#All pigeon-toed and built different.

[perpetual-stories]

Adjectives to Describe Appearance

hello, hello! i want to thank you all again for 500 followers! it means the world to me that 500 hundred wonderful human beanitos care about my writing advice.

it still blows my mind!

if any of you are like me, then you too suffer at the treacherous hands of describing things then you know how difficult it can be to find the right words to show how you feel or to show what you mean to your readers.

So, I decided to help you all and make a list of adjectives :)

1. Other Words for “Fat” or “Large”

Overweight This simply means “heavier than is healthy.”

Obese It means very overweight. Sometimes it can be quite dangerous …

Stout Maybe slightly fat but strong or solid looking. Usually quite short.

Stocky Short with a wide body.

Paunchy You know how some men gain weight? They don’t just get fat everywhere — just the stomach. That’s paunchy. Though we don’t usually say “He’s paunchy.” Go for “He has a paunch.”

Pot-bellied The same as “paunchy.”

Big-boned With a large body structure. We also use this adjective as a euphemism (a way of saying something negative indirectly). If you call someone big-boned, it’s usually just another way of saying that they’re fat.

Chubby A little bit fat. Slightly overweight. But only a bit.

Plump The same as “chubby.”

Podgy Also the same as “chubby.”

Curvy This can be used in two ways. Sometimes, it describes a woman with a thin waist and wide hips. And sometimes, it’s used as a euphemism to mean “fat.” But it’s nicer to say “curvy,” right?

Flabby We usually use this to describe a part of someone’s body, not the person as a whole. So someone might have flabby arms or a flabby stomach. It means they have a lot of loose fat (or skin) that kind of shakes and wobbles when they move around.

2. Other Words for “Thin” or “Small”

Slender Thin, in a pretty or elegant kind of way.

Slim A positive word for “thin.”

Lanky Tall and thin. But in an awkward kind of way.

Skinny Very thin, possibly too thin.

Slight You know those people who are so thin that it looks like they might break into pieces if they fall down? That’s slight.

Petite This is French for “small.”

3. Other Words for “Muscular”

Beefy Someone with a lot of muscles. This is informal and usually used for men.

Buff In good physical shape. Probably with visible muscle action going on.

Burly Strong, heavy.

Broad “Broad” actually means “wide.”

Well-built Big. Strong.

Ripped muscular and in good shape.

4. Other Body Shape Adjectives

Gangly You know those tall, lanky people who never look comfortable. They move around looking uncomfortable. When they sit down, they look uncomfortable and awkward. They’re gangly.

Stooped Someone who walks around as if they’re walking through a low doorway — but all the time. The opposite of standing up straight.

Pigeon-toed Standing with your feet facing each other

5. Other Words for Beautiful

Attractive Nice to look at. You’d happily look at this person for hours if it wasn’t socially unacceptable.

Handsome It’s like beautiful but usually for men. More masculine and manly. Grrr.

Pretty Not as strong as beautiful, but still positive

Stunning Extremely attractive. Even stronger than “beautiful.”

Gorgeous A more informal way of saying “beautiful” or “handsome.”

Good-looking Er… he (or she) looks … good.

Cute “cute” to mean attractive

Hot More or less the same as “sexy.”

6. Other Words for Ugly

Rough This is actually quite rude, so be careful with this one. But it’s there. And it’s used. It means “very ugly.” Also, it’s very British.

Plain This is another euphemism. We use it when we want to say that someone has nothing about them that’s attractive. They’re not ugly. Just … boring … plain … even forgettable.

7. Adjectives for Hair Type

Curly

Wavy

Straight

8. Adjectives for Hair Length

Bald No hair at all.

Closely-cropped Very short hair. So short that you almost look bald.

Shaved No hair at all. But this time by choice. Because you shaved it off.

Balding Not bald. But you will be soon!

Shoulder-length Hair down to your shoulders. We can also have waist-length hair and even knee-length hair.

9. Adjectives for Hair Styles

Dreaded In a lot of languages, the word for this is “rasta.” Think of Bob Marley

Afro Very thick, very curly hair in a rounded shape.

Gelled When you add gel to your hair. You know, that sticky stuff that you can use to style your hair.

Slicked-back When you use gel or oil to comb your hair back.

Parted When you’ve divided the hair into two parts. You can have a centre parting or a side parting (or “part” in U.S. English).

Spiky When your hair is gelled up into spikes.

10. Adjectives for Hair Colour

Dyed (red, green, etc.) Maybe you don’t like your hair colour? Well, no problem — go out, buy some dye and dye your hair. You can have dyed green hair, dyed red hair or just dyed black hair.

Bleached Or maybe you want something brighter? Bleach your hair! This is when you use peroxide to lighten it.

Highlighted Perhaps you don’t want to bleach all of it? Maybe you just want some of it bleached — in lines (or “streaks”). Then get it highlighted.

Greying

Ginger “Ginger” is a way of describing people with naturally orange (“red”) hair.

Strawberry blonde Light red. But usually a euphemism for ginger.

Mousy brown A sort of brown, but a sort of pale brown

11. Adjectives for Hair Condition

Greasy You know when someone hasn’t washed their hair for a long time?

Shiny Hair that reflects lots of light. I also see it as 'shiny' when its greasy.

12. Adjectives for Age

Thirtyish About thirty. You can do the same with other ages: “sixtyish,” “sixteenish.” In fact, while we’re here, you can do this with times, too: “Let’s meet at Wimbledon at ten-ish.”

Young You know this, right? But when do you stop being young? This is quite subjective I guess. My answer is NEVER!

Youngish This is a great way to describe someone who’s sort of young, but maybe hitting middle age. Hard to tell. Youngish!

Middle-aged It surprises me how different everyone’s answers are to this. Personally, I think it’s 40. From 40, you’re middle-aged. There you go — I’ve just decided for everyone.

Old But when does middle age end and “old” begin? I don’t know. You’ll have to ask someone older than me.

Elderly It’s not very polite to describe people as “old.” So we invented this nice, polite, respectful word.

In his early 40s OK. This is a neat trick to describe people’s ages when you don’t know exactly how old they are.

13. Other Appearance Adjectives

Spotty You know those red spots many unfortunate teenagers get on their face? Technically the condition is called acne, but we usually just say “spots.” I was one of those unfortunate teenagers.

Clean-shaven Without a beard. But for a guy, not a woman.

Pierced We usually use this word to describe someone who has a noticeably large number of piercings.

Tattooed Someone with a lot of tattoos.

Hairy Lots of hair! Everywhere! Even on the back and the back of the hands!

There you all go! I think there are a total of 70 something. Please feel free to reblog and add your own I might have missed! Reblog, like, and comment!

If you share on Instagram tag me perpetualstories, please!

Follow me for more writing and grammar tips and more!

[lovelylou]

Waiting by @allwaswell16

Louis Tomlinson was Harry’s omega, of this Harry had always been sure. Unfortunately for Harry, Louis seemed to think they were just best friends. The six weeks that Harry has to live with Louis were going to be rough.

⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

sleeping on our problems by @risthebrave (falsegoodnight)

I’m in love with you, Louis thinks. He feels empty, weighed down by his sadness and the loss of Harry inside him just moments ago before his knot finally went down.

There’s moments where he’s sure Harry feels the same. Like now, when he’s gazing down at Louis with so much adoration and tenderness. It’s like they’re both on the cusp of something more, but neither of them ever say a word.

His confession is on the tip of his tongue ready to slide out like honey, and yet he remains silent. They both do, looking at each other and recognizing the reluctance mirrored in each other’s eyes. It’s then that Louis realizes they’re both scared.

Or Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

Mine Would Be You by @crinkle-eyed-boo

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache.

A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind.

He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

my love’s not simple (it’s fragile) by @risthebrave (falsegoodnight)

“Can I take you out tomorrow?” he asks. “My shift ends at 7 but we can go for dinner at 8.”

Louis is silent for a few seconds and then, “Like… on a date?”

Harry swallows thickly. He hasn’t done this in years, hasn’t ever wanted to. “Yeah.”

He’s worried he’s misread things but then Louis raises his head to kiss Harry’s cheek. “Yeah,” he says easily. “Sure.”

Tension leaves his body swiftly. “Are you sure?” asks Harry. “I know we’re both so busy but I can’t not try with you, Lou.”

“Neither can I,” says Louis. “I think we can figure it out. I care about you a lot Harry. We’ve known each other for a week, but I already like you so much.”

-

Or Harry's new job is threatened by his impending rut. Desperate for a solution, he allows Niall to introduce him to Louis, an omega whose heat begins the same day. They click.

⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

we both got nothing to hide by lovelarry10

“Talk to me, Lou.”

“I can’t,” Louis mumbled, knowing he genuinely couldn’t say it. He couldn’t admit to what he was doing. “Don’t ask me to say it, because I can’t.”

“Then… I’ll try and guess. You’ve… got some stuff of Harry’s. Something of his to make it smell like him?”

Louis just nodded, eyes fixated on the floor. This was humiliating, but he knew Zayn wouldn’t stop until he found out what was going on.

“Okay. Like… a blanket, or a comforter or something?”

“Kind of…”

-

Omega Louis has a secret nest. Alpha Harry keeps losing his clothes.

⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

in a world alone by @risthebrave (falsegoodnight)

Harry’s breath catches as the glow grows bigger and bigger until he’s squinting his eyes and blinking at the sudden intense brightness. He closes his eyes, rubbing at them helplessly. When his eyes open again- he gasps, grip loosening on his bow as he gawks at the sight before him.

Because the swan is gone.

And in its place is the prettiest omega Harry has ever seen.

-

A Swan Lake AU

⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

like a siren in the night by @crazyupsetter (whoknows)

“There is an infestation in my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet.

Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?”

For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months.

It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.

⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

move so pretty (you’re all i see) by @risthebrave (falsegoodnight)

Harry’s pretty content with his life. He loves his job- a veterinarian at a local clinic who’s already built up a name for himself despite his young age. He loves his gorgeous flat with its wide, open space and minimalistic, yet still homey feel.

He loves his family who he talks to and visits as much as possible, not bothered by the long hours of driving to Holmes Chapel from London he endures multiple times a month. He loves his friends and his coworkers and his neighbors- especially Allison, the little old lady next door who brings him and Louis cookies on holidays and who always comments on how “strong and handsome you are, Mr. Styles,” everytime he sees her.

And most importantly, he loves Louis, just- maybe in a slightly different way.

⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

haunted by the ghost of you by missandrogyny

He’s tall—that’s the first thing that registers in Louis’ head when he spots him, standing with his hands behind his back. Tall, with curly hair, staring at them with the widest, greenest eyes Louis has ever seen. And wait, are those dimples? Louis didn’t know ghosts could have dimples.

Because he’s definitely a ghost, this boy. At first glance he looks normal, standing there pigeon-toed in a band shirt (The Ramones, Louis can’t help but note incredulously), dark jeans, and some boots, with rings on both hands, and tattoos littering his left arm—a sleeve made of anchors and names and roses and other completely unrelated things. But he’s also a little bit translucent; if Louis focuses, he can see the outline of the furniture, the design of the wallpaper through him.

“Hi,” the boy—the ghost—says to Louis. His face shifts; somehow his dimples dig deeper into his cheeks. His eyes flit from Louis, to Niall, to Liam, and finally to Zayn, and his face goes from shocked to elated. “I’m Harry.”

At in that exact moment, standing between three of his best friends and staring at a (quite handsome) ghost, Louis can only think one thing.

Nick Grimshaw was right.

⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

to kill the mess we've made by missandrogyny

And when he's finally standing, Liam fussing over him, rubbing his hand at the red mark blooming on Harry's forehead, does Harry learn two things:

One, he wasn't actually hit that hard, and Tommo--or Louis, rather--is just as pretty when Harry is staring at him head-on and,

Two, Louis is the Adidas model he's going to be working with on today's photo shoot.

(or: AU where Harry and Louis are both models, and they decide being friends-with-benefits is a great idea. It isn't.)

⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*+･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*･ﾟ+.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

UN(RE)SOLVED. by @boldbabe (feermartsant)

The ghoul boys are back, but this time around there are some unresolved feelings involved. Harry is a skeptic, Louis is not. Watch them go on their ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?

Or, BuzzFeed Unsolved AU.

[meet-me-in-the-kitchen]

Blurb: All By Myself

TRIGGER WARNING: none. angst**

Harry doesn’t like waking up alone.

It would be a fib to say he hadn’t had to deal with his heart adjusting before. Every girl who had left him had left her own mark; his heart bended in some cases, chipped in others, and sometimes, in a rare occasion, cracked. But, he went on. His heart continued to beat on, even after being beaten, through all of the pain. The heartbreak. It tore at the seams, blood gushed for a while as he laid still for days, unable to control the bleeding. Then, eventually, it mended, the organ fitting into itself a bit differently than before, but fitting its purpose to beat on.

He spent a lot of time thinking of why one girl gave him another man’s— the man whose arms she’d spent several nights in, t-shirt to wear. He had smiled through gritted teeth and a weakening heart and taken it. He spent time thinking of why another one had only ever been with him, when the events surrounded by the talented, elite and wealthy were promised; why the last one, for whom he’d hesitantly, but devotedly carved just a little bit of his heart out for and handed the pumping remnant of the vessel to with quivering, hot palms, had rejected it and laughed. stepped on it with the stiletto heel of designer Christian Louboutins he’d bought for her without question when she’d asked, before walking away. That was one of his own problems, he realized: he liked people too much, or not at all, and that made it hard for him to control himself from showering all of his love and attention on the person, if it was the first case. At times, most times, his feelings were not requited so strongly. It was okay, though. What had they all said? Date girls that fuck you up. Use it for your art. He was okay. It hurt, pained like no one could believe, but he’d be okay. He always was.

Then she came along, and it would be a downright fib to claim his heart didn’t beat faster for her. Didn’t race in her presence. It was harder to control his feelings around her. They heightened dangerously, flowing as smoothly as the blood pumped by the beating vessel in his chest. It was definitely harder to control his feelings around her. Around her bright smiles, and plaid skirts and the way she bit her lip and how she ate—gorged on— cheeseburgers compulsively, when she was stressed out. He was careful this time, though. He chastised himself whenever he came close to giving her the stars, reminding himself that she probably wouldn’t want something so serious. He would then return them and quickly stitch and bandage the holes he’d burned into his palms, in the act of chasing and catching them for her.

Maybe he had trust issues. Maybe she was noticing his hesitance for her to become a part of his life that interweaves with the other not-so-glorious, and glorious, parts, alike. He hid her from the paparazzi, but not for the safety concerns she’d initially thought he’d done it for. She noticed when the phone rang when they were on dates or holding hands on the couch while some romantic comedy they mutually liked played, he never admitted to his mother that he was with her. He’d say he was alright, jovially ask how she was, and generally act polite, before the question came concerning his geography. He’d answer that he was out. Sometimes he’d say ‘with a friend’, eyes flickering back momentarily to her, and she’d suppress the disappointed confusion and forcibly upturn her lips to a tight smile. Friends. Friends didn’t kiss, go on dates, lie awake on an open field at midnight and have sex under the stars.

It seemed he was getting ready to cut her off with thick, metallic scissors, if she were to cling to any part of his personal life. A single slash, and she would vanish, and there would be nothing lingering of her in his life, besides the hair she’d shed in his bathroom sink and the strawberry-sweet taste of her left on his lips. He was prepared to let her go. She felt constantly on edge, wondering how real it was when he’d say something sweet or the time he’d stayed after they had slept together, the first time. He’d cooked her breakfast, for God’s sake, and then refused to disclose any part of his life, other than what she could easily find on Wikipedia. Did he not want her? She spent quite a few nights feeling this man breathe. This attractive, curly haired, green eyed man who’d sometimes look at her with a toothy grin after cracking some bad, dirty joke in bed, that would cause his dimples to pop out of his cheeks while flares seemed to go off in his luminated, emerald eyes as they hit their heads on the backboard, dissolving into snorts and snickers. She found herself getting closer to him, becoming more endeared by how clumsy he was, with long legs and pigeon toed feet he knew nothing on how to handle, but the charming smile he presented during each tumble, without fail, that somehow made her more attracted to him. She loved his accent, yearned for the slow way he pronounced each syllable which rolled thickly off of his tongue like prose. She wanted to spend her days and nights tangled with him in bed, crack the buttons off of his shirt and press herself against him. Carve half moons into his flesh.

It was difficult, trying to keep herself from falling, when he clearly wasn’t as committed as her. He was too closed off, too uninterested. She didn’t want that, but, goddamnit, she wanted him. She wanted to be there with him on depressing, lazy Sunday mornings. She wanted to allow herself to feel that swoop in her chest that traveled down to her belly, before flying past her rushing heart and surging up into her brain, leaving her breathless. She wanted to feel his overwhelming presence in every room, despite not even having seen him yet, and allow herself to feel good about it. She wanted to bask in the way he stared at her from across the room, in a room full of people, and not ignore or question the legitimacy of it. She wanted the intimacy. Didn’t want to be the first one to pull away, in order to save herself from being the last. She wanted to ignore the complications and give in and dive in, headfirst, to this romantic feeling where she was somewhere in between falling down a dangerously steep road, and breaking the laws of physics by surging upwards with nothing to keep her from breaking through the atmosphere. It felt cliché, but new. Powerful, yet as steady as his hand on her back. If only.

She’d been trying to distance herself lately. It was the only option, other than caving in and facing her feelings, and being left before she could leave him. It was childish and perhaps stupid, but all she knew how to do to keep herself from falling deeper. Give him the cold shoulder. He’d noticed, in the way she seemed cut off and always answered in monosyllables, much less single sentences. Her eyes didn’t seem as bright as usual, they seemed restrained, caged emotions that were portrayed as blank and uninterested. He hadn’t even seen much of her, this week.

And that’s how he woke up: all by himself.

A sob bubbles in his throat, burning layers of desperation trapped thickly in his chest as his eyes begin to prickle, even as they are squeezed shut. He turns onto his side, head under the covers and face pressed to the pillow so the desperate breaths he’s releasing from out of his opening and closing mouth are muffled by the barrier. He’s trying to be quiet, trying to stop his cries, although it’s not like anyone, not like she’s here, anyway. But there’s a scary sort of feeling linger in the back of his mind, a frightening thought that pulses in his heartbeat: would crying be further proof and acknowledgement of the fact that he’s been left again?

A trapped sob raspily breaks through his chest, and he curls into himself, eyes still squeezed shut and arms pressed to his chest, protectively as his heart squeezes.

“I— I don’t want,” he coughed through his sobs, desperately trying to stop. He pounded at his chest with fists, angry and helpless at the mercy of the organ inside of him. His heart. Hurt. “I don’t want—“

That’s when she clicks the washroom door open, knuckling at her eyes and placing another palm at her mouth as she yawns. She’s in one of his sweatshirts, the Obsession one he’d had on the night before. She stretches a bit, finally relieved, and starting to work herself up an appetite, as the grumbling in her protesting stomach suggests. When the muffled cries and uneven, sharp breaths process through her ears, however, her eyes snap open into full conscience and her body starts to speed itself in the other room, where the noises are coming from.

“Harry?”

She twists the metallic doorhandle open, not minding the freezing, linoleum tiles shocking her bare feet. Inside, there’s a shaking, large bundle on the bed. Her heart twists inside of her chest, eyes widening with sympathy and fear.

“Harry!”

“— I don’t,” he gasped, as she tore the covers trapping him, away from him, immediately cupping his jaw as he tried to thrash away from her, back into the sheets. She held him tight, refusing to let go, even as he began to try and push her away. His eyes were wild, unfocussed and bloodshot as he tried to move away from her, but she simply pushed his head further into her chest, shushing him and holding him tightly. After a few seconds, his body slumped in her arms, and he pushed his wet face into her chest, seeking comfort and protection as he fell apart, the tears now freely falling down his darkened, lost jade eyes, his lips bitten and face flushed and fingers shaking. He gasped, hand pressed to his chest.

“Shh,” she crooned, pursing her lips and rolling her eyes back to contain the moisture that built up at the sight of him. He was done. Broken. He’d been pushed to the limit. “I know. I know. Keep breathing. Breathe with me.”

“—I d-don’t want,” he stammered, before a low whine was released from his throat again, before his voice broke. She just hummed lowly, suppressing the concern and terror she felt and instead choosing to be calm for him. Y/N pressed his head to where the rise of her chest was evident in his t-shirt, pressing her chin down to the top of his head and forcing his head to her heartbeat.

“I know. I know, baby. Just breathe with me,” she instructed him, holding him as he began to breathe in, and then collapse into her. “In and out.. that’s it. Look at me...”

