midsumrs - Tumblr blog

midsumrs · 2 years

Text

katherine “kath” taylor . twenty - two . aspiring filmmaker + university student . dark academia + slice of life oc .

* / BIOGRAPHY .

sometimes people behind closed doors do not match the image they project in public, and the taylor household was a perfect example of that notion. katherine’s story begins when her parents drunkenly hooked up at frat party their junior year of college. when vanessa fay saw the pink plus sign on the pregnancy test, she knew she had to hold hank taylor responsible. terrified of the future and what it held in store, vanessa knew deep down that she didn’t want to have a child that would make her life difficult, but hank thought otherwise. with rash promises of a perfect tomorrow, they eventually agreed to marry - albeit for all the wrong reasons.

when katherine was born, it was natural that she would become the center of her father’s universe. however, her mother was never sure how she felt about giving up on her dreams in exchange for motherhood. though she had her doubts for the longest of time, she toughened it out and tried her hardest to see through it. hank eventually made it big after graduating with a degree in law and a year later, he moved them all to new york where he worked as a public defender.

it was slowly getting better for them, financially, at least, but vanessa wasn’t satisfied. she was bitter and resentful towards hank who was able to make his dreams come true without sacrificing a hair on his head. she wanted an identity outside of being a mother, wanted a degree to her name and her own business. no matter how hard hank promised to one day make her wishes come true, those dreams kept being pushed back and back until katherine was old enough to believe in those promises in her stead. years had gone by and it was far too late to mend the cracks in their unstable relationship.

the three of them rarely spent time together as a family. vanessa refused to spend time with hank, and in turn, he began spending his nights in cheap hotel rooms just to avoid his wife’s wrath. arguments became the backdrop of kath’s childhood while she finger-painted in the living room. and though hank always tried his best to calm her down and make things work, it was never going to be enough for her.

vanessa soon turned to using kath as leverage against her husband.

katherine, the pride and joy of hank’s life, was naive to the troubles that happened between her parents. each and every time vanessa ran away with kath, she thought it was a vacation between girls while her father desperately plead for them to come back. vanessa always gave in to his begging at the end of her tantrums and hid everything from kath. over time, katherine began to wonder why they promised an eternity together if her mother always ran for the hills the moment things got hard. after years of that twisted little game, kath learned that love just wasn’t worth the heartache.

chocolates and roses always turned into screaming and tears. she saw it all firsthand and the more she saw it at home, the easier it was for her to do without it. kath locked her heart away in a little box and threw the key away for no one to find. she was sixteen when she learned there was comfort in the thrill and decided to devote herself to the excitement of life rather than the heinous act of love. instead of talking about boys with her classmates, she was chasing after the waves of the ocean that toppled over her own feet. vanessa hated that careless side to her, the untamed spirit that was impossible to leash, but hank understood. he was much like her, and vanessa hated it.

hank encouraged kath to grab life by the horns and make the best out of it. every summer vacation, she worked hard to save up for a plane ticket to escape the hell her parents unintentionally put her through. she wanted to cradle the entire universe in her hands and swallow it whole.

even though kath resembled her father like a mirror would, she was lucky enough to inherit her mother’s best attribute: her mind. kath spent most of her life cradled in her father’s lap, but her thirst for knowledge grew as large as her curiosity did. vanessa did for her what she was unable to do for herself and taught her all there was to learn about literature. sometimes kath wondered if it was another one of her ploys to get her away from her father, to erase the similarities she shared with him, but she was her mother. there must have been love somewhere within the act, even if the uncanny resemblance between them made her seethe.

even though life was eternally a game of tug of war between two parents who hated each other, katherine tried her best to not let it affect her too much in school. she didn’t want to be complicit like her mother or overly idealistic like her father. she worked hard to get good grades until she saw acceptance letters in her mailbox months after her high school graduation. money was not exactly something that could afford her a full ride to the university of her choosing, so kath was forced to settle for less. before she could submit her student information, she got news of her win from her father who submitted her name to a lottery for a school abroad.

with a full ride, katherine was finally able to do three things she had always wanted to do. travel around the country she so eagerly wished to explore, get away from the overwhelming bickering between her parents and most importantly, get an education worthy of the schools she longed to attend. her enrollment was a no brainer and the following fall, she was settling into her dorm room miles away from home.

