongi found a basket left in front of his dorm room one day, and turns out it was his daughter, left alone crying. Puzzled and scared was an understatement. When his 4 semesters roommate Jimin left for his hometown, he was left with the last straw of help, turning to his physics tutor a.k.a friend-that-I-only-know-name-but-have-no-interest-in-knowing-more ; you.

Series: Masterlist ll Part 2 lI Part 3

                                           Part 1: Distress

                                            °•. ✿ .•°

“Why own a fucking iPhone when you can’t even answer a fucking call?! Dammit!”, he breathed hard after his nth tempt to connect the line failed again, his own Samsung device was clutched tightly in hand, knuckles turning white from the pressure. Yoongi had reached that point where smashing the black covered device in hand to the wall was considered a bliss, but he was saint enough to convince himself otherwise. Not when his phone was his gateway out of this mess; the only way maybe. So he tried again; redialing the numbers, manually even.

 “I swear I’ll shred your trench coat to pieces, fucking im-“

The end of the line connected midway his constant ranting.

“Oh thank God above you finally answered! What took you so long?”

“Ever heard of Bio lecture Yoongi?”, the soft voice at the receiving end answers calmly, though Yoongi knew the person was beyond annoyed.

 Who wouldn’t? Multiple spam in all form of communication, texts, kakaotalk, Instagram dm; at this point, Yoongi wanted to settle down to those damn pigeons. Even Yoongi would be out of his head if it happen to him, not that it will happen in the near future or anything.

“Don’t outsmart me woman, I’m not in the mood.”

“What is it Yoongi? You know I have class at this time of the day”

“I need your help”, his breath came out breathless than ever.

“Fuck if you’re asking about the same kinetic and potential energy chapter, I’m gonna rip all my nonexistent and existent  hair out of my-“

“Please…”

                                        ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ:⠀ ⋆.:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

You swear it took you everything not to scream out of frustration watching your phone blow off during lecture period. Plus, the same ID that keeps popping up on the lock screen adds the bitter taste. Once your professor said the word ‘thank-‘, you were already making your way out of the hall, books not even properly shoved in bag and you were sure you left your favourite baby blue Sharpie highlighter behind.

Once in the hallway, you yanked your phone out of your sling bag and slide the screen harshly, already embracing yourself for the upcoming questions and constant groaning. What you did not expect is the person on the other side panting heavily, desperate. Yoongi sounds…distress.You were still processing his jumbled words but once the word ‘please’ escaped his mouth, you froze.

That word is so rare to even pass-through Yoongi’s head, what less say it. The last time you remembered the word ever exist in his sentence, was the day he consulted you at the cafeteria. Head down, full frown and shoulder slumped was some few giveaway you could collect which equals to one thing; failed test.

You were used to people asking you questions, since you were one of the few alphas in curriculum areas. But having Yoongi, the junior of Art and Music Department, Majoring in Music Production asking you to be a full-time physics tutor is…well, unexpected. You pity him, that poor boy seems like he couldn’t breathe for goodness sake, not until you lean back to your metal seats and smile softly, not forgetting to nod along while you utter the word that Yoongi seems dread to hear, ‘Sure, when?’

You swear his eyes shine like a good measure 60 watts light bulb. But that was long time ago, you lost track how long it was though you were sure it won’t be more than a year now, hearing that Yoongi is in serious problem was the main pushover to your muscle cells.

The thing is Yoongi never beg, ever. He never sounds that desperate even when he got 5 per cent on his last two physics quiz, he never sounds this discomfort.

“I’ll be there in five”.

                                          ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ:⠀ ⋆.:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

You almost lost a footing while climbing the stairs up the boys’ dormitory, but you didn’t stall behind. Once room 103 is in front of you, you proceed to reach out to knock, when you heard an infant’s cry. You froze, chest rising in rapid beat from all the runnings.

“Yoongi?”

The crying was still there, you glance to check the neighbouring room number on the door, confirming that the room in front of you indeed belongs to Yoongi. So you crossed your heart and decided to knock, after all, you go with the concept YOLO. The door opened to reveal a hopelessly in despair Yoongi and a small woven basket on his dinner table, the moving mauve blanket shows that he wasn’t alone in the room, physically anyway.

Though the facts were right in front of your eyes, your mouth was sealed from emitting any word, what less sounds. You just stand there, at his doorstep, mouth agape. The cried were getting louder and the small tiny hands rising from the woven basket was doing nothing other than deepening the frown on Yoongi’s forehead.

“Come on Y/n, say something…”

Once his words registered in yourself, you took a last glance to Yoongi, before backing away into the hallway and sprint off.

