gracie abrams
Jules of Nature
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Xuebing Du
$LAYYYTER
EXPECTATIONS
Misplaced Lens Cap
ellievsbear
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Discoholic 🪩
RMH
we're not kids anymore.
NASA
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
todays bird
Keni
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
pixel skylines
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
The Bowery Presents
seen from United States
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@literalminded
I'm horrible at maintaining blog stuff but that's on account of LifeTM, and in general not being here so I can focus on other stuff. BUT I will be trying to write. Should you want me to attempt to plot something for our blogs just give this a like or dm me and I'll work on it.
programming is explaining instructions to a computer like its 5 and watching it completely misunderstand what you say
ｗａｌｒｉｄｉｎｇ
He wishes he had a cigarette in his hands but is trying to stave off the habit for the moment being. Just like he’s tamping down the instinct to say something bitter and cutting, something mean. This is supposed to be an adult conversation after all.
“I could try.” Has tried. In the time they’ve been apart he’s wanted nothing more than to scrape thoughts and memories of Waylon out of his skull, but the tech is wound too tightly around his brain to find much success there. If Miles cared less it would be easier. If his heart wasn’t just as surely caught up on something – someone – his mind wanted to be better off without. “If that’s what you wanted, what we both wanted. I’d try.”
At least he’s good at stomaching his own heartache. Plenty of practice there.
He leans back, folds his arms across his chest, sighs. “Rules about how personal we want this to get. I want to know if this is just business for you. If I’m still just a means to Murkoff’s end.” Finally he looks at Waylon, expression tight and unreadable. “Or if there’s another reason why you keep blowing up my burner phones.”
Miles’ answer has both a spoken and an unspoken component. Waylon inhales, then exhales slowly, sighing as he stares at his own hands. His fingernails had all been bitten down to nearly nothing. A terrible habit. There's enough nail on one thumb that he could bite it off now, but he resists the urge by curling it beneath his fingers, tucking the temptation away instead. Dark brows furrow as Miles mentions the both of them wanting it should they go through with Option One.
His eyebrows furrow further when Miles continues speaking, bringing rules into it. Rules are easier for him. Like math. Something to follow. The last remark wipes clean any replies he'd formulated. Waylon is up to bat and he just struck out. He forgot how infuriating it could be to talk with Miles when on the wrong side of the reporter.
Waylon shifts where he's seated at, stretching one leg in front of the other before crossing them at the ankles.
“I don't want to forget.” Waylon starts at the beginning, retraces his mental footsteps and works his way up to Miles' last comment. “I – I don't think that I can.” Even if Miles could, Waylon would struggle with it, as evidenced by the burner phones. “Rules...” He trails off, thinking about the fact that Miles had to ask about it being personal or not and Waylon gives him a long, considerate look.
“Miles, I couldn’t have this conversation over a phone, or e-mail.” He makes a confession of his own, the paranoia he lives with on display in the spoken admission. “You're not just business.” Never could just be business despite Waylon trying at one point to make it be. “It doesn't have to be anything more than friendship but I don't want to act like you're an anonymous info source.” Waylon's eyes drop again, focused on his fidgeting left leg that had come uncrossed as he spoke. “But that’s how I feel, you’ve got, well your own, you, uh-” A shrug of both shoulders and vague gesture in the vain hope that Miles picks up where he is leaving off.
“Who are you?”
Midnight at the Pera Palace, 1.06
ｃｏｎｔｉｎｕｅｄ ｆｒｏｍ ｔｈｉｓ ｆｏｒ
@wclrider
Never would he have thought that this is where his choices would lead. All those days, months, years ago. One decision snowballed into an avalanche and somehow he had gained the most unlikely of allies while making some of the worst enemies. If he didn't have his family to live for, he isn't sure he would have bothered fighting through it all as he had.
He glances up at what had once comprised his nightmares, Walrider, and feels a familiar phantom itch within his skull.
A flinch of acknowledgment in the shared understanding of pain as more blood seeps between pale fingers. They spasm slightly, tightening to try and staunch the flow as best he can with what strength he has left. A sound draws his attention, wide eyes darting towards it and away from what used to haunt his memories. Just as quickly his focus jumps back to the Walrider, lingers on It as pupils waver. He isn't sure how to ask for help when he is still making amends. When he's still trying to fix the bugs in his own coding so to speak. Before he has to say anything the Other does first, and is gone in a rush of sounds that makes his eyes ache. So he closes them and tips his head back, grinding his teeth against one another to try and take his mind off of what's happening. Easy enough, he has plenty of practice distracting himself with code and math and –
Oh, It's back.
