UGH!

when rome's in ruins, we are the lions

[aranaea-rp]

"Things that I have heard people say" starters (part 2)

•"This is an interesting conversation to walk in on.“ •"I didn’t have any breakfast.” •"My lunch was half a chicken strip and a peanut.“ •"Which thing should we do first?” •"Huh? What’s going on?“ •"I just got like a million notifications.” •"You look really nice today!“ •"Why is this month so busy?” •"Where are you going?“ •"Where are they going?” •*bell rings* “Shut up.” •*sings imperial march* •"Is my face less red now?“ •"You wanna go? Let’s fight. You and me, right now. C'mon.“ •"I am so hungry.“ •*“You’re in trouble~” ooing* •*amazed ooing* •"Ooh, you’re gonna need some ice for that burn!“ •"I’m gonna drop this thing and it’s gonna make a loud noise.” •"How to kill a conductor: by low brass.“ •"Are you a singer? You’d be a great singer.” •"Stop being such a nazi, I can do what I want!“ •"I once convinced my entire 6th grade class that I was related to Hitler.” •"Just shove it in their torso!“ •"This is completely wrong.” •"Someone come sit on me I’m cold!“ •”[First name]! [Full name, including middle name(s)], where are you?!“ •"I’m from Nova Scotia where the weather is evil.” •"What did I do today? I accidentally set my dad’s hair on fire.“ •"Yes, I’ve already eaten three children.” •"Everything would eat a baby.“ •"And that is how you set your ass on fire.” •"I go inside for one minute and the dog sets himself on fire!“ •"This person doesn’t have a head.” •"You can just steal someone’s head.“ •"I’m collecting body parts.” •"It’s weird; they have noses!“ •"Would you like a shoe?” •"I love human feet!“ •"Nonononono! Lick my feet instead!” •"It’s just a big pile of no.“ •”Hah as if I need sleep you petty mortal! •"It’s so beautiful! F*cking dangerous, but beautiful.“ •”Just let them die. It’s a time-honoured tradition.“ •”Now there’s a trail of slime on my leg. Great.“ •"What a cute snail. Look at it. It’s so cute!” •"Ice cream trucks are of the devil!“ •"If they will bring me shiny stolen things I will give them food. I feel like that’s a fair trade.” •"I will live under your porch because I love you.“ •"Curse you, mocking ducks!” •"Ducks are evil. But delicious!“ •"Um… there is a fungus on top of your trash can.” •"Hypothetical book-spoiling assholes. They’re out there.“ •"Please do not burn the father.“ •"That is not a good.” •"That solves the problem of killing people for shoes.“ •"Ah! I’m fine. Just tripped. While standing still. Nothing’s wrong.” •"Flashlights aren’t exactly a skill.“ •"This is why I shouldn’t have a lightsaber.” •"Those stars look like a giant stomping people to death.“ •“Star! I mean, I know it’s a meteor, but star!” •"What are you doing!? …You’re charging my pelvis.“ •"Shh don’t wake the sleeping truckers.” •"Just think of the army of kittens coming out of the mist!“

[yngvol]

stats sheet.

repost, replacing the old information with your muse’s information. pass it on to your mutuals for a better understanding of their muses.

face claim: nam taehyun name: kc age: younger twin to jc ( bruh idk ) gender: male nationality: korean birthplace: jeju, sk birthday: same as jc’s star sign: the moody one residence: apartment shared with jc marital status: single alignment: neutral evil

LIKES —

drink: soda, alcohol, anything iced food: all, every, anything day or night: evenings are the best song: dirty house quote: lyrics of his favorite song at the moment pet: none color: red and baby blue

LOOKS —

body type: ectomorph eye color: brown hair color: blonde body reference: x

tagged by : @jcmood @rollingstvne (<33333) tagging : @blossomists @morphiums @artificvr @aduros ( not sure who has or hasn’t but feel free to do if you’d like! seeing moral alignments is always fun tbh )

[yngvol]

jcmood:

“just thought it, didn’t you?” at least he thinks, at least kc thinks. at least he’s not walking aimlessly, at least there’s somewhat of a goal. even if blurred, the path is still drawn, even if stumbling, steps are still being taken. it’s about moving on and on, it’s always about going on and on. 