what she hadn’t expected, however, was for her father to fall ill her second year of college. the doctors said it was bone cancer and he had little time left. going back home was something she did not have to think twice about, especially when he had a wife who cared very little about him and flatly refused to help him during a dark time. during her sophomore year of summer break, katherine spent her time at home and nursed her father back to health. at least to the best of her capabilities. sadly, she was no doctor and her mother made sure to spend money on everything but his medications. with resentment in her eyes, kath began to hate her mother as much as she did them.

hank taylor did not last long with the illness and as the ink dried on the paper that declared his time of death, vanessa fay was bringing in a new man to the house her husband had worked blood, sweat and tears for. with eyes full of resentment and a sharpness in her tongue that had never come out in her life, kath swore never to speak to her mother again and went back to school the following semester. at the end of the year, kath learned she had a sibling on campus. a sibling her mother certainly loved more than she ever would the kid that resembled the man that took everything from her.

#. ˚ biography — katherine taylor.#tw death

2 notes · View notes

midsumrs · 2 years

Text

her fall was far from graceful ; it was unceremonious , it was a mess of limbs and school belongings crashing straight into the pavement floor with the harshest of thuds . her body fell flat on the floor in a humiliated mess , trusty bike not so trusty anymore as the wheels spun sadly about , chain slack and clearly broken . hyerin was reeling from the shock and it didn’t help that someone had seen it happen from start to end . “ fuck , ” the brunette whispered to herself , doe eyes suddenly going wide once her gaze met with a pair of attentive brown ones . within moments , she was anchored back to reality , mind ignoring the screaming soreness and possibility of something broken as she scrambled back to her feet . “ i’m not going to lie , it hurts . a lot . ” hyerin admitted in soft complaint but not before dropping a horrified gasp at the sight of her ride . her poor , bent out of shape bike . “ no , its ruined ! ”

@midsumrs

“oh shit!!” the crash of the bike was like it was all happening in slow motion, jasper had been lounging on one of the campus benches (even if he wasn’t a student, it was a killer campus and no one asked), when he watched it all go down. jumping to his feet, the mechanic came over and knelt down, “that was a nasty spill there, you alright?” jasper questioned, eyes scanning the female with hopes that nothing was broken or bleeding, then glancing at the bike. the chain was fucked, and the tire seemed to have just crapped out, probably from a nail or something.

#BEST BOY JASPER HEOOOOOOO #. ˚ threads — seol hyerin.#a moment of silence for hyerin’s bike 😔

2 notes · View notes

midsumrs · 2 years

Text

“ do you want to hang out ? ” rowoon sounds a bit nervous when delivering the question but he can’t help it . if it were someone else , maybe he would have been more calm in his disposition but candy ? she was hyerin’s best friend first before she was someone he sort of kind of likes ( being around ? truly , who knows ! ) . the male had to ask himself : would his sister kill him or would candy get to him first ? the thought swims in his near empty noggin and unintentionally , he stays quiet for a bit longer than intended . maybe it could be their secret , his big sister didn’t have to know . “ uh — without hyerin , i mean . ”

@magicshvps for candy x

#. ˚ threads — seol rowoon.

2 notes · View notes

midsumrs · 2 years

Audio

“ it's alright , she says , it's alright . take anything you want from me . ”

#. ˚ ooc — jukebox.#. ˚ about — kim hyerin.#when jimi says fly on little wing i cld cry 🥺

290 notes · View notes

midsumrs · 2 years

Text

she's a very mysterious creature , with an open smile and a closed soul .

kinoshita mirai . twenty - five . principal ballerina + socialite . slice of life + dark academia oc .

she remembers the warmth of the sun beating against her skin and the sweet sound of her mother laughing as she chases the little girl through the manor. it’s an old memory, tattered and well worn in her mind, but it’s her most cherished. however, the sound of laughter and her anklets chiming comes to an abrupt stop.

