Dust Clears

“And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, and how much was mine to keep.”— Kurt Vonnegut

[x-jacksonclaw-blog]

It's been fun Alo but I will be dropping Jackson. I apologize to any of you that I happened to be plotting with or in the midst of a thread with. I wish you all the best and perhaps sometime in the future I'll run into a few of you again. Until then, please take care! 

[x-jacksonclaw-blog]

Live For

(/ Jackson's been to dances, to the ones that end up with punchbowl solace, tongue-tied and swept up in those long, drawn hours that he recounts through the amount of times he wished he was in bed during the event. But then he's been to the dances that are summed up in moments colliding over his eyelashes; open and he's trying to dance, maybe actually dancing, maybe just trying his best to fit in with the conglomerate of people swaying around him; close and he's asleep with the morning only seconds away, playing chicken with memories until they feel more like dreams or wayward sparks of his imagination when his eyes lose their focus in the middle of muggle studies. The comparison between two events lies in the particular variable named Im Jaebum, by now a deciding factor of whether Jackson is going to spend his time trying to finish his homework for next week, or intermingling with the rest of the school because none of it seems all that interesting unless he has his closest friend there with him and part of him argues he shouldn't base decisions off of people, but most of him reasons that this is different. Jaebum is different.) Hey, Jaebum? (/ he starts outside of the hufflepuff dorms, overly cautious to how loud his voice is because he's still trying to manage that annoying inflection people seem so humored by lately.) Jaebum it's Jackson. (/ and the masks he carries with him, one in each palm, begin to feel much heavier after the first few seconds of silence. He can only imagine how they'll feel if he has to carry them back to his own dorm.) 

[dailygot7archive]

© WANGGA | Do not edit.

[bjhbhg]

safety zone -- open!

it took cecille two years to fully adjust to the fact that she was a wizard and attended a school where there were moving staircases, portraits that spoke out to her, or a giant, deadly tree. once she was able to embrace the magic of hogwarts, she began to fall in love with the little, hidden things - secret hallways, rooms that morphed itself to best fit the user, and places you could only reach if you studied the movements of the staircases. it took her another four years to explore hogwarts to the fullest extent. it landed her in detention too many times to count, but she always found it to be worth the punishment.

ironically, her favorite place in the whole grounds wasn’t somewhere hidden to students. there was something enchanting about the way the lake looked with snow falling onto the surface during the night. hugging the giant quilt closer to her body, cecille sat by the edge of the lake, letting the freezing cold water splash against her toes. she basked in the peaceful moonlight and soft sounds of the lake rippling.

it was no secret that the lake inhibited mystical creatures - creatures that were too dangerous for most students to tackle on their own - but she was more curious than scared. winter just wasn’t the time to slip deep underneath the surface of the giant lake. though tempted, she kept to the surface on this winter night. hypothermia wasn’t exactly how she wanted to die.

[x-jacksonclaw-blog]

He looks out and sees silvery moonlight interlock fingers with the vast plane of glassy aquatic veneer. From here, he questions if they see much of each other or if the moon is the only one to indulge in the beauty of its own reflection. How selfish, he thinks while kicking a misplaced stone only noticeable from its swell in the light sheath of snow under his feet, that both it and the sun have a chance to look down and see themselves—in the water, in songs and the sound of laughter, art multiplied by the billions and sometimes in the simplicity of a single smile—while we're all left to stare into the void of space, though freckled with kisses of stars to ease the curiosity of our groping souls as we search for some substance; many times, he ponders, man has asked of their importance and received little but its own senseless squandering like a child reasoning with their shadow. Making imaginary friends to blame for their woes. Making imaginary friends to make up for the real ones that never came.

Jackson looks back briefly to survey how many pairs of footsteps trailed behind him in wake of his traveling, but the colors all leech into each other, depth loses its magnitude.

He loses his interest. For him, this is routine.