“look it up first, kc.” a slight tinge of irritation, there’s no knowledge within jc to answer that inquiry. but there’s also no way to let the girl behind the screen know that a trap is about to shut her leg and the blood will not be from third parties victims, it will be hers. and the flesh she will see being torn will not make her scream in fear, but in agony.

“just thought it.” he’s got a little pride in that, showing in a cheshire grin and fingers tapping over the couch. “most of my thoughts end up pretty well don’t you think?” this isn’t something to be answered but kc thinks if anyone were to answer it correctly it’d be jc. not because jc tells him what he wants to hear but because jc can tell him what he will hear. usually kc’s one for drowning out everyone’s rationale and opinions, not his brother. never his brother.

at that word though he’s sulking into the flesh of the couch, cheek sinking against the fabric. he’s itching to move out and jc knows but he also knows how to ground him, keep kc leveled until he can get things straight. he peeks up at the television once, and back down at his brother, the images not reaching his psyche until he acknowledges the high-pitched screaming and blood-gushing with parted lips. 

“I gotta? can’t wing this one?” it’s probably not best to, and everything in him says so. but his feet itch and his lower half bounces and kicks against the floor. 

[yngvol]

/ @jcmood

kc, though things draw his attention, rarely is he interested and rarely can they hold it. he sees the screen for all but two seconds before his eyes are on his brother, chin over the seat of the couch. if he takes a seat he’s invested, if he stays on his feet he’s ready to move on. 

why do you want one? why do you need one? can you take care of one? 

kc is glad for the rationale his brother doesn’t shove down his throat and it makes him smile, bright and excited. “don’t know. didn’t check. just want one. gray or orange? do black tabbies exist? maybe black.”

[yngvol]

/ @rollingstvne

kc doesn’t know how to pull things. not like the easy pull of a cigarette. not like a pull for poison and pleasure all at once. he doesn’t know how to dig through a soul like words do. that’s supposed to be his brother, getting things from people, learning. kc just opens and lets come what come. 

in that sense they’re alike.

he doesn’t know what to do after. he doesn’t stop the flow whether it makes sense, whether it’s timely. he lacks finesse, timeliness, etiquette. he lacks the drive to really be gentle with the soft parts of the mind. it’s why when tanner gets up and lets it strain him to wit’s end, kc watches him for a moment, watches until he’s following, cigarette still between his lips.

he does get it though. in a more morbid, more active way. not cigarettes on his skin but guitar strings turned into blades.he gets it, someone seeing euphoria as destruction. people are always trying to destroy someone’s utopia if he doesn’t get it. they didn’t get his, didn’t get the time spent on the guitar and what he could pull from it. kc doesn’t shake at the memory anymore, but he does wish he had his guitar to hold. instead he shoves his hands in his pockets, finds his pick deep within them and follows tanner to the roof.

the roof is crisp but not crisp enough, too silent. so he fills.

“could’ve given a crappy answer or been real weird and stuck it on your skin yourself.” this isn’t really lightening the mood, this is just kc. kc in all he tries to do.

“but yeah, was smoking, made a bet with a friend and we were too drunk to realize it was a bad idea. but the kind of bad idea you laugh out. like right now? dumping ashes over the roof and seeing who we hit. like that.” not like pulling from the mind but pulling anxiousness into something else. “would’ve suggested liquid but i’m all out.”

[yngvol]

when kc’s frustrated it shows in agitation. 

‘what do you want from it?’ @jcmood

jc doesn’t have to look up to know. it’s the small agitation, that means whatever’s got kc frustrated has him motionless aside from one part of his body. he’s using everything to focus on the agitation. whether he understands it or not. jc tries to help him understand.

gotta express that shit. he’d say.

“don’t know.” he responds shorter too. kinda like those people who get mad and talk tight-lipped. kc’s tight everywhere, face, brows, forehead, legs. the only thing moving is his knee against the table.for anyone who knows him, it’s a sight.

‘how can summer have too many expectations if you don’t expect anything from it.’

