we kiss ourselves to pieces.･ﾟ✧

don’t [ B U R N ] me because i have a HEART of fiery GOLD. i am etherereal to the skin, and i am breathing C O N S T E L L A T I O N S, so you can not destroy [STARS]. you can not destroy me.

[edenwaverly]

smoothindecision:

    Staying up to date with the most current music is crucial for the amount of running that she doesn’t on a weekly basis. After awhile listening to the same playlist over and over again starts to dull her enthusiasm, and she never ends up running as far or as much as she does when she pops her ear buds in and presses play on a brand new playlist. Stopping into the local music shop is not as uncommon as someone who knew her in high school might be. The blonde is browsing through a section of CDs that are filed under the ‘P’ section, tapping her foot along to the beat of the song playing through their speakers. Surprisingly, Addison knows what the name of the song is, usually she has a hard time trying to decipher whatever is playing on their playlist. “It’s Paris by the Chainsmokers.”

Thick, expressive eyebrows raise in interest. “Oh? They did that one song, didn’t they…Kanye? You know, I wanna be like Kanye, I be the king of me all day… Or is that someone else?” His head cants to the side as he turns his body towards the source of the noise. It might have seemed odd to strike up conversation with a perfect stranger, but the speaker had been kind enough to answer and the boy considered himself outgoing. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at following this kind of stuff. This song isn’t too bad though.:

[edenwaverly]

There was something soothing about music shops. Second only to bookstores, the tall male felt at ease there. It was the same feeling he used to get stepping onto the freshly-cut grass of the football field in anticipation of a match. Instead of the cheers of the crowd and the laughter of his peers, there was the crooning vocals of up-and-coming artists or fresh musicians who had their demons played in indie stores in hopes of striking gold with a label. Currently, he was between the aisles, unsure of which section he was in specifically. It didn’t matter either, he was here to hear their playlist. It changed up daily, always consisting of little-known, incredible music. The current song made his insides feel like they were twisting in the most incredible way, like winter was scraping its teeth against his ribs. With a contented sigh, he spoke, loud enough for anyone near him to hear him, “What’s this song? It’s quite good.”

[williamah-blog1]

to see a genuine smile on will was a rare and fragile sight. but even when smiling will had a way of being somehow completely unreadable. nonetheless, he emits something effervescent, a glowing ball of subtle light even in moments of seeming completely unable to interpret. “ i think i’ve grown tired of people comparing people to things in the sky and things in the ground. ” will chimes in with a breathy laugh, his hands gesturing vaguely before he continues. “ you know what i mean, right ? so many writing pieces and poems i read lately have something to do with that. people compare their lovers to stars, planets, the sun, the moon, and clouds. or it’s flowers, trees, leaves, and grass. i see it all the time. it makes me wonder whatever happened in the middle to make people focus on just way up or way down. am i making any sense ? ” the boy laughs again, hues of honey brown squinting, his expression remaining content but wandering. “ i sound bloody mental, don’t i ? ”

[edenwaverly]

eden appears to consider it for a minute, his chin finding its place in the groove of where his thumb was, tucked inside his balled fist. his eyebrows, thick and expressive slanted upward. “i’m inclined to agree with you. i wouldn’t say i’m tired of it, however, i feel like it’s too tried now. there is nothing novel about it really. i am definitely growing tired of stars imagery. ‘you have stardust in your veins’ and the like. it makes me feel like i’m reading the same poem over and over.” one of his hands comes up to brush over his hair. “how would you describe people then? describe someone here,” he motioned around them, where there were no doubt people going about their business, looking between the shelves of their bookshop. he wanted to ask someone to describe that, too. he spends most of his days here and he doesn’t even know what colour the walls are. he can barely even remember what colours are like. every year since the incident makes everything around him feel darker and darker, like maybe his world has always been covered in shadows.

