suspend your disbelief.

people are so stingy with their emotions: they want to be loved but only if it doesn't mess up their lives, their schedules, their clean furnitures. how many people do you know who would let their cats scratch their armchairs? —then they live alone with their airmchairs. because people who love us scratch us, like caesar. we have to let others be free to show us their love however they choose, however they know, however they can—as long as it doesn't destroy us. and what is love anyway? it's clawmarks, scratches, scars, and traces left inside you. the thing i fear the most is still, silence. i want permanent marks, life. what's love for you? muses penned by kiwi (they/them/theirs/sya). mdni.

[dollypardonne]

pardon yourself like no time has passed. growth will follow after.

dollypardonne: indie roleplay entity established in march 2022 with characters dating back to august 2012. multi-muse and single-ship: original, alternate verse/canon divergent, and general idol characters written by kiwi (they/them, 30, filipino, pst). exploring themes of fame and ambition, escaping the doldrums of suburban life, generational trauma, religious trauma, found family and community building, queer gender identity, immigration and assimilation, mending a broken world, human survival, the duality of human nature and desires, cosmic knowledge bringing an end to human consciousness, godhood destruction, and more. triggers found on this blog include war, drug abuse, exploitation, cultism, trafficking, kidnapping, death; suicide and murder, mentions and depictions of mental disorder symptoms.

[ to-do tracker ]

this also serves as a permanent starter call. like if you wish to receive a starter (feel free to specify muses in the replies, i will choose otherwise).

[asclepic]

to @dollypardonne — in my most quiet and undisturbed days, there you are - visble, palpable. imagined but once concrete. you, grief reincarnate, a lesson on circularity and tangential points. your memories, conceived at one point in our lives, catching up to me again, and again, and again. you, a life-long theory on true love manifested. his infinite bride, perpetually to be in his life, and never mine; but you're gonna live forever in me.

001 parts of me were made by you;

2012 — tokyo, japan.

the summer heat beats down on him, synchronous with his own heart palpitating against his chest.

jianwei, then ken, did not know what was worse: the way his upper lip was stuck against his braces or how he was about to vomit his heart out from his mouth. that was the result of being in close proximity to a pretty girl. a nauseating, sweat-inducing experience that every straight, teenage boy suffers through. how they crossed paths is a complete blur to both jennie and jian now—though, revealed to jianwei by jennie, years and years ago, between tangled limbs and linen sheets, once dreamt up to be orchestrated by the birds... or by the red-string of fate... or a greater, unnamed force.

jennie, stance emitting signals of distress, had gone adrift from her mother whilst on a vacation in the thick of tokyo's concrete jungle—tourists tend to do that, jianwei remarked internally—with her eyes flushed and swollen, lips jutted into a pout. the young girl, like a deer in headlights, found herself overstimulated in the middle of the shibuya crossing. ushering her to a safer part of the road, the sight of her gave jianwei the strong impression that volumes of tears were spilt due to frustration that were grander-than-life; her expression at the time was enough to stir discomfort in him, anyway.

much to his confusion, 「えと...すみません 、大丈夫ですか？」 ("umm... excuse me, are you alright?") ellicited nothing but a glassed look on the girl, and a croaked-up response of "i don't understand you." in a thick, foreign accent — for the young boy, released from the confines of his boarding school for the season, crossing paths with an unknown person, lost in her own regard, was the last thing he have imagined for himself.

mustering every microgram of bravery, and all the english he knew from his private lessons and advanced courses at school, he utters "i'm ken." his voice breaks as he assumed the english language, a common occurence for someone his age.

softer, stark from her initial, defensive snap, jennie responds... "my name's jennie."

an internal scream bubbled from his throat, but he clears it, "you're jennie?" the boy keeps cool. it was a rather foreign name, ken thought, but her face, round eyes, a button nose, with soft supple cheeks, struck a chord of familiarity in him. upon thorough inspection, those delicate features paired with her jet-black, pin straight hair falling past her bare shoulders gave jennie the look of incandescence that, retrospectively, he traces back to the stronghearted, radiant heroine in mangas and asadoras he would consume as a naive child. "i have a phone...?" tone upwards at the end of each sentence, a mixture of uncertainty and so as not to alarm her, he offers his device after rummaging through his knapsack. at the time, jianwei, unassuming, missed the first turning of a page in his scant book of romance.

