#puerile meanderings

[randomrainman]

the trivialities of human existence (part one: puerile meanderings)

"The Universe is a yawning chasm, filled with emptiness and the puerile meanderings of sentience."

Pictured: a multidimensional space jellyfish. Art by onikafei

Back when I heard Ulyaoth utter this cryptic phrase while playing Eternal Darkness on my GameCube in my precocious (and heavily indoctrinated) late teen years, certain thoughts did come to mind, yet its gravity did not manifest itself until much, much later.

Little did I know that the story of my very existence would be carved from a quote from a Lovecraftian survival-horror game.

We don't mean a damn thing, even though many of us believe the contrary.

How many of you have grown up reinforced with the idea, whether through parents, friends, or anyone, that you are a unique snowflake and have immense inherent value due to your humanity? That you are irreplaceable, or that we're individually "fearfully and wonderfully made" by an unseen infinite and emotionally unstable dude, who also somehow cares about your particular situation on a speck of dust in the middle of the universe?

If only due to your genetic encoding, yes, you are, by default, "unique", as any being of sentience is, and once you have sentience, you do have a right as an individual to live whichever life deemed fit until you no longer have it. That said, you are not special. You're just ... you.

Pictured: a sea of bipedal organisms somewhere on Earth, rendered in glorious 1p. Image credit: WIQN

"But Mom told me I'm special!"

As of November 15, 2022, the Earth's population has ballooned to 8 billion people, and has increased by a whopping one billion people in the span of 12 years. For an even more mind-blowing perspective, our population in 1950 was only 2.5 billion people, and remained below 1 billion until 1804. It has been projected that our population will cease to grow in 2086, once it has reached approximately 10.4 billion. This near-real-time perpetually adjusting population growth calculator fascinatingly illustrates this statistic.

Pictured: instant gratification. Image credit: FE News

The thing to understand is that, despite this being an age of instantaneous data sharing and social media exploitation, it is exponentially more difficult to truly stand out, especially since you're having to do amongst a vast ocean of ever-increasing billions with accesses to the same platforms. Even if you are not a completely average person and do possess some remarkable attributes and work hard at your craft, the overwhelming likelihood is that your capabilities will fly under the radar unless you encounter a particular set of circumstances that propel your craft to another level, or your work is so far beyond anything anyone has seen that you have no choice but to become lionised. Even still, exceptionality is no guarantee that you will see success in your lifetime: history- and genre-defining icons such as Vincent van Gogh and Franz Kafka left this ethereal plane almost completely unrecognised, and their legacies consist nearly entirely of posthumous recognition.

"I am a legacy" -Kendrick Lamar

Pictured: me, taken by me, edited by me, and uploaded to this article written by me, Clayton Jones Images.

There is a lot of "legacy" talk: it seems that, whether subconsciously or not, many have come to terms with their own insignificance within this mortal coil; they seek desperately to carve out their own niche within the annals of history, despite having done nothing noteworthy and befitting of remembrance. To this end, they typically relegate this task to their descendants, hoping they will somehow keep them alive for eternity (despite that not being their purposes, but I digress).

No, I didn't die in 2019. This is my dad's casket. For the love of everything, do not put me in a casket or hold a funeral for me, or I will haunt you.

Gone ... and totally forgotten

The uncomfortable reality is that, regardless of any efforts to the contrary, almost everyone, to include exceptionally wealthy or otherwise outstanding individuals, will be completely forgotten within around 2 or so generations (though this figure varies slightly). An infinitesimal amount of people are remembered throughout history, and even fewer are revered. You might be one in a million, but not in the Aaliyah way.

Many, understandably, want to feel as if they're a part of something greater -- to belong, whether in life or in death. Many defer to religion to provide this sense of greater meaning to what would otherwise be without; looking forward to a place such as heaven can provide them with a sense of hope, even if they inevitably just return to the place from whence they came, regardless of their circumstances. To that end (heh), the way that I have resolved to reconcile this apparent meaninglessness is to fill my fleeting existence with as many joyous and personally fulfilling experiences as possible before until I inevitably suck up more dirt than an excavator.

I seek only to create things as often as I am inspired, to travel this planet extensively, to learn new things, and to enjoy the company of those who I deem worthy of my time. Money is important if it is to create additional positive experiences, but peace of mind does not possess a price tag. If I am to be remembered in any way, let it be for the things I have created, and perhaps as an inspiration to live as one chooses.

Because life is fast, and it can pass you quickly before you have even had a chance to live it.

사진: 서울 남산제2호 터널

|the kid|

[chiliyue-archived]

Joie De Vivre

↬ domestic morning blurb thing

Includes; Dazai

Entry; 🥞 - lazy Sunday morning

Tags; lovesick Dazai !! im it's #1 fan

[Event Navi | M.list] | [Bsd M.list] ♡

-

Sleepy brown eyes settled over you; glazed in a warmth unmatched to the sunlight that bid its welcome through the windows crevas. Unbeknownst to you, a placid candor became graced upon Dazai's features, cheeks stretching the further he indulged in his shameless stupor.

The leaking golds of sun cascaded over your figure, light dust particles meandering around. It was akin to the stirring that became pervasive in his chest, heightened by the snores and light murmuring you emmited. Its tone was mellifluous to his ears even when laced in a raspy undertone or simply muttering puerile phrases.

The scene felt entirely picturesque and it was astonishing even now for the burnette to be bestowed with an interlude as addicting as this.

" Belladonna~"

A pair of bandaged limbs and abrasive fingertips curved along your arm, random circles and patterns traced— the wake of his touch diffused a tincture of sentiments left unspoken on the tip of his tongue. His eyes were more than telling, however, the dilation showcasing his keen attention to you even during such leisurely hours.

His gaze would ultimately softened admist your presence, and it was almost hard to believe he was the object of manys affections and a flirt; internally, he had always became stupefied, hearts aglow where his pupils should be when it came to you.

Inquiry over his devotion never dwindled too long - the answer was evident in his ministrations and physical stature. For someone who exhibits lax behavior, he notably straightens and beams a pair of pearly whites when he catches your silhouette. His stride is all but eager, smothering you a deluge of affections that did nothing to satiate his ardor.

Exultation always felt like a brevity to Dazai and yet it seemed universal when you were just within arms reach. Even in the rare taciturnity of passing moments, it was deterred by the grin pasted on him that gave way to his festering emotions. He always regarded himself as a reserved individual, and yet it was nearly painful how his emotions threatened to seep into his demaneor at this moment.