[flowerun-blog1]

even without the whispered forecasts and rush of preparation, he would have known it was coming. there has been an ever-present aching reminder of every bone he’s ever fractured that foreshadows the severity of the billowy black clouds on the horizon. it feels like the kind of natural eventual that changes things; that carries the weight of something more with it. something wicked this way comes. 

neil casts a sideways glance at the gloomy grey sky directly above as he bends to touch his toes. thunder rumbles far off shore, a prelude to what the restless coast has been hinting at all week. his bones sigh another ebbing ache. a warning. 

he ignores it. he knows what being caught out in this storm means — he still ties up his laces; wraps his fingers around each of his ankles in turn to drag their respective leg up, bending their respective knee. reckless.

a feeling lodges in his chest, something shimmery. he rolls back and forth from toe to heel, bouncing in place a bit to loosen up his muscles. he does not look directly at the sky again but the pounding in his ears sounds more like faraway rain on the water than an anxious heart beat. 

he ignores this, too. pale blues do stray toward the chalk cliffs in the distance but he knows better, weak to the memory of the last time he was caught in bad weather with good company. what if this storm ends… he doesn’t finish the thought. inhale, exhale. repeat. he takes off toward the beach.

[edenwaverly]

eden can smell the storm on the horizon. it felt like electricity was crackling in the air around him, and the town was abuzz. parents shouting hysterically at kids that refused to leave the beach, that didn’t understand why. he hears dogs barking, the gulls squawking as they always do, and the scratching noise the sand makes as he pushes at it with his walking stick. he had been doing his work at the beach when he heard the news. a classmate of his worked as a lifeguard and had immediately come running over. “yellow raincoat,” he’d noted, “how cliche.”

eden had shrugged. he didn’t know what colour it was. his aunt had bought it for him and it seemed most fitting for the weather. then with a hand on his elbow helping him up followed by a hand on his back leading him forward, he was being escorted off the beach. he remembers how dry his mouth had gotten, feeling a little pitiful with the way that, really, this boy should have been helping taming children and escorting the elderly, but maybe he was viewed as somehow similarly invalid. like he wouldn’t be able to walk back by himself if the wind blew too strongly. he keeps his comments to himself. he was well-intentioned after all. that’s what matters in the end.

the hand on his back tenses; he feels fingers denting the fabric of his coat before his friend’s voice fills the air in something of a disgruntled bellow. “excuse me, clear the beach, now.” he isn’t sure who he’s talking to, but the hand leaves his back hesitantly. “eden, just a second, alright? wait here for me. gotta sort out these fucking kids.”

he feels the presence beside him disappear and hears the sound of rushed footsteps on the beach. a hand comes up to rub over his face, his fingertips finding the grooves in his scarred skin before he takes a deep breath. he doesn’t need to wait. he doesn’t want to either, but the guilt he’d feel over just leaving wraps around his feet and keeps him rooted there, on the beach between the caresses of the howling wind.

he isn’t sure how long he’s standing there before he hears footsteps, only they’re nothing like his companion’s. these are rushed in a different way, their movement frantic, zombie-like, uncertain. he clears his throat, his thick eyebrows coming together in a furrow. “they’re saying - ” his mouth twists hesitantly, thinking about how to finish his thought best. “it’s not safe. you should get off the beach.”

[kelsey-adams]

Kelsey had woken up slightly hungover from the night before, she had worked then stayed afterwards to drink. She wasn’t even sure what time she had gotten home at but she was pretty sure the sun had been coming up. All she need now was a large cup of coffee and something to eat, however when she opened her fridge it was empty. It was becoming a more regular thing since her moms new boyfriend had decided this was his new crash pad. She rolled her eyes slamming the fridge closed. She didn’t really feel like getting ready or leaving the house but she figured it was better then hanging around here all day. After Kelsey was dressed she headed straight to the nearest coffee shop with her head phones plugged in and drowning out the world around her.

She had carried her coffee and muffin through the place was pretty busy but she managed to grab a table for two just as a couple left. After playing a very intense round of candy crush, which she seriously needed to stop playing, she saw someone doing the same walk-through the place that she had done not long ago, but she wasn’t sure they were going to get quite as lucky as her. She decided to pull her head phones out, “Hey if you can’t find a spot I might be willing to share my table.” 

[edenwaverly]

As a rule, Eden avoided coffee shops. Not only were they cramped with too much furniture and difficult to navigate, but he never cared much for coffee either. It tended to overstimulate his already buzzing brain to an extent which made it impossible to concentrate on anything at all. One of his course-mates, Angela, swore the four coffees she had at this very cafe, was the only reason she got a first in her last coursework. Being a man of science, he had to test it himself. Obviously. That and the fact he hadn’t slept the night before and was nodding off whenever he stood in one place for too long. It was either coffee or a face full of cement.