“I need to go.”

“Y/n wait!”

No no no, this is bad. He thought Y/n would be different, thought she’ll understand but turns out, she ran away.

“Just…just like Hyoju.”, Yoongi whispers.

The cries from behind him gets louder and he snapped to look at the one sole thing that currently gives him a headache.

“Can you fucking shut it?!”

Yoongi growled but then retracted away from the dining table, against the wall and sliding down on his back until he reaches the floor. A sudden seed of fear bloom in his chest,

“What am I doing, am I already out of my mind? He’s just a baby, what does he even know?”, Yoongi sigh while standing and dragged himself to the basket, brushing along his slender fingers through the baby’s thin hair; his baby. The living being right in front of him is his own making, an act done without even considering about the effect. In this case, Yoongi can admit that he’s one of the few to be blame, maybe THE ONE to be blamed, fuck he was so drunk that night he can barely remember her, the mother of his child, Han Hyoju

The baby’s crying subsided a little as soon as Yoongi’s fingers make contact with the head, as if the touch of a 10-minutes-ago-newly known-father is proof that it’s safe for the little one.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do”, he whispered because it was a fact.

Yoongi was never a fan of kids, he was never a person-type, a typical signs of an introvert. His only source of never-ending help support is none other than his roommate, Dance Major Park Jimin. He helps Yoongi realize that age is just numbers, Yoongi; as a hyung, two years older, seeks more advice than he wants to admit. This whole two years living with Jimin, the topic of conversation never goes off if it didn’t start with Jimin encouraging Yoongi to get some sunlight on him to which Jimin always said, as Yoongi quoted “We don’t need a walking paperwhite corpse walking around campus, hyung. Go out and get some air would you?”.

 It’s just that Jimin’s happy go lucky trait as well as his naturally warm smile is enough to blooms a friendship unlike Yoongi, who people would just point fingers at and said ‘cold, harsh and rock dead’ just by a mere look. Jimin don’t, however. That’s how Yoongi opened up a little to him. But now, that said roommate can’t help him, being on the other side of Korea, back in Busan his hometown for four days(though Yoongi doubt he won’t prolong it) limits Yoongi to ask for any favour to his friend. The kid in front of him will die of thirst first if he waits for Jimin. That’s what left him to his other only friend; Y/L/N Y/N.

But Yoongi could understand what you did, how you act. It’s because both Yoongi and you didn’t share more than three sentences, or on some lucky days short bickering outside of your tutoring hour. He only knows the basic things for someone to be an acquaintance; name, major and room number(because it slipped your mouth once when texting your roommate), but other than that, zero-knowledge. Jimin insisted that he asked more, to what Yoongi always dismiss, he’s too shy or scared, or maybe both.

Though Yoongi knew so much, he still labels you as a friend, which means a name listed in his life whereabouts, significant enough for him, not a nobody. He wanted to smile thinking that you’re indeed a friend to him, but it falters upon remembering you retreated away.

“I’m doomed…”

A sudden burst of the door jolted Yoongi, retracting his hand that once was playing with the baby hairs on his child’s head. You walk in, head high and face determined. You dropped off your school bag by the sofa, the usual place when you hang around Yoongi’s room after tutor session. Yoongi was overwhelmed, all his senses went numb, why did you return?

“Yoongi, does the baby comes with a bag, a pouch, anything other than the basket?”, you already made your way into the kitchen, but Yoongi still got a perfect view of your side profile from where he’s standing.

“Umm-“, Yoongi snapped out of his short trance and reached out for the mustard yellow beg that was originally in the same basket as his child when he first opens his door this morning, “Is this it?”

You glance over to him and nod, motioning him to hand it over. Once the bag is in your hand, you unzip it and pull out a baby bottle. Yoongi just watched in awe as you mixed baby formula, Yoongi assumed the grey paper bag you brought with you contained the powder formulae. He knows he shouldn’t be gawking like that, but he’s completely amazed, the fact that you came back had him racked his brain for a reason why, and now you’re going through all of this just to feed his kid. He felt small. Once the formula milk was done, you walked towards the living room and straight to the dining table, where the baby is. The red face of the baby shows just how long it had been crying.

‘Poor thing.’,  you thought. You put down the baby bottle on the table, hands reached out to swoop out the crying baby and puts the nuzzle near the mouth. After some effort, the baby takes in the nuzzle into his mouth and right away the rooms fell into a deep silence.

“Aww you poor thing, starving huh? It’s okay it’s okay. I got you.”,  you cooed.

Yoongi stood there dumbly, watching you feeding his own child, still confused but for sure, extremely grateful. Now if only explaining is easy enough.