mirai was seven years old and according to her old money father and his fathers and grandfathers that came before him, she was ready to carry on the kinoshita tradition. her little life was packed into suitcases and she was shipped away to a prestigious boarding school in the family’s home country of japan. the little girl didn’t care that her older brother had been sent the same before her, she was not her brother. she was mirai. impossibly stubborn, accustomed to having her every whim and wish fulfilled. she was mirai, but now she was all alone. swathed in a plaid skirt, white polo and blazer, there was no one to temper her tantrum. after her first complaint home, within mere hours of her being there, kinoshita goro made it impossibly clear to his daughter that he would not tolerate her acting out.

reluctantly, she spends the following years of her life being classically trained as a ballet dancer by japan’s best, excelling and oftentimes contending for top of her class. mirai had made a place for herself at her boarding school and even found herself making friends. she constantly felt as if her parents had forgotten about her and left her behind, so she began filling the growing void with those around her. though, to some degree, she loved being flocked around like the center of attention.

as the years went on, she spent her months and holidays in tokyo or with old friends from new york. her family would get together once a year for summers – sometimes they went to st. bartz, sometimes they were tucked away in tuscany. by her sixteenth birthday, mirai and her family felt less like a family and more like strangers that studied a dossier of each other’s awards and accolades. the kinoshitas only met for two months in the summer and departed until the next time around. she had no real connection with her father anymore, they never quite recovered after her outburst at being sent away as a little girl.

her brother had been ten years older than her and was on his way to becoming the next chairman of the family’s investment company, they never really had the chance to know each other at all. but her mother? she was the sunshine, she was the reason mirai didn’t fly off on expensive summer vacations with her boarding school friends. the past few years, summer vacations were the one time of year she could see her mother, the rest of the time she would make do with the homemade snacks or the few phone calls that came in between. she no longer feels the warmth of the sun on her skin the few times she visits home, just a stirring sadness of a home left behind.

mirai is seventeen when she finally comes back home to new york. she’s no longer the angry and unruly girl that had been sent away. no. she has been shaped and changed into the poised picture of elegance her father expected, what her place in high american society expected. it’s not like she hasn’t been back to new york since she was seven, but she’s never stuck around for too long. she would make her appearance and spend the rest of her time as far away from home as possible, not that it was hard to begin with. her father’s favorite gift to his children was homes in different cities or states, places as empty as his relationship with them— but it served her purposes.

unfortunately, there was no escaping this time. a few months after returning to new york, mirai found a legal summons and a newspaper clipping taped on their fifth avenue penthouse door. the information had all but burned through her heart, she had the evidence buried deep in her handbag to prevent anyone from finding out. her mother’s secret that had been festering like a disease in her body had finally come out into the open. kinoshita akane: philanthropist, socialite.. unfaithful wife?

for the rest of the year, mirai did everything she could possibly do to drown the image of her mother wrapped around a strange man’s body. her mother had made her vow it after gifting her an upper east side apartment for being such a good girl. akane claimed to be in love, apparently, and had been for years. her father had spent most of his time traveling for work, leaving his wife feeling abandoned and alone. alone. now mirai knew all too well how that felt, so she locked away her mother’s secret inside and tossed away the key. however, the lock was hammered open when her father showed her the dossier he was turning over to his divorce lawyer.

akane had a secret family. her fingers had practically burned at the tips as she picked the photograph of her mother smiling happily with that same strange man and a little girl in her arms. a girl just a little bit younger than herself when she was sent away. not just a girl, this was her daughter. the one she had cared enough to keep around. she had never been enough to fight for, that was enough for the little green monster to come clawing out of her chest. fury was too gentle a word to describe what she felt, mirai wanted to destroy everything in her path. broken photo frames and torn photographs littered the rooms of the penthouse, but it was not enough. she wanted her mother to suffer. so she sat next to her father, back straight, face betraying nothing of what raged inside.

mirai was all alone once again.

her acceptance letter to university arrived just as the ink on her parents divorce agreement dried, but she had no interest in attending harvard like her father and forefathers before her did. mirai wanted to escape the walls that she felt closing in around her. everything was happening and all too fast. the betrayal and divorce, her mother disappearing to the family she had chosen over mirai, and the straw that broke the camel’s back had been her father. of all people, her father, the man who had never surprised mirai. just a month after leaving her mother, he’d quietly married and brought a new set of strangers into the house.