After paying for his order, he began awkwardly moving around and trying to discern whether the tables around him were empty or not. It became apparent that he wasn’t doing an incredibly subtle job of it when he heard someone to his left addressing him. With a ready, bashful smile, he tilted his head in their general direction. “I am having some trouble, yeah,” He admitted, his hand gripping tighter on the walking stick held between his fingers. “I wouldn’t want to disturb, but the offer is very kind. Thank you.”

[edenwaverly]

I am so tired and exhausted from work imma shower then get on for a bit ly

[swamfree-blog]

        exhaustion has plagued the better part of a month. if he was being honest, winter had known it was only a matter of time before it happened when he’s been so spectacular at failing to take care of himself. winter, however, is very rarely honest it would seem. especially about his health. oh, how the mighty fall. a year’s worth of sick days already lost, he meanders into work almost as if he’s retreating. sheepishness curls thin shoulders, a wilted version of himself. feeling guilty when he only half ought to. he offers polite greets to his coworkers, if a bit quieter than usual.

[edenwaverly]

        the bell over the shop door gives its feeble chime when it pushes open, followed by the footsteps of the person entering. he doesn’t have enough sound clues to figure out who it is yet. the greeting gives him enough to identify the person as one of his coworkers, someone he hasn’t seen around in the past few weeks. “hey,” he greets evenly, setting down the book he’d been holding. his hand then reaches up to rub over his scarred face. “long time.” 

[hadlcy]

“Do you know how to, um… I mean, okay. So.” Hadley’s staring at a piece of paper, looking far too formal to be anything less than serious. He seems a touch distressed. Just a touch. “Say you need to tell your mum something. And like, I’ve got this friend who told me that this something is much worse than I originally thought it was, since it’s their profession to sort something’s just like this particular something out. And you’re pretty sure your mum is going to be upset, ‘cause this something is going to cost a lot of money to sort. On top of that, you’ve sort of been keeping it from her, and you’ve had her something at your place and skipped Sunday tea because you wanted to fix it before you saw her. How would you go about telling her that, as it turns out, you can’t afford to fix it?” He pauses, clears his throat. “The something, I mean.”

[edenwaverly]

Conversations between himself and the other boy were sparse at best, and normally Eden would come up with an elaborate excuse for why he needed to be somewhere else. His skin creased between his furrowed eyebrows. “Hm. Well. She’s definitely going to be frustrated, maybe, about the costs and about the fact you didn’t tell her before. But.” He wet his lips contemplatively. “Maybe tell her that you fully intend to pay her for it in return? Put away a nominal amount from your monthly earnings and eventually you’ll be able to pay her back for it. She’s your mother. She’ll understand as long as you’re apologetic about not telling her, honest about why you didn’t tell her, and proactive about solutions.”

[edenwaverly]

dantewinston:

although eden doesn’t seem like he wants to share his knowledge about oompa loompas, dante is quite intrigued. “no, tell me why,” he says with a slight chuckle. not only is dante interested as to why they’re orange, he’s interested about how eden knows this. he can’t recall if that information is shared in the movie or if eden is just a full on fan. “I’m more of a movie person than a television person,” he shrugs, replying to eden’s surprise. unlike the other show, dante has heard of doctor who before. “made in chelsea sounds quite interesting. I suppose I’ll have to give it a watch.”

“well,” eden begins, reaching up to scratch gently at the growing stubble on his jawline. “in the first version of the story, the oompa loompas were actually african pygmies, imported by mr. wonka from the ‘deepest and darkest part of the African jungle where no white man had been before’. they work for the wage of cacao beans, sing songs that are almost war-chants and allow themselves to be experimented on. now, when the movie came around, the directors avoided the racist implications of the source material by changing the oompa loompas’ skin to orange and their hair to green. it created a sort of racial ambiguity - however, the source material was immediately attacked by a more modern audience, forcing dahl to change the oompa loompas in a revised version of the novel that made them golden-haired and rosy-faced. so...long story short, oompa loompas are orange because of a creative decision to avoid the depiction of a very racist facet of the book.” he said matter-of-factly. “i read about it once,” he offered unprompted. he didn’t need anyone thinking he was any level dahl-obsessed. he’d read the books, enjoyed matilda, but didn’t care much about him. he grins a little knowing smile. “oh? let me know what you think of it.”