She picked up his ring clad hand, pressed his fingers to her cheek, and he looked up at her with desperation, the tip of his nose a raw red from all of the crying. “See? You can touch me.. and, look, we’re on the bed, and you’re touching that, too. We’re in your room. Everything’s okay.”

Although his breathing was returning to a less worrisome state, his cries were endless and struck Y/N sharply in the chest, with each shake of his shoulders. He pressed his nose to her stomach, face crumpling as she whispered encouragement into his ear, while running her fingers through his hair, stroking it.

“I don’t want y—“ he broke off again. She opened her mouth to soothe him, “it’s okay—“

“I don’t want you to leave,” he cried. “I don’t want y-you to leave me alone, and I don’t want you to run from me—“

He didn’t want to be in relationships with girls who would ‘fuck him up’, he didn’t want to continue tearing himself apart for content. He did not want to be an instrument, in order to progress in the music industry. He didn’t want to keep feeling like he was being blown apart, like he was being torn off into smithereens, and all he could do was watch, be a spectator at the tragedy of his own life, and continue placing himself in the same situations, just because of the simultaneous consolation and death sentence that was the fact that he’d just repair again, and he could use this. He didn’t want his heart to repair again. He didn’t want for it to have to, why was that so hard for others to understand that he didn’t want this and it was all just getting a little too much? He didn’t want...

“I’m not going anywhere,” she exclaimed, tears slipping down her own cheeks at the harsh breaths Harry took. “Harry, please, baby. Look at me. You’re alright, I—“

“I don’t want to die alone.”

His shoulders rapidly shook with desperation, after the scream. He buried his face away. Weaker tremors shook through him in her tight hold “I don’t w-want..”

“I’m not leaving you,” she said, firmly, although her voice shook, because now she was crying. She felt his tears gather, wetting his shirt and leaking past and dampening her chest. “And, Harry Styles, you will not die alone.”

A low whimper of protest exited his groggy throat, when she tried to tilt his chin upward. She shook her head. “Look up, you manchild.”

He timidly raises his glance to her eyes, shy enough in his stance to elicit a disbelieving laugh from her.

“I was going to,” she says with conviction, sniffling, and he stares at her. “Leave you, I mean. Because you were an emotionally unavailable, attractive prick who didn’t commit to our ‘relationship’ unless we were fucking, and didn’t give me the barest emotions, other than panic whenever your mum called during the duration of our time together. But, this is the first time in weeks you’ve offered the slightest bit of emotion and intimacy, and I really like you, so I’ll be damned if I don’t stay, and what I’m trying to say is, I’m not going anywhere, do you understand?”

He nods his head.

“Good.”

They share a moment of sniffling and silence as they try to collect themselves. They’re both fighting back tears, at this point, but he can’t help it.

“You think my prick is attractive?” He croaks weakly.

She shook her head in disbelief at where he had his head rested on her lap, peering at her with curious, considerably lighter, brighter green eyes. A smirk threatened to tug itself onto his face. She knew, because his lips were twitching somewhere short of a smile.

“And emotionally unavailable and mean.”

He winced. Kissed her delicate wrist softly, in apology. “Fuck. Yeah, I’m sorry, angel. I like you—a lot. I just didn’t want—“

“For me to leave,” she finished sadly. He offered her a tight smile in response. “Still, insufferable.”

He chuckled, as she began to mumble on on how this was why men were the weaker sex; they had no solutions to their problems, just went on in a self destructive, repetitive cycle, like blithering idiots. Her fingers were still tangled in his curls, scratching at his scalp soothingly, and he leans into her sweet touch. He wants to cry, now, but for different reasons. Reasons that awfully resemble the warmth festering in his chest as she holds him close to hers and lets him cry, and never lets go, and runs her feminine fingers through his hair. It feels like his heart is practically beaming in his chest. Like its strengthening, instead of weakening and faltering in a wounded state. Laughs wetly, as she refers to him as a character out of a soap opera and pulls him up, dragging him to the kitchen while bemoaning that she’s starving, and demands he make her breakfast, right now, Styles.

He stumbles along on his pigeon toed feet, and she merely laughs at his clumsiness, instead of referring to it as a character flaw, and pulls him further to where the refrigerator is. He spins her around before she can open it fully, however, and suddenly they’re basking in the refrigerator light, dancing easy, one-two-three, like kitchens are ballrooms.

And he goes along with it, and hums a tune, because it would be a lie to say, claim, even think that this girl would do anything, but stay.

The one where he doesn’t want to die alone, and she won’t let him.

istg gifs are harder to find than it is to actually write :( send me feedback, so you can be one of my favorites ;)

MASTERLIST| Requests are open!

[machinakrp]

>> OPEN SONG JINSOL’S FILE …

:// AGE — 27 :// OCCUPATION — drug chemist :// CLASS —native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MAGIC —  

jinsol’s magical is learned, and at the same time, seemingly twined into him. muscles and memory and nerves. it feels like it. something taught to him and adopted since he was old enough to let it manifest in his mind. it’s a second nature, nearly. infusing magic with medicine. or in his case, pseudo-medicine (he calls it medicine, at least). it’s something slipped in between measurement and chemicals and crushed herbs. built into molecules and compounding in a way that seems nearly impossible. should be impossible. but isn’t. a medical miracle, and maybe if he applied it different jinsol could be finding applications that would astonish, would’ve hefted him out of the slums of elysium on some miracle cure. but he doesn’t. just finds a way to manufacture emotion, to create a fabricated sense of bliss or love or warmth for people to envelope themselves in. like whiskey to warm yourself in the middle of a blizzard. a sort of danger ignored for that immediate sense of comfort.

:// MODIFICATIONS —

despite being an elysium native and building a large enough business that he has more means than most, jinsol doesn’t have many body modifications to speak of. just two.

the first is one he got done before he worked his way up, before he was able to pay enough for something above the books. but he’d needed it in the before period of his life. less now, though it’s a comforting reminder that it’s there. if you peel back the skin of his right wrist, there lies a hollowed out tube nestled between veins and bones. resting inside is a sliver of a knife.sharp and poised near a trigger spring. if he digs his finger in near his forearm and jams down on the end of the mechanism, it cuts out out. not entirely pleasant, considering it rips through skin on the way out. it also has to be manually wound back into his arm, meaning he has to seek someone out every time he hits the trigger. it’s meant as a last ditch defense system, for a hand ideally tucked up against a throat. he used to need it, back before he was working with hades. back when he was peddling his own goods and on his own. there’s a scar on his wrist now, a jagged sort of line left over from the two times he’s used it.

the second is less intrusive. a holographic tattoo on the nape of his head, a circle ring of a sun curved around the first jut of bone from his spine. something that shimmers and shivers and shakes before it implodes. then the hologram is looped back whole once again.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

tw: blood, drugs

RETRIEVING MEMORY…

21430102_sooji.vrml

a glitch – a vibrant flash of blue that reads so bright it hurts the retinas – the angle seems tipped. like the world’s off its axis. set instead on a lopsided table. baited breath, waiting for everything piled on top of it to slide off in a violent clatter. that’s the reaction the memory loop gives off when replayed. something not quite right that settles like nausea in the gut. trepidation. the unwanted kind. the memory holder’s perceptions, emotions flooding in. the room is sterile. blank-white floods the space. walls and sheets and floor. a glossy linoleum. there’s a rhythmic beep from a machine. a baby nestled in a set of arms – the memory holder’s – another glitch. the baby wails. the angle of the memory slips more. like the downward trajectory of a rollercoaster. from here, she plummets.

21430102_sooji.txt

lee sooji, a woman with too many secrets and unwillingness to divide interest from herself. naturally, a baby doesn’t fit well into the equation. even if it was planned. there’s not a lot of picture perfect anything that happens in elysium, but she’d always liked the idea of that. perfection. it’s hard to obtain though. even with a knowledge of chemical-infused magic that gave her the ability to create and shape her own world in the form of hallucinogens. is it a surprise that the marriage fell apart? probably not. a lot of things fall apart in elysium. dismantled by the society around them. he moved on, she was stuck with a baby that she didn’t really want. ignored at first. sharp cries, neglected fits. palms fit to ears of someone who constantly decided she was too young to deal with this mess of a life.

her feelings changed overtime. not dramatically, in a wild shift of personality. but slightly. when jinsol started to take shape more as a human than living soundbox. she liked some things, and she could list them off in a way that was reminiscent of explaining why one preferred a certain restaurant. she liked the adoration in his eyes. the way words could be pieced together into loving sentiments, something that seemed to runaway along with her ex husband. and sooji had always liked that. adoration. she valued it above nearly anything else. instilled the same beliefs into a young mind. he grew under fickle reliance. like a plant with a broken trellis, bent with the whims of her emotions. whether or not she felt like being a mother. whether or not she felt like being free of his shackling existence.

21490714_jinsol.vrml

it’s a humid day. it’s distinguishable based on that summer haze of warped air that makes the floor look bent. the click-whir of a broken fan. the chunks of ice jinsol has shoved into his cheeks, like an overambitious chipmunk. not that jinsol has any idea what a chipmunk is, he’s never seen one. just the scattered pigeons with broken-toed feet that loiter near the bottom step of his building. he looks like a wild thing. a smattering of band-aids covering scabbing, knobby knees. overgrown hair that hangs knotted in his eyes. a dirty smudge near his nose. gangly colt legs thrown over the edge of a dilapidated couch. he’s alone. some might say he’s too young to be alone, but he’d brustle up defensive at that. independent. biting off more than he can chew, but he’d rather swallow it down and half-choke than risk his pride and spit it back up. there’s a children’s cartoon projected up from an old holo-box sitting on a coffee table. sometimes it fritzes, and he stretches out a leg to thwack it with his heel. every ten minutes it seems like there’s a run of commercials hoping to sell him synthetically flavored juice. eventually, he loses patience and separates himself from the show, slips outside the door. some might say he’s too young to be running around the streets of elysium on his own. jinsol would cut them a smile, jagged and feral. a boy raised by chaos and the immediate impulses of a six-year-old.