As though feeling his intense lingering gaze, you peeked an eye open, greeted by the benign other. He could feel his pulse hasten, momentarily lapsing from his meticulous control as you fluttered your eyes at him.

" Good morning, 'Samu."

The corner of his eyes wrinkled almost by impulse, empathized by a wave so strong, he struggled to contain himself. A dainty finger reached out to mindlessly trail around your face, curling your bangs and strands around the digit. Meanwhile, his eyes trailed south to your hand, and he couldn't stop the pronounced twitch that made his lips arcuate.

A ring. A gift only appropriate for you.

The small metallic band rested on your finger, its prescence accentuated wordlessly. Its resplendent surface gleamed and reflected against the intruding rays, meeting his awestruck gaze. It almost fascinated him how a small jewel could betoken the significance of his purdurable cherishes. And just looking at it made him feel more alive.

His own finger mirrored a similar piece, but he was far more beguile seeing it on your finger - knowing he was responsible for placing the object into its proper orientation.

He was thoroughly devoted to you even when he struggled to voice it outloud. But the inability became increasingly marred and exposed a vulnerability only evident to your eyes.

Then again, the depth of his emotions were abundant and the jewel was just a testament of that ceaseless infatuation. Not enough orchestrating, sweet nothings or offerings can properly allude to the accumulation that harbors within his previously wilted chest cavity.

Consider him captivated, entranced, bewitched - through and through wrapped around the finger that housed the representation of his joie de virvre.

Dazai's grin remained intact as his thumb continued to work along the edges of your face - the veracity behind the lineaments palpable.

" Good morning, my love."

-

A/n; srry for 2 dazai in a row, the brainrot was too powerful 😒 I hope this isn't too ooc...

Joie de vivre means - joy of living btw !!

I believe in lovesick dazai and rings have been stuck in my head all night. I wrote this before going to sleep hueueue

Taglist; @eynnwwyjth @anqelically @seisitive @iheartpieck @seiiblue @himebwrries

^ if you want to be added let me knowww

[hvartofglass]

Dear BAE YUNHEE,

You are cordially invited to a private gathering this Sunday, the 21st of July. It is a dinner among old friends, and it will be just like old times. The dinner will be held at Shin Junpyo’s mansion on Jeju Island. Dinner will be served strictly at 7.30pm. Your attendance is expected by 6pm.

Don’t be late.

P.S. Do yourself a favor and burn this letter once you have read and understood the terms. We don’t want to piss the alums off, now do we?

Best regards,

YOUR QUEEN, 2019

𝗔𝗟𝗟  𝗦𝗛𝗘  𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗗  𝗪𝗔𝗦  𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗟𝗬  𝗔  𝗤𝗨𝗜𝗘𝗧  𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧  𝗧𝗢  𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗔𝗫  𝗔𝗡𝗗  𝗨𝗡𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗗,  was  that  even  too  much  of  her  to  ask  for?  yunhee  clicks  her  tongue  in  annoyance  as  she  now  leans  against  the  the  side  of  the  porcelain-hewn  bathtub,  her  arms  folded  against  the  surface  whilst  her  wet  fingertips  gently  traced  the  invitation  paper  with  a  vague  sense  of  disdain.  her  master  suite  bathroom  was  entirely  shrouded  by  the  quietude  and  the  air  fragrant  with  the  scent  of  roses  and  oat  milk,  but  even  the  perfumed  distractions  couldn't  stop  her  own  mind  from  wandering  back  to  anguishing  memories  that  never  should  have  been  reawakened  in  the  first  place.

as  she  placed  the  ivory  note  back  onto  the  wooden  tray,  yunhee  lay  back  and  rest  her  head  against  a  folded  towel,  trying  to  go  back  to  luxuriating  herself  in  the  relaxing  bath  she  was  having.  she  could  almost  sink  into  the  tranquil  silence  underneath  the  bathwater,  washing  all  the  worries  and  thoughts  she'd  been  having.  but  yunhee  knew  too  well  it  wouldn't  do  her  any  good  for  her  trying  to  ignore  both  the  situation  and  the  invitation  at  hand.  warm  water  splashes  in  lively  ebbs  and  flows  around  her  as  she  reluctantly  got  up  from  the  tub, reaching  for  a  cotton  bathrobe  and  wrapped  it  around  her  petite  physique.

a  curious  bounce  embellished  her  quiet  footsteps  as  she  took  the  ivory  letter  from  the  bathtub  tray  before  she  meandered  across  the  bathroom  into  her  bedroom.  with  puerile  curiosity,  does  yunhee  finally  read  the  letter  and  memorized  its  every  words,  letting  them  embedded  into  her  mind.  to  think  this  is  how  min  jihye  decides  to  come  back  into  her  life  again,  by  sending  her  a  measly  invitation  to  a  dinner  party  with  the  rest  of  the  king's  club  members  after  the  two  former  best  friends  have  already  went  years  with  barely  any  form  of  communication  between  them.  yunhee  simply  scoffed  in  indignation  at  the  audacity.  as  if  it  wasn't  enough  that  it  had   been  an  agonizingly  arduous  process,  to  collect  all  the  jagged  pieces  of  her  fragmented  heart  in  order  to  start  anew  after  what  had  transpired,  to  try  and  be  whole  again  ⸻  yet  here,  once  more,  she's  being  dragged  into  a  gathering  with  the  very  group  of  people  who  all  contributed  to  her  misery. 

arrayed  in  nothing  but  her  bathrobe,  yunhee  made  her  way  downstairs  into  the  living  room  of  her  penthouse  where  it  was  dimly  lit,  casted  by  the  flickering  flames  of  the  fireplace.  she  stood  in  front  of  the  heart,  reading  the  invitation  and  it's  details  for  one  final  time  before  yunhee  crouches  downwards  in  one  deft  movement.  eventually,  she  let  the  paper  slipped  from  her  hands,  and  watches  as  it  fluttered  for  one  moment  before  it  eventually  got  caught  in  the  updraft  of  the  heat.  the  soft,  rhythmic  sound  of  logs  settling  and  the  gentle  murmur  of  the  flames  as  the  ivory  note  was  slowly  devoured  by  the  flickering  fire  does  nothing  to  soothe  the  dread  that  slowly  filled  her  whole  chest.

 HEADCANNONS & TIMELINE : THE DINNER PARTY OF JULY 21, 2024

as one can imagine, yunhee wasn't exactly the happiest when she received the invitation, especially when its was supposedly min jihye, her estranged and former best friend of all people who invited her. she can't even have the pleasure of rejecting the invitation as it is a king's club's gathering and unfortunately for her, because she's a member — her attendance was mandatory.

