⏤⏤ 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 .
cherry valley forever
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

Andulka
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

JVL
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
todays bird
will byers stan first human second
Game of Thrones Daily

if i look back, i am lost
almost home
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

No title available
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
official daine visual archive
tumblr dot com
YOU ARE THE REASON

Discoholic 🪩

★
untitled

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Venezuela
seen from Moldova

seen from Malaysia
seen from Brazil
seen from Jordan
seen from Türkiye
seen from Brazil
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 Malaysia
@peekabookrp
⏤⏤ 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 .
how can someone get invited to join?
hello dear, as of now we only accept writers invited by the members who are in the roleplay already. there has been a resurgence of plagiarism, and keeping invites to trustworthy people means we can minimize that and other such ooc drama from interfering with writing! however, if you would like to join despite not knowing anyone currently in the roleplay, please dm the tumblr account off anon and we can discuss!
( RESERVED 0707 → 0710.
exo’s kim junmyeon
newly accepted !!
i !
welcome to the roleplay! please add the mod / (mobile) within three (3) days. we’ll see you soon; until the moon hangs on the jungle gym, let’s play!
⧩ basics
ii !
The girl’s laughter echoed through the worn staircase, the ground unfazed by their light hearted footsteps as they ran away from reality’s cold embrace. It felt as a moment frozen in time, standing still in the reflection of the night sky’s stars gleaming in his eyes. Thin digits tugged at his jacket’s sleeve, pulling him behind her so we wouldn’t stray too far behind and be taken away from her hold. Life sounded so far when they stood so close in a silence so gentle she could fade into it and he still would be by her side, holding onto her hand as if he thought she’d pull away. He was light and he was warm; he was the developing film in the polaroid held between gentle fingertips, he was like a shooting star and she was the night sky making a wish for its light to never dim. His name was written in every cloud and carried in the wind that caressed her skin - he was beyond anything any song could be written about and that moment was theirs to be kept in a silent memory, replaying in her dreams at night. Constellations lined his skin, adorning him in stardust so pure and bright no other star could compare. “Let’s take one for you too.” His gaze was like falling maple and rust colored leaves dancing with the autumn breeze, so alluring yet innocent enough to convince her of anything, even of running off to look at the city lights from a building older than their oldest memories combined. Her thin arms curled around his waist as their feet danced in a sloppy movement they tried to call slow dancing between the stone angels standing proud in the heavens with them, dancing in tune only to their soft laughter and hushed conversations. The last dying ray of sunlight faded behind him, hues bleeding together and into their lips finding each other after so long yet gentle enough to simply hold onto the moment, captured by nature and the subtle stain of her peach flavored lip balm on the corner of his lips as the ghost of a smile haunted his lips mirroring hers. The world didn’t matter in his arms, with his hands unraveling her in ways only he knew how, with his fingertips burning sweet nothing on the small of her back – just that moment was enough for her.
⧩ nonau
iii !
It would be a lie if she said there wasn't anyone in her mind whenever she got an order wrong at the cafe or when she misplaced the library cards at school, it just would be a lie to say she didn't think about him everyday. To most, it would make no sense— he was blue; quiet, some would even say melancholic and if they felt daring, they'd call him intimidating for his gaze could make one bend. Indeed, it would make no sense— she was red; all of her vibrated with raw emotion, even when her fear made her shy away from the world. To most it wouldn't make any sense, but to her it did. He saw her as no one else did and when most struck her down with their eyes, he held her up with his own. He saw her as she was, and if he found a flaw, he didn't let it be known to the world for a reason she didn't quite comprehend. She'd been told about him, about how cold he was, how indifferent and ill-manered he acted towards people but she saw none of that. Call her childish, but whenever she looked at him her eyes lit up with admiration and when he stopped looking back, something else hid just in the corner of her eyes, something just for him even if he didn't see it. Her days went by with her not getting an ounce of peace, her mind in a thousand different places while still keeping a hold of his memory in each and every one. Just how much of her had he taken and claimed without as much as a warning? A funny thought, wasn't it? A thought that remained with her, but one that she didn't mind even if it couldn't be, with it tugging at her heart with just a tinge of sorrow. It would be okay, she just had to hold on... For him and her. It had been difficult, things worsened as each day went by; sickness and pain spreading faster than she could afford to fight it back with, time was running out. A moment of despair fell upon Chaeeun's shoulders, a weight she'd forgotten how to carry after meeting him and a weight that eased away when he reached out to her after what felt like longer than what it actually was. Truth be told, Chaeeun feared he'd gotten tired of her always insisting so much, even when he didn't protest against it. There was so much he didn't know. Days passed and she found herself in the one place he shared with her, away from the world. It had taken her breath away, with the stars shining brighter than she could ever imagine, yet her gaze always went back to him; yes, they were there again and her heart jumped with glee. He apologized when he didn't have to, she understood perfectly and being so fond of him, her heart couldn't hold any ill-feelings toward him. "You don't have to apologize." Her voice rang softly, loud enough for only him to hear as the sound of nature drowned everything else around them. Her body turned towards his and she felt her gaze soften when she saw him, right there next to her. "I appreciate it, but you know I understand." She ached to reach out to him, to reassure him nothing in had changed and so she did; her finger tips found his hand, ghosting over the shape of his thumb before trailing to his palm, stopping and letting them linger as if asking for his permission.