it was almost as if her parents were playing a hand of cards with their families, if one wasn’t making the cut, shuffle the deck and bring some new players into the mix. it was simply too much too soon and eighteen year old mirai could not stand it.

with a limitless card in hand, mirai put herself on the first flight to ibiza. then berlin. then rio de janeiro. and the list seemed to go on and on. the days and nights all seem to blend into each other. she wanted to forget, to shed the black hole growing inside her, so she spent her days and nights in outright scandal, drama in the headlines for everyone to read. she wanted her parents to suffer for their errors. she wanted her father to see what he made of his daughter, wanted her mother to see the damage her web of lies left behind.

so mirai doesn’t stop at any cost, there is a freedom in her anger. to be able to wear it so openly on her skin. but freedom only lasts so long. like tugging a marionette’s strings, her father blocked her credit cards and gave her an ultimatum. pack her bags and get herself to harvard, or deal with the consequences of being penniless in whatever city she was currently tearing through. part of her wanted to turn her back on everything, to choose to live a life not haunted by the decisions of her parents. however, money is a heavy handed puppeteer and mirai had only ever learned to live by it’s lead her entire life.

when she is tossed outside the doors of harvard as if she were last night’s leftovers, she pulls herself together and decides to make something of herself. her chaos is neatly boxed and hidden inside somewhere deep within her. if anyone was expecting to see the mussed hair and her barely there bikini tops from the news articles, they were set for disappointment. she was mirai, poised and proper. she understood that barbed words with a touch of honey would take her further than a vipers bite.

life had handed her a rotten apple on a silver platter, but she decided she would give it the midas touch. she’s one among many, filled to the brim with ambition to make it to the top. but, her father always taught her that even amongst the fish, there are sharks. learn to be the shark. so she does exactly that. the doe eyes and kind smile do wonders to hide the ruthlessness that creeps under her skin.

there is no surprise when mirai finds herself initiated into one the most prestigious ballet companies in new york by twenty - one and graduated top of her class the following year. even those in high society welcome her, all eyes curious on kinoshita goro’s only daughter. the little spitfire, a quality inherited from her mother. she’s not new to the inner workings of living in the lap of luxury, but there is something satisfying in knowing you’re finally becoming more than just your family name and drama.

new york is yours , the dancing career you built with your hard work and dedication is yours. you share it with people that might understand the twisted and jaded bones that shaped you, and you refuse to let go of it.

#. ˚ biography — kinoshita mirai.

0 notes

midsumrs · 2 years

Photo

it’s about believing that a successful performance is the currency of love: fernando pessoa / taylor swift / jenny slate / lady gaga / john mulaney

#. ˚ about — lucie vega.#long post tw #the third one hurt my feelings uwu

2K notes · View notes

midsumrs · 2 years

Text

velvet in her hair and rope around her throat . . . or maybe it’s lace and she’s only imagining it that way .

keira st. cloud . twenty - five . run away runaway model + university student . dark academia + thriller oc .

chapter one…

wednesday, december of 1999 - born underneath the austrian half-moon was a red-faced, ocean-eyed, pink flowering baby. conceived in the midst of a lilac-misted spring, your grandmother once said some of that bloom still lingered deep within the vast meadows of your heart - it blossomed so rampantly, she was certain you would become more wildflower than you were a girl someday. your mother, vivienne st. cloud, couldn’t bring herself to care about the frivolities of your grandmother’s predictions - not when you had become the final addition to complete the greedy inner world of her nouveau riche family. known for being the genius behind the renown fashion house, st. cloud, critics say vivienne struck gold when she unearthed millions of dollars from the billowing flow of couture designs that revolutionized the future of the fashion industry overnight.

the origins of your mother’s wealth didn’t matter much to her, not when image meant everything. all she knew was that you were the newborn daughter born from her new money aspirations, sculpted from clay not for a real desire for a family, but rather for a glossier picture in the paper. you were a st. cloud now - influential, fame-ridden, and above all else, idolized by fashion critics and high society alike; a family that consisted of an elite matriarch, an elder son born beneath the blazing sun and you, her youngest, keira faye; moon-eyed, sweet yet heart-achingly sad if you look at the family portrait for too long.