05.45PM — yunhee decided to come to mansion earlier than its expected time because while she may hate the king's club gatherings with every fiber of her existence, she isn't really one to be late and wasn't about to break her own streak of being punctual at events because of her own petty resentment.

06.00PM — she noticed the all too familiar uniforms and settings around the mansion earlier on. it unnerved her, as expected — as just the sight of how everything in her surroundings bears an extremely close and uncomfortable resemblance to that of midas resort where it only brought up awful memories of that fateful night.

for the next hour and so, yunhee decided to wait around pergola and the library before eventually making her way to the veranda. all whilst trying to avoid most of the king's club's members because she really wasn't in a mood to talk nor handle any of them.

07.15PM — when she arrived on the veranda, yunhee noticed too quickly that tian and sunyoung were having an extremely heated argument, catching only bits of the conversations until tian suddenly fell into the pool. she would have laugh at the sight of tian being absolutely drenched and the situation at hand, if only she didn't noticed a strange floating device in the pool nearby. when she finally realized how the floating toy looked eerily like a body and who exactly did it resemble to, her blood immediately run cold. faltering at the sight, yunhee managed fall back onto the floor before screaming in terror.

THE AFTERMATH : yunhee was absolutely inconsolable after witnessing the cruel joke. whoever organized this dinner made a mockery out of him, made a mockery out of her again. and she's once again reminded by the fact how the king's club have always loved turning her into some kind of a tragic joke once more. she refused to let anyone other than intae and aera to come near her, and refused anyone else's attempt at trying to comfort her after that whole spectacle.

07.30PM — by the time dinner was served, yunhee was practically catatonic. she was barely responsive to anyone during the dinner, having only picked at her meal while the rest of the gathering ate their shares in uncomfortable silence. but members of 2019 knew too well that only meant that yunhee was a ticking bomb, having already experienced the many times of the calm before the storm before yunhee's own outbursts and that it was only a matter of time before the bomb denotes and she explodes, burning everyone and the mansion along with her. ( and with that said, this is an invitation for anyone who wants drama and a fight! let yunhee fight your muse! let her fight! )

[arpov-blog-blog]

..."Donald Trump has been speaking nonsense and spouting gibberish on the campaign trail and the media is covering for him by pretending that his verbal incontinence actually makes sense or by ignoring it altogether. Yes, there's been some mordant chuckling in the media over his bizarre comments about "the late great Hannibal Lecter" and his meandering tales about electric boats and shark attacks. Those stories are all delivered with a twinkling eye-roll as if to say "Oh that wacky Trump, there he goes again" as if it's just a funny little anecdote, apropos of nothing.

And it's true that he's always done this to some extent. His speeches and press conferences are surreal windows into his undisciplined, puerile mind. Despite his regular protestations that he's "like, really smart," he communicates at a 4th grade level (the lowest level of any of the past 15 presidents going back to Hoover) and uses the same handful of words and phrases over and over again to cover for the fact that he never really has any idea what he's talking about.

Trump appeared with Sean Hannity for a pre-taped "town hall" in which he wondered how anyone could be voting for Biden. He has repeatedly made that mistake, declaring that he's running against his former rival instead of his current one. That might have been an understandable gaffe in the early days after Biden withdrew but this has now been going on for a couple of months. I think we know that if Biden had done this we would have had screaming headlines.

But it's the truly demented and/or incoherent blather that's going unremarked upon and there is no excuse for it. I already wrote about his stunning declaration at the Moms for Liberty event in which he said that kids are getting transgender surgeries in school and the parents don't know anything about it. But in the write-ups of the event in all the big papers it wasn't even mentioned. Instead, we got headlines like Trump Questions Acceptance of Transgender People as He Courts His Base at Moms for Liberty Gathering and Can Moms for Liberty save Trump?

Does that accurately describe Trump's incomprehensible babble? I don't think so but it certainly was nice of the Times to "interpret" his comments to mean that he "insist[ed] that his other economic policies, including tariffs, would take care of child care." It's very generous of them to help him out that way otherwise people might think that Trump had absolutely no idea what he was talking about and clearly has no economic "policy" other than tariffs (which he doesn't understand either) even after having spent four years in the White House. Why, they might even conclude that he doesn't have the mental capacity to be president. I guess that would be rude."

[notmuchtoconceal]

( )

Your presence is long missed, my liege. I feel my power is weakening from your absence.

Yes, your power flows from me. Without me, you are nothing.

My meditations reveal a flaw in our plan

There is no flaw. Mantorok and the others move too slowly to counter our preparations. Once Mantorok is bound, its death will be prolonged for a thousand years. Its fate will assure the balance of power over the opposing ancients will remain in our favor. And with the keeper nullified, my power grows stronger still.

And what of its essence?

Mantorok has employed others to defend it. It is of no matter. The power I will wield upon my return will crush all who oppose me. Enough of this. What of this Charlemagne the Frank? Is he still a concern?

His undoing has been planned in intricate detail. Those most loyal to him will be instrumental in his death. Nothing short of a miracle will keep him alive. And there hasn't been one of those in a long time.

\

( o )

Thy presence is long missed, my liege.

The universe is a yawning chasm, filled with emptiness and the puerile meanderings of sentience. Why should you deserve special consideration within it, Augustus, above all else?

I am your servant, my lord. That, and nothing more.

Yes, that, and nothing more. What revelations do you bring me?

My ... meditations reveal a flaw in our plan.

Our plan, Augustus? Mantorok is a shadow ebbing in the light of our glory. It and the others are slow, weak, bound by the realm of the universe. Unable to unite to fight a common foe, they will fall one by one. Unfortunately, this is beyond your understanding. The binding of Mantorok will seal their fate as its power over us is diminished. Such an irony that keeper itself be imprisoned within the walls of its own magick.

And what of its essence? Is that not the core of its remaining power?

Upon my seeping into the corporeal world, I will be the dominant over all, Mantorok included. Your worries are unfounded. You must turn your attention to Charlemagne the Frank, his continued presence in the world is a far more serious concern to our cause.

As you wish, master. He will be dead before the week is out.

//

.

Your presence is longed missed, majesty. As always, I am honored.

Our dealings are a pleasure to us both, then.

He lies.

As do we all.

What is this flaw you wish to discuss with us?

My concern is with the other ancients. Ulyoath. Chattur'gha. Should they unite with Mantorok, they would doubtless possess enough power to vanquish even thee

As darkness abhors light and light abhors dark, the others will not, cannot join forces

Mantorok will be bound, and the others will seep into insanity when I return

As has been foretold

I was unaware.