⧩ au
newly accepted !!
i !
welcome to the roleplay! please add the mod / (mobile) within three (3) days. we’ll see you soon; until the moon hangs on the jungle gym, let’s play!
⧩ basics
ii !
Addiction. It’s inevitably ineluctable in everyone's life, whether it be their work or some kind of substance, among many other instances. A thing where you can’t get enough of it, the constant feeling of needing and wanting it. For Jinsoul though, her addiction was the rush before a concert. Her palms commenced to compose a thin layer of sweat on them, clamming up as she tried to relax.The muscles in her body were tense, rolling her shoulders back a couple of times to relieve the stress in them. She could see a handful of her members from the other side of the stage, some giggling and the others warming up their bodies as well. The rest of her group was behind her, infrequently bumping into her and mumbling a minuscule apology with a minuscule laugh. The singer doted her girls, more than anything else in the world. This was her family. The screams and cheers from the fans gradually brought her back out of her phrenic conceptions, the slow and upbeat music rumbling through her bones. It was a signal that they were to appear on stage any second now. Her heart was beating against her ribs, bound to burst out at any given moment. These were the moments she looked forward to the most, the moments she would later dream about while drifting off into a deep slumber. Reliving these moments was the best thing that could transpire to her. The countless sweat, tears, and infrequently injuries were all worth it. Every single bit of it. The slow dimming of the lights was what brought her back from her thoughts and brought her back to the present, a smile tugging on the corner of her lips. The music rumbling from her toes to her fingers, the music that cued for them to make their appearance. With jubilance and a wide smile she took confident steps out to the stage, the singing and dancing determinately beginning. This was it. All the training and the rough patches to get here, it no longer obviated her from doing this. Doing what her and the other members loved doing most. This was the idol’s addiction, the thing she couldn't get enough of. Jinsoul’s addiction is performing for people who relished the group’s music and the members themselves. The rush of this is like no other, no feeling could ever top this. Jinsoul wouldn’t trade it for the world, this is the only world she wants.
⧩ nonau
iii !
"Beautiful colors," a soft whisper escaped from the young girl, carried by the breeze and over the clouds, "silver, blue.. So many shades of blue." A smile tugging on her lips, the colors flashing by. It might seem like a blur to everyone else but no, not to her. She could see every detail of them, the stars she created within the palm of her hand. The warm sensation sending chills down her spine, a blissful laugh rumbling in her chest. "Gold, my favorite." Asteria held up her hand, her eyes illuminating from the bright star that was resting in her hand. Slowly tipping her hand she allowed the little ball of light to slip out of her hand, a content sigh coming from her as she watched it take its spot among the others. Her dusty pink lips slowly turned into a grin, clapping her hands together as she observed all the colors around her. Paradise, the soft colors filling the dark sky was paradise to her. Nothing in this world could replace that. This was her everything, this was her life. The motion of her fingers pushed the clouds away, making them disappear within seconds. Something so beautiful shouldn't be hidden, it needed to be displayed to everyone. Asteria's long blonde hair brushed against the lowest point of her back, the soft silk fabric that was hugging her frame helped conceal the soft tickling feeling from the strands of her hair against her skin. The breeze sent goosebumps down her arm, a chuckle filling the warm air around her. "Perfection, such perfection." The girl rested her chin in the palm of her hand, tilting her head to the side as she watched the stars twinkling in the sky. "They make songs after you,lovely little nursery rhymes." She murmured to herself, fluttering her eyes shut as she tried to remember the words to the lullaby she heard from the creatures of earth. "Twinkle, twinkle little star-" She spoke out loud, her brows scrunching up as she tried to recite the rest of the song. A frown soon forming on her face, brushing the thought away. "The song isn't right anyway, you are much more than what their words can describe." The goddess said to herself, tucking strands of her hair behind her ear. No words could describe the emotions she was feeling at this moment, being at peace with herself and the life she had. Everything was perfect in her eyes, nothing was wrong. All was right with her world. So she thought.