[inner-majic]

Visit Original Link

A Little Opus -Little Comets

You feel the weight of imposition, bear heavy on your own decision. Fate to face, they multiply; the crush of language and the cedent school ties, the subtle angels of tradition.

[edenwaverly]

williamah:

will makes a vague gesture with his hands, trying to muster an example that precisely fits. “ okay – so, you know when you’re eating cheetos and it kinda stains the tips of your fingers orange ? that’s the kinda orange he is, i think. like – just gross, dusty orange, you know what i mean ? " 

eden was definitely, definitely not one to talk about anyone’s looks, he figures, but he feels certain men make themselves the exception. donald trump is one of these men. “i’m torn between feeling a little grossed out or feeling impressed with that imagery. i can definitely picture it now.” he misses out on a lot of the jokes that revolve solely around trump’s appearance. “for why? nobody is born orange. i know they call it a fake tan but it’s more like a fake lucozade if anything.”

[edenwaverly]

dantewinston:

“really, really, orange,” dante replies, nodding his head a bit. “sort of like an oompa loompa. I’ve never heard of ‘made in chealsea orange,’ but if it’s very orange, then yes. you’ve got the president of the united states of america.”

“ah,” he thinks he can picture it now. “did you know, oompa loompas are orange because — ” he practically physically bites down on his tongue to keep the not so fun fact from slipping messily from his mouth. “never mind that morbid piece of information. made in chelsea is a show. i’m surprised you haven’t stumbled across it yet. i feel like it’s practically thrust upon you the minute you step inside the uk border. kind of like doctor who, but less time lords and more shitlords.”

[edenwaverly]

ohhhcharlie:

“unfortunately, that seems the case. he’s more like an orangish-tan at the moment. it’s definitely been more orange in the past. though you don’t need to be able to see him to know he’s a truly ugly soul,” charlie replied, bitterness in her voice. her facebook feed was flooded with all things american politics. if she didn’t have to work, she definitely would have joined the london women’s march. 

The smile that pulls on his lips is definitely a hesitant one, and he does his best not to let the micro aggression settle in his thoughts for more time than it’s worth. Well, he wasn’t asking about his soul and he doesn’t appreciate being told sight was unnecessary in any degree, but he forwent pointing either of those things out. “We’re not doing much better on our end either. We’re in for an interesting few years.”

[demiiwhiffin]

[edenwaverly]

“is he really orange?” eden remarks dubiously, trying to picture the way the new president of the ‘free world’ looks based on common description. “how orange? capri-sun orange or made in chelsea orange?”

[maxwoll]

“working on the door last night really opened my eyes to just how many people try to get into neon underage and the measures they will take to get in. i swear i was flashed three times in the span of fifteen minutes, threatened to be hit on multiple occasions and i lost count of all the people trying to seduce me. there was even someone who tried to crawl around my legs. i don’t remember any teen trying to do those things when i was in high school.”

[edenwaverly]

a boyish laugh rolled over his lips, mirth colouring his expression. he canted his head to the side, the shades he had perched on the bridge of his nose sliding slightly downward in the process. he tried to think back to his school days, before everything that happened, and he couldn’t really relate either. “when i was in school, the general rule was that if we were to go out, it’d be to a house party. i wouldn’t dare try to swing a fake id or trick the bouncers...not that i have anything to flash,” he muttered, motioning toward his flat chest.

[edenwaverly]

noblekennedy:

“i mean hey, I’ve been places where it snowed one day and then two days later it was almost seventy.” Noble shrugged, knowing it was more for himself than the other. Noble laughed when the other asked to be indulged. “Well, emotions are things you feel, and crazy deep things include but are not limited to: space, the sea, some poetry. Anything else?” 

“Me, too,” Eden concedes. “It doesn’t normally snow properly in this part of England though. At least not snow that sticks.” He let out a small snort. “Well, I’m a little disappointed. Here I thought you were actually going to say something emotional or crazy deep. This will do, however.” He takes a sip from his own drink. He isn’t a fan of being drunk, most days. He’s made this drink last most of the night. “Some music,” He offered as his addition to ‘crazy deep’ things.