you hardly remember anything about your childhood in south london other than the feel of designer ribbons wrapped so tightly around your neck, it felt more like rope to you than anything else. so, what was it about your girlhood that you fought tooth and nail to forget about? when you have more wealth than you could ever begin to count and a stable roof over your head, it becomes impossible to justify feeling as though something was ever wrong in your life - at least, that's what you grew up hearing from your tutors whenever you breathed out even the slightest whispers of dissatisfaction to them. you could only suppose the origins of your gloom had something to do with the fact that you were raised purely by a brother barely older than you - or did it have anything to do with the absence of maternal affection altogether? the older you got, the more difficult it became trying to pinpoint it all.

you liked to reimagine all those stifling family dinners where the three of you picked at immaculately prepared five-course meals with images of love and laughter - you swore if you looked between the lines of your monthly dinners, you lot resembled a normal, happy family. while those daydreams were enough to fuel you throughout the majority of your youth, nothing truly eradicated the unhealthy amount of hours you spent in the gym for a career in modeling your mother thrusted upon your little shoulders. being a girl shy of ten, with a heart full of yearning for something more profound to the visible eye, you came to realize modeling was your best chance at obtaining some form of affection - not that you knew what it felt or looked like to begin with..

chapter two…

every night since your modeling debut, you scribbled wishes of unity in your journal until it tore clean through the pages; thinking that if you wrote your wishes hard enough, made the letters big and bold enough, maybe they would finally come true. it's never going to be enough - you learn that the older you get, when the rose-colored lenses begin to fade and the red flags aren’t as pink as you initially thought them to be. instead of harnessing your mother’s affection, you discover a wider audience captive in the palm of your little hand - an audience that loved you so dearly and so purely, they'd take a bite out of your plump rosy cheeks and eat you alive if they could. you are a fashion icon, known to the world as vivienne st. cloud’s reflection in the mirror. successful, beautiful, and pioneering for your age - but there is no straying from the fact that you’re starved for connection. you are underweight for a love so essential, it’s almost too grotesque a reality to behold. the solution to your loneliness in a tempestuous world is unearthed where you least expect it - in the company of dead poets and literature.

born from the introduction of shelley’s frankenstein’s monster was a special kind of understanding of the world you belonged to.. you supposed you were your mother’s very own post modern prometheus if you looked closely between the break lines. a creation made naught for individualism nor freedom, but rather for the company’s pristine image. you are chained away from attaining a true sense of self and your mother held the key tightly in her grip. your newly blossomed love, still ripe and sickly sweet, is stolen straight from your fingertips the moment you are found with your nose in a book rather than attending an important rehearsal —that to you— was as unnecessary as rhyming was in a free verse poem. it is then, at the tender age of thirteen, that you learn you have no corporeal identity outside of the st. cloud name, and though your mother’s disappointment stung more to you than anything you’ve ever come to know, it was fiction’s affection that awakened the sleeping wilderness nestled perfectly within the cracks of your soul - the very thing your late grandmother once foresaw when she first held you in her arms.

chapter three…

much to your mother’s dismay, you turned out to be a lot more clever than the world gave you credit for - smarter than she would have ever preferred. you’re fourteen when you realize just how important being yourself was in a household as absent and domineering such as your own. by the time summer rolled along, you began to resemble a shakespearean nymph in the woods more than you did a runaway model; feral, hungry, and more alive with the garden’s soil between your toes than you were in diamond-studded heels. you realize there is power in rejecting everything your mother wanted you to be, a beauty in taking the reins of the chariot you liked to call your fate.

alas, mother hamsters eat their young when they’re penned in together for too long; you had become far too curious for your family to manage, too restless as you passionately recited emerson and tolstoy to your brother and the maids atop of expensive kitchen counters. you were too hopeful. too eager. you were too much. it wasn’t acceptable for a member of the prestigious st. cloud family - you just didn’t belong amongst the new gods in the gilded heavens. you still remember the chagrin in your mother’s voice when she spoke about you to an unknown man - a lover, you presumed. it had always been that way for as long as you could remember; vivienne against the world, even against her own flesh and blood. to her, fixing what she ignorantly called teenage rebellion was as easy as forcing you to skip a meals to look perfect for the catwalk or as easy as the grass was green and the sky was blue.