⧩ au
newly accepted !!
i !
welcome to the roleplay! please add the mod / (mobile) within three (3) days. we’ll see you soon; until the moon hangs on the jungle gym, let’s play!
⧩ basics
ii !
It’s not that he minds the flashes and bizarre supremacy of his presence whenever he steps out onto the concrete pavement towards the airport. It’s not that he rides upon the tides of misfortune with every threat of a scandal breathing down his neck when the so called “journalists” want to cash in on some half-haphazard storm they brewed on their own just because of one off-angled shot of him in some store or cafe. It’s not that he could care less for the hundreds of notifications and messages his official accounts receive, especially of those direct notes which contain some gaudy imagery in plain text. It’s not that at all. He’s managed to survive through the worst of storms with his fellow members. One loss. Then another. Then another. Plus the ongoing pressure of another to leave just by their race. And now a new stakeout for a member who chose to hold his head responsible for his own personal life. He’s grown through them and remained quiet and thankfully unscathed. Of all the mishaps and mayhem of gossipers and sasaengs, what really irks him the most is how the industry continues to make humans, especially those with such talent and some socially well-proclaimed level of beauty, into actual living, breathing, emotionally functioning, milk cows. When he’s lounging in that leather seat in First Class, after being ushered through the harrowing onslaught of claustrophobic-enabling crowds, he face may remain stoic, but there’s the internal warfare of staying silent amid the greedy corporate capitalists who make the most of human lives. It’s when he thinks of how his fellow member had once been put through a set up just for a headline. It’s when he recalls how his friends’ had been outed of their relationship just because the highly toxic consumer-based industry decided on their own to make all celebrities a part of public property. Be it his silver lining or his paradox of his chosen path in life, he will remain behaved and well groomed. In even such mundane thoughts, he knows his life is far better off than most; so he remains shut and tight lipped. Nothing else could ever restrain him further from being who he really wanted to be, what his code of ethics would allow him to be. God forsaken as it may seem, he will just continue to pose as the model-esque employee who rakes in a few thousands month in and month out. Born of nothing but just the genetic regime his parents gave him, he knows that if it weren’t for his appearance, he may not have been scouted so imperviously. Of course, his sustained determination and forged talent was what kept him at the front of the stage time and time again. No one admits defeat as easily as he does when it comes to debates he whips up on his own, but this is why he tends to be painted as one of the more quiet ones of the group. God giving, he still plans on helping those of the newer generations live a better life in entertainment as figures for the public and not subjects of its domain.
⧩ nonau
iii !
He can’t stand the heat. It makes him wither into the fray of some unkept shed with daggers of blistered edges. But he has to. Far be it for him to deny the role of his unnaturally predestinated manner as some soldier in this battle, but it’s not out of his actual character to find discomfort in it. But he has to. Sweat prods onto his brow. The sun is his sin. His claims are withheld. The darkness clambers in. But he has to. Enlistment was precarious and he would have rather not be anywhere near the encampments when names were being piled into the drawing. He wasn’t supposed to be there. His claim was to be out in the fields of blueberries and the marine, with a brush in his hand and a candid canvas in his grasp. His name was meant for gold bearings fleshed against ruby wax, where contents were of some conglomerate achievement through the arts of language and lighthearted demise. His hands weren’t meant to hold the harsh metallics of a gun. But he has to. His surname is shouted from the dust of mayhem. His attention is diverted to the blasphemy ahead. ‘Soldier on,’ he tells himself. His will to see through the destruction and make it out on the other side is strong, though his might is not. A dry gulp of air sends nothing but ruthless shivers down his mental spine. He is one for the nature of beautiful balance and heartfelt monuments. Not of untampered chaos and war torn statues. What was he doing in such a flimsy uniform? Why was he given badges for bravery and unparalleled conduct? How could he explain of his torment of unjustifiable justice to his beau who waits by the fireplace for that aged parchment sealed with his chaste kiss and longed misgivings? Who will take his place if he falls far below six feet into the ground? Where is that shred of spite when sinners stare at him with pleading eyes? When will this tragedy all be over? Through mud and riverbanks, through vile terrain and despairing announcements, through clouded nights and cloudless days, Sehun is nothing but a soldier to his own drum, not to the drum that beats for war and victory, but to the drum who directs his feet to continue on in the stride for peace and fortitude. Why? Because he has to.
