What I like : I just started following but the reason for doing so is that not only do I see Vincenzo as he was shown to us - - - but I see a more extended version of him as well . You have the core of who he is but you have added a lot more life to him which allows for him fit in various situations . I really enjoy what I have seen from you as a writer which is why I followed . You're incredibly talented at continuing the growth of a character that isn't your own - - - which makes it feel as if he is .
tell me something you like about my muse/blog
/ ; ; this was so kind ????????
it's really funny, actually. i'm surprised my writing partners haven't kicked me to the curb + still put up with me bc i've talked about (and continue to talk about) vin til im blue in the face tbh. i've always felt that the show sold him short, especially towards the end of the series. he's such an interesting character with so much wiggle room for growth and development. 20 episodes just wasn't enough to cover the full spectrum, i think.
it's actually why i started this muse/page in the first place. ; ; it had already been weeks since the series had ended and i should've Moved On by then, but i just couldn't let him go. i was so inspired and wanted to make him my own, make him feel Real. tie up the loose ends that the show hadn't. explore the dark corners and memories that the show had glossed over. i had wanted everything for him.
i'm so, so thankful that writers (even ones i haven't started writing with yet -- hi hello!!) could feel this and notice this. ; ; thank you so much!
You are an abso-fucking-lutely incredible writer. In all honesty, I followed you prior to the show itself and began Vincenzo all thanks to your brilliant muse. Cheers!
tell me something you like about my muse/blog
/ honestly, this is the highest compliment i could ever receive lmao. the fact that someone felt encouraged and inspired to actually spend time WATCHING the show my muse is based off of... *chef's kiss* my work here is done. weeps.
(i hope you enjoyed the show, love. ; ; thank you for sending!)
Mun is lovely to talk to and easy to talk with. I feel very comfortable and supported to develop ideas with them. Writing is also beautiful. The imagery is so vivid and poetic. It fully expresses the passion of the writer over the characters and plot involved.
tell me something you like about my muse/blog
/ i am so soft. thank you. ; ;
flashbacks to plotting with u at 2 am for All the Muses lmao. honestly, it would've been impossible without you. you created such an encouraging, supportive atmosphere that i felt Comfortable Enough to ramble on for hours on end about muses and plots that i was clearly overly-invested in lmao.
plotting is always a two-way street and you made it beyond enjoyable.
The fade of the morning comes in yellowing hues, turmeric skies and rumbling clouds. It's the belly of the beast outside, outside the confines of his bedroom in the plaza, single-glazed window trembling from the shift in the atmosphere.
His whisper is almost drowned by the sudden, violent downpour in the middle of July, offering a break from the scorching heat.
Darlene had been treading a shallow sleep, sweetly succumbing to his lap, half-sprawled between the man's legs with a cheek gingerly squished to the flesh of his thigh. He holds a wad of clipped papers in one hand and runs his fingers idly through her hair with the other. Reverent. Soft. Thumbing the scars on her scalp like the lines on the palm of his hand: a testament, blueprint, valleys and mounds where the blood had run through. The tragedy of existence written in skin.
Her eyes are wide open, startled by the rain and trying to process his question all at the same time.
Vincenzo regards her calmly, apologetic. Sets the papers aside and repositions the cardigan back over her shoulders when she pushes up on an elbow, trying to get her eyes to focus. Mouth swollen. Reddened cheek from her nap.
"How much do you wanna know?"
She knows the answer to that.
With languid drowsiness, Darlene pushes her face into his stomach, nuzzling through his t-shirt. Although her love for his entire spectrum poured abundantly, hair-down, loungewear Vin with traces of her lipstick still imbued in the creases of his lips held a very special spot in her heart.
Up, up, nudges his work aside, it can wait, she takes priority by straddling his lap and nosing the side of his neck, hands claiming his. Fingers intertwine. She's bubbling warmth, all of her, peonies sprouting from her ribs. Soft, so soft.
The moment is far too sweet for them to talk about this — not now, later.
( Later, it's what she keeps saying, dodging the horror of having to air out those skeletons, knowing he won't be able to look at her again and not see the history behind her. )
"Does it matter, right now?" Whispered replies, voice heavily laced with sleep, still. "I'm here, now. With you. I have you."
The storm picks up outside and she shudders, gaze darting for the window, curtains blowing just so— ghostly, like the wind was trying to be part of the conversation. When her eyes land on her lover's face, she's home again.