There is much you do not know

and much you never will

be certain to retrieve Mantorok's essence. It is necessary to cement our place in your world.

And what of Charlemagne the Frank? What do you intend for him?

The Frank is an instrument of Light. He seeks to unite Europe under his banner.

With this in place, my guardians will be hard-pressed to perform the functions you require

for your own schemes, Pious. Think of your future.

Then Charlemagne will be removed from the picture.

Make sure he is dead. Or insane

Or perhaps one then the other? Just make sure he is removed from power.

Of course. He is as good as dead.

[obriengf]

Look me in the eye and try to tell me this: “Acting tough will not make it hurt any less, you know this, yes?” isn't utterly perfect for cowboy!Mitch 😍 Like whether it's him or reader who got hurt (and we both know they're equally foolhardy lmao)

send me a PROMPT for a 'new muse' blurb ~

Notes : it's TOO perfect for him! ugh cowboy mitch gets to meeee.

"ACTING TOUGH WILL NOT MAKE IT HURT ANY LESS, YOU KNOW THIS, YES?" | COWBOY!MITCH

Squinted amber hues were met with a quirked brow as you looked pointedly toward the man, your words provoking a loud scoff from the hoarseness that gathered in his throat. Mitch couldn't help but think utter ridiculousness of your sentiment - not that he didn't agree with its truthfulness, but rather so, he couldn't afford to fall short of his resilient and gritty character. Being the town's Deputy meant that Mitch needed to be strong, doughty, indestructible. He did have to act tough. His eyes slowly drifted down to your form as you pressed a damp cloth against his exposed side, sopping up remnants of blood that surrounded his freshly sliced wound. He winced, and you noticed.

"It's just a scratch." His voice was gravelly as he attempted to hide the pain that spiked his tone, choosing to immediately shut his mouth and grind his teeth as an alternative expression of pain. He shifted uncomfortably on the rickety barstool when you pressed further against the wound, the scraping of metal on metal echoing loudly amongst the dead atmosphere of the Saloon, only seen possible past closing time. He growled under his breath before hearing a quiet snicker, the curling lips of a smirk present between your cheeks only indicating that you did it on purpose.

"A scratch wouldn't have hurt that bad." You said, glancing up to the man when you felt his focus boring into you. Usually, he was the one possessing the over-protective trait; quick to swoop you out of harm's way and dictate the millions of consequences that would come from your rowdiness. Mitch was always there to catch you if you fell, and you even began to wonder whether he purposely followed you around just in case you found yourself in yet another troublesome situation. Regardless of his staunchness, it was incredibly endearing. "And I certainly don't think that a stab to the side counts nearly as close as a scratch, mind you. You're lucky you're alive, Deputy."

"Y/N, we've been over this-" He began, sucking in a sharp breath as you finished cleaning the open gash. He shook his head, breath releasing slowly as his voice dropped low, "You can call me Mitch."

You sounded a scoff, a resonant of puerility that was incredibly mocking "Oh, I'm well aware. But would calling you by your name get me the same reaction as it would calling you by your title? I think not." Legs pushed you upright as you gathered the red-stained rags, hands quick to ball them up as they were thrown haphazardly into an empty wooden barrel, and Mitch jested a groan at your sentiment whilst teeth sunk to his lip. Once again, you could sense the durability of his gaze meandering over your movements, watching as you continued to patch up the poor man after his unlucky confrontation with a common thief.

It was now easier to see the small smile that tugged between your cheeks as you spun on your heel toward him, a sewing needle and spool pin grasped lightly as you fiddled with them between hesitant fingers. You breathed out lightly before crouching back to Mitch's side, "What can I say, there's just something about gettin' under your skin there, that brings a little light to my days."

He was still toying at his lip; the need to release it quickly became apparent as it began to grow numb under its clamp, soon it would draw blood and he was sure you would reprimand him for yet another reddened wound. He exhaled heavily, an intent to steady his breathing as he awaited the next step of your aid and the inevitable misery to follow. It wasn't until he looked back down to your willingness to patch him up that Mitch started to settle into the stool, watching as you thread your needle, "You're a tease, darlin', ya know that? I'll have you saying my name one o' these days, maybe even screaming it if I'm lucky."

You didn't need to look at the man to know that his eye dropped into a low wink, the tone of his voice suggesting playfulness and rowdy jest. He liked to wind you up, that's why you wound him right the hell back. With a gentle head shake, you lifted your eyes until they met his caramel swirls that you've gotten to know so well, your needle now held high in the air with a threatening pose, "Keep talking sweet like that, and I'll be the one makin' you scream for all the wrong reasons, Cowboy."

It was hidden, only slightly by the angle he sat at whilst his elbow perched upon the bartop, when Mitch gulped down at the intimidation that you wore so damn well. He even thought that if he wasn't so alert in the moment, then a slight moan of appreciative attraction would've slipped so nonchalantly from him. He was quick to remain silent after that, but more so to retain concentration as he admired your quick handiwork.

"Okay-" You began, taking a deep breath to balance yourself. The skirt you wore was spread around your body as you kneeled on the ground, a near-perfect circle framing you as you mentally prepared yourself for the upcoming round of Mitch's pain. You held up a leather belt, folded over each other exactly four times before handing it to Mitch and pointing at your mouth. He immediately understood, teeth clamping around the material to prevent his future growls and screams from echoing through your night-filled sleepy town.

"Now, I'm no doctor, but I've seen this procedure more times than I could count on one hand. Do you trust me.. Mitch?"

Mitch nodded, instantly. Cheeks reddening at the use of his name, however, the leather prevented him from any further commentary. He saw your grin, and knew, just knew, that you calculated your words perfectly in time with his inability to talk.

Mitch was so incredibly taken by you.

One last draw of breath, and you smiled wider, "Let's finish patching you up."

[altarfated]

slow dance for Jonathan.

upon gallantry’s decree should shoes, coloured with a lustrous sheen; meander across battlefields known not for festering decay and wretched evils but enraptured, intertwined fingers and the euphonious hymns of orchestras in full swing.

and he’s observant, permitting no guileful lambency to be graced with ignorance. his own, steadfast yet benevolent, such resolve cultivated over the years in which they shared. a tale woven by fate’s diligent hands, a scripture etched with a plethora of absurdities; if divulged to the eyes of the credulous surely it should be christened fictitious.

but unlike those years prior, where clumsy steps had led to collisions laced with virulent reprimands, each move is precise, to cavort between the silhouettes of the faceless with such unparalleled grace. to be adversaries, vehemence incarnate but share even breaths, complimentary movements borne in each step.  

and should his lip curl, malevolent temptation wreathes what may have been a compliment,  yet met not with puerile retaliation but a benign smile. it is of one who has grown, matured, who now knows the kindlings of his heart can be much more powerful when thriving not on irrationality; no longer volatile, harnessed into much more.