⧩ au
application for loona’s jinsoul has been denied!
the non-au writing sample must pertain to the muse you’re bringing to this roleplay; please revise your application and we will review it once more!
newly accepted !!
i !
welcome to the roleplay! please add the mod / (mobile) within three (3) days. we’ll see you soon; until the moon hangs on the jungle gym, let’s play!
⧩ basics
ii !
Exhale. Round your lips and try. Exhale. Again . . . . Again, try again. Push the bauble of air out your chest to your throat and out. Exhale, Kyungsoo. Do you believe the universe is infinite? Do you think it expands over all and every? Does it really make you insignificant enough to simply, not exist? What a joke. He thinks he’s about to laugh. An ugly, real, raw laugh. He would, if he wasn’t struggling to let the fist of air down his lungs out. What a fucking joke. Leather chafes and wood rots, seas roar and sulphur stains. What is yours? What are you, in a world of constant movement and unrest? You’d think a thousand years gave him enough time to find an answer, but a thousand more only left him looking harder. Gripping looser, feeling further, numbing over. Breathe. Fucking breathe out, Kyungsoo. Sun and sky and sea and snow blinds him, blends into the same shade of nimbus, disappearing into the plain of everything just like everything else did. Kyungsoo thinks he might as well be blind. Kyungsoo wonders if he really is. He fades a little further, clawing at his lungs and wishing he’d stop choking on his own life. He walks a path he thinks he remembers, trips over a pebble he thought he’d seen before and bruises in the spot that was already sore before it scraped the gravel. Too much, way too much. A pale shadow of Celtic blue washes over the dirt under his fingertips and he forgets. Forgets why the pebble was so familiar, rubbed smooth with the same fingertips hovered over a strangely jewel toned bruise speckled with coal. Forgets the silence of a thousand hugs and warm smiles, the only reason breathing felt like a necessity to a useless, stagnant heart. There’s an unheard plea somewhere over his head when he brushes it off, walking the same way he came with just a little less, a little less— Peridots slither down the sculpt of his jaw and he thinks it feels too hot to be the rain—it’s never rained gold here. He wonders why he thinks of that; of gold and shine, of cedar and shimmer. He wonders why he thinks the threads stain darker, but looks away before it flickers. Kyungsoo almost forgets that he was about to breathe. So he tries, again. 1, 2, 3— Inhale, Kyungsoo.
⧩ nonau
iii !
+ spider silk. twist, tug, thread, through, turn. delicate. twist, tug, trip. tug. tug. tug, tug tug, twist, tug -- snap. it was a crunch, this time. or was it a squelch? horrible, messy, terrible, nasty. hm? how are you, ponderosa? hm. hymns lost to the circle of eternity, lost in thought and thoughts lost. silver silk. spider silk. do you know where broken things go? hmm-hmm. there was innocence, and there was ignorance. there was pain, and there was poison -- and there was the boy who dove into both with the smile of saintly devils. “away. they go far, far away.” spiderwebs. if he wasn’t clutching them so close to his heart, you’d have thought he was trying to break them.
⧩ au
newly accepted !!
i !
welcome to the roleplay! please add the mod / (mobile) within three (3) days. we’ll see you soon; until the moon hangs on the jungle gym, let’s play!
⧩ basics
ii !
tw. blood ; violence ; potential suicidal ideation ; potential depression ; vomit ; references to torture ; mentions of abuse ; kidnapping human trafficking ; branding
newly accepted !!
i !
welcome to the roleplay! please add the mod / (mobile) within three (3) days. we’ll see you soon; until the moon hangs on the jungle gym, let’s play!
⧩ basics
ii !