“no it’s like,” kc can pause for the question. and that’s why he likes his brother. because he helps him pull and pause, pull and pause, instead of writing him off. most people leave him to his thoughts and just let him simmer in agitation. it never ends well. so jc channels it. calm too, head still buried in his papers.

‘it’s expecting of me and then i expect of it.’ “how?”

he also hates that jc indulges him because then he has to think. think and sort through it all. messy traffic and all messy minded.

“like.....you know.” ‘i don’t.’

now he kicks his legs out, nearly hitting the coffee table. jc doesn’t move, kc doesn’t speak. he’s fighting it, the urge to run rampant. he hates when he talks a mess around his brother, but likes it when jc makes sense of it. so he tries, just for today.

“like, everyone makes it a certain way. when they talk about summer, beaches and freedom and late nights with sparklers.” jc’s snorting, kc’s still going. “so like, no one sees it differently, so when yours isn’t that, you’re confused.” ‘you don’t even like the beach.’ “not true.” kc’s scandalized, about to go on about why he loves the beach and the sand in his toes but he gets one look from his brother and stops. “but sparklers? or like, friends and scenery. we don’t have that right? does that mean we don’t have a summer? a true summer? isn’t that false advertising? what are we doing wrong?” the frown returns to his face, to his brows. spreading all over as he waits for a response.

“i hate summer, it’s too much.” he had said. i’m not young, he thinks.

[yngvol]

jcmood:

“i am not.” or is he? he could be. it could be that he’s projecting on kc, is he? does he do that often? want something but decides that it’s not his choice, not his desire, not his needs. so it must be his brother’s. if jc isn’t thinking, then kc must be thinking. and vice versa. or not at all. maybe they’re always both doing the same thing. whether thinking, whether not thinking. 

he shouldn’t imprint himself on kc. kc is kc, jc is jc. there’s a line.  where though, where’s that line?  is it drawn? black, bold, or grey, fragile? 

“maybe.” jc is frowning, but it’s not a hard line. it’s not the one he has when he’s thinking. kc wouldn’t think twice about it if he wanted it, he wouldn’t. he’d admit. yes, i am hungry. here he is, having to think if he’s hungry or not and he’s shaking his head lightly. his stomach feels hollow, but his mind is not supplying the feeling of hunger. there’s something less, something more. but not hunger. 

it’s when kc’s stomach growls– that is when jc finds himself leaning in his chair and it settles there in his stomach. as if on cue. see? kc didn’t need to think it, it came and he took it. 

“too hot for spicy, you want spicy?” there’s an answer, vague, but here. he is hungry. no he’s not thinking it, he’s feeling it. stomach not growling but it’s there and it’s growing close. 

have you scribbled your desire onto me? jc tilts his head, observes kc over his shoulder.  or is it that we’re more alike than our minds think?  or are you you, are you me, am i you, am i me? 

it’s a mirror, with bleached strands. but it’s a mirror, it’s not smiling as jc is. not moving, not sitting, not talking, not alike. it’s not alike. but it’s a mirror, as treacherous as it is. it is there, by his side and jc reaches to ruffle what should look like the mop atop of his head. but is distinctive and tends to stay distinctive. 

“you’ll be losing your hair soon, go bald. let’s get spicy. with noodles–” his words are cut, the end of a pen in his mouth. he bites, chews, he’ll need to replace this one again. his legs are p on his chair and his toes are pushing at the edge of his sneakers. they fall with a thump and he finds his fingers playing in between the spaces of his toes. “udon.”

kc’s desires spread thin. kind of like his interest. well his interest is wide but it touches thin. in the middle it’s not tight, it’s bulky, and everything else tries to escape. stop him from pouring all he has into guitars and leave everything else. that’s why he lets jc fill in the blanks.

like practicality.  it’s too hot for spicy stew. is he craving spicy stew? is he craving anything? is he trying to make sure he’s grounded and pull his brother out. or, is he the one who isn’t grounded and his brother pulls him back? they operate like that without knowing. it’s better that way. better than someone always trying to ground them and openly reminding them that they aren’t. 

grounded that is.

kc can take it from his brother because he understands. sometimes he thinks they transfer. maybe he was grounded the whole time. then maybe jc notices and that pulls him out. they bother prefer it that way. prefer losing themselves and subtle tugs through their minds. anything fierce and kc fights back, bold and jc slips through.

alike and not alike. operating around and through.