21490714_jinsol.txt

jinsol’s youth is cut up into fractured pieces. the moments when his mother was there, and the moments when she wasn’t. his morals are ambiguous, lessons learned infrequent. and sometimes best avoided anyway. it depended on her mood, that’s what he learned. and it turned him desperate. seeking affection in a way that could turn near-violent. he’s a mirror image, in some ways. her reflection. has a constant needing for affection and validation. and when she gives, he takes. soaks it up. he likes it best when she’s at home with him, and jinsol babbles this out often. she regales stories in his ear, drifting off in the crook of her arm. humid ‘ i love you’s whispered against her neck, and she tells him just how much she loves him back. he can tell when she’s going to disappear by the look in her eyes. it’s like a lightswitch that only she can reach. a blank stare, or an emotion he can’t quite piece together yet, but he knows it’s bad. knows it makes him feel bad.

it’s resentment, but that’s a connection he makes later.

and then he’s on his own. raiding the fridge for non-perishables left behind and amusing himself. sometimes he skips school. it doesn’t matter, nobody notices he’s gone in the overcrowded classroom. wanders the streets instead, making friends with stray cats slipping through gaps of buildings too small a fit for most anyone else. a grand adventure, that’s what he’d tell himself to keep from feeling lonely. and then she’d come back, and it’d warm his bones. chase away that feeling. would try to grip to her with nails embedded into skin when he saw that look in her eyes. until he was pried off. he thinks he left scars, when he reminisces back nowadays, kept up late at night, sleepless. tries to reimagine his mother. but he can’t remember just how violent his longing for her to stay was.

21601130_jinsol.vrml

he’s older this time, pushing the bounds of maturity. stick-skinny still, and he drowns in his clothes. his hair is stained purple. so are the tips of his fingers. a smell of potent chemicals hang in the air, something nearly palpable. it’s either from the fresh dye or the burner he’s bent over. there’s a vial clamped above it. something bubbling and neon when the fluorescent flicker of the overhead light decides to work in brief moments of unsurity. his mother’s next to him, fingers tracing spirals up and down the line of his spine. every so often she redirects his hand. murmurs words into his ear. a palm pressed to the small of his back, and it’s nearly like a transferal. pressing magic into nerves. he doesn’t think it’s how it works, really. but it felt like it at the time, sitting in that tiny, cluttered apartment. a flicker of fire and warmth and belonging as his mother taught him secrets that were hoarded in his family. jinsol wonders if they’d ever been illustrious. if this strange magic ever mattered. there’s a sizzle-pop of a noise. a change in color. the vial’s removed from the fire. eventually, his mother tests it. he holds his breathe, waits to see if there will be a change in her eyes.

21601130_jinsol.txt

jinsol loves and hates it. the knowledge he has, the strange way he can cut chemicals with magic. something that grows larger and more complex as he does. now though, all of seventeen, and he loves the connection it’s forged between him and his mother. the way she’ll gravitate back to him, pass down this strange family heirloom. and he hates it, because it robs him from her too. how she’ll twist herself up in these strange moods and slip out of his life. to find someone, something, more capable than him. more fulfilling. but he took those mismatched emotions and jammed them into his own ambitions. his mother had never really scratched past the surface of capabilities.

jinsol became obsessive, in the same manic way he tends to become obsessive about a lot of things he cares about. and with that same strange of caring, an emotion caught halfway between love and violence. he found ways to bottle bliss, press desire into pills. a manmade euphoria, and he expanded his experimentation as he got older. found a way to coax out truth from an unwilling tongue and an addled mind. trust from the wary, if only they’d swallow down some of his magic. how much of jinsol’s success is luck? if one knew what he could make, the obsessive lengths he’d go to carve out what he decided he was owed, it would be a laughable question.

21630214_jinsol.vrml

the setting’s changed in this memory. the apartment’s even smaller, and the window’s stuck. the corner doesn’t fit down all the way. a cold gust slips underneath everytime the wind howls, angry and cutting with frost. a worn curtain flutters. there’s hardly a point in it, it’s nearly transparent from sun damage. jinsol’s fingers are white from the cold. there’s a scattering of pills on a table. his hands are sticky with blood. so is his wrist. half-congealed. his face is white too, but he looks ghost-startled over cold. the shock of a situation that saps the life, leaves everything devoid of color. eventually he fumbles for an old shirt, jams it over his hand. the blade’s still visible, sticking out from his arm. his own blade. his own modification. he slipped it into the side of a client broke enough to think wiping out jinsol inventory might’ve been a good idea. a heavy-sounding curse falls from his lips. a messy swipe of his hands as he tries to collect everything upturned on the table. manic eyes and chattering teeth. a glamorous life. it’s what he yearns for. he can’t meet his own expectations.

21630214_jinsol.txt

eventually, jinsol got sick of his mother’s dizzying circles that left them both lost. he moved out, on. hellbent on turning everything she taught him into a tool for himself. a way to crawl from the sheer desperation he seemed to live in. he craved opulence and wonder. awe and admiration. for all he’s seemingly worth now, jinsol’s initial endeavors were small, touch and go. dealt with the sorts of people that were elysium born and bred. namely: none too kind. but addiction’s a market all its own in this sort of place, and jinsol took advantage of it. he’s used his mod all of twice. a painful thing, and it’s left a scar. he doesn’t know what happened to either of the people on the other end of it. he’s callous enough to wish them dead. human enough that he wakes up in cold-sweat at four in the morning sometimes wondering if he’s a murderer.

it took a while to work his way up, and maybe he used some underhanded methods. doses meant to coax out secrets, understanding, trust. worked his way up and out of what seemed to be closets advertised as apartments. until he could afford a better supply, turned his brand into a necessity. ended up getting to know some bigger players around elysium. tried so very hard to pick up his mother’s mantle – to continue that endless, pointless quest of building a perfect life.

21680512_jinsol.vrml

jinsol looks almost garish. almost. draped in twined gold necklaces and delicate rings stacked along the lines of his knuckles. catch him in the right light of the fluorescent club-shifting-neon and he might glimmer like imitation sunlight. a white silk shirt and bottle service tucked away in a back corner of the afterlife. he has money, and he wears it like bragging rights. but he thrives on it. the stares. the attention. jealous, wanting. he craves it as much as people seem to crave his drugs. a symbiotic relationship. music thrums too loud around the room. enough to shake at bones. he spins a pill between he knuckles, and his eyes follow it. like he’s considering slipping it underneath his tongue. eventually, it’s pocketed. he doesn’t want to be his mother – as losing a battle as it seems to be.

21680512_jinsol.txt

twenty-five and he’s managed to carve out his own legacy. something built on the backs of vices. exploitative to be sure. but he’d argue a necessary one. doesn’t everyone deserve to be happy? he’s got connections, buyers, more than enough clients that he’s long ago been able to afford to move into an apartment with more than one room. he likes old school opulence. likes gold and velvet. likes paper-thin silk shirts, the subdued glimmer of diamonds. maybe he’d have more money if he didn’t waste it all so carelessly. it slips like water from his fingers. jewelry, furniture, perfumes, alcohol. anything that catches his whims, the unhoned impulse controls he’s given into all is life, only now he has the means for bigger mistakes.

21690326_jinsol.vrml

jinsol’s sprawled out on a couch. crushed velvet. it’d look lavish if not for the blotchy purpled wine stain near one arm of it. music spirals from a metal-boxed contraption in the corner. there’s a blanket tossed on top of it, maybe to hide a hologram it’s meant to simultaneously project. every time he takes a breath, it sounds wet. like pneumonia’s made a home from his lungs. his eyes are unfocused, and there’s a sheen of sweet on his brow. laid out next to him are vials in a shimmering variety of colors. an uncapped bottle of something that smells potent and alcoholic. there’s a retch of a noise, but nothing comes out. he rolls to his side and nearly topples. a manic laugh follows him.

21690326_jinsol.txt

new creations are in need of a willing test subjects. that’s what he tells himself, to keep himself from reflecting that warped image of his mother. bad habits catch up to him, pile up. he ignores the repercussions. it feels, sometimes, like he grew up wrong. like he’s constantly searching and seeking and coming up empty handed. but what he’s searching for is unknown, and without a name. despite it, he tries to continue his image of faux-perfection. what else is there to live for in the wasteland that is elysium?

[machinakrpx]

>> OPEN SONG JINSOL’S FILE …

:// AGE — 27 :// OCCUPATION — drug chemist :// CLASS —native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MAGIC —  

jinsol’s magical is learned, and at the same time, seemingly twined into him. muscles and memory and nerves. it feels like it. something taught to him and adopted since he was old enough to let it manifest in his mind. it’s a second nature, nearly. infusing magic with medicine. or in his case, pseudo-medicine (he calls it medicine, at least). it’s something slipped in between measurement and chemicals and crushed herbs. built into molecules and compounding in a way that seems nearly impossible. should be impossible. but isn’t. a medical miracle, and maybe if he applied it different jinsol could be finding applications that would astonish, would’ve hefted him out of the slums of elysium on some miracle cure. but he doesn’t. just finds a way to manufacture emotion, to create a fabricated sense of bliss or love or warmth for people to envelope themselves in. like whiskey to warm yourself in the middle of a blizzard. a sort of danger ignored for that immediate sense of comfort.

:// MODIFICATIONS —

despite being an elysium native and building a large enough business that he has more means than most, jinsol doesn’t have many body modifications to speak of. just two.

the first is one he got done before he worked his way up, before he was able to pay enough for something above the books. but he’d needed it in the before period of his life. less now, though it’s a comforting reminder that it’s there. if you peel back the skin of his right wrist, there lies a hollowed out tube nestled between veins and bones. resting inside is a sliver of a knife.sharp and poised near a trigger spring. if he digs his finger in near his forearm and jams down on the end of the mechanism, it cuts out out. not entirely pleasant, considering it rips through skin on the way out. it also has to be manually wound back into his arm, meaning he has to seek someone out every time he hits the trigger. it’s meant as a last ditch defense system, for a hand ideally tucked up against a throat. he used to need it, back before he was working with hades. back when he was peddling his own goods and on his own. there’s a scar on his wrist now, a jagged sort of line left over from the two times he’s used it.

the second is less intrusive. a holographic tattoo on the nape of his head, a circle ring of a sun curved around the first jut of bone from his spine. something that shimmers and shivers and shakes before it implodes. then the hologram is looped back whole once again.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

tw: blood, drugs

RETRIEVING MEMORY…

21430102_sooji.vrml

a glitch – a vibrant flash of blue that reads so bright it hurts the retinas – the angle seems tipped. like the world’s off its axis. set instead on a lopsided table. baited breath, waiting for everything piled on top of it to slide off in a violent clatter. that’s the reaction the memory loop gives off when replayed. something not quite right that settles like nausea in the gut. trepidation. the unwanted kind. the memory holder’s perceptions, emotions flooding in. the room is sterile. blank-white floods the space. walls and sheets and floor. a glossy linoleum. there’s a rhythmic beep from a machine. a baby nestled in a set of arms – the memory holder’s – another glitch. the baby wails. the angle of the memory slips more. like the downward trajectory of a rollercoaster. from here, she plummets.