Not that he travels to the lake often, because contrary to popular belief he isn't necessarily good at anything physical and his muscles are a damn convincing lie considering he cant swim or fly or play quidditch or efficiently do a lot of activities that would require for him to be anywhere but tucked in his bedroom or in some lesser-traveled part of the school for his own personal and varying reasons that somehow all lead to sitting down and trying to question the profundity of yesterdays and the significance of tomorrows. Jackson takes note of the other person before he advances much further, decision making skills something that's visible in slowing footsteps, in stopping and starting, in the eventual clearing of his throat to give a placid nod to his own presence. How selfish of him, he thinks, not any better than the moon. "You put your toes in the water like that, a selkie's gonna think you want to chill out with them and you know where that leads to, I'm sure." He's next to her after a moment, not too close because he's hyper aware of the boundaries individuals construct as much as he is of how easily they can tumble down with defenses and a sense of coherency. The edge of his sneaker traces an ebbing ripple, he wonders how long she's been out here on her own.

[x-jacksonclaw-blog]

Nervously systematic

It begins with a protest from the back of the class, but only because people refuse to see it any other way, refuse to see how his hair stands on the expanse of his arms or the way his fingers curl into his knuckles like he's trying to grip onto the last bits of restraint he can muster. Jackson doesn't think he's shouting. but everyone somehow finds a reason to muffle his plea with a finger to their lips and he can't remember a time where he'd felt so close to the precipice of despair like he does now; characteristically he forgets things. Forgets that the mention of his feet being anywhere but reasonably close to the ground makes wells out of his palms because he's been there before, been in the sky where the air tasted like celestial clarity and lost coherency. But he's also felt the descent as if it were like dropping head-first into a million oblivions on end and his chest was some numb entity that held a pulse detached into his eardrums.

He remembers when everything stopped and the world went black.

The tip of his pencil breaks off against the corner of the page he's attempting to write his name on for the fifth time when the professor dismisses the class. He does anything but move for a while, left plastered between seconds and the shuffling of students in opposite directions as he places his face in his hands and groans upon the wake of a remark along the lines of  'See you at the destination in a few hours Mr.Wang—however you manage to get there.' and he knows what that means really, that there was no exceptions for missing out on this class event simply because he had a fear of the common transportation methods. He wants to tell him that he can't help it, that he's tried to be like everyone else and it's like the planet has made some sort of sick decision to cumulatively put all of the odds anywhere but in his favor. It's just that life's not always fair, he can hear his father chime in from the back of his skull and the kids who whine about it will get nowhere in life with pity.

It's like paying a car meter with monopoly money.

So he doesn't give excuses or—anything for that matter, just sort of stares past the thickness of his knuckles at the desks in front of him, trying to figure out the quickest way to join with the rest of his class while still managing to keep two feet on the ground. Eventually he rolls his shoulders back in a weak gesture of defeat, hands dragging down his face to fall back uselessly at his sides. And with his attention less on the matters going on in his head, he finally notices that someone's staring at him, possibly has been staring at him for some time now, which isn't creepy or anything. Just embarrassing. " You know better than anyone how I can't just fly over like it's no big deal," he remarks, voice falling somewhere in the form of a mumble around his feet. " I'm going to walk. I don't know where the hell I'm going to direct myself, but it's worth a shot." Jackson meets eyes with her for a moment, challenge an afterthought embedded in the oasis of his particular mahogany as he ghosts through gathering up his books. It's far from a young boy's fear on infirmary beds, but the memory nestles nearly tangible between them like it was woken up from this morning; a nightmare.

Perhaps a dream.

Where the knight had saved a boy who fell from the sky and in her arms he saw humanity, saw where the good of this world had gone and all it was willing to offer. 

[gotmypainkillers]

[rkhoseok]

Hands | Jaebum and Jackson

[rkhoseok]

And here Jackson was acting just as Jackson has always acted whether around Jaebum or strangers, or even a combination of both. Jaebum scratched the back of his neck and tried to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He knew Jackson’s personality like the back of his hand though and merely chuckled to himself fondly as he leaned back against the wall. He shifted until he was facing Jackson and fished in his own pocket for yet another caramel candy. It seemed as though the more he ate these candies, the more he continued to smell and taste nothing but them. Pensively mulling over Jackson’s words about his personal boundaries, he wondered when it was that he really did lose them. It was probably long before their third year of friendship, he probably lost them to Jackson around the third day of knowing each other. “Are you sure it was the third year and not like the third week or even the third day? Are you really sure you know what personal boundaries are?” 