Waylon shudders then snags his hand away from his bleeding side as though it were on fire the moment he feels the wound close of its own accord. How Miles could stand the sensation is beyond him. His stomach churns unpleasantly while his mind races with the implications of the healing technically speaking. Sometimes he wishes he could shut off that part of his brain.
“Thank you.” He grits out through the uncanny sensation. It was not meant for him. Despite the screaming in his head of 'wrong wrong wrong', he's grateful to not die today. But it isn't lost on him – the irony in who his savior is. Again.
The voice of his former boss rings clear, Racking up quite the debt there Mr. Park.
It gets overpowered by the Walrider's order, and Waylon shivers. He'd always been a little too keen to understand the software behind the Walrider, but even he knew there was more to It than that. No amount of pouring over the lines had given him any epiphany or explanation, and even seeing the Engine hadn't offered him clarity. Waylon gets his good leg underneath and leverages himself up, wobbling only slightly as he regains his balance.
“I would have gotten up eventually.” He mumbles, mostly to himself, as if to make a point, but then his fingers brush across the torn fabric and he looks down to the exposed but whole flesh beneath. “To survive.” A quiet echo of words.
“What the fuck.” The reality of what the Walrider did settles on him and his chin jerks up so he can stare in Its direction, but never for too long. “You can do that?” A hint of panic creeps in, overlapping the amazement.
ｗａｌｒｉｄｉｎｇ
@literalminded liked for a starter
“If we want this to work, we need to… talk.” One corner of his lip curls lightly with distaste. For a man who prides himself on his honesty and staunch refusal to pull punches, Miles has never been good with frank emotional conversations. They make him feel too exposed, too raw.
And this particular wound is like a scab he just keeps picking off.
“Set some ground rules. Expectations.” He snorts a sharp sigh through his nose. “That, or we just pretend like none of this shit ever happened.” Easier said than done. It always is.
Fingers stop pulling at the loose thread along his sleeve, long enough for him to finally snap it off and stop distracting him so he can glance up and briefly meet Miles' eyes. He briefly entertains the notion of writing out a function, describing how they're stuck in the loop of it, then tamps it down.
“Alright.” Ever eloquent with the one word replies. Waylon narrows his eyes, skeptical of the proposed solution.
“Can you do that?” He asks, hazarding a guess, but wanting to hear for himself. “Forget everything?” One eyebrow lifts. Of the two of them, Waylon wouldn't think that Miles would be the one to follow through on such a suggestion, but he thinks he knows why he's offering it. Trying to give an easy out when it isn't deserved. A prolonged moment of silence, “What kind of rules?”
His propensity for talking had declined over the years, but he could make the effort.
I’ll be your family. Let’s get married. YOUTH OF MAY 2021 – dir. Song Min Yeop
*steps out of my room covered in blood, severely disheveled, and with signs of having been crying for hours* I sent that e-mail I had to send
wclrider
❝ 𝙳𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝚃. ❞
“I will be very gentle.” A reassuring nod, “Just like a BSOD in the night.”
v fun to draw eheheheheheeeeee :)
Madison Kuhn
more random dialogue prompts ,
“why do you have that look on your face?”
“finish what you’re doing, we have to talk.”
“what have you done to yourself?”
“did you do something different with your hair?”
“it doesn’t do any good to get worked up.”
“when was the last time we had a real conversation.”
“are you in the witness protection program, or what?”
“there’s something wrong with me.”
“no, i don’t hate you.”
“hey stupid.”
“we’re aren’t them.”
“looks like i’ll live long enough to make you pay.”
“you know you’re wrong.”
“i don’t understand, why are you doing this?”
“now, before i say anything, promise me you’ll stay calm.”
“what makes me so special?”
“you have no idea what i’ve been through.”
“you really don’t have to do that, not for me.”
“did you really think you’d get a second chance?”
"how about we don’t do that.”
“i have a lot going for me, but humility is not one of them.”
“you’re the worst.”
“i don’t need you right now.”
“don’t just stand there, looking at me.”
“i thought you were supposed to call me.”
“take my hand.”
“i need you.”
“you’re allowed to need help sometimes.”
“for someone who doesn’t like to feel things, you sure feel a lot of it out loud.”
“when this is all over, i want it to be you and me.”
“why won’t you tell me what happened?”
“you don’t know what this means to me.
“i know it doesn’t make sense.”
“i’m trying really hard to keep it together.”
“i know you’re new, but we do things a little differently here.”
“your voice is putting me to sleep.”
“did you find what you were looking for?”
"you knew and you didn’t even warn me?”
“well, i guess that’s broken.”
“i thought it was part of the act.”
“you think u don’t know you’re only here because they sent you?”
“you promised to call me if you didn’t know what to wear.”
“you can keep a secret, can’t you?”