21430102_sooji.txt

lee sooji, a woman with too many secrets and unwillingness to divide interest from herself. naturally, a baby doesn’t fit well into the equation. even if it was planned. there’s not a lot of picture perfect anything that happens in elysium, but she’d always liked the idea of that. perfection. it’s hard to obtain though. even with a knowledge of chemical-infused magic that gave her the ability to create and shape her own world in the form of hallucinogens. is it a surprise that the marriage fell apart? probably not. a lot of things fall apart in elysium. dismantled by the society around them. he moved on, she was stuck with a baby that she didn’t really want. ignored at first. sharp cries, neglected fits. palms fit to ears of someone who constantly decided she was too young to deal with this mess of a life.

her feelings changed overtime. not dramatically, in a wild shift of personality. but slightly. when jinsol started to take shape more as a human than living soundbox. she liked some things, and she could list them off in a way that was reminiscent of explaining why one preferred a certain restaurant. she liked the adoration in his eyes. the way words could be pieced together into loving sentiments, something that seemed to runaway along with her ex husband. and sooji had always liked that. adoration. she valued it above nearly anything else. instilled the same beliefs into a young mind. he grew under fickle reliance. like a plant with a broken trellis, bent with the whims of her emotions. whether or not she felt like being a mother. whether or not she felt like being free of his shackling existence.

21490714_jinsol.vrml

it’s a humid day. it’s distinguishable based on that summer haze of warped air that makes the floor look bent. the click-whir of a broken fan. the chunks of ice jinsol has shoved into his cheeks, like an overambitious chipmunk. not that jinsol has any idea what a chipmunk is, he’s never seen one. just the scattered pigeons with broken-toed feet that loiter near the bottom step of his building. he looks like a wild thing. a smattering of band-aids covering scabbing, knobby knees. overgrown hair that hangs knotted in his eyes. a dirty smudge near his nose. gangly colt legs thrown over the edge of a dilapidated couch. he’s alone. some might say he’s too young to be alone, but he’d brustle up defensive at that. independent. biting off more than he can chew, but he’d rather swallow it down and half-choke than risk his pride and spit it back up. there’s a children’s cartoon projected up from an old holo-box sitting on a coffee table. sometimes it fritzes, and he stretches out a leg to thwack it with his heel. every ten minutes it seems like there’s a run of commercials hoping to sell him synthetically flavored juice. eventually, he loses patience and separates himself from the show, slips outside the door. some might say he’s too young to be running around the streets of elysium on his own. jinsol would cut them a smile, jagged and feral. a boy raised by chaos and the immediate impulses of a six-year-old.

21490714_jinsol.txt

jinsol’s youth is cut up into fractured pieces. the moments when his mother was there, and the moments when she wasn’t. his morals are ambiguous, lessons learned infrequent. and sometimes best avoided anyway. it depended on her mood, that’s what he learned. and it turned his desperate. seeking affection in a way that could turn near-violent. he’s a mirror image, in some ways. her reflection. has a constant needing for affection and validation. and when she gives, he takes. soaks it up. he likes it best when she’s at home with him, and jinsol babbles this out often. she regales stories in his ear, drifting off in the crook of her arm. humid ‘ i love you’s whispered against her neck, and she tells him just how much she loves him back. he can tell when she’s going to disappear by the look in her eyes. it’s like a lightswitch that only she can reach. a blank stare, or an emotion he can’t quite peace together yet, but he knows it’s bad. knows it makes him feel bad.

it’s resentment, but that’s a connection he pieces together later.

and then he’s on his own. raiding the fridge for non-perishables left behind and amusing himself. sometimes he skips school. it doesn’t matter, nobody notices he’s gone in the overcrowded classroom. wanders the streets instead, making friends with stray cats slipping through gaps of buildings too small a fit for most anyone else. a grand adventure, that’s what he’d tell himself to keep from feeling lonely. and then she’d come back, and it’d warm his bones. chase away that feeling. would try to grip to her with nails embedded into skin when he saw that look in her eyes. until he was pried off. he thinks he left scars, when he reminisces back nowadays, kept up late at night, sleepless. tries to reimagine his mother. but he can’t remember just how violent his longing for her to stay was.

21601130_jinsol.vrml

he’s older this time, pushing the bounds of maturity. stick-skinny still, and he drowns in his clothes. his hair is stained purple. so are the tips of his fingers. a smell of potent chemicals hang in the air, something nearly palpable. it’s either from the fresh dye or the burner he’s bent over. there’s a vial clamped above it. something bubbling and neon when the fluorescent flicker of the overhead light decides to work in brief moments of unsurity. his mother’s next to him, fingers tracing spirals up and down the line of his spine. every so often she redirects his hand. murmurs words into his ear. a palm pressed to the small of his back, and it’s nearly like a transferal. pressing magic into nerves. he doesn’t think it’s how it works, really. but it felt like it at the time, sitting in that tiny, cluttered apartment. a flicker of fire and warmth and belonging as his mother taught him secrets that were hoarded in his family. jinsol wonders if they’d ever been illustrious. if this strange magic ever mattered. there’s a sizzle-pop of a noise. a change in color. the vial’s removed from the fire. eventually, his mother tests it. he holds his breathe, waits to see if there will be a change in her eyes.

21601130_jinsol.txt

jinsol loves and hates it. the knowledge he has, the strange way he can cut chemicals with magic. something that grows larger and more complex as he does. now though, all of seventeen, and he loves the connection it’s forged between him and his mother. the way she’ll gravitate back to him, pass down this strange family heirloom. and he hates it, because it robs him from her too. how she’ll twist herself up in these strange moods and slip out of his life. to find someone, something, more capable than him. more fulfilling. but he took those mismatched emotions and jammed them into his own ambitions. his mother had never really scratched past the surface of capabilities.

jinsol became obsessive, in the same manic way he tends to become obsessive about a lot of things he cares about. and with that same strange of caring, an emotion caught halfway between love and violence. he found ways to bottle bliss, press desire into pills. a manmade euphoria, and he expanded his experimentation as he got older. found a way to coax out truth from an unwilling tongue and an addled mind. trust from the wary, if only they’d swallow down some of his magic. how much of jinsol’s success is luck? if one knew what he could make, the obsessive lengths he’d go to carve out what he decided he was owed, it would be a laughable question.

21630214_jinsol.vrml

the setting’s changed in this memory. the apartment’s even smaller, and the window’s stuck. the corner doesn’t fit down all the way. a cold gust slips underneath everytime the wind howls, angry and cutting with frost. a worn curtain flutters. there’s hardly a point in it, it’s nearly transparent from sun damage. jinsol’s fingers are white from the cold. there’s a scattering of pills on a table. his hands are sticky with blood. so is his wrist. half-congealed. his face is white too, but he looks ghost-startled over cold. the shock of a situation that saps the life, leaves everything devoid of color. eventually he fumbles for an old shirt, jams it over his hand. the blade’s still visible, sticking out from his arm. his own blade. his own modification. he slipped it into the side of a client broke enough to think wiping out jinsol inventory might’ve been a good idea. a heavy-sounding curse falls from his lips. a messy swipe of his hands as he tries to collect everything upturned on the table. manic eyes and chattering teeth. a glamorous life. it’s what he yearns for. he can’t meet his own expectations.

21630214_jinsol.txt

eventually, jinsol got sick of his mother’s dizzying circles that left them both lost. he moved out, on. hellbent on turning everything she taught him into a tool for himself. a way to crawl from the sheer desperation he seemed to live in. he craved opulence and wonder. awe and admiration. for all he’s seemingly worth now, jinsol’s initial endeavors were small, touch and go. dealt with the sorts of people that were elysium born and bred. namely: none too kind. but addiction’s a market all its own in this sort of place, and jinsol took advantage of it. he’s used his mod all of twice. a painful thing, and it’s left a scar. he doesn’t know what happened to either of the people on the other end of it. he’s callous enough to wish them dead. human enough that he wakes up in cold-sweat at four in the morning sometimes wondering if he’s a murderer.

it took a while to work his way up, and maybe he used some underhanded methods. doses meant to coax out secrets, understanding, trust. worked his way up and out of what seemed to be closets advertised as apartments. until he could afford a better supply, turned his brand into a necessity. ended up getting to know some bigger players around elysium. tried so very hard to pick up his mother’s mantle – to continue that endless, pointless quest of building a perfect life.

21680512_jinsol.vrml

jinsol looks almost garish. almost. draped in twined gold necklaces and delicate rings stacked along the lines of his knuckles. catch him in the right light of the fluorescent club-shifting-neon and he might glimmer like imitation sunlight. a white silk shirt and bottle service tucked away in a back corner of the afterlife. he has money, and he wears it like bragging rights. but he thrives on it. the stares. the attention. jealous, wanting. he craves it as much as people seem to crave his drugs. a symbiotic relationship. music thrums too loud around the room. enough to shake at bones. he spins a pill between he knuckles, and his eyes follow it. like he’s considering slipping it underneath his tongue. eventually, it’s pocketed. he doesn’t want to be his mother – as losing a battle as it seems to be.

21680512_jinsol.txt

twenty-five and he’s managed to carve out his own legacy. something built on the backs of vices. exploitative to be sure. but he’d argue a necessary one. doesn’t everyone deserve to be happy? he’s got connections, buyers, more than enough clients that he’s long ago been able to afford to move into an apartment with more than one room. he likes old school opulence. likes gold and velvet. likes paper-thin silk shirts, the subdued glimmer of diamonds. maybe he’d have more money if he didn’t waste it all so carelessly. it slips like water from his fingers. jewelry, furniture, perfumes, alcohol. anything that catches his whims, the unhoned impulse controls he’s given into all is life, only now he has the means for bigger mistakes.

21690326_jinsol.vrml

jinsol’s sprawled out on a couch. crushed velvet. it’d look lavish if not for the blotchy purpled wine stain near one arm of it. music spirals from a metal-boxed contraption in the corner. there’s a blanket tossed on top of it, maybe to hide a hologram it’s meant to simultaneously project. every time he takes a breath, it sounds wet. like pneumonia’s made a home from his lungs. his eyes are unfocused, and there’s a sheen of sweet on his brow. laid out next to him are vials in a shimmering variety of colors. an uncapped bottle of something that smells potent and alcoholic. there’s a retch of a noise, but nothing comes out. he rolls to his side and nearly topples. a manic laugh follows him.