A grin makes its way across Jaebum’s face and as the corner of his lips quirk up, his eyes disappear into two tiny half slitted moons. It’s rare that a smile like this makes it appearance with him. It’s saved for moments where he’s truly happy or perhaps he’s laughing too hard to control it. He thinks it makes him look dumb, it’s the smile that turns his face from he thinks is rather stoic or chic as his brother calls it. It turns a serious looking man and turns him into a dumb boy and Jackson is generally the cause behind these smiles save for a few other of his best friends within the castle. But in moments like this, Jaebum doesn’t mind. So he lets the grin paint his face as he leaned forward to tap his fingers softly against the curve of Jackson’s knee. “You really are terrific. You’re a gift to the entire world.” Falling back into the support of the wall behind him, Jaebum couldn’t help but to shake his head at his best friend.  

But his musing was cut short at the appearance of a piece of paper over the top of the book he had previously had his nose buried in. He let out a hiss at the grade and immediately his eyes roll back up to take in Jackson’s frame and the look on his face. It’s not a horrible grade but it’s not the best either and he personally knows that Jackson could do better. But maybe there are things weighing down on his shoulders, maybe he forgot to study, or maybe it was just a crappy test. Either way he placed his hand over the feeling of the paper and shrugged his shoulder at Jackson. “Couldn’t predict that, could you? Maybe all of those practice divinations you did for me that said I wouldn’t find love, will actually come true now huh?” 

[x-jacksonclaw-blog]

If he really thinks about it, then Jaebum has enough knowledge to tell him just how expendable his personal boundaries were and more than likely still are, but Jackson doesn't acknowledge the remark. He doesn't necessarily even have to, they both know who's correct. The smile unfolding next to him is indescribably impossible to ignore, always has been in that way red colored things make people stop what they're doing at least momentarily as if it's a fibril of their human nature. Though he wouldn't say Jaebum is a part of his human nature, but that the smile that creeps up into fruition, extravagant white teeth and gentle lips, has long been something in his life that he's come to a stop for; there's a notable silence buzzing alongside the sort of comfort you'd find wrapped up in your childhood blankets that lulls the continuous noise in his head and he smiles back after momentary pause, enriched pigments of brown dusting over the entirety of his friend's face. And that smile is small, much like the tip of an iceberg that's tremendous neath the sheath of an undisturbed ocean.

He clucks in return to compliments and the water ripples.

Jackson watches the way the other looks over his test, with the weight of a boulder in his stomach because no one has the guts to scold him the way Jaebum does—which could more or less be explainable through the years sitting between them—even though it's not really a scolding at all, it's a slow and aching acceptance of lesser things; it's expecting something great and receiving something poor. Maybe it's just the lingering thought of disappointment that worries him. Maybe he's still unnerved over imperfections, specifically the ones that make him less of a normality and more of a glitch in the human equation, which makes the sound of air whizzing past the other's teeth feel like a smack to the face. He doesn't know when it started, but the edges of his eyes are burning enough to make him want to clamp them shut. Jackson looks somewhere unimportant outside of the window. The grass appears faintly like it's struggling to absorb this morning's shower. And he thinks back to the day of the test briefly, wonders it was raining then, if rain somehow correlates to bad grades, if he's the only one that thinks about these things. Probably.

"Nope." He responds too quickly and it doesn't quite register that he does so until he's opening his mouth to say something and the words aren't forming because he's spoken them far before he should have. It nearly feels like gasping for air seconds after being submerged in water. He was never very good at swimming. In fact, he's more than positive he would drown if there wasn't some sort of solidity under his feet and right now he's drowning with his ears the shade of pomegranates. "Let me try it again?" he says with the dictation of a statement but the classical air of a question, standing with the slightest wobble of avidity leeching into his feet. " I'll use the Chinese fortune sticks this time."

[x-jacksonclaw-blog]

▬ SECRET SANTA!

A personalised notebook from your secret santa

Jackson runs a hand over the book( some strain of nut birthing tree given the dark color, but it's too light to be mahogany. Surely.) then trails his fingers slightly over the initials engraved towards the outer corner, they're his but it doesn't quite look right.

'Ka Yee' feels more like an individual he forgot about in the backs of scrapbooks, not his name, not him. Because Ka Yee was a little boy that rolled sleepily in his mother's arms, tugged on her loosely draping cardigans, daydreamed of apple slices and peanut butter perfectly organized on a plate.