I endured what I was meant to endure.
"I'm safe with you. You're safe with me." She brings their hands up between them, dots kisses along his fingers, teeth lightly clamping around a knuckle before a dozy smile lights up her features.
#/ reblogs for my wife bc Amazing #/ obv all my followers have come from her already so im preaching to the choir when i say she's one of the best?? writers????? in town??#/ but#/ she's one of the best writers in town -- happy to find out we are now married (no take backs) but also pls one (1) compliment from you and i will burst through the stratosphere
/ eats the receipt and says with mouth still full no take backs tbh yes agreed this is a binding verbal agreement tyvm
send me 🌱or ‘PLANT’ and i’ll tell you which plant/herb/flower my character associates with yours — accepting !
@dacaapo // vincenzo
Hawthorn, Crataegus.
Well, we already know Dar looks at him like he's responsible for the first blooms of spring. We know the secrecy hidden in the translation of 'blackberries' and the unspeakable things ripe peach juice leads to— but if we're looking into something even deeper that would represent Vincenzo as a man, as her man, hawthorn comes to mind.
Hawthorn has been used for centuries in traditional medicine as treatment for heart and blood diseases. It's a cardiovascular tonic, helps strengthen the heart and has been proven gentle and safe for long term use. Berries, flowers and leaves can all be used, but the berries are perhaps the most popular option and can be picked in October once they've ripened enough and the leaves have fallen off the tree.
A most fascinating thing is that hawthorn (and other herbs like motherwort) is said to strengthen both the physical and the emotional heart. It is used to treat heartache and encourage the opening of the heart, bringing courage to vulnerability. The hawthorn is the open hearted warrior.
Berries can be made into tinctures and medicine, but also jams, sauces and liquors like 산사춘.
The thorns of the hawthorn tree are important to mention here: the tree is in the rose family, but instead of having many, tiny little thorns that make it impossible to handle, it has spaced out, fairly dramatic-looking thorns. This is said to protect it not against the small troubles, like deer who can easily nibble the fruits and dodge the thorns, but (literally) giant problems. This adds another dimension to the herb: not only is it a heart opener + strengthener, it is also a protector. In thorn magick, it is said that a single thorn used in the preparation of a spell/tea/tincture can provide this.
Vin is the person for whom her heart feels safe enough to open to after enduring so much ache and destruction. He's the person she knows she'll be safe with, no matter what. Who'll nurture and value and respect the seasons. Honour the blood. Leave the taste of berries on her tongue.
Bonus reference: the shrike is a carnivorous bird known to impale its prey on the thorns of trees (yes, hawthorns too and yes, this pertains to Vin's... creative methods of ending his enemies). Hozier has a beautiful song named after the bird.
remember me, love
when I'm reborn
as the shrike to your sharp
and glorious thorn
She has a mouth full of plum, holds the torn fruit in her hand like a secondary prey. A full cat, she feels, heady, dizzyingly in awe of him, this second July they get, too many years later.
Darlene licks her lips, swallows, marinates the question. Sunlight flickers across copper brown hues, afternoon turning. Heat that becomes more bearable. And he wants to strike the match again?
Vincenzo knows how she feels about him on his knees.
Make me your altar, she says.
"You do look pretty when you kneel, darling."
It's not a yes or a no, it's the teasing edge of a possibility. She toys with the leash. Figurative, of course, his neck too fair, too pristine, too glorious for anything but her hands and her kisses to adorn it.
His hand on her knee. Thumb tracing the rounded cap, always some shade of purple, matching the floral detail of her dress. She reclines, adjusts her gaze. There's a fire threatening to consume her whole, consume them both; her mouth sticky sweet and dripping jealously.
Vincenzo hovers, one hand gripping the arm of the chair, the other inching down her shin. She keeps one foot propped up on the edge of the seat and sits in her own pool of pettiness, alone in the balcony with plums and wine and literature. She knows he would never sting her like that, knows it was just a work lunch. What was it, Chayoung has a new perfume, was she testing it in the office?
He's worrying again. Cogs turning, jaw grinding, the situation is slipping out of his grasp and he hates it, doesn't he? Darlene feels as though the armrest might snap under his thunder.
"You're being cruel."
She is, she is, and the plum is set aside and she's licking her fingers clean and her leg sways to the right so the dress slips, drapes around her hips, white cotton with lace edge shows and she wears it so well.