“how could you do this to me?”
“put the gun down, dearest. i have news!”
“i know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but you need to know something.”
“if you’re here to tell me what happened last night, someone beat you to it.”
“people think i’m weird.”
“i think i’m losing myself again.”
“you can’t be here.”
“i wish you’d come to the funeral.”
“do you know what today is?”
“so, you broke my favourite mug… and you’re breaking up with me?”
“i need to get out.”
“it’s like i’m cursed or something.”
“you are remarkably well-behaved tonight, what have you been up to?”
“you gonna eat that?”
“sir, the pony rides are for children only.”
“i don’t want you to worry about that anymore.”
“we’ll never make it in time.”
“you’d be late for your own funeral.”
“you should have seen it coming.”
“oh, good, you’re here! hold this.”
“why can’t you just be happy for me?”
“on a scale of one to ten, how do you feel about nachos right now?”
“is this how you flirt with everyone?”
“how much longer till we’re there?”
“what have you done?”
“it’s time for you to repay that debt you owe me.”
“where did you get that? who gave it to you?”
“what kind of mother has thoughts like that?”
“i know I haven’t been what you needed, but i’m here, and i wanna help.”
“i never want to hear you say that again.”
“you’re all i have.”
“i know it’s not perfect, but i did follow the recipe this time.”
“i was doing so well until you showed up.”
“don’t eat that! i made it ‘specially for our guest.”
“it’s not that i don’t like my life, it’s that i don’t have the energy to enjoy it.”
“how can you stand this place?”
“don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t exactly blend in.”
“you need to stop.”
“i don’t like that look, what happened?”
“is that seriously your password?”
“what’s your problem?”
“you had no right to use it without asking.”
“oh, wow, you weren’t kidding.”
“i couldn’t trust my own parents to protect me.”
“i’m surprised you haven’t been arrested yet. wait, no, i’m not.”
“why do you want to help me?”
“ten bucks for that piece of crap?”
“we have to hurry, they’re coming!”
“hey, look what came in the mail!”
“do you want to get a drink or something?”
“please tell me you didn’t eat that.”
“the worst part is you didn’t even notice.”
“if i wanted help, i would have asked.”
“wanna tell me what’s going on with your grades?”
“you need to leave.”
“talk to me, okay? i need to know what’s going on.”
“i do blame you.”
“sometimes life deals you a bad hand, but you can still play your cards right and win.”
“you’re no longer useful to me.”
“i’m not good with sarcasm: if you don’t like me, just say it.”
Lee Dohyun as Lee Eunhyuk (Sweet Home, 2020)
The heat had finally started to let up. Meaning Waylon wasn't sweating through his sheets every night and he could actually drink warm coffee instead of the atrocity that was iced coffee. He'd still drink it. Things were starting to look up. For everything aside from his aching joints. The only downside of the changing seasons was the sharp pain that settled into his lower extremities and wrists. Even his neck held a cramp at the base of his vertebrae that got worse whenever a snowstorm rolled in. He'd take the aches over blisteringly hot summer nights regardless. Ibuprofen existed for a reason.
Rambling thoughts on the weather and his poorly aging injuries pull him away from the task at hand. Fatigued eyes drift from the laptop towards the opened window where he can stare out at the trees. Vivid red leaves changing to a golden yellow, clinging to the branches. It's peaceful with the wind picking up just enough to send the sound of the rustling foliage his way.
When was the last time he'd gone for a walk?
Bloodshot eyes dart between the window and his computer screen. There was time to work on this later, but the sun would be setting in a couple hours and it'd probably be uncomfortably cold if he tried to go for a walk then. So he stretches his legs out and walks over to his front door, sliding on his shoes and pulling a baseball cap snug over his head. The jacket gets left hanging where it's at, but he does grab the keys out of its pocket. One twirl of the ring on his index finger, a jingle jangle of approval and he's out the door, locking it behind him before he sets off.
Some leaves have already started to fall off the branches, and the satisfying crunch beneath his sneakers is enough to justify dealing with the inevitable knee pain later that night. Waylon breathes in deep through his nose, savoring the fresh scent of the outdoors. Light dapples in through the treetops and it's quiet. Peaceful. Waylon would make a promise to himself to take more walks in the middle of his work-day but he knows he won't keep it. His mind goes quiet, blissfully blank as he lets his feet guide him with no destination in mind.
Eventually he stops and takes a seat on a downed tree, stretching out his aching right leg. Breathing in, out, the not-so-distant birdsong soothes him into a complacency he doesn't often allow himself when indoors, but it's different out in nature. Distinct from cloying spaces and small hallways.
Waylon's head tilts back and he closes his eyes, letting the seconds turn into minutes as he basks in the calm.