One. Breath in. Hold for... Two. Three. F-Four. “Fuck— it doesn’t work— the fucking counting doesn’t work— breathing exercises my ass— ouch.” Should it concern 001 that he was talking to himself? Maybe. But it wasn’t something he was too worried about, especially in this predicament. His head was pounding, and he could feel them. Static. Motionless. Lost inside the darkness. Waiting for him to release them. He would have to, but he needed a few moments to catch his breath and calm down. Only that it didn’t work. “It doesn’t work if you do it by yourself— why did I keep trying?! This whole year— It never worked after— ugh!” Anger was easy. Kicking the wooden box in front of him was easy. Ignoring the pain in his leg was easy. The bleeding bullet wound in his calf and the one in his abdomen were a bit more pressing though. It hurt to breath. And he wasn’t that worried about bleeding out. He was covered in cuts from where the bullets grazed his skin, he was sweaty and a bit bloody, a few bruises here and there from when they grabbed him and tried to put him down. When the first one tried it a few weeks before, he was forced to break his promise. After the war, he swore not to use it anymore. He couldn’t remember what happened in that chaos, but he could remember being somehow thrown out and landing on a street in Italy. Alyan could still feel the taste of the bile that came up his throat when he realised in front of which house he landed. It was once a place he called *home*. Even in his situation then, after he emptied the contents of his stomach on the sidewalk, he ran away from the street. Ran. And ran. And ran. And ran. Until he reached the shore. Until he kneeled on the sand and yelled in the middle of the night. Thankful he still remembered where the isolated beach was. His lungs were on fire. His throat was raw. But cme sunset he had a plan. He twisted some ropes, pulled some strings, coerced people to do what he wanted. Used some connections he made long before he knew what was going to be made of him. Hacked his way into stocks and bank accounts people thought they hid so well. He may not have been in the scene for a while, but he never forgot. Never forgive, never forget. Once he had himself established, hidden, new identity, filled bank account, he set out to get revenge. He could and he would, but he wouldn’t use his powers. He had enough skills, enough experience to not need it. He knew what he could release, and others didn’t need to suffer. The bitter laugh that escaped him when he realised, they all contributed to this and now they would pay. He set the record straight in Italy, finished off the ones the military couldn’t find. They were easy to dig up from their wholes when you knew how. Then he flew off to the States, to settle other accounts. In between he did odd jobs, easy ones that couldn’t ever be traced back to him. They couldn’t trace stuff back to him online, he made sure of it. He didn’t think they would realise it was him so fast. Maybe his targets were obvious. They all knew what they were up to. How they kept themselves entertained down in that shithole. They still found him out, somehow tracked him down and tried to force him to go back. But they forgot he had more tricks up his sleeve than they did. The shadows, the darkness rejoiced as it got unleashed again. After being suppressed for weeks, months— a year. It was out to play, and it was out to get every single one of them that he touched. It was scary though, the way in which his hands were slowly starting to turn black, even as he released the people from their mental cages. It wasn’t something he could control anymore, the growth of the darkness, and watching it expand over his arms, like vines taking over until it was a solid colour was starting to panic him. It hadn’t happened in so long, he wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to go through all of it again. He was sick of it. Sick of pain. Sick of hurting. He could hear the footsteps coming close and closer, yet the sound was taken over by the way his ears were starting to ring. Slowly everything was fading out as he started to tremble, fingernails scratching at the mark onto his chest as it started burning, the fire-like pain coursing through his heart and veins. It couldn’t happen there. The building next to them was residential. They wouldn’t make it, nor the building next to it. He was so stuck into his mind, the spiral he was going through, he didn’t see the smoke-like tendrils extend from the shadows of the room, mixing with the wisps of darkness emanating from his form as he was losing control. Just as they broke the door open, he was succumbed in darkness, shadows wrapping all around him and taking him away. Leaving the soldiers staring at the blood puddle that was left behind. Free-falling was never a nice feeling, but nothing could beat the excruciating pain radiating through his body as he materialised on a beach. Frantic violet speckled grey irises scanned his surroundings to make sure no one was around. As the darkness advanced up his neck, black vines travelling up his face, he started to feel the white cracks appearing on his arms. Like a mirror slowly cracking. The pain was too much for him to move, his whole-body trembling and wisps of darkness leaving his frame, as he felt the explosion slowly forming, the darkness fighting its way out. Wanting to lash out. To destroy. To annihilate and claim. He could feel the tears starts running down his cheeks. He was tired. So tired. Of hurting. Of trying and being knocked down. He was doing good and was so so so close to finishing all of them off. And then he could disappear, go off the radar and maybe, just maybe, be given the chance to live. To be his own person. Faith always had other plans for him. Crack. 001’s neck could have broken with how fast his neck turned towards the source of the sound. He should warn them, tell them to run away. But it was so hard to see, talking was almost impossible when he got in this state. Not making any sound was easier. He trained himself not to. No one ever heard a sound out of him in this situation in years. However, the silhouette was familiar. Too familiar. And his slowly cracking and fragmenting heart stopped mid-beat as he blinked through the onslaught of tears. Through trembling lips, the word could get lost in the breeze, the fear and surprise obvious in his dilated pupils. The uncontrolled shaking of his body as he tried to fight against the agony in which every cell in his body was screaming and move. Get away because he knew what was coming. “0- 004?”