“short rib.” not alike yet again. but kc’s got this silly grin on his face. like he’s trying to see how alike and not alike they are. he doesn’t mind the similarity, the mirror of him and the cracks that only they see. he likes it. loves it. makes him feel as if he’s not as detached if there’s someone else existing like this. “don’t feel like udon noodles.” or does he. he’s up now though, adjusted his position to be convenient for the both of them. so jc can reach him, see him and not worry about how he often twists his body across couches.

or how he twists around others, dances around himself. around jc he’s always a little good, always got a decent flow.

“i wanna go pink, did I tell you?” he’s been meaning to say that, and this seems like the perfect opportunity, eyes moving up up up until he claims he can see the hair falling over his eyes. jc can always, always pulls what he forgets to let loose. does he do the same? sometimes he wonders. but he’s thankful, jc pulls from the trash heap what will be left a regret. kc’s got so much to say and not all of it makes it out. jc sees to clearing the mess he’s got up there. “maybe after that I’ll try bald, that way they’ll never mistake us right?”

always cheeky. always grateful.

sneakers already on, mind already excited.

[yngvol]

the first day goes like:

‘what are you looking for in them?’

jin says that in the car. she’s been asking a lot of questions, zoned out until he lets her flick his forehead once, nudge his side twice. knife-sharp and reality pushing. kc’s still numb soft and dream altered. he only registers the move of the world outside him.

“i’m not my brother.”

he’s not. he’s not here for what he can see it do to others. he’s here for him. kc doesn’t have that kind of fascination, the patience for it either. he doesn’t think he draws from anyone, not the girl who smiles his way and asks for a smoke, not the guy who pushed past him. none of them.

he gets on campus, no sparkly eyes and no giddiness until he reaches the music room. he’s really just a vessel, empty until he can fill himself with tunes, scratch at his fingertips and play until he goes wild. so the school couldn't possible fill him. the people couldn’t possibly do the trick.

his first few classes hollow him out even more. he’s got no part in it, the cliches really. on how his legs are propped up on the seat beside him, how his clothes hang on him bone low. bones low and out in the open, elbows, chest and all. the words barely make their way in, school’s always been this way, interest hard to find so he busies himself with flicking his pick between his fingers.

[ incoming: how’s class ] he hears the sneer in jc’s message. or maybe that’s his own sneer, always switching with one another without knowing. always being far but right next to each other. [ outgoing: 🤢🤢🤢🤢 ]

he doesn’t feel nauseous really. he’s not even sick of it. of stares that aren’t directed at him and ones that are. at feeling all the way here and all the way out at the same time. he’s just tired. tired the more he walks through campus, from class to class, from smoke to smoke.

[ incoming: why’d you even decide this ]

kc passes through meaningless lectures and human cliches with every ninety minute class. and he gets nothing. no inspiration, fascination, no pull to the people and their struggle to be. he’s struggling too but they find hope in their books and their words, he only finds it in one thing.

the guitar against his stomach. his fingers against the neck. his mind disconnected.

[ outgoing: i skipped two classes ]

first day passes with no real anything. he’s not searching for something but he’d be happy if he found something. the joy in playing the guitar during class? that was good. that was it.

and if no one can fill him what’s the point in being around all of them?

[absentions]

Visit Original Link

[yngvol]

jcmood:

why are you always so bent? @yngvol why am i not as bent as you? straight as a stick, am i? no, that’s not it. 

still bent too, but over a desk. jc is all paper and ink and the scribbles of a few lines or words across his hands and arms. that’s kc’s work though. because jc won’t let him touch the papers sprawled across the table. they work together. they work well together. but with each person doing what they need to do and eventually mix it up. or bring it together into one final product. 

they may work well together, but jc’s selfish in owning his space and kc wants to invade every little part of everything. so they manage around it and when kc gets enough of enough of jc’s way of handling all the papers on the table, he takes a pen and inks across his brother’s skin. arms, fingers, back of hands. whatever’s available, if his legs were bare, they’d be ink drawn on them too. 

he’s sure he’s felt the end of that pen on his cheek at some point. what a spectacle he will be giving to anyone who catches sight of this. it brings a smile to him from time to time when he feels it. when he sees it, because he’s not always aware it’s happening. not until a break for some water, or a sip of the coffee sitting somewhere, maybe behind. never next to kc. 