A believer on his knees.
Darlene has both feet on the floor now, knees spread to accommodate him and his palms dragging along the expanse of his lover's thighs. She leans forward to take Vincenzo's face in her hands. Takes in the sculpted planes of his face, the plush curve of his upper lip, specks of sunset dusting his eyelids. What a vision, what a dream. Presses a kiss to his brow bone. His cheek, the corner of his mouth.
The effort to keep the slightest bit of composure when his thumbs slip under the hem of her underwear is there, but her body betrays her quicker than she can spell her own name.
this is just a friendly reminder that it’s okay if you’re not writing right now. it’s okay if you’re only able to pop on here to yell into the void about your muses for five minute and leave, or make edits or goof around with your friends and just chill, or even do none of that at all. this is a hobby. it’s okay if you’re not in the headspace to approach that one mutual yet, or answer those ims right away. the world is a stressful place for most of us right now, we’re all struggling with something one way or another, and we’re mainly here to have fun. taking care of yourself comes before any expectations anyone here has of you, so don’t ever let someone shame you for not being fully present here for however long that takes.
Friendly reminder that you're awesome and such a magnificent writer; thank you for being so lovely! Sending love and good vibes your way; wishing you happy days always!
/ why is this so sweet?? why are YOU so sweet wtf
ngl was just going through my regularly scheduled bout of writer's doubt and was feeling Incapable of stringing together Good Words anymore -- but this just ; ; was so sweet and so unexpected.
sending u all the love and good vibes too, my love.
On days when his hours stretch past the acceptable, when his armour comes down battered and hollow with a clank, Darlene is invariably there to catch him.
She picks him up this time. Gets a ride to the plaza and drives his SUV back while he loosens his tie and collar and finally gets some shut eye.
‘ I’ll take care of you. ’
‘ It’s too much for you. '
‘ Too much is seeing you like this and doing nothing. '
There’s fresh soup on the stove.
The water in the bath runs milky, sweet, vanilla and chamomile and oat, nourish and soothe, piece her lover back together. Acrid, acid white, the smell of the hospital clings to his clothes.
“How’s she doing?”
He nods curtly, lips pressed into a line; shoulders still too tense, heart still in battle. Dar won’t have it.
She wears that sage green silk combination, flowy sleeves fluttering about as she helps him undress. Reverent, mindful, with the touch of a lover and a believer and a friend. His body is a house of worship not only when she takes him in her mouth, not only when he crumbles and strains from gripping a handful of that dark mane of hair and spilling down her throat— no, not tonight, tonight the offerings change.
Soup to warm his soul and sorrow. Medicinal bath to soothe his heart. The lap of his woman for his mind to rest.
Taking care of you is taking care of me.
“You didn’t have to go through this trouble.” So good to me, cara.
It’s her turn to reply with quietude, with hands that hold his and lead him to a candlelit tub, golden hues and flickering licks of shadows, with fingers that diligently wash his hair and shoulders and wrists and legs. When she finishes, Darlene sits and leans over the side of the bath, hand still holding his, chin on her wrist. Vincenzo scoots closer, touches his forehead to hers. Silence is just as important as the words that bracket it.
( “Trouble would be lying awake thinking you needed me and I wasn’t there.” )
“I’ll be outside if you need me.”
Space that is offered, space that is needed. Had he not spent the day looking after anyone but himself?
He comes out in his nightwear, hair dripping on his shoulders, shading his eyes and nose and dripping on her cheeks too, when he claims a rightful kiss. Steadying grip on her hips, following her close behind.
“How was your day?”
Dar prepares a tray. The answer comes in fragments and hums only because her attention is in her fingertips, Should we eat in the living room, should we watch Garden Designs?
Think of the most innocuous tv, something to numb the mind. Set it up, minimal volume, soft jazz to coat the atmosphere. It’s just the low lights and incense tonight. It’s just Dar watching to make sure he eats, pressing her lips to his temple, murmuring to convince them both: “It’s going to be okay. I got you.”
And the bed is merciful, charcoal sheets and their legs so entangled it might look like they’re growing from the same pot. The bed is his head on her chest today; it’s the silence when he holds her so tight she feels the squeeze in her lungs; it’s her fingers carding through Vin’s hair with the tenderness only poetry or love can harbour, one of, or both. Both, certainly.
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