Jackson never had any of those things, or rather, felt it easier to dismiss those pieces of his memory entirely.

"Funny," he starts, voice amused albeit a little weary, eyeing the journal again as he turns it over in his hands a couple of times and like many things, he forgets to explain just why he finds it so humorous, but simply leaves it open that it just is; his attention span is a thief and many of his proclamations are left unfinished like a multitude of fraying threads pulled idly from the seams of clothing.

He opens it finally, after a few moments, staring at the blank page while a free hand gropes at his nightstand for a pen and once it's acquired he slowly inks his name into the innermost corner with practiced fragility, labels it 'For The Important Things' and places both it and the pen back on the ledge next to his bed.

Perhaps one day, when Jackson is feeling more like an individual forgotten in the backs of scrapbooks he'll have this ( hopefully filled with his memories and thoughts and the goals that would either be overthrown or accomplished) to remind him.

[x-jacksonclaw-blog]

Day 'n' Night

Potions are unmistakably his strong suit after seven years of forcing textbook niceties into the starving corners of his consciousness. Upon certain occasions he bleeds acromantula venom, blinks back honeywater, exhales sal ammoniac to make up for the inability to feel the right emotions at the right times; it's arguable that he needs it to feel better about himself. But you can't necessarily win a debate with your own thoughts. Trust him, he's tried. Sometimes Jackson looks at all of these cauldrons, the empty vials and the beakers and feels more at home integrating himself between them than he does people, because the salamander blood wont make fun of the way he laughs or bring up the broom incident from his first year like he did it yesterday.

No amount of time or space could tame the residual sting of mockery and apparently no amount of time or space could make it any less entertaining to still test his self confidence.

If he was on the other end of this situation, maybe he'd find it funny. Maybe he's not looking at it correctly. Maybe this particular string of humor is all he's missing to make blatant offense a thing of the past and all of the years he spent biting back the festering desire to punch a guy in the trachea will melt away into a reservoir of situations he overreacted to.

Maybe it was just one big overreaction.

He likes to think his skin has grown nearly impenetrable by now with how many times he's heard the same pattern of insults over and over, that he's just grown accustomed to harboring this sort of weight so his knees don't tremble as much as they had the first day. The softness of a child's candied brown has long hardened to something stale surrounding his pupils, an entity of untouchable grief that only looks bearable behind his eyelashes.

At the right angle. In the right light.

Sadness is just another darkness that buries itself knee-deep in all it touches, sinking like carcinogens into the soft space where his smiles contort the majority of his face. This is where people know Jackson wang and his unbridled charisma. This is where they listen to him talk the irritations away until empty words are all he harbors. They want this side of him. They want the pieces that aren't rusted. Not many have the innate talent to pick apart shadow from sunshine and very rarely he guides attention to the parts of him that hurt; the child that cried to himself on half empty seesaws is dwelling somewhere between "It's no big deal"  and " I'll get over it."

Sometimes it screams at him from the corner it's pressed into, sobbing about brokenhearted people and family photos that consisted of only two individuals and a blank space that was always more noticeable than them, no matter how hard they smiled. But he ignores it.

The lack of effort it takes is nearly sickening. 

Jackson silently reads over a line of text in the potions book while simultaneously dropping a leaf of something into the bubbling mixture in front of him. He tries valiantly to act like he's not creating the same potion he made just a few days ago for some forgettable, but probably equally as frustrating reason. Repetition strips him of sources, just alleviates whatever he's trying to dull. Steam rises enough to dribble over the precipice of the cauldron, gives way to his idle stirring until it dissipates entirely into a translucent mixture. Briefly looking down, he sees his own reflection, both crooked and uncomfortably still in the ebbing of ripples, and it looks a lot like him save for the bits and pieces that hold a particular malice, a rigidness. With some strand of reluctance, he twitches his lips into a small smile. A handsome lie.

He puts a lid over the finished potion, leaves the mess and the seamlessly flawless result for someone to claim when a class occupies the room again. He doesn't need it anymore.

It's arguable that he ever needed it in the first place.