2013 — seoul, rok.

the penultimate time the two younglings have met, jianwei had grown inches past jennie and was closer to his current physicality now than when he first met the girl. it was another hot summer day, this time set across the east sea, when jian and jennie met once again. last year's encounter was a gamble by the higher forces, a stroke of luck, but this felt like an intentional choice from the universe; it was the only time jian allowed himself to believe in such abstract forces.

since their second meet-cute, the two maintained contact through line or kakao calls, rarely the snail mail. at that point of his life, from the tight schedule dictated by his father, jian had nothing to focus on but academics and sports... but he made space for jennie, and in a way she became a conduit to a version of him that was unreflective of the structured life he truly lead.

and so, as time permitted, until life constructs an irreconcilable fork on the road they shared, they continued to entertain each other.

with much negotiation from their respective parents, jennie and jian kept their promises to meet december of that year... and the events that unfolded then jian would never utter to a soul, and no endeavour would ever draw it out of him.

002. and planets keep their distance, too.

2025 — jeju, rok.

it hummed of everlasting bliss and countless years of choosing one other, the venue encapsulated in hues of lavender - the colour of devotion.

the bride, beautiful, and the groom, proud; jennie and hanbin's vows reflected a bond only the average can dream of, and a kind the cunning endlessly chase. with little discernment needed, one could realise—obvious in the way the couple exchange enamoured looks, or the way their body leaned towards one another in any given posture—theirs was the type of love, a kind of which upon trial and past the haze of one's coming-of-age, titled quintessential by those who came before and after them... it was the type of commitment that uplifted each other, a love sustained by community. a love that calls for a complete rearrangement and piecing together of each other's lives.

"could we have had that?" a mere thought, jian's gaze on jennie.

jian observed from the sidelines throughout the evening, stepping not an inch past jennie's peripheries... a complete parallel to how he orbits her since their final goodbyes as bumbling adolescents. the persona non grata smirks to himself. in between sobriety and complete intoxication, blood blooming under his cheeks whilst the world around him threaten to gyrate violently, jian rests his own weight on rowan. "they've lasted so fucking long," he groaned, "how many funerals of each other d'ya think they attended?" he managed to mumble, short on coherency. "i'd be fucking pissed and resentful if she was my wife by now." he appends.

what a lie that was—a kind of aphasic miscommunication between the longings of his younger heart, shirked and spurned by someone unknown to him—though certainly not jennie, but mostly likely only himself—and the heavy truth of who he has become. jian excuses himself from the function, a curt dismissal whispered only to rowan. on the way out he stumbles against ivory walls, past ceremonial cheers, reprieved from the joyful festivities — sparing the beautiful bride no more glances.

that part of his life is finally behind him.

003. i'll keep my word and my seat.

here are my heartfelt congratulations, jennie kim and kim hanbin:

yours is the forever that once, and never was, mine. may love and light deliver you away from me, jennie kim.

here's to a lifetime of happiness.

[paper-wounds]

[asclepic]

to @belleoumoi (this self-para was 4-years in the making. time only allows you to write about things conditionally; the distant the memory the riper it seems.) (t.w: illicit substance abuse, drug use)

001. the prologue

2021 — seoul, rok.

jianwei's presence in a foreign land was exacted and willed upon his father's insistence to enter the tight gap of south korea's pharmaceutical and medical market. with his transcripts submitted, and a doctorate position secured in one of the nation's most prestigious institutions, jian agreed to raise roots once more.

there was not a choice in jianwei's life uninfluenced by the undercurrents of his father's ambitions. his father's kitchen sink approach in progressing a unified east asian conglomerate meant utilising his only son as an accessory - to build jianwei up as a hyper-scholar fortified with field experience.

it worked, as jianwei developed a calculating and sharp sense when it came to business.

