Revamping.
occasionally subtle
No title available
hello vonnie

⁂
official daine visual archive

izzy's playlists!

★
Keni

titsay
almost home

PR's Tumblrdome

roma★
Mike Driver
noise dept.
No title available
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

shark vs the universe
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
EXPECTATIONS
𓃗
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from Brazil
seen from Ukraine

seen from Lithuania

seen from Malaysia
seen from Jamaica
seen from Venezuela
seen from Azerbaijan
@nxvrmre-blog
Revamping.
160226 at KBS building for Music Bank recording jjajang | do not edit
(Christo Dela Monte. Musician. Half Vampire.)
I want to be defined by the sound of my voice, not by the blood that runs through my veins. I refuse to be (a monster) like them.
working on replies for tonight. add me @n.evermore on aim if you want to talk, even if it’s for the first time. plotting is good, too!
“C'mon, with anyone else this would be too weird.”
Elijah’s face hovered a mere handful of centimeters from the other’s, their protruding noses nearly brushing against one another with every spoken word. His brows furrowed deep as they knotted together; the concentration surging through him, turning Elijah’s frame rigid, had been deliberately etched into each of his twisted features.“That’s because I’m the only one who knows how fucking picky you are with how your hair gets cut.” The older of the two muttered lazily, words heavy as they fall from his lips. The retort halted momentarily, continuing only once the scissors cradled in a calloused hand snapped closed– sending short clippings of hair to the ground beneath them. “I should start charging you every time you want your bangs trimmed. I’d be rich.”
xi. vermillion halo spreads across the gashed path, mother sleeping with her eyes open. father closes your fingers around metal, his forked tongue smelling like gunpowder. spring comes and shrapnel becomes your pollen. this is the season of reaping.
xviii. roses bloom around your lonely hands, ribcage combusting and dancing in flames. father closes his eyes under your fingertips, his breath coloring the air with absence. winter comes and splinters become your bones. this is the season of decay.
xix. destruction litters your floor with paintings, carnage another dream that you learn to forget. father is a ghost under your skin, your nails leaving streaks of angry red. summer comes and lies become your constellations. this is the season of atonement.
xxi. shards leave gashes on your palms, memories whisper along the hallways of your thoughts. they are never forgotten, unmarked graves planted in your soul. autumn comes and survival becomes a shade of your synthesis. this is the season of salvation.
FOLLOW THE SCRIPTURE →
+ a starter for each reblog; thank you for your help !
Non-romantic fluff starters
“Here, I saved some for you. Try it?”
“I just really need a hug right now…”
“You. Me. Movie marathon. Get all the snacks you can carry.”
“Join me in the blanket fort. We play until dawn.”
“It’s cake, how difficult can it be?”
“Sure, it *looks* safe, but watch what happens when I do this.”
“I had a nightmare… can you stay up with me?”
“We’re going to have to raid the neighbors if you want more pillows to turn this into a Pillow Fortress Castle.”
“This would look so cute on you!”
“Okay, but if you turn the lights off for this playthrough, I’m not being held accountable for anything I do when spooked.”
“I said we could share a blanket, but if you put your cold feet on me *one more time*…”
“You’ve been working too hard and I’m calling a Netflix intervention. Not taking no for an answer.”
“I’ve got a gallon of ice cream and if you don’t get a spoon my tummyache will be all your fault.”
“Fight me. Pillow fight. And by fight I mean cuddle.”
“My hand is cold. Unless we find somewhere to stop soon, it’s going up your back.”
“Oh my god, just pet my hair already.”
“After that movie you’re staying for a sleepover. I know you don’t want to go home and sleep alone anyway.”
“Is there a reason you’re gnawing on me?”
“C'mon, I need a Player 2.”
“I bet you can’t make it all the way through the movie without screaming at it.”
“If you put that in the microwave uncovered I swear I will beat you to death with a plastic spoon.”
“What was that flavor of cake you liked? I need to know because reasons.”
“When we get that house you’re handling the spiders.”
“Going to the mall alone is boring. Besides, I need someone to tell me how great I look in all the clothes I try on.”
“It’s not MY fault you scream like a schoolgirl on a rollercoaster.”
“It’s an arcade, do you need more reasons to go?”
“Please tell me why you were napping in my freshly dried blankets *while they’re still in the dryer*.”
“Can we please take cheesy best friend pictures in that photo booth? I promise to keep silly faces to a minimum.”
“I’m singing along to this song and you can’t stop me, so either deal with it or join me.”
“C'mon, with anyone else this would be too weird.”
“I hate this game so much. Here’s a link, you should totally play it.”
“I take no responsibility for any smells you may or may not encounter from this point forward.”
“HELP I HAVE A SPLINTER”
“Okay, but consider that if you don’t watch this show with me, I’ll still rant to you just as much about the feels it gives me.”
“If anyone turns that fan off again I swear someone’s going to bleed.”
“Help me, the computer’s making sad beeps again. Make it happy, please.”
“THIS MOVIE MAKES ME CRY EVERY TIME WHY DID YOU LET ME CHOOSE IT?!”
“I have in front of me: One DVD, seven remote controls, and an entertainment center. This will be a voyage of discovery.”
“If I die, you get my cat. So make sure I live through this.”
“I need someone to cling to in the haunted house, and you’re it.”
“Yeah, but you’re *my* nerd.”
“The remote is two feet thataway and I don’t feel like moving. We’re stuck with this.”
“You are aware this was the worst idea ever and you’re lucky you’re my best friend, or else I’d leave you alone to deal with this.”
“I’d say sorry my mom tried to adopt you again, but it was kind of my idea.”
“There is a perfectly good reason I’m eating these mini marshmallows right out of the package, I’m certain of it. Probably.”
“Okay but hear me out: Fluffy. Sharks.”
“Please keep your sick away from me and get better soon. I made you soup.”
“That sounds like a bad idea. I’m in.”
“If you don’t come up and sing with me, I will sing and point at you. The entire. Time.”
“We made a pact based on SpongeBob jokes, you can’t back out now.”
@jaehn:
“so what?” he replied immediately as he stared at the other. He didn’t liked when other people pointed out things about him or anything about him. “leave me alone if you are going to talk about such things right now” he said. “only if you want to get punched this time.” he grumbled, they weren’t even friends, he was just someone he would hang out with.
“Hey..... hey.” Elijah drawled out from behind a subdued, slowly curling grin. His heavy-footed gait brought him two steps to the left, staggering out of the other’s reach to ensure his own safety. Eli fit his wide-spread grip over his fragile left arm; lazily soothing the dull burn he’d yet to encounter. “Not again, man. I looked like a fucking raisin cookie the last time you threw some knuckles.” He paused; expression contorting like the words spilling from Eli’s lips carried a fanciful tease laced through every syllable.
“Not squeamish, then.... Just a little feisty.”
Oh. Sid wasn’t out of line was he? “I mean, not snappy! Sarcastic? Surprising? I’m surprised!” He accents the last word with the enlarging of his eyes. Now he looks like a bug, perhaps.
English. Korean. English. Korean. This catches Sid’s attention. They can’t settle on what they prefer and just run like the wind bullseye? Lucky for Sid, he can keep up. “What is easier for you? English or Korean?” First sentence, Korean. Second sentence, English. No, Sid isn’t mocking Elijah! Maybe.
A bill? Sid gives the other the most lop-sided contortion of confusion he can manage before bursting into a fit of laughter. Much too loud for a museum setting. Even if it’s for film.
“True. Okay. Name an animal. One second to think of it, go. No second-thought answers.”
“English.” The answer, along with it’s initial query, is so blatantly straightforward that Elijah unwittingly finds his own way of fucking up the response. English, he negligently replies, in his accented Korean. It’s a laugh that bubbles out from behind Elijah’s chewed lips that fills the air between dead and nearly half-dead; be it an unduly reaction to Sid’s absurd expression, or a squeezed attempt of hiding Elijah’s own blunder-- hell, if even he would know.
An animal? Elijah’s first thought would be the Creature from the Black Lagoon, but lips parted and a tongue curled around his second answer; blurting out his next-best thing. Besides, he’s didn’t fit the qualifications, right? Name an animal, fish-man monster not included.
“... Tapir. You seen one before?”
He was just reaching out, fingers about to grasp the last packed tiny, delicious, milky bread bun, when – out of nowhere – his hand bumped against something. Another human hand. Jon perked up, eyeing the other. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Did you wanna get that, too?”
Elijah’s wavering gaze towards the confectionery held for a mere handful of moments; his focus torn by the unintentional brush of skin to calloused skin. Features shifted with a twisted look of mild, and quickly dimming surprise, but the stranger’s gracious apology left nothing but a trace of trained consideration.
“Ah... Nah, that’s alright.” Elijah mumbled a response through pursed lips, head bobbing to the left. “They’ve got more shit over there I can eat. You enjoy that.”
Maybe it was punishment for choosing a bad lifestyle, or maybe their teacher wanted them to roast for skipping out on class lately. Either way, the odds had piled so high against Hayden that now they were floundering. Every so often their eyes shot toward the clock to juice an argument behind a hard punch to the gut they had saved up for their friend.
“Yeah, yeah- don’t touch that.” Hayden’s hand smacked the shoulder of a boy with crunchy hair and metal teeth. One hour of Hell was enough in trying to explain the process of decoding the enzyme of a strawberry - but it proved twice as difficult to keep from strangling the loud bunch.
The kid rubbed his arm and shot Hayden a glare to end all the weak at heart. Another boy poked at an uncapped bottle of pure iodine. Hayden’s finger shot to point at the second troublemaker.
“Three steps back, shortcake.” They growled, snapping the blue glove at their palm. Finally the group of students were all attentive (even if half were sending ominous looks in Hayden’s direction.) The short tempered chemist gave a sharp sigh and resumed with the eyedropper and the petri dish.
“Enzymes are important.”
Forty-seven. Forty-seven punctured, scraped, scarred and tarnished ceiling tiles hung above thirty-six heads in the room. Forty-seven and one quarter-- maybe one fifth, if you wanted to the classroom’s poor planning and nonparallel wall structure.
Thirty-seven if you’re counting the god damn fly knocking it’s body into the window. Somebody please let the fucking thing out.
For the better part of an hour, Elijah’s ass remained firmly seated within the plush confines of an instructor’s chair (would’ve been two, were he punctual). Deep, unfounded contempt seemed to have found home within each curve of the man’s unwashed expression; burrowed deep and etched into every square inch of Eli’s skull, shaping brows and flesh into a look of both apathy and regret.
“You owe me lunch after this. Plus dinner, plus a movie. Make that two.” Muttered demands hung beneath heavy breath, shot with disdain towards his oblivious companion. A flick of a wrist, a cock of an elbow, and Elijah’s bony arm supported Hayden’s poorly executed, cheaply made information cards above his head. Could the kids see them? Could they make out the words? Did he really give a shit?
“I got better things to do. Like sleep.”
“Wave pool?” Eyebrows pinch together and he’s shifting his jaw from one side to the other, and back again. Ticking. “I mean, when I was about ten I almost drowned in a wave pool.” Sid had gotten pulled out and whisked away by a knight with a shining wheelchair. It was quite the dramatic event, in fact. A field trip. He was sent back to school on the bus. Only kid on the bus. “That was tight.”
The mention of an exposed dick makes him snort. What an unusual response. “I guess, if you’re the kind of dude that doesn’t wear briefs under his swims trunks then sure.”
Nudist beach, huh? You know, that does not sound all too appealing. Sid can’t place it, but there’s something about nudity that makes him itch. Not like a rash itch! More like a prickling discomfort that settles in his stomach. In his chest. Sexuality in general makes him uncomfortable. He’s fragile. “I’ll have to pass, but thank you.”
More ticking, but not his jaw this time. Ticking to count down the few seconds that pass before he speaks up again. “For real though, why so snappy?” His chest yanks forward and falls back again with the intake of a breath and quick huff. “I’m just making conversation on mutual ground, you know? What else have we got in common that you won’t get weird about?” It was the last thing Sid expected, but the Seoulilites are a bold bunch. They’re filled to their ears with sarcasm. He hasn’t gone a day with meeting someone with a bite. One day he’ll have to bite them back. Figuratively though, not physically. He’s covered it physically already, a few times when he’s hungry.
“Might be the first time anyone’s considered me snappy.” Elijah’s comment slips out on the coattails of a quiet, yet unbashful chortle, spoken with a true air of lethargy. Knuckles ground down between shoulder and ear, dragging deep lines along the entirety of his neck; all with the intent of dispelling whatever burning ache prevailed through the day. Eli’s lips twitch in time with a poorly executed press of bone to knotted muscle, curving around a mess of both English and Korean-- a habit of fading between the two languages he still had yet to drop. “Sorry, man. No wave pool, no drowning, no floppy dicks. Gotcha.”
His arm extends, stretching the length of his scratched plastic counter (and then some), with a flattened palm; offering up what small handful of change was owed. Elijah took the pointed remark with a grain of salt, choosing instead to muse over the other’s purchase of numerous chip bags at once-- like the choice of potato or corn was that hard.
“A bill, and some.” His usual retail thanks started up, reciting one of the many mantras he’d been trained (or forced) to spew out.. Thank you. Have a nice day! Sorry for the inconvenience. We appreciate your business.
Hey, don’t piss in the trash can.
“We’ve got plenty, no doubt. Just human nature to have shit in common with one another.” Fingers curled as Elijah pulled his hand back, aching to dig canyons in place of his own heavy eyes. “Only thing necessary is the time taken to find out what they are.”
@nxvrmre
“Oh. I get it. So you’re American too?”
Common ground? How spectacular. How sick. How tight! This can only mean one thing: a door has opened to the possibility of friendship.
“Huntington Beach, you say? I vacationed there once. Surf is good. Too bad I can’t surf. I did experience what it’s like to be in a washer machine though. You know, but underwater. Powerful waves, damn.” Or he was like a tumbleweed. That’s Cali-cliché too right?
With an array of comments, questions, and remarks, Eli’s thoughts are woven into the perfect epitome of both confusion and disarray. Every syllable piecing together it’s own quirked word seemed to have him grasping at straws-- blatantly struggling with keeping up with the other, if his slackened features were any indication. American, check. Huntington, check. Surfing? Not all of us are fucking beach-heads, man.
“Next time just stick your head under a wave pool. Chlorinated. Clear. Timed and controlled. Way less chance of your shorts getting ripped off, too-- save yourself from an exposed dick, if you can.” Elijah pauses, a brief look of amusement settling atop his previous expression. “Unless you’re into that shit.... I’m sure we can find you a nudist beach somewhere.”
Starter for @lottiepop
An unruly head of tousled brown curls almost perfectly outlined Elijah’s immense dissatisfaction; the unkempt hairstyle mirroring his immaculate sense of “you don’t fucking belong here”. Every clack of plastic against shaped and molded plastic, with every gentle hum slipping from behind his companion’s lips-- the poor man was being driven mad. He knew nothing of records, or albums, nothing of today’s “hot artists” and the oldies-but-goodies that seemed to line the shelves. Elijah’s musical knowledge sat, both deeply and darkly rooted, within a few artists his sensibilities latched onto-- and that was it.
“Lottie, fucking hell.” It was the fourth groan to pour out of Eli within the last hour, calling out with a palm flattened to his own forehead. “None of this makes sense to me, and thumbing through each CD is so damn tedious. Can’t you just find things online, like a normal person?”
Did you have a previous account before with a Tao face claim?
[[ Nope! Not that I can remember, anyways. I’ve been doing this for way too long -_-;
♖
♖ comforting after a nightmare
It was the heavy groan that punctuated his glance towards steady red numbers at the far side of his bedroom; the sound so guttural it read of each frustration Eli carried without him uttering a single, intelligent syllable. A hand flattened along the backside of the lit cellphone, framing his sunken features between a glaring screen and bed sheets he had yet to pull from entirely.
“Are your eyes closed?” Simple words barely spilled past Elijah’s lips before the man nearly slipped back into his tired slumber once more, struggling to clutch at the tendrils of a much needed lucidity. He mirrored his own question; eyelids shutting in apathetic defeat. “They better be, it’s six in the fucking morning. I just got home. I need to sleep.”
Another pause, the line filled only with a passing, understated sigh. “Count back from twenty, and remember that it’s not real. A few more hours until daylight. A few more hours of peaceful sleep and you’ll be well rested, and you can have the best breakfast you’ve had all year.” Elijah sighed with the last notion, voice dropping lower as his lecture comes to a close. “It’s gonna be okay. Goodnight. Sleep tight.”