                                                 ❝  you’ve improved.  ❞  or something along those lines; barely discernable, subdued by the clamour of symphonies prospering beneath crystalline chandelier and yet still he laughs. it’s a subtle thing, so pervading warmth, lingering in the hollow of his chest, upon his lip and when he speaks, perhaps it too is lost to dusk’s extravagant spectacle                                                  ❝  i was fortunate enough to have a good instructor. ❞

[100albumcountdown]

60. Nine Inch Nails - The Downward Spiral (1994)

There’s a number of ways the life-cycle of a band or musician can go. Some burn out quickly, some meander into obscurity (or never leave it), some will keep re-hashing the same past glories over and over to increasingly diminishing returns. The ideal course for any artist is to grow, develop and mature alongside their audience, thereby never losing relevance or dropping in quality. In the 1990s – an era in which Nine Inch Nails hit their commercial peak with their magnum opus The Downward Spiral, and also their critical nadir with its bloated follow-up The Fragile  – very few people would’ve expected Trent Reznor to be one of the few to follow this tricky path. Reznor’s frothing angst and provocative, puerile lyrics painted him as an eternal adolescent, and whilst many people took a perverse joy in listening to him chanting his psychosexual nonsense (16 year old me included), it seemed unlikely that this would mature into anything particularly reasonable as the years passed by. The idea of Nine Inch Nails still releasing heralded music in their fourth decade – bolstered by Reznor’s Oscar winning film score work – seemed utterly laughable back then. But listen at a little closer to The Downward Spiral and the reasons behind this surprising durability become a lot clearer. The surface level is dark, filthy, aggressive and provocative, yes – but the music beneath is dense, muscular, evocative and endlessly inventive. The massive single ‘Closer’ is a great example of this. The lyrics chronicle Reznor’s typical fixations with God, sexuality and rage to create a chorus that’s nearly as ridiculous and satisfying to shout along with as Rage Against the Machine’s ‘Killing in the Name’, yet the musical kaleidoscope underneath is staggering. The thumping beat and liquid bass create a stiff funk backbone over which he layers fuzz guitars, shuddering samples and distant piano. As the second verse arrives, everything surges forward, the drums morphing into a disco break and the endlessly ascending keyboards begin their relentless spiral upwards. The whole second half of the track is a dizzying build-up of pulsing rave synths, intricate, layered beats, atmospheric textures and a spinning, grinding guitar riff like a revving chainsaw. The cumulative effect is breathtaking, entirely belying the overtly melodramatic lyrics that dominate the first half. The whole album is defined by moments like this – ‘Heresy’ is a robotic slink of a song, with Reznor’s petulant ranting offset by trance arpeggios, chunky metallic rhythms and buzzsaw guitars, ‘I Do Not Want This’ sets finely structured and detailed build-ups against an absolutely explosive chorus, whilst ‘Reptile’ and ‘March of Pigs’ invert expectations by abandoning their grimy, fuzz-stained verses for moments of bright, pristine melody. Even more surprising are tracks like ‘Piggy’, which starts with a brittle rhythm, quiet bass and distant organ drones, but instead of exploding into violence, Reznor piles on shards of broken, shattered drumming into a wall of sound like a traction engine ripping itself apart. Then there’s the beautiful melancholy of ‘A Warm Place’, the centre point of an album defined by it’s outrageous aggression turns out to be gentle, vulnerable and sad, a moment of raw pain that’s been masked by all the noise surrounding it. Closing track ‘Hurt’ has become well known in the years since, in part due to the moving Johnny Cash cover, and its place at the end of this album renders it’s shattered, exhausted moment of helpless honesty all the more powerful. This sort of craftsmanship and production doesn’t happen by accident, and Reznor knows exactly what he’s doing here – not just banking on his provocative image and controversial lyrics to make him a star, but also knowing that the quality of the music underneath is what will make Nine Inch Nails stand the test of time. This album is 24 years old now, and still nothing else sounds quite like it – the anger and the sadness, the noise and the melody, the outbursts and the atmospheres, all creating one chaotic, messy and beautiful whole.

Also listen to: Year Zero

[lyriumrain]

The universe is a yawning chasm, filled with emptiness and the puerile meanderings of sentience.

Ulyaoth, Eternal Darkness: Sanity’s Requiem (2002, Gamecube)

[mooncaught-blog]

chu ! ( to ophi , from faida )

–-a kiss from @dovecall…

⋆ 

he’s rearranging the mess of his shop, blowing layers of dust off glass psychedelic spheres and casual knick-knacks while dual-wielding feather dusters. admittedly, it’s not as effective  as he’d like it to be, especially with how foolish he looks, in hindsight, but he’s so engrossed in his collection of trinkets that he’s entirely forgotten the crass guest approaching him.

she makes her presence known quickly with a puerile stamp of her feet and a tug at his sleeves, and he simply turns, a customary smile playing at rose-bitten lips. though, he’s not ready to be tugged to her level--eyes widen and his perfect braid loses to some stray hairs that leave him looking shell-shocked, a pretty flush overtaking pale cheeks as his mind catches up to present events.

the feather duster clutched in a hand falls as his fingers move to touch the curve of his burning face and for a moment, words he’d like to say are stuck in the lump of his throat  (  is this reciprocation?  this love is only nurtured by you,  and to call it love is a stretch,  even for you.  when...  when have you last felt the satisfying warmth of lips so soft?  let yourself bathe in the soft syrup of affection and ardor?  you’re only glitter and bone dust,  so easily brushed away ...  what is this?  what is this,  really?!  )

his heart spins out of control, fluttering away from his reaching fingers and despite his initial shock, the blood finally meanders back to his brain, where surprised tiers curl into a childish smile that merely lights his face with the glow of a thousand fireflies.

s w a l l o w   the   thoughts.

“ ida darling, did you just want my attention?  you could’ve just called my name, or maybe you didn’t want to? ”  demeanor simmers at a gentle interrogation as his hand rises, only to card through soft, unruly locks.  his gaze is heated as he forces her to look at him, and his unspoken question hangs in the air despite the silence that he returns, before turning back to his wares. the scene feels empty, an unfinished script...