however, such a stifled way to rear a child caused an opposite reaction, or perhaps a parallel reflection to the larger image itself, in which jianwei, himself, ran his own drug-ring in every university he matriculates in. jianwei successfully distributed as far as MDMA analogues to the privileged or misguided, cognitive enhancers to the try-hards and gunners, and even counterfeit prescriptions to those crafty enough to get a hold of his higher services. growing underwhelmed by the tedium of his campus affairs, a repeat of his undergraduate challenges and masteral degree's proficencies, he decided to distribute outside of his usual setting — aiming for clubs and raves in hongdae, his contact reaching desperate or desolated wives and mothers from gangnam.

jianwei's objectives, by definitive means or another, was done.

002. the aberrant

jianwei required neither the money nor the noteriety that came with his ventures, just the satisfaction of doing a stellar job; his own high came from realising the delicate equilibrium between his supply and the overgrowing demand. his well-titrated experiment came to an oversaturation upon meeting a handsome face, she was strapping with rugged edges; rowan was equal parts striking and an inviting person to exploit. it was rather heady, at times, getting to know her - if he was introspective enough to untangle it, he would realise that laced in with the bubbling curiosity he held for her was his own identity being mirrored back. rowan's own brand of sorrow, subdued by jianwei's supply, was a strand he had himself... something reserved only for those who have tasted deep pain.

so a mutually parasitic symbiosis between jian and rowan jumpstarts. he knew what to give, when to give it, and in return he is offered a few good chats. he has never seen them sober, but perhaps in his line of work sobriety was rarer than the brains he admires on rowan.

the cooperative alliance came, however, to a grinding halt when his regard for the individual outweighed jian's need for an ego stroke. rowan came to him more and more for illicit substances, staying a minute less and less to chat each time. then came the undeniable toxidromes: initially, some restlessness and inability to stay still while waiting for his dispense, then the yawning and sudden onset of irritability. this downward spiral continued until it finally registered that she has become a fucking addict. in jianwei's line of work, there were recreational users and addicts, though the latter provided a stronger source of patronage it was labile and jianwei hated nothing more than dealing with such scums of the earth.

but he did not hate rowan, he just simply couldn't. so what must he do? — the feelings he had for her were ineffable, sourced from a deep, intrinsic sense of care.

he knew one thing: with any business, some semblance of ethics must be applied. first, he scoped her drug behaviours through piecemeal statements, "starting to get jealous you'll see someone else but me for these." he scoffed, a mini-baggie with fine crystalloids taped along a bag of clean needles pinched between his index and middle fingers. the next time, jianwei with his head tilted and gaze fixed on rowan, sensing her urgency and distress, but not one caused by the lack of the drug, "...this is the second time you've come to me with a scowl on your face like that." he comments, nothing the catalysts for her usage.

then, bit by bit he placed placebos on her orders, decreasing potency and dosage, whilst ensuring she has access to approrpriate, sanitised tools. "no drinking with this... not before or after." he instructs, lifting the baggie away from rowan herself. "promise me."

"why?" she asked.

"just a new formula i've been working on... don't fuck it up for yourself, because i'll know." he retorts.

this gradual, one-sided plan to taper her off continued, and as it reached its last phase she contacts him... all of jianwei's intricate work sabotaged — she was high to say the least; her pupils so small they were non-existent, she was bradycypneic... and still she wanted more. the question of how and by whom she got there jianwwei dared not entertain...

it was heartbreaking, staring at her.

the line between himself and her completely delineated in his mind - who was he more pitiful towards? the fucking busted addict in front of him, or the poor boy who simply wanted to save a one-sided friendship?

so jian placed a moratorium on her, a complete cut both from his services and his life. all he knows is avoidance when threatened in the matters of the heart.

this is no different.

for once, he just wishes, this were all done.