21690326_jinsol.txt

new creations are in need of a willing test subjects. that’s what he tells himself, to keep himself from reflecting that warped image of his mother. bad habits catch up to him, pile up. he ignores the repercussions. it feels, sometimes, like he grew up wrong. like he’s constantly searching and seeking and coming up empty handed. but what he’s searching for is unknown, and without a name. despite it, he tries to continue his image of faux-perfection. what else is there to live for in the wasteland that is elysium?

[pirirps]

mythbusters starters: season 5

i guess the moral of this story is, don’t paint your airship with rocket fuel.

this ingredient is made of blur. and this ingredient has some blur in it too. this is very dangerous. don’t mix blur with blur.

that took almost ten times longer than the hindenburg took to burn. the entire hindenburg.

if you’re getting chased by a crocodile, you can easily escape them by running in a zigzag pattern, because they can not turn corners.

they’re fishnet stockings.

oh no, they’ve got feathers on them still!

megadope!!!

duuuuudearonomy!

is everybody okay?

oh noooo! the crocodiiiiiilleee!!!

this should solve the mystery once and for all.

you want three zeppelins in a day? we’ll give you three zeppelins in a day.

these things are always catchin’ on fire!

and that, kids, is the textbook definition of “irony”.

next up on discovery: the world’s deadliest piñata!

why are they hissing?

i’ve been watching a lot of professional wrestling on television, so i’ve learned a lot of wrestling moves, and i’m gonna test them out on this crocodile.

there’s only one thing left: plan c. and that’s c for “crazy”.

that’s crocodiles… but what about ALLIGATORS?

this thing is going to buuuuuurrrrnnn.

if you’re driving around with a truck full of birds, and the birds take flight, will your truck get lighter?

the birds will be too fat to fly!

____’s pain threshold is way lower than a pigeon’s.

is that photoshop?

oka [voice cracks] ay.

the only evidence they have is this photo and accompanying reports.

his ocd kicks in– that’s “obsessive crash disorder”.

ooooohh, five bucks?

[smashing things with a sledgehammer] i am! so! sick! of! _________!

bueno! that’s spanish for “good”.

i’m gonna do my pole dance.

just had to mention the weather, didn’t you?

_______ makes it look so easy when he does it!

team unity is the first casualty.

seeing as ______ and ______ are rejecting each other’s reality and substituting their own, this argument is going nowhere.

i guess it didn’t happen exactly the way it was reported.

i wanna see some carnage.

okay, escape plan: same as last time.

i’m givin’ up.

i think it’s gonna be a web-shooter.

i’m ready. [covers crotch with hands] yeah, i’m ready.

see what happens when we pull this string.

with thoughts of unemployment crowding his mind, how could he fail?

is he saying “red rum”?!

no, my dog voice doesn’t work.

look into my eyes… deeper… you will fall into a deep, deep sleep!

exactly! except we won’t kill people.

can i be hypnotized to do something against my will?

i know he’s not that good an actor.

just because we can’t do it doesn’t mean it can’t be done.

i don’t like the idea of this.

this is trickery.

the only way that any of that would’ve made sense is if music started playing and he started taking his clothes off.

this is the burrito.

that’s high explosives, huh? it looks more like a taco.

you’re gonna shoot my hat off?

i’m gonna shoot your hat off.

oh, can we break out of jail? i’ve always wanted to do that!

yippee-ki-yay!

when they made _____, they broke the mold.

so this is what you were expecting all along, and you were just gonna watch us bumble around with this?

just imagine what i could do with steel-toed boots.

i’m sick of being the guy that throws up on camera.

i’m afraid of commitment and i don’t think that’s gonna change.

you’ll know it works because i’ll come back with, like, purple eyes.

spin me, baby.

come on! i wanna see you blow chunks!

attaboy!

i just can’t stand those things. they freak me out.

that 100% sucks.

i didn’t want to listen to you going “dude, it’s totally okay. dude, it’s totally okay. dude, it’s totally o–”

the fake blood department would have its hands full.

i’m tired of being the ______ guinea pig.

you know when you haven’t eaten for a while, and you’re just throwing up bile? yeah. this is just bile.

never leave your position, _____!

boys will be boys.

well, actually, i heard this one about this guy, and he had a jet pack?

why does it smell like this? what did he keep in here?

all in the name of science, of course.

y’know, something tells me that this is, maybe, not the best of the options.

if you’re thinking that a refrigerator is going to contain a grenade, you’re dead wrong.

we’re what you’d call “experts”.

you can jump around, make cat noises, do karate chops, all kinds of adolescent behavior like we know you love to do.

what makes you think i have a ninja costume?

well, maybe we should start by finding a real ninja.

i’m hoping _____ won’t get hurt too bad. a little bit is good.

jimmy choo can rest easy.

decapitation hazard, everybody!

people say i’m not that quick.

[trying to sword fight with a measuring tape]

[clapping] yaaaaaaayy!

not many people know this, but ______ comes from an ancient line of nine generations of shoe-tiers.

come, silent walrus! let us storm the castle! i will don my safety gear!

the important thing is that i look damn good.

______ were not at all above trying to encourage the belief in their supernatural powers.

they wanted people to fear their magical powers.

do it like your life depends on it.

thanks for that motivation, ______.

don’t think of it as a competition… but it is.

a ninja must go to the bathroom before he swings his sword.

he hasn’t looked this incensed since star trek was cancelled.

this thing’s starting to look like a monster. pretty soon you’re not even gonna recognize it.

everybody knows being caught on the rebound doesn’t count.

he stopped it with his head.

hai! ikimashou! – that’s “let’s go” in japanese.

whoo! if i had any dignity, that would have been humiliating.

i’m stealthy as the night.

don’t i look like silent death, bringing justice in the night?

so i notice you have all your fingers.

wow, you have a lot of confidence in her. more than we do.

so you mean all those ninja movies were not true?

it’s water. it’s… got something else in it. but. it’s water.

there’s nothing _______ would rather do than play in a giant tub of goo.

ohh, that’s so funky! ooooohhh, duuuude, that feels so wrong!

come on in, the water’s great!

is that legal in baseball?

it’s ever so slightly totally illegal.

something’s gonna go somewhere it shouldn’t, we’re gonna have mayhem one way or another, but– what the heck, it’s all in the name of science, right?

it’s a brand new, high-speed, intricate rig with multiple moving parts. seriously, what are the chances that it’s going to work the first time?

[cupping hands over mouth to make walkie talkie noises] one small step for man… one giant leap for mankind.

aaaaand the bat is still there.

swing like you’re pissed off.

do you watch ANY sporting events?

yeah, i watch sports. i watch robot combat.

how ‘bout humid balls?

there’s actually a lot more to baseball than you might think.

great. because there’s nothing we’re better at than organized sports, right?

HEY batta batta batta, SWING batta batta batta, SWING!

is it a bird? is it a plane?

it’s fight club– superhero style.

no one can run at the speed of light, no one can spin webs, and no one turns green when they get angry and has super-strength.

if we’re gonna do this in true superhero fashion, i think you all need to put your underwear on the outside of your pants.

it’s a key component on the belt of… nocturnal echolocating flying mammal man.

in a never-ending fight against crime, superheroes often have to leap tall buildings.

we’re gonna have to do this one for real, man. we can’t fake it this time.

it’s a little bigger than batman’s.

i’m not in really great shape like batman is, but, you know, i’m gonna try.

that’ll feed my family for a month!

you all set, batman?

i’m all set, boy wonder!

i don’t remember batman having this much trouble.

ladies and gentlemen, there’s a new superhero on the block.

if you guys don’t mind, i’m just gonna lie here for a little while.

superheroes big and small are getting put to the test.

he’s that guy who could punch people so hard he left a scar in the shape of the skull on his ring.

if we can’t punch each other, who are we gonna punch?

as we know, ____ was raised by robots.

i need these two in adamantium, and these two in kryptonite.

his name is porkloinio. he’s an evil… pig… man.

our comic book criminal is down for the count.

you know, i can’t me _____man all the time. sometimes… i just have to be _____.

batman probably didn’t get it on his first try, either.

let’s go be batman.

what’s in the bag?

i like how she does the little hair flip.

holy awesomeness, _____!

this is gonna be the coolest batmobile ever!!!

holy air-cannon, _____!

this is actually the most dangerous thing i’ve built in a long line of dangerous things.

oh! newton’s laws! we forgot newton’s laws!

who says superheroes don’t bleed?

it’s not good for the image to be seen taking the elevator.

while it may look like an abandoned aircraft hangar, it is, in fact, a super-modern superhero training facility.

god, i hate these things. gimme a ladder any day of the week!

yeah, i still have to come up with a name for this thing. i’m thinking… “nocturnal echolocating flying mammal man’s cable shooter”.

this is all a little frightening.

this is definitely harder concrete than anything i’ve ever seen before.

curses! foiled again!

NOW LET’S GET OUT AND FIGHT SOME CRIME!!!

what is it with you and these robots?

i call the gun!

well, that’s gonna suck.

i can’t believe this is my job.

right, so here’s your motivation: you’ve just robbed a bank and you want to get away.

you know, this is my first surgery ever, aaaaaand– i feel like it went pretty well. i didn’t even go to med school, either.

i feel so sci-fi!

it’s probably gonna explode and she’s gonna lose her arm. i can’t wait to see that.

look, i think we’re already on enough government watch lists. let’s watch this one go.

that doesn’t seem very… logical.

now that’s an enterprising idea.

the ninja is making a comeback.

we killed the ninja!

yeah, but the law in the us and the uk is different.

where are we gonna get a car that can go 200 miles per hour?

this thing is beautiful. i think i’m gonna cry.

where’s the satellite radio? where’s the cup-holder? this is very primitive.

that’s on purpose. that’s what’s supposed to happen.

it’s really only demonstrable through telling a story.

the police are coming, so let’s wrap up and get out of here.

can i fire this one? can i? can i? can i? do you mind? do you mind? is it alright? 

you’re a freak!

now all we need is a 40-AA bra.

a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

i can’t look.

i just don’t know if these express me. i think i might want a different color.

is this as disturbing as i think it is?

it’s even more disturbing than you think it is.