[sevendless-blog]

7/x favorite pictures of jackson wang

[x-jacksonclaw-blog]

These Worries

Your past follows you wherever you go, it doesn't take into account how Jackson redoes specific tasks about six or seven times until they're flawless because, god forbid, they blame his cute little acronym of a serious learning disability for screwing shit up, to the house that clearly proves either how unnervingly obdurate he was to obliterate his personal stigma or how wrong people were for misjudging him as someone too inadequate to adorn the colors. He tries pretty hard to avoid those sort of situations that give people the chance to point it out, efficiently enough that they rarely ever happen in the eye of the public. Funny how those things work, he thinks, how torture can disguise itself in the wake of fidgeting legs under tabletops and pressing down just a little too hard on his pencil and no Jackson don't think tha—no Jackson please just pay attenti—focus Jackson focu—

At the end of the day, they'll still laugh at him like the kids did in third grade, and fourth grade and fifth grade and he doesn't exactly remember when they stopped laughing, really, or when muggle laughter sounded any different from the laughter coming from his peers now. Jackson assumes it doesn't matter much, the feeling remains unaltered. Some of the boys from his own house still think it's funny to mock the inflections of his voice whenever they walk by.

Believe it or not, he's sure he's found a remedy for this, not the act entirely though he wishes that to be different, but something to counteract the way he starts to feel the blood pulse in his eardrums or the muscles in his jaw tightening so much he swears he's going to bite through his top teeth because he definitely needs those. A Slytherin student passes him by and, as if on their own accord, his feet shadow the student's footsteps. He's sure there's some quote somewhere that says a thing or two about keep trudging forward and how it might be applicable to tossing his acquaintanceship every which way. Jackson's not so sure any of those quotes would be followed up by how he should keep doing so to make up for the lack of acceptance he feels. Setting himself up for failure almost seems like a default action to him.

"Hey, what's your name? I'm Jackson. I don't think we've met before, have we? Maybe we have, because you don't look all that young to me, but, I mean, who am I to assume right?" He starts in that awfully confident tone of his, except it's not confidence, maybe something along the lines of desperation that makes him sound so convincing and he's sure glad he's had a couple years to practice his 'I'm such a friendly and cool guy with no insecurities at all' voice or else this wouldn't have been so painless to do.

[x-jacksonclaw-blog]

gryber

It’s Christmas, man, gotta have Christmas candy. Mom sent me most of these. (/swallows and grins, continuous in her offering; she likely won’t take the bag away until he’s found something in there to enjoy.) What’cha doin’ for Christmas, Jackie?

(/ Jackson is about to argue that Christmas isn't just for candy like an insufferable little jerk with too much time on his hands that trivial matters suddenly conspire into hardly intellectual debates, because he remembers holiday movies that reiterate the same notion until it's grained behind his eyelids and a part of him thinks that dreaming of sugar plum fairies is just another glorified term for watching "It's A Wonderful Life" on repeat without feeling completely worthy of a straight jacket. Some traditions still confuse him; he can believe in flying broomsticks and dragons and still the repetition of muggle life is the thing that trips him up. That is, the things that don't necessarily pertain to his social life or what little of one he's managed to upkeep.) Not sure, really (/ but he'd like to be sure. He'd like to say something like ' Yeah, I'm going to go visit my family ' or ' I'm totally going skiing ' even though the two possibilities are out of his reach, with his father somewhere back in Canada for who knows what type of business and Jackson's not-so-secretive fear of heights coming into play. He finally decides on a vine of some sort, feeding an end into his mouth and it sort of tastes like playdoh, if playdoh were a candy that was mildly rubbery and sort of elastic as he finds out through playing tug-o-war with himself for a moment, just trying to rip the damn thing in half.) Probably staying here, I guess. What about you, eh?

[x-jacksonclaw-blog]

Dude. (/flops down opposite him and leans forward, eagerly presenting a colourful paper bag stuffed to the brim with festive sweets in front of him by near-enough shoving it under his nose. her mouth is full already, mouthful pushed aside into her cheek so she can talk to him.) I just stocked up on Christmas candy, get fat with me.