003. the healing

jianwei saw how life got good for rowan.

there was nothing in this world more satisfying than the bloom of colour and healthy sheen on her face.

though back on her two feet, the probabilities of her relapsing was likely - an occuring stage in every recovering addict's progression to remission. the thought gutted him to no ends, but was relieved by the fact that she now has community in people who were earnest, salt of the earth. he's met one of them vividly during his time as a physiology teaching assistant, a medical student, oozing of diligence and light.

those were the people rowan needed in her life, jian thought, appended by though i hope they'll still want me in theirs.

rowan's healing embodied the inception of jian's desire for a community of his own... a life that is his.

during a night of vulnerable talks over fizzy drinks and ramen, he onced joked to rowan that, perhaps if he repented enough, he would be offered a blank slate by fate.

to some extent... it was done.

003. the epilogue

jianwei's ventures continued, now veering off drug dealing and into larger, more darker schemes. at one point, he was nicked for his involvement with a club used as a front by his so-called friends for money laundering, accidentally stepping a bit too far and finding himself at odds with his father's growing territory in seoul.

out of fear that jian has grown wayward and blind to the cause, and to extirpate any challenges to the korean expansion, he returns to shanghai as ordered by his father... uprooted, only this time against jian's wishes and better judgement. with no contact or trace left, wang jianwei left only his academic record in seoul, korea.

a blank slate.

he thinks to himself, on a private charter on course for home, that this chapter of his life is not yet done.

[dollypardonne]

flower festival's heart shaker

the fading of cherry blossoms have brought on the tulips, spread throughout half an acre field of greenery. seasonal goods and snacks laid along pop-up stores in nature. market stalls, outdoor library zones, busking performances, and gardening programs occupied the park's space, bringing on the bustling crowd. the peaking of spring had arrived.

a lifelong expat, it was haru's first and it was at dani's request that this hangout came to be. but that also meant he had nothing to worry about, as she was a great companion to new experiences, and there was no alcohol to lure him into another disaster involving naked strangers and sharpie stained fingers.

stationed near gourmand installations and pastel coloured umbrellas, the pair had settled with their picnic kit. haru wasn't easily impressed by small flower beds but the huge masses of flowers was as picturesque as can be. the hour-long drive was worth it, he thought to himself then aloud, he said "this is nice," as he faced the view upfront. this gaze of his that he averted was due to the uneasiness brought on by her previous drunken confession. between the aforementioned and a speed date that lands them a table together based on their compatibility, much has occurred among the two. it had been a whirlwind as opposed to the steadiness that their bond has bolstered throughout the years.

he's not sure when it started but it seemed like magma, sneaking up from underneath his feet, overwhelming him into impulsion and unto an act he wouldn't have thought he'd ever pull on dani of all people, a nerve-wracking moment that couldn't wait. for the first time that day, their eyes met and locked. the passage of time around them resembled a pause. he leaned in closer and from her lack of movement he presumed that the gesture was welcome. their lips connected in a kiss, delicate but bristly. dani was frozen on the spot. seeing her expression that seemed almost horrified, haru was left speechless. he felt a knot in his throat and this tension tightens tenfold when the words come out of her mouth; the mention of someone new, trying things with them, and how that was what she had been planning to divulge with him all along.

the remainder of the day was spent in silence, making the car ride almost unbearable. the radio's volume was kept low but his heightened senses made the notes pound against his eardrums nonetheless. no words were exchanged for the whole journey. haru's mind were filled with nothing but the image of her face after he pulled away. there was nothing romantic about it, and in some ways it felt like confirmation of what he feared was the case from the beginning.

once dani stepped out of the car, farewells were exchanged and haru turned up the volume of the radio, hoping to drown out his thoughts with the bass of the speakers. he looked onto dani who took strides towards her house to then turn around. he saw her mouth moving but the noise sucked her words down into a watery grave with no way of reaching him. he turned the volume lower again with great haste, asking for her to repeat what she had said and hoping she would but to no avail. instead she ran off, leaving haru clueless once again—like he usually was.

days went on without any contact with dani and he felt as if he was in no position to bother her after what had transpired but it doesn't take long until the worry and the impatience started to gnaw at him. and finally, an angel in the form of mika came along to lend assistance in his search for the lady whose intrinsic value was her existence. expressing his fretting over dani's wellbeing to mika helped him come to know about her frustration with him.