before you could muster up the courage to utter out a word defiance, you found yourself becoming yet another package on your mother’s delivery invoice, priority shipped to a prestigious boarding school in the upper east side of new york, somewhere out of sight and out of worry. it was only natural that grief stemmed from the wound in your heart that once poured love so effortlessly into the world. even though you suffered in the face of your desolation, fitting in with the crowd failed to be a concern of yours, not when you were the shiny new toy all the other boys and girls wanted to play with - like something dropped from a magpie’s beak only to be swiftly snatched away the moment it touches the ground. and as quick as that grief overshadowed you, three years had somehow passed by in the company of your poetry and an old typewriter your english teacher gave you on a loan.

you’re three years older, three years wiser and out of that time, you learned never to give yourself away entirely, to never wear your heart on your sleeve again. unfortunately, luck was never meant to be eternal, and on the eve of your eighteenth birthday, your mother arranged for your eagerly awaited return to the industry. what you didn’t know how to voice, however, was that you weren’t so sure you fit into the st. cloud mold any longer. the future beckoned you to become a poet someday - you wanted to attend columbia and follow in the footsteps of ginsberg. you wanted to spin stories about girls with hungry hearts and scuffed knees who grew up delphic and half-wild, just like yourself.

chapter four…

upon sending your applications all the way from boarding school and returning back to south london, the first thing you do is come face to face with your mother’s relentlessness. while you were steadfast in your method of approach, nothing could erase the memory of your wrathful matriarch stomping on your dreams like wildflowers growing amongst the cobblestones. in the face of a grotesque tragedy, you realize you have reached the limit of your patience. it was only when you uprooted yourself from the st. cloud lineage to pursue an education away from the fashion industry that your mother knew she lost all semblance of control over you. she wasn’t sure what felt worse: losing money from the loss of her fashion company’s mascot, or failing to maintain that fraudulent image of a perfect family. whatever it was, you knew that wasn’t your problem anymore.

for a moment too long, you resembled a compass spinning out of control, but it was that raw hunger for love and autonomy that led you anywhere and everywhere. with a pretty simper and a spark in your eyes, you caved to your desires and ran to the edges of the world in hopes of filling the hole in your heart with whatever you could get your hands on. in new york, you lived for modernism and the arts, in france you learned about film and music. by the time you’re in japan at the end of the year, you’re in love with little white pills and the surreal feeling you swore was a reflection what you imagined love felt like. the snow was crisp in december when you realized melancholy adds depth to being a writer. if you repeat the names of all the best writers followed by your own then perhaps you’ll become one of them.

#. ˚ biography — keira st. cloud.

0 notes

midsumrs · 2 years

Text

reblog if it's okay for mutuals to just tag you in random meme replies. this means you might not have sent one in but your mutual could see a prompt from a meme, think of your muses together, and write a response to the meme for you as though you did you send it in. "@[user] did not send "[meme]" from [link to meme] but here is a reply anyway" style.

this does mean you need to be ok with a little bit of godmodding in this context as the other mun has to choose what your character says/does to be able to write the response!

913 notes · View notes

midsumrs · 2 years

Text

ofdamnation:

scoffs off her so - called compliment as brows knit in frustration to how well she’s taking the news . “ not cute—— whatever ! like not even a little bit ? ” head tilts slightly as he reads her expressions for any sign she’s at least a little upset , usually these talks go so differently . usually he’d want the girl to react this way instead but this ? this is just cruel . “ so ? i’m not enough to sway hearts now ? you’re kinda supposed to be more upset than this , why aren’t you at least bothered ? ” lips press into a thin line as her hand lands on his chest , slow nod of his head . “ i guess … but seriously you’re not even a little bit in love with me ? i’ve got charms , don’t i ? ” questioning his entire identity now , hands drop to his sides . “ so we can still see each other though , since we’re having so much fun ? ” why is he now the one begging ? what is happening !