⧩ nonau
iii !
Earth was not his home. But Orion learned to make it one. After he got better, after his mind calmed down and he could leave the hut he was hosted in. He always kept the gifts Annwn close to him, the collar and the letter, they meant the world to him. The hound could not part with the last remnants of his past life. Everything was gone, in a storm of pain and hurt and words. The words were what hurt him most, not the abuse to his body over those months, but the words said to him. They all conspired to bring his mindset down and he fell into the pool of despair: pushed away these people he loved, everything he held most dear. But now, with a new name (*his last gift*) and his earn for the celestial plane, he took a deep breath and faced the human world. He did not know anything about how they lived and the elder was just so much help. Yet he was ready to adapt, to find himself again. It took centuries to get his *true* memories back, it was time to start healing his soul and face the adventure that the humans were.
⧩ au
( reserved 0505 → 0507.
bts’ jimin
peekaboo, i see you !!
i. the roleplay !!
peekaboo is now officially invite-only, semi-au and literate!
we’ve redesigned the roleplay’s entire format, down to how we operate our events and design our groups.
as of now, the admin team has been finalized; we look forward to bringing you all beautiful memories and helping peekaboo continue to be a safe haven for those who enter.
peekaboo’s statement
ii. the blog !!
the rules have been updated
the application has been reworked to fit peekaboo’s new criteria
iii. the affiliates !!
as of now, there’s no surefire way to keep track of the roleplays who are affiliated with peekaboo. with that in mind, we’ve decided to terminate all affiliate relations we currently have. if you’re a current affiliate or a future roleplay wishing to associate with us, by all means- send us a message. we will not be going out of our way to reinstate these relationships.
iv. the future !!
we have carefully chosen ten individuals to extend formal invitations to. these ten will form the core of peekaboo’s network, and as such; we’re excited to meet them!
and with that- after these stressful two to three weeks, peekaboo is officially open and accepting applications. thank you beautiful people for hanging in ♡
Really??????
:)
newly accepted !!
i !
welcome to the roleplay! please add the mod / (mobile) within three (3) days. we’ll see you soon; until the moon hangs on the jungle gym, let’s play!
⧩ basics
ii !
home was: i. the inner stitches of her father’s trench coat. she’s eight years old and his voice teeters back and forth from soft to stern. stern to soft. “it’s past your bedtime.” the crease in his brows is telling. she knows. she always knows. “go to bed.” his puffy sigh and a thick hand smoothing down the back of her head. her fingers sticky from hot cocoa and from peeling too many oranges. her, hidden under his coattail. “i am in bed. you’re my bed.” she can smell the bourbon and the cigars. the other lady and her cheap candy perfume. home is: apologies, apologies, apologies. “will you stay, daddy?” “i can’t, sugar.” ( i’m sorry. ) ii. sinatra crooning in chromatic blues. a vintage record player. their own version of the 50s. then the 60s. he twirls her around in circles, barefoot as always. laughter shallow and never, never enough. hair tumbling free and wild down her back. red toenails and red lips. fingertips calloused and rough down her waist. too much, too much, stop stop stop — “please don’t make me say it.” (iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou) “will you believe me if i do?” she shakes her head. he bites her cheek, her lips. cherry bright and swollen from leftover words. leftover phrases. a quarter of her heart and everything he will never have. ( will you believe me? ) “can you?” iii. lee jieun, in blank ink. lee jieun. jieun, jieun, jieun seared into his mouth. into his tongue. scrawled across his chest, across his cheek. “don’t forget,” breathed into his skin. down his spine and into the center of his palm. into hers. “i’m staying, i’m staying. god, i’m trying.” but he never does. “i’ll try.” he never does. iv. “jieun, jieun, jieun.” her mother from barcelona. from budapest and berlin. some telephone booth in the middle of the rustic countryside. southern france, she says. "i miss you, flower. you’d love it here." ( i miss you, i miss you — ) “will you stay?” “i can’t, sugar.” ( i’m sorry. ) “i have to go.” “me too.” “i love you. i love you. i love you—” [ end call. ] v. dark citrus, patchouli, and leather. 2 o’clock cigarettes. sheets tangled between her legs and her nose buried in a chest rising slow. falling steady. sinatra croons in a distant subconscious dream. offbeat and only secondary to the low humming in her ear. she wakes with a silent gasp, shadows lurking beneath her eyelids and his breath soft against her cheek. he’s there when it counts. there when it doesn’t. “told you i wasn’t going anywhere.” (iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou) “will you stay?” ( home is: hiccuping laughter. those eyes. the swelling in her chest. ) his lips against her forehead. against her eyelids. soft fingers curling around her hand. “where the hell else am i gonna go?” home is: you, always you.