[tosses bra on your face]

you need some help, big guy?

you didn’t take off your shirt, did you?

what are you, nuts?

it’s kinda dark in here. maybe we should light a fire.

it’s a bad idea to cross the streams.

he’s going through a rebellious phase and wanted to upset his mom.

ugh, it’s like you’re a mind-reader or something!

you pushed me out of the way, what the hell was that?!

i was giving you more of a challenge!

i like to live my life halfway like an action hero and halfway like a cartoon character.

[racecar noises]

i remember it like it was only yesterday…

i figure if you wanna get out of a ticket, short skirts and crying is still the way to go.

________ only works if the officer is human.

once the bumper goes back on, it’ll be fine, no one will know. … until they crash.

one car. almost two miles of runway. no speed limit. it’s just another day in ________ paradise.

i’m gonna have a fire suit on, a helmet, the whole nine yards. just in case i crash. and burn. and stuff like that.

ah, _____. ever the optimist.

based solely on my own intuition and on now practical experience whatsoever, i estimate that we can get this car up to 100 miles per hour.

let’s see ______ bat his baby blues now!

we’ve caught you red-handed!

i dunno, old man, maybe you just don’t have what it takes.

nitroglycerin? that’s explosive!

i mean, we break everything we touch.

when you say “we”, you mean “you”.

it’s going to be… potentially… the most lethal thing i’ve ever built.

this thing, if it works, will definitely kill you.

it’s like frankenstein’s laboratory.

well, y’know, normally the paddles don’t have serrated edges, but this is a homemade defibrillator.

think we could go get first place in the science fair?

this doesn’t look dangerous enough. you think we should go get some buckets of water to stand in? or turn on the sprinkler system?

just put your safety glasses on.

she made it!

yeah, i’m sure my mom will watch this later and she’ll be like, “augh! not again!”

it’s open season on speedsters.

you know what? i’ll save you some time. it’s probably illegal.

i’ll eat my hat if this is legal in even one state.

it’s enough to make your hair stand on end!

want an umbrella?

that seems reeeeeeeeeally reeeeeally really dangerous.

lots of water? large amounts of electricity? i don’t see a danger in that at all.

i… didn’t think it was gonna hurt me. i thought i had that one under control.

can someone unwrap me?

turn off the camera and help me get out of this thing!

i love being wrong.

you did very good, sweetie.

well, i’m pretty sure no one is going to sell us nitroglycerin.

can i drive the car?

all that’s left now is to gently break _____’s heart.

i’ve got a little somethin’-somethin’.

nice work, speedy gonzalez.

we’ll be checking in often.

weren’t you a bugler in the civil war?

trust ____ to turn a trombone into an instrument of torture.

why don’t we let the narrator explain?

nag, nag, nag.

you’d think we would learn.

it’ll toast your waffles to almost 3000 degrees.

it’s in the danger zone.

excellent! danger!

[smashing things with hammers] ABANGADABANGADABANGADA–

did you see the death star when it went out? i want an explosion like that.

_____’s mug is looking smug.

i bet you’re wondering why i’m standing here holding a plunger.

it gets me all steamed up just thinking about it.

_____’s going to be playing cowboy.

okay, so, the ranch actually has a psychic horse.

god, this seems like a really stupid idea.

deedoo! deedoo! deedoo! fashion police!

do you feel any heat? in your pants, i mean.

our patient is sick.

jim morrison, eat your heart out!

there’s no way of doing this without looking creepy right now.

he’s a genius… a demented genius!

are we gonna have to amputate his legs?

badabing, badaboom.

welcome to the ______ clubhouse!

tight jeans look very foxy.

this kind of stress on a regular basis can’t be good.

it just goes to show, there’s danger everywhere.

did you know what was lurking in your basement?

do either of you want my jeans that were dragged through horse manure?

gee, that sounds like fun!

i’m gonna go talk to him, find out what he knows.

have i ever told you that i sing in _____’s band twice a month?

he was voted in germany the sexiest tv star alive, second only to david hasselhoff.

i was a small wookiee in star wars episode 3.

no you weren’t, because i would have seen you, because i was also a small wookie in star wars episode 3!

i haven’t been this excited since my last cage match!

we have a few friends in law enforcement.

you ever get the feeling people are watching us work?

zis… it may look like simple clockwork, but… i seenk of it as a map of ze most complex clockwork art, like ze planets. it is not a planetary gear, but i seenk of it as a planetary gear because each thing, like a planet, moves in its place and goes where it should. it is not only a map of ze planets, it is also a map of ze atom! in zis vay, the microcosm is the macrocosm! and phylogeny recapitulates ontology!

that is so creepy!

i feel a total kinship with the guys who made this thing.

it put a dent in a quarter inch of steel.

i’m very pleased. and terrified.

our criminal mastermind has the details.

oh, this sucks. this went from fun to not fun.

is your first name salvatori?

i got the third degree.

my happy-slash-erotic thoughts are puppies licking my face and scantily clad women.

i don’t like people asking me unexpected questions like that. i’ve seen montel. i know how they get people.

_____ and _____ are involved in a steamy affair.

it’s a ballsy plan.

what can i say? i’m not cut out for crime.

i didn’t bring me bikini. did you bring yours?

[driving right past the building] we are looking for… the _____…

that sucks. that sucks!

have you ever ridden on the bus long distance before?

i don’t wanna take this test. can i opt to not take this test?

i think he’s dead.

it’s shiny. it looked like a fun thing to take.

well, looks like we get to take that cross-country trip you’ve been talking about.

i might forgive you, but not for the next two days.

now drop and give me twenty.

c'mon, c'mon, we need to come up with something!

so in all of your eclectic careers, have you ever gone and gotten a pilot’s license?

this is all alien to me.

why’s it telling me not to think?

unfortunately, i died. and all of my passengers and my crew died with me.

hey, it’s like we’re stormchasers!

that’s a bird, dude.

so that’s what they look like inside…

[addressing the beeping computer] what? what? i don’t know what to do?

i– i– i– crashed. i crashed. i landed in some farmland about ten miles out of denver.

adios amigo!

OH SSSSSHHHUCKS!!!

we’re doing point blank! can’t you tell? i’m keanu reeeves!

i have a feeling this will probably be a new high in terrifying moments in my life. 

what are we, like, ten?

[UNINTELLIGIBLE HIGH-PITCHED SCREAMING]

I’M ALIIIVEEE!!! I’M AAAALLLIIIIIIIVVVEEE!!!

so get this–

ever since people invented planes, they’ve been wanting to throw themselves out of them.

we’re gonna go to some hot night clubs.

i just gotta remember to breathe, not shit my pants, not pass out, and not scream like a little girl.

______, i’m frightened!

what kind of special treat do you have for me today?

for your sake, i hope so! [maniacal laughter]

are you gonna stay in-character this entire time?

when it comes to magnets, i’m your guy.

it looks like a watch, but it’s not.

it’s really good that we get this chance to bond.

it’s a classic james bond maneuver.

in the words of dr. no: “we never fail, mr. bond.”

i’m sick of these monkey suits.

moneypenny never packed a piece like this!

it’s best not to anger ______ when he’s got a steel girder in his hands.

well, i’m just gonna go for this and hope for the best.

i’m gonna be rc-ing this boat. and then maybe i’ll let _____ sit in it and then let it go out of control.

allow me to demonstrate with secret agent yarn.

anyone else feeling like an evil genius?

today, propane tanks. tomorrow– world domination!

you’ve had your last martini, _______!

as many times as we do this, i don’t get used to how much fun it is.

i mean, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

let’s go get a couple of martinis.

have you lost your damn mind?

cowabunga! let’s rip it up!

i am ready to rip it and– shred some– some stuff. did i say that right?

is it really impossible to fly a lead balloon?

yup, the insurance doesn’t cover that.

robot! i knew it!

ready to hang ten?

how’s he gonna hang ten? he’s got no feet.

you look nervous.

yeah, spank that water!

is it just me, or is he trying to clone himself and make a little army?

the ingeniously named "step 2" is complete.

i still want more... balloon-ness.

if someone says it’s impossible, we just take it as a challenge!

the kids can’t help but destroy their creation.

[jeff3]

Haiku Birthday

J.D. Hayes-Canell

The girl with eyes akimbo

keeps her face aimed at the floor

Pigeon toed on knocking knees

she crab walks towards the door

2/19/95

The Party’s Over

Pumpkins smashed upside down in a ditch

X-mas trees brown at the end of driveways

Dried turkey skeletons for everyone.

Eggshells dyed in the trash

Crumpled valentines skitter in the wet wind

Past the charred firecracker corpses and sparklers black and barren.

Everyone has gone home

there’s the trash to take out.

3/8/95

Ethereal Espresso

I live vicariously as you, in sweat and heterosex.

Beat ghosts lie upon the pages snapping phantom fingers

chanting “Cool, cool”.

They sip ethereal espresso and groove jazz

while you and Kerouak trade lies in a duel

like sex.

12/23/94

Reptile Season

It’s the night, x-mas time.

The city sheds it drab grey skin 

and breaks out in livid spots.

12/25/94

Warm wind caressing

Brings the scent of coming rain

Robins herald Spring. 

201203.07

HAIKU BIRTHDAY

You wake, stretch and yawn

So today is your birthday

Different but the same. 

201203.07

I write without ink on no paper 

I read a book with no pages

I call on a phone with no dial, no buttons. 

What is reality?

3/20/12

Blossom scented breeze

New green of young grass growing

My backyard in Spring. 

4/18/12

Words. Nothing but words

Convey all meaning, mine, yours,

A haiku birthday. 

4/18/12

For Marie, Patricia, Seth and Marci

This spring has come with no green. 

It is barren dust and somber ash watered by a harsh bitter rain. 

Wilted blossoms and rank weeds greet my steps, crows utter curses rough and jagged to my ears. 

5/15/2012. 

Disney Life

I don't lead a Disney life

Filled with twittering birds

And animate inanimate objects. 

I don't have it like Peter Pan

Sitting out adulthood on a whim

Waiting for the tick-tock of adventure to start. 

But I've wished upon a star. 

1/11/13

What We Wanted For You

(For Ryan)

A time ago, when we were young 

We smiled and planned. 

We were going to feed you on laughter

We were going to pour you glasses of knowledge, all that we knew. 

We were children then, 

Knowing only what we knew of life, 

Wanting to give it all to you,

Wanting you to join in the fun that was our world. 

That is what we wanted for you, the madness & the love,

The mayhem & the laughs. 

Only you know if we succeeded. 

1/11/13

Table Exiting the Long Room

You called me one day 

To say you were dying. 

Don't cry, you said

I won't I said. 