(/when he sees it, he wonders what magical force holds him back from proceeding to ramble on about how all of his friends find some sort of unspoken connection to him through candy, how he doesn’t even like it and the normal retaliation of I’m already as fat as I can get, you’re just pushing me into early diabetes seems suitable enough for this occasion, but part of him makes due with—) Someone made herself at home in Honeydukes.(/ it’s arguable that anyone could make themselves at home there because it’s a candy store and even if you’re a total tight-wad, you’re bound to still love a quality candy store, but Jackson keeps that to himself.) s’this where you’ve been all day? I was wondering why I didn’t see you sooner. (/ he says curiously while sifting through the bag for something he could work on for a few minutes, like a jawbreaker or a some gum.)

[x-jacksonclaw-blog]

Never Never

There's a peculiar look on his face adjacent to misguided mirth, one that reserves itself for the silence between discordant parcels of time before a handsome flash bang and smoke clogging the eyelids, sitting laden on tongues the flavor of citrus fruits. It, this expression, flickers something like a lit match and settles onto his skin with the grace of childhood adolescence, of little fingers tying shoelaces together under a table on his first year to the antagonistic ways that duos have when both of their names start with a 'J' and suddenly friendship grows roots between unspoken mishaps—has it really been so long since childhood had pulled him in miscreant directions so helplessly?—that syrupy gentleness that elicited laughter, perhaps, on rare occasion a moment of solace from knotted sentiment. Maturity beckons unwanted realities, no one knows this as well as Jackson; ignorance is bliss, that of which he shares only in the company of a select few individuals who understand it because he's aware that he is not entirely the easiest person to put together, but it's doable. Lost causes are exclusively for situations and never human beings, he thinks, and Jay has a pretty fantastic way of not saying a damn thing but still understanding when it's time for a good laugh.

They're across the room from each other now, years in the same class could tell stories about bodies like continents slowly drifting farther away. The students could fill in gaps with rumored chaos of when these bright-eyed beacons collide mentalities and paint destruction on the walls. Even now, as he says nothing while orange percipitation settles somewhere near his feet and respectively in faint patches over his clothing, everyone knows. Of course, it doesn't take long to figure it out, and if anything, the spreading grin, tucking the corners of his lips into the apples of his cheeks, gives it away. "My, my, my who would have thought of such a delicious prank Professor.So?" Jackson eventually speaks up and licks at the corner of is mouth, attempting to feign curiosity. "What is this, a hint of lemon?"

And those eyes of his, so clean and dark might have, maybe, darted for only a moment towards a certain gryffindor sitting a couple rows in front of him.

[x-jacksonclaw-blog]

I See Fire

Now Jackson doesn't call himself an artist, maybe would attempt to title himself a skilled doodler at most because his stick figures hold a crisp precision from line body to line legs, all rounding to little circle heads. He doesn't particularly enjoy drawing either, given his attention span of a few measly minutes before the partial completion of one drawing is intercepted  by the thought of making another completely different one, as if his images are parallel to highway collisions on a page. As if nothing ever ends and his mind is just a conglomerate of beginnings, which would be nice, he thinks, if they weren't so hideous, but when he finally stops and looks over a graphite smothered page, he's pleased with himself for the most part—as pleased as one could be when claiming an entire sheet in an innocent artist's portfolio because obviously it's not the most gentlemanly, respectful thing to do. Though, no one promised he'd ever be graced with the mildness of a lamb; his cuts are too deep, wool too rough and undesirable to harvest  and when he makes a friend he offers these obscurities in reddened palms just as he offers the book, doodled page visible, to the girl adorning green. To the girl with familiar, yet distant embers behind her chocolaty hues. He says her name once, practice lulling him inaudible until he's next to her. Then, "Hyomin? Yeah, Hyomin. Cool. Uh, this is yours," tumbles off of his tongue.  

[fywangjackson]

141014 Gimpo Airport  © Wild And Sexy | Do not edit.

[x-jacksonclaw-blog]

Alright, so since I'm finally freeing up from school despite my final coming up in two days, I've managed to roll back into the land of the active. With that being said, if I was plotting with you or planning on plotting something out with you and went stagnant all of a sudden, please feel free to kick me in my inbox or on aim because I have a terrible memory. Along with that, I'm completely up for more plotting and if you're interested in interacting with Jackson, go and give this a like so I can nyoom into your asks. He also has a thought blog up if you want to peek at it and stuff. I'm totally off to sleep now because I have to be up in three hours, but #yolo.