nira liked to believe she understood people . some might even go as far as to say she understood them to a hauntingly accurate degree . however , dongwoo threw her off and it was certainly confusing to say the least . “ super cute . ” she insisted , plush lips caught in a smile that refused to go away . “ not even a little bit . ” the reassuring words left her mouth with eloquent ease , but they seemed to have the opposite effect . was she getting something wrong ?? “ you are more than enough . . . but girls like me don’t get their hearts swayed . call it a talent . ” or a curse . “ i’m not bothered because i still have you . ” without love , but he was still there physically and nira was perfectly content with just that . she knew what happened to the greedy and she’d be damned if she flew too close to the sun . “ you’ve got the charms . ” she confirmed , nodding firmly . “ i like you , dongwoo . isn’t that enough ? ” his shock makes her giggle , hands pulling him down to her level before planting a playful kiss on his cheek , dangerously close to his lips . “ would it make you happy if i told you something like . . . ” she pulls back slightly and bats her eyes at him , innocent and doll - like . “ i love you , dongwoo . won’t you say it back ? ”

#. ˚ threads — nira somsri.#now she's being annoying <3

7 notes · View notes

midsumrs · 2 years

Audio

#. ˚ ooc — jukebox.#smooches all of u on the forehead <3

12K notes · View notes

midsumrs · 2 years

Photo

WHAT PLANET ARE YOU

lucie got . . .

VENUS

You’ve always been in the shadow of someone else and it’s something you know you’ll never be able to escape. You feel like you’ll never manage to live up to the person you’re supposed to be and nothing you do is going to be good enough - it’s just good enough to scrap by. The harder you try, the harder you fall, and you’ve fallen from the pantheon, darling. You’re lost in knowing where to go when you aren’t trying to be better than sometihng, prove that you’re worth it; it’s become an obsession much in the same way bracelets become. Pieces you wear like armor in public to hide how you’re adrift in a world that didn’t wait for you.

tagged by: @magicshvps ( luv u sm xoxo )

#. ˚ headcanons — lucie vega.#when a quiz is weirdly accurate. . .#who told u !!

2 notes · View notes

midsumrs · 2 years

Text

quick update: i just switched my user from luvmayz ( rip in peace 🫡 ) to midsumrs . . . ( to prevent any confusion from happening or smth ) hehe

#. ˚ ooc — kati rambles.

3 notes · View notes

midsumrs · 2 years

Text

memories/the past starters edit as you see fit!

please don’t remind me

i can’t stop thinking about it, that moment is on replay in my head every moment of my life

do you think we can ever go back to that time?

i don’t like thinking about the past

could you help me remember?

i’ve never forgotten and i don’t think i’ll ever be able to

can’t you just… start moving on?

my nightmares are never made up, they’re just reruns of things i’d rather forget

visiting this place again after so much time is giving me whiplash

i don’t remember you being like this the last time we met

i thought i’d never see this place again

please, please try to remember, you don’t know how much actually depends on it

no, not like that, that’s now how that sounded like

is this what you’ve been doing, reliving the past over and over and over again?

i remember when we were younger and the first moments we started losing all hope

nostalgia weighs heavy on the soul

you can’t even pretend to remember, can you

no, i’m blocking it out and you can’t make me go back

i thank you not to bring that up again

can’t you help me reminisce instead of highlighting all the bad

which version of us do you prefer, the then or the now

always remembering can be as dangerous as always forgetting

i don’t want to hold the past against you

but what if you could turn back time

what if some things are meant to be memories and nothing else

god, i can’t even trust my own memories anymore

i can’t tell the difference between what i recall and what i made up

you were so much taller in my memories, so much scarier

i spend so much time just thinking about what could have been

yes, i do, okay? i regret that moment like i regret a thousand others, are you happy now?

no, that’s not how that happened, don’t start twisting things again

you and i remember two very different things

is that what they’ve been telling you happened?

that’s not how i remember things, i think someone’s lied to you

are we even remembering the same moment?

you repressed it, you repressed it all

how is you being the only one burdened with remembering in any way fair?

yeah, that’s what it was! that’s insane, are you sure we weren’t there together?

no i can’t let it go, it feels important but i can’t fucking remember it

you can’t focus only on the good, don’t you remember all the shit we went through?

is that all that’s left in your mind of our time together?

things were so much better back then

i wish i could just live in my best memories

if i can’t think about the years gone by, it’s because of you

713 notes · View notes