I didn't. Not then, not yet. 

I wanted to, but I'm waiting. 

Ray scattered your ashes in

Rockwood. 

I know the place, it's where I plan to cry

It's where I will remember 

your laugh

Your love

Your heart

That crooked smile you had when you were up to something

The look on your face when you would knock on my door

Asking to stay because whatever

Woman you were with had kicked you out again. 

Wish you were still here

so I could say hi just one more time. 

201209.23

Day After

It's the day after Sandy 

New York is powerless

New Jersey is scandalous 

Upstate we're watching the winds feeling the rain 

but the lights are still on. 

Hawaiillusion

Snow piles behind the panes

Kept at bay by walls and propane. 

Rocking sleepy in my chair,

Cat lapped, cozy in my sweater. 

On tv scenes of beach sand 

awash in seawater & weeds

Beside me tropical plants doze in their pots. 

Aloha. 

201212.22

 There are moments in life when we are capable of anything...

The body at the bottom of the stairs. 

201112.22

Death Came Visiting in May. 

Saw some of my friends, 

called on some of my relatives. 

He turned no one down, 

snubbed neither the poor nor middle class,

Grinned as he passed us by to give my brother in law his last ride. 

I hope he goes elsewhere for his summer vacation.

201206.11

Music in my Clothes Seems like Saturday Night.  

I was so possible that I had to be built on incomprehensibility. 

I do not panic...I smile. 

201302.14

Butterfly Storms

My soul is taut, it needs to bend and flow, to expand and contract, to fly free and to rest gently. 

It yearns to skip lightly through the aether, gathering the whims and hopes, the ghosts of dreams unfulfilled 

billowing out, blessing all with peace and love. 

201310.09

Cat hair & Dust bunnies. 

Lying on the valley floor with wheeling stars above

Rain touching feather soft the grass

Tell him I asked, I asked you why

The only answer: the rain. 

201407.03

By The Light Of A Robot's Eyes

I hold a virtual image of you in my mind but it fades, pixel by pixel. my heart yearns to hang on yearns to hold on to wisps, to fog.   

In the silent dusk my mind slowly draws to a close.

201306.30

Always Kiss Me Goodnight

There are times you drive me virtually mad

With all the craziness you do. 

There are times you are so furious you lose control and rant from the insanity of my life. 

But when you're gone. 

When the dust settles. 

When the silence falls. 

And all I've ever wanted was for you to shut up for five minutes!

I miss you more than anyone,

more than anything

and though I know how to live alone

I can't bear it without you.

201311.29

Hotel Kitchen @ One am. 

Ralph Kramden Was a Bus Driver

Thusly we come to know

That some doors remain forever closed 

and we are held bound to our fate 

By chains we forged with pieces of our souls. 

201311.29

Flotsam

I'm just passing through

You're just passing through 

It's how we live

How we are

Passing through time, space the lives of those we meet

The things we think are real are transient 

The things we think are solid are dust.

Liquid flows

Time flows

And we are fascinated by the firelight shadows on the cavern's wall.   201404.13

MAYA

A clear voice that sprung from silence sorrow shame

A voice which gave hope love and peace to many

A voice which encouraged never scorned

A voice of freedom and compassion

A voice as clear as hope

A voice as strong as love

Has drifted softly into silence once more. 

201405.28

First Day

Summer wind paper napkin plastic bag dance swirling pirouettes about each other, about the sidewalk, about my feet. 

Walking down the hill I join the dance. 

201406.23

Dance of the Lightening Bugs

It's no secret

How the universe turns

It's no marvel to me why life must spin

and spin and spin

Rumpelstiltskin super novas blossom as they whirl and I, 

I long to cry. 

201407.03

Where Did The Words Go

Out of mouths through the ears and away

We wasted time wasted breath wasted life with words

Let them twist us turn us scorch us burn us

Let them touch us bathe us help us save us

Life and time molded distance carved caverns

Perhaps they fled there. 

201407.04

Staying Strangers

Alone together

How we travel through our lives cocooned in iPads iPods 

Idontwanttoknow, selfmusic 

selfmovies selfphones selfish 

Insulated from the now

From each other 

from life. 

Thrown together by happenstance 

By circumstance by chance

We retreat hibernate

Back away from all of us

And into ourselves. 

It will come to no good. 

201407.19

Watching Shakespeare on TV

The commons chatter aimlessly 

While culture and wisdom play before them content in its own self showing no ego in its teaching, ever teaching by its own example

And still the hairless monkeys jabber. 

201407.20 

Soft Dog

When I die 

all the things that I have gathered

Will be scattered to the winds

All the kisses I have known 

Will blow away Never to return

And all that I have said or done 

Shall pass into memories

Held in a drawer

Or a book. 

When you die

All the things that you have gathered 

Will scatter

And no one will ever know

How you felt today. 

201408.04

Tender is the time

  We spend just lying side by side

Nowhere to go, no place to be     

  But where we are. 

Softly our two hearts

  Beating in time to the song of our souls

Open to each other, and we smile

  Because we are one. 

Soon our time is spent

  We slip apart, away and back to normal

A small ache for the parting hour

And our tender times. 

201408.07

Summer thunder crashes taking the ears by storm hissing cats and dogs fall pouncing on the ground making puddles lightening squalls across the sky black cloudy growls slowly fade and soon the mice come out to play. 

201408.17

My new shoes feel good 

I like how they hold my feet.

A year from now they’ll be old shoes,

And I will have forgotten

How they felt

In the days of the old shoes

201403.16

Way back when I used to wake up early mornings 

When weekends were like Christmas and summer lasted forever

When we were good guys or bad guys and our heroes were on tv

When problems were small things that grown-ups could solve

And kisses made it all better.

When did those days slip into greater worries, into times of grey

With nothing clear or sure.

No going back, no returns, no panacea for the soul

Just a voice, a fading echo which claims “You’re it.”

201807.07

My soul longs for the peace of a monastery 

The whispers of the hermit’s cave.

It calls out in silent plea for solace from the din, parting from the throng.

But I don’t know where to turn, how to take that step

And I’m afraid to be alone.

201807.07

Things his mother made;

Christmas things made by a loving hand for her son.

She’s long since passed away but he held those memories close.

Now he is gone as well, unexpectedly pulled from my life and all I have are memories

And these things his mother made

3/11/2019

I’m tired of the sorrow and the sadness

The explosive burst of tears and the creeping clutch of emptiness.

I don’t know why you had to go,

I will never know

You were always full of love and I was not

I never stopped guarding my heart against this very thing

I never stopped building walls against this very day 

And when it happened

When the end for you came

The barriers melted, the walls crumbled 

and all they kept out was you

3/11/2019

I was looking at our garden today.

I know its winter and everything is brown.

But between the deer and the rabbits

They killed the growing dreams we had; the roses, the willow tree.

I laughed when you brought it home

“We live on a sand dune” I said, “A willow won’t grow here.”

But it did, for the whole of spring and summer it survived.

But not this winter, very little survived this winter.

3/11/2019 

[pearlinebundey-blog]

Get One of the most Out of educator and also Facebook.

Ho To (Do) teacher Without Leaving Your Workplace( Residence).

The Tricks To educator.

The work of an exceptional vocal singing instructor is to help you in progressing and much better. Every person is built in a different way as well as the wonderful educators adjust to their pupils' physical and psychological makeup. While primary scientific research concepts are not naturally hard this does not imply that teachers are going to recognize the concepts well enough to address concerns and also to clarify the procedures. First, the instructor ought to inform him- or her-self on a selection of social impacts in our society, as well as particularly the social impacts particular to the location where he or she is showing. Several songs teachers software application frequently feature systems in levels, from basic to complex. Tomorrow many trainees shown by these instructor will become physicians, engineers, attorneys, high company icon as well as great deals extra. Among my best friends is an online secondary school literary works and writing teacher in Florida. As a home education mother, I have a newly located gratitude for just how difficult it is to do it well! Prior to we go any kind of additional let me make one thing perfectly clear below ... this write-up is about quiting MINOR classroom monitoring issues such as chatting while the teacher is speaking, composing or passing notes, and also small roughhousing. In order to keep a Degree II permit active, teachers must complete a necessary number of continuing education credit report systems. Just what they do not tell you is that if you do not talk Greek it is hightly not likely for you to get a task as well as if you do get a work the pay will certainly be extremely negative. Info on some of the leading universities that offer programs for educator education is given listed below. However, by the end of the first week of institution, or certainly by the second week of school, intermediate school pupils begin to really feel even more comfortable, they start to evaluate the teacher's limitations and also classroom management ends up being a growing number of tough.

5 Fantastic Ways To Make use of teacher.

I offer so much regard to all my educators ... Although I enjoy directing, bringing and also testing thoughts out the wonder in youngsters ... I am uncertain I would certainly have the ability to stand up to doing it for a living. The 2nd thing you're mosting likely to do is create three variations of your teacher cover letter. Recent regulations in several states requires mentoring brand-new instructors in order to help them enhance and also strengthen their practices and also abilities as well as thus, maintain them in the career. I have come to recognize that a real teacher will certainly teach you ways to be, do, have, and also live exactly what it is you wish. All goji cream ára this produced troubles concerning unfair terminations with the teachers' labor unions and expanding bad blood in between teachers and their unions with managements. So, it is an essential aspect, which you being a grade school educator ought to keep in mind in order to keep a good control on the class the whole day. If students participate in any type of after college programs that will certainly add at the very least two even more hrs daily, 5 days a week. I spent the whole of the lunch break tracking him down to make sure that I could apologise to him and returned home that day with tears in my eyes. In summary, teachers need to definitely invest in discovering teaching reading strategies, and this can frequently be done through instructor professional growth. You have to quit thinking about your teacher cover letter as simply one individual letter as well as even more as a series of 3 letters. I need to say, I had a good time mentor and also 1-1 does enable even more creativity in lesson planning and also enables a teacher to customize a lesson to suit the youngster's needs. By this circuitous course we involve the 2017 NCAA Final Fours for both females and males. Muni, your admiration for the instructors of the word is obvious, as well as we thank you! When showing the passive, the educator could write numerous active sentences as well as cut the sentences right into strips. Achieving above a basic pass reveals you're a qualified teacher as well as you are committed to the career. I understand when I was an educator as well as a student embraced me (male or female) I always really felt uncomfortable and also a number of times told them I don't like being embraced. One of them really saw how I walk pigeon toed as well as my teacher Jackie did not let me flee really swiftly.