"she said she was waiting for a long time for you to make a move on her, bro. why did you wait this long anyway?" there was exasperation in his voice, like he wasn't meant to share this detail but he couldn't wait around and watch his closest friends slowly drift apart.

dumbfounded by the third party admission, tongue-tied with a doltish look on his face he simply responded "what?"

even he didn't know the answer.

[idleminds]

[guldaastan]

im in disbelief at the fact that a lot of folks are simply over palestine. like protests are dwindling down. people are not very interested in news related to gaza. some are simply over it.

israel hasn't let aid in gaza in 70 days. gaza has been starving for 70 days. the condition of people there is horrendous.

i find it distressing to think about children in gaza. how does one continue to have a childhood in a genocide? they don't have school. they don't have safety. they don't have food.

despite all this, the kids will be alright. they'll be alright once the genocide stops and they get back to 'normal'. till then, can we please try to support them however we can?

this fundraiser (verified) helps feed a family which includes two young children. please consider helping their mother take care of them.

donate here

[lilllium]

—Kitchen Mckeown, from Outbreaks

[valtsv]

im like a religious art piece. grotesque, haunting, full of melodrama and guilt and unsettlingly horny.

[obcultatio]

tw: death, blood, violence

kyuhyun remembers his first kill. vincent's voice still echoes in his ear, as if it happened yesterday.

“he’s already dead. you’re just finishing it.”

but he looks into the man’s eyes and a part of him shrivels away. he remembers his grandfather and his last days at the hospital: clouded, barely blinking, and blood crusted in the corners of his mouth. a part of him aches at the comparison. he awaits his sentence, slumped against the wall with both hands bound and a leg twisted unnaturally. a former handler that he shadowed a few weeks ago, when he was getting acquainted with the family and the academy – someone who once barked orders at recruits and quoted scriptures like it meant something. now, years later, he's discarded. labeled a traitor. a liability to the organization.

he’s told nothing more and he knows better than to ask.

vincent hands him the blade. standing tall behind him, voice low and terrifying, he orders, “prove to me that you belong.”

there's a tremor in kyuhyun's hand that he disguises with a scoff. it isn't from fear of blood, he’s seen that before. it’s the stillness of a man who knows he won’t be saved, the silence of the back lot, the emptiness that takes over. kyuhyun kneels and the man looks up, barely conscious. he doesn't resist and there's no plea. instead it's all quiet resignation: a final kindness to his first kill and it makes everything worse.

mercy, the man says with his eyes.

kyuhyun doesn't prolong it and presses the blade to the man's throat, watching as his pulse flutters like a trapped bird against the steel. and still, the man doesn’t speak. his heart is beating so loud that it feels like it'll slip right off his ribcage. he wants to disappear, to vanish, to scream, “i’m not this. i’m not like you.”

but he doesn’t. because vincent is watching and the others are too. you don’t survive this world by being tender hearted. that’s one of the first things that he’s told. so he draws the blade fast, just like they taught him. he feels the resistance of skin and sinew, hears the wet rasp of breath that never fully leaves the man’s lungs. blood sputters to kyuhyun's face, drips from both of his hands. there's blood inside his mouth too because he's bit down on his tongue in an attempt to hold down his own tears. the man in front of him twitches once before all the life in his eyes disappear.

it's done.

they pat his back like he’s just graduated and tell him he’s one of them now (he has and he is). but as vincent brags about his protege and all the places he'll reach, kyuhyun finds himself stumbling into an empty alley and vomits. the chapel's shadow looms over him and he looks up at the cross of the building, his knees giving out in the dirt. he curls over with both hands shaking, whole body heaving like it’s trying to purge the act.

umma, i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. haraboji, i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.