“ or did you want something more? ”

[audiphillips]

Recollection

I compare the future to the past

hoping to make the best parts last

That perpetual stasis of recollection

frozen like a preserved rose in bloom

creating an artwork of relived imperfection

to seal away in a cobwebbed, heart-shaped tomb

Laying puerile ideologies to rest

and constructing an intricate path

towards a life chosen in the depth of a jest

The world is only what we choose

when we choose with others in mind

because a selfish goal won’t touch the soul

Forever in a labyrinth of mistaken “Hi”s

and distraught, fraught “Goodbye”s

While chance gave a certain few

the wealth of the many refused

we, legion, worried and wandered errant paths

trying to find a way to face another day

If ever a future were to illuminate

a different landscape of values

it must first follow the meandering dreams

of those who manage flight on fractured wings

Strength lies in those who suffer but speak

and bravery in those who bother to aid the ones still weak

- Audi Phillips

[langernameohnebedeutung]

Image description: black and white image of a newspaper article reading: But such comparisons invite a question: If online writing today represents some sort of renaissance, why is so much of it so awful? For it can be very bad indeed: sloppy, meandering, puerile, ungrammatical, poorly spelled, badly structured and at times virtually content free. "Hey!!!1!"reads an all too typical message on the Internet, "I think Metallica IZ REEL KOOL DOOD!1!!!"... (From Philip Elmer-Dewitt, 'Bards of the Internet', TIME, 4 Jul 94) End of description

[bienready2122]

5 Mind Traps About the Economy and How to Avoid Them

In "Stress and America," the American Psychological Association revealed that 80% of Americans feel worried about the financial emergency; 60% feel furious about it; and 52% are experiencing difficulty dozing nằm mơ thấy lửa đánh con gì It is anything but difficult to censure the news for the ascent in feelings of anxiety. Be that as it may, let's be honest: in any event, when the economy is blasting, the news for the most part will in general be negative in tone. How about we take a gander at it from another edge: If you continue slamming your head against a divider until it drains, do you accuse the divider?

Ruminating fanatically about the economy or letting your feelings of dread keep you alert around evening time resembles censuring the divider for being made of block when you are the person who continues hammering your head against it.

What happens when you stop?

Regardless of whether it's a block divider or the financial emergency, your head quits harming. (Aaah! Doesn't that vibe better?)

"That is simple for you to state," you might be thinking. "Be that as it may, what, explicitly, would i be able to do to quit stressing?"

The principal key is to distinguish the Mind Traps that prevent you from intuition beneficially and discovering arrangements. Here are FIVE of the most widely recognized Mind Traps:

Mind Trap #1: Watching "The Fear Channel." Did you realize that your brain resembles a TV? It is continually anticipating pictures onto the screen of your cognizant personality. At the point when you are resting, those floods of pictures are called dreams (or bad dreams). At the point when you are alert, they make up a subliminal link channel that goes through your head all day, every day whether you know about it or not.

Each time you watch the news on TV or your PC, or tune in on the radio, or read a paper or blog about the effect of the financial emergency, your brain chooses the pictures, words, and topics that have the best passionate effect. Inside nanoseconds, you are observing enormous, brilliant bright 'personality films' about insolvency, home abandonments, swindlers, and individuals who turned out to be so edgy subsequent to losing huge entireties of cash that they ended it all.

Your head starts to feel as though it's stuck to "The Fear Channel." Knowing this, would you say you are astonished that you have tension about the economy?

Here's the arrangement: Change the channel! Envision you have a remote control in your grasp and you can change from viewing those debacle motion pictures to watching something that causes you to feel great. What about your own one of a kind individual "Wellbeing and Fitness Channel?" Or your "Loved ones" channel?

It's your brain. It's your TV. It's your remote. Quit slamming your head against the divider. It's not the economy, idiotic. You neglected to change the channel. It do as well.

Mind Trap #2: Getting stuck in NeverAlways Land.

At the point when I was a little youngster, Peter Pan was one of my preferred stories. In one form, the on-screen character Mary Martin played Peter Pan. She sang a melody to portray her life: "I know a spot where dreams are conceived and life is rarely arranged. It's in no diagram. You should discover it with your heart. NeverNever Land."

As the Bible says, there are times "to take care of puerile things." We exceed nursery rhymes and fantasies. We disregard Peter Pan and NeverNeverLand.

We become grown-ups. We have families and professions. We take on obligations. We make a solid effort to cover our tabs.

At the point when a budgetary emergency like the present one raises to turning into the main issue at the forefront of everybody's thoughts, our consideration begins to meander. Without acknowledging it, we have floated into the enthusiastic swamplands of NeverAlways Land. We begin to think, "I'll never escape obligation," "I will consistently have money related issues," "We will never recuperate," and so on. The sand trap of NeverAlways Land begins sucking you down into a damaging winding of negative reasoning.

There is an answer: When you are feeling stuck, focus on the words you use when you are standing up uproarious or in your mind. Record each time you use "Consistently" or "Never."

Draw an outskirt around your rundown of "Consistently" and "Never" phrases. This 'domain' of the brain is NeverAlways Land. As you become increasingly mindful of when you utilize these speculations, it will get simpler for you to explore away from NeverAlwaysLand. Take a stab at supplanting "Never" and "Consistently" with a portion of the accompanying words: "Now and then" "Perhaps" "Maybe" "Yet" "Not yet" "Presently" "Conceivably"

You will find that avoiding NeverAlways Land makes an alternate mental scene, one that is all the way open to the likelihood that life can improve. Not at the present time, perhaps.... be that as it may, potentially.

Mind Trap #3: It's not reasonable!

One of my first employments was collaborator supervisor for the Comic Book Association of America. It was my business to peruse the story sheets and ensure they adjusted to the comic book industry affiliation code which went something like this: "In each comic book story, great should consistently triumph over malice and the lowlife should never be permitted to get away."

Young men and young ladies, I am sorry to need to break it to you yet genuine isn't reasonable.

No place, aside from in comic books, is it composed that life comes without hardship. Reasonable or out of line, that is only the manner in which it goes here and there.

Here and there, Mind Trap #3 appears the cruelest of all. There is no sound response for why fair, dedicated people will be kept from resigning in view of the financial exchange's failing. Nor would i be able to help you in understanding why the CEO's of General Motors, Ford, and Chrysler have corporate planes available to them when a large number of automobile laborers are jobless.