⧩ nonau
iii !
+ she remembers the piece of paper torn from his notebook. the dull point of his pencil scribbling across the smooth surface, almost angrily. feverishly. matching the way his brows scrunch up together, lips pursed like the words will burst from his mouth if he doesn’t keep it closed. the pencil drops, spiraling down to the chair, to the floor. jieun doesn’t really look. instead, follows the way his hands move across the keyboard next, chords transgressing quietly like footsteps. sevenths and elevenths that stretch his fingers across the black and white keys, tender strokes that mimic the way the evening shadow falls across his face. what she remembers is not wanting to let go. there’s stifled laughter and playful eyes, a slender finger hooked around his pinky as it trills between the keys. the pencil finds its way back into his palm, and he continues just like this, pulling her along and smiling when her hand smudges graphite in between syllables. what she remembers are stolen glances in between the change of chords, the nudge of a shoulder, her 'promise i’ll give you credit for this piece i’m writing', and the squeak that follows when he threateningly wiggles his fingers so close to her side. what she remembers is simple happiness. sometimes, that had been enough.
⧩ au
newly accepted !!
i !
welcome to the roleplay! please add the mod / (mobile) within three (3) days. we’ll see you soon; until the moon hangs on the jungle gym, let’s play!
⧩ basics
ii !
it's between the dead of night and the rise of dawn when baekhyun dares to move. the bed is littered with all kinds of candy wrappers and shitty pyrite-bottle labels, glinting dull next to the seraphim with wildfire hair tangled into the space beneath his chin. she feels like a vinyl beneath his hands, over the threshold and into moonlight like shuffled cards around his heart. flowers grow in between her veins and ash still finds itself atop her eyes from when she clawed her way back to the living; perhaps that's the charm of star-devils like her. ( the sort with faded moon scars behind their ears ) calloused fingertips run along the edge of an event horizon buried between his arms, and now he's back inside his grave- winter-swallowed fingertips placing her name north of his compass rose. he traces ice into the slow rivers of her hands and dances december along the curve of her spine- tiny little glaciers strong enough to kill a siren when he dusts gold leaf beneath her lips. he dreams her hands into doves, gentle things with slate-gray wings and spidersilk-thread daisy chains made of dust she dragged off of an old dresser and kept just in case she felt the need to swallow ghost moons. people slip luck under their tongues like salt to keep the darkness away, but there was too much ocean in her blood for her to stray too far on nights she felt trapped between sleeping giants. the world is resene when polaris is dragged out of his reverie skin the palette of sunrise when he finds emerald against her neck, sharp enough he bites back the prose aching to drag itself into her skin. make me holy ⏤ make a sacrifice out of me when andromeda shifts the sunlight is almost blinding where it brands her body. baekhyun wasn't made for this light ; still, he can't look away. primitivism sculptures from the 1900s come to mind and he marvels at the way they both would thrive in a century with chandeliers so large they dripped their diamonds mere centimeters off the ground. what better a butterfly thread to have skin like (dec)embers? what better way to fall into sea-smiles too grey to be blue? his senses awaken in skies the palette of the vatican’s favorite verse and then it’s all gone because she’s awake, amarose eyes and alabaster heartbeats and saltwind-child, born under heavy air “storm-struck eyes couldn’t have asked a better time for a sacrifice.”
⧩ nonau
iii !
+ cara's covered in tiny little papercuts and paint by the time she's figured out how to make the perfect paper star- even on all sides with a delicate lift when she presses into it to fill it with air. she's got mason jars full of common wildeflowers ( tied with red string for their souls ) and bandaids and heavy-duty duct tape, everything she thinks can mend a heart to carry the couple through their marriage. oil paint sealer rings through the room in a cranberry-hint of sweetness from the painting she took down from the leum's gallery ( barefoot and struggling under the weight of the world )- all that was left was to give the happy couple the night sky wrapped up in pretty bows and remind them they've got the heavens in their hands. thin strips of vellum, old newspapers and expensive gold leaf-imprinted pages lay strewn around her and cara thinks she quite likes the feeling of being buried in constellation-ingredients. the latch clicks ; ( my little versailles comes to mind. ) her senses perk ; ( my little dove rests on her tongue. ) and her lips curve ; ( shall we look at the moon, my little loon? ) she recognizes the way that the other enters her apartment- it's one of those songs people sing for the dead to help them rest in peace, to cover for the silence that hangs in the air when there isn't a heartbeat to break the still."you're here early, aren't you?"