soon after, he's thrusted into holy salvation and the academy does more than just teach him. it strips and hollows down the boy in him, building something colder in place. no longer is he song kyuhyun but carries on as lee mingyu. in the academy, he’s just another part, polished and placed exactly where vincent wants him to and that means a new identity. it doesn't take long before mingyu's fingers stop trembling when he reloads a gun and can slit a throat without blinking. in a few years time, he becomes the academy's best, just like how vincent prophesied the night of mingyu's first kill. begins to teach with the blade curled around bruised knuckles, honing tongues that learn how to lie better than they'll ever learn how to pray.

for a while, it’s enough – and then duri comes along.

duri, who seems to be everything soft in a world that only knows how to bite. who doesn’t ask him where he goes at night, kisses his hands like they aren’t soaked in blood, laughs like she doesn’t know the kind of man he is. he doesn’t deserve her and he knows that but he lets her love him anyway. even in the end when her views begin to shift, her desire for reform takes over, she loves him anyway.

but the family has long fingers and vincent doesn’t let go of what’s his.

“you don’t need to teach anymore,” he visits seoul with intent, swirling red wine and staring at it like it's the most fascinating thing. “i’m sending you to italy, permanently. the academy’s grown enough without you and you're too good to be kept here, rotting.” mingyu doesn’t say anything, even when he hears the following. “i’m marrying you off," he says it so casually, voice smooth like silk hiding a blade. “to my daughter. in time. i know she'll learn to like you.”

mingyu swallows and it tastes like iron.

“do you see this world that i've built?” vincent gestures around them, to the glass, his office and the illusion of control. “you can have this one day, and i'll give it to you. just do as i say.”

power, mingyu thinks, was never the point. but when he looks in the mirror that night, he doesn’t recognize himself. duri's arms find him, wraps him in an embrace and for once, it's not enough. he's not enough. the light is dim, the world muffled, and silence deafening. she calls his name and a part of him almost asks if she would like to run away.

he doesn’t. instead he just kisses her, a sense of finality in the way his mouth moves with hers. “i love you,” he reminds her. he leaves and offers no note or explanation that night, only absence and the smell of him on her pillow. this is mercy, he thinks. this is the way its got to be.

and soon, the family takes him with open arms. it's time to play his part.

[dollypardonne]

hello all, kiwi here. or well, jennie mun. i had a lot of thoughts i wanted to put down here. a sort of reflection as someone who's written jennie since 2012.

i started writing her when she was still a trainee and there was barely anything out there of her just yet. i did a lot of freestyling but i ultimately took advantage of the information that was put out against her will. those were all leaked back then and looking back at how the early years of her career played out, the parasocial relationship many of her fans had, she suffered greatly for her privacy being invaded upon on multiple occasions. on top of that, she was a minor during all this.

with the release of ruby, i'm starting to understand her relationship to idolhood a little better. i've listened to the album almost exclusively for the past two weeks (i streamed it so much i got the freebie photocard spotify was offering from that 7 stages event). and beyond the music and the production of it all, there's a fundamental message that led to the creation of this au version of jennie; that her career as an idol, the persona representing the person behind it, existed at the detriment of her identity and wellbeing. watching her interviews in relation to this project, she speaks so carefully and delicately still about being an idol. it's something that she believes is her duty, and that the wisdom that she has now she owes to that side of her.

retrospectively speaking (and despite my immense love for blackpink), i dropped the 'general' tag so that my muse could exist more creatively and freely. seeing how artistic this girl was, it was upsetting to see just how held back she was with her 'occupation'—she wasn't really allowed to showcase her vision and artistry. in hindsight, me coming back to writing jennie again was not sprung up out of some big epiphany and the decision to make the muse do music again to reflect the real jennie's work was also not as thoughtful as i'd like it to be. i was just genuinely really excited and it sparked motivation in me. but as i write jennie in this new chapter, closer to how i used to portray her before (following schedules and referencing more relevant content), i find myself feeling both pride and guilt. i'm proud that she came out with this body of work. this project has clearly given her the means to stand up for herself, from all the bullying she has experienced from the media and general public in the past. but at the same time, i feel a guilty conscience for the fact that i may be contributing to the noise that she has been trying to drown out.

so this is just me thinking inward, shouting out into the void, wondering if i'm co-opting the offense of misunderstanding this already misunderstood celebrity. if i am, i at least hope and want to remind myself that i'm doing all of this in good faith and the genuine desire to acknowledge her personhood and commiserate with the bullshit that she has to deal with.