I do realize that ruminating about the shamefulness, all things considered, will make it unimaginable for you to secure that new position or scale down your costs. What it will do is keep you stuck in the mindset of an injured individual, which you are most certainly not. You can decide to think in an unexpected way.

"You most likely invested more energy figuring out how to drive a vehicle than figuring out how to think carefully," said Richard Bandler, an author of neuro-etymological programming (NLP). Regardless of whether you are out of work or terrified of losing your employment or outright stressed, presently is the best time to locate your concealed qualities and utilize insights that you never realized you had.

It is conceivable that years from now, you will glance back at this emergency and state, "It wasn't reasonable yet on the off chance that I hadn't experienced all that, I would not be who I am today. I could never realize that I had certain qualities and capacities since I would not have been inspired to find them."

Psyche Trap#4: There is no other option for me.

In the 1990's, I gone through 7 years instructing in corporate colleges. One of my preferred schoolwork assignments was requesting that understudies bring into class an "inconceivable issue."

"What makes an issue incomprehensible?" you may ponder.

1. You don't trust you are sufficiently keen to settle it. 2. The arrangement isn't inside your control. Another person needs to give it the green light. 3. The issue is encircled in a yes/no organization. This rules out conceptualizing new arrangements. It infers that there is just one right answer.

Mind Trap #4 is a virtual "extension to no place." If you don't trust you are Capable of thinking of new thoughts, you will remain stuck. In the event that you outline the issue with the goal that you don't have power over the decisions that should be made so as to take care of the issue, prepare to be blown away. You won't have the option to understand it. What's more, on the off chance that you outline the issue in a yes/no, dark/white, either/or group, you are expecting there is just one right answer. In mind boggling, genuine circumstances, infrequently is there one right answer. Similarly as Mind Trap#4 has a couple of layers of multifaceted nature, so do genuine issues.

Remain far away from Mind Trap#4 on the off chance that you truly need arrangements.

Mind Trap #5: "Second pig" thinking.

In the narrative of the three little pigs, the enormous awful wolf took steps to fit and puff and blow down the place of the primary little pig. He terrified and assembled a place of straw. The wolf came, as guaranteed. You comprehend what occurred.

The subsequent little pig saw what befell the primary pig and stated, "Gee was an unstable place of straw." He put together a place of sticks. The wolf came, huffed and puffed, blew the subsequent little pig's home down, and ate him.

The third little pig thought for a spell. "The issue isn't the house. The wolf is the wellspring of the issue." He structured and manufactured a place of blocks however he realized that would not stop the wolf. Inevitably, the third little pig attracted the wolf to descend the stack where there was a pot of bubbling water on the fire. The third little pig tackled the issue by setting aside some effort to recognize the wellspring of the issue as opposed to simply tossing arrangements at it and trusting it would leave.

MIND TRAP #5 can be stayed away from effectively. Set aside some effort to consider the wellspring of an issue before you attempt to fix it. That way, it won't return.

Asset Box:

Is it accurate to say that you are stressed over the downturn? Alarmed about your money related future? Life turning wild?

[plungermusic]

You there, at the back, stop that sniggering now…

Puerile as ever, Plunger read Hannah’s PR blurb with some degree of schoolboy mirth: big love from both The Guardian and Morning Star; and described as “one of the best accordionists of the British Folk scene”; and incorporating “both classic and contemporary applications of English clog dance”… leaving the expectation the The Woman And Her Words would sound like Davina Spart intoning Clause 4 to the accompaniment of Jimmy Shand & His Band falling down a narrow flight of wooden stairs.

And we couldn’t have been wronger. 

Hannah and her avowedly international(e) band of András Dés (Hungary – percussion); Marti Tärn (Estonia – bass); Kate Young (Scotland – fiddle / vocals); Toby Kuhn (France – cello) have created a bewitching collection of songs that meander across borders and boundaries geographical and, erm, genre-ical, and while there certainly are messages in them they largely steer clear of the “12 verses of polemical rant the end” formula and allow the music space to breathe.

Hannah’s vocal, (think Ruth Theodore’s quirkiness, Lucy Zirins’ crystal simplicity and Bo Lucas’ husky smokiness) delivers the folky melody-and-grace-notes of opener and single Canal Song, harmonising with light-touch, nimble accordion and lyrical strings in a bucolic evocation of urban green corridors, before a darker urgency presages their imminent obliteration under the likes of HS2. Traditional folky vocal melisma appears too in Meet With Me, backed with resonant string phrases pulsing uncertainly, rising and falling like the earth breathing.

Gamelanish chiming, tabla style percussion and a very subcontinental hand-organ sounding accordion introduce Dayspring before blossoming into anthemic pastoral trance (apt for its hymn to youth theme): Hannah’s ethereal vox taking the lead instrument role with multi-part harmonies twining upward like bindweed: her tremulous limpid delivery shines in a classic beats-only ‘quiet bit’ before the return of the lush dancefloor reverie. Intricate multi-part wordless vocals form the structural ribs of Will We Dance? overlaid with a lilting melody line and mesmeric accordion and fiddle before peaking in a euphoric proggy polyphony climax, and they feature too in Dancing Out Of Sight, a dreamy waltz with pointillist percussion and pizzicato bass string dappling like sun through the canopy to accompany Hannah’s smoky, fragile lead.

The most overt message comes in Hush Now, a sea-shanty-accordion-led lullaby-cum-threnody for US mass shooting victims and Philippic against the gun lobby: the swelling tide of grief and anger is deeply moving, although dissipated slightly by an overly long two-vox-only coda. The title track too carries a message at some length: epic in form and structure, mixing conversational near-spoken narration with a touch of Angie Baby supernatural, it’s a somewhat wordy magic realist ballad on the results of toxic masculinity… with a neat, bleak twist*.

At quite the other end of the scale are two instrumentals: What The Hell Was That? sees a caravanserai interplay of fiddle and accordion morph gradually from Hindu Kush to Highland ceilidh: celtic fiddle and accordion in a complex melody line with a splash of jazzy timing and a fusiony nod in the repeated off-kilter riff affording a tricksy drum/clog showcase; while haunting solo accordion opens Tuulikki’s Tune with a brief faltering “song of the isles” traditional sounding melody, which returns as the basis for a stylish, sinuous dance with more lovely intertwining accordion and string harmonies, with sophisticated beats taking it into Metheneyesque territory.

Finally the not-quite-instrumental Shield’s Time showcases Hannah’s clog dancing and body percussion skills in a Steve Reich-style shifting rhythm break, with first intricate qawwali-meets-mouth-music vocal lines, and then the rest of the band, joining to exchange complex patterns.