⧩ au
newly accepted !!
i !
welcome to the roleplay! please add the mod / (mobile) within three (3) days. we’ll see you soon; until the moon hangs on the jungle gym, let’s play!
⧩ basics
ii !
there are semiquavers in his headspace, ripping into the seams of his divinity with flags like teeth. gunshot rhythm, fortissimo with no key signature, no control, nothing to keep time but the tantrum his heart throws against his ribcage. he exhales. softly, into the space reserved for silence, (trying to teach it a lesson) but it’s loud there, too. maybe it’s a little ironic that he’s here, with his fingers tangled in ‘long walks on the beach’ cliches under the setting sun. it regards him strangely; not disappointed, but something of the sort. wondering, maybe, why it’s been so long since he caught the sleep he chased — and how he let it get so far away if he’s been running all this time. he flashes a smile at nothing in particular. yoongi doesn’t have an answer for that. not for himself, or the sun that asked, or the wandering dreams that have evaded him another night in a row. he stares across the horizon, world’s faithful windowsill for the sky to rest her cheek against its blurred edges while she awaits the moon’s arrival. the ocean waves back her up against the wall, capped in goldenrod as they collide like cars after midnight in the city, but there’s no malice— just broken rules. he feels like them, vast and unruly, but his still silhouette wouldn’t show it even when the stare he caught glimpses of in the mirror is so wild in comparison. the tides wash away his evidence of existing. his footprints are lost to the pull of the sea and similarly, he is, too. he thinks that could mean something more, but undertow has a way of making people believe they won’t drown even as they already are, and he discards the thought. something digs into his skin to distract him anyways. not painful, but enough to coax his attention away from the shoreline and to the beach beneath his feet. among sand and silt, a little gem, translucent and the color of mermaid tears, greets him quietly like it’s been lost and waiting all this time to be found— so compelled by whim alone, he leans down to pick it up. it might’ve been a bottle once, snuffing nightly misery and the lack of courage. it might’ve been a pretty dish to fill with sugar and spill across the tablecloth. it might’ve been the spiderwebbed windshield of wreckage, but today it sits in his palm and is nothing with so proper a purpose. there are more blemishes across its surface than callisto, more waiting daydreams within than the sky he looks to sometimes when he doesn’t want to be here. its shape is smooth in his palm. waiting, lit up inside, like a wishing well. the eye of it, strung across with glittering filaments of aquamarine, welcomes him to lift the piece and gaze through its hazy finish. it seems he has many a whim today, so he follows the notion and peers through with no expectations at the ready. the white noise of the sea comes to a cease - and with it, calms the rolling waves across the sand before him, stillness ripping through the atmosphere so suddenly and surely it is almost more jarring than his chaos. he doesn’t reject it however, and sinks into the hush. drifts for a minute. it is what he wanted, he realizes quickly, without admitting that he wanted it. perhaps the reckless ocean, cold and dangerous, cares more than he thinks it does. yoongi read somewhere, with his lips pressed to the back of his hand, that one man’s trash might be another man’s ten-cent paper cranes. a whole siege of them have perched in the creases of his fist, so he pockets the little piece of forgetfulness - another whim for another shooting star - and climbs his way out of this pocket in space. he hasn't changed, per se, but as he returns himself to the universe and its insistent cacophony, there is something blissfully different; distant and secret, treasure and trash, quiet and green.
⧩ nonau
iii !
+ even as a child, salem knew exactly what he was doing. he knew what it meant when he dug his fingers into their clothing, and wrapped their hair around his wrist, and told them to calm the fuck down so he could eat. he could see everything, but was so blind at the same time-- it ceased to matter, though, when he drank the past from their wrists, the future from their throats, the present right off their very lips. he knew who they once were, and who they were meant to be. spoke the words they liked to use, missed the things they'd lost, sought for the gods they prayed to (despite the irony); why, he was one (a god) himself, but not really. a demigod is the proper answer, a vampire is the afterthought. he came to this realization, walking the tightropes of space-time. that there is no name yet for something like him. he's alone on this cold plane of existence, and he knows that, too.
⧩ au
application for bts' jimin has been denied!
your application is missing elements! please re-read the rules, and apply again!