“i felt that,” said when the ticklish feeling leaves his skin with the lines warming on his neck, “that said feet. you’re hungry?” the words have started to make less and less sense. that’s a cue jc knows to take well. it’s time for some take out, or maybe some sun, if it’s still high and above. if the moon hasn’t already taken its place in the kingdom that is their sky. 

scattered and moving. moving and scattered. why am I everywhere, why can’t I be bound?

it’s hard, extremely hard for kc to last these sessions without moving. he’s tried it once and fell asleep. the other time he just started screaming to scream. the loud kind of scream that turned into a laugh when his brother gave him the look. he finds it very, incredibly hard to focus on the process when he’s not doing the process.

he finds it very hard to do the process when he focuses. the riffs and the styles come to him separately, not when he’s inside. he uses this time to hum rhythms, and hum and hum and hum and match whatever he can see jc scribble across his way. he goes over some, doesn’t touch any unless he needs to feel the rough between his fingers. that turned to ink and ink turned into writing on jc’s arm. 

it’s not a show for anything really, he doesn’t take a lot of pride in his words. too scattered, raw but not anything. too everything is what he said. jc just shrugged it off and let him write. and write and write and write. sometimes they mean things sometimes they’re words that scatter suddenly and mean something later. 

so kc scribbles, over and around, sneaky and not so sneaky. he’s barefooted but he’s got snickers and shuffles breaking the silence in the room. he should take a picture, someone should - of the look on his face when he gets stopped.

“no.” had he drawn feet? scattered, always. is he hungry? is he tired? it could be boredom or all the above.

“are you? you’ve gotta be you haven’t eaten since.” he turns, glancing at the makeshift watch he’s drawn on his own arm. “since earlier.”

sometimes it’s a game. and sometimes jc hits things just right when kc himself can’t put it together quite right. because of course there goes his stomach and then his smile. “spicy steeeew?”

[jcmood-blog]

cuffed down the lane, // didn’t you take chained to the rhythm too seriously? // i look at you shake your head, // how long before he finally loses his grip? // reality is perception, you don’t see me judging your choices // who are you to tell me that i am drowning, // when i am soaring so high you see me burning ( perception )                                                      oc literate selective muse                                                      fc is nam taehyun an ad for writing partners                                                      bio / band / twin / disclaimer

[yngvol]

WHAT IS YOUR ANGER TYPE?

Balanced

You have your temper in good check. People may even think you don't have a dark side! Good job!

Consuming

You have the right morals. You don't want to lose your temper but it is your greatest flaw. It's claws grip you and choke you out until it has it's way with you. If you can remove yourself from the situation before that happens you will find sanctuary. If not, the devastation you can cause is unrivalled. You will not explode on everything around you. Rather, ALL of your anger, that has been bottled will explode on the one person who happened to trigger it. They will not stand a chance against your temper. You have the devil in you. You cannot tame it but you can walk away before it shows it's face. The cursed ones.

Tagged by: @spected ( making me do stuff already but thnx bab ) Tagging: @jcmood

[yngvol]

i.

tonight’s got, small roads winding into, one.

tonight’s got, hazy roads, winding into one. tonight’s got people as one, as twelve, as none. as me.

tonight is a night to remember. i won’t see anyone but myself, in alcohol filled mirror.

[fy-winner]

[yngvol]

fy-winner:

[IG] 160331 souththth: @jdzcity​ 

[yngvol]

interview with papercut’s guitarist.