The Woman And Her Words really is a magical, captivating album - both musically and lyrically. Plunger spent the better part of the last week in Epping Forest with this on repeat, the perfect soundtrack to the setting. Maybe that’ll teach us the lesson not to jump to hasty, uninformed conclusions…

The Woman And Her Words is released on 4th October, distributed via Hudson Records and is available to preorder here: http://smarturl.it/JigDoll

*the moral of the story being, don’t rely on spirit messengers as their timing is seriously off.

[ephemeral-writings]

3 random words story; Sehun

Sehun x Reader

Fluff

❝nursery

“How about this one?” 

You follow his finger in the direction he’s pointing, eyes landing on a mahogany frame. It's pretty and all, but—

“Sehun, she’s not an old lady, quite the opposite actually,” you jest. “We’re talking about a newborn here. This color,” you point, “epitomize an old rocking chair, for a grandma.” You continue about the store while explaining behind you. “I want her first bed to be white, and it’ll match perfectly with the baby pink walls we chose, don't you think?”

You grin at the thought of the nursery finally coming together after months of preparation. The drawers are already filled, courtesy of friends and families, with clothes for your soon-to-be-born-baby girl; the walls  colored in the dusty pink you’ve discussed with Sehun a few years back, and the last item on the list happens to be her first crib.

You wait for your husband to answer, but hearing none after 5 seconds, you pause to turn around. You find Sehun standing a few feet away, staring at something intently.

“Sehun?” You call out, head cocked to the side in question.

“Love, come look at this,” he waves you over, clear wonderment on his face. You backtrack a few steps until you see it, and when you do, This is it.

“This....it’s..”

“Perfect, right? What you wanted?”

You look up to meet his bright and eager eyes, his tongue darts out for a second to run across the expanse of his lips; he’s hoping, wishing you’ll say yes.

“It’s more than perfect, Sehun,” you murmur with a hand subconsciously coming up to place atop your thirty weeks bump. “And I know she’s going to love it.” 

 ❝bundle

 It was your first day back at work, and four months since your baby girl was born– four stressful-but-blissful–nevertheless months. Your husband offered to take a day off to take care of the baby, and although you’re thankful for Sehun, you were just slightly more excited to finally go home to your little girl than your husband.

“Sehun?” You called out. There was a faint “in here” from the general direction of the bathroom.

Making your way towards the bathroom, you tell Sehun,“I’m so glad to be home, and I’ll get started on dinner later, but right now-” You breath in the smell of apple— what? Why’s he using Dal’s body wash? That’s when you turn towards the bathtub.

It’s empty save for the sudden erratic kick Dal lets out as she registers your face, causing the tiny baby bathtub filled with water to spill over. Your husband yelps when a splash too hard lands soapy water in his eyes. You giggle at the sight.

Sehun eventually finishes, with more or less help from you. You leave him to dry Dal up while you fetch the clothes Sehun forgot to grab— no surprise there— before bathing her. You decided on a ducky onesie with matching yellow pants because it gets a little chilly at night, and the last thing you and Sehun want is for your baby girl to get sick.

You quickly make your way back to the bathroom, and see your husband fumbling with something— you can’t see anything over his broad back.

When you walk closer, you see his masterpiece; your daughter bundled up in a white towel with a hood to top it all off. It takes you three seconds to react.

You snort. “Honey, when did our daughter become a burrito?”

  ❝carousel

You always had a love-hate relationship for amusement parks. Why it never occurred to you that your husband, an amusement park enthusiast, would one day force you and your three and a half year old daughter to go with him? You wondered so as you meandered a few steps behind your family. Sehun has Dal propped up on his sturdy shoulders as he points out different attractions because yes, a two-year-old would totally understand the mechanism of a steel contraption that goes 80 miles per hour.

“Love!”

You break away from your trance to see Sehun grinning happily in front of the most deadliest steel contraption of the whole park; the carousel.

“No, Oh Sehun, just. No.”

“But,” he pouts. Dang it, Sehun. You’re a father. “Our little pumpkin says she wants to ride the white horse.”

You roll your eyes. 

“Really? Our two-year-old knows that that thing,” you nod towards the many rotating horses, adding as much contempt to your voice as possible, “is called a horse when she can’t even tell the difference between an apple and grape on her juice box? Did you somehow understood her baby babble?”

“Babe…” he pleads. “You know I’d go on it with our princess myself, but my size won’t permit it.”

You had to admit, seeing a six foot one man on a ride as puerile as a carousel would be as equally amusing as it’d be disturbing. You stare at your husband, then at your wide-eyed daughter, and you repeat it two more times until—

“Fine,” you growl, reaching out as Sehun removes Dal from his neck and hands her over. “It’s like I’m raising two kids sometimes, I swear.”

It’s almost uncanny how well you find yourself blending in with the kids on the carousel, after all your petite size barely grazed over your husband’s chest. You opted to stand next to the horse Dal chose to ride on, but Sehun shouts from the sideline, “You’re going to fall over like that, buttercup!”

“Then what should I do?!”

Sehun then, unnecessarily, animatedly motion you to sit on the horse with your daughter sandwich between your chest and the horse’s head.  

You hear a few kids giggling behind you when you struggle— little, but struggle nonetheless, to get on the horse. Then the spinning began...and it felt like it really wasn’t going to ever end. You can almost kill Sehun from the sight of him laughing so hard, people are staring at him like he’s a madman because he is one. And the audacity he has to whip out his phone to take pictures! As if you want to remember this moment where you’re green in the face and undoubtedly peeve to no end.

The carousel comes to a stop after three, agonizingly long minutes. You practically fly off the horse with your daughter tight in your grasp, letting your husband take over, and rush into the restroom. By the time you came out, Sehun had taken purchase on a bench nearby with Dal on his lap as he shows her the pictures he took.

“You’re a poophead.” You grumble.

He completely disregards you. “Look at this one, buttercup!” You spare your husband a glare and glance at the photo.

You’re surprisingly not ugly, not all pukey-faced as you had predicted. Instead, a soft look grace your face, and you know the exact moment he captured the picture. The sunshine worthy smile your daughter has in the picture had made you recall a specific baby picture of Sehun where his smile’s all crooked and perfect; the uncanniness of it had pop up in your head, resulting to the only moment on the carousel you didn’t hate.

Sehun lets out a content sigh, pulling you close by your middle, and revelled, “My beautiful girls.”

[doctornecrotic]

Current Mood:

“The universe is a yawning chasm, filled with emptiness and the puerile meanderings of sentience.”