[dollypardonne]

merci pour la venin

chaeyeon quitting the band gig after several months was no surprise. in fact, the duration that she had stayed was remarkable above all else. but being busied by the temporary endeavour caused enough discord between her and her partner—the half a decade long whirlwind romance reaching a pitstop.

"contact me in 5 business days or just leave me alone for a month. if i don't hear from you, consider this a fair notice."

receiving the message felt like a punch in the gut, but it wasn't chaeyeon's place to play the victim. she was the so-called deserter in this case. shocking, but it was never intentional. it never could be, no matter how tumultuous their situationship had become—as previously on the passionate interims and bounce backs of 'rumination', sumin sprung up the prospect of a fake engagement on the grounds of conglomerate shenanigans. something about upholding the state of affairs of the generational legacy that defined their ancestry. she understood, but it hurt all the same. it was none of chaeyeon's business. despite sumin's consideration and regard for chaeyeon as a partner, chaeyeon hated that she had to know about it. as much as she cared about sumin, the life that enshrouded her authentic self was something that chaeyeon merely tolerated. many times she considered suggesting that they abscond everything together in favor of the quiet life she had dreamt of since childhood. but even chaeyeon knew that was a lot to ask. she had her own responsibilities that she wouldn't walk away from either. her self-inflicted burden, that is.

the rift naturally grew and grew while contact with each other became harder to maintain. they talked less and less with the unintentional ghosting eventually and naturally giving way. regardless, chaeyeon constantly wondered if true reconcilement could still grow from where wounds of deadly mistreatment have pierced so deep.

chaeyeon's circumstance made five business days impossible to satisfy so she figured a month later was enough time to ascertain the next steps she must take in order to get out of the bind she had found herself in. surely a message back wouldn't have done anyone harm but chaeyeon was principally concerned and occupied with the plight of her little orphan friends—her found family, who had then suffered the consequence of her rebellion and a child had to have been made an example of just to prove to chaeyeon just how serious her superiors were about their end of the deal.

illuminated she was indeed, but also undoubtedly traumatised as the days following after the tragedy was spent trapped within the walls of her bedroom, believing her errors to be irretrievable and succumbing to passive ideation once again, succeeded by the numbness after no more tears could be shed. how lightly a decision could be made to terminate an innocent's life was inconceivable and in double the measure as they wave around theocracy without much reflection for their sanctimonious acts. chaeyeon might have been an assassin herself, albeit forced into the profession, but she felt she differed in the fact that she targeted those who were utterly abominable in nature. a child would be no such thing.

no amount of therapy would have gotten chaeyeon to the habit of finally reaching out to anyone for such awful troubles. she believed no one should have to bear the baggage of death unless it was concerning their own loved ones. she steered clear of poking her nose into such concerns either and only ever offered her condolences. in her mind, people should be allowed to grieve however they needed. sumin's follow up messages found chaeyeon steeped in mourning, red from the sniveling that was begging to be let out. "goodbye for now," it read. but it does nothing to her. at least in that moment, it hadn't registered yet. it took crying through her pores and running until her knees had come all to a tremble. about seven miles later, on top of the sleepless nights and the lack of hydration, the exhaustion hit her tenfold. she surrendered to it. after laying on the cold ground of early morning winter where she could have easily froze to death, if it wasn't an er visit at the very least, she awoke to the comfort of her bed. she had a couple of guesses as to who was responsible for her rescue, but it all dissipated at the sudden urge to run to her beloved, along with the unusual urge to apologise.

minutes mulled over the open message window amounted to nothing, however, with chaeyeon committing the biggest fumble of the century, sending naught but a simple 'hey' in a very classic 'rowan style', then having the nerve to say to herself, "and now we wait."

[dollypardonne]

Hi 👋, My name is Mohammad, and I’m reaching out in a moment of desperate need. I’m a father of three young children living in Gaza, and we are caught in the midst of a catastrophic war. Our home is no longer a safe haven, and the future here seems increasingly uncertain. 💔

I’ve launched a fundraising campaign with the goal of raising $40,000 to relocate my family to a safer place where my children can grow up in peace and have a chance at a brighter future.

Unfortunately, my previous fundraising efforts were abruptly halted when my account was terminated without explanation. However, I remain determined to keep fighting for my family’s safety and well-being. 🫶

If you could take a moment to read our story, consider donating, or simply share our campaign with others, it would make an incredible difference. Every act of kindness, no matter how small, brings us one step closer to safety and a new beginning. 🙏

Thank you for your time, compassion, and support. ❤️‍🩹

https://gofund.me/fd1faea2 🔗

i'm really broke but hoping whoever in my feed who can will see this. good luck to you mohammed 🙏

[dollypardonne]

bit of a life update here because i've been itching to write lately.

i got broken up with by my fiancé of 5 years a month after i disappeared here. but after coping for a couple of months, i enrolled myself back into college to finally pursue art. so while i'm working full-time, i'm also studying full-time but more intensely this time i suppose (i'm actually serious now that it's my choice to go and not that i'm forced to, on account of expectations). but on that note, i want specifically to do something within visdev, whether that's character design or concept art. the feedback that i get most from portfolio reviews is that i need to put my characters into more environments. since i've been drawing them more in that way, i've also been mapping out situations they could be in. i think documenting those stories through rp again would help me, not just for ideas, but also to motivate me to write them properly instead of just typing thoughts onto bullet points in my notes app or writing them roughly in my notebook. for portfolio reasons too, maybe? lol

anyway, all this to say this coming winter break i'm hoping to be on here again and keeping a slow and steady activity from there. sorry to everyone i have threads with, i'm so wishy washy. but i hope you can still take me! i'll reach out to you all about keeping ongoing threads or dropping them and starting new ones <3

[uroborosymphony]

"Come on darling, show me." A long time has passed since Haru and Ilana last made music together. Yes, time went, Haru built a name for himself, and oh she was happy for him. Her on the other hand, her world remained in the dirty sides of Seoul, never truly letting go of her speakeasy stage and the secrets behind it, far from the public eye and spotlights. She would often come by his studio however, he would play demos for her to listen. A cigarette in her hand when she listens, sitting down the desk in her dress, legs crossed - the sound is good, her head naturally moving to it with a smile that widens as the audio goes and finally stops. "Do not tell me This is just "from scatch" because it does sound so fucking heavenly good, this is Art. You know what," She speaks taking a hit, blowing the smoke to the side, " That is a Hit Haru. Bigger than anything you ever made, it made love to my ears," she lets a scoff out a her own quite cheesy line but meant. "i have a gift, the Gods of music they speak to me so you know I'm right. When success knocks even harder at your door once you release this pearl, you can tell yourself : Ilana saw it."

      @dollypardonne liked for a short starter.

[dollypardonne]

when haru says "listen, when i say 'from scratch' i just mean i recorded an audio of some random thing and made a beat out of it. that's not original, you should know this," it's not because he's fishing for compliments. he knew he didn't have to work that hard for ilana's kind words. she was very generous with them it almost felt undeserved.

"heavenly though? is that the vibe you're getting?" he stops to think, fingers gripping roughly on his chin. "that wasn't what i was going for," he sighed with the weight of his own expectations crushing him under, shoulders drooping down along. "but tell me more. maybe we could fix this feeling i have together." he spoke softly, wary of passing his mood onto the other and making her feel as if her appreciation wasn't noted as valuable. he shifts his voice to a more lighthearted tone, "help me see this vision of yours, miss ilana vessel of the goddess of music."

[deviika]

Lee Krasner // Franz Kafka

[deviika]

Check this out

[dollypardonne]

“you are too fucking... blonde!” (mika and haru uwu)

maybe it was the amount of bleaching haru's hair had gone through that had fried his brain or maybe despite how genetic compositions worked he's really just always been secretly a natural blonde. "look who's talking! you're whiter than me."