‘how long’s he been like that?’

kc’s got a lot to say sometimes. it echoes softly like wishes though. beating not against his tongue, not waiting, just there. floating back between possibilities and what could be wasted space.

he doesn’t like wasting space. he likes sinking in it, letting it sink in around him.

it’s how he can tell siyoung’s turned up at his brother’s entrance, how jin’s busy throwing things at the wall again, and jc’s stepped in. his brother’s always got this sound that he won’t ever mistake. feline depth. predator too tired to prey.

‘as long as your interview.’ which is about right. he’s been about this for a while, been lying upside down and over. throwing his body over the edge of the couch like he’s waiting for something. being cooped up isn’t fun, the walls too thick, the room too small. not in the suffocating way but in the silent way. the way silence can’t break anything. nothing has gone on in the room since they arrived and nothing will. 

there’s nothing to break, to move. and he has nothing to draw from. that’s frustrating. so he focuses it all in his body, closes his eyes and waits to fall numb. to feel around and pull from around him. so he’s got blood rushed to his head and some semblance of the city outside coming in.

‘your turn.’ he opens one eye to his brother, up above him, hand on his hip and another in his hair.  ‘how was she?’ he gets a sound rather than words. that’s better. kc can work with that and jc knows when he needs it. he lets his body fall over, curling in and pushing out like a cat. he gets his bearings, he gets his energy and heads in.

he smooths things out, like what hits him when he walks in. music fading into silence. probably her listening to their music last minute. the chair screeching. nerves so loud and she hasn’t opened her mouth.

‘red’s your favorite color I see?’ they’d put him in red today, a red leather jacket and black jeans. not as constricting, he doesn’t mind that. he can breathe through things like that. jin says he needs to be more fashionable. kc smiles. bright. and he can tell it startles the woman across from him. “no, wrong brother.” she stills with everything around her, the air in her throat trapped. jin mentions that he plays around too much.

jin mentions a lot of things. much like the woman before him, his reaction to them fade out. he still smiles, sits legs up and crossed on the seat.

“red’s the color of my old guitar.” ‘ah yes, you’re the player.’ that’s me. he thinks bitterly of titles and lazy separations but he smiles still and fidgets atop the chair. “one of ‘em. you were listening to the song. what do you think?” he doesn’t particularly care. ‘the interview’s about you is it not?’ “you only listened to the ending riff so you don’t get the full effect.” ‘excuse me?’ 

sometimes kc fills up space a lot. a lot a lot. where he’s got this look of mischief and words dancing through his mind. notes too. he often chooses the notes.

“see it’s different. my brother’s lyrics, all words and sound. i’m sound too but I’m notes right? that’s why you listened right? you wanna know how I learned to play, anything special about that part. how it makes me feel all that stuff right?” sometimes he chooses them all just to cut them out.  ‘i-’ he doesn’t wait for a response just nods his head. doesn’t want to hear the breaks and the waste. waste waste waste. “you can’t half-do things like that. try listening to the full version of any seven minute long piece, it’s seven minutes for a reason. i can’t isolate I can’t condense. they’re pieces but it’s a lot and asking to separate is kind of rude right?”

he thinks he gets a nod, thinks he sees it. he’s looking at her but he’s also looking around, feeling for anything he can get. his knees tapping against his palms are all he gets. it’s a tempo. he works with it. speeds it so he can get to a goal. it’s all careful. not in quick breaths or anything, just along a tempo as it should be. it’s that contradiction that often throws them off.

“I learned guitar when I was younger. i take inspiration from everything like everyone else. nothing special. ummmmmmm anything else - ah wait is that ten minutes?”

just about. she’s nodding while he’s already standing. energy seeps out of him and it’s almost too erratic. eerily erratic. he knows. eyes bright and alive, squeezing last drops to get out, moving slow and accommodating for it all. he’s moving slow, acting fast. pushing and squeezing and trying to force everything with it.

“I think, you should listen to it. and if you ever interview us again, tell me about it.”

kc fills only when he doesn’t want to waste. now he has time back. so he’s stretching his legs, arms, neck. 

“thank you.” ‘thank you jc-ssi.’ kc doesn’t blink, doesn’t correct and just gives a half hug. hand around the waist and fingers in material until he pulls off.

and out.

he walks past everyone and out to the front of the building. steps out. listens to the road, the cars